Southern Branch 
 of the 
 
 University of California 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 Form L 1 
 
 
 1^"^ <i. "■. WELCH, ^1 
 
 > Bookseller and Stationer, r 
 f^ San Jose, Cal. M^
 
 /V5 
 
 STATE NORMAL SCHOOL, 
 
 Los AngeJes, Cal.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE
 
 SUTt HORMAl SCHOOL. f- (^ 6 
 U* Angeles, Cai. 
 
 Social Pressure. 
 
 SIR ARTHUR HELPS, K.C.B. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "'friends IM COUNCIL," "COMPANIONS OF MV SOLITUDE,' 
 
 "■DROUGHTS UPON GOVERNMENT," " LIFE AND LABORS 
 
 OF BRASSEY," ETC. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 
 1S75.
 
 H3fe 
 
 TO THE 
 
 RIGHI' HON. W. E. FORSTER, IM.P., 
 
 ETC., ETC. 
 
 My dkar Forster, 
 
 I dedicate this work to you. 
 
 Our unbroken friendship, and the pleasure 
 I have had in working under and with you, 
 would amply justify this dedication. 
 
 But I have also a special motive which 
 causes me to inscribe the work to you. 
 Free, as you now are, from what are justly 
 called the " trammels of office," you will 
 be able to give more attention to those 
 social subjects which are chiefly discussed 
 in this volume. 
 
 Your knowledge of all classes of your 
 fellow-countrymen, your sympathetic nature.
 
 vi DEDICA riON. 
 
 and V(uir skilful management of business, 
 point vou out as a man who could do good 
 service in promoting measures which have, 
 for their end and aim, an increase of the 
 comfort and well-being of all classes of the 
 community. These measures are happily 
 beyond the region of political strife ; but 
 the final purpose, at which they aim, cannot 
 be attained without aid trom the leading 
 statesmen of the day. 
 
 I take the opportunity, which this letter 
 affords me, of mentioning that Mr. Milver- 
 ton's Essays were written long ago : long 
 before they were read to the " Friends in 
 Council." If I were not to make this state- 
 ment, it would seem ungracious on his part 
 that he had not alluded to the many great 
 efforts which have already been made by 
 individuals for the furtherance of those 
 objects which he had most in view when 
 writing some of these essays. 
 
 In providing open spaces for recreation In 
 and near large towns, and in forming town- 
 ships of dwelling places for artizans, sundry 
 
 /
 
 DEDICATION. vii 
 
 benevolent persons have already bestirred 
 themselves, and have effected much g-ood. 
 It is but just to notice these improvements ; 
 but, as Mr. Milverton says, if all the 
 benevolent and powerful people were to 
 interest themselves for a whole i^eneration 
 in effecting^ such objects, too much would 
 not be done to overtake the consequences 
 of former oversight and neglect. 
 
 I remain, 
 
 Yours very truly, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 LoiidoTty November, 1874.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 T HAVE so often told who I am, and 
 
 explained who the Friends in Council 
 
 are, that I shall not do so on the present 
 
 occasion, and will only say that they consist 
 
 of several persons who are really friends, 
 
 and that I, Alexander Johnson, am the 
 
 I private secretary to one of them — namely, 
 
 !^ to Mr. Milverton. 
 
 ^ It has been their habit for many years to 
 
 '^ spend their Easter vacation together; and 
 
 ^ it has often been their practice to take some 
 
 one subject for their consideration, and to 
 
 endeavour to work that out. 
 
 This time their place of meeting was not 
 the usual one. It was at a villa on the 
 banks of the Thames. Sir John Ellesmere 
 was the host, and not Mr. Milverton. They
 
 2 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 had chosen this place of meeting, as, on 
 account of the change of Administration, 
 one of their number was more closely occu- 
 pied than usual, and could not have joined 
 them, if they had been at a distance from 
 London. 
 
 I .will commence at once with the con- 
 versation that led to the subject which 
 they finally resolved to adopt for discus- 
 sion, 
 
 Ellesmere, Wish for it? Of course I wish for it. 
 There are also a good many other things to be wished 
 for — that it should never rain, except at night, between 
 the hours of twelve and four ; that fishes should have no 
 bones; shrimps, no shells ; and that oysters should open 
 of their own accord, immediately after grace has been 
 said ; that there should be no irregular verbs in any 
 language, and no genders to the substantives; that Com- 
 mentators' notes to difficult passages should not omit, in 
 more than nine cases out of ten, to deal with the difficulty; 
 that ever)'body should be only vain of other people's 
 merits; and that nobody should say the same thing in the 
 same words more than three times over in the course of 
 the same day. 
 
 Oh yes, there are a great many things to be wished
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 3 
 
 for. By the way, I must tell you what a mistake I made 
 lately, from an ignorance of these detestable genders. 
 I am at a party. I step out upon the balcony with a 
 distinguished foreigner. Lots of orders on his coat ; an 
 Austrian, I think. 
 
 There are few spots upon the earth where sunsets and 
 moonhghts are more effective, are indeed better got up, 
 than in our metropolis. 
 
 The moon was resplendent, and brought out the river 
 and adjacent buildings magnificently. I said to the 
 distinguished foreigner, " How beautiful she is to-night ! " 
 " Yes," he said, " she, with her dark hair, did most 
 become that . yellow gown — what you call it ? Yes, 
 amber. She is very beautiful this night." Whereupon I 
 discovered that he was speaking of our gracious hostess ; 
 and I began to surmise that the moon in his stupid 
 language was masculine. The moon, a he ! Let us have 
 a conference of all nations, and come to some agreement 
 about genders. 
 
 Make men more comfortable, you said ! I should like 
 to see you do it. Besides, you don't seem to be aware 
 that one of their greatest pleasures is grumbling. If you 
 were to make men as comfortable, according to your 
 notions, as well-fed and- well-styed swine, they (the 
 men) would be intensely miserable from having less to 
 grumble about. 
 
 Mr. Craniner. How we are all shut up in our own small 
 selves ! I do really believe that Ellesmere would lose a
 
 4 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 great deal of happiness if he had not a great deal to 
 complain of; but the rest of us would decidedly prefer 
 to be a little more comforiable than we are. I take no 
 pleasure in grumbling. 
 
 EUes7)iere. INIauleverer is silent : he is on my siile. 
 
 Afr. Mauleverer. You are quite mistaken. I do not 
 take much inteiest in what philanthropists can say to us, 
 for I believe that it is so little they can do ; but I don't 
 see why they should not do that little — if they can — 
 and it is always an amusement, if not a pleasure, to 
 hear what they propose. There is generally so much 
 folly in it. 
 
 Ellesmere. A very pretty idea, and handsomely ex- 
 pressed. I foresee a source of enjoyment which I had 
 not reckoned upon — a very constant and up-welling 
 source. 
 
 It was when we were in the punt that Milverton, 
 dilating upon the splendid thing this river might be 
 made, and the foul thing it is often made, informed 
 us, with that modesty which is characteristic of all re- 
 formers, that he could make the world much more com- 
 fortable, if it would only give him the opportunity of 
 doing so. 
 
 Sir Af-t/iur Godolphin. He said nothing of the kind, 
 Ellesmere. 
 
 Elksma-e. No, no — not directly; but, according to 
 that excellent phrase, " reading between the lines," one 
 could see that that was what he meant. For my own
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 5 
 
 part, there is no garment in which audacity clothes or 
 conceals itself that, to my taste, is so repugnant as 
 the veil of mock-modesty. If Milverton would only 
 honestly say that he believes he could immensely im- 
 prove the world, I would get up early in the morning 
 to attend him, would not interrupt his discourse, 
 and would listen — proper intervals of sleep being 
 allowed — until the weary sun, not wearier than my- 
 self, descended, in this flat land, into that waste of 
 waters. 
 
 Mr. Milverton. I cannot accept this magnificent and 
 encouraging offer upon the terms proposed ; but if Elles- 
 mere will only give me one patient hour in the day, net 
 commencing at early dawn nor concluding with the 
 setting sun, I will endeavour to instruct his obtuse mind 
 as to some of the means which I should propose for 
 making men more comfortable. 
 
 Ellesmere. We all know Sir Arthur's love of making 
 an adjective very grand by putting the definite article 
 before it. I have heard him talk of the Good, the 
 Beautiful, the Becoming, the Decorous. Now let him 
 make grand that commonplace word comfortable, by 
 sticking that forcible article before it with a capital letter. 
 Yes, we will discourse about The Comfortable, which in 
 the spring-time of this climate, with its chill horrors, is 
 about the last great abstraction that we should naturally 
 think of. It is therefore most fitting to dilate upon on 
 the present occasion.
 
 6 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 The foregoing- is a fragment of the con- 
 versation which led to the choice of subject 
 that was at first adopted, but by no means 
 adhered to, by the " Friends in Council," 
 for this Easter.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 "^1 /"E met next morning in the library; 
 and as Mr. Milverton had told us that 
 his first essay would not be short, and had 
 deprecated all previous conversation, even 
 Sir John Ellesmere was content to be silent, 
 and the reading began at once. 
 
 TOWNS MAY BE TOO LARGE. 
 
 There have been three very shrewd people 
 who have worn crowns, and who have ruled 
 over this country, almost in succession, — 
 namely, Henry VIII., Queen Elizabeth, and 
 James I. In enumerating their merits, or 
 their demerits, there is always much to be 
 said on both sides of the question. But 
 there is one branch of policy common to
 
 8 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 all of them, and which each insisted upon 
 strongly — namely, that their metropolis 
 should be prevented, if possible, from be- 
 coming- too large. 
 
 These monarchs liked to see their great 
 people go back to their homes in their own 
 counties, and always discouraged an increase 
 of the population of London. This uniform 
 feeling on their part might have had a 
 purely political origin In their minds. Still 
 we may give them the benefit of the doubt, 
 and may conjecture that other considera- 
 tions had weight with them, besides those 
 connected with the distribution of political 
 power. 
 
 Certainly one of the greatest evils of mo 
 dern life, is the existence of great towns. 
 Nobody who has not studied this subject can 
 have an idea of what immense loss is caused 
 by the excessive bigness of these great 
 towns — loss of health, of time, of comfort, 
 of material resources of every kind. 
 
 To take a very simple instance, the loss 
 of animal power is enormous. Four or five
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 9 
 
 hundred horses are carried to the knacker's 
 yard each week In London. It is probable 
 that not more than about forty horses would 
 be used up, if all the horses which do the 
 work in London did similar work in smaller 
 towns, where there would not be so much 
 necessity for paved roadways. 
 
 It is not only to the lower animal life, but 
 to the life of man, that the existence of those 
 huge towns is disadvantageous. Every- 
 thing is rendered more difficult by their 
 enormous size, and by their want of con- 
 centration. Work is more difficult ; and 
 play (which is, after all, a great part of 
 man's life) is far more difficult. It seems 
 a small thing to say, but it is a most 
 serious thing with regard to the happiness 
 of mankind, that a busy man, in these great 
 centres of population, cannot, after the toil 
 of the day, take a walk into the countiy. 
 Who can do so, for instance, in London, 
 where, in several directions, there are ten 
 continuous miles of houses ? 
 
 Then as to the pleasures of society, these
 
 lo SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 are destroyed by the immense extent of 
 this metropolis. Even the largest houses 
 are not, relatively speaking-, large enough 
 for the town in which they are situated. 
 The consequence is that society is, for the 
 most part, a crowd ; and it is impossible to 
 be social in a crowd. 
 
 Then, again, the chief pleasure of society 
 is in knowing something of the character 
 and the peculiarities of those with whom 
 you associate. This is impossible in huge 
 towns, such as Paris or London. The result 
 is, that half your time, your best time, your 
 play time, is passed in the society of com- 
 parative strangers, with whom you have to 
 make a sudden acquaintance as best you 
 may. You meet a person, man or woman, 
 with whom you are disposed to be sympa- 
 thetic ; but it is perhaps two years before 
 you have the opportunity of meeting that 
 person again. Hence your society is frag- 
 mentary, uncertain, and seldom becomes 
 knit together by the bonds of frequent and 
 familiar intercourse
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. ii 
 
 But, to turn to disadvantages which some 
 may think of a more serious kind, to the 
 waste which is occasioned in all matters of 
 business by the immense extent of these 
 centres of population. It is not too much 
 to say that any matter of business takes 
 nearly twice the time to be transacted in a 
 large metropolis that it does in a small one. 
 
 Then, as regards questions of health. It 
 was well said by one of the greatest sanitary 
 reformers of this age, that, though London 
 is a place where the rate of mortality is not 
 exceedingly high, it is yet a place where 
 nobody, except butchers' boys, enjoys perfect 
 health — the full state of health that they are 
 capable of enjoying.* 
 
 There is no doubt that when a number of 
 human beings are crowded together, they 
 will make great efforts to overcome the 
 evils of this crowding, and their numbers 
 
 * This was said by Dr. Arnott, whose death we have now 
 to deplore. His whole life was given to the service of his fellow- 
 men. A truer reformer, in the best sense of the word, there never 
 was.
 
 12 SOCIAL PRESSURE, 
 
 aid them In these efforts. Ikit the mischief 
 always outstrips the remedy, which proceeds 
 at a lagging- and uncertain pace, while the 
 former proceeds with the sureness and com- 
 pleteness of a law of nature. Besides, there 
 are certain evils connected with the growth 
 of great towns which are almost beyond the 
 power of man, at any rate with his present 
 knowledge, to conquer. The first article of 
 food — namely, fresh air — is that which is 
 least under the command of man. There is 
 no danger of London being starved for want 
 of animal food : there is more and more 
 danger ever}- year of Its health being dimi- 
 nished from the want of a supply of fresh air. 
 
 It has been stated, I do not know with 
 what truth, that every year the hospital 
 surgeons in London find It more difficult 
 to cure wounds and iniuiies of all kinds to 
 the human body, on account, it is supposed, 
 of the growing inferiority of the London 
 air. 
 
 It is contended that the metropolitan 
 railways afibrd a large means of daily exit
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE, 13 
 
 into fresh air for the London people. But 
 this affects only a small part of the popu- 
 lation, comparatively speaking. It is the 
 thousands who go : it is the hundreds of 
 thousands who remain. And this brings 
 me to another very important branch of the 
 subject. The fact of these thousands going 
 away, makes it worse for the hundreds of 
 thousands who remain. Those who have 
 their homes out of London can hardly be 
 expected to care much for their own neigh- 
 bourhoods in London — the neighbourhoods 
 of their places of business, not their homes. 
 This feeling, too, affects the higher classes, 
 who, when they are summoned to London 
 for business or for pleasure, live in London, 
 and do not patronize suburban dwellings. 
 But they have little love for their neighbour- 
 hoods ; and the moment that the course of 
 business, or the dictate of fashion, enables 
 them to escape from London, they lose no 
 time in doing so. 
 
 Then, again, private and individual 
 charity is rendered very difficult by the
 
 1 4 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 immense size of the metropolis. The 
 families of the rich and the powerful, when 
 in the country, in their own neighbour- 
 hoods, have little difficulty, if they are 
 charitably disposed, in learning" all about 
 their poor neighbours and really living 
 amongst them,. Every member of such a 
 family (including the young ladies and even 
 the children) can be of some service in the 
 charitable enterprises of the family. And 
 even in moderately-sized towns the same 
 good work is feasible. But, except in rare 
 instances, what prudent father or mother 
 could allow young girls to go into the 
 almost dangerous neighbourhoods of poor 
 people which are close to the splendid 
 mansions of the rich, not profiting much, 
 however, by that select neighbourhood. 
 Doubtless, the charities of London are 
 vast ; but, for the most part, they lack 
 individuality, and rather resemble a tax than 
 a charity. 
 
 Again, it may be said, with truth, that 
 the individual in a huge city has little
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 15 
 
 power of protecting' himself as regards 
 some of the primary wants of life. For 
 instance, he must take the water that is 
 provided for his quarter of the town, whether 
 he is satisfied with it or not. He cannot 
 protect himself ap^ainst adulteration of food. 
 He has, in fact, become part of a huge 
 machine, and has very little voice in, or 
 influence upon, what goes on in the 
 machine. 
 
 Then, as to pleasures.. It is true that 
 a great capital attracts great talent ; and 
 that better music is to be heard in a great 
 capital than elsewhere. But this is a small 
 compensation to be set off against the fact, 
 alluded to before, that hundreds of thou- 
 sands of people are so environed by houses 
 that practically they never take a walk 
 into the country. Strange and sad as it 
 may seem, it was natural enough that a 
 little London boy, born and bred in some 
 hideous nest of alleys, should ask, as he 
 did, whether the country was a large yard, 
 his chief idea of air and space being that
 
 1 6 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 they were to be found, in their utmost 
 extent, in a yard. 
 
 Nothing- can give one a better idea of 
 the difference in the recreation to be ob- 
 tained by the inhabitants of a small town 
 compared with that which is to be obtained 
 in a huge metropolis, than to observe 
 what takes place in such towns as Dresden 
 and Munich. There, on their holidays, 
 the whole population flock out to some 
 beautiful garden a mile or two from the 
 town; hear good music; imbibe fresh air; 
 and spend only a few pence in these humble 
 but complete pleasures. Compare this with 
 the amount of pleasure enjoyed by the 
 hea'd of a -family, and mostly by him alone, 
 at the neighbouring gin-palace round the 
 corner, which furnishes his only idea of 
 comfort and pleasure. 
 
 But let us pass, for a moment, from 
 considering the life of men in these huge 
 cities to that of the lower animals — horses, 
 cows, and dogs. 
 
 I have already spoken of horses at the
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 17 
 
 commencement of this essay. A similar 
 story may be told of the cows. They, 
 too, are killed off prematurely, and do not 
 last a third part of the time that they 
 would last in the country or in a small 
 town. We all know the pitiable condi- 
 tion of a dog that lives in London. 
 
 I proceed now to a consideration which 
 concerns the inanimate world. That famous 
 man, Count Rumford, used to estimate 
 the number of millions of chaldrons* of 
 coals which were suspended in the atmo- 
 sphere of London, and to dwell upon the 
 mischief which was caused to furniture by 
 this pall of smoke when it descended But 
 there are other special causes of injury, 
 such as dust and chemical emanations of 
 all kinds. The result is, that everything- 
 in such a city as London soon loses all 
 bloom and freshness ; and, indeed, is 
 rapidly deteriorated. The more beautiful 
 the thing, the more swifl and fatal is this 
 deterioration. I would venture to make a 
 
 calculation as regards the injury of property 
 
 c
 
 i8 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 in London, caused not by reasonable wear 
 and tear, but being the result of the agglo- 
 meration of too many people on one spot 
 of ground. I should not think it would 
 be less than three or four millions of pounds 
 per annum. 
 
 There is another very subtle cause for 
 this deterioration. It is in the hopelessness 
 which gradually besets all people in a great 
 town like London, of keeping anything clean. 
 I was always very much touched by that 
 story which some philosophic sanitary ob- 
 server made known to the public, and which 
 I have told you before. He noticed how a 
 young woman, who had come from the 
 country, and was living in some miserable 
 court or alley, made for a time great efforts 
 to keep that court or alley clean. But, 
 gradually, day by day, the efforts of that 
 poor woman were less and less vigorous, 
 until in a few weeks she became accustomed 
 to, and contented with, the state of squa- 
 lor which surrounded her, and made no 
 further efforts to remove it. We who live
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 19 
 
 in London are for the most part like that 
 poor woman. A great many of us have 
 come up from the country; and, at first, 
 we partake her feeHngs as to the joy and 
 beauty of cleanliness ; but the atmosphere 
 we live in is too strong for us. Who can 
 resist the atmosphere ! We gradually 
 subside into living contentedly amidst 
 dirt, and seeing our books, our pictures, 
 our other works of art, and our furniture, 
 become daily more dirty, dusty, and degene- 
 rate. 
 
 One point m reference to this matter I 
 must especially dwell upon, and that is, the 
 serious injury to buildings occasioned by this 
 atmosphere. Certain kinds of architecture 
 ought to be considered as impossible in 
 London. All that is delicate and refined is 
 so soon blurred, defaced, and corroded by 
 this cruel atmosphere, that it is a mockery 
 and a delusion to attempt fine work. There 
 ought to be a peculiar kind of architec- 
 ture for such a metropolis — large, coarse, 
 and massive, owning neither delicacy nor
 
 20 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 refinement, and not admitting minute deco- 
 ration of any kind. 
 
 And, again, even that coarse work requires 
 to be executed in the hardest material, other- 
 wise the corrosion Is so great as to cause the 
 need for constant repair. And, while speak- 
 ing of repairs and decorations, it must be 
 known to every householder in London how 
 frequent Is the necessity for painting and for 
 repairs, when compared with what is requi- 
 site where the atmosphere is less impure. 
 
 Now it Is easy to state all these evils : It is 
 very hard to find a remedy. Still, with such 
 an ingenious creature as man, the remedy is 
 seldom far off when the evil is known and 
 thoroughly appreciated. 
 
 EUesinere. Please stop here. I see from the bulki- 
 ness of that part of the manuscript which still remains 
 unturned that you have a great deal more to read. 
 The powers of the human mind are limited : at least, 
 those of my mind are ; and if you wish me only to give 
 an inglorious assent to all you propound, you will exhaust 
 that formidable manuscript. But if you wish for real 
 criticism, you will have the goodness to pause.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 21 
 
 Sir Arthur. Yes ; I think, Milverton, you have given 
 us enough food for discussion to-day. 
 
 Milverfofu I am quite wilUng to stop, if only out of 
 regard to the limits, according to his own confession, of 
 Ellesmere's powers of mind. 
 
 Cranmcr. The essayist is right, I think, and does not 
 in the least exaggerate in what he has said about the 
 hindrance to business arising simply from the great 
 distances in large towns. A similar thought has occurred 
 to me when I have been staying in some small foreign 
 residenz. It seemed to me that, in the conduct of busi- 
 ness, much less correspondence than is required here, 
 would suffice to do the same work there. 
 
 Milverton, Certainly. 
 
 Ellesmere. I think, Milverton, that you would be 
 assigning far too much foresight to the English sovereigns 
 you spoke of at the beginning of your discourse, if you 
 were to assume that any sanitary reasons formed even 
 part of their fears lest their metropolis should become 
 too large. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I don't know what they might have ■ 
 thought, but I am certain that we ought to think of the 
 enormous evils which the vast increase of population in 
 one spot may produce, and of the difficulty of guarding 
 against them. 
 
 Milverton. I am quite convinced that foresiglit is the 
 rarest thing in the world. Everything is against it ; and, 
 moreover, in the present hurried modes of life, in the
 
 22 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 great pressure that there is upon statesmen, and all other 
 men of business, there is less chance, than even in former 
 days, of foresight being exercised. 
 
 And then the best things to be done are in the way of 
 improvement, as I have often said ; and there are these 
 forbidding circumstances attending all improvement 
 — that it mostly lacks originality ; that it does not confer 
 fame; that it cannot interest mankind as a new project 
 does, however absurd and irrelevant that may be. 
 
 Sir Arthur. Yes : there is no book which tells of the 
 achievements of the Improvers. They are, perhaps, the 
 most useful men in their generation ; and they pass from 
 us unhonoured and even unheeded. 
 
 Milvei'ion. There is the madness of believing that 
 everything which is wanted to be done, can be done by 
 what are called great measures. 
 
 EUesmere. What a Conservative you are ! 
 
 Milverton. I am the least conservative of mortal men. 
 Only my mind always goes towards construction, or, at 
 least, to amendment, rather than to destruction ; and, 
 therefore, by unobservant and shallow persons, such 
 people as myself are always put down as Conservatives. 
 
 EHesmere. I am so sorry to find that I am shallow. I 
 rather supposed myself to be — 
 
 " Though deep, yet clear ; though gentle, yet not dull ; 
 Strong, without rage, without o'erflowing, full." 
 
 In fact, exactly resembling the river that the poet was 
 describing.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 23 
 
 Milverton. The " great measure " man has one or two 
 objects respecting which he bores on throughout the 
 greater part of his life ; whereas the things to be done 
 in the way of improvement are multifarious and multi- 
 tudinous. There is hardly any branch of human eftbrt 
 in which you cannot see that there are huge improve- 
 ments to be made, and those, too, in the first requisites 
 for decorous and beautiful hving. 
 
 EUestncre. I suppose that improvers are rare. 
 
 Milverton. No, they are not. What I mean to say- 
 is, that active improvers are rare ; but that the men, 
 who see what improvements might be made, and who 
 desire that they should be made, are very numerous 
 indeed. There is an immense deal of common sense in 
 the world, and amongst all thoughtful men a great 
 desire for improvement. 
 
 Ellesmere. Here we have a sudden change of 
 position ! How is it that all these common sensible 
 people do not act with more effect ? 
 
 Milverton. The reason is obvious. You seem to 
 forget, Ellesmere, that we are living in an old country, 
 and a very considerably law-ridden country, and where 
 consequently it is difficult for individuals to do what 
 they see ought to be done, and what they ardently 
 desire should be done. 
 
 There is nothing like having a practical test of 
 theoretical talk. Since you have taken this place, 
 Ellesmere, I have travelled to and fro in the railway
 
 24 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 several times. There is a portion of land that we pass 
 by on tliis Hne. It is in a dei)lorable condition. 
 Sometimes it is flooded. The roads near it are nearly 
 lampless. It is altogether an unkempt place — a kind 
 of "No-Man's Land." The neighbours lament this 
 state of things, but do not see their way to altering it. 
 There are crown-rights, there are common-rights, there 
 is no municipality which can lay hold of this land ; and, 
 in short, it is almost undealable with. 
 
 Now something, not exactly of this kind, but of a 
 similar kind, is observable throughout this country, 
 and, probably, throughout any old country. What you 
 want are enabling bills. In fact, what is needed is 
 that legislation and administration should go hand-in- 
 hand, instead of being dissevered, as they so often are. 
 One is afraid to talk of French administration, because, 
 in some respects, it is so very faulty, and so deficient 
 in just freedom. But that state of things, which I have 
 just described, would not long be suffered to exist in 
 France. There the despotism of the french Pre'fet 
 would come in well. 
 
 Sir Arthur. In this subject of the health of towns, 
 building of all kinds naturally forms a prominent part. 
 Now it is a remarkable fact, that architects and builders 
 seem to have made less advance since the time of the 
 Romans than any other class. 
 
 Ellesmere. Perhaps it is that the employer seldom 
 knows, or at least seldom defines, what he wants.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 25 
 
 Cranmer. There is also the system of leaseholds, 
 which must be very prejudicial to good building. 
 
 Milverfon. Then there is the diseased desire for 
 uniformity. Everything must be made to correspond 
 with something else, 
 
 " Grove nods at grove, each alley has a brother." 
 
 There is but little harm in this as regards rustic groves 
 and alleys; but the same practice is fatal to comfort 
 when it is applied to building. 
 
 Then there is the great contracting builder, who has 
 occasionally been a great evil in modern times. He 
 has but one idea, and that idea is made successful 
 by uniformity of design. For cheapness' sake he must 
 have a thousand windows and a thousand doors made 
 at his factory exactly alike; and he works upon the 
 principle, or rather the instinct, of the lower creatures, 
 who must have their nests or cells always of the same 
 form and dimensions. Right enough for them, whose 
 wants are ever much the same, but not for man with 
 his ever-changing circumstances and his immense variety 
 of craving. 
 
 Ellcsmere. I observe that, hitherto, Mauleverer has 
 not said a single word, good or bad, in our conver- 
 sation ; and I certainly did expect that he would break 
 out when Milverton spoke of the abundance of common- 
 sense in the world. 
 
 Mauleverer. It is useless to inlerru])t enthusiasts.
 
 26 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 You do not seem to perceive the irruption of vulgarity, 
 and consequently of stupidity, which has come upon 
 mankind. The world has become a puffing, advertising, 
 quack-adoring world. Its essence is of the shop, 
 shoppy. Its main object is to buy something for 
 three farthings and sell it for a penny. You can't 
 expect anything great or chivalrous from such people. 
 Milverton's rage against competition would cease if he 
 once perceived that it is a necessary consequence of 
 the vulgarity I speak of. You can't go against the 
 Spirit of the Age — it is too strong for you. I am 
 amused by your talk, but it js not worth while to 
 interrupt it by offering the objections which stern facts 
 would present. 
 
 EUesmere. I will interpret Milverton's sigh. It was 
 a sigh of surprise and vexation that anybody should 
 indirectly laud past times so much — chivalrous times, 
 when everybody persecuted everybody — when innumer- 
 able people were hanged for small offences ; and when, 
 to go further back, the world was filled by what may 
 be called private wars. What though advertisements 
 cumber and deface all railway stations ; what though 
 suburban houses, of a kind of architecture which can 
 only be called suburban, are built, instead of grand 
 cathedrals; what though flourishing tradesmen become 
 the lords of the world ; what though, as Mauleverer 
 informed ./ne in a walk yesterday, there is no fitting place 
 now, in any part of the world, for a gentleman to live in
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 27 
 
 (he might have excepted Africa, I think), I still have 
 the audacity to prefer the days in which we live, to those 
 of any previous period. 
 
 Cranmer. Quite right for you, Ellesmere ; for, as we 
 have said before, you would have been beheaded, or 
 burnt, in any of the choice periods of history. 
 
 Ellestnere. And what would have become of the rest 
 of you? I don't know any man more certain to have 
 been burnt, in what you call the good old times, than 
 Milverton. 
 
 Milverioti. I wish you would not go on with this 
 vague and useless comparison of the present with the 
 past. What I want to see is whether we could not make 
 a better thing of the present and the future. 
 
 Now it seems to me that he would be the greatest 
 man who, in this age, could find employment for the 
 unemployed, who could make use of the enormous 
 amount of unused faculty in the world. 
 
 Sir Ari/iur. Doubtless that would be a grand opera- 
 tion. 
 
 Maiileverer. Yes : to produce a host of busy-bodies. 
 
 Ellesmere. Nothing is more unwelcome, I know, 
 than to show that a man is inconsistent. I am about to 
 undertake that unpleasant function. Milverton spoke 
 just now of the quantity of common-sense in the world; 
 of the number of persons who would be improvers if only 
 the old forms and usages of this law- ridden country 
 
 Cranmer. There was the sting, " law-ridden."
 
 28 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 FJlesmere. if the old forms and usages of this 
 
 law-ridden country did not prevent these good people 
 from doing this good work. 
 
 Now, if there is anybody who is dissatisfied with 
 railway administration, Milverton is that person. He is 
 always pointing out to me signal improvements that 
 might be made in that kind of administration. Yet here 
 are some of his common-sense people — some of the 
 people who would do such marvellous things if there 
 were Enabling Bills to enable them to do so, if they 
 were not law-ridden. 
 
 Milverton. I am not in the least degree disconcerted. 
 The choice of those people is made in the way that I 
 have always protested against. It is made by interest 
 and canvassing. Men who have some portion of that 
 wondrous talent — the first in the world — namely, the 
 talent of organization, are not found out in this way, any 
 more than they are by competitive examination. 
 
 EUesmere. Then how are we to know about these 
 masters of mankind ? 
 
 Milverton. There is but one mode, and that is by the 
 appreciation of their fellow-men. I do not contend that 
 this will always discover the right man ; but it is the best 
 mode that we have. And what I do contend for is, that 
 human beings are, upon the whole, very good judges of 
 other human beings. You see this, pre-eminently, 
 amongst boys at school. The boy is not affected by 
 any of those sinister influences which, in after manhood,
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 29 
 
 so fearfully interfere with his right choice of men to 
 represent him and to act for him in every capacity. 
 Looking back upon my early days, I can see that the 
 boys were hardly ever wrong. They knew who was the 
 boy who had firmness, or courage, or consistency, or 
 capacity. Later on in life they submit to all those 
 sinister influences to which I have alluded. 
 
 I believe that almost the greatest improvement we 
 could desire for ourselves, and for our fellow-men, would 
 be, that we should act in the choice of men with that 
 exquisite sincerity and simplicity with which boys, and 
 youths, designate those who should be pre eminent 
 amongst their fellows. 
 
 You taunt me, Ellesmere, with the choice that is made 
 of railway directors. Do not suppose that very able men 
 are not occasionally chosen ; but, as the choice of the 
 main body is made upon motives and influences which 
 ought to have no weight in the choosing, the few fit 
 men are apt to be overwhelmed and suppressed by their 
 comrades. I think, Ellesmere, that I have answered 
 your attack upon my consistency ; but I will go further, 
 and I must say that one of the drawbacks upon judicious 
 progress in this present age, one of the main drawbacks, 
 has been the submitting to almost mechanical means 
 that great function of the choice of men by their fellow- 
 men. \\\ earlier days there was a most careful out-look 
 maintained by eminent people in high position to 
 discover and discern who, amongst the youiig, were the
 
 30 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 right persons to be brought forward. The fact was most 
 discernible in politics ; but the principle upon which 
 political choice was made, was dominant also in other 
 regions of thought and action. 
 
 Sir AriJnir. I quite agree with you, Milverton. I 
 remember how I was trotted out, to use a horse dealer's 
 expression, at Holland House. 
 
 Milverton. You see, Sir Arthur, the natural indolence 
 of men favours the rise and progress of any system 
 which should enable men to choose from among their 
 fellow-men without the severe labour of watching and 
 thinking. I knew of an instance in earlier days in 
 which the most scrupulous attention was paid to ensure 
 the good choice of men for an honorary distinction. The 
 persons who might be considered as likely to be candi- 
 dates were watched beforehand for months. Adventi- 
 tious circumstances of all kinds, such as their wealth, 
 their rank, their honours, or want of honours, at their 
 universities, were studiously disregarded. The only 
 object was to find out a really capable man — and those 
 to whom the right of choice was confided generally found 
 him. If I were to tell you whom they chose, you would 
 admit that their power of choosing was somewhat 
 surprising. That sort of earnestness and sincerity as 
 regards the choice of men, if generally carried out, 
 would prove, I am convinced, a greater advantage to the 
 world than almost any other improvement that could be 
 named.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 31 
 
 Ellesimre. I should place great faith in the choice 
 made by animals, who, like boys, seem to me to dis- 
 regard all the baser influences. / never feed Fairy, but 
 she always prefers walking out with me to going with 
 anybody else. First dogs, then boys, then girls, then 
 philosophers, though there is a vast interval between the 
 sagacity of the last-named and that of the rest — these 
 are the creatures to whom I should entrust the choice of 
 men to fill the highest situations. So Fairy and I are 
 going out together, the rest of you may come if you 
 like. 
 
 Craiimer. Wait a minute. I know, Milverton, that 
 you would thoroughly dislike any inaccuracy in any 
 statement you might make. In your essay you said 
 something about the increased difficulty of curing 
 wounds in hospitals, and you attributed this difficulty 
 to a continuous deterioration of the London air. Now 
 I believe the fact is, that increased observation has led 
 medical men to perceive that any agglomeration of sick 
 persons has an injurious elfect upon all of them, and 
 tends to prevent rapid cure. 
 
 Milverton. I do not know whether you are right or 
 wrong in this assertion ; but, at any rate, I am very glad 
 that you have made it. I accept it, for the moment, as 
 a correction. 
 
 Maulei>ei'cr. All of you are prone to accuse me of 
 silence during your discourse ; and jou assume that it is 
 a malicious silence. I really cannot help differing from
 
 32 SOCIAL PRESSURE, 
 
 you all intensely, and I feel that anything I say is 
 thought to be unsympathetic, odd, irrelevant. 
 
 Elksmere. Nevertheless, say on. 
 
 Maulevercr. I do not' expect that you will agree 
 ■\vidi me in the least, but I contend that the main 
 evil, which Milverton has been discussing, arises from 
 those foolish inventions which you all think so much 
 of, and upon which, indeed, you pride yourselves as 
 much as if you had been the authors of them. 
 
 A shrewd man sees a kettle boil, and others adapt 
 the thing called steam to locomotive purposes ; and 
 forthwith every fool goes everywhere, for what he calls 
 his holidays, but which, indeed, are his most laborious 
 days. Ultimately he sticks himself down in a place, 
 where he finds the greatest number of people like 
 himself. Hence these huge cities ! 
 
 Another inventor screws light out of coals — so the 
 people turn night into day, which is a very bad thing 
 for them ; and, moreover, it introduces a noxious 
 element into their houses and theatres. 
 
 Another fellow contrives something which enables 
 one to talk at once to another person, however distant 
 he may be. Now the majority of human beings, I 
 suppose you will own, are foolish. It is very un- 
 desirable that fools should communicate much and 
 rapidly with one another. I am against all inventions 
 but one. 
 
 Ellesmere. Let us hear what is that one.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 33 
 
 Mauleverer. The invention of anaesthetics. I must 
 own that this was a really useful invention. Every 
 other has been noxious. 
 
 Sir ArtJiur. He is not so far wrong about the effects 
 of rapid a»d easy locomotion. I suppose it has greatly 
 aided in centralizing population. 
 
 Milverton. It is useless to attempt to answer such 
 extravagance of statement, when it merely illustrates the 
 commonplace remark, that nothing is wholly good. 
 
 Ellesmere. Then, I suppose, we may break up our 
 conference, as it appears that nobody but Sir Arthur is 
 at all willing to accept Mauleverer's proposition as the 
 true solution of the difficulty. For my own part, I 
 think that where one foolish person locates himself, 
 another foolish person is sure to wish for such a 
 neighbour, and to locate himself there too; but I do 
 not lay all the blame of this upon inventors. Let 
 us not, however, waste this fine day.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 /^UR next meeting was again in the 
 library. The benevolent owner of the 
 house had left his book-cases open, to the 
 great delight of the " Friends," and they 
 were walking about the room examining the 
 books. 
 
 EUesnwe. When one looks at another man's library, 
 how sure one is to find lots of books that one had never 
 even heard of. Now here is an early novel of Shelley's. 
 After you went to bed last night, I read a great deal of 
 it. It is one of the most absurd books that ever was 
 written, full of stupid horrors — Mrs. Radclifi'e run mad. 
 
 Sir Arthur. Except in the case of the greatest 
 authors, you will almost always find that even an author 
 of much and just renown has written, in his early days, 
 something of stupendous absurdity. 
 
 Milverton. They are impressible creatures. They 
 take the tone of some previous writer, and, having no
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 35 
 
 gift for that kind of writing, make an exaggerated 
 copy of something which was originally bad ; for good 
 taste is a thing which comes by long cultivation. 
 
 Sir Arthur. This is evidently an old library, which 
 has been formed by successive generations. I so much 
 regret that the great book collectors (except in America) 
 seem to be an extinct race. 
 
 Milverton. Ah ! that is indeed a misfortune ! Any 
 one who has had to make historical researches knows 
 of what use these collectors have been. They have 
 preserved the most useful records, having, perhaps, 
 themselves, no other motive for collecting but the 
 appreciation of rarity and curiousness. 
 
 Sir Arthur. People do not love books now as they 
 used to do. 
 
 Milverton. A great misfortune ! 
 
 Cranmer. But what is the cause of it ? 
 
 Milverton. I think I can tell you : the lending- 
 libraries. 
 
 Elks mere. I don't see the misfortune, 
 
 Milverton. I do. A man never gets so much good 
 out of a book, as when he possesses it. This possession 
 tends to accuracy. A man now tells you he has read 
 something somewhere ; but his knowledge of the so- 
 called fact, if it be a fact, is very vague and uncertain. 
 If you look at the side-notes in manuscript of some 
 book possessed by our book loving ancestors, you 
 will be astonished at the quantity of accurate know-
 
 36 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 ledge, and of the fitness of remark, which those notes 
 disclose. 
 
 Ellesmere. But, my dear fellow, only think of the 
 quantity of trash which that man would possess, who 
 should buy every book that he reads in these days. 
 
 Milverio?!. I admit that ; but, on the other hand, I 
 think it is often a pity that men do not buy those books 
 in which they have felt the least real interest. They are 
 nearly sure to wish to refer to them again. The books 
 are not at hand ; and so the readers miss the attaining 
 and securing some accurate knowledge. 
 
 Sir Arihur. In the estimation of collectors, crockery- 
 ware seems now to have taken the place of books. 
 
 Milverton. If we are to take a walk this afternoon, I 
 must ask you to sit down and hear at once what I have 
 to say in that portion of the manuscript which you 
 would not hear yesterday. 
 
 Previously, however, there is one point upon which 
 I have to claim your indulgence. I have often spoken 
 to you upon matters kindred to, or, at any rate, not 
 distantly connected with, my subject for this Easter. 
 You must not, therefore, be surprised if I occasionally 
 repeat myself, and fortify my views by some fact which 
 I have stated before. 
 
 There is a time of life when one is chiefly employed 
 in acquiring facts : there is another time of life when 
 one is chiefly employed in applying those facts. In my 
 early days I was never satisfied without going to examine
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 37 
 
 the facts for myself. I have visited, unknown and 
 unobserved, the most squalid and horrible portions of 
 great towns, both here and abroad. I have practically 
 made myself acquainted with drains and sewers of all 
 kinds. I sometimes wonder that I am alive to tell the 
 tale. I cannot carry on these investigations any more ; 
 and I only make this statement to you now, in order 
 that you may forgive me, especially EUesmere, for doing 
 what I know he particularly dislikes — namely, making 
 reference to the same fact, in the same words, which he 
 has, perhaps, often heard me use before. 
 
 Mr. ]\Iilverton then read the following : — 
 
 Our remote ancestors had a keen idea of 
 the evils of which we are speaking ; and, in 
 their rude way, did not fail to attempt reme- 
 dies. There is a statute made by one of our 
 earliest parliaments, of which I am sorry to 
 say that I do not remember the whole sub- 
 stance and purport, but it begins in the 
 following manner: " Si homme fait candells 
 dens ung vill ; " and it goes on afterwards 
 to restrict as much as possible the man who 
 makes "candells" from causing nuisance 
 and mischief to his immediate neighbours.
 
 38 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 There might, in modern times, be a good 
 many acts of Parliament, having for their 
 object one similar to that of the old Anglo- 
 Norman act, the beginning of which I have 
 quoted just now. They might also begin 
 in the same charmingly abrupt way: "Si 
 homme nourrit pores, or vaches de milk, or 
 vends oysters, he shall be bound to prevent 
 his trade from becoming noxious to his 
 neighbouring fellow-mortals." 
 
 Now it will astonish most of my hearers 
 that I have included the vending of oysters 
 amongst noxious trades ; and what I am 
 going to narrate will show how needful it 
 is to watch carefully over even small trans- 
 actions in human life, when these transac- 
 tions take place amidst a great agglomera- 
 tion of human beings. At a former time, 
 when this country was threatened by an 
 invasion of cholera, a committee of persons 
 was formed, who were supposed to have 
 some skill in sanitar)^ science, to report to 
 the Government of the day what measures 
 should, in the opinion of this committee,
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 39 
 
 be adopted to prevent, or mitigate, the evils 
 of this disease. I was one of those persons. 
 Naturally we were glad to have evidence 
 from the police of London, who know more 
 of what goes on amongst the people than 
 any other persons. We found that a most 
 deadly fever had originated from the pre- 
 mises of one of the greatest vendors of 
 oysters in the centre of the metropolis. 
 Attached to his premises there was a large 
 subterranean place where he deposited his 
 oyster-shells. This place was connected 
 with the sewers. The small portions of 
 animal matter left in the under shells became 
 putrescent ; and, from the huge mass of 
 them which had accumulated in that sub- 
 terranean place, there finally arose a stench 
 of the most horrible nature, which came up 
 through all the neighbouring gratings, and 
 most probably into some of the neighbour- 
 ing houses. Many of the houses in London 
 are so ill-provided with traps and other 
 means of separation from the sewers, that, 
 in certain states of the atmosphere, these
 
 40 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 houses are but vertical portions of the hori- 
 zontal sewers. 
 
 Now does not this one fact show what 
 constant vigilance it requires to preserve the 
 public health in a great city ? It must be 
 remembered, a fact I would impress upon 
 my hearers, that, in a great city, everything 
 has to be made outwardly decorous. And 
 this, which seems at first so good a thing, 
 is in reality an immense disadvantage. For 
 the evil you see, you can guard against, 
 or, at least, you know about It ; but who, in 
 a great city, knows the pitfalls, as It were, 
 of disease which are in waiting for his finer 
 senses, though not submitted to his eyesight ? 
 The danger from the accumulation of these 
 oyster-shells was not known to myself, or 
 even to any of my colleagues, versed as they 
 were In sanitary matters. Of course I can-, 
 not prove that this fever was the result of 
 this accumulation of shells, but I believe it 
 was, and such was the belief of those persons 
 who, at that time, investigated the matter. 
 
 Surely, it would not be too much to say
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 41 
 
 that, in the present time, restrictions should 
 .be made, similar to those which exist in the 
 old act from which I have quoted, and 
 which might exist in the acts I have ima- 
 gined, that might gradually have the effect 
 of removing all noxious trades from London 
 and its immediate vicinity. I know that 
 this might be thought to militate against 
 what are called sound notions of political 
 economy; and I say to you now, as I have 
 said to you before, almost in the same 
 words, that he would be a bold man who 
 should venture to declare upon what sub- 
 ject of human thought and endeavour the 
 greatest nonsense has been talked and 
 written. I will, however, " hazard a wide 
 solution," and boldly maintain that it is 
 upon political economy that the greatest 
 nonsense has been said and written. I know 
 the potent claims of theology in this respect 
 — of the great claims also of law, of medi- 
 cine, of love, of art ; but then these have 
 been perennial subjects, whereas political 
 economy is a creature of modern times;
 
 42 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 and, considering- the short period during 
 which it has made a noise upon this earth, 
 it must, I think, be confessed that more 
 nonsense has been written and talked about 
 it than about anything else. 
 
 Now the political economist has a great 
 horror of what he calls " Paternal Govern- 
 ment." He says this paternal government 
 was all ver}^ well in former ages, bar- 
 barous ages, when men were few upon the 
 face of the earth ; but it has no claim to 
 be here now. We have done with all that 
 kind of thing. " That Supply will follow De- 
 mand," and " Let the buyer beware," are our 
 maxims now. On the contrary, I venture to 
 declare a maxim which I believe to be true, 
 namely, that never is paternal government 
 so needful, as when civilization Is most 
 advanced. 
 
 The more advanced the civilization, the 
 less powerful is the individual, and the 
 more he requires to have a careful father 
 who should look after him and befriend 
 him. He has become, as I intimated
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 43 
 
 before, a part of a machine ; and there is 
 great need that the regulator of the machine 
 should be a - living, acting, forcible crea- 
 ture, who should have a feeling for all 
 the separate parts of the machine he 
 regulates. 
 
 To drop all metaphor, does not a human 
 being living in a great town like London, 
 require that the State should fight his 
 battle against a thousand opposing intcests 
 with more vigour and more prescience than 
 when he is a powerful unit in a small com- 
 munity ? 
 
 We have been considering what should 
 prevent the ingress, into such great towns 
 as London, of noxious trades, or facilitate 
 their egress. This, however, is, of course, 
 but a small part of the question. The 
 main object is to see what can be done 
 to render this vast agglomeration of ani- 
 mate and inanimate beings less embarrass- 
 ing and injurious. The first thing that 
 must occur to almost every mind is the 
 necessity for preserving open spaces, and
 
 44 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 even of creating- them. A great philan- 
 thropist has lately astonished the world by 
 giving it large sums of money during his 
 lifetime.* The purposes to which he 
 devoted that money are admirable. But 
 perhaps even a larger and more beneficent 
 purpose would be found in the creation 
 of open spaces. London is often likened 
 to Babylon ; but the similitude is a very 
 unjust one as regards the city of Nitocris 
 and Semiramis, for Babylon had just what, 
 in its densest parts, is deficient in London. 
 We are told that Babylon contained within 
 its walls land sufficient for agricultural 
 purposes to enable the inhabitants of that 
 city to be fed by those resources during 
 a siege. We are also told that there were 
 such breaks of continuity within the city, 
 that, upon its being- taken by Cyrus, the 
 inhabitants of some parts of the city were 
 not aware for several days of its having- been 
 
 * This portion of the essay was prepared while Mr. Peabody, 
 who was a dear and much valued friend of Mr. Milverton, 
 was alive.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 45 
 
 taken. Granted that these statements are 
 exaggerations, it is still but fair to con- 
 jecture that Babylon was a city entirely 
 different from London in the number and 
 extent of its open spaces. 
 
 Damascus affords another instance of a 
 great city, one of the oldest in the world, 
 which, from the presence of large gardens 
 within its boundaries, forms a most pleasing 
 contrast to London and other modern cities. 
 
 Another evil of great towns is noise. 
 There is the common proverb, that "half 
 the world does not know how the other 
 half lives," which perhaps would be a more 
 effective saying, if the word suffers were 
 substituted for 'lives.' It is probable that 
 there is no form of human suffering which 
 meets with less sympathy or regard from 
 those who do not suffer from it, than the 
 suffering caused by noise. 
 
 {Ellesmcre. Hear, hear.) 
 The man of hard, well - strung, healthy
 
 46 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 nerves can scarcely Imagine the keen dis- 
 tress which men of sensitive nerves endure 
 from ill-regulated noise — how they literally 
 quiver and shiver under it. Now, of course, 
 the larger the town, the more varied and 
 the more abundant is the noise in it. Even 
 the domestic noises are dreadful to the man 
 of acute nervous sensibility. If he is a 
 father of a family, he learns to bear with 
 something like fortitude the practising of his 
 own daughters on the piano ; but it seems 
 hard that he should have to hear the 
 practising of his neighbours' daughters on 
 that formidable instrument; and when, for 
 the sixth time, he hears C flat instead of 
 C sharp played in an adjacent house, he 
 is very apt to be distracted from his work, 
 and very much inclined to utter unbecoming 
 language. This is but a single instance 
 of the terrors and horrors of ill-regulated 
 noise ; but in a huge town such as London 
 or Paris, similar noises abound of 'a multi- 
 farious description. It has always greatly 
 surprised me that so much intellectual work
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 47 
 
 is done so well as it Is done in these huge 
 cities. 
 
 An answer, apparently a ready answer, 
 can be made to this remark by any one, if 
 such a one there be, who cares to defend 
 these large masses of population. He would 
 say, "The evil you complain of is not 
 confined to great towns ; but exists in all 
 towns." Yes, I reply, to a certain extent; 
 but not in such multifarious and oppressive 
 variety; nor even v/ith such intensity; for 
 it may be observed that in these very 
 large towns building is of a very rapid 
 growth, and is less substantial than else- 
 where. 
 
 This brings me to another branch of 
 the subject, and a very important one. In 
 these great towns, as it has before been 
 intimated, there are very few homes for 
 those of the richer classes. In fact, almost 
 all their houses must be looked upon, to 
 a certain degree, as offices — offices for 
 pleasure, if not for business. Consequently, 
 hardly any inhabitant of these very great
 
 48 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 towns has cared to build, or, even if he 
 has cared, has been able to build, a house 
 as if it were to be his home. We are 
 all living- in London somewhat like soldiers 
 in tents, or like Eastern travellers in 
 caravanserais. It was a shrewd remark 
 of a very shrewd man,* that if, for a short 
 time, on account of foreign occupation or 
 some other cause, London were to be 
 abandoned by its population, it would fall 
 during that time into a state of ruin which 
 would astonish the world. This unsub- 
 stantiality tends very much to aggravate 
 many of the evils we have been consider- 
 ing ; and it is consequent upon the large- 
 ness, the unwieldiness, and the temporary 
 nature of habitation in these great centres 
 of population. 
 
 The worst and most disheartening point 
 with regard to providing remedies for the 
 improvement of great modern towns is 
 this — namely, that the course of modern 
 
 * Sir Henry Taylor.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 49 
 
 thought and modern life is set against 
 these improvements. The tendency is more 
 and more to promote individual effort with 
 a view to individual comfort and individual 
 wealth. It was not always so, or, at least, 
 not always so to the same extent. The 
 existence of great cathedrals is a proof 
 of this statem.ent. These cathedrals are, 
 according to our modern notions, greatly 
 disproportionate to the houses and the 
 mode of life generally of those pious men 
 who erected such cathedrals. It is evident 
 that, in their time, the efforts to be made 
 for some great public purpose, were held 
 to be of the first necessity ; and we can 
 hardly doubt that if those great men of 
 the olden time had possessed the sanitary 
 and scientific knowledge which we possess 
 in these days, they would have found time, 
 money, and labour to provide for the great 
 requisites of life when numbers of persons 
 are living together in close community. 
 
 When they did perceive that such things 
 were requisite, we have reason to believe
 
 50 SOCIAL JPRESSURE. 
 
 that they did not hesitate to embark in the 
 greatest undertakings. For instance, the 
 embankment of the Thames, a work of the 
 greatest magnitude, was undertaken at such 
 an early period of English or British history, 
 that no historical records remain of this 
 great transaction. We can only discern 
 that It has been done : we cannot say 
 v/hen, or by whom, It was done. 
 
 Now there are many persons who will at 
 once say that it is Utopian and chimerical 
 even to hope that a change may come over 
 the spirit of our dream as to what should 
 be some of the first objects in life. We 
 think, conceited creatures as we are, that 
 there is no life that can be lived so skilful 
 and judicious, and, above all, so comfortable, 
 as that which our present modes of thought 
 render almost inevitable. I really believe 
 that there are many amongst us who think 
 that if, amidst the myriads of planets with 
 w^hich the universe Is probably peopled, 
 there Is one which. In Its physical history 
 and circumstances, closely resembles our
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 51 
 
 own, things must have gone on in that 
 planet much as they have in ours ; and 
 that, at a period in its history correspond- 
 ing to the present one in ours, its in- 
 habitants will have come to the conclusion 
 that effort for the individual is everything, 
 and for the State nothing. 
 
 But I venture to imagine that it is not 
 so. And, even in this planet, should there 
 come again a great soul, one of those beings 
 • who makes his appearance about once in a 
 thousand years, he might propound ideas 
 which should shiver into atoms some of our 
 present most potent ideas ; and, especially 
 with reference to this subject, might con- 
 vince the world that the first thing to be 
 done when any great number of people are 
 congregated, or are to be congregated, in 
 any one spot, is that provision should be 
 made, both at the outset, and also by con- 
 tinuous and consecutive effort, for those 
 great requisites, without which in great 
 towns the life of man will always be bar- 
 barous, squalid, and most unsatisfactor}^
 
 52 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 It is to be noticed that our present ideas 
 of life do not furnish the means of enabling- 
 us to construct great cities (even when we 
 have the beginning of the work in our own 
 hands) with the primary requisites for health, 
 beauty, comfort, and grandeur. As a proof 
 of this, I may cite such a town as New York, 
 in which we are told that disease and squalid 
 miser}^ of all kinds are as abundant, and, 
 for the most part, as unchecked, as they ever 
 were, or are, in any of the great towns of 
 the Old World. 
 
 I will now say something to which I espe- 
 cially entreat attention, because I think it 
 goes to the root of the matter. Why do 
 men desire individual prosperity so much ? 
 It is seldom for themselves. The founders 
 of great fortunes and great families are 
 mostly men of very simple habits, and with 
 very little inclination for expense.. In fact, 
 they have had no time or thought to spare 
 for indulging in expense. Expensive habits 
 occupy time. Now, why is it that these 
 men, and, indeed, almost all working men
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 53 
 
 in modern communities, are anxious to 
 accumulate fortunes? It Is for their chil- 
 dren. And why do they desire it so in- 
 tensely for their children ? It is not always 
 because they wish to make those children 
 eminent among the sons of men. If they 
 were probed as to their motives, they would 
 probably confess to you that they think 
 their own career has been a beautiful and 
 becoming career — a career of continuous 
 labour, and of continuous command. In 
 their "heart of heart" (that Is the proper 
 way of making the quotation) they would 
 desire such a career for those who come after 
 them. But they see, and have generally expe- 
 rienced, the hideous difficulty and squalldity 
 which beset those who are placed low down 
 in the world, and they say to themselve.\ 
 " We cannot afford to work much for the 
 public : we must provide for those who are 
 our issue." For example, and to bring this 
 point home to the present subject, they 
 know the degradations and the horrors 
 which beset the poor in great towns. They
 
 54 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 know the immense difficulty that it is for 
 any human being, without capital, to ensure 
 himself a living ; and, naturally enough, 
 they direct all, or the greatest part of, their 
 efforts to insure a most favourable stand- 
 point for their children. 
 
 But now, for a moment, exercise your 
 imagination, and conceive, if you can, a 
 better state of things pervading human life. 
 Imagine that there were no such depths of 
 degradation as are to be found in great 
 cities. Every improvement that is made in 
 this respect would diminish, if but slightly, 
 the wild desire that men at present have, 
 to devote themselves to family interests. 
 
 The foregoing must not be confounded 
 with purely communistic theories. All I 
 contend for is this, that if we could raise 
 the scale of comfort in the humblest portion 
 of the community — if, for instance, we 
 could prevent the extreme squalidity of 
 great towns — we should diminish the ex- 
 cessive anxiety which parents at present 
 feel to provide good positions for their
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 55 
 
 children, and should divert a little of that 
 energy, which now is given often exclu- 
 sively to private and family interests, to 
 the public welfare. And when we consider 
 over what a large area of thought and 
 labour this impulse would act, it might give 
 us a hope of many things being done for the 
 public, which now it is Utopian to imagine. 
 
 To return for a moment to much smaller 
 questions, there are many modes of ren- 
 dering modern towns more beautiful and 
 comfortable than they have ever been, 
 which have, hitherto, been totally neglected. 
 For example, we live in a very rainy 
 and a very capricious climate. Often, for 
 the sick, the delicate, and even for the 
 strong, it is almost impossible to take much 
 exercise for many days in the course of 
 the year. I have often thought that in 
 various quarters of the town there should 
 be raised buildings partially covered in, 
 which should enable those in the neigh- 
 bourhood to take exercise with freedom 
 both from bitter winds and driviirg rains —
 
 56 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 in fact, an elevated kind of cloister. To 
 this good design I would venture to add, 
 that some amusement and recreation ipight 
 be provided — especially of a musical kind. 
 Such a proposal is just one of those things 
 which admits of great ridicule until it has 
 been carried into effect. And, then, per- 
 haps, everybody would acknowledge its 
 merits. It would probably counteract the 
 attractions even of the gin-palace, which, 
 I think you will admit, gives the least 
 amount of enjoyment for the amount of 
 money spent in it, of any form of enjoy- 
 ment which has ever been devised. My 
 hearers will estimate the force of this 
 statement, when it is remembered that there 
 are not even seats provided for the fre- 
 quenters of gin-palaces. They stare at 
 unmeaning ornament, swallow their modi- 
 cum of liquor, and depart. Now one of 
 the first objects in providing such refresh- 
 ments, should be to make them occupy 
 some time. If not, the drinkers return, 
 perhaps quickly, for more.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 57 
 
 In reviewing this essay, I feel that there 
 are many topics which have not been 
 touched upon at all, and others which 
 have only been slig-htly noticed. For ex- 
 ample, the state of crime, and the facilities 
 afforded for crime, in these huge modern 
 cities, have not been touched- upon. More- 
 over, the political aspect of the subject 
 has not been approached. Yet it is a 
 very sad thing to consider, that such is 
 the construction' of our cities, that men 
 cannot meet together to protest against 
 any political grievance, real or imaginary, 
 but there is danger of riot or revolution, 
 or at least of enormous disturbance to the 
 quiet and peaceful inhabitants of the city 
 who have nothing to protest against. In- 
 stead of discountenancing such political 
 manifestations, or allowing them to proceed 
 to the great annoyance and hindrance of 
 those who do not feel the so-called political 
 grievance, it should be provided in a free 
 country, and especially in the metropolis 
 of that country, that its citizens should be
 
 58 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 able to make what the Spaniards call a 
 Prouunciamicnto^ without any risk of dis- 
 turbing the public peace, or of impeding- the 
 ordinary pursuits of those who do not wish 
 to join in the ProniinciaDiicnto. 
 
 EUesma-e. I am very sorry to say, as I have said 
 before, that there is one great defect in human nature — 
 namely, that the power of attention in any human mind 
 is a limited quantity. At any rate, it is so with me j 
 and so, after listening to an essay which has lasted 
 half an hour in delivery, and which has treated of at 
 least a dozen difficult subjects, I am dumb from sheer 
 exhaustion of mind, I propose, therefore, that we 
 should postpone any remarks we have to make upon 
 this essay until after dinner. 
 
 Sir John's proposal was readily agreed 
 to ; and we then separated until dinner- 
 time.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 T N the course of that evening Mr. MIl- 
 verton asked us whether we had any 
 remarks to make upon his essay ; and the 
 conversation thus began. 
 
 Sir Art/nir. Certainly, it is a most serious matter for 
 consideration, this increase of towns. I declare I think 
 it is one of the most serious in the world. I never 
 thought of it so before. Indeed, I am ashamed to say- 
 that I have sometimes taken a jesting view of it, and 
 have amused myself by prophesying, as we drove into 
 town, how this ugly lot of suburbs would join with that 
 ugly lot, and that there would soon be one continuous 
 street. 
 
 EUesmcre. What is one to say about it ? One likes 
 to make a sensible remark if one can, but I find 
 nothing in the way of remedy. Free men must build 
 where they like, and where they find it an advantage 
 to build. Business always tends to centralize itself.
 
 6o SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 Doctors lierd witli doctors, lawyers with lawyers, 
 merchants with merchants; and they choose the same 
 grazing-ground. 
 
 Milvcrton, Then you see everything in modern times 
 tends to a certain fixedness of place. In the days 
 of the Plantagenets, all the functionaries of government 
 were more errant, including the king and his court 
 and all his high officers. 
 
 Cranmcr. Do any of you remember a very elaborate 
 clause which there used to be in all old leases, and in 
 which were to be found such words as " lights, ease- 
 ments, privileges," arid the like ? There were a whole 
 host of such words. Now admitting, as we must 
 perforce admit, that the main part of the evil must 
 go on increasing, it is only in partial remedies that 
 I see any chance of our mitigating it. 
 
 Milvcrton. That is exactly what I intended to 
 convey to you. 
 
 Sir Arthur. People fash themselves about such 
 dim and distant dangers as the supply of coal failing us ; 
 but I see now that this rapid increase of great towns 
 is a much more pressing cause for apprehension. 
 
 Milverto7i. To return to Cranmer's " lights, ease- 
 ments, and privileges," I never see a foot of ground 
 encroached upon that might be, and ought to be, kept 
 as an open space for public purposes, but it makes 
 my heart ache for future times. 
 
 Sir Arthur. Forethought is what is wanted.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 6i 
 
 Milvertofi. I always think it a cruel thing for the 
 future population of this country when any crown land 
 is let for building purposes. That land should be held 
 by the public for the public, due compensation being 
 made to the Crown for this disadvantageous use — dis- 
 advantageous in a pecuniary sense — of its property. 
 
 I wonder if any benevolent and foreseeing man had 
 long ago bought and dedicated to the public a vacant 
 space of ground in the midst of, or near to, a great 
 town, and had bequeathed money to maintain this 
 vacant space in due neatness and order, whether his 
 bequest would have been maintained intact. I fear 
 not. The Church, or the Sovereign, or that department 
 in the State which had to deal with education, or 
 Commissioners of some kind or other, would have been 
 nearly sure to seize upon this wise bequest, and to 
 devote it to alien purposes. Yet it may be fairly 
 questioned, whether any use that could be made of it, 
 such as a church, a palace, or a school, being built 
 u])on it, could have equalled in real utility, and in the 
 benefit to be conferred upon mankind, that of leaving 
 the open space alone, and so making the most of it, though 
 indirectly, for the high purposes of health, education, or 
 religion. The future would have been nearly certain to 
 be sacrificed to the present ; for the spoliators (such I 
 must call them) would probably be deficient in those 
 powers of imagination which, if duly exercised, would 
 teach men that one of tlie grandest objects of bcnevo-
 
 62 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 lence, is to provide for the future these vacant spaces in 
 the midst of, or neighbouring to, the great centres 
 of population. 
 
 EUcsvierc. I never was familiar with this part of the 
 country before I took this house. Since I have been 
 here I have perambulated the whole locality ; and an 
 idea has come into my mind of which I think our* 
 essayist will thoroughly approve. By the way, Mil- 
 verton, who manages all the Crown property about here ? 
 
 Milverton. The Wood^ and Forests, 
 
 E/ksmere. Then I wish I were a lord of the Woods 
 and Forests, and I will tell you what I would do. Do 
 you know that ground between Kew Gardens and the 
 town of Richmond ? 
 
 Sir Arthur. Yes. 
 
 Ellesmere. I believe it is about 800 acres in extent. 
 I should seize upon that, and use it at once for public 
 purposes. It would be a very good thing to enlarge 
 Kew Gardens : those gardens are an immense delight 
 to the public. Among other things, I want a great 
 vegetable garden to be made. You have your orchids, 
 and your palms, and your ferns. I do not grudge them 
 their space. You have, too, your " hardy medicinals," a 
 most useful and instructive collection, but I think that 
 my imagined vegetable garden would be even more 
 useful. 
 
 Milverton. I am quite with you, and I am very glad, 
 Ellesmere, that you look at the matter so seriously.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 63 
 
 Ellesmcre. I have still much larger and more 
 audacious ideas. I want part of that ground for a 
 recreation ground for the people. You must not think 
 me vulgar ; but where I have my recreation ground, it 
 must be recreation in every sense of the word. The 
 people must be fed as well as amused. 
 
 Cranvicr. You don't mean to feed them, Ellesmere, 
 at the public expense ? 
 
 Ellesmere. Pray don't be so utterly prosaic ; of course, 
 I only mean that they should have the means of pro- 
 viding food for themselves. This cannot be done in the 
 exquisitely-kept gardens of Kew, but might be done in 
 the ground outside it. Then there should be music. 
 
 I believe that even the philosophers and grand 
 botanists who come to delight in, and be instructed by, 
 the plants at Kew, would often wander off to my part of 
 the added grounds, to refresh their " wearied virtue." I 
 have observed that philosophers have generally good 
 appetites. Those who work their brains are mostly of 
 the cormorant species, else they would shrivel up, and 
 degenerate into ordinary mortals. 
 
 But now come with me, and let us look at the ground. 
 
 I declare that, if I could afford it, I would rent that 
 ground from the Woods and Forests, and lay it out on 
 my own account. But see, wonders will never cease. 
 Milverton is getting his hat to come with us. When 
 that man has an object, it is astonishing what ambulatory 
 powers he can develop. Merely to enjoy the pleasure
 
 64 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 of our society, he wouldn't walk half a mile. But come 
 along, and let us step out. The ladies will come with us, 
 too, for when there is anything like festivity, if it is only 
 to be imagined, they are sure to be to the fore. 
 
 We were all pleased at the project of 
 this excursion, as Mr. Milverton called it ; 
 and, boldly trespassing, spent a very- 
 pleasant afternoon in those grounds which 
 Sir John had described, and which we 
 peopled in our imagination with groups 
 of happy holiday-makers, who, according 
 to Sir John Ellesmere, were to be "well- 
 fed, well-danced, and to enjoy themselves 
 in every way."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 T T may have been noticed that in the 
 course of the previous conversations, 
 Sir John Ellesmere has not been quite 
 like his usual self. He has taken fewer 
 exceptions than he was wont to take, has 
 viewed the matter in hand more gravely ; 
 and, to speak with plainness, has been less 
 tiresome, as a disputant, than he was wont 
 to be. 
 
 The cause, I believe, of this change, is 
 that Lady Ellesmere has, of late, been 
 ailing. It seems strange to me that this 
 should alter a man's views and modes of 
 expression ; but I suppose I have never 
 been in love, and cannot tell what It is, 
 to be dependent, intellectually speaking, 
 upon the health or happiness of some other 
 
 F
 
 66 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 person. However, so it was with Sir John. 
 But to day, in his walk, accompanied by 
 Mr. Cranmer, Mr. Mauleverer, and myself, 
 he seemed to resume a great deal of his 
 former gaiety of heart and perverseness of 
 opposition. Lady Ellesmere was better. 
 
 It is almost impossible to narrate, accu- 
 rately, vague and varied talk. But one 
 remembers those portions of it which are 
 clear and distinct ; and where the subject 
 matter is interesting. I cannot tell how 
 we came to the point at which Sir John 
 began to describe a character which he 
 lauded highly ; but I will now give his 
 own words. 
 
 Eihsffiere. I mean, you know, the man who looks up 
 to himself. 
 
 Cratwier. An egotistical fellow ! 
 
 Ellesviere. No, Cranmer, that is exactly what I do 
 not mean. An " egotistical fellow," as you call him, is 
 not thoroughly assured about himself. He presses 
 forward with his " I, I, I," simply because, perhaps 
 unjustly, you do not recognise that " I " sufficiently. But 
 my man, who looks up to himself, is a fellow who values
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 67 
 
 his own opinions extremely — not because they are his 
 opinions, but because they are portions of the truth, as 
 he deems them to be, and because he has formed them 
 with much care and labour. It is, intellectual!}', that he 
 looks up to himself. 
 
 Maulevcrer. There is a mysterious and indomitable 
 pride for which it is very difficult to assign the origin. 
 It is not the pride of birth, or rank, or riches, or beauty, 
 or intellect. The persons in question, who are thus 
 proud, would scout the idea, and with justice, of their 
 priding themselves upon any of these qualifications. 
 The truth is, they are proud of their pride, and nothing 
 more can be said about it. They evidently think it is a 
 fine thing to be proud. 
 
 Elksmere. No, I do not mean anything of this kind. 
 My man, who looks up to himself, may not be a proud 
 man in any way. I must explain further. You often 
 read about and hear of people who have wonderful 
 influence in their own circles. You may be nearly sure 
 that they are men of the kind I mean. People talk of 
 the force of character, generally meaning something 
 moral ; but I do not believe that what is moral in 
 this case, has so much weight as what is intellectual. Of 
 course there is high morality, to begin with, in the 
 desire for truth ; but many men desire truth who take 
 but little pains to attain it. Now observe our friend 
 
 S (here he named a man well known in the world), 
 
 you all respect him \ you all like to hear what he has to
 
 68 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 say upon any given subject. It is not a respect for his 
 morality. I am sure I don't know whether he is a 
 moral man or not; but you feel intuitively that he has 
 thought upon what he talks about; that his are no 
 casual remarks ; and the man's words carry weight. 
 You can see, too, that he looks up to himself; that 
 he has great respect for his own intellectual convictions. 
 Such men rule the world. 
 
 Crafwier. And deserve to do so. 
 
 Ellesmere. Such women, too. I have often won- 
 dered at the singular influence possessed by some 
 women ; and I have always found that they were 
 women who looked up to themselves — not necessarily 
 brilliant persons, not necessarily witty, but original (of 
 course, a person is original who takes great pains to 
 form his or her convictions) ; and then, as most women 
 are very sympathetic, this combination of originality and 
 sympathy makes them the most charming companions — 
 more charming, of course, than men of the like self- 
 respecting nature, because such men may not be 
 sympathetic, whereas the women are nearly sure to be 
 so. You may depend upon it, that Cleopatra not only 
 sympathized with Anthony, but had ideas and views 
 of her own which greatly interested and attracted him. 
 And so with the great ladies in France who ruled 
 certain sections of society. You may take it for 
 granted that they were women who looked up to 
 themselves. We have had fewer of such women in
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 69 
 
 England — that is, ostensibly ; but you will find that 
 in most circles, even in remote country places, there 
 are women of the kind I mean, who have immense 
 power in the form of influence. 
 
 Johnson. I wish that Mr. Milverton had been Avith 
 us. I think he would have agreed with all you have 
 said. 
 
 Crantner. Tlien EUesmere would have differed from 
 him. 
 
 EUesmere. I wish that we could get Milverton to 
 treat us occasionally with some other subject than this 
 Health of Towns business. I do not mean to say that 
 the questions he raises, such as the limits of legislation 
 and administration — the projects he has for beautifying 
 towns, for enlivening town populations, and for making 
 all official people wise, prudent, and energetic — are not 
 exceedin.ly interesting to the graver personages of our 
 circle ; but I am a frivolous individual, and would 
 sometimes like that humbler topics should come before 
 us. I can't write essays myself, but I flatter myself 
 I am " a dab," as we used to say at Eton, at suggesting 
 subjects for essays. I would rather, however, hear what 
 the rest of you would suggest. 
 
 Cranmer. What should you say to this — "An Essay 
 on the Meanness and Thoughllessness of the very 
 Rich " ? 
 
 EHesmere. I can only say that if Milverton or you 
 Were to write such an essay, I would wri'e a counterpart
 
 70 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 on the " Liberality and Thoughtfulness of the Rich." 
 The rich are often very hardly treated. 
 
 Maulcvcrcr. I should suggest an essay "On the 
 Folly of Mankind" — as to whether it is greater or less 
 for any given generation. I believe it to be a constant 
 quantity. 
 
 Elksmere. T don't. I believe that the philosophers 
 of each age are equally foolish ; but that the common 
 people gradually increase in wisdom. I think I should 
 rather astonish you if I were to show, as I think I 
 could, that there are theories broached now by those 
 who are called clever men, which rival in folly the 
 dreams of the philosophers of Laputa; but I think that 
 my grocer of to-day takes a wiser view, at any rate, of 
 the affairs of his own country, than my grandfather's 
 grocer did in the days of 8eorge III. If not, the 
 public press has been of little service to mankind. 
 
 Crajimer. I do believe you are right as regards your 
 grocer, though totally wrong as regards your philo- 
 sophers. You really, Ellesmere, do not know enough 
 about science, to pronounce against scientific men. 
 
 Elksmere. It is ahvays a feather in my cap when 
 Cranmer condescends to approve of any part of anything 
 I say. I was not thinking of scientific men, when I 
 spoke of philosophers. 
 
 Cranmer. You should be more precise then, in defining 
 what you mean — especially when you are attacking any 
 class of people.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 71 
 
 Mauleverer. I should like to have an essay on the 
 evils of " Over-publicity," whence it comes that there is 
 nothing left now which is really private. 
 
 Elksmere. I should like to have an essay on the " Art 
 of Leaving Off." 
 
 Cranmer. And I upon " Intrusiveness." 
 
 Johnson. I am afraid you will all laugh at me. I 
 should like to have an essay on " What to Read, and 
 How to Read it." 
 
 Ellesmere. My dear Sandy, nobody is disposed to 
 laugh. Your subject is a very good one, only it is so 
 brutally big. We should never have done with it. I tell 
 you, though, who could -write such an essay admirably, if 
 any one could, and that is Sir Arthur. 
 
 Now those two idle men we have left behind us, 
 Milverton and Sir Arthur, — what a ludicrous contrast 
 there is between their ways of study, though they are 
 both of them book-worms. 
 
 Cranmer. That is not a nice way of describing one's 
 friends. 
 
 Ellestnere. There is some truth in it though. I will 
 bet they are reading now. They will have paid due 
 attention to the ladies ; have meandered about the flower- 
 garden in a listless way ; have said fine things about the 
 shadows on the water ; and then they will have gone to 
 their books. But mark the difference. It is quite 
 uncertain whether Milverton will be reading a treatise on 
 the Differential Calculus, — the Blue-book on the Bengal
 
 72 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 Famine, — a very sensational novel, perhaps French, — a 
 lively treatise on egg-shaped drains, — a German grammar, 
 — " Watson's Theological Tracts," — or, perliaps, the 
 Koran. You laugh, but you know that my description is 
 not the least exaggerated. No person on earth could 
 make a tolerably accurate guess as to what that man is 
 puzzling or refreshing his brains over. 
 
 Johnsoji: You have not succeeded, Sir John; for I 
 happen to know ^yhat he is most likely reading, as he 
 asked me to get him the book, and it was a history 
 of the gypsies, with some account of their language — a 
 work which he was delighted to find in that old 
 library. 
 
 Ellesmere. I told you no one could guess what he 
 would be at. Now look at the other. It will be no 
 accidental thing that he will be reading. You wouldn't 
 catch him over a sensational novel ; whereas, when 
 Milverton is weary of his gypsies, he will probably be 
 found reading something of Dumas'. Sir Arthur, on 
 the contrary, will have a steady purpose. It wiil be 
 some branch of history that he will be mastering, or 
 some class of high poetry. It will be continuous, 
 purposeful ; and he is the man whom we will persuade 
 to write that essay. Nobody will have the energy to 
 follow his directions, but that does not matter. We shall 
 hear what we ought to do, and shall have the pleasure 
 and the satisfaction of neglecting to do it. 
 
 " Gentlemen," as my tutor at Trinity used to say, " I
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 73 
 
 shall expect that, by Wednesday next (it beuig then 
 Friday) you will, by yourselves, have gone through the first 
 three chapters of ' Whewell's Mechanics.' I shall then be 
 ready to explain any little difficulties that may have 
 occurred to you in the course of your reading." Upon 
 which, having three clear days to spare, we incontinently 
 went out boating, or cricketing, the dark background of 
 neglected duty, indicated by Whewell's first three 
 chapters on Mechanics, bringing out into bolder relief of 
 light and joy, the boating or the cricketing. 
 
 Hence it is that I am an athlete, and can vault over 
 that gate, where none of you dare follow me. By the 
 way, isn't it good to hear Milverton cry up the virtue of 
 athletic sports as he sometimes does — a man who could 
 not, or would not, leap over a turtle ? What an insight 
 it gives us into a man, when we know his private hatreds. 
 It is not that Milverton loves athletics, but that he hates 
 furious competition in intellectual sports, which competi- 
 tion he takes to be mischievous as regards the choice of 
 official men ; and so his darling government is injured : 
 for that man would like us all to be well-ruled — is a 
 despotic animal, with the claws sheathed, not pared. 
 Yes, yes, he is, Sandy ; you may protest as much as you 
 like ; and, of course, it is your duty to protest, as a 
 faithful private secretary. Private secretaries always 
 imbibe the hue of their master's mind, and even darken 
 it ; mean minister, meaner private secretary ; despotic 
 minister, more despotic under private secretary. Sandy
 
 74 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 •would have us all hanged upon those high elms ; nie for 
 daring to say what I have said, you for daring to listen 
 to it, and Fairy for not biting my legs when her master's 
 character was truly drawn by me. 
 
 I am not sure of that, though ; I mean about Fairy. 
 Whatever character you were to give a dog's master, 
 prove him to be thief, scoundrel, blackguard, glutton — 
 the faithful dog, knowing it to be true, would still admire 
 and love his master not one whit the less ; and therefore 
 would not care to bite one's legs for telling the truth 
 about his master. Dogs, women, and cockatoos — I have 
 known very affectionate cockatoos — are the only creatures 
 whose love is worth having, who are somewhat indifferent 
 to all our other moral qualities, so long as we are true 
 and kind to them. 
 
 Mauleverer. By the way, Ellesmere, do animals 
 appreciate those persons who look up to themselves? 
 
 Ellesmere. Yes, certainly ; for such persons are apt to 
 be decisive, and animals have a singular appreciation of 
 decisiveness. 
 
 I do not remember any more of this 
 conversation ; but it will be seen, as I 
 said before, that Sir John had regained, 
 for the moment, some of his usual vivacity, 
 and his fondness for attack.
 
 Los Angeles. Cat 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 TJ^T'E were in a boat, on a beautiful 
 evening, gliding down the river, and 
 some of us enjoying both the motion and 
 the scene greatly. But there were others 
 who did not partake our enjoyment. Mr. 
 Milverton, having been once upset in this 
 river, has taken an aversion to boating ; 
 and Sir John EUesmere never could abide 
 it. He says it has every disadvantage 
 that can be thought of. You can't move 
 about ; and, to such a restless being, that 
 must be very painful. You are exposed, he 
 says, to all the vicissitudes of a capricious 
 climate. You are rained upon, or fiercely 
 shone upon, tortured by cold or worried 
 by heat, without the power of protecting 
 yourself that you have on dry land. He
 
 76 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 becomes quite eloquent in his terms of 
 disapproval. You are either, he says, a 
 slave at the oar, or a serf at the tiller, 
 abused by everybody, however judicious 
 your steering may be (he had once, as a 
 steerer, put us upon a sandbank, from 
 which it had cost us great labour to get 
 off), or you are in the degraded position 
 of a sitter, and are promptly ordered not 
 to lean too much on this side, not to sway 
 over too much on that, not to put your 
 hand in the water, if you please, and not 
 to crane forward to look at anything 
 which may be worth looking at. 
 
 Still, the ladies liking it, and the rest 
 of the gentlemen being on their side of 
 the question. Sir John and Mr. Milverton 
 prefer being with us, to being left alone at 
 home. 
 
 We had talked of all manner of things, 
 but in a charmingly desultory way. We had 
 spoken of love : how it is the oddest thing 
 in the world in this strangest of worlds. 
 We spoke of that extraordinary book of
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 77 
 
 Hazlitt's, the " Liber Amoris," and Sir 
 Arthur told us of a similar case, how he 
 knew of a man, one of the first men in 
 this age, who was in love with a girl who 
 had no merits whatever that he could 
 perceive. She was rather plain, she had 
 no accomplishments, she had no powers 
 of conversation, at least, that he could 
 discover, she had no social merits, if merits 
 they can be considered to be, for she had 
 neither riches nor rank, nor high birth, 
 nor pleasant relations, nor anything on 
 earth to recommend her. Yet the great 
 man doted upon her. 
 
 Then Mr. Milverton spoke. 
 
 Milverion. Now I, for one, believe that man to be 
 fully justified in his liking. I don't think he is the fool 
 that you suspect him to be. Character is a thing which 
 has deeper indents in it than are made by any of the 
 adventitious circumstances that you have adduced. A 
 woman, or a man, shall have no beauty, no grace, no 
 knowledge (what you call knowledge), no accomplish- 
 ments, and yet shall be a profoundly lovable being. 
 Now imagine that tiiis man, whom you have all been
 
 78 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 rather sneering at, should have an almost wild love of 
 truthfulness and sincerity. My dears (here he addressed 
 the ladies), the word sincerity alludes to the waxen 
 tablets of the Romans — to the tablets of metal, or 
 other substance, before the wax was put upon them. 
 All these fine things, these accomplishments, this 
 knowledge, that power of talk which you all estimate 
 so highly, — 
 
 EUes77icre. Just as if he did not too. 
 
 Milverton. — are mere surface things. The essential 
 points of character may be in the metal underlying the 
 wax. 
 
 Upon that ductile upper substance anything can be 
 written. I believe in the insight of the great man of 
 whom we have been talking, and that he has recognised 
 in this somewhat plain girl, a character that was essen- 
 tially at one with his. 
 
 Ellesjtwe. It is probably an entire delusion. 
 
 Milverton. I don't care about that. The delusion is 
 as good as the reality. I am accounting for the man's 
 love — not for its rationality, not for its freedom from 
 error. 
 
 Maulcverer. You can never upset Milverton. 
 
 EUesmcre. Except from a boat. 
 
 Maidevercr. But what I mean is, that if you conquer 
 him in argument about a reality, he flies off to imagina- 
 tion. 
 
 EUesmcre. Yes, he is a subtle scoundrel : that I
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 79 
 
 entirely admit. I have conquered him in a thousand 
 arguments ; but to other people, especially if some of 
 them have been women, he has appeared to have the 
 best of it. 
 
 Milverton. Don't let us talk about love ; it is a 
 subject we shall never agree upon. I want to ask 
 you all a favour. I feel that my lucubrations upon 
 serious subjects are often a bore to you, but I want 
 you to give me one more hearing, and it shall be 
 only one. You think, I know, that my mind is too 
 fixedly set upon official matters, upon government, 
 sanitary reform, and the like. I should wish to give 
 you one more essay upon the immense advantages that 
 may be derived from wise official management. You 
 think, I know you do, that subjects like these do not 
 much concern you. I propose to show you, by one 
 or two remarkable instances, how profoundly your 
 individual interests are concerned in good government, 
 and in the management of official details, which you 
 think it is mere official pedantry for me to harp upon so 
 much as I do. After I have inflicted upon you this 
 final essay, you may go into whatever subjects you 
 please. You may discuss the conduct of the rich to the 
 poor, or of the poor to the rich. You may deal with the 
 great question of co-operative industry, respecting which 
 I see that our friend Brasscy has been delivering an 
 admirable lecture; or you may discuss the never-to-be- 
 exhausted questions of love and friendship ; the rights of
 
 So SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 women, and the wrongs of men ; cruelty to animals, or 
 whatever you may be pleased to select. 
 
 Ellcsmcre. Let us take him at his word. When I 
 was a boy at school, and we had to clear from the 
 plates whatever was put before us, I used to eat the 
 nauseous bits first, or, if I could, put them in my 
 pocket, and then I could manage the rest. 
 
 Lady EUesmcre. What an unsavoury metaphor, John ! 
 
 EUesviere. It is the same thing, my dear, with the 
 honeymoon. We have to get through that first, and 
 then the rest is comparatively easy. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I accept Ellesmere's simile ; but it leads 
 me to a conclusion different from his. I am more 
 interested in Milverton's subject than in any of those 
 which I heard that you proposed in your walk the other 
 day. 
 
 Ellcsinere, How far politeness will carry some 
 people ! Good manners are the most powerful crea- 
 tures in the world. A man will do for the sake of 
 good manners what he will hardly do for torture. 
 
 Sir Arthur. You have not heard my proposition. 
 It is to keep Milverton's essay as a bonne bouche for the 
 last. 
 
 Ellesniere. Oh, the sly dog ! 
 
 Sir Atihur. And to have your vague essays now. 
 
 Milvcrton. I should not be sorry to have the matter 
 settled in this way. It will give me and Johnson more 
 time to prepare.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 8i 
 
 Ellesmere. Well, then, Nvho is to be the first victim? 
 I vote that it should be Maiileverer. It appears to me 
 that his proposed essay on " Intrusiveneiis " would come 
 in well now, 
 
 Cranmer. No: I proposed that subject; but I will 
 gladly yield to Mr. Mauleverer. 
 
 After a g-ood deal of persuasion, Mr. 
 Mauleverer was at last induced to promise 
 that he would favour us with his thoughts 
 upon Intrusiveness ; and then, to the 
 delight of Sir John and Mr, Milverton, 
 the time had come for our landing at a 
 very muddy bank of this, the most renowned 
 of rivers. As we were landing, Ellesmere 
 urged upon us all to be verv^ serious, "A 
 laugh might upset you all. It was at 
 this very point that Milverton was upset 
 in his outrigger, though he would have you 
 believe that it was in the deepest of deep 
 waters. K boat is a delightful thing — to 
 get out of."
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 1\ /r R. AIAULEVERER was not long in 
 preparing- his essay, and, indeed, in- 
 formed us the next morning that he was 
 ready to read to us what he had written. 
 I will give his own words. 
 
 Maulevenr. You must not expect a long discourse. 
 The subject does not admit of it. And you must not 
 expect fine writing. I go straight to the point, and do 
 not want similes and metaphors to back me up. All 
 padding is an abomination to me. 
 
 Eilesmere. I hate long-windedness as much as you 
 do, Mauleverer; but I cannot call good similes and 
 metaphors padding. When I introduced that simile 
 about the way in which, as a boy, I used to manage with 
 my dinner, everybody, except my lady, felt that it was a 
 valuable simile ; and, in truth, it was the cause of your 
 being brought forward on the present occasion. 
 
 Mauleverer. If you must have similes, I will give you
 
 ■ SOCIAL PRESSURE. 83 
 
 one which will show how desirable it is that I should 
 begin to read my essay at once. IIa\e you ever been 
 at a public dinner ? 
 
 Ellesmere. Yes : to my sorrow, many times. 
 
 Mauleverer. Have you observed how wretched that 
 poor man is, who has to make the speech of the evening, 
 until he has made it? Others can eat a good dinner : he 
 cannot. So, no more desultory talk until I have read 
 the essay of the morning. Thinking about it has spoilt 
 my breakfast. 
 
 Hereupon Mr. INIauleverer read the fol- 
 lowing essay : — 
 
 INTRUSIVENESS. 
 
 At present thqre are at least eight millions 
 of people in these Islands, and elsewhere, 
 who can write a letter in the English 
 language, and half of whom, at least, have 
 the courage to write that letter. When 
 the benevolent schemes for educating every- 
 body, which are now before the world, are 
 brought to completion, there will be one 
 hundred and eighty millions of people who 
 will be able to write a letter in the English
 
 84 SOCIAL PRESSURE. ■ 
 
 languag-e, and at least ninety millions of 
 them who will have the courage to write that 
 letten This will be the ruin, intellectually 
 speakings, of all those persons, naturally 
 pre-eminent, who might conduce to the 
 progress of the world in civilization — if 
 there be such a thing as this progress. 
 
 This fearful result of general education 
 might perhaps be avoided, if it were not for 
 the Intrusiveness which is innate in mankind. 
 
 It was one of the truest sayings ever 
 said, (the sayer is, I believe, unknown) — 
 that "when a man has once done anything 
 well, the world will take care that he 
 shall not be able to do anything more of 
 the same kind." 
 
 And what did that sagacious unknown 
 man mean by this saying ? He meant 
 that the mental force of the unfortunate 
 person who had so distinguished himself 
 by doing any one thing well, would hence- 
 forth be frittered away by innumerable 
 attempts, to some of which he would cer- 
 tainly yield, to gain his attention to those
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 85 
 
 matters for the management of which he 
 has no particular aptitude, and which other 
 persons of inferior capacity could manage 
 as well as himself, or better than himself. 
 
 By reason of the horrible notoriety, which 
 this miserable man has gained in doing 
 this one thing well, he will have attracted 
 to himself all those persons who are anxious 
 to seize upon any eminent or notorious 
 person as a means of furthering their own 
 small views and purposes. He will be 
 asked to preside at public dinners ; to speak 
 at public meetings ; to become a member 
 of innumerable committees ; to give testi- 
 monials to people as to whose c|ualifications 
 he knows little or nothing ; and to make 
 one of the concourse of notable persons at 
 public funerals. 
 
 Even this state of things would lead to 
 no great evil, if it were not for a certain 
 weakness which is inherent in almost all 
 men ; and not least in the man who has once 
 done anything well. Most persons are apt 
 to be satisfied with themselves If their days
 
 86 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 are busily employed. It is a very rare man, 
 indeed, who should have taken such a com- 
 plete survey of his own powers and capa- 
 bilities, as to know what he can do best; 
 and a still rarer man who, having gained this 
 knowledge, should have the hourly courage . 
 that is needed to confine his exertions to 
 his own proper work. 
 
 Moreover, to think steadily and severely 
 is a very painful and unpleasant exercise 
 for the human mind. The secondary work 
 that any great man *is asked to do, re- 
 quires, for the most part, only secondary 
 thought, and is a relief from, and an 
 excuse for, not thinking upon those sub- 
 jects in which the man in question has 
 peculiar capability. 
 
 To a certain extent, therefore, this In- 
 trusiveness of which I have spoken, will 
 not be unwelcome to him. He will de- 
 generate into a doer of secondary work, 
 which, no doubt, will gain him suffi- 
 cient applause and favour ; and so we 
 shall lose the best work of a great man.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 87 
 
 or at any rate of a man capable in one 
 direction. 
 
 Friends of mine complain, not without 
 reason, that there is less forethought in 
 the world than might be wished for. Fore- 
 thought demands disengaged thought ; and 
 the man who has a thousand claims upon 
 his attention, which seem to give fair scope 
 for the daily exercise of his powers of 
 thought, will not have the time, or, what 
 is of still more importance, this disengage- 
 ment from ordinary thought, which is neces- 
 sary for forethought. 
 
 My friends, when they write their essays 
 or make the speeches in our friendly council, 
 to which I have the honour and pleasure 
 of listening, are always anxious to provide 
 remedies for the evils which they enume- 
 rate. I am anxious also to provide 
 remedies in this case ; but, being without 
 much fertility of resource or imagination, 
 I do not see where these remedies are to 
 come from. I do not believe that, as the 
 power of writing letters and the courage
 
 83 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 to indite them, increase in the world, we 
 shall find that fussy, busy people, deem- 
 ini^ the objects of their fuss and their 
 business to be all-important, will cease to 
 importune my imag"inary great man, or 
 competent man, to busy himself with their 
 affairs. On the other hand, I do not 
 see a prospect of this man's having the 
 courage to decline what I have called his 
 secondary work. Indeed, the progress of 
 democracy makes it more probable that he 
 will seek to gain the suffrages of his fellow- 
 citizens by rendering himself a slave to them 
 for the transaction of this secondary work ; 
 and, in fine, this intrusiveness, and the 
 inevitable subservience to it, constitute some 
 of the imperative circumstances of the 
 present time which lead me to think that 
 the dreamers and enthusiasts, by whom I am 
 surrounded, will fail, in all their efforts, to 
 improve the wretched condition of mankind. 
 
 There was silence for a few minutes : 
 then Sir John spoke.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 89 
 
 Ellesmere. What a blessing it is to have some portion 
 of that vulgar thing called " animal spirits." The rest of 
 you seem somewhat depressed by Mauleverer's cheerless 
 essay. Milverton is seriously considering what serious 
 answer he can give to it. Whereas I, with my brutal 
 animal spirits, have an answer already in my mind. I 
 believe I have imparted it to you before, but that is no 
 matter. Words of Avisdom will bear many repetitions. 
 Mauleverer is evidently most fearful as regards intrusive 
 letter-writing to his great and capable man. There are 
 two sides to that question. I have, before now, advised 
 the foolish and intrusive letter-writer gravely 10 consider 
 whether he is the only foolish and intrusive person in 
 existence. If, with all his folly, he be a man of calcula- 
 ting mind, he will arrive at the fact, that there are at 
 least eighty-three persons as foolish as himself, who 
 will, on the day and hour that he is writing, be inclined 
 to indite similar letters to the statesman, author, or 
 thinker, whom he is addressing. This might make him 
 pause. 
 
 Mauleverer. It won't. 
 
 Ellesmere. Then, on the other hand, there is the 
 unfortunate person — ' unfortunate,' Mauleverer has justly 
 called him— who is to receive these intrusive communi- 
 cations. He will at last be awakened to the evil. The 
 greater it is, the more likely he is to be awa»ce to it. H( 
 bears with the eight millions, he will not bear with 
 Mauleverer's ninety millions.
 
 90 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 Sir Arthur. It all depends upon private secretaries. 
 I have always thought that they are among the most 
 important persons in the world. I had a private 
 secretary once, who fought all this battle against intru- 
 siveness, admirably. He would not even let me see the 
 enormous quantity of trash addressed to me. 
 
 Cranmer. Your private secretary must almost be a 
 great man himself, at any rate a most competent man, to 
 be able to take this weight of Intrusiveness from off your 
 shoulders. 
 
 Milvertoti. I am afraid that I am at variance with 
 my company. I think you all make too much of this 
 Intrusiveness. These 'secondary objects,' as Mauleverer 
 was pleased to call them, are often not unimportant 
 objects ; and the decision upon them, the advice given 
 about them, by men eminent among their fellow-citizens, 
 is not altogetlier lost. 
 
 At the same time, I own that Mauleverer, though in a 
 most sarcastic fashion, has put before us a real evil — an 
 evil which, however, increased knowledge and cultivation 
 will enable us to meet, and, perhaps, to conquer. 
 
 One great point, for which I think you all omit to 
 make due allowance, is the power of thinking at odd 
 times which thoughtful men jDossess. 
 
 Ellesmcre. That is a queer expression. 
 
 Alilverton. It is quite a delusion to suppose that the 
 most thoughtful men, those even who try to regulate 
 their minds most carefully, sit down to think over any
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 91 
 
 great subject " steadily and severely." I believe that if 
 we knew the processes of the greatest minds, we should 
 find that some of their best and most productive 
 thoughts are thought out in a somewhat careless 
 manner, in these odd times I speak of, 
 
 I dislike this Intrusiveness that Mauleverer has lec- 
 tured us upon, far more for its effect upon health than 
 for its prevention of thoughtfulness. Those subtle por- 
 tions of our frame, those tiny filaments, the nerves, 
 require more repose, perhaps, than any other part of the 
 body ; and they are very silent creatures. They do not 
 care to tell you when they are over-wearied and over- 
 taxed, until suddenly they break down altogether, 
 
 Elh'smere. Always fear the silent. I fear Mrs. Mil- 
 verton. She talks less than any of us ; but when she 
 does say anything, it is tremendous, 
 
 Alilverton. Fully half of the greatest errors that the 
 greatest rtien have committed, have, I believe, arisen 
 from a morbid state of nerves. And how can you 
 expect that a man who is being lugged forward at all 
 times, who never has profound rest (that is the case 
 now with some of our principal statesmen), can have 
 the nerves in good order? That is where Mauleverer's 
 fulminations against Intrusiveness tell the most with me. 
 
 Referring to what I said about thinking being trans- 
 acted at odd times, we are ahnost certain, from the biogra- 
 phies of eminent men, that this is the case. You detect 
 it in the life of Sir Waller Scott ; and I have no doubc
 
 92 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 that Bacon, Shakespeare, ami Machiavelli, who in their 
 respective ways were busy men of the world, seldom sat 
 down, as it were, to think ; but did their thinking at 
 odd times. But then I have no doubt, they had deli- 
 cious pauses from thought ; the world not being so fussy 
 then, and not exacting such constant presence from its 
 great men. 
 
 Sir Arthur. And then people had not so much to 
 learn. Men were contented with knowing fewer lan- 
 guages. jSIilverton, to use one of his favourite words, 
 fusses a great deal about the evils of competition. But 
 you can see that he has mostly in his mind certain moral 
 evils, as against which certain moral advantages might be 
 put, though 1 have seldom cared to put them. Com- 
 petition affords a stimulus for ordinary minds which 
 nothing else does. But if it be carried to the excess 
 which it seems likely to be in our time, what I am 
 afraid of is, that it will dwarf originalit}\ Of course 
 it will not do so with really great men; but the worst 
 mischief that great men do to the world 
 
 Ellesmere. And they do a pretty deal of mischief. 
 
 Sir Arthur. — is, that they are made an example of; 
 and they furnioh very bad examples for dealing with the 
 ordinary run of human beings. 
 
 Milverton. I never thought or said 
 
 Sir Arthur. Don't interrupt me, Milverton. I am 
 going to delight your heart, and perhaps I may forget to 
 do so, if you lead the conversation into any other channel
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 93 
 
 There was a school with which I was connected 
 when I was last in office. I went down to visit the 
 school. I shall disguise the circumstances as much as 
 I can ; but the substance of my story is exactly true. 
 
 After some converse with the scholars, I had some 
 talk alone with the Principal. In the course of the 
 talk I happened to say, " It is very WTong, I know, 
 to have favourites \ but one can't help having them. 
 I must confess that little George Smith takes my fancy 
 more than any other boy in the school. I am sure he 
 is wonderfully intelligent." 
 
 The Principal smiled ; nay more, the Principal began 
 to laugh, though evidently endeavouring to restrain 
 himself. 
 
 Then he said, " I must say. Sir Arthur, that you have 
 not been very fortunate in your choice of an intellectual 
 favourite. The boy is a charming boy : and, personally, 
 he is a great favourite of mine too ; but his stupidity, 
 my dear Sir Arthur, is something fearful." 
 
 At that moment one of the under-masters entered. 
 " Mr. Jenkins-," said the Principal, " Sir Arthur is very 
 much pleased with George Smith, and is greatly struck 
 by the lad's intelligence." Jenkins looked at the Prin- 
 cipal with a look which I could see meant to ask 
 whether he should say what he thought about the boy. 
 Receiving a counter-look of encouragement from the 
 Head-master, Mr. Jenkins said, " He is a good lad, but 
 I don't know what to do with him. Put him into any
 
 94 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 class, he is sure to sink to the bottom of it in two or 
 three days. If you remember, Doctor, we had him in 
 the lower fifth, and he was always at the bottom of the 
 class there. Then, with your permission, I put him in 
 the upper fourth. There, again, he sank like lead in 
 water to the bottom of the class. And the poor boy 
 means well \ but I think he hates the sight of a book : 
 and half his time you see him looking about l.im in a 
 moony kind of way." 
 
 Mr. Jenkins then left the room, having received some 
 orders from the Principal. I left the room too, feeling 
 very small, and saying I would take a walk before the 
 boys' dinner, at which I was to be present. 
 
 As I walked in a wood near the school, I could 
 not help thinking that I had made rather an ass of 
 myself. I should not have said anything about the boys 
 until I knew more about them. The Principal would 
 say to himself, " This may be a great official swell," for 
 doubtless so I appeared to him ; " but his knowledge of 
 boys is somewhat scanty." I said to myself, "I will send 
 the Under-Secretary next time. I don't seem to make 
 much of this business. It is evidently not my forte." 
 
 I returned to dinner ; and I can tell you I felt very 
 shy, dining in company with a great number of boys, 
 feeling that I was observed with all the severe and 
 petulant observation of the young; and knowing, too, 
 that I must lead the conversation. 
 
 In the morning we had been engaged in a geogra-
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 95 
 
 phical examination, at which I had assisted. This fur- 
 nished me with a topic ; but I soon felt that this con- 
 versation, bordering on " shop," would by no means 
 amuse the boys. It suddenly came into my mind that I 
 would tell them an adventure of my own, in one of those 
 distant countries, respecting the principal rivers in which 
 most of us, fully including myself, had been rather hazy. 
 
 This topic succeeded in interesting the boys ; and I 
 soon found that I had the closest attention. At a 
 critical period in the story, I came to a great difficulty 
 W'hich had beset me. I suddenly stopped my narrative, 
 and asked the bo}'s if any one could tell me what he 
 would have done to extricate himself. 
 
 Now I must tell you that it was a real difficulty. I 
 have been a great traveller, as you know ; and I have 
 always found that, in such difficult cases, it is not well to 
 rush hither and thither, pursuing different and perhaps 
 opposing plans for extricating one's self from any diffi- 
 culty ; but it is best to sit down, if one has the oppor- 
 tunity of sitting, and to have w^hat a young friend of mine 
 calls " a good solid think" over it. I did so on that 
 occasion, and resolved upon a course which ultimately 
 proved successful. In telling the story afterwards to 
 experienced travellers, they have sometimes suggested 
 another course; but they have been pleased to say that 
 mine was as good as theirs. It was not so ; it was only 
 the second-best, but still it sufficed. 
 
 Well, the boys, upon my question, put down their
 
 96 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 knives and forks, untl looked into space, thinking 
 earnestly. It was just the kind of difficulty which 
 would interest the boyish mind. I took care also to 
 put the difficulty before the Undcr-masters and the 
 Head-master, as expecting an answer from them, if 
 the boys failed to give one. I narrated the principal 
 circumstances again ; still there was silence, which lasted 
 for several minutes. 
 
 I was about to solve the riddle, when the thin but 
 sweet voice of Master George Smith was heard ; and 
 timidly and blushingly that boy [lut forward his view of 
 what should be done under the circumstances — and it 
 was mine, the very one I had adopted. 
 
 I don't want to make myself out particularly clever, 
 but here was I, a man, and an experienced traveller j 
 and this untravelled child had proved himself at least 
 my equal in sagacity. 
 
 I should have been more than mortal, if I had not 
 taken a stealthy look of triumph at the Principal and at 
 Mr. Jenkins. The Principal, a thoroughly good fellow, 
 nodded to me in return, with an expression that seemed 
 to say, " You are not such a mere official fool as I took 
 you to be." 
 
 That dear boy, George Smith, had rehabilitated me ; 
 and I resolved, on the next occasion, to come down 
 myself, instead of sending the Under-Secretary ; but the 
 Fates, embodying themselves in a hostile division in the 
 House of Commons, prevented that.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 97 
 
 Cranmer. Do you know I think, Sir Arthur, that 
 there are very subtle sympathies in the world. 
 
 Ellesmere. By all the powers of magic, what a 
 romantic creature Cranmer is becoming ! 
 
 Cranmer. That boy was like you, felt for you, perhaps 
 unconsciously saw into your mind, and you into his. 
 
 Ellesmere. Well, Cranmer is coming out indeed. A 
 man who has been secretary to the Treasury, talking of 
 subtle sympathies, and reading other people's minds ! 
 
 But the person who was delighted with 
 this anecdote was Mr. Milverton. He 
 got up and stood before the fire, and 
 talked so rapidly to us that I cannot put 
 down exactly what he said. Besides, every- 
 body knows what he would be sure to say 
 upon such an opportunity being given to 
 him — "how you could never find out any- 
 body's merits by ascertaining his book- 
 knowledge ; how the indocile people had 
 been the great people of the world ; how 
 originality was stifled by cramming; how the 
 world would find out that he was right, but 
 it v/ould be a long time first " — and the like. 
 One portion, however, of his conversation 
 
 H
 
 98 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 I remember. He spoke of Mr. Carlyle. He 
 said how that great man had been veiy 
 kind to him when he was a youth ; how 
 they had taken long- walks together ; how 
 still, though he had immensely admired 
 his companion, he had been less influenced 
 by him than other young men were, who 
 had possessed the happiness of close in- 
 timacy with Mr. Carlyle. For, as he 
 (Mr. Milverton) said, they two were men 
 of very different natures ; and he often 
 wondered how Carlyle had tolerated him. 
 But that there was one thing, as regards 
 which he felt the intensest sympathy with 
 Carlyle, and had been greatly strengthened 
 by him. 
 
 It was in the profound belief that men 
 differ very much from one another ; and 
 that to get a great man, or even a very- 
 capable man, into a potent place, was a 
 signal gain for the world. Half men, 
 "demi-semi" men, were, comparatively 
 speaking, of no use. " You can't think 
 with me, you can't feel with me," said
 
 SOCIylL PRESSURE. 99 
 
 Mr. Milverton, somewhat mournfully; "even 
 Cranmer has not had quite my experience, 
 and seen what it is to have the real man 
 to do anything'. Such a man, as Carlyle 
 used to say to me, makes the most unfit 
 positions, the positions from which you 
 think nothing good or great could come, 
 fitting, useful, and productive." 
 
 I do not know how long Mr. Milverton 
 would have continued in this strain, if 
 Sir John Ellesmere, who cannot abide long 
 discourse, and the less so, the more he 
 agrees with it, had not cut Mr. Milverton' s 
 eloquence short by several ludicrous obser- 
 vations. 
 
 The conversation ended somewhat mourn- 
 fully, for Mr. Milverton asked whether Sir 
 Arthur had ever heard anything more of 
 his little friend, George Smith ; and Sir 
 Arthur said that he had — that the poor 
 boy had died early, in about three years 
 after Sir Arthur's visit to the school.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 OOON after dinner, on that same day, 
 Sir John Ellesmere retired at an early 
 hour from his guests, muttering, as he went, 
 something about *' law-papers and other 
 work having to be attended to." And we 
 saw no more of him that evening. I noticed, 
 as he left the room, that Lady Ellesmere 
 smiled, and that she made no effort to 
 detain him, as she generally does. I also 
 noticed that a look of intelligence passed 
 between our host and hostess, as if there 
 was some secret understanding between 
 them. 
 
 The next morning, it being a hopelessly 
 wet day, we were all assembled in the 
 library, when Mr. Milverton suddenly began 
 the conversation thus :
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. loi 
 
 Milverton. Johnson has been telling me what you 
 talked about, during your walk the other day. 
 
 Ellesmere. By Jove ! Has he ? I hope he told you 
 of the sufibcating interest I take in your present subject, 
 Milverton. 
 
 ivlilvaion. He told me of the desire you feel to 
 stifle it. It is one of the saddest things in life, that the 
 subjects which should interest us most, are inevitably 
 those which are dull, prosaic, and commonplace. 
 
 Cranmer. I didn't agree with him, Milverton. 
 
 Sir Arthur. And I don't agree with him. 
 
 Milverton. I am afraid, though, that none of you feel 
 as I do about the fearful increase of large towns. I once 
 saw the beginning of a great flood. A little tongue of 
 water, not an inch in depth, and nowhere broader than 
 a few feet, was marching quietly down the centre of a 
 street. I merely thought that some neighbouring water- 
 butt had overflowed, or that the turncock of the district 
 was amusing himself, as turncocks sometimes seem apt to 
 do, by letting out a little water, to show his power over 
 that element. I walked on — 
 
 " Nescio quid mcditans nugarum, et totus in illis," 
 
 when I suddenly found that a little stream had invaded 
 the pavement, and, in a minute or two, I had only time 
 to escape into another street, at right angles and at a 
 higher level. The flood turned up that street too ; and, 
 in short, it soon required considerable vigour to make
 
 102 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 one's way, dry-shod, from what may well be called, like 
 its sister, fire, the devouring element. 
 
 So it is with the increase of our metropolis, and other 
 great towns. You know of some delightful bit of suburb, 
 perhaps, in former days, a portion of a nobleman's park, 
 or of a long series of market gardens, rich in this spring- 
 time with the beautiful blossoms of plum and cherry- 
 trees. All of a sudden there are heaps of building 
 materials seen ; then one or two new houses of ghastly 
 ugliness. You perceive, meanwhile, that the market- 
 gardens are less cared for than usual, and that, in odd 
 corners, a plentiful crop of weeds is allowed to appear. 
 In the course of the summer, there are rows of unfinished 
 buildings, and the trees have vanished, with the exception 
 of a few injured ones that are allowed to remain, these 
 not being in the way. The spot is bereft of all its 
 beauty. It is now considered to be occupied; and is, 
 m fact, part of the town. 
 
 It often happens that in neither case— neither for the 
 flood, nor for this outburst of building, has due prepara- 
 tion been made. That is what I have to complain of. 
 
 Edesmere. What do you mean, Milverton, by no due 
 preparation has been made ? 
 
 Milverton. Why, this. In the first place that, very 
 likely, there has been no preparation for a judicious 
 system of drainage and sewerage ; but I mean far more 
 than that. Wl->ere is the proper proportion of the smaller 
 houses, the houses for the poor, that should accompany
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 103 
 
 this outburst of building? Little would I say against it, 
 small would be my regret over the loss of cherry-trees 
 and plum-trees, if this proportion were maintained. 
 
 Cfanmer. Of course, my dear Milverton, you do not 
 mean to say that a man may not do what he likes with 
 his own in this matter. If the ground landlord and the 
 builder see that it is to their interest that houses of a 
 certain class should be erected, you cannot maintain that 
 their freedom of action should be curbed in this direc- 
 tion. 
 
 Milverton. No, I cannot ; I only wished, by appeal- 
 ing to each man's experience, to show what is going on ; 
 and, therefore, to make you all take more interest, a 
 " suffocating interest " if you please, to use Ellesmere's 
 malicious phrase, in anything that can be proposed to 
 mitigate, even in the slightest degree, the necessary evils 
 consequent upon the increase of great towns, amongst a 
 free people. 
 
 It is a dreadful drawback, even upon those improve- 
 ments which are beautiful and useful in themselves, that 
 they compel, for the most part, immense destruction of 
 the habitations of the poor. Now there have been signal 
 improvements made, in our time, in some of the densest 
 parts of London. But, I regret to say, they have had 
 this great drawback, as I am told, of a large displacement 
 of the poor. 
 
 Of all matters important to human civilization, after the 
 production of sufficient food, comes the dwelling-place.
 
 I04 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 What is the good of insisting upon cleanliness and 
 sobriety, and all the other virtues, to people who live with 
 two other families in the same room ? am taking an 
 extreme case ; but, going upwards from that, the same 
 law holds good. Crime finds great difficulty in getting a 
 habitat for itself in decent homes ; and, in all nations, 
 the test to be given for real civilization is in the compa- 
 rative goodness or badness of the dwellings of the lowest 
 class. The great traveller. Dr. Schweinfurth, says, that 
 cleanliness and cooking are the tests. Well, substantially 
 I agree with him ; for how are cleanliness and good 
 cookery to be developed, or maintained, in habitations of 
 extreme squalidity ? 
 
 Ellcsmere. I could say something against that, taking 
 the cooking of gipsies, for example ; but I won't do so. 
 I will be generous, and allow Milverton's dicta to pass 
 unquestioned. 
 
 Milverton. 1 don't want your generosity, especially as 
 it would only have been real if it had been silent. The 
 gipsies have clear open space ; and, under these circum- 
 stances, neither cleanliness nor good cookery, (by the 
 way, have you ever tasted their cookery, Ellesmere ?) 
 make any valid exception to my rule. 
 
 Ellesmere. 1 maintain a generous silence. There is 
 nothing that these so-called philanthropists detest so 
 much as the slightest objection being made to any of 
 their theories. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I have read Dr. Schweinfurth's book,
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 105 
 
 arid what struck me most in it was an assertion of his, 
 for which I dare say he has good grounds, that savages 
 are more slaves to fashion than even civiHzed i:)eople. 
 As I read that passage, I thought how it would have 
 tickled your fancy, Ellesmere. It is the fashion for 
 W'Omen in some savage tribes to pull their eyelashes out. 
 
 Ellesmere. Can you wonder that our women should 
 build up pyramids of hair, perfectly deforming the human 
 countenance ? There is a case of disproportion for you, 
 Milverton ; worse than your building one ! 
 
 Milverton.- Well, we did not meet here to talk about 
 savages. If all of you are tired of my subject, you will 
 doubtless wish for what relaxation Ellesmere can provide 
 for you. I hear that he was mightily suggestive the 
 other day, and put forward several great subjects, upon 
 which he wished essays should be written. Doubtless he 
 will favour us with his views upon some great matter. 
 
 To our astonishment, less to mine though 
 than to that of the others, Ellesmere rose 
 up, took a seat at the great library table, 
 and pulled out a roll of papers. I thought 
 that Mr. Milverton looked rather discon- 
 certed, for he had been anxious, as I knew, 
 to read a paper which should show that 
 his plan of combining administrative skill
 
 io6 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 and experience with legislative hardihood 
 (that was his expression), might have a 
 hearing from the Friends to-day. 
 
 Elksmere. I really don't pretend, you know, to be a 
 writer. As with all other crafts, that particular one 
 recjuires practice and experience; but I have just put 
 loosely together a few simple thoughts of mine on a sub- 
 ject which I shall entitle The Art of Leaving Off. If you 
 should wish to hear what I have to say, my modesty 
 will not prevent my saying it. 
 
 Of course we assented, and the reading 
 began. 
 
 THE ART OF LEAVING OFF. 
 
 In all the affairs of life, there are two 
 great difficulties to encounter — the begin- 
 ning and thp ending. The wisdom of 
 most nations, as far as that wisdom can 
 be expressed in proverbs, has commented 
 upon the difficulty of beginning well — " To 
 begin is half i he battle;'''' ^^ A good begifining 
 7nakes a s[ood endins[ ; " " Bcoriniuns[ and cndin^ 
 shake hands ^^'' and the like.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 107 
 
 Mankind, with its usual indolence, has 
 shirked the less easy task of commenting" 
 upon the difficult}^ of ending. 
 
 How great that difficulty is, the poor 
 ending of many novels, ministries, after- 
 dinner speeches, sermons, and the lives 
 of the greatest men, may sufficiently de- 
 clare. 
 
 It was a very wise arrangement of former 
 days, now unhappily abandoned in fashion- 
 able circles, that the hostess should take 
 the upper end of the table, and the host 
 the lower end, for it was justly felt that 
 the principal guests and the guests of most 
 youthfulness, or least note, required to be 
 especially attended to, whereas the middle 
 guests were sure to take care of themselves. 
 And so it is with the middle portions of 
 the sermons, histories, novels, poems, mi- 
 nisterial actions, and the like, to which I 
 have alluded. All history and all biography 
 serve to illustrate my theme. These same 
 middle portions of a man's or of a nation's 
 career, can often be judiciously skipped 
 
 / 
 /
 
 io8 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 by the reader; but every one is anxious 
 to know how a g^reat affair began, and how 
 it ended. 
 
 Most of the failures in life arise from 
 an ignorance of how and when to leave 
 off. When you read the life of almost 
 any great man, with the exception of 
 Augustus Caesar, you see how much greater 
 a man he would have been if he had known 
 how and when to leave off. The historian, 
 learned in dates and facts of all kinds, will 
 doubtless be read}^ to show to you how 
 Xerxes, Themistocles, Czar Peter, Frederick 
 the Great, and both the Napoleons, might 
 have left off at certain critical periods of 
 their fortunes, when their renown and their 
 greatness would not have been injured by 
 any decay or decadence. For my own part, 
 hardly venturing to treat of such high matters, 
 I am still persuaded that Draco and Aris- 
 tides would have been more successful in 
 their respective vocations, if they had known 
 and practised judiciously the great art of 
 leaving off. Fortune, being a woman, is
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 109 
 
 impatient as well as fickle, and more often 
 changes from weariness of length, and from 
 disgust at reiteration, than from inconstancy 
 in love or liking. 
 
 To descend to minor matters : proverbs 
 seldom err in humility of assertion ; but 
 there is one which does fail signally in 
 this respect. " Enough is as good as a 
 feast,'' so runs, or rather creeps, that 
 modest proverb ; but I say *' Enough is 
 better than any feast," and that, upon one 
 atom more than enough being added, detri- 
 ment and disgust begin. This applies to 
 all the amusements, to all the festivities, 
 and even to all the sensual enjoyments of 
 the world. That host, or hostess, who should 
 know how to make his or her entertainments 
 leave off at the right time (I have known 
 only two such) will prove themselves to- be 
 the arch-host and hostess of mankind. The 
 givers of all entertainments, where money 
 is to be paid, should ponder well the art 
 of ** leaving off." Money is to be made 
 by the mastery of that art.
 
 110 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 Now, to come to matters which are 
 neither so great as the careers of kings 
 and conquerors, nor so humble as the 
 giving- of feasts and the providing of amuse- 
 ment for the world. I would deal first 
 with the arts of persuading and convincing. 
 Too much talk, too much argument, have 
 been the ruin of many a persuasive speech, 
 of many a persuasive conversation. You 
 have produced an effect upon your hearer 
 by a course of argument which has been 
 incontrovertible — at least b}^ him. You add 
 something, a weak something, which he 
 can answer, which he does answer, then 
 or thereafter ; and, having answered that, 
 your former argument is, however unjustly, 
 damaged, and loses half its weight. 
 
 Although it may be a trivial thing to 
 mention, the art of leaving off is not less 
 requisite in courtship than in other and 
 more important transactions of human life. 
 How many a man has failed to make himself 
 happy, or miserable, " ever afterwards," 
 because he has made too much of a slight
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. iii 
 
 advantage, or pressed too far a small en- 
 couragement. He has not known how or 
 where to leave off. The maiden, perhaps 
 both shy and proud, as maidens are wont 
 to be, declines to have it supposed that 
 she is altogether won, merely because she 
 did not at once repress pretensions which 
 at first were humbly made, but to which 
 she was not prepared, at the time, to allow 
 any further development. 
 
 I should be sorry only to have pointed 
 out the difficulties of leaving off, without 
 providing some suggestions, more or less 
 valuable, which should enable the world to 
 know how to leave off. 
 
 ( — I flatter myself, that is a Milvertonian touch. If you 
 observe, after stathig any evil, he always provides some 
 scraps of remedy. — ) 
 
 I trust that you noticed a fine sentence 
 of mine, some way back, where I spoke of 
 the goddess Fortune. That was only a 
 fine sentence. It did not go to the root
 
 112 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 ■ of the matter. It was chiefly false. It Is not 
 that Fortune becomes tired of any man or 
 people, at least of any sensible man or sen- 
 sible people. Fortune is in reality very just. 
 But why these great kings, conquerors, and 
 statesmen fail, is, because they will attempt 
 similar things — things similar to their former 
 successes — under dissimilar circumstances. 
 They think that they have done the whole 
 business, and that the circumstances have 
 had little to do with it. 
 
 Milverton. Very good, indeed, Ellesmere ! 
 
 (Ellesmere got up, made a bow, and then 
 resumed.) 
 
 For instance, a nation has been down- 
 trodden for some time, has not had its 
 fair weight in the world's proceedings ; 
 and then a great general leads its armies 
 on to victory. For a certain time that elan 
 lasts. And the conquering general will go 
 on attempting to conquer when his troops 
 have no longer the vigour of their first
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 113 
 
 despair, and when the opponents have 
 become wary from frequent defeat. He did 
 not know when to leave off. 
 
 I shall show you that I do know, by not 
 dwelling- upon any details or any formal 
 illustrations of the same failure in civil 
 affairs, how and when to leave off. I shall 
 merely say that a ministry which seeks to 
 do in its fourth year of power anything" 
 similar to what it attempted to do, and 
 did, in its first year of power, is a ministry 
 which does not know how to leave off. 
 
 I now proceed to advise the minor 
 personages. Fortunately there are few of 
 us who are kings or conquerors, or the 
 heroes in novels. But there is the man 
 who has to make an oration or a discourse. 
 I say he is a noodle if he has not previously 
 determined how and when he shall leave 
 off. One of the great arts is, that he 
 should be all along- preparing- for his con- 
 clusion, or peroration, or whatever you may 
 call it; but it should not be too clearly 
 anticipated. To have its full effect, it 
 
 I
 
 114 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 should have a little of surprise in it. It 
 is not necessary that it should be a great 
 unwieldy sentence of many clauses. If I 
 may venture to quote Scripture in an essay 
 which has perhaps been a little too light 
 in texture for the introduction of solemn 
 and sacred words, I would say that there 
 is no ending so grand and so effective as 
 that which closes one great period of the 
 Life that has been of most import to the 
 world. " Now Barabbas was a robber." 
 
 Well then, as regards ordinary daily 
 affairs, in which most of us manifest so 
 little discretion in leaving off. This in- 
 discretion is the result of shyness, and 
 often the result of a sense of failure. 
 
 This latter motive occurs largely in 
 speech-making. A man goes floundering 
 on in the hope of redeeming himself, and 
 winning back the attention of his audi- 
 ence which he feels he has lost ; but the 
 hope is, for the most part, vain. It is an 
 exceedingly difficult thing to regain that 
 attention which has at the outset been
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 115 
 
 given to you, but which you have forfeited 
 by disappointing it. 
 
 This essay would be incomplete, if it 
 did not touch upon the errors which are 
 made in literature, in reference to the art 
 of leaving- off You can point to few works 
 of any mark in which there are not to be 
 seen too much explanation, too much 
 amplification, and in which the salient 
 points do not come at too great a distance 
 from each other. More and more demands 
 are being made upon the time of each of 
 us, as civilization advances ; and those 
 authors will have the greatest chance of 
 being listened to now, and being occasionally 
 referred to by posterity, who know how to 
 put their points of thought or argument suc- 
 t:inctly, and in sufficiently rapid succession. 
 
 I conclude by recalling to your minds 
 a fact, and you must have noticed it, which 
 is to be observed in the singing of certain 
 songs. There shall be a song sung by 
 some great artist with an ending, admirable 
 in every respect, to which even those who,
 
 ii6 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 like myself, delight in a grand and con- 
 clusive outburst of satisfying harmony, can 
 make no objection. Yet, if afterwards, the 
 person accompanying the singer plays only 
 a few bars to wind up, as it were, the 
 accompaniment, the ending of the song 
 loses much of its effect upon the audience ; 
 and the applause is not so fervent as it 
 would have been, if the vocal and the 
 instrumental music had ceased at one and 
 the same moment. 
 
 There was a pause for a minute or two 
 after Sir John had ceased reading. Then 
 Mr. Milverton spoke 
 
 MilverUvi. I like your essay very much, Ellesmere. 
 I should not call it an essay, though, but a speech. 
 
 Lady Ellesmere. That is just what I told you, John. * 
 
 Ellesmere. I don't care what you call it. Of course 
 I am more accustomed to makhig speeches than to 
 writing essays ; and I told you from the first that I was 
 not a practised writer. 
 
 Craftmer. I must say that Ellesmere has shown 
 great originality. He admitted that he had written one 
 sentence which, though fine, was erroneous; I think he 
 said " false."
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 1 1 7 
 
 Milvej-ton. I remember, when I was young, writing 
 some paper — about sanitary matters I think it was — and 
 showing it to an older and much wiser friend, I dare 
 say it was full of the exuberant faults of youthfulness. 
 He said to me, " My dear fellow, I foresee that this is 
 not the only thing you will write. Let me give you a 
 bit of advice. Whenever you write a sentence that 
 particularly pleases you, cut it out." Of course, such a 
 saying is not to be taken at the " foot of the letter," as 
 the French would say ; but there is a depth of wisdom 
 in it. I have thought of it a hundred tunes since; and 
 I hope it has done me some good. 
 
 Ellcsinere. I believe that I have, in this essay (I 
 shall call it an essay), laid down the foundation for a 
 practice which would conduce immensely to truthful 
 ness. I will tell you the whole story about that 
 sentence. When I had written it, I own I was pleased 
 with it. I read it to Lady Ellesmere when she came 
 up stairs. She thought it very good. Then, in the 
 middle of the night, I bethought me that it was all 
 nonsense — poetic nonsense — and that the real reason 
 why these conquerors, kings, and statesmen often make 
 but a sorry ending, is, that the things they keep on 
 doing, having once done them with success, are not 
 truly similar, on account of the variation of the 
 surrounding circumstances. It is not that the by- 
 standers become weary of the same thing being done ; 
 but that the same thing cannot be done. But I
 
 ii8 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 couldn't cut out my sentence. Virtue has its limits — • 
 certainly with such a fallible mortal as I am, so I kept 
 my fine sentence, but got up early to smite it afterwards. 
 
 Now you know that is a bright example, and what 
 is better than a bright example, it is a useful example. 
 A man cannot bear to "cut out" something that he has 
 taken great pains in elaborating; but he may be able to 
 say, " this was not the whole truth, and now I will tell 
 you what is the truth." He saves his vanity : he 
 anticipates the critics : he is, in these his dominions, 
 supreme. I have given an example to all authors. 
 
 Sir Arl/wr. Touching the great question of Leaving 
 Off, might one not say, Ellesmere, that some of the 
 eminent men in your profession would do well to leave 
 off, occasionally, a little earlier than they do? 
 
 Ellesmere. No, no. If you jurymen were wiser, or, 
 at least, sharper than you are, advocates might be more 
 succinct and reticent ; but not otherwise. 
 
 Milverton. If Johnson has not belied you — I mean 
 you who were out walking the other day — other subjects 
 for essays occurred to you. I wish very much to gain 
 attention from you for my own subject, which has 
 infinitely more need of discussion than your merely 
 playful subjects. Ah! my good friends, if you could 
 but see what might be done for the inhabitants of 
 great towns, you would not think the subject dull ! We 
 think the greatest subjects dull, because we have not 
 the heart, or the soul, to see their-greatness.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 119 
 
 Elksmere. Don't get in a rage, Milverton. Fury- 
 is the particular foible of philosophers. 
 
 Milverton. I am willing to humour you, as far as I 
 am concerned ; and, therefore, I say, go on if it pleases 
 you with some of the topics which you started in your 
 walk. I think I heard that Mauleverer maintained that 
 the folly of mankind was a constant quantity in all ages. 
 
 Mauleverer. I have not been misrepresented. How- 
 ever much it may offend your praises of mankind, I do 
 hold that theory. 
 
 Milverton. Well, then, give us an opportunity of 
 discussing it. Say your say in an essay. 
 
 Mauleverer. I, for once, agree with Ellesmere, 
 namely, as to the practice necessary for authovbhip. I 
 can't write essays. He can make speeches. I can't do 
 that ; but I will tell you what I will do. I will write a 
 letter to an imaginary American friend, who, I will 
 suppose, has asked me the question, whether this 
 amount of folly is constant or not. You must not 
 expect fine writing from me. I shall have nothing to 
 " cut out," and nothing of my own to answer, afier the 
 fashion of Sir John Ellesmere. 
 
 We all agreed that it would be delightful 
 
 to hear what Mr. Mauleverer would indite 
 
 upon this interesting subject; and then we 
 went our several ways.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ly/TR. MAULEVERER asked Mr. Mil- 
 verton to lend me to him as an 
 amanuensis for a day or two, while he was 
 preparing his promised letter to the Ameri- 
 can. 
 
 The number of books which Mr. Mau- 
 leverer desired me to find for him in the 
 library was astonishing. Luckily it was 
 a library of great extent. His researches 
 were chiefly historical ; and I supposed that 
 we should have one of the most learned and 
 elaborate letters that had ever been written 
 by an Englishman to an American. 
 
 At length, the letter having been written, 
 we met, by appointment. In the library. 
 Mr. Mauleverer declared that he was ready 
 to begin, and commenced at once.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 121 
 
 ** My dear Friend, — It is a question of 
 much interest that you have put before me 
 — namely, ' whether the folly in the world is, 
 or is not, a constant quantity.' You are 
 right in referring" this grave question to an 
 inhabitant of the Old World ; because, doubt- 
 less, we have had a longer experience of 
 human folly than you have had, though I feel 
 confident that, even with your smaller experi- 
 ence, you will be able to clench the opinion 
 which I shall give in the matter. 
 
 " I had at first thought that, exhausting 
 the records of history, I would prove to you 
 that my theory is the true one ; but such 
 elaboration is needless. 
 
 *' I began by enumerating the follies and 
 the mistakes of each age. It will be useful, 
 perhaps, if I recount some of them to you. 
 
 " There were times in which we men 
 believed that there was something divine 
 in every herb, flower, and tree ; when we 
 understood that there were nymphs and 
 satyrs in every wood ; when we prayed to 
 every god and goddess whom we could
 
 122 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 possibly invest wilh an imaginary existence. 
 We acknowledged the rights of our neigh- 
 bour by considering him as the first person 
 to be attacked ; and we relieved him from 
 the burden of his wives and his children by 
 making them slaves. At the same time we 
 wrote very fine poetry, and concluded that 
 we, on this small ball of earth, were the sole 
 inhabitants of the universe. 
 
 '* Then came a change over the spirit of 
 our dream. We believed in the unity of 
 the Godhead. Not content, however, with 
 this belief, we were good enough to lay 
 down the exact limits of the Godhead's 
 nature and its action. We ascertained truth 
 upon the most recondite matters by slaying 
 those who did not exactly agree with our 
 opinions. Often neither we, nor the people 
 we slew or burnt, could agree upon the 
 meanirg of the terms we used. We had 
 been taught that we should be as good and 
 kind to others as to ourselves ; and, feeling 
 that we should like to be slain or burnt, if 
 we were in the least degree wrong about
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 123 
 
 our views of the world and its g^overnment, 
 we slew or burnt those who differed from us 
 in the slightest particular. 
 
 ** In secular matters we felt, that the larger 
 the empire, that could be subjected to one 
 sovereign, the better it would be governed ; 
 and, consequently, we each fought for our 
 respective sovereigns ; and we killed, burned, 
 murdered, and enslaved, upon the highest 
 principles of imperial benevolence. 
 
 "Another change came over the spirit of 
 our dream. We thought that everybody was 
 as good and wise as every other body ; and 
 that nobody should be without anything 
 which anybody else possessed. This pro- 
 duced the same amount of killing, slaughter- 
 ing, and enslaving as heretofore. The only 
 change was one of theory. Each one of us 
 was to be the sovereign for .whom we fought. 
 
 *' Throughout most of these periods, we 
 believed that certain of our fellow-creatures 
 possessed the power of injuring us and our 
 cattle in some mysterious manner. We 
 burned or drowned those potent personages
 
 IJ4 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 whom, by Infallible signs, we knew to be 
 possessed of this power. 
 
 " Coming- to the present day, we do not 
 believe that this mysterious power exists in 
 our fellow-creatures. We think — at least, 
 some few of us do — that we are not com- 
 petent to decide irrefragably upon the 
 nature, intentions, and objects of the 
 Supreme Power of the universe. But we 
 still think that the best mode of settling 
 any doubtful question which may arise 
 between two sets of human beings, having 
 different modes of speech, is to ascertain 
 which should be able to kill the greatest 
 number of the other side. 
 
 ** All this time, my dear friend, we were 
 too much occupied in considering who we 
 are and why we are here, and what will 
 become of us hereafter, to give our minds 
 to such trivial matters as to how we should 
 be fed, clothed, or housed, and in what 
 enjoyment or recreation we should spend 
 that portion of time which remains to us 
 after our daily work.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 125 
 
 *' Forgive me, my dear friend, for leading 
 you through the long account of the follies 
 we have committed. It has little whatever 
 to do with the question. One rung in a 
 ladder (have you that word ' rung ' in 
 America ?) cannot say that it is different in 
 form or nature from any other rung in the 
 ladder, simply because it happens to be in 
 a higher position. Turn the ladder the 
 other way, and it is the lower rung. And 
 so it is with the ages of mankind. The 
 folly at all times is a constant quantity. 
 From the nature of a ladder. It is inevitable 
 that one rung must be higher than another ; 
 and, when you come to the top of this par- 
 ticular ladder, it leads to nothing and to 
 nowhere. 
 
 "The essential folly of mankind does not 
 vary. If you doubt that, let us go into 
 detail. For instance, it is surely a folly 
 that men should be led by eloquence instead 
 of by reason. Are they less the slaves of 
 eloquence now than they ever were ? 
 
 ** It is surely a great folly that men should
 
 126 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 believe in the exceeding' pleasantness of 
 riches. Are they less convinced of that 
 now than they ever were ? 
 
 " It is surely a folly that men should be 
 jealous of one another, and that everybody 
 should wish to be uppermost. Is that folly 
 diminished ? Are the strivings to rise, in 
 what they call society, at all less now than 
 they ever were ? 
 
 " We have been told to love one another. 
 Do people love one another more or less 
 at present than they ever did? Is not this 
 love, or the want of it, a constant quantity ? 
 
 "Is misunderstanding less frequent? Is 
 misrepresentation less frequent ? Wider 
 publicity is given to everything-. Has 
 truthfulness in the least degree increased 
 with the increase of publicity ? 
 
 "Has friendship increased? Anxious as. 
 I am to show the uniformity of human life, 
 I should say that this, one of the greatest 
 soothers of human misery, has decreased. 
 
 " It may be, that the powers of imagina- 
 tion in men have increased, and, conse-
 
 ■^ SOCIAL PRESSURE. 127 
 
 quently, that they feel a little more than 
 they used to do, for the physical pain of 
 others. They are good enough to provide 
 medicaments for those whom they still, as 
 recklessly as ever, wound in battle. But 
 has this increase of imagination done any- 
 thing to quell the real evils of mankind, 
 such as war ? Are the armies of Europe 
 less in number than they were in former 
 times ? I am told that, in former ages, three 
 or four hundred thousand men contrived to do 
 the fighting business of Europe ; whereas 
 now five or six millions are considered 
 to be necessary for this entirely Christian 
 occupation. I descend, as the eminent 
 essayist who preceded me" — 
 
 EUesmcre. Brother Jonathan won't know anything 
 about this eminent essayist. 
 
 — " I descend, as an eminent essayist has 
 said, to consider the minor matters con- 
 nected with my subject. Is dress less 
 foolish ? Is entertainment less foolish now than
 
 128 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 it ever was ? I am told by historical books 
 that when people burnt other people, for 
 differing with them about something in 
 which a single vowel showed the difference, 
 that at any rate the burners and the burned 
 dined at reasonable times, and that all their 
 daily proceedings had some reference to 
 the movements of that great luminary, the 
 sun. 
 
 " No, my dear friend. Mankind are a 
 little more sensitive than they used to be, 
 which sensitiveness increases pain at least 
 as much as pleasure. Their objects may 
 appear to be a shade less absurd, because 
 they happen to be on the higher rung of 
 the ladder ; but their own inherent folly is as 
 great, as constant, and as abiding as ever. 
 " I remain, 
 
 "Yours very sincerely, 
 
 " Ernest JMauleverer. 
 
 *' P.S. — Don't imagine that because your 
 folly differs slightly from ours in quality, 
 that it is less in quantity. The folly of
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 129 
 
 youth is not one whit less than the folly 
 of middle-age." 
 
 Milvc7-ton. Well. Alauleverer, you have stated j^our 
 case very well ; but your statement is outrageously unjust. 
 Your letter is artful ; but its art does not cover its 
 inadequacy to prove your case. You were obliged to 
 own that we had become more sensitive to human suffer- 
 ing ; that, in general, we had become more imaginative. 
 That increase of imagination will always extend as civili- 
 zation advances, and there is no telling the good that 
 it will produce. You sneer at our being so anxious to 
 cure the wounds of those who are wounded in battle. 
 Don't you see that this is the commencement of the end 
 of all fighting? It may be that the end is a long way 
 off; but a hard, if not a fatal, blow has been given to 
 fighting, by this care for those who are injured in battle. 
 Is it nothing that the first and best men in the w-orld 
 have raised their voices against slavery ? Is it nothing 
 that the absurdities of the belief in witchcraft should have 
 ceased to influence us ? 
 
 Your simile about the rungs of the ladder is ingenious, 
 but it won't hold good. You are comparing something 
 physical with something mental. The platform of 
 thought upon which each generation finds itself placed, 
 is a platform of a \(:.\y different kiiul from that of the 
 preceding thirty years. 
 
 Maulevercr. I did not descend into mean details \
 
 I30 SOCIAL PRESSURE, 
 
 but, if you talk in this high-flown manner, I must make 
 my objections in detail. There are four imijortant things 
 which concern man's life a good deal, namely, his dress, 
 his dwelling-place, his food, his festivities. Now for the 
 first. 
 
 Ellcsvicre. Oh ! I give up dress ; that is, as regards 
 the female species. 
 
 Sir Arthur. Men have decidedly improved in dress; 
 and this generation has shown less folly than the 
 previous one, and much less folly than the one preceding 
 that. 
 
 Lady Ellesmere. What they have gained in sense 
 they have lost by hideousness. 
 
 I won't enter into the subject of women's dress, 
 because you men are apt to be so rude in talking of that 
 matter ; but I believe that, what Sir Arthur said about 
 men's dress, exactly applies to women's dress. 
 
 Mrs. Milverton. I remember hearing from an old lady, 
 who was the youngest of several sisters, how, after her hair 
 had been powdered and arranged into some grand form, 
 a foot in height, she was not allowed to sleep, or, at least, 
 to go to bed, on the night preceding a county ball, lest 
 this vast and elaborate structure should be discomposed. 
 As she was the youngest, her hair had to be dressed first, 
 and so she had the longest time to wait, taking what 
 rest she could in a constrained position, watched by her 
 anxious mother. The men, too, then must have been 
 equally foolish, for I have been told of regiments of
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 131 
 
 soldiers whose pigtails were arrangjed the night before a 
 review or early parade ; and I suppose that these poor 
 fellows did not dare to sleep any more than this young 
 lady. 
 
 MaidtTerer. I am delighted to see you are so satisfied 
 about dress. We will now come to the dwelling-place. 
 
 Milve?io7i, My dear Mauleverer, each of these sub- 
 jects you bring before us is really so large in extent, that 
 it would require hours to discuss it, and experts to do so 
 adequately. I am ready to admit, as I have often 
 admitted before, that there has been less improvement 
 in architecture tlian in any other human device; but 
 there is one great reason for this which, in itself, shows 
 improvement. Locomotion having so greatly increased 
 and improved, the dwelling-place has become, or seems 
 to have become, of less importance. I own that it 
 is less substantial, and great evils follow from want 
 of substantiality. 
 
 Mauleverer. Now, about food. 
 
 Ellesmere. Here our opponent is in great force. For 
 my part I give up. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I do not. 
 
 Mrs. Milverton. Nor I. 
 
 Milverton. I am incompetent to deal with this matter. 
 I can only say that most dinners in our class of life seem 
 to me to be too expensive, too elaborate. Let us skip 
 this subject. 
 
 Mauleverer. I cannot consent to that, for I maintain
 
 132 SOCIAL PRESSURE, 
 
 tliat the ladies of the present day have much less know- 
 ledge of cookery, and suffer much more waste in their 
 households, than their ancestresses did. Eut what do 
 you say about festivities — about the amusements of man- 
 kind ? 
 
 Sir A/i/iiir. Well, I say, for one, that the greatest 
 amusement in the worlil, nair.ely, music, has largely 
 increased, and has judiciously increased. 
 
 Maulrverer. Let us be a little more general in our 
 treatment of this part of the subject. Can anything be 
 more comprehensively absurd than the times and seasons 
 for amusement chosen in the present day? If I were to 
 go back to the novels, the biographies, and even the 
 histories of former periods, I could show you that balls 
 began at seven and ended at twelve ; that great dinners 
 were transacted at reasonable times, before the digestive 
 powers of mankind were exhausted by the labours of the 
 day. And that, in fact, to put the matter in a large and 
 general way, our ancestors had a great regard and respect 
 for the night. 
 
 Ellesmere. He is not far wrong there, Milverton ! 
 
 Milverton. I have nothing to say in answer to that. 
 
 Mrs. Milverton. I have, but I hardly dare say it. I 
 know you w-ill laugh at me. 
 
 Milverton. Don't be afraid, my dear ; I will, as in 
 duty bound, m.aintain the wisdom of your argument, 
 whatever it may be. 
 
 Mrs. Milverion. Well, then, everybody isn't very
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 133 
 
 beautiful by day ; and few things are so beautiful by 
 day as by night. I have not your memory, Leonar.l, 
 otherwise I could quote a splendid passage trom 
 Byron, I think it is in " Childe Harold," where he 
 speaks of the moon turning even ungainly objects into 
 beauty, 
 
 Ellcsmei-e. Well, Mrs. Milverton, proceed. 
 
 Mrs. Alilverton. I have only to say that gaslight and 
 candlelight do the same thing in-doors tliat the moon does 
 out-of-doors. We have all been quoting our ancestors, 
 and I remember what my mother used to tell me of the 
 general effect of comparative ugliness when the gentlemen 
 and ladies used to come down in full dress, in broad, 
 blazing daylight, to a four o'clock dinner in some grand 
 boarding-house at Bath, Harrogate, or Brighton. I have 
 often heard you gentlemen of Oxford and Cambridge 
 talk of "gaudy days." It is almost im]:)0ssible in day- 
 light to be judiciously gaudy. And, after all, this gaudi- 
 ness is what you men delight in. I should like to say 
 something more. 
 
 Elks mere. Pray say it. 
 
 Mrs. Milverton. But it is a very delicate subject. 
 
 Ellesmere. Never mind : we are the boys to appreciate 
 delicacy. 
 
 Mrs. Milverton. Well, don't you think that most men 
 fall in love by candlelight? You need not all laugh so. 
 I am sure it's true. 
 
 Ellesmere. Now would any one but a woman think
 
 134 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 Df making such a remark? They are so detestably 
 Dbservant of small things. 
 
 Milverton. Yes ; but she is right, Ellesmere. 
 
 Ellesmae. But surely they see their lovers by daylight 
 if ter wards. 
 
 Cranmer. I think these are rather trivialities. I had 
 expected that Milverton, at any rate, would have gone 
 into the subject seriously. • 
 
 Milverton. Anything to oblige you, my dear Cranmer ; 
 ind, seriously speaking, I have an enormous objection to 
 all of Mauleverer's theories on the subject. What makes; 
 it almost impossible to come to any decided views on 
 such a subject is this : each man is more sensible, or less 
 foolish if you choose to put it so, than the mass of men. 
 
 Sir Arthur. And, again, the mass is more sensible 
 than each man. 
 
 EHesmcre. Witness the House of Commons, for 
 instance. As a body they partake no individual 
 member's crotchets. They are wonderfully common- 
 sensible, taken as a whole. 
 
 Milverton. Granted : but please return to my state- 
 ment that, in many things, each man is more sensible 
 than the mass of men. But, mark you, for a long, long 
 time he is powerless. Some folly reigns, almost every 
 individual is against it ; but he, the individual, is silent, 
 or he does not take any active part against it, because 
 he fears that others do not think with him, and that 
 custom is^ for the moment, too strong. So the folly goes
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE, 135 
 
 on, its foolishness being perceived and fully ap precialed 
 by thousands. Mauleverer made a good point when he 
 spoke of the lateness of the hours for festivity ; and he 
 might have added, for real business. My wife fought the 
 battle well against him ; but one must admit that she 
 was not altogether victorious. Thousands of persons 
 think as we do ; but, individually, they are powerless. 
 Some day, perhaps, some great personages will adopt 
 our views, and then the foolish thing will, all of a sudden, 
 be greatly modified. 
 
 Sij' Arthur. What you say is very true, Milverton. 
 It explains what, to me, was one of the most striking 
 things in one of Lecky's books, namely, how the idiotic 
 belief in witchcraft appeared suddenly to fade away. I 
 have no doubt that thousands of persons had perceived 
 this idiotcy. Then some one, whom history does not 
 think it worth its while to mention, made a protest 
 against the folly ; and the effect of this protest spread 
 like lightning. 
 
 The folly dropped off from mankind widiout much 
 being said about it ; and that is why we do not know the 
 full history of the transaction. 
 
 Milverton. Now I will give you an account of the 
 rise of a folly — one of the greatest follies, to my think- 
 ing, that has arisen in our time. I will not specify it, 
 lest that should produce Icngtliy discussion. You must 
 assume for the moment with me that it is a folly. It 
 has arisen in consequence of two or three one-idead men
 
 136 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 being placed, in power, and being not only able to talk 
 out their one idea, but also to bring it into practical life. 
 Now I know, not only from conversation with my own 
 Iriends, but from the talk in omnibuses and railway car- 
 riages, that the majority of men perceive the complete folly 
 of this foolish thing. But there comes in the Conserva- 
 tive element, very powerful for good, very powerful also 
 for the maintenance of evil ; and this foolish thing will 
 be fought over for a generation or two, before it is reduced 
 within due limits. 
 
 Now do you see what I am driving at— what all this 
 comes to? It means, that you must not condemn indi- 
 vidual men for folly, until you know whether they are 
 really consenting to the folly ; and, as I intimated before, 
 each man maybe much less guilty than he appears to 
 be ; than, for instance, he would appear to a foreigner, 
 on account of a foolish practice being prevalent in his 
 country. 
 
 Sir AriJntr. You may talk against man as much as 
 you like, but what a wonderful creature he is ! If he. 
 started as a gelatinous ascidian, how he has got on in the 
 world 1 He tells us, now, what are the metals that are 
 predominant in the distant stars. 
 
 Ellesmere. Yes : no doubt he is very grand ; but, as 
 a bird discovers its nest by foolish chirruping and twit- 
 tering whenever you come near it, so does man discover 
 his folly, mostly by his talk. What a sensible fellow he 
 would seem to be, if he were but silent ! I must go. I
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 137 
 
 see the gas-man at the gate. Some of these confounded 
 gas-pipes have gone wrong in the house. These are your 
 fine inventions. The dips of our youth gave us no 
 trouble, except in the snuffing. I hope no one will 
 invent any new thing in my time. I am wholly with 
 Mauleverer on this point. All your inventions end in 
 being a great trouble to a father of a fimily. 
 
 So saying, Ellesmere left the room. 
 
 Alilverton. I have only one thing more to say, but to 
 my mind it is convincing. I believe that cruelty is the 
 greatest folly in the world ; and certainly that particular 
 folly has steadily diminished from age to age. That's 
 my answer, in brief, to Mauleverer's letter. What his 
 American friend will say remains to be seen. 
 
 No one seemed Inclined to continue the 
 conversation, and the library was soon de- 
 serted.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 T ^^'ILL here give an account of the 
 conversation which took place during 
 another of our long walks in the country, 
 near Richmond. ]\Ir. Cranmer began thus. 
 
 Cranmer. While we are thinking of subjects for 
 essays, I should like to suggest " Hospilality." 
 
 Eilcsmere. It is a pretty subject, but, if treated by 
 Milverton or Sir Arthur, or any regular essayist, it would 
 be sure to be made too lengthy. We should have 
 ancient and modern hospitality contrasted. We should 
 be told which had been the most hospitable nation in 
 the world. The nice question, whether there was more 
 hospitality in the east or in the west, would be deftly 
 discussed. And what is desirable to be said would be 
 overlaid by this somewhat superfluous discourse. I 
 could give you a neat little essay consisting of about a 
 dozen sentences which would include all that it is neces- 
 sary to say.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 139 
 
 Cranmer. Pray let us have these dozen sentences as 
 quickly as possible. 
 
 Ellesmere. Official men are so given to deal with 
 all questions " as quickly as possible," that they require 
 the same unnatural speed from other human beings, I 
 must have some little time to collect my thoughts. 
 
 We walked on for some minutes in 
 silence, in order that Sir John might have 
 time to collect his thoughts ; and then he 
 thus began. 
 
 Ellesmere. A perfect host is as rare a being as a 
 great poet; and for much the same reason, namely, that 
 to be a perfect host, requires as rare a combination of 
 qualities as those which are needed to produce a great 
 poet. He should be like that lord-in-waiting of whom 
 Charles II. said, that he was "never in the way and never 
 out of the way." He should never degenerate into a 
 showman, for there is nothing of which most people 
 are so soon weary as "of being shown things, especially if 
 they are called upon to admire them. He, the perfect 
 host, should always recollect that he is in his own home, 
 and that his guests are not in theirs : consequently 
 those local arrangements which are familiar to him 
 should be rendered familiar to them. His v'ww should 
 be to make his house a home for his guests, with all
 
 MO SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 the advantage of novelty. If he entertains many guests, 
 he should know enough about them to be sure that 
 he has invited those who will live amicably together, 
 and will enjoy each other's society. He should show 
 no favouritism, if possible ; and if he is a man who 
 must indulge in favouritism, it should be to those of 
 his guests who are more obscure than the others. He 
 should be judiciously despotic as regards all pro- 
 posals for pleasure, for there will be many that are 
 diverse, and much time will be wasted if he does not 
 take upon himself the labour and the responsibility 
 of decision. He should have much regard to the 
 comings and goings of his guests, so as to provide eveiy 
 convenience for their adit and their exit. Now I am 
 going to insist on what I think to be a very great 
 point. This is not to count as a sentence. He should 
 aim at causing that his guests should hereafter become 
 friends, if they are not so at present, so that they 
 might, in future days, trace back the beginning of their 
 friendship to their having met together at his house. 
 Now that last sentence would please Milverton, I know. 
 My remark about it will not coirnt as a sentence. I 
 mean to keep strictly to the dozen. He, the perfect 
 host, must have the art to lead conversation without 
 absorbing it himself, so that he may develop the 
 best qualities of his guests. His expense in entertain- 
 ment should not be devoted to what is luxurious, but 
 to what is comfortable and enabHng. The first of all
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 141 
 
 things is that he should be an affectionate, indeed, 
 a loving host, so that every one of his guests should 
 feel that he is really welcome. He should press 
 them to stay ; but should be careful that this pressing 
 does not interfere with their convenience, so that they 
 stay merely to oblige him, and not to please themselves. 
 In considering who should be his guests, he should 
 always have a thought as to those to whom he would 
 render most service by having them as his guests : his 
 poorer brethren, his more sickly brethren. Those 
 whom he feels would gain most advantage by being his 
 guests, should have the first place in his invitations; 
 and, for this considerateness, he will be amply rewardeil 
 by the benefits he will have conferred. 
 
 Maiileverer. I seldom praise — praise injures most 
 people ; but I must say that Ellesmere has given us an 
 excellent essay. What, -however, did he mean by that 
 word " enabling," as regards expense ? 
 
 Ellesmere. I meant something of which, I am afraid, 
 you will not heartily api)rove, Maulcverer. I meant 
 that if he had to choose between the two things, he 
 had better have less sumptuous dinners, and more 
 horses and carriages, so as to give his guests a diversity 
 of amusement, and to render them more independent of 
 himself. 
 
 Cranmer. What did you mean when you used the 
 words " loca! arrangements ? " 
 
 Ellesmere. Well, this will take rather a long explana-
 
 142 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 tion. I meant tliat all the details which are known- to a 
 man in his own home should be made known to the 
 guests. They are very trivial things; and I will take a 
 trivial instance. The hours of the arrival and departure 
 of the post, the distances of the neighbouring towns, 
 the means for telegraphing, and a score of other little 
 matters, should be at once made known to the gutsts. 
 Then in the arrangement of the rooms, there is so much 
 that may be made conducive to the comfort of a guest 
 by a skilful host or hostess. I remember, when I was 
 attorney-general, and lived more in society, I was much 
 invited to country-houses, I hate going from my own 
 home, except to Milverton's, but one is occasionally 
 obliged to accept invitations. During this, the busiest 
 period of my lii'e, there were three persons who struck 
 me as being perfect hosts. One was a man of letters \ 
 I may as well say it was Dickens. The other was 
 an archbishop, and the third was the prime minister 
 of the day, whose excellence, however, in hostship 
 was to be attributed to his wife. Now, with these 
 three super-eminent hosts or hostesses, everything was 
 prepared for me that I could possibly want. Even 
 the books were looked out for me that I should be 
 most likely to require. 
 
 This minute care, however, is a thing which one has 
 no right to expect, and is, after all, comparatively 
 trivial. If I may presume to say w-hat is best worth 
 attending to in my essay — and I am really very much
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 143 
 
 pleased that INIauleverer approves of it — it is that 
 hospitality should be made useful. What kindness 
 you may do to a rising man by bringing him in 
 contact with those who have risen ! In few w'ords, I 
 would say that hospitality should never be devoted 
 to the enjoyment or the glorification of the host or 
 hostess, but should be devoted to the comfort, and, 
 if possible, to the future welfare of the guests. This 
 would take hospitality seme way, even if only a little 
 way, towards Christianity. 
 
 Well, then, there is another thing I would like to 
 say. I kept to my twelve sentences because I said 
 I would, but what I secretly wanted to add was this — 
 that in all your hospitality you should never forget 
 your own neighbourhood, considering that neighbour- 
 hood from the highest to the lowest. In these loco- 
 motive days one is too apt to forget one's neighbours. 
 They, above all people, should be made to share your 
 pleasures and your amusements ; and, if this were done 
 in every neighbourhood, society would be greatly bene- 
 fited, and people would be held together. One of the 
 greatest dangers of modern times is lest we should live in 
 sets, as it were, and should not intercommunicate freely. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I quite agree with you, P>llesmere. 
 
 Elles77tcre. I will give you an instance of what I 
 mean. Some of you will recollect that, years ago, we 
 were very theatrical at Milverton's, and we got up 
 several plays. We agreed to invite not only our great
 
 144 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 neighbours, but the farmers, the artisans, and even 
 the labourers ; and I never was present at anything 
 that was more jovial in all my life. That conveys 
 what I mean : seek, as far as you can, to make 
 everybody within your ken partakers of your pleasures 
 and of your hospitality. You will often be able to 
 afford to do this, if you avoid luxurious entertainment; 
 and hardly anybody cares about luxury. Don't have 
 fruits and vegetables out of season, and therefore 
 immensely dear : don't have refined dinners, whatever 
 Mauleverer may say ; but make your entertainments 
 as conducive to the happiness and enjoyment of as 
 large a number of people as you can, ignoring to a 
 certain extent the claims of rank, fashion, or conformity. 
 
 We walked home together in separate 
 parties. I was in the company of Sir 
 Arthur and Mr. Mauleverer ; and they both 
 owned that they had never heard Sir John 
 talk more sensibly or more kindly than 
 he had done on the present occasion ; but 
 Mr. Mauleverer added, with that cynicism 
 which is never absent from him, that Sir John 
 could not be in his usual state of health, 
 when he made an essay and talked after it, 
 in a manner so unlike his usual self.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 \"\ /"E were all very much amused with 
 Sir John Ellesmere's essay of twelve 
 sentences on Flospitality. We planned to 
 have a similar essay In the course of our 
 next walk together, which took place on the 
 following day. Mr. Milverton- and Lady 
 Ellesmere accompanied us. Sir Arthur thus 
 led up to the subject : — 
 
 Sir Arthur, That was really a very creditable essay 
 of yours, Ellesmere, which you gave us yesterday. 
 
 Mauievercr. The chief merit was its brevity. 
 
 Cranmer. I should like to suggest anothei- subject 
 which I know would please Mr. Mauleverer. What 
 should you say to an essay on Vulgarity ? 
 
 Maiilrocrcr. No : don't take that, it would require 
 hundreds of sentences to deal with it properly ; and 
 hardly anything worthy of it could be said in twelve sen- 
 tences.
 
 146 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 Elhsmae. One sentence is sufllcient. I will engage 
 to give you a single sentence on tliis subject; and what- 
 ever form of vulgarity you afterwards put before me, I 
 promise that it shall be signified, or at least explained, 
 by this single sentence. 
 
 Cranmcr. This is an amazing man ! 
 
 Ellesmcre. I suppose that the peripatetic philosophers, 
 when they had anything very important to say to their 
 disciples, paused in their walk to do so. 
 
 We all stopped : then stood in front of Sir 
 John as if we were a docile class of students, 
 waiting to drink in the words of a master of 
 sentences. It happened to be dinner-time 
 for the rustic population. We were close 
 to the corner of a field where a number of 
 farm-labourers were ploughing for spring- 
 corn ; they peeped over the hedge at us, 
 but no one saw them but myself. Ellesmere 
 continued : — 
 
 Ellesmere. All vulgarity s'niiply results from a want 
 of selfcoiifide7ice. If I were writing a book, I should 
 put these words into double italics, if there are such 
 things. Now, then, tell me, as we walk on, any form of 
 vulgarity which is not expressed and explained by my 
 single pregnant sentence.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 147 
 
 Sir Arthur. Ostentation — whether of birth, wealth, 
 rank, or abiUty of any kind ? 
 
 Ellesmere. This is too easy to answer. Don't you 
 see that if a man had self-confidence, if he even believed 
 thoroughly in the force and worth of these social advant- 
 ages, he would not require to be perpetually putting them 
 forward, and making claims for them? No: it is the 
 want of self-confidence which makes him so vulgar as to 
 flaunt these advantages before the eyes of his fellow-men. 
 
 Matileverer, Well, there is the vulgar vanity that is 
 always putting itself forward — I mean personal vanity 
 of all kinds ; and note this, I mean the vanity which has 
 no good grounds to go upon ; and therein my problem 
 differs from Sir Arthur's, for his advantages were real. 
 
 Ellesmere. Again, this is too easy to answer. The 
 man in question has some merits. (Nobody is without 
 merits, and without possible usefulness.) But he is 
 deficient in self confidence about his true merits — merits 
 upon which he could really take his stand, and so he 
 makes false and unreal claims for attention and respect. 
 
 Alilverton. The boasting of grand acquaintanceships, 
 the endeavour to prove that one is in a higher social 
 circle than that in v.hich one really moves. 
 
 Ellesmere. My dear fellows, don't be so absurdly easy 
 in taking objections to my potent single sentence. If 
 that is not an instance of the want of self-confidence, I 
 don't know what is. The man in question has no sound 
 faith in the merits and wortl) o( the class or station to
 
 148 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 M'liich lie belongs, and so he becomes pretentious, and 
 boasts of any chance acquaintanceship wiih great pcojilc. 
 
 Johnson. Fussiness and want of reticence, so that a 
 man tells you, jierhaps in a railway carriage, all about 
 himself and his family and his afiairs. 
 
 Ellcsinae. Our excellent Sandy has endeavoured to 
 make a good point — and has made a belter point than 
 almost any of you ; but he cannot beat me, or diminish 
 the value of my sentence. He artfully endeavours to 
 drag me into other regions. Fussiness is not vulgarity : 
 want of reticence is not vulgarity. Take the last 
 named thing. It often results from innocence of mind 
 and from aftectionateness. A child will tell you all 
 about itself and its home goings on ; and a child is 
 never vulgar. 
 
 Milvcrton. Very good, Ellesmere. 
 
 Elksmcre. Yes, he says very good — when I answer 
 his secretary's objection. He did not say so when I 
 answered his own. 
 
 Lady Ellesmere. Out.-ageous dress — not all the colours 
 of the rainbow, but those colours which will not har- 
 monize together. 
 
 Ellesmere. Is not this intensely feminine ! You can 
 see how they pronounce against one another, merely 
 founding their conclusions on the subject of dress, an 
 all-important subject to them. I do maintain that I am 
 not a vulgar man. All other faults you may impute to 
 me, but not this. Nevertheless my wife is often pleased
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 149 
 
 to tell me that I am vulgar in the article of dress, simply 
 because I love bright colours, and do not discern dis- 
 cordancy in colour where she perceives it. She does not 
 know, poor woman, that this is a question of tempera- 
 ment. I will bet anything that Milverton, who has some- 
 what of a sombre mind, also delights in a profusion of 
 bright colours. 
 
 Milverton nodded assent, Ellesmere con- 
 tinued : — 
 
 Now have I not answered my lady ? 
 
 Cranmer. I don't wish to boast, but I do not think 
 he will be able to answer me. There is a vulgarity of 
 mind which was not included in any of the foregoing 
 objections. It is not, as Sir Arthur said, connected with 
 ostentation : it is not, as Mauleverer said, vanity : it has 
 nothing to do with dress, or boastfulness of any kind. 
 
 Ellesmere. This is alarming. 
 
 Cranmer. It has no relation whatever to anything 
 that has been said before. There is, I say, a vulgarity of 
 mind which takes the vulgar view of everything presented 
 to it. I don't know German, but I think I understand 
 what the Germans mean wlien they say that a man is a 
 Philister — a Philistine, as we should say. Mr. Matthew 
 Arnold would, in his eloquent language, best express 
 what I mean. I have seen it in official life ; I have seen 
 it in ordinary life. 1 cannot c^uite describe it to you, but
 
 I50 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 I am sure you all know what I am aiming at. It is, that 
 in every affair with which he has to deal, the vulgar man 
 takes the second-rate motive, the common-place motive, 
 the one that is sure to go down with vulgar people such 
 as himself. 
 
 Ellesmerc. This is the hardest nut I have had to crack. 
 I can only answer it in this way, that, as I believe, 
 Cranmer's vulgar man sees the higher motive, but does 
 not believe in its influence : has not the self-confidence 
 which would enable him to appeal to that higher motive 
 in others, and so becomes a Philisterin spite of his better 
 self. 
 
 Milverton. You must own, Ellesmere, that Cranmer 
 has made a remark very difficult for you to answer. 
 
 £i/esmere. I will expand, or at least exjilain, my 
 crucial sentence. Vulgarity proceeds from something 
 negative, whereas most people seem to think that it pro- 
 ceeds from something positive. I have been pleased to 
 perceive that no one of you has taken the point of vul- 
 garity of language. A man may be deficient or redun- 
 dant in his H's. This has nothing to do with vulgarity. 
 
 But to return to my main theme. My idea is not 
 original. I gained it from Ruskin, or from a quotation 
 which Milverton once made from him, in which that 
 most eloquent writer said that " vulgarity was death," 
 or words to that effect. That saying enlightened me at 
 once. I saw that vulgarity was deficiency and not super- 
 abundance, though it may take the form of super-
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 151 
 
 abundance. And I believe that even Cianmer's objec- 
 tion, which is the hardest I have had to answer, will, 
 when looked at by the philosophic mind, resolve itself 
 into deficiency — deficiency of hope, of faith, of sympathy ; 
 and so it will, in a measure, come within the scope of 
 my original sentence, that all vulgarity results from a 
 want of self-confi lence — of confidence either in oric's 
 ordinary self, or of the higher aspirations which belong 
 to one's better self.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " I "HE "Friends In Council" seemed, in 
 the last few days, to have found out a 
 new vein of thought, or rather a new mode 
 of expressing- their thoughts. These walks, 
 which used to be rather avoided by some of 
 the company, were now talked of beforehand 
 and even the most indolent did not care to 
 be absentees. For my part, I should have 
 preferred more solid, indoors talk ; but no- 
 body agreed with me in that preference. 
 The next day, we went out walking again, 
 with the intention, I could perceive, of 
 getting Sir John to enlighten us with 
 some brief essav. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I, for one, have been greatly amused and 
 pleased with the short essays Ellesmere has given us.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 153 
 
 Ctanmcr. One can hardly call a single sentence an 
 essay. 
 
 Ellesmere. Xo : would that essays had often consisted 
 of single sentences. I am glad to have pleased Sir 
 Arthur. Is there any other subject he would like to 
 hear treated with becoming brevity? Like most juvenile 
 authors, I am impatient to display my powers to the 
 world. 
 
 Sir Arthur. Calumny ! 
 
 Ellesmere. A commonplace subject. It has been 
 treated over and over again ; and, oddly enough, best 
 treated in the Figaro of Beaumarchais. I could give you 
 a subject not really akin to calumny, but by most people 
 supposed to be first cousin to that vice. 
 
 Crajimcr. Scandal ? Backbiting ? 
 
 Elltsmere. No. The originality of my subject con- 
 sists in its being common as the air, and yet, as far 
 as I know, never having been taken as a subject for an 
 essay. It is " Denigration." This is a very different 
 thing from calumny, or slander, or backbiting, or from 
 any form of satire or sarcasm. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I think he is right. Now for the 
 essay, Ellesmere, or for the essaylet, if I may so coin 
 a word. 
 
 Ellesmere. I cannot treat it quite so briefly as I liave 
 treated the preceding subjects which have been en- 
 trusted tome; and I must think a little, before I attempt 
 to give any discourse upon it.
 
 154 SOCIAL PRKSSURE. 
 
 Hereupon Sir John EUesnicrc walked on 
 at a rapid pace before us ; and then, after a 
 few minutes, returned to us. 
 
 "I am ready now," he said, "and, as 
 Milverton is wont to say, ' I demand the 
 strictest attention from you all,' for it is a 
 very important subject which I am about 
 to discuss." I will now give his own 
 words. 
 
 Ellesmere. If you are honest men you will admit that 
 whatever anybody says against any other body, has some 
 effect upon your minds. Suppose you know that there 
 is mahis animus in the person speaking ; suppose you 
 know that the said person has no real cognizance of the 
 subject, or of the man, of which, or of whom, that person 
 is speaking — still, his speech produces some effect. For 
 instance : a very young man is talking of some work in 
 science, art, or literature, which you are well aware that 
 he is utterly incapable of understanding, and has, pro- 
 bably, not read, or only read partially, you are still, if 
 but in some slight degree, affected by what you are 
 pleased to dignify as an adverse opinion. There is a vile 
 gregaripusness of thought and feeling which only the very 
 greatest personages are able to withstand. Moreover 
 (and here I utter a truth which is not far from being one 
 of the most significant truths in the world), not one man
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 155 
 
 in five hundred is able to endure the painful process 
 of keeping his judgment righteously in suspense. The 
 smallest weight is often able to depress the scale one 
 way or the other. 
 
 Luckily in my essays, or " essaylets," as Sir Arthur is 
 pleased to call them, the author can endure interruption. 
 Have I exaggerated the effect of this gregarlousness 
 of mind ? Can any of you honestly say that you are not 
 affected by hostile criticism, however absurd, ignorant, 
 or irrelevant you know that criticism to be, and however 
 much you may despise the critic ? 
 
 You are silent. I am glad to see that you have 
 consciences — active, energetic consciences — which en- 
 able you to recognize a truth when it is laid before you. 
 
 I proceed with my discourse. 
 
 Well would it be for the world if it were guided only 
 by malevolence in its sayings and doings. I have a 
 large acquaintance; but I hardly think that there is 
 a really malevolent being among them. This knocks 
 over (that is not a phrase of your solemn essayists) — this 
 knocks over your calumny and your backbiting. They 
 are very rare transactions, but denigration is as common 
 as folly. And why is it so common ? Because it is 
 so easy. To praise, with anything like judgment, is the 
 work of an artist. To condemn, to vilify, to denigrate 
 is within every man's power. The village idiot, if you 
 observe his sayings (I really speak from observation), 
 generally blackens what he talks about. It is always
 
 156 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 complaint and never praise that forms the staple of 
 village idiots' maundeiings. 
 
 Now you must not think that I am talking after the 
 fashion of Mauleverer, who, if he were uttering this 
 peripatetic essay, would tell you that the denigrator had 
 in view the abundant malice and envy of mankind, and 
 was accordingly talking with reference to the applause 
 which would be elicited from that prevailing envy and 
 malice. Nothing of the kind. The denigrator talks 
 only what is easiest for him to talk. I go down to the 
 depths of human nature \ and I am fully aware of that 
 fact, which most of you philosophers ignore, that man 
 is a very indolent creature. 
 
 Shall I proceed? 
 
 Sir Arthur. Certainly. 
 
 Ellesmcre. Well, then ; man, an ordinary man, is a 
 very unimaginative creature. When he contemplates a 
 great work of any kind, be it in politics, religion, 
 science, literature, or art, he approaches it with a 
 prosaic and unimaginative mintl. He has no con- 
 ception — how should he ? — of the labour overcome, of 
 the multitudinous things which the writer, or the 
 painter, or the scientific man has set aside, in the 
 ultimate representation of what he has had to say, to 
 announce, or to portray. 
 
 All human society is full of denigration from the 
 foregoing causes which I have named. It is easy ; it is 
 natural ; it is unimaginative ; moreover, it is easily
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 157 
 
 understood. It is one of the most mischievous elements 
 in the world ; for it appeals to two of the most pregnant 
 conditions in human intercourse— namely, ignorance 
 and want of sympathy. 
 
 Sir Arthur. What a pity Sir Jolm has given the 
 best part of his mind to his legal studies ! 
 
 EUcsmere. My legal studies, Sir Arthur, have taught 
 me to observe these things. I never was more in 
 earnest than in what I have said to you just now. You 
 and Milverton and Cranmer are always propounding 
 something or other which should be of great benefit to 
 mankind — something legal, political, sanitary, or social 
 — but I doubt whether anything would be of more 
 benefit to mankind, would give more power to the men 
 who are seeking to do their best for mankind, than 
 putting a check upon this habit and spirit of denigration. 
 Every reformer, from Luther upwards and downwards, 
 has had to contend against it, as his greatest and most 
 prevailing enemy. 
 
 And every good man should seek to assure himself 
 thoroughly as to what he is doing, when he denigrates 
 the efforts of any improver, reformer, inventor, or even 
 would-be benefactor of the human race. Of course, 
 I might have alluded to the common proverb, "Throw 
 mud — some of it is sure to stick." The answer given 
 is not satisfactory to me: namely, "Tliat it will rub 
 off when it is dry." It is at any rate a long time before 
 it dries.
 
 158 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 There is somctliing I wish to add. We are greatly 
 deluded by the use of grand wonls in tliis matter, such as 
 " calumny," " scandal," and the like. I have used too fine 
 a word in "denigration." I should like instead, if you 
 would endure it, to use the word " black-washing." Now 
 many a man, who has spent half his conversational 
 time in black-washing, does not feel that he is in the 
 remotest degree touched by any noble language you 
 may employ against the grander vices of calumny and 
 scandal-mongering. Any blame of this kind does not 
 come near to him. He does not dislike anybody 
 enough to calumniate him, or to invent scandal against 
 him. He only projoagates these evil things by carelessly 
 and indifterently repeating them. True, he likes to 
 take off the edge of a fine action by showing that some 
 small or mean motive might have given rise to it. But 
 this he considers to be very harmless ; and, in short, he 
 black-washes to a great extent without having any real 
 consciousness of what he is doing. He furnishes a 
 depressing kind of medicine that he thinks is very 
 healthful for the world, which might otherwise be too 
 much excited by- the contemplation of any good work 
 or noble endeavour. . 
 
 Somehow or other the eyes of several of 
 us took the direction of the place where Mr. 
 Mauleverer was standing. Sir John per- 
 ceived this.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 159 
 
 EUcsmcre. Now this is very rude of you. They think, 
 Maulcverer, that my lust sentences were aimed at you. 
 Nothing of die kind. Mauleverer, my friends, is a man 
 who has a great deal of spare darkness in his soul: 
 and he possesses some of that power whicli a great poet 
 has assigned to a certain personage — 
 
 "And where he gazed, a gloom pervaded space." 
 
 So, without in any way wishing to liken Mauleverer to 
 that personage, we may still say that he has a power 
 of throwing some of his darkness in whatever direction 
 he is pleased to throw it ; but he does not black-wash 
 other people. He only casts a dark colour upon the 
 human race in general, and does not condescend to 
 vilify any individual, except perhaps an enthusiast or a 
 philanthropist. 
 
 Now, Mauleverer, if you have any spare cash about 
 you, I think I know of somebody who deserves to 
 receive it as a fee for the defence of your calumniated 
 character. 
 
 Mauleverer. I am quite indifferent to tlie supposed 
 attack, and not peculiarly grateful for the defence. 
 There is no knowing how far your enthusiasms (I do not 
 accuse you though, Ellesmere, of enthusiasm) would 
 carry you if it were not for my counteracting influence. 
 Not that I play a part of counteraction ; but I sincerely 
 think that Milverton and Sir Arthur, who are the 
 greatest sinners in this line, often jjut forward impos-
 
 i6o SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 sibililies of liope and endeavour. I shall be very 
 glad if it shall ever be proved that I am in the 
 wrong. 
 
 Milvcrton. I cannot let Mauleverer off so easily as 
 you do, Ellesmere — just because you wish to have him 
 on your side at the present moment. When he abuses 
 us poor men collectively, I do not see how we, as 
 individuals, escape his censure. I do not see how 
 any of us remain white when he " black-washes," to use 
 your word, the whole human race. I never hear him 
 make exceptions. You would think, to hear his 
 diatribes, that we were all reptiles. His talk is so 
 unmeasured, and, for the most part, turns upon so few 
 particulars. 
 
 Maulrocrcr. Don't provoke me to say all that I could 
 say, of man. 
 
 Ellesmere. You cannot disconcert us. I, for one, 
 am thoroughly aware that he is not a perfect creature ; 
 but, upon the whole, by no means so despicable a 
 creature as you would make him out to be. But say 
 on. Tell us what you are pleased to think of man. 
 
 Maula'crcr. Contemptible in his appetites, grovelling 
 in his pursuits, absurd in his pleasures, most comical 
 when meaning to be most serious; imitative as an ape, 
 shameless as a dog ; and as fond of following a crowd 
 as the silliest of sheep ; the serf to success, the slave 
 of fashion ; a creature who trades upon the few epidemic 
 ideai, of his age, which he in his conceit supposes to
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. i6i 
 
 be his own. In religion, for the most part, a super- 
 stitious idolater, or one who scarcely seems to think 
 there is such a thing as Divine Government ; hardly con- 
 sistent for any single hour of his dreary life : but not 
 on all these accounts unfitted for abiding in a planet 
 wherein the most significant transactions are disease, 
 devouring, decadence, and death. 
 
 Eikstnere. It is a very pretty description of man, 
 I take exception to one phrase only, " shameless as a 
 dog." I wish, that in fairness you- had only shown 
 how like to a dog he is, when he is at his best — how 
 friendly, how affectionate, how forgiving. 
 
 Now I will tell you why that abusive bit about the 
 dog was put in. It was to make the third section of 
 a sentence, or of a paragraph — the third section of that 
 sentence or paragraph wherein the ape and the sheep 
 were spoken of. The love of mankind for the number 
 three has been a fatal thing for them. It would be 
 hard to recount how many false and injurious statements 
 have entered into speech and writing, by reason of this 
 love for a third section of a sentence. I should have 
 fulfilled my mission in life (each one of us I hope has 
 a mission), if I could persuade the world that truth is 
 chiefly violated by this insertion of the third section. 
 Of course. Sir Arthur would say that it is necessary 
 for the sake of euphony. Euphony, tlicn, is the mother 
 of many lies. 
 
 Milvcrion. You can lower anybody or anything 
 M
 
 1 62 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 by tliis exnggcrating process of Maulcvercr. For my 
 part, as I liave intimated to you before, my wonder 
 is perpetual that mankind has made so good a thing 
 of the very hard and trying circumstances around 
 him ; and the result of my experience is, astonishment that 
 the selfishness of individual being has so little corrupted 
 the primal elements of goodness which were inserted 
 in man. Ludicrous as it may appear to you, Mauleverer, 
 I would almost rest my defence of man upon the fact 
 that in the theatre the most commonplace maxim of 
 morality, the least approach to generosity of sentiment, 
 is welcomed by the galleries with a shout of applause 
 which shows that the hearts, even of the least edu- 
 cated of mankind, respond with fervour to anything that 
 is great or good, however familiar, which is put before 
 them. 
 
 Maiilrcerer. I can't admit that to be an able defence 
 of human nature — that it is always ready to indulge in 
 the cheap virtue of applauding clap-trap. 
 
 Milverton. Perliaps I can do something better. Let 
 us take five or six of the men who are best known 
 to the world. Now they shall not be saints or martyrs ; 
 or men especially renowned for goodness of any kind. 
 I will choose them only from the fact that they happen 
 to be well known to us — not their lives particularly, but 
 themselves. A man's life often tells very little about the 
 innermost nature of himself. It is a web into which so 
 many extraneous threads are woven.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 163 
 
 The men I will choose are Horace, Dante, Montaigne, 
 Pepys, Dr. Johnson, and Rousseau. 
 
 Ellesmcre. A queer collection. How they would 
 have quarrelled ! 
 
 Milvcrton. I don't know about that. All I contend 
 for is, that there is much to admire and like in each 
 of these men, however great their faults may have been. 
 Do Mauleverer's words apply to them : " Grovelling in 
 their pursuits, idiotic in their pleasures, the serfs of 
 success, the sport of nature, atheists or bigots," I forget 
 his precise words. 
 
 Sir Arthur. Pepys ? 
 
 Elksmere. The best chosen of all. Now, there is a 
 book I have read — his diary — over and over again. 
 I give Milverton great credit for choosing him. He 
 does not pretend to be a mass of virtue ; but, after all, 
 how much good and worth there is in the fellow. 
 I look upon that diary of his as the truest book ever 
 written. Even when he condescends to conformity, 
 you can see that he does not take in himself, or wish 
 to take in any reader, if that diary was ever intended 
 to be read. One day he goes in a barge wiih the 
 king and the Duke of York. "Good Lord!" he says, 
 "what poor stuff they did talk." Then recollecting 
 that, as an official man, he must not, even to himself, 
 run down his official superiors, he adds, " But, God 
 be praised, they arc both of them princes of marvellous 
 nobleness and spirit." 1 won't swear io the exactness
 
 1 64 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 of the words, but I am sure I give you a just idea of 
 the passage. 
 
 There are only two others of Milverton's heroes, 
 of whom I know anything — Horace and Dr. Johnson ; 
 and of them I must say that Milverton is right. They 
 both tend to give us a favourable view of human 
 nature. 
 
 Milva-ton. I confess, with all my admiration for 
 Dr. Johnson, that he has one of the greatest faults which, 
 to my mind, can beset a man. He seems to contra- 
 dict for contradiction's sake. Now, what one desires to 
 know, in one's converse with other men, is what they 
 really think, not what they will say for the sake of 
 provoking argument. 
 
 EUcsuiere. I don't see that that is such a great fault. 
 
 Milverton. [Rather dryly.] I did not expect that 
 yott would. But have I not proved, or rather illustrated, 
 my argument — namely, that the men you know best, 
 into whose characters, from some reason or other, you 
 have gained a particular insight, are by no means the con- 
 temptible creatures that Mauleverer would make them 
 out to be ? Of course one ought not to answer his 
 diatribes seriously; but sometimes one is provoked into 
 doing so. I can hardly believe that he himself believes 
 in what he says. 
 
 Afaulez'erer. I do. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I do not think, Milverton, that you 
 were particularly fortunate in naming Rousseau.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE, 165 
 
 Milverton. I thought it but fair to name him, when 
 I was looking out, which was my fust thouglit, for 
 those men of whom we know a great deal. I took care 
 not to name any man of our own time, because that 
 might have given rise to ill-natured sayings. 
 
 Well now, about Rousseau, Some of Maulevcrer's 
 sayings would hit him hard. He was a morbid creature, 
 but penetrated with a desire for the improvement of 
 mankind in his own way ; and in that respect he was by 
 no means an ignoble person. 
 
 You must admit that I was judicious in not fighting 
 the battle on the merits of men acknowledged to 
 have done some signal service to the world — of your 
 Clarksons, Howards, Wilberforces, St. Francises, Bor- 
 romeos, and the like. For the most part, I took what 
 are called men of the v»^orld. Horace, Montaigne, and 
 Pepys are really representative men of their class. Sir 
 Arthur, do say something for Montaigne. You, of course, 
 know all about him. 
 
 Sir Arthur. One of the best fellows in the world. 
 How I should have liked to have had him here with 
 us ! — a very Christian man, without being at all aware, 
 himself, of that fact. ' I wish he had not been quite 
 so coarse ; but if he had lived in our day he would 
 not have been a coarse man at all. He would have 
 been as fine a gentleman as the late Sydney Herbert, 
 the finest gentleman I ever knew. 
 
 Mauleverer. I do not mind having every one against
 
 1 66 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 me. I am used to tliat. I sliall only make one remark 
 in answer to the puffing up of mankind wluch you all 
 indulge in. 
 
 EUcsmcre. It's the first time I have ever been called 
 a pufferup of mankind. Oh ! don't apologise, I willingly 
 accept the character. I always puff up Milverton to a 
 large extent. 
 
 Matilevcrcr. My remark is simply this — that if j'ou 
 think that these men in their autobiographies, their 
 diaries, or their other writings, give a true representation 
 of themselves, you are much mistaken. Nobody dares 
 to represent himself as he truly is. You may shout 
 " oh ! oh ! " as much as you like ; but it is so. Your 
 Scriptures are with me. The men, inspired or otherwise, 
 who have written most truly of their fellow-men, know 
 that the heart of man is desperately wicked. You 
 cannot bear to hear the truth, any of you. 
 
 Nobody cared to reply to Mr. Mauleverer ; 
 and somehow or other, as so often happens, 
 the man who takes the darkest views of 
 human life is not easily to be defeated. 
 As Mr. ]\Iilverton said afterwards, " He 
 disheartens, if he cannot conquer : he de- 
 presses, if he cannot prevail." 
 
 Our conversation subsequently diverged
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 167 
 
 into various channels; and, amongst other 
 things, Mr. Milverton's previous essay was 
 alluded to in the following manner. 
 
 Cranmcr. I wish Milverton Avould not speak so 
 vehemently as he does against Pohtical Economy. 
 
 Ellcsiiure. It is very inconsistent of him. He worried 
 my life out, when we were young men, urging me to 
 read Adam Smith, and James Mill, and Ricardo, and a 
 host of other political economists. 
 
 Sir Artliur. You do not understand him, and 
 pei'.aps he does not quite understand himself. It is 
 against the false application, or rather the unlimited 
 application, of the maxims of political economy, that he 
 means to fulminate. 
 
 Ellesmcre. Yes : there is Avhere it is, and that kind 
 of error is perpetual. There is no maxim that can 
 be applied without many modifications. Cranmer inti- 
 mated to me, the other day, that I did not know much 
 about science. Well ; he is not far wrong. I took a 
 tolerable degree, but have never had time to keep 
 up with the scientific labours and discoveries of our 
 day. 
 
 Sir Arthur was sliowing me yesterday, and translating 
 for me, a beautiful passage of the great Humboldt's, 
 in which that wonderful man says that, in the time 
 of our youth or boyhood, the account of some place
 
 1 68 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 strikes out imagination very forcibly, perhaps quite 
 unreasonably, and we are ever afterwards pining to see 
 this place. 
 
 A similar thing occurs in all the studies of the 
 young. I read all the mathematics of my day, but 
 it was one single trivial thing that happened to make 
 the greatest impression upon me ; and it thoroughly 
 applies to the present subject. It relates to the 
 inclined plane. There was the mathematical formula 
 which gave the result of a weight descending this 
 inclined plane. But then it was a mathematical 
 inclined plane — not the inclined plane of actual life. 
 With regard to the descent on that plane, friction had 
 to be taken into account. That fact made an indelible 
 impression upon my mind ; and ever afterwards I have 
 endeavoured to allow for " friction " in all human affairs. 
 This is the main safeguard against pedantry ; and it 
 includes all that Milverton means, when he is attacking 
 political economists. 
 
 Men Avill buy in the cheapest market. No, they won't ; 
 . at least not for a long time. 
 
 Men are always guided by self-interest. No, they are 
 not ; for any given man is a mass of whims, humours, 
 and prejudices, which intercept and even conquer the 
 force of self-interest. 
 
 jNIan is a reasonable animal, and, of course, submits 
 willingly to be bound by a chain of correct and severe 
 reasoning. No, he does not ; for, in that case, he would
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 169 
 
 always agree with me, and I do not find that he does 
 ahvays agree with me. 
 
 Put whatever maxim you- choose before me, I will 
 prove to you that it only applies when large modifications 
 are added to it, when friction is taken into account. 
 
 We took Sir John at his word, and tried 
 him with all manner of general maxims and 
 proverbs ; but he certainly was victorious in 
 showing- that, in every case, large modifica- 
 tions and many exceptions had to be made. 
 
 Mr. Cranmer is the only one of us who, in 
 our conversations, is a persistent enemy to 
 Sir John Ellesmere. " Well then," said Mr. 
 Cranmer, " that single sentence which you 
 gave us, as expressing and explaining all 
 vulgarity, was not, after all, a general truth." 
 Sir John is not easily disconcerted, but he 
 seemed to be so for a moment. " At any 
 rate," he replied, "not one of you could 
 bring forward the exceptions and modifica- 
 tions that were necessary." 
 
 We were close at home when this was 
 said, and there was no further conversation 
 worth recording.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 "\^7'HEN in our first walk we were talking 
 over subjects for essays, it was Mr. 
 Mauleverer who proposed " Over- Publicity " 
 as one of them. He was now asked to write 
 an essay on that theme ; but he declined 
 to do so, saying "he had no idea that 
 authorship was such hard work ; and that, 
 what with his letter to the American, which, 
 however, had satisfactorily proved the exact 
 equivalence of human folly at all periods of 
 the world's history, and what with his essay 
 on " Intrusiveness," which had proved that 
 all men, even the greatest, would descend to 
 a level of uniform stupidity, he thought he 
 had done enough to enlighten and amuse 
 the company. 
 
 Without recounting the conversation which
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 171 
 
 ensued, it is enough to say that it was 
 mainly devoted, by the other friends, to 
 showing Mr. Mauleverer that he had chiefly 
 confined his essay to proving how intrusive- 
 ness affected great men ; and, therefore, that 
 it was an evil which did not much concern 
 the world in general. 
 
 Finally, Sir Arthur undertook to write the 
 essay on "Over-Publicity;" and the day 
 came when he was to read this essay. 
 
 I wish that somebody besides myself could 
 have seen the expression of mingled bewil- 
 derment, sarcasm, and impatience, on the 
 face of Sir John Ellesmere (who was sitting 
 behind Sir Arthur), during the beginning of 
 Sir Arthur's essay. Sir John has a great 
 respect for Sir Arthur, the respect of a com- 
 paratively unlearned man for a learned one ; 
 and, therefore, does not venture to interrupt 
 him as he would any of the others. 
 
 Sir Arthur reads with a sonorous voice ; 
 and, when he quotes a bit of Latin, it is with 
 a certain unctuous enjoyment of the text, 
 which I have noticed in other scholais. I
 
 17-' SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 often ^wish that I was a great scholar myself, 
 for they seem to enjoy their Latin and Greek 
 amazingly. Now my chief, Mr. Milverton, 
 takes all things which serve his purpose with 
 equal satisfaction ; and he is just as emphatic 
 with a quotation from a dull blue-book as 
 from a Greek tragedy. 
 
 Sir Arthur read as follows : — 
 
 OVER-PUBLICITY. 
 
 *' The great Pan Is dead." No legend 
 with more depth of meaning and more 
 conciseness of expression, ever pervaded 
 the world than that which told of this an- 
 nouncement to mankind, that the great Pan 
 was dead. Our Saviour was expiring upon 
 the cross ; and over all lands and all seas 
 the dread but holy and joyful fact was 
 being announced, that the power of Pan had 
 ceased, and that the great Pan himself was 
 dead. No more dubious oracles ; no more 
 jubilant dancing and singing of nymphs, and 
 fauns, and satyrs, headed by the great Pan
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 173 
 
 himself, and making all the woods and 
 groves resonant with somewhat uproarious 
 melody. No more Curetes ; no more 
 Corybantes, who should drown the expression 
 of grief, sorrow, and pain, by their odious 
 din, beating with clubs upon brazen shields, 
 or upon empty helmets. 
 
 " Pars clypeos sudibus, g.ileas pars tundit inanes : 
 Hoc Curetes habent, hoc Corybantes opus." 
 
 But I say that the great Pan has come to 
 life again, for he is to be regarded as the 
 god, still enamoured of the nymph Echo, 
 who will not allow of silence, nor of solitude, 
 even in the most solitary of woods and 
 groves. Neither are' the Curetes, nor the 
 Corybantes, extinct existences. They still 
 make their wild clamour to drown all that is 
 most tender and most touching In the pro- 
 ceedings of mankind. Nay, to speak the 
 truth, the great Pan, the Curetes, and the 
 Corybantes, have more power in the world 
 than ever ; and they may well be called the 
 divinities and the high priests of pubHcity.
 
 174 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 Alas ! we can no longer say as that true poet 
 VVieland says in his " Oberon : " — 
 
 '' (i's? ill <?o i?ti([e Ijtcr, aXi fei tcr c^rc^c i'an 
 3c(> glaii^c, tajj man gar ten 3JJaiihiMirf ©i^arven ^ovte." 
 
 Nothing now is sacred. Sorrow, disease, 
 misfortune — all are canvassed with minute- 
 ness before the eyes of an unwholesomely 
 curious world ; greedy of novelties, delight- 
 ing in sensation ; and no. real or imaginative 
 detail is spared, for the public dearly loves 
 details. 
 
 One writes to one, or speaks to one, or 
 whispers to one ; and the writing, or the 
 speech, or the whisper is not meant for the 
 whole world, arid should never be given to 
 the whole world. But, alas ! in modern 
 times there seems to be always a chorus 
 present ; and so the writing of one to one, 
 or the speaking of one to one, or the 
 whispering of one to one, tends no longer to 
 have something peculiar or confidential in it, 
 but is treated as if it were originally meant 
 to be announced to the whole universe.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 175 
 
 Some persons have thought that the Greek 
 chorus is rather an impertinence ; but this, 
 at least, might be said for it, that it mostly 
 consisted of citizens who were deeply inte- 
 rested in the fates and fortunes of the 
 different actors on the stage. Whereas, in 
 modern times, the chorus consists, for the 
 most part, of persons who are very remotely 
 interested in the proceedings of the principal 
 actors — a chorus of curiosity rather than of 
 sympathy. 
 
 I should wish to show you how, in the best 
 of times, and among the best of people, most 
 of their writing, or their speech, or their 
 whispers, were intended only for those to 
 whom they addressed themselves ; and how 
 it has now become a painful fact that no one 
 can address another with any security that 
 what he says, or writes, or even whispers, 
 shall not be made the property of the 
 universal world. 
 
 It is a pleasant and instructive, and, at the 
 same time, to my knowledge, a true story, 
 that a thorough coxcomb was wont to say of
 
 176 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 two of the most clistinL^'uishcd men of this 
 g-eneration, that, " for his part, whenever he 
 met them, they seemed to talk uncommon 
 nonsense" — the truth being-, that these two 
 great men accommodated their talk to the 
 person they were talking with, not re^^arding- 
 him as one of a chorus ; but the smaller man 
 talks always to the chorus, knowing, full 
 well, that whatever he says, may attain a 
 publicity for which he wishes to be prepared. 
 
 \\'e must always be glad that Shakespeare 
 did not live in these times of relentless 
 publicity. We might have known a great 
 deal too much about him, and his super- 
 eminent greatness might have been much 
 detracted from, at least in the opinion of 
 ordinary persons. 
 
 There are two great evils which inevitably 
 arise from the present state of things. There 
 is the fear of publicity, and there is the love 
 of publicity. As regards the former, how 
 many timid and shame-faced persons fear 
 to take the right course, fear to take the 
 course which would lead to just results,
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 177 
 
 because of the aversion which they have to 
 this demon of publicity ? 
 
 On the other hand, a still greater danger 
 lurks in the love of publicity, which comes 
 to be a besetting sin, sometimes even of the 
 greatest minds, and which leads to falseness, 
 restlessness, and to a most dangerous desire 
 always to stand well with that public which 
 is sure, very soon, to be made acquainted 
 with all that the lover of publicity may say, 
 or speak, or intend. 
 
 Publicity is also a gre3.t absorber of that 
 time which might be much better spent. The 
 desire for knowing everything about every- 
 body — what he or she thinks, or says, or does, 
 on any trivial occasion — occupies now a large 
 part of the time of the civilized world ; and 
 must be a great hindrance to steady thought 
 about a man's own concerns, and about those 
 subjects which ought most deeply to interest 
 mankind. A stupid kind of gossip becomes 
 the most pleasant and the most absorbing 
 topic for the generality of men. • I do not 
 agree with a certain friend of mine, who 
 
 N
 
 178 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 has told us that "the folly of mankind is a 
 constant quantity;" but I do admit that 
 this fulsome publicity I have described, is one 
 of the facts which speaks most in fcivour of 
 the view he has been taking-. , 
 
 If publicity could be perfect, there would 
 be less to be said in its disparagement. If 
 every one wore his heart upon his sleeve, we 
 should at least get rid of all falseness, and 
 the world would know with whom and with 
 what it was dealing-. But a studied publicity 
 is very dangerous. When all people know 
 that what they may say, or do, is likely to 
 be made public, they will dress up thei'r 
 sayings, or their doings, to meet this appal- 
 ling- publicity. And that which they deem 
 will not be pleasing to the public, though it 
 may be the thing, of all others, which the 
 public ought to hear, they will carefully 
 suppress. 
 
 A studied and arranged publicity is the 
 nearest friend to insincerity. 
 
 A man Vho feels that he has any peculiar 
 worth or force in himself, should set his mind
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 179 
 
 strongly against this publicity, for It Is very 
 ruinous to him. He is not so very different 
 from other men ; but, perhaps, he has some 
 insight, or some capability, which is not 
 given to them. Whatever power he natu- 
 rally possesses, is Injured, or depreciated, by 
 the extreme publicity which, In these days, 
 attends all his sayings and doings. A great 
 man talks his own nonsense at his own 
 home : when told to the world It tends 
 greatly to lower his Influence in those matters 
 in which he ought to have influence. Fami- 
 liarity is the great leveller, and a most unjust 
 leveller. It was, indeed, a divine saying, 
 that a prophet Is not without honour, but in 
 his own countr}', and amongst his own kin, 
 and in his own house. Extreme publicity 
 makes the whole nation the familiar home of 
 any great or original jjerson. The speci- 
 alities of great men arc thus partially nega- 
 tived. 
 
 I conclude this essay by saying that this 
 extreme publicity Is a snare and a temptation 
 for the great ; that it tends to destroy the
 
 iSo SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 just privacy of private life ; that it furnishes 
 a worthless occupation for mankind in gene- 
 ral ; and that it is unwholesome, tedious, 
 detractive, indelicate, and indecorous. 
 
 Ellesmere. Is there not a little inconsistency here ? 
 You say that this extreme publicity is everything that 
 is odious and abominable : and then you say, " cany 
 it farther, make it perfect, and it is excellent." 
 
 MUvcrton. No, no, no, Ellesmere. He says this 
 extreme publicity, as to what a man says, or does, or 
 intends, is odious and mischievous. But not as io 7uhat 
 he tliinks. Sir Arthur's main point, so far as I understood 
 him, was that this publicity concealed thought, or at least 
 deformed or misrepresented it. If I may use the expres- 
 sion, Sir Arthur's original and thoughtful man is made, 
 by this publicity, to think at the public, woifor them. 
 
 ]\Iy objection to the essay is, that I did not hear 
 of a single instance in which publicity might be useful. 
 Now, surely, it can render us enormous service. 
 I maintain that it is a good thing, occasionally, to 
 bring the knowledge of horrors home to the world. 
 In former days, for example, quiet, home- staying people 
 knew very little of the horrors of war. In other things, 
 too, there was great ignorance of what ouglit to have 
 been known. We had to rely upon some one man, 
 such as a Howard, to tell us of the horrors of prison
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. i8i 
 
 life. We had to rely upon some few men, your Claik- 
 sons and Wilberforces, to tell us of the horrors of slavery 
 and the slave-trade. Imagine the present state of 
 publicity to have existed a hundred years ago. Large 
 reforms in many matters would have been initiated 
 much sooner. It never will do to suppose that any 
 great phase of human affairs is altogether injurious. 
 Sir Arthur naturally pictures to himself how much he, 
 and other men like himself, are vexed and annoyed by 
 this publicity. But I must recall to him the advantages 
 which attend it. 
 
 Ellesincre. Oh ! it is the usual story. There was 
 tlie fault to which almost every proverb, every essay, 
 every treatise (except those on medicine), every book 
 (not excepting those on theology), is liable, namely, that 
 when it attacks anything, it is the abuse and not the use 
 which it attacks. There is nothing perfect in this life 
 in the way of argument but a well-argued law case, 
 heard before the judges in banco, or the Judicial 
 Committee of the Privy Council, or the House of Lords. 
 Yes, you may all laugh, but it is so. How often have 
 I wished, when listening to a really good discussion 
 upon some deep subject, that it could be put in the 
 shape of a law case, and argued accordingly. 
 
 Cranmer. But there is the House of Commons, 
 EUesmere. There are surely two sides there — two bodies 
 of opposing advocates. 
 
 EUesmere. Yes; but no judges. However, I don\
 
 1 82 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 want to cavil at Sir Arthur's essay. There was a great 
 deal of it, with whicli I entirely agreed. I did not see 
 much use in bringing in the great god Pan and the 
 Corybantes ; but ever) body must tell his story, and 
 make his essay, in his own way. And, perliaps, we 
 should not have had the essay at all, if Sir Arthur had 
 not at once seen how a classical quotation might be 
 delicately brought in. 
 
 What I did like, was where he said so much about 
 *' one writing, or speaking, to one, and to no other." 
 We certainly do destroy that one-to-oneness by what 
 he called, " a relentless publicity." I thought of 
 Hotspur and the coxcomb who came up to him after 
 the battle. How differently he would have talked to 
 a man of war, had such a one accosted him ! I feel 
 that I talk different talk to each one of you, when I 
 am alone with each one. I am obliged to be very 
 solemn, if Milverton deigns to accompany me for hall 
 a mile. For Sir Arthur, I rub up my classics, and 
 talk of Apuleius, as if he were a friend of mine, though 
 I only know him by name. For Cranmer, I pretend 
 to have read a blue-book, or at least indicate a respect 
 for blue-books. When I am alone v.-ith Mauleverer, 
 there is a soup which I once tasted at Lord G.'s that I 
 always contrive to bring upon the tapis. And, in fact, 
 though not a very false man, I am obliged to accom- 
 modate myself to my company. 
 
 Milverton. I remember a signal instance in which
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 183 
 
 this writing of one to one was fearfully misconstrued. 
 I dare say I have told it you before. A great wit and 
 author, of the preceding generation, wrote a letter to a 
 certain statesman with whom he was very intimate; and 
 the two men were full of their jokes to one another. In 
 this letter the author made a most rascally proposition. 
 I am certain, from having known something of both 
 these men when I was young, and known how full they 
 were of their fun, that this proposition had reference to 
 some old joke of theirs ; and, in fact, to use a word 
 common no'w-a-days, the author was chaffing the 
 statesman. But it was all taken by the world as real 
 earnest, and it did the memory of the great author 
 some damage. 
 
 Maiilcva-cr. I approved a little of the latter part 
 of the essay, where Sir Arthur spoke about familiarity. 
 
 Lady EUesmcre. I do not know whether a hero 
 remains a hero to his valet, but I suspect he often does, 
 with all his failings, to his wife. 
 
 ]\lrs. Miltcrfoii. Not so very often, my dear. 
 
 Alilva'ton. Carlyle's shrewd answer that " the hero 
 is not a hero to his valet, because the valet is a valet, 
 and not because the hero is not a hero," does not 
 exhaust that question. To far other persons besides the 
 valet by reason of his valetism, does the hero often 
 cease to be a hero. This is a matter well worth- con- 
 sidering. Sir Arthur indicated the cause, but 1 thought 
 he did not work it out. Heroism, or greatness of any
 
 1 84 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 kind, gener;illy depends upon what we might call an 
 exaggeration, or certainly an extreme, in some high 
 or noble quality. The bystander will insist upon there 
 being a co-ordinate greatness throughout the character ; 
 but, of course, in, ninety-nine cases out of a hundred 
 there is nothing of the kind. The hero has most of the 
 ordinary weaknesses of his fellow-men. The close-seeing 
 bystander is horribly disappointed at finding such to 
 be the case, and gradually commits the enormous error 
 of detracting somewhat from the merit of the hero's 
 real greatness in that quality in which he is great. It all 
 arises from that stupid idea of expecting perfection, or at 
 any rate, proportionate merit : whereas, by the nature of 
 the case, there is disproportion. 
 
 Ellesmere. Very well brought out. You shall be the 
 counsel for the hero. With me on the other side, and 
 a good judge to hear us both, the verdict would be truth 
 itself. 
 
 Sir Ar-thur. There is one form that publicity takes 
 which is particularly odious to me. It is the publication 
 of all the details of courtship and of love in " Breach of 
 Promise of Marriage " cases. 
 
 Ellesmere. You little know, Sir Arthur, what a 
 dangerous topic you have touched upon. It is one of 
 Milverton's many manias to regard all such cases as 
 an abomination. 
 
 Milverton. There ought to be no such cases. It is 
 perfectly monstrous that any person should be compelled
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 185 
 
 to marry by any such pecuniary considerations. If any 
 thing in the world should be a matter of complete assent 
 on both sides, it is marriage ; and even, at the last 
 moment, if there is any reluctance on either side, the 
 project should fall to the ground. 
 
 EUcsmere. I like that word "project." 
 
 Maulrccrcr. The present state of the law presumes, 
 just as if it were a writer of second rate novels, that 
 marriage must be felicitous. The annals of the world do 
 not quite bear this out. 
 
 Milverton. No ; but look what a degrading thing it is 
 for any man, or woman, to ask for compensation in 
 regard to a matter in which the affections alone ought to 
 be concerned. 
 
 If I were a lawyer on the defendant's side, I should 
 contend that we are the people who ought to have the 
 money, for we have probably prevented a most infelici- 
 tous marriage, and something is due to us for this great 
 service to the other side. They were well rid of us, and 
 might well show their gratitude in a substantial manner. 
 
 Ellesmcre. Oddly enough, in the few breach of 
 promise cases in which I have been concerned, I have 
 always been on the plaintiff's side, otherwise I certainly 
 had intended to take the Milvcrtonian view of the 
 question. 
 
 Milierton. Oh ! it is rank, it is sordid, it is 
 abominable, to seek fur money compensation in such 
 matters. It savours of the most barbarous times, w'..t.n
 
 1 86 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 everything could be paid for, from the putting out of an 
 ey-: up to murder. If Mauleverer had given tliis breach 
 of promise business as an instance of tlie continuous 
 folly of mankind, I should have been so far with him. 
 I do not know for certain how the matter stands as 
 regards other nations ; but I rather think that we are the 
 only people, pretending to be civilized, who retain this 
 low-minded, barbarous practice. 
 
 EUcsmerc. It is a great delight to me when ISIilverton 
 comes forward in his real character as a downright 
 domineering kind of man, intolerant in speech as in 
 thought. It is quite a relief to get rid of that affectation 
 of supreme fairness, of " nothing is as bad as it looks,'' 
 and " there are two sides to every question," and 
 " please to have the goodness to look at the other 
 side," with which l.e mostly favours us. 
 
 Milverton. I have taken no notice of Ellesmere's 
 injurious sayings ; but, in order to have a noble and a 
 just revenge, I propose to give you an essay on the 
 subject of Ridicule, and, chiefly, on that low form of 
 it called *' chaffing," in which it must be admitted 
 our friend here is an adept. 
 
 Ellesmere. I have no objection. An essayist only 
 shows, for the most part, how one-sided a view he has 
 taken of the question upon which he proposes to deliver 
 a judgment. 
 
 Sir A?'//ii/r. I dare say I have been very one-sidea 
 in this essay of mine about Publicity. I do not intend to
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 187 
 
 defend it against all comers. I merely put down my own 
 poor thoughts, and left the discussion to the rest of you. 
 
 One quotation in support of my views I shall give to 
 you. It is not a classical quotation, EUesmere. I was 
 very tired last night after inditing this essay, and so full 
 of it, that I thought I should not go to sleep without 
 reading something which would take me away from the 
 course of thought I had been indulging in. I agree 
 with IMauleverer, that autliorship is a very difficult thing. 
 A practised writer, such as Miherton, has no conception 
 of the difficulty it is for us who are not practised. 
 
 EUesmere. Yes : upon every earthly or heavenly 
 subject, Milverton has his ideas neatly arranged for 
 production at any given moment. 
 
 One of our committee at the club took me down the 
 other day into the club kitchen. It is a surprising place. 
 There are boxes of mutton chops ; there are drawers 
 full of delicate cutlets ready for cooking ; and. in 
 short, everything was in the highest state of neat 
 preparation. That is like Milverton's mind. Boxes 
 full of arguments for his side of the question ; drawers 
 full of metaphors to illustrate those arguments ; and, in 
 a snug corner of his roomy mind, a neat little repository 
 of sophisms. Wliercas, nothing is prepared with me. 
 You come in for a family dinner. You have a nice cut 
 of wholesome leg of mutton — sometimes a little over- 
 done, sometimes a little under-done, but a genuine 
 thing — none of your made dishes and kickshjws.
 
 1 88 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 Lady Ellcsmcre. A more vulgar simile I never hearci, 
 John. 
 
 Ellcsmcre. Homely, my dear, very homely ; but not 
 vulgar. 
 
 Sir Arthur. When Ellesmere mterrupted me with his 
 kitchen simile, I was going to tell you what happened 
 to me last night. Now, have you not observed, that 
 vidien one has any subject in one's mind, everything one 
 hears or sees seems to bear upon it ? Passengers in a 
 railway-carriage appear to have chosen it as their 
 especial theme. The very cabmen talk to you about it. 
 
 Last night I meant to have got away from my 
 subject, and I asked Milverton to give me a book to 
 divert me. He gave me a novel of Ludwig Tieck's. 
 I am sure he did it without any malice prepense, but it 
 all related to my subject; and, instead of soothing me, 
 it spoilt my night's rest. The witty Ludwig might have 
 written my essay for me. Here is one of the most 
 crucial passages. I will first read it to you in German. 
 
 Ellesmere. Please don't. 
 
 Sir Arthur. Yes, I must. 
 
 " 2l([c3, ivvig linger Seteit 6*on tnad}cn foKjlJcviitjt auf cinet 
 ©ifpuimc!, ba^ iric bie UebliAe S)ammmini3, scrmcijc luclc^cr alle3 
 ©cU ia [auficv Sjefiicbiijuu^ (^cfcwcfct, uicf;t ju grell evlcuc^teu." 
 
 Now I will give you the translation : — " All that tends 
 to beautify our life, rests upon our forbearing to illumi- 
 nate with too bright a glare the lovely twilight, under
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 1S9 
 
 the influence of which all that is noble floats around us 
 in soft contentment." 
 
 It is a diflicult passage to translate, for there happen 
 to be one or two w'ords in it for which you can hardly 
 find any corresponding words in English — such as 
 SSefricbiijung, and Sdiivctcn; but, even with my poor 
 translation, you may perceive what a depth of truth- 
 fulness there is in the passage, and how it applies to 
 love, to friendship, and the admiration for greatness. 
 You also cannot fail to see that an immature and 
 relentless publicity brings into the soft twilight that 
 hard and garish light that may prove fatal to our just 
 admiration of all that is really admirable. 
 
 Sir Arthur rose, as if to deprecate any 
 further remarks upon his essay, and we 
 followed him into the garden, where the 
 conversation took quite another turn, namely, 
 as regards the relative merits of the Oxford 
 and Cambridge crews. Ellesmere, who 
 always takes what appears likely to be the 
 losing side, maintaining that his men, the 
 Oxford crew, were, after all, the best men, 
 considering the disadvantages under which 
 they laboured. He was ready to bet upon 
 them to any amount.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " I "HIS morning we met to hear Mr. Mil- 
 verton's essay on Ridicule. Before he 
 began to read it, Sir John had taken up his 
 place in a corner of the room, in an attitude 
 of ostentatious humility. 
 
 Milverton. Pray come nearer to the table, EUesmere. 
 
 Ellesinere. No : this essay is meant as a punishment 
 for me, and I am ready to receive the punishment with 
 proper humiHty. 
 
 Milverton. Nonsense : it has nothing to do with you. 
 I do not mean to say that you are not a Uttle too fond 
 of ridicule to please my taste ; but then your choice of 
 attack is never a mean one. Your victims, or rather 
 intended victims, are chiefly your wife, Cranmer, 
 Mauleverer, and my unfortunate self. With the ex- 
 ception of your contests with the last-named person, 
 you seldom come off so victoriously as to have anything 
 to boast of; and, as for myself, I am so used to being
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 191 
 
 attacked by you, that I have become callous, and take 
 but little heed ol all your ridicule. 
 
 Ellesina-e. How much more wicked a thing contempt 
 is than ridicule ! What says Wordsworth ? — an author 
 I know by heart — at least, I wish I did : — 
 
 " that he who feels contempt 
 For any Hving thing, hatli faculties 
 Which he lias never used ; that thought with him 
 Is in its infancy." 
 
 But begin : I shall not come out of the corner until 1 
 have heard the essay, which, say what you like, is, 
 I know, made for me a,nd against me. 
 
 Milverton. ]\Iy dear lellow, it would be a most 
 inhuman, as well as a most unpolite thing, to read an 
 essay against a man in his own house. The laws of 
 hospitality, which apply to guests as well as to hosts, 
 forbid any such proceeding. 
 
 Mr. Milverton then read the following 
 essay : — 
 
 RIDICULE. 
 
 There are various ways and forms in which 
 men dispense their criticism of others. There 
 is advice, satire, sarcasm, scorn, mockery, 
 ridicule, and chaff. The last-named is a
 
 192 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 modern word ; but the thing itself is not 
 modern, though it has greatly increased, and 
 oeen greatly developed in modern times. 
 
 It has been said that if three persons were 
 left on a desert island, two of them would 
 contrive to make a slave of the third. I do 
 not know how this may be ; but it is pretty 
 nearly certain that two of them would 
 combine to ridicule the third, and would 
 indulge largely in that peculiar form of 
 ridicule, called chaff. 
 
 This subject may seem a small and insig- 
 nificant one ; but it is neither small nor in 
 significant, if the amount of human happiness 
 which is at stake be duly considered. It is 
 very noticeable that, in any assemblages of 
 men, a large element of what may be called 
 teazing is sure to arise ; and the worst of 
 this teazing is, that it is seldom equally dis- 
 tributed ; but certain persons in the assem- 
 blage are almost invariably chosen as per- 
 manent victims. 
 
 The young suffer from it very much. In 
 fact, it often adds greatly to the discomfort
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 193 
 
 of their lives. They do, or say, something 
 which is odd, or unconventional, or misap- 
 propriate, or they meet with some ludicrous 
 accident, or misadventure, which costs them 
 agonies at the time, and which they wish to 
 forget, and very much desire that others also 
 would forget. But this is not allowed ; and 
 a system (one can hardly use any lesser 
 word) is set up of chaffing, which has for its 
 basis this unlucky accident, or misadventure, 
 or misappropriate speech. 
 
 Probably nothing more ungenerous can be 
 imagined, than this mode of proceeding on 
 the part of the majority. But it is not by 
 showing its want of generosity that it will be 
 lessened, or its effects upon the victim dimi- 
 nished. 
 
 There are, however, considerations which 
 may tend to lessen its frequency, and to 
 diminish its effect. 
 
 In the first place, it is to be observed that 
 improvement is not aimed at ; and, indeed, 
 seldom or ever enters at all as a motive into 
 the minds of the tormentors of the victim. 
 
 o
 
 194 SOCIAL PRESSURE, 
 
 This can hardly be said of any other form of 
 dispensing criticism. A satirist, for instance, 
 has generally some idea of improving man- 
 kind by his satire. Of course the advice- 
 giver, really and sincerely, often has the same 
 motive. And certainly no other form of 
 criticism is so entirely devoid of good inten- 
 tion as this chaffing. 
 
 Then, again, it is peculiarly hard, cruel, 
 and offensive, by reason of its evoking no 
 deep feeling in the breast of those who 
 indulge in it. There is no reaction. The 
 scornful man is, for the most part, as excited 
 by his scorn, as are the victims of that scorn. 
 The satirist, if he has any real gift for satire, 
 feels deeply, and shows that he feels, the 
 vexation with the things or persons that 
 evoke his satire. The sava indignatio of Swift 
 lacerated himself more, perhaps, than it did 
 any of his victims. 
 
 Now there Is some comfort in this counter 
 agitation ; but the light kind of ridicule, 
 which forms our present subject, reserves all 
 its pain for those who are its victims, and
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 195 
 
 has not any to spare for those who make use 
 of it. 
 
 Now comes a consideration of the thing- 
 itself, which may serve as a means of limit- 
 ing its frequency and lessening- its effect. 
 
 Its sole power, at any rate its chief power, 
 consists in repetition. It requires no wit. 
 It requires no novelty. The dullest person 
 in the world has only to reiterate, and he 
 becomes an adept in this art of annoyance. 
 In fact, the more stupid and unimag-inative 
 he is, the more sure he becomes of holding- 
 a distinguished place as a tormentor of this 
 kind 
 
 You cannot by the utmost stretch of fancy 
 imagine any great man rivalling a stupid 
 person in this peculiar species of tormenting-. 
 Indeed, you cannot imagine a g-reat man 
 adopting it at all. Let us mention the names 
 of great men, and see whether you can picture 
 them, even in your wildest fancies, as practis- 
 ing-, still less as excelling in, this horrible art. 
 Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, Milton, Burke, Sir 
 Walter Scott, Dr. Johnson — who can fancy
 
 196 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 any of these men condescending to this form 
 of ridicule ? And still less who can imag-ine 
 their showing such a want of generosity as 
 to make one man the especial victim of it. 
 Dr. Johnson might be ever so rude ; but his 
 rudeness did not take this inferior form, and 
 was addressed equally to all, without any 
 regard of persons. 
 
 This short essay might not have been 
 written, but for a scene of which the writer 
 was lately witness in the streets of London. 
 He was walking behind two boys. The elder 
 of them was a great, coarse, uncouth lad, 
 about the age of sixteen, with a very brutal 
 countenance. The other was a delicate 
 boy, with a very sweet countenance, about 
 the agfe of thirteen. He had either suffered 
 from some serious injury or some severe 
 disease, which had left a frightful mark, not 
 perfectly healed, upon the left side of his 
 cheek. To this unpleasant fact the elder 
 boy was constantly referring in terms so 
 coarse and horrid, that I cannot repeat them. 
 H.e would withdraw a little from his com-
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 197 
 
 panlon, point at him, and repeat in loud 
 tones, with hideous laughter, the injurious 
 words. 
 
 What the younger felt might be inferred 
 by the red colour which rose round the 
 scarred cheek. But he walked on in silence, 
 bearing all those insults, if so it may be 
 said, manfully. The expression, however, of 
 the boy's face, and even a certain tremulous- 
 ness in his walk, betrayed the suffering that 
 he endured and the indignation that he 
 felt. 
 
 Except when seeing a dumb animal suffer- 
 ing under some man's brutal treatment, I 
 never longed so much to knock anybody 
 down, as I did that elder boy ; but I re- 
 strained myself. I was convinced that they 
 were either near relations, or from some- 
 thing) which they both carried, I concluded 
 that they were servants of the same master. 
 If, therefore, I interfered, might it not be 
 worse for the younger boy, as this was 
 evidently not a chance meeting, and they 
 were probably daily companions? Still I
 
 1 98 -SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 followed them, dubious as to whether I 
 should ultimately interfere. 
 
 Not for a moment did the elder one, the 
 ruffian, cease from his vile taunts, repeating 
 them exactly in the same words. 
 
 The road had luckily been mended close 
 to the spot where the lads were walking. 
 For once in my life I rejoiced that the 
 inhuman practice of mending roads with 
 sharp bits of granite, and not rolling them 
 afterwards, had prevailed in this vicinity. 
 The younger lad, who had now been told 
 about twenty or thirty times, in the coarsest 
 language, that he was hideous and loathsome, 
 caught up one of these sharp pieces of granite, 
 faced his companion, and threw it at him. 
 
 I agree with Charles Lamb, that a bully is 
 not always a coward. In this instance, how- 
 ever, the bully was a coward. The younger 
 lad, having now given way to his fury, 
 caught up more of these sharp stones, 
 pursued his tormentor ; and the end of it 
 was, to my great delight, a complete victory 
 over the young ruffian.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 199 
 
 Now here is a striking instance of this 
 species of ridicule, this thing they call by the 
 vulgar name "chaff," carried to its utter- 
 most. Something in the way of misfortune 
 happens. All reasonable or kindly persons 
 never even think of alluding to it ; but a 
 low-minded creature, whose only idea of wit 
 or jocosity is to give others pain, and to 
 make himself exquisitely disagreeable, is able 
 by constant and inane repetition, to cause 
 pain and to evoke resentment. 
 
 It is very well for those who indulge in this, 
 the most abject form of ridicule, to say that 
 they should never have behaved like this 
 elder boy. According to their rank of life 
 they behave just as badly. They love to 
 make a butt of some harmless person 
 who, however, must maintain his compo- 
 sure, and is seldom able to pick up sharp 
 stones in the road and hurl them at his 
 tormentors. 
 
 The cause of torment may be much less 
 coarse and obvious : the constrained suffer- 
 ing may not be one whit the less tlian that
 
 200 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 which this poor boy endured till he could 
 bear it no longer. 
 
 For my part, I see no difference in the ill- 
 nature which, however different In form and 
 expression, is in spirit and in substance the 
 same. 
 
 This writer is not at all of the mind of Sir 
 Oliver Roundhead, who never laughed him- 
 self, and never permitted any of his family 
 to laugh. On the contrary, I think that some 
 of the chief things that make life palatable, 
 is the fun, the wit, the drollery, that pervade 
 it. But then there must be no touch of 
 malice ; there must be nothing which gives 
 any human being real pain. If there Is 
 anything of this kind, I fail to see the fun, 
 or the drollery, or the wit. Even if it is 
 there, It is absorbed, to my mind, and 
 rendered negative, by the fact ^that a 
 human being Is suffering under it. Look at 
 the delicate wit and humour of those who 
 have been the greatest humourists in the 
 world. Consider the writings of Montaigne 
 and Charles Lamb. There is nothing in
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 20 r 
 
 them to give any human being pain, and yet 
 they are convulsively amusing. If anybody 
 is treated severely by these authors, it is their 
 own selves. 
 
 Montaigne, if I recollect rightly, says 
 somewhere, " there are as many absurd 
 things to be told about me as about any 
 man alive;" and no doubt that exquisite 
 humourist enjoyed to a certain extent his 
 own absurdities. So of Charles Lamb : 
 in all his " whimsies " and comicalities 
 you see in the background his own droll 
 figure. But recollect that few men are 
 humourists of this exalted kind, who can 
 enjoy the anomalies and absurdities in which 
 they themselves come forward as the promi- 
 nent actors. 
 
 The majority of men have an exceeding 
 dislike to appearing ridiculous, never having 
 appreciated ihe full comedy of life, and 
 that it must either be treated as comedy or 
 tragedy, or, perhaps, as a nice admixture 
 of both. 
 
 To bring the foregoing remarks home
 
 202 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 to our present subject, when any of those 
 ludicrous little mishaps occur which are 
 described in witty works of fiction, or in 
 comic periodicals, how painful they are to 
 the principal actor in the scene, and how 
 little he likes to hear of them again. When 
 a young man enters a ball-room with his 
 trousers tucked up ; when a grave, wise 
 man, like Pickwick, enters the wrong bed- 
 room ; when, as I once saw myself, a 
 middle-aged lady comes down to break- 
 fast having some stray locks still in the 
 confinement of curl-papers, these unfortu- 
 nate people by no means like to be reminded 
 of their misadventures. There is really 
 no fun, only cruelty, in reminding them 
 of their heedlessness ; and, indeed, it be- 
 comes a kind of torture, if this is repeated 
 ad nauseam. 
 
 That great artist, Dickens, took care 
 that none of Mr. Pick\Vick's companions, 
 owi'ng him respect, should venture to 
 allude ' to that deplorable and shocking 
 incident in good Mr. Pickwick's adventures.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 203 
 
 And this present writer would not dare to 
 allude to the misfortune of that respeciable 
 middle-ag-ed lady who, in absence of mind, 
 had forgotten to release some of her locks 
 from their nightly imprisonment, if she had 
 not long ago passed awav from this trouble- 
 some world. 
 
 As, however, I have before intimated, 
 it is the young who most feel having 
 on any occasion made themselves absurd 
 or ridiculous. The middle - aged man, 
 unless he is a most fortunate individual, 
 has gone through so much trouble, that 
 these minor misfortunes of his youth are 
 food for laughter for him as well as other 
 people. Not always, though. A man in 
 "the sere and yellow leaf" of life, has 
 confessed to me that he feels hot all over, 
 and knows that the colour is mounting to 
 his face, when he remembers some of the 
 most ludicrous adventures of a trivial kind 
 in his early life. The sensiti\'e, alas ! are 
 always sensitive; and even old age fails to 
 harden them
 
 204 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 It is an old and hackneyed quotation, out 
 there is a fearful amount of truth in it, 
 which sa3^s : — 
 
 " Of all the ills the human race endure, 
 How small a part that laws or kings can cause or cure." 
 
 "J'jiis is a very melancholy reflection if 
 you come to take in all the force of it. 
 The wisest and the best of men mi,2:ht 
 come into the fullest power in a State ; but 
 all that they could do, except perhaps in 
 sanitary legislation, tends comparatively 
 little to lighten the real burdens of man- 
 kind. It is in purely social matters, in 
 matters concerning- the daily intercourse of 
 life, that any great improvement of man's 
 happiness is to be looked for. And that 
 happiness will be most surely promoted 
 by each individual compelling himself, or 
 herself, to think how much everything he 
 or she does conduces to make, or mar, the 
 happiness of those who are nearest to them. 
 That happiness may be greatly interfered 
 with by an indulgence in the habit, here 
 sought to be checked, of making fun by
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 205 
 
 means of mere brutal repetition of anything 
 which, in the first instance, was painful to 
 a fellow-creature. 
 
 E'lesmere. The essay has raised in my mind a 
 profound question — Has any man ever been punished 
 hah' so much for saying, throughout his hfe, the thing 
 that is not, as for saying the thing that is ? There is a 
 subject for an essay for you ! 
 
 k% usual, this essay is a lop-sided thing. 
 
 Sir Arthur. Yes, Milverton, though thoroughly 
 approving of most of what you have said, I must own 
 that you have not given us the other side of the question. 
 One would think, to hear you, that that great solvent of 
 folly, ridicule, was never to be applied. And, as regards 
 the particular form of ridicule, described by that some- 
 what vulgar word " chaffing," you have not given us 
 any of its merits. 
 
 Cramner. I fail to see any good whatever in it. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I do not fail. Now, for instance, when 
 it is applied by an older and wiser man to younger 
 persons, it is often meant to be very kind ; and what is 
 more, it is meant to be a substitute for the exercise of 
 mere dictatorial authority. To bring the cxami)lc nearer 
 home, a father of a family notices some folly prevalent 
 among the younger branches of the family. 15eing a 
 kind-hearted man, he does not like to say, " Kon't do
 
 2U0 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 this," " Don't do that," wliich imperious orders he knows 
 may suppress the folly, but will not eradicate it. Con- 
 sequently he makes a little fun of the affiir; perhaps 
 reiterates the fun ; and IMilverton is a deadly enemy to 
 this reiteration, which, however, may be necessary to 
 produce the desired effect. 
 
 ATaiileverer. That would be a great deal better than 
 irony, a mode of ridicule I detest. It always seems 
 to me a peculiarly ungenerous mode ; and I have 
 observed that it very rarely gains its purpose. 
 
 Alilverton. I see you are all against me ; but now, 
 would it not be better that there should be grave and 
 serious talk, even if it amounts to reprehension, rather 
 than this somewhat undignified mode of chaffing? 
 
 Ellesmere. No, it would not. Almost, by the 
 hypothesis, it is assumed that the subject-matter is not 
 a serious one, and therefore does not require all this 
 dignified seriousness in dealing with it. 
 
 But let us remove the matter from the home. There 
 are a set of people living much together. One or more 
 of them entertains, or entertain, what the others think 
 to be absurd or exaggerated notions about something. 
 They are equals, mind you. Your grave advice and 
 dignified seriousness would be thought, and would be, 
 somewhat of an impertinence as addressed by any one 
 member to any other of the small community. But ridi- 
 cule, especially if it takes the shape of fun, may be much 
 more safely administered. Now, to be very personal,
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 207 
 
 I have often really objected to the views of our present 
 essayist upon various economical and social subjects. 
 I think, to speak very candidly, that his enthusiasm 
 has sometimes led him a little astray — that he has under- 
 rated difficulties; that he has exaggerated the power 
 of his proposed remedies ; and, in short, that all that he 
 has said is by no means to be taken for gospel. 
 
 I own that I have not had the same knowledge that 
 he has, of the subjects in question; but I can perceive 
 defects and redundancies in his way of treating- them. 
 Is it not better that I should put forward my views 
 somewhat jokingly, somewhat mockingly, if you like to 
 call it so, rather than that I should ride the high horse, 
 as it were, and take him seriously to task, as if I were 
 the master of the situation ? I am speaking very 
 seriously now. 
 
 Milverton. -Yes ; this is all very well ; but it really 
 does not apply to what I have said in the essay. The 
 idea of persecution ran through it, or was meant to run 
 through it; and, for once that this form of ridicule I 
 have been inveighing against, is employed in a good 
 and serious spirit, it is used a hundred times for the 
 mere pleasure of mockery and for the love of teazing. 
 I do not altogether exculpate EUcsmcre from tliat latter 
 motive having sometimes been a predominant one with 
 him. 
 
 Lady EUcsmere. You are very hard upon Leonard. 
 I am sure he is right as to the rarity of a good motive
 
 2o8 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 for the peculiar form of ridicule he has been attacking. 
 I do not say that the motive is always malicious. It 
 is very seldom so perhaps ; but it generally shows a 
 thorough carelessness of other people's feelings. I think 
 you may observe that we women seldom use it ; and, 
 for this reason, we perceive, much more quickly than 
 you rude men do, when any person is suffering from 
 mental pain. 
 
 Mrs. Milvei-ton. Certainly, my dear. 
 
 Lady Ellesviere. You spoke of the father of a family. 
 Sir Arthur, making use of this kind of ridicule. The 
 mother ,would not deal with the follies of the children 
 in that way. We have not avoided what is personal 
 in this talL I often see that our boy does not quite 
 understand his father's jesting Avays ; but, if it were 
 not vain to say so, I think I can produce the greater 
 effect in my humble way, which has never a touch of 
 ridicule in it. 
 
 Then, to look at the matter in a broader light. 
 Ycu know as well as possible, all of you, that there 
 is a disposition, when you men or boys get together, 
 to make a butt of some poor fellow. And not always, 
 for his demerits. Very often for his scrupulous- 
 ness ; for his delicacy ; for his affectionateness ; and 
 because he will not join in something which is wrong, 
 or unfair, or unkind : but which the vulgar notions of 
 his little community tolerate, or even think very line. 
 That is what Leonard was aiming at ; and you know it.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 209 
 
 and you take little points against him, and pretend to 
 believe, that in any short essay of this kind, he could 
 have exhausted the whole subject of ridicule. 
 
 EUesmere. Well done, Dame Ellesmere ! but you 
 need not be so tempestuous. I simply pointed out 
 that he had not exhausted the whole subject. Perhaps 
 it was superfluous to mention this ; but I do not think 
 it was very wicked, or deserved all this scornfulness. 
 
 Milverton. Mildred has taken my part so admirably, 
 that I need say but little more. One thing, however, 
 I will say, and that is, that if there were more love 
 in the world, there would be a great deal less of 
 this kind of ridicule. We measure men's capacities 
 very wrongly. The thing which makes one man 
 greater than another, the quality by which we ought to 
 measure greatness, is a man's capacity for loving ; and 
 the greater this capacity, the less, I maintain, would 
 be his employment of ridicule to effect any good 
 purpose. 
 
 Ellesmere made no reply, merely shrugged 
 his shoulders. Perhaps he thought that the 
 conversation was becoming' a little too 
 serious. The others also were silent; and 
 we were about to separate, several of our 
 party having to go to London that day, when 
 Sir Arthur suddenly said : — 
 
 p
 
 2IO SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I must tell you a story which came 
 into m}' miml while Milverton was reading his essay. 
 I hope thus to redeem my credit with Lady Ellesmere, 
 for the story will decidedly tell in Milverton's favour, 
 while, at the same lime, it indicates some of the limits 
 which I should wish to place to those sayings of his 
 which seemed to me rather unguarded. 
 
 The story is in one of Hans Christian Andersen's 
 books. -He calls it a "Picture-book without Pic- 
 tures." 
 
 The INIoon comes to a solitary student at night, 
 and tells him what she has seen. 
 
 Ellesmere. What he has seen, please. 
 
 Sir Arthur. The Moon sees a little girl weeping 
 over the wickedness of the world. A beautiful doll had 
 been given her. " Oh ! it was such a doll," the Moon 
 said — a doll not made to endure the miseries of this life. 
 Now this little maiden had two naughty, rude big 
 brothers. They had thrown the doll high up into a 
 tree in the garden, and had then run away. 
 
 The little maiden knew that the doll cried too. It 
 stretched out its arms down between the green branches 
 and looked the picture of wretchedness. " Ah," said the 
 little maiden, " these are the sorrows of the world, of 
 which mamma is so often talking." 
 
 That is a very sly touch of Andersen's, is it not? 
 Our sorrows are mostly of this kind, -but the doll we 
 doat upon is a little too high up for our attainment.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 2ii 
 
 Ellesmere. Now don't moralise, Sir Arthur : I want to 
 hear the end of the story. 
 
 Sir Ai-thur. Meanwhile the darkness of night began 
 to come on ; and the maiden said she could never leave 
 the dear doll to be sitting up there alone all night. 
 " I will remain with thee," she said ; but she didn't feel 
 very happy at the thought of being alone in the dark, all 
 night. And soon she began to see wicked little elves 
 with their pointed caps, cowering in the bushes ; and 
 behind them, in the dark path, danced tall spectres. 
 They all moved nearer to her, and pointed their fingers 
 up at the doll, laughing mockingly. Oh ! how frightened 
 then was the little maiden ; but she took heart, for she 
 said to herself, "When one hasn't done anything wrong, 
 these wicked things can't hurt one. But have I ever 
 done anything wrong ? " And then she thouglit for a 
 bit. "Ah! yes! I laughed at the poor duck, with the 
 red rag round its broken leg, which limped so funnily 
 that it made me laugh ; but it is a sin, you know, to laugh 
 at poor creatures;" and then she looked up at the doll 
 and said, " Hast thou ever laughed at poor animals ? " 
 And it seemed to the child as if the doll shook her 
 head. And then the Moon was obliged to go on. 
 
 Not having the book before me to translate all of 
 it to you, 1 can only give a faint notion of the prettiness 
 of the story. But you see how it ai)plics. There was 
 the wicked chafling in action, though not in speech, 
 of the two naughty boys, and the righteous feeling of
 
 212 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 the little maiden who knew that she had done wrong in 
 laughing at the lame duck, for even the lower animals 
 do not like to be laughed at, when the cause is no 
 laughing matter for them. 
 
 EUtsmere. Yes, the story is very applicable. I wish 
 it had ended happily. Perhaps it did; but the Moon 
 was no doubt obliged to go on. I would have a 
 law that all stories should be made to end happily. 
 Why should our feelings be harrowed in fiction when 
 they are sufficiently tormented in real life. But we 
 have no time to lose if we are to catch that imperious 
 train. 
 
 Thus the conversation ended.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 T3 EFERENCE was made, in the course 
 of the next morning's conversation, 
 to a possible essay with which Cranmer had 
 threatened us respecting the mismanage- 
 ment by rich men of their riches. He had 
 not prepared any essay, but he then and 
 there gave us his views at some length. 
 To tell the truth, there was nothing very 
 original in them. He spoke of the mighty 
 power of riches, and of the many great 
 objects to which these riches might be 
 devoted. His list of wants was very large, 
 and I need not enumerate them. I now 
 pass to the conversation which ensued. 
 
 Sir Arthur. You expect them to do a great deal, 
 forgetting how every one's time is frittered away by
 
 2 14 • SOCIAL PRESSURE, 
 
 the small claims upon it, which cannot be denied or 
 ignored. 
 
 Milvertou. To do any great good in the world, you 
 want brains as well as means ; purpose as well as both 
 means and brains. 
 
 Maulrverer. Then riches bring suspiciousness with 
 them as surely as — 
 
 Ellesmere. Overeating and drinking bring gout. 
 
 Sir ArtJmr. Then rich people are almost always 
 guided, and as some would say, defended, by men of 
 business — the kind of men who object to all schemes. 
 
 Milverton. As to saying that rich men are less bene- 
 volent than other men, that is quite absurd. Sir Arthur 
 spoke of the small daily claims which press upon them, 
 as these do upon all other men. But there is another, 
 and a less obvious cause, for these rich men not devoting 
 themselves to the great objects which Cranmer proposed 
 for them. This cause, by the way, often applies to 
 statesmen, as well as to rich men ; and has been already 
 indicated by Mauleverer. The first-rate thing to be 
 done, or to be attempted to be done, is not even 
 attempted, because the attention is taken up by a multi- 
 tude of second-rate things : and so the conscience is 
 satisfied. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I have observed, JNIilverton, that there 
 is one point upon which you and I always agree ; and 
 that is, the want of forethought in mankind. We both 
 apply our remarks to men of our own craft — to states-
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 215 
 
 men and official men ; but, surely, it applies to all 
 persons. And, as regards the matter we are considering, 
 it is forethought that is wanted on the part of the rich, 
 forethought in the public interest. 
 
 Now I am going to say something which Mauleverer 
 ought to have said ; for it is very detrimental to the 
 progress of the human race. Dr. Johnson also would 
 have said it. I infer how little men think of public 
 affairs, from their dreams. No man has ever related to 
 me a dream in which those public affairs entered. Their 
 dreams, however absurd and irrelevant, are always, if I 
 may say so, personal. 
 
 Mauleverer. You are quite right, Sir Arthur, I ought 
 to have said this ; but I am not sure that I am capable 
 of making so subtle an observation. Milverton pretends 
 to care a great deal about public events, and the actions 
 of statesmen. Will he tell us that these things ever enter 
 into his dreams ? 
 
 Milverton. No ; but I can detract from the subtlety 
 of the remark, by observing, that dreams are mostly pro- 
 duced by physical circumstances. You are hot, or you 
 are cold, or you hear a noise, or your little finger aches, 
 and the dream is built upon that physical circumstance. 
 Still I admit the subtlety of the remark, and I do fear 
 that, rarely indeed, is a man so deeply interested by the 
 general affairs of the world, as to make their pressure 
 upon his mind a predominant one. 
 
 Sir Arthur. My remark about dreams was merely
 
 2i6 SOCIAL PRESSURE, 
 
 a casual one, and must not carry us away from the 
 main point of the subject, namely, the conduct of rich 
 men as regards the use of their riches. 
 
 You must look carefully at the origin of riches in each 
 particular case. This furnishes in my mind the real 
 solution to the question. Riches are either hereditary 
 (long-descended I mean) ; or they have been acquired in 
 the lifetime of the man who now possesses them ; or else 
 they are possessed by the sons or near kinsfolk of the 
 man who has suddenly made a great fortune. In the first 
 case, there are nearly sure to be large hereditary claims, 
 such as the keeping up of great houses or the like. 
 
 In the second case, they are seldom acquired until the 
 man has advanced into the second stage of middle life, 
 and he cannot undertake new adventures, with respect 
 to which he has no experience. 
 
 In the third case, the possesser is considerably puzzled 
 as to what to do with these riches. Naturally, one of his 
 first objects is to rise into a higher social sphere ; and 
 this furnishes sufficient occupation for him. He is gene- 
 rally a liberal man, and indulges largely in those second- 
 rate projects for the use of wealth, to which Milverton 
 alluded. Still it is to him, if to anybody, that we must 
 look for a consideration of the greater projects which 
 Cranmer laid down for all rich men. 
 
 Milverton. I think that rich men are often deficient 
 as regards small acts of graciousness ; but this is from 
 want of imagination. Now I know of one rich man —
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 217 
 
 alas, he is dead ! — who was always anxious to make his 
 houses of use to poorer people. He was a very loving 
 man, and could not bear that anything he possessed 
 should lie useless, and be of no good to anybody. 
 Accordingly he would lend a house in the country for a 
 season to some poor friend. It was a very nice and 
 delicate act of graciousness ; and it exactly exemplifies 
 what I mean. 
 
 EUesmere. I proposed an act of graciousness on the 
 part of the State, which would have been a delightful use 
 for certain moneys. I don't care much about music 
 myself. Indeed I often wonder at the sort of passionate 
 delight which Milverton, and people like him, have in 
 the tinkling of cymbals ; but I suppose that their profes- 
 sions of delight are sincere. I proposed to a grave 
 statesman, who looked daggers at me for the proposal, 
 that the surplus of the Irish Church revenues should be 
 devoted to giving opera-boxes to poor people who are 
 very fond of music. What are you all giggling at? I'll 
 bet any money that tliat surplus will not be half so well 
 employed. Dear old Peabody used to send orders for 
 opera-boxes to poor friends. I was once present when 
 one of these orders arrived for a poor family devoted 
 to music ; and, I declare, I have seldom seen such joy 
 manifested by any human beings. I don't mind telling 
 you that since that time, I have sometimes done some- 
 thing of the same kind myself. Very wrong, of course, 
 for I ought to have given the money to a hospital (I
 
 2i8 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 like hospitals), but I was fascinated by the recollection 
 of the joy which Peabody's gift of an opera-box had 
 produced in that poor family. I have a stupid love 
 of giving pleasure which is very contemptible. 
 
 Milverton. You are certainly the most audacious man 
 in the world, EUesmere. How you ventured to make 
 that impertinent remark to that arid statesman [Sir John 
 had told us his name], I cannot imagine. 
 
 EUesmere. The practice of audacity is much en- 
 couraged by having the honour to be one of the 
 " Friends in Council." 
 
 Milverton. This talk about riches has put me in 
 mind of something I should like to say to you. It relates 
 to bequests. There should be no rational fear of mort- 
 maia in these days. There is no chance that any large 
 part of the propeity ot the country will be trusted to 
 uniraproving hands ; but, in my official experience, I 
 have found that the great lawyers of the present day 
 have still a fear that property may be so misused. For 
 my own part, I should delight in the corporation of any 
 great town being allowed to hold a large amount of pro- 
 perty ; and I wish that rich men would leave them such 
 amounts. There has been in my time an enormous 
 bequest left to a particular to^vn, and it was rendered 
 null and void, for want of specific " directions " as 
 to what was to be done with it. I think thai one of the 
 greatest pieces of injustice I have known committed 
 entirely by lawyers.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 219 
 
 Sir Arthur. I have a great fear, that, in this age, 
 testators will be afraid to leave large sums of money for 
 charitable or educational purposes, on the ground that 
 their bequests will not be dealt with hereafter in the spirit 
 with which they were made. Such a phrase as " The 
 pious founder must go to the wall," is most mischievous. 
 I fully admit that the founder, if living now, would make 
 a different use, conformable with the spirit of the age, of 
 his bequest. But I think that we should have a very 
 careful regard to the original views of the founder. 
 
 Ellesmere. Indulge us, Sir Arthur, with details. I 
 really do not know exactly what you mean. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I will explain. Suppose the founder 
 has left money for clothing as well as education. I 
 would not confiscate the money for clothing, and give 
 it all to education. You may think me a stupid 
 fellow of the olden time; but, with a view of bringing 
 boys of talent or of genius to the fore, and thus making 
 talent and genius useful to the State (this will please 
 Milverton), I should aim to make my boy entirely inde- 
 pendent of his parents, I mean in a pecuniary sense, 
 otherwise I might not get him. 
 
 Milverton. One of the greatest surprises of my life 
 was that, in a company of eminent men of the present 
 day, 1 found that the majority of them were against 
 Foundations or Exhibitions of any kind. It seemed to 
 me that they ignored all history and all biography ; for 
 several of our greatest men, from Newton downwards,
 
 220 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 might never have been heard of, if the State had not 
 been enriched by these Foundations and Exhibitions. 
 
 A dead level is now greatly to be feared, according to 
 which all boys will receive exactly the same education. 
 This will make a very poor set of men. 
 
 Sir Arthur. Of course it will. 
 
 Milverton. We have all been considering the great 
 good which sundry rich men could do with their riches. 
 I wish to show you, on the other hand, the great mischief 
 which, by the injudicious use of these riches, they do 
 occasionally. 
 
 Ostentation is the great evil occasioned by riches — 
 the prevention of simplicity of living — the raising the 
 standard of show. 
 
 EUesme7-e, There I am entirely with you ; but I can 
 never persuade you that the main evil of all this osten- 
 tation is the increase of time which it takes. That mis- 
 use and that abuse of time is the thing which I complain 
 of. To descend into details. I do not object, at a great 
 and sumptuous dinner, to have rare and forced vege- 
 tables presented to me. I rather agree with those people 
 who say that this form of sumptuousness encourages a 
 high kind of horticulture, which is really very beneficial 
 to the general public ; but what I do complain of is the 
 length of the entertainment. Cut that short, and you 
 will have me in concert mth the entertainers. 
 
 Milverton. Oh ! of course, if we could regulate the 
 entertainments of the world, we could make them
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 221 
 
 into real pleasures, and that immortal saying of Sir 
 George Lewis's, which I am never weary of quoting, 
 would lose its point. Now take a ball, for instance. If 
 one could persuade the great lady of the house to 
 diminish her invitations by about a third ; if she could 
 make it the fashion to come early and to leave off early ; 
 if the refreshments were of a simple kind, so that they 
 did not set the example of ostentation : surely these 
 would be great improvements? 
 
 Ellesmere. There we see the weakness of the man 
 who loves dancing. 
 
 Milverton. You do not perceive, my dear Ellesmere, 
 that for a man to succeed in this life, he should 
 have distinct and well-known foibles. This takes 
 off the sharp edge of envy. No man is sincerely and 
 securely loved, except by those who know his foibles. 
 
 The conversation then took a jesting" 
 turn. Sir John Ellesmere made great fun 
 of middle-aged or elderly gentlemen who 
 would persist in dancing. Mr. Milverton 
 maintained that they were great benefactors 
 to society, and that being sure not to 
 be, what prudent mammas called " detri- 
 mentals," they helped to keep up the gaiety 
 of the world.
 
 Z2Z SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 And so ended our conversation upon the 
 grand use that might be made of riches, if 
 any rich man were wise enough to appre- 
 ciate this grandeur.
 
 w^ 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 'E were In the library, on the succeed- 
 ing- day, and were ready to hear 
 any essay or speech that any one of the 
 *' Friends" would favour us with; but no- 
 thing of the kind was forthcoming, and the 
 conversation was of a general nature. 
 
 Ellcsmere. I confess I am glad that none of my good 
 friends are ready to impose upon us his or her particular 
 crotchets ; or, to speak more respectfully, their lucubra- 
 tions, in the form of set discourse. The day after a 
 party is the pleasantest for those who remain in the 
 house. There are rare dishes to be tasted, which had 
 been passed over unnoticed, on the day of the party ; 
 and what the company said and did affords an agreeable 
 entertainment, not unspiced, sometimes, with satire. I 
 like the odds and ends of things. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I am pleased, too, at our having notliing 
 special to discuss, for I should like to go back to one or
 
 2 24 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 two subjects whicli have laid hold of my mind in refer- 
 ence to some of our first discussions. 
 
 Do }ou remember that in the course of some essay, or 
 conversation upon an essay, Milverton said something 
 of this kind (I can't vouch for the exact" words) — " He 
 would be the greatest man of his generation who could 
 find employment for .those clever people who are now 
 unemployed "? I began to think of the subjects I should 
 wish investigated. This thought haunted me. Through 
 a great part of last night I couldn't sleep for thinking 
 what men upon what subjects I should like to have the 
 power to employ. 
 
 EUesmere. Oh ! it's no good scheming to employ 
 other men with what may seem to you good work. 
 Every man will only do well what he takes to of his 
 own accord. Why, even I, a man not given to wondrous 
 schemes of investigation, or benevolence, could suggest 
 five hundred things upon which the unemployed might 
 usefully employ themselves. But they won't do it. It 
 is only the busy and the overworked men upon whom 
 you can throw any extra work with some chance of its 
 being welcomed. 
 
 Sir Arthur. Bide a wee, Master EUesmere, I shall 
 ultimately say something with whicli you will be com- 
 pelled to agree. 
 
 Mauleverer. I don't wish to employ men more than 
 they are employed. If you were to make the idle men 
 busy, they would only do mischief. Already the fussiness
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 225 
 
 and interferingness of mankind are the greatest evils in 
 the world. 
 
 But I am ready to hear anything that Sir Arthur has 
 to say. 
 
 Sir Arthur. Well, in few words, my thought was 
 :his — How I should like to employ certain persons to 
 investigate the unknown, or at least unascertained, forces 
 in the world. 
 
 Elksmere. This is indeed, to use the slang of the 
 day, a large order. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I am prepared for a great deal of ridi- 
 cule ; but I say that during the last five-and-twenty years 
 there have been indications of the existence of certain 
 unknown forces which it is of the highest importance to 
 mankind to investigate. 
 
 At present the spiritualist, the juggler, and a few 
 severe men of science, are the only persons who 
 have given real attention to these subjects. In what 
 I am now going to say I ought to have Ellesmere 
 with me. I want to have these matters investigated by 
 men who are good judges of evidence, especially by 
 lawyers. 
 
 Milverton. I am wholly with you, but perhaps for 
 very different reasons. First, wherever there is impo.s- 
 ture, I am exceedingly desirous that it should be 
 detected. And secondly, I want these matters to be 
 investigated in order to bring before mankind more 
 fully the laws of evidence — to show wherein ordinary
 
 226 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 evidence fails, and what amount of what evidence is 
 sufficient to substantiate an extraordinary statement. 
 
 Sir Art/iur. I know very well that you all think me 
 rather superstitious. You would say that I am of the 
 same order of mind, in this respect, as my dear friend, 
 the late Lord Lytton. But I think I could tell you 
 some things which would rather astonish you. 
 
 Hereupon Sir Arthur related to us several 
 most extraordinary stories having relation 
 to his unknown forces, to which narratives 
 Sir John Ellesmere, of course, took many 
 clever objections, showing where, at some 
 crucial point of the stor}% fraud or delusion 
 might enter. I do not communicate these 
 stories, because, in every case, the names of 
 living persons, who might not approve of 
 their experiences being recounted, were men- 
 tioned. 
 
 Milverton. I have no hesitation in telling what once 
 occurred to me, especially as I have told it before. A 
 number of us, men of science, men of literature, and 
 lawyers, were resolved to have a great seance. It was the 
 only one at which I ever assisted. We had laid our 
 plans beforehand most carefully. The late Master of
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 227 
 
 Trinity, Dr. Whewell, either wrote to us, or inforn^ed us 
 verbally, that there was immense difficulty in making a 
 skilful person blindfold who did not choose to be blind- 
 folded. Such a person could contrive to keep the 
 bandage a little removed from his eyes, and so the dark- 
 ness would not be complete. 
 
 The celebrated Alexis was the unfortunate being upon 
 whom we had to experiment. We placed large masses 
 of cotton wool over the face, leaving only breathing 
 spaces, and we tied up the head with numerous band- 
 ages, so that it appeared like a huge pudding. 
 
 Then the seance commenced. Various wonderful 
 things were done, but to my sceptical mind it appe.red 
 to me possible, though of course I could not see how, 
 that all these things could have been done by some 
 subtle mode of communication between Alexis and the 
 man who came with him, and who had to put him into 
 the mesmeric trance. It is true that this man remained 
 apparently quite impassive. 
 
 You may see how carefully our preparations were 
 made, when I tell you that two of our company were 
 told off to watch that man, and never to take their eyes 
 off him. Afterwards, they were unable to tell us that 
 they had discovered anything. 
 
 Then the seance degenerated, as I thought, into a most 
 absurd proceeding. Alexis was to describe the houses 
 of some of the persons present. Well, one house is 
 very like another, and I thought all this part of the
 
 2 2S SOCIAL rK/:SSi'RE. 
 
 shnir\-Q\y shallow and tri\ial, I went away into another 
 room, communicatnig, by folding doors, thrown open, 
 with the great room where Alexis and his friend were 
 surrounded by the inquirers. Another man followed me. 
 This is, of course, the weak point in my story, the one 
 on which Ellesmere will comment. I may, however, add 
 that this other man was a dear and intimate friend of 
 mine, in whose good faith towards me I have a belief 
 that cannot be shaken. He, like myself, had come away 
 because he thought that what the rest were doing could 
 lead to nothing definite. 
 
 The house, if I recollect rightly, was Lord Mel- 
 bourne's, in South Street ; and the distance was at least 
 eighty or ninety feet that separated us two from the 
 group that closely surrounded Alexis. Either my friend 
 or I proposed that we should write something, fold it 
 up, enclose it in an envelope, and present it to Alexis to 
 be read. The words that we did write were not uttered. 
 I folded up the sheet of notepaper, put it in an envelope, 
 and went back to my friends in the other room. Rather 
 rudely, for I was a very young man, and there were 
 grave and reverend seniors present, I broke through the 
 circle, had the audacity to say that I thought their 
 present proceedings were rather vague and could lead to 
 ■nothing certain, and that I wished to see whether Alexis 
 could read what was within this envelope. Alexis put it 
 to his chin, and in about thirty-five seconds (for I par- 
 tirularlv noticed the time) read out the words, which
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. ■ 229 
 
 consisted of the names of a celebrated Byzantine 
 emperor. Now, Ellesmere, for I see you are most 
 anxious to interrupt me, don't suppose that I make 
 this statement with a view to prove to your mind that 
 Alexis had any of what, for want of a better term, are 
 loosely called supernatural powers. I adduce it to illus- 
 trate three things. 
 
 First, to show what should be done to ensure con- 
 vincing experiments. You will believe me when I tell 
 you that I was not a co-conspirator with Alexis, but you 
 cannot have the same assurance as regards the other 
 man. You have only my belief in his honesty. 
 
 Secondly, there is nothing to show — I have no proof 
 to adduce — that the companion of Alexis somehow or 
 other did not contrive to make himself master of what 
 we had done. 
 
 Thirdly, there remains the great question of whether 
 Alexis had or had not some power, not by any means 
 a supernatural power, of seeing further into things than 
 we can see. 
 
 I entirely agree with Sir Arthur that these questions 
 deserve investigation. By judicious investigation we 
 may discover fraud or delusion, or we may obtain more 
 accurate views of the just laws of evidence ; or we may 
 ascertain the existence and the limits of some force or 
 power that we know nothing of. 
 
 Ellesmere. You have anticipated me. That is a 
 regular practice of yours, which you have pursued right
 
 2r,o SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 tlirough life, to declare what could be said against you. 
 That is why you bring us " Friends in Council" together, 
 and make puppets of us. 
 
 Sir Arthur. Now I come in with my first remarks as 
 regards the people who should be employed to look after 
 these things. You remember L. and H. ? 
 
 He named living persons. 
 
 I always have thought they were the most remarkable 
 men of our time at Cambridge. L. was even then the 
 best judge of evidence I have ever known. He would 
 give you the substance of a great debate in the House of 
 Commons. He would show you- how far this speaker 
 went ; where he was partially answered by a man on the 
 other side ; and, eventually, what was the real upshot of 
 the debate. When you read that debate, you saw what 
 a wonderful judge of evidence our friend L. was. 
 
 Now for H. He was a high Wrangler. He was the 
 best explainer of natural phenomena that I ever listened 
 to, and was also a wonderful judge of evidence. He 
 sat for some time as a judge. But both these men are 
 men of fortune. They retired into private life, and their 
 extraordinary abilities are lost to the world. 
 
 These are the kind of fellows I wish to employ in 
 investigating my unknown forces. 
 
 Milve7-ton. Now I will tell you something which I 
 had never intended to tell to any human being. There
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 231 
 
 are two subjects which have been the torments of my 
 hfe — the war of men with men, and the crueUy of men 
 to animals. With regard to the latter I think we shall 
 do something, even in our own generation. 
 
 With regard to the former, I am almost hopeless in 
 respect to all ordinary motives and conclusions. It is in 
 vain that you show the vast folly of war. Oddly enough 
 a Frenchman, M. Bastiat, has beaten all of us in showing 
 the vastness of this folly. It is really no good arguing. 
 The armies of Europe go on increasing and increasing ; 
 and each State, with some show of reason, says : " If I 
 am to be kept intact, if my commerce is to be insured, 
 if my people are to be protected from the horrors of 
 invasion — I must endeavour to maintain fleets and 
 armies which will keep my dear good neighbours in 
 sufficient fear of me." And, what are you to say to 
 this self-preservation argument ? 
 
 EUesmcre. Nothing that I can see. 
 
 Milvcrton. Well, then, Ellesmere may laugh at me. 
 You others may partially sympathise with me ; but you 
 may think that what I am going to say is what the 
 Germans describe in that untranslatable word, Schivdr- 
 inerei. But my only hope rests in great discoveries and 
 inventions which would reveal things that are now hidden 
 from us. 
 
 You may set me down as a dreamer and an enthusiast, 
 but I believe in a Beneficent Creator, and I believe in the 
 continued progress of mankind towards a much higher
 
 2y. SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 cirilization than we have liitherto acquired. But 1 believe 
 that this progress depends to a certain extent upon future 
 discoveries of great laws of nature. Not upon discovering 
 that iron is a better material than wood for resistance, or 
 upon each nation making a bigger gun than has been made 
 by its neighbour nation. Mankind, I hope, will yet dis- 
 cover iOme physical fact — something which we now call 
 suj-ernatural — which may at once lead them to perceive 
 the enormous folly and wickedness of settling nice ques- 
 tions of policy by nothing more pertinent to the subject 
 than brute force. It is to science, rightly directed, that I 
 look for the gradual discontinuance of war. Otherwise 
 I should despair of the human race. This is why I 
 heartily agree with Sir Arthur in thinking that if we 
 could employ our best men in investigating the most 
 mysterious branches of human knowledge, which are 
 brought before us by those whom you are pleased to call 
 quacks and impostors, we should not be losing human 
 time or effort. 
 
 Ellcsmcre. These questions are beyond me. My 
 wings are not strong enough to partake the airy flights 
 of imagination with which our poetical friends. Sir Arthur 
 and Milverton, soar above. Don't think me a brute or 
 a savage. I really sympathise with you, though you hardly 
 believe it. I think that half the questions which produce 
 war might far better be settled by diplomatists aided by 
 lawyers j and though I could have said something anent 
 the Alabama negotiations which might have been ur.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 233 
 
 pleasant to both sides, I still thought it a great advance 
 in civihzation that the vexed question should have been 
 decided in any other way than by reference to the armed 
 superiority of either nation. 
 
 Milva-ton. The only antagonist I feared, having in 
 reality gone so far in agreement with us. Sir Arthur, I 
 vote that we " break up the seance^' for if we were to 
 provoke any further discussion, I am by no means sura 
 that we should leave "Our Friends in Council" in so 
 much apparent harmony with us. 
 
 EUesmere. No ; do not break up the scattce, but let 
 us change the subject, or at least vary it. 
 
 Talking of the marvellous, or, as I may say, of the 
 impossible, there was something which was said long ago 
 in one of our conversations which has often recurred to 
 me. It was a wild vagary either of IMilverton's or Sir 
 Arthur's. Solid, sensible men, such as Cranmer and 
 myself, would never have condescended to have ima- 
 gined it ; and as for Mauleverer, he does not waste his 
 time in imagining any alleviation for the woes and 
 troubles of mankind. 
 
 Sir Arthur. This is a pompous but not unpleasant 
 exordium. Milverton and I must be gratified at any 
 vagary of ours recurring to the mind of a solid, sensible 
 man. 
 
 Ellesmcre. It was, that the greatest alleviation for 
 mankind would be for a man to have two bodies, and 
 to be able to change his soul from one into the other.
 
 234 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 I believe that fatigue, simple fatigue, is the cause of 
 our greatest errors. You often wonder how a man of 
 great eminence, or a body of such men, should have said 
 or done something, or committed themselves to some 
 course of action, which the most commonplace man at 
 once discerns to be injudicious, and far beneath the 
 intelligence of the person or persons concerned. The 
 truth is that the commonplace man is looking at the 
 matter, free from the fatigue which numbed the minds of 
 him or them whom he is blaming. 
 
 Milverton. This is a wonderful bit of toleration to 
 come from that quarter. 
 
 EUesmere. But I used to think of the vagary chiefly 
 in reference to myself. Mind, it must be the pure, 
 simple, naked soul, if I may so express myself, which 
 must be able to change its habitation at will. All those 
 wonderful things called nerves must belong equally to 
 both bodies. The horses must be quite different ; it is 
 only the coachman who is to remain the same. 
 
 Now, we are often talking of the pleasures of the 
 world, and criticising them severely. Nine-tenths of our 
 criticism, is merely a result of fatigue. We do not 
 enjoy these things, and we wish them (at any rate I do) 
 to be bisected, simply because we come to them with 
 muscles and nerves fatigued in other ways. 
 
 Again ; why is it that bores and noodles often have 
 their way at boards, committees, and public assemblies 
 of all kinds? Only because the sensible men are
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 235 
 
 fatigued ; and it is one of the miseries of human Ufe 
 that bores are always very strong and in excellent health. 
 My father, who was a staunch Conservative, very dif- 
 ferent in that respect from myself, used to say that the 
 Radicals would always prevail at any committee or public 
 meeting, because they kept less regular hours than good 
 Conservatives, and that the latter would always go away 
 in time for dinner. What he said about Radicals would 
 far more aptly apply to bores and troublesome people 
 generally. They don't care about their dinners : to air 
 their crotchets or their follies is wholesome meat and 
 drink to them. But if one could enter a new body 
 when one liked, one should be a match for these 
 fellows. 
 
 Milverton. If Sir Arthur or I put forth this vagary, it 
 must have been upon much more serious grounds — to 
 enable men to bear their sorrows better, and, altogether, 
 to fight the battle of life with more purpose and consis- 
 tency. 
 
 EUesiiiere. I think that though the bodies would start 
 with perfect equality of nature, they would soon, from 
 different uses, become very different. This would be a 
 great advantage. My second body would become more 
 accustomed to the labour of pleasure, and I should 
 always take it out in the evening — but there would be 
 another and a far greater advantage. I have studied 
 getting on in the world much more than any of the rest 
 of you. My more natural self, my first self, is modest,
 
 236 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 somowliat shamcfiaccd, very much averse to pressing 
 what are called its claims, otherwise 1 should have been 
 Lord Chancellor long ago. I should aim at making the 
 nerves of my second body much less sensitive than 
 those of my first body ; and I should throw all the 
 coarse work of selfassertion upon this second bo iy. 
 Yes ; I see a great amelioration for mankind in this 
 judicious scheme of Milverton's or Sir Arthur's. 
 
 In these conversations, for instance, I should use my 
 two bodies, but should more often bring the weaker one 
 into play — I mean the more delicately-nerved one — in 
 order to accommodate myself to the present company. 
 
 Cranmer. Perhaps there maybe such an arrangement 
 as this in some other system of worlds, 
 
 Mauleverer. Now, Cranmer, do not imagine such a 
 foolish creature as man careering about in any other 
 part of the universe. It is quite enough to have him 
 here, and to see what folly a creature so constituted will 
 commit. 
 
 Ellesmere, I do not think it necessary that women 
 should have two bodies. In the first place, they are 
 never tired of pleasure ; and in the next, what a fearful 
 amount of coquetry and inconstancy this duplex body 
 would allow them to commit. Moreover, you must 
 allow, Lady Ellesmere, that women are much less bore- 
 able than men — a very curious phenomenon, but an 
 undoubted one. 
 
 Lady Ellesmere. With all respect to Mr. Miiverton
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 237 
 
 and Sir Arthur, I think speculations of this kind savour 
 somewhat of irreverence. We are to be contented with 
 what we are, and are to make the best of that ; and so 
 I propose, as Leonard said, that we should break up our 
 seance. 
 
 Lady Ellesmere's proposition was adopted.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A FTER luncheon, on the same day, we 
 re-assembled in the library, and the auto- 
 biography of the late Mr. John Mill was the 
 subject talked of, and it was much disputed 
 over. That passage came in question where 
 he says something of this kind, that, in the 
 present state of society, the best men should 
 keep away from it altogether. Mr. Milver- 
 ton maintained that it was a horrid doctrine, 
 and he believed that John Mill did not 
 really say what was attributed to him 
 He (Mr. Milverton) should like to see the 
 context. We had not the book there, so 
 this could not be shown to him. Then 
 Sir John said as follows : — 
 
 Elksvicre. But I thought, Milverton, that you were 
 one of those who especially objected to the present
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 239 
 
 state of society — that you had fifty faults to find 
 with it. 
 
 Milverton. That is a very different thing from saying 
 that the best and cleverest men should abstain from 
 society. That would be like the best men abstaining 
 from political life, which would be ruinous to almost 
 any country. Let us all endeavour to improve society, 
 not to abstain from it, like a pack of stupid hermits. 
 
 Ellesmere. Friends like ourselves, who live much 
 together, must, if they are sincere men, often repeat 
 themselves. I therefore, being a sincere man, have no 
 shame in saying to you what I have said at least twenty 
 times before, that I have a panacea for almo^ all the 
 evils which beset our social gatherings. I put it in 
 mathematical language. Bisect all entertainments, public 
 and private, and you have done the thing. 
 
 Sir Arthur. No, you have not. The extent of the 
 crowding is as great an evil as the length of the 
 time. 
 
 Ellesmere. My good friend, do you suppose I meant 
 my bisection to apply only to time ? 
 
 Sir Arthur. Still I have you. Your bisection cannot 
 apply to the time at which the entertainments shall 
 begin. 
 
 Craiimer. Yes : there he has you, Ellesmere. 
 
 Elles7Jiere. Cranmer is always mightily delighted 
 when I make any blunder — not that this is a blunder. 
 There are corollaries to all axioms, even to those in
 
 _Mo SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 Euclid, if I recollect rightly ; and, of course, I meant 
 to put in one or two of these corollaries. 
 
 Sir Art/r.r. I have often thought that I should like 
 to have much influence with one of the foremost leaders 
 of fashion, some great lady. 
 
 Mauieverer. Fashion is a contemptible thing. 
 
 Milverion. No, it is not — to use the contradictory 
 language which prevails among us at present. Fashion 
 tends to counteract the influence of wealth, which at 
 present is inordinate. 
 
 Lady EUesmere. But let us hear what Sir Arthur 
 would do if he were the whispering gu irdian angel — 
 
 EUesmere. — or demon, 
 
 Lady EUesmere. — to some great lady who is potent 
 in society. I am but a small lady, but should like 
 to know what he wishes to say to any of us ladies. 
 
 Sir Arthur. For a whole year I should wish to 
 guide her absolutely as regards the entertainments she 
 had to give. Take a ball, for instance. This is really 
 the best entertainment in the world, or would be, if it 
 Avere managed properly. 
 
 EUesmere. There Milverton would agree with you ; 
 for doubtless he perceives all kinds of harmony, all 
 upper spheres of thought and feeling, all discords which 
 are only veiled concords, in watching dancing boys 
 and girls, as well as in listening to Beethoven's sym- 
 phonies. 
 
 MUverton. No, he is not quite so absurd, but he
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 241 
 
 sees a certain poetry and beauty in good dancing as well 
 as in Beethoven's symphonies. 
 
 Lady Elhsmere. You will not let this whispering 
 guardian angel to some great lady, instruct us as to his 
 whispers when she is about to give a ball. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I would first make her carefully measure 
 her rooms. I would aid her in doing that, and would 
 show her what space should be allowed for those who 
 have to sit down — 
 
 Elhsniej'e. How the polite Sir Arthur avoids the dis- 
 agreeable word " wallflowers." 
 
 Sir Arthur. — and for those who have to dance. 
 I would instil into her mind the simple axiom that 
 when you ask people to dance, you should give them 
 room to dance. 
 
 Ellesmere. My bisection — only in other words. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I would insist upon her ball beginning 
 early and ending early, and would order her to make 
 a fuss about punctuality. The hours should be from 
 eight o'clock to one. Those who really care about 
 dancing are the sort of people who are not devoted to 
 grand and late dinners. 
 
 Lady Ellesmere. This is all very fine, Sir Arthur, but 
 even the greatest people are somewhat ruled by expense. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I am quite prepared for that objection. 
 I would diminish in every respect the sumptuousness of 
 the affair. I rarely assist at such entertainments; but 
 when I do, I always see that half, at least, of thl-J 
 
 R
 
 242 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 sumptuousness is entirely needless. You do not want 
 the rarest flowers (they are generally in the way) ; you 
 do not want prematurely forced fruit. All this extra- 
 vagance is pure waste for such an occasion, and only 
 tends to produce extravagant expenditure in those who 
 can ill afford it. Then I should say, give great attention 
 — as Ellesmere said in his essay on hospitality — to the 
 modes of adit and exit. Show your power of organiza- 
 tion there, I would say. Make it an easy thing, if you 
 can, to come to you and to get away from you. In 
 every respect my aim would be directed to gain easiness 
 and simplicity. 
 
 Mrs. Milverton. Do you know, Sir Arthur, how it is 
 that the hours for all entertainments have become so 
 late > 
 
 Milverfon. I have always thought that it depended 
 upon the hour at which the general post goes out. 
 That being late, has made everything else late. 
 
 Mrs. Alilverton. That is a man's reason— an official 
 man's ; but I think that mine is much nearer the truth. 
 Everybody is afraid of being the first at a party. You 
 name eight o'clock. The majority of your guests keep 
 away till nearly half-past eight. You then name half- 
 past eight : they keep away till nearly nine, and so 
 it goes on. 
 
 Ellesinere. Upon my word, Mrs. Milverton, that is 
 a very subtle reason, though it will not wholly explain 
 the phenomenon. I wish I were not so shy ; it has
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 243 
 
 been a great misery to me. There you are, laughing as 
 usual, whenever I say anything serious. 
 
 Milverto7i. One of the greatest evils of social life in 
 the present day is that the men \\'\\o are not quite 
 so young, who are busy men, who are over-worked men, 
 can enter so little into society without great loss of time 
 and health. That is what I think John Mill must have 
 meant when he uttered that strange and severe dictum 
 of his, or what you try to persuade me was his dictum. 
 
 I pity the hard-working man of business — say the 
 father of a family — considering the little pleasure he now 
 derives from society. He naturally fears it. Its late 
 hours, its crowded and over-gas-lit rooms, its paucity of 
 entertainmeni for him, form a great drawback upon 
 social life. Tlie tendency of that life is to knock the 
 brains out of soc'ety. 
 
 Maidei'erer . Very good, Milverton ; that is a real 
 evil. I have not sympathized a bit with all that 
 dancing sylph Sir Arthur (query though — are sylphs 
 ever masculine?) has told us he should whisper to his 
 great lady about balls ; but nine-tenths of what he has 
 said applies to dinners ; and what you have said anent 
 the terrors which prevent the best kind of men from 
 entering into society as much as they would otherwise 
 do, seems to me sound doctrine. 
 
 Milverton. I would not have you thinK, nowevcr, 
 that my thoughts about this matter are given only to 
 your late and fashionable people. To tell the truth, I
 
 244 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 was hardly thinking of them. I was going very low 
 down in society. I was not thinking of what should 
 clear " the cloudy foreheads of the great," as Dryden 
 translating and even enriching Horace, says, but of what 
 should soothe and amuse that numerous class of hard- 
 working people who carry on the main part of the 
 business transacted in that large place over there to the 
 northeast. I have often thought what a peculiar 
 melancholy is to be read in their faces as you pass 
 them in the street. It is not " a delicate or a fantastic 
 melancholy." It is the melancholy which belongs to 
 an ardent and eager form of civilization ; and which, in 
 these modem times, is the prevailing melancholy of the 
 world. It is not the scholar's melancholy, nor the 
 courtier's, nor the soldier's, nor the lawyer's, nor the 
 lover's, each of which is so well described by Jaques ; 
 neither is it his own — a melancholy "compounded of 
 many simples, extracted from many objects;" but it 
 partakes more of the dreary, down-hearted, care- 
 oppressed lassitude of the man of business. It is 
 especially for the sake of such men that I would 
 brighten up society and also make it more easy for 
 them to partake. 
 
 Ellesmere. Yes, they would undoubtedly like to be 
 male wallflowers. 
 
 Lady Ellcsviere. I declare, John, you are' a sort of 
 Mephistopheles, liking to detract from and lower every 
 good sentiment.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 245 
 
 Milverton. I don't care, my dear ; . I accept his 
 saying. Yes : I should like them to be more able, with 
 less inconvenience and with less loss of time and 
 health, to accompany their wives and children. Call 
 them what you like, I have no doubt they would have 
 great pleasure in so doing. 
 
 Ellesviei-e. My bisection becomes at this moment 
 very necessary. If any of you say any more, the 
 present entertainment of discourse, which has hitherto, 
 no doubt, been very delightful, will exceed the right limits, 
 and the other half, which Sir Arthur and Milverton would 
 not spare us, if they had their way, would spoil all. 
 Therefore, let us take a walk to get an appetite for 
 luncheon. 
 
 As usual, Sir John had his way, and we 
 all left the library. I see that impatient 
 men always do get their way.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A FTER dinner yesterday, Mr. Milverton 
 thought it would be a good oppor- 
 tunity to see whether he could persuade his 
 friends to resume the hearing of his subject. 
 He introduced the topic in the following 
 manner : — 
 
 Milverton. Have I not been very good to you ? 
 You promised me originally that you would hear and 
 discuss the subject I had prepared for you this Easter. 
 I have allowed you, without let or liindrance, to intro- 
 duce all the speeches and the letters and the essays 
 that you proposed to make in that walk of yours to 
 Surbiton when I was not present. Now comes my 
 turn. I do want you to hear and to criticize carefully 
 the remainder of what EUesmere calls my lucubrations. 
 And I seize upon the favourable after-dinner moment, 
 when most men are most ready to promise that they 
 will give liberally, or that tliey will endure nobly.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 247 
 
 Sir ArtJiur. I am sure that we shall gladly hear to- 
 morrow morning what you have to say. 
 
 When the next morning came, Mr. ]\Iil- 
 verton read the following- essay: — 
 
 It may be that in every planet there is 
 some one spot which, from the configuration 
 of the land and water of that planet, seems 
 destined to be, if not a central place of 
 happiness and joy, at any rate the centre 
 for traffic, for commerce, and for civiliza- 
 tion. 
 
 Certainly tliere is such a central spot in 
 the planet with which we are most con- 
 cerned. And it has not belied its destiny. 
 The ships of all nations find there a secure 
 haven and a fiiting place for the barter 
 of the rich merchandize they carry. The 
 stranger there, alone, finds himself scarcely 
 a stranger, since all the various peoples 
 of this planet furnish denizens of the great 
 city wliich has grown up at this centre of 
 the planet. And this city is in itself a 
 nation.
 
 248 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 Pre-eminent among- the buildings, more 
 or less stately, of this nation of a city, 
 rise two buildings which aptly represent 
 the two great objects to which all the 
 peoples of all planets may be supposed 
 chiefly to direct their attention. The one 
 building is a great temple ; the other is 
 the central government building, in which 
 laws are made for the government not 
 only of the nation-city, but of the various 
 countries and kingdoms which are united 
 with it, or have been colonized by it. 
 
 Here, if anywhere, must be seen examples 
 of the wisdom -which, in such a central spot 
 of the planet, may be expected to have 
 reached its full development. For even 
 in the wisest government, when it has to 
 preside over very distant localities, the 
 emanating force which will keep all things 
 right at the centre, may not unnaturally 
 be expected to have lost some of its 
 energy before it reaches those distant 
 regions. 
 
 Here, at the centre, all must be well
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 2\^ 
 
 ordered, and the power which has produced 
 and sustained this mighty city must, we 
 should think, have been greatest at its 
 centre. 
 
 But, strange to say, it is not so. All 
 the difficulties of life — all those difficulties 
 
 which render life sordid and uncomel}'' 
 
 are to be seen in close proximity to this 
 great central building, which presents the 
 strange mockery that the great lords and 
 wise men who assemble together in it seem 
 to be powerless in those matters which are 
 within their nearest grasp. So true is this, 
 that most of my hearers will at once 
 recognize that the nation-city is London, 
 and that the central Government building 
 is the abode of its Parliament. 
 
 Without discussing in detail the many 
 evils and oversights, sanitary and other- 
 wise, which this great building looks closely 
 down upon, we may take as a remarkable 
 example of what has been slated above, 
 the prevalence of smoke in the vicinity ot 
 this building — a building, by the way,
 
 250 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 singularly liable to be injured by smoke. 
 On any day when the wind is from the 
 south, you may see vast volumes of 
 smoke making- their way to that easily 
 defaceable building. You can hardly ima- 
 gine that there is a single legislator 
 who is ignorant of this fact. It does 
 not, however, excite them to clamour for 
 any abatement of this nuisance. How can 
 you expect that they will care to abate it 
 for distant regions ? 
 
 Now the solution of this carelessness is 
 a very easy and very natural one. It con- 
 sists of two heads. In the first place, 
 what is the business of everybody comes 
 to be the business of nobody. 
 
 But, in the second place, there is a far 
 more prevailing cause for this neglect. 
 That building is not a home. And this 
 cause of neglect is one which operates very 
 largely throughout this country. In these 
 locomotive days, the upper and governing 
 classes have less and less of homxC-feeling 
 — an evil which leads directly to many
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 251 
 
 errors and oversights in building-, and to 
 a general indifference as to the welfare of 
 any particular locality. 
 
 If our stay-at-home ancestors had pos- 
 sessed the scientific knowledge which we 
 have, as regards all sanitary matters, they 
 would have taken far more pains than we 
 do to guard against all the unsanitary 
 mischiefs which rendered their permanent 
 abodes so liable to danger and discomfort. 
 The effect of this deficiency of home- 
 feeling is peculiarly great and perceptible 
 In those large cities to which the governing 
 classes have recourse for a certain period 
 only of the year. The metropolis of every 
 country labours under great disadvantage 
 on this account. 
 
 Another comparatively slight matter, 
 which yet must daily be brought before 
 the eyes of our legislators, is the difficulty 
 and danger of pedestrian movement towards 
 this great centre of concourse — the Houses 
 of Parliament. In tlieir vicinity, almost 
 better than anywhere else, that plan might
 
 252 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 be adopted, which, by means of over-span- 
 ning with light bridges the difficult junc- 
 ture of cross streets, would render pedestrian 
 movement for the sickly, the aged, and 
 the timid, tolerably comfortable, and cer- 
 tainly assured. Perhaps, after all, " sub- 
 ways " would be better; but there is this 
 against them, that strangers to the town, 
 and even inhabitants, would not always be 
 aware of their existence. 
 
 Well, then there is another point, relating 
 not to comfort or to sanitary well-being, 
 but which, nevertheless, as it concerns 
 beauty, might be supposed to have struck 
 the mind of every one of those potent 
 persons who are our legislators. From the 
 adjacent bridge a view may be seen which, 
 even with all its disadvantages, is one of 
 the most striking in any European city. 
 But it is deformed and disfigured by one 
 or two buildings of oppressive and revolting 
 hideousness. Those are buildings which 
 have in some way or other come under 
 parliamentary control. It would not have
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 253 
 
 been too great a demand for these legis- 
 lators to have made — that the plans ot 
 these buildings should have been submitted 
 for its approval. In the best times of 
 Italian architecture, it was considered that 
 the erection of a public building or a 
 statue, or the construction of a fountain, 
 was a thing which concerned the com- 
 munity ; and, in the case of statues and 
 fountains, models of them were erected in 
 the precise spots which those works of art 
 were to occupy. It might be too much 
 to expect that this should be done now ; 
 but, at any rate, it would not be too much 
 to ask, that models of all buildings which 
 could not be erected without parliamentary 
 suffrance, should be submitted for parlia- 
 mentary inspection. We may have no great 
 faith in the artistic skill of our legislators ; 
 but I, for one, cannot believe that a com- 
 mittee of English gentlemen would have 
 approved the designs for some of those 
 buildings which now disfigure the grand 
 view to be seen from ihat la-idge
 
 254 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 The desire for fitness and beauty in 
 architecture is perhaps much more common 
 among- even the rudest of the population 
 than is generally imagined ; and the plea- 
 sure which a beautiful and proportionate 
 building may give to millions of people, 
 even though they see it but for a few 
 moments, as they hurry to and fro, is a 
 pleasure not to be despised ; and, moreover, 
 it is a great, though silent, means of edu- 
 cation. The greatest critics (such, for in- 
 stance, as Lessing) have laid down the 
 rule that, if possible, nothing in art that 
 is disproportionate, misformed, or badly 
 coloured, should be brought before the 
 eyes of the young. They even object to 
 caricature on this ground. To adopt such 
 a proposition in all its bearings may 
 be unpractical, may be almost impossible. 
 But certainly the converse holds good ; 
 namely, that to bring before the eyes of 
 the young and the uneducated beautiful 
 and well-proportioned objects of art is a 
 means of education, the indirect effects
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 255 
 
 of which it is difficult to over - esti- 
 mate 
 
 There is certainly a wonderful stupidity 
 in mankind as regards the neglect which 
 they show of those thino-.s which ought to 
 have most interest for them. Any one 
 who fully appreciates this stupidity, does 
 not need the evidence of natural philoso- 
 phers to convince him that man has been 
 much longer on the earth than the 
 chronology, generally received, will admit. 
 Considering the inattention he has always 
 shown to the matters of nearest interest 
 to him, he must have been many, many 
 thousands of years a denizen of this planet 
 to have arrived even at the partial civili- 
 zation which he prides himself upon having 
 attained. 
 
 That profound writer, Bishop Butler, 
 draws an argument for the immortality 
 of man from his comparative inattention 
 to mundane things. The early study of 
 astronomy is an instance which the good 
 Bishop adduces to prove his case. We
 
 256 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 mli^ht agree with him so far; and be 
 content that there should be some astro- 
 nomers, even if they stumble occasionally 
 over pails while looking- at the stars, if 
 only as furnishing a potent argument for so 
 great a theme as the immortality of man. 
 But what I think we must grudge, is the 
 enormous amount of labour, thought, and 
 invention which men have given, in all 
 times, to matters which, though they may 
 claim to affect society in some degree, are 
 still of small moment when put side by 
 side with the matters that are neglected. 
 
 It is always well to descend from the 
 abstract to the concrete, in discussing 
 human affairs : 1 will, therefore, give an 
 example to illustrate exactly what I mean. 
 
 Take the ballot, for instance. What 
 pamphlets, what books, what leading 
 articles, have been written upon this slight 
 question of detail ! What an immense 
 quantity of thought and time has been 
 given to it ! How many nights of earnest 
 debate have been devoured by it in the
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 257 
 
 most intelligent and freest assembly in the 
 world ! 
 
 Compare, all this labour, all this thought, 
 all this time, with the labour, thought, and 
 time that have been bestowed upon any 
 sanitary measure, however deeply that 
 measure has concerned the real welfare of 
 mankind. Observe how the smallest poli- 
 tical abuse awakes the deepest interest, 
 while the gravest social abuses are allowed 
 to grov^r up and flourish unchecked, and 
 almost unheeded. 
 
 "I am not, for a moment, contending that 
 there should be stagnation in politics. It 
 would be a very dull world if this were 
 the case; but I do contend that, at leas', 
 hand-in-hand with these political conflicts, 
 of which I allow the full interest, the full 
 importance, and the exceeding amusement 
 (for mankind does enjoy battle of all kinds, 
 whether in words or with arms), I say 
 hand-in-hand with these conflicts should go 
 a careful consideration of those perhaps 
 more sombre, but certainly more nearly 
 
 s
 
 258 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 pressing, social improvements which con- 
 cern the daily life of man. 
 
 Now it is no good pointing out these 
 essential errors in the conduct of our- 
 selves and our fellows-men, wdthout endea- 
 vouring to provide, or, at least, to pro- 
 pose, something in the shape of a partial 
 remedy. 
 
 Before beginning to do so, one notable 
 observation must be made, and it is a very 
 commonplace one. It is rare indeed that 
 the same man has an equal aptitude for 
 furthering political and social improve- 
 ment. There is one class of minds to whom 
 political objects are very dear, and political 
 strife a very grand and welcome occupation. 
 They firmly believe that if the political 
 machine were put into perfect order, all 
 would go right. Such things as sanitary 
 laws seem to them trivialities. " Make men 
 free, and all will go well." 
 
 There is another class of minds who are 
 inclined, perhaps unduly, to undervalue the 
 greatest political objects. They say, " Make
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 259 
 
 men clean, make men comfortable, make 
 men sober, provide for the good government 
 of great towns, and all will then go well, for 
 you will have wise and good citizens." 
 
 Of course, neither of these extremes 
 contains the whole truth. But, up to the 
 present moment, the former extreme has 
 been predominant, and has had Its own way 
 almost unchecked. 
 
 Now could not some plan be devised by 
 which these two seis of aspirations, these two 
 industries, should both have a fair field for 
 working? I venture to think that such 
 arrangements of public business could be 
 made, as would not only allow, but would 
 favour, the just working of these two 
 classes of intelligence for the public good. 
 
 One of the greatest evils of our present 
 system of administration is its want of per- 
 manence. The most careless observer must 
 have noticed this sad and prevailing 
 defect. 
 
 A minister is placed at the head of a 
 department, generally an able man ; for,
 
 26o SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 after all, these political struggles do, as a 
 general rule, bring superior men to the 
 surface. If we may judge from experience, 
 it nearly always requires a year before the 
 new man, however industrious and intelligent 
 he may be, can fully master the business of 
 his department. He then, if political aftairs 
 are somewhat tranquil, and the government 
 is a strong one, may have a y^^^ or two to 
 make good use of the knowledge he has 
 gained. But soon, alas ! there comes some 
 great or some small political convulsion or 
 difficulty. He is either ousted from power 
 altogether, or he is removed to some other 
 department, of which he has to master all 
 the details, and to be again, for a time, in 
 the hands of his subordinates ; to whom, if 
 he Is a wise and not a vain man, he will, for 
 that time, judiciously submit himself. 
 
 I think I have shown clearly the want of 
 permanent eftbrt which proves so fatal to 
 good administration., and especially fatal to 
 the production of new and well-considered 
 legislation. It is a terrible temptation to a
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE, 261 
 
 man who knows that, according to all 
 political experience, his tenure of power will 
 be short, to do something which should be 
 essentially his own, so that he might, as it 
 were, leave his mark in public affairs. 
 
 The statesman has not the same advan- 
 tage as the skilful rider in the circus. This 
 rider can refuse the hoop when it is offered 
 to him; can refuse it again and again, if his 
 own nerves are not prepared and the pace 
 of his horse not exactly suitable for the dex- 
 terous leap. He knows that he can go round 
 and round the ring as often as he likes, and 
 that he will eventually perform some feat 
 (perhaps leap successively through three 
 hoops) which will charm all the beholders. 
 But the statesman knows that his career is 
 very limited ; that he has not the command 
 of his arena ; and that he must leap through 
 his hoop whenever it is offered to him. 
 
 That feeling is the cause of many weak 
 and inefficient measures of legislation. 
 
 Another great evil is the disruption, or, 
 at least, the dissonance, between those who
 
 262 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 are solely engaged in legislation and those 
 who are solely engaged in administration : 
 to put it ]:»riefly — between active and intel- 
 ligent Members of Parliament and active 
 and intelligent members of the permanent 
 Civil Service. 
 
 It must not be thought egotistical on my 
 part, if I refer occasionally to my own expe- 
 rience of the Civil Service of this country, 
 to which I have been for so many years 
 attached. Well, then, I say that it has often 
 come within my experience, that a measure 
 really prepared with considerable care by 
 members of the House of Commons or the 
 House of Lords, has proved inefficient, some- 
 times absolutely unworkable, by reason of 
 some errors, or omissions, which the perma- 
 nent officers of the department to which the 
 measure applied, would, at once, if they had 
 been consulted during the progress of the 
 measure, have prevented or remedied. I 
 remember one particular instance of this 
 huge defect which may serve as a striking 
 example. An admirable measure — admirable
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 263 
 
 in Its purpose — was proposed and carried 
 through both Houses triumphantly. No 
 word had been said to the department which 
 would have to administer this measure. 
 
 They had not in any way been consulted. 
 And here it must be borne in remembrance 
 that the permanent heads of departments are 
 generally very busy men. They are unable 
 to follow the course of legislation, and for 
 them the work of the day is mostly all- 
 absorbing. 
 
 To return to this measure. On its being 
 handed over to the department which had to 
 work it, it was discerned at once that it con- 
 flicted fatally with previous legislation of a 
 superior order. 
 
 The persons who were to be benefited by 
 this excellent measure immediately applied 
 to the department to have its provisions 
 carried into effect. The law officers of the 
 day were consulted, and they pronounced, as 
 the department had foreseen, that no steps 
 could be taken under this act, and that it 
 was a dead letter.
 
 264 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 I come now to my proposal of a remedy 
 for these anomalies. It is, that as soon as 
 may be after the assemblinij of a new parlia- 
 ment, permanent committees should be 
 formed for the carr}ang into effect those 
 measures of social reform which are much 
 needed, and which have attracted a sufficient 
 share of public attention (for that is requisite) 
 to be likely to meet with general accepta- 
 tion. The chairman of any such committee 
 should be either the minister or the under- 
 secretary of that department to which the 
 measure, when completed, is likely to be 
 submitted for administration. 
 
 The novelty, however, which I would 
 propose is, that one or more of the officers 
 of that department should be added to that 
 committee. 
 
 Objection may decidedly be taken to 
 official persons being associated with mem- 
 bers of a parliamentary committee upon 
 exactly equal terms. But I think that there 
 is a way of meeting this objection. 
 
 It has always appeared to me that the
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 265 
 
 civilized world has not made sufficient use of 
 those functionaries called assessors. 
 
 The assessor holds a very peculiar position 
 of independence. He is very differently 
 situated from a witness. The attitude of a 
 witness has, for the most part, something of 
 hostility in it. However honest and well- 
 meaning he may be, he is always in fear 
 of a surprise. Sometimes he is made to say 
 too little, sometimes too much ; and it may 
 be laid down as a general rule that he quits 
 the witness-box very dissatisfied with him- 
 self. Often he is the more dissatisfied, the 
 more anxious he has been to convey the 
 exact truth to his examiners. 
 
 Again, the position of the assessor Is In 
 very striking contrast to the committee, or 
 other general body, whom he has been 
 called upon to assist. He is not pledged by 
 any of their former proceedings, whether 
 those proceedings have been taken by the 
 general body, or by individual members 
 of it. He has come for that occasion, and 
 for that occasion only. This position of his
 
 266 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 is still strong-er, when attending a committee 
 which has. been formed almost upon the 
 hypothesis that every member of it has 
 already a distinct opinion upon the question 
 at issue. 
 
 The expression a7nicus airicB is a very 
 happy one : he is to be a friend and not a 
 partizan. 
 
 At the same time his position differs very 
 materially from the ordinary giver of advice. 
 The assessor is not free from a very distinct 
 and very definite responsibility. The per- 
 fectly free adviser is rather apt to become 
 a wild, vague, and dangerous individual. 
 Perhaps more foolish things have been said 
 by man in the capacity of adviser than in 
 fulfilling any other function. The bold man 
 has told the timid man to be sure and be 
 courageous ; the cautious man has insisted 
 upon the necessity of a long course of 
 cautiousness from one whose native rashness 
 can never be quelled for ten minutes 
 together. And, in fact, no form of absurdity 
 known to mankind, has failed to be prac-
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 267 
 
 tised by those who have assumed the posi- 
 tion of judicious givers of advice. Now, our 
 assessor has all along- the weight of a certain 
 responsibility Impressed upon him ; and yet 
 the responsibility Is of a very -different kind 
 from that of the general body whom he has 
 been called upon to assist. 
 
 The conclusion from the foregoing re- 
 marks Is, that those official persons whose 
 services, as I have before shown, would be 
 so useful to parliamentary committees, might 
 render those services as assessors, even If 
 it were thought advisable that no voting 
 powers should be awarded to them. 
 
 The foregoing proposal would require that 
 the public offices should be made richer than 
 they are at present in persons of some gift 
 for statesmanship — who should, according to 
 the excellent phrase of that accomplished 
 official man, Sir Henry Taylor, be " in-doors 
 statesmen." 
 
 Every office of magnitude should have one 
 or two of these men connected with it ; men 
 who, conversant with all the details of the
 
 2 68 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 office, and with all the previous legislation 
 affecting it, should yet be free enough from 
 the daily administration of those details, to 
 be occasionally spared for some months to 
 consider the future legislation which would 
 render the department most beneficial for the 
 public service. 
 
 It seems to me that it would be only 
 pedantry to object to such an arrangement 
 on the ground of its being unconstitutional ; 
 and that it would bring into harmony two 
 things which are often terribly discordant, 
 namely, legislation and administration. 
 
 Sir Arthur. It is from no impatience on my part, 
 Milverton — from none of that wild* desire for bisection 
 which possesses EUesmere — that I propose that we should 
 not discuss this essay now. I want to have what 
 Ejy young friend, whom I have told you of before, 
 calls " a good solid think," before I attempt to criticise 
 the many grave points which you have brought 
 before us. 
 
 EUesmere. Painful as it is to me to accede to any 
 proposition for leaving off, I consent to do so, and 
 for the same reason as Sir Arthur has adduced. 
 Subsequently to that charming invention of modern
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 269 
 
 days, the pre-prandial tea, we shall all be in a fitting state 
 of mind amply to discuss these nice questions of 
 legislation and of administration which IMilverton has 
 brought before us. 
 
 This was agreed to, and we went about 
 our respective work until we met again for 
 the pre-prandial tea.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A FTER tea-time of the same day the 
 conversation upon the essay com- 
 menced. 
 
 Ellesmcre. I begin with the beginning of your essay. 
 It was what you scribes think to be a fine piece of 
 writing — so fine that, for some time, I did not perceive 
 what was your drift. And when I did perceive it, I did 
 not think that you told us much that we did not know 
 before. I could have summed it all up in a very homely 
 proverb — namely, that " The shoemaker's wife is always 
 the worst shod," for we cannot expect that people will 
 attend to those things which are nearest for them to 
 observe and to do. Besides, we all knew before that 
 Parliament was not always very wise. If it were so, 
 how unfair a representative it would be of the people ! 
 But then, how little time it possesses for wisdom ; and 
 the exercise of wisdom certainly requires time. 
 
 What you men, who have not been in the House
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 271 
 
 of Commons, never make enough allowance for, is the 
 little time at its disposal. You will talk as if the House 
 consisted of a small committee of sensible men, instead 
 of a large body of 652. To my thinking, the House of 
 Commons, taken as a whole, is a wonderful production — 
 wonderful as regards the common-sense which can be 
 elicited from it on all serious occasions. 
 
 Sir Arthur. It has always appeared to me that 
 ministers, and official personages generally, do not trust 
 the House of Commons enough. Now, in matters of 
 expense, the House of Commons is really a most 
 reasonable body to deal with, only you must explain 
 things to them, you must be very frank with them. You 
 need not even fear putting a high or generous motive 
 before them. 
 
 Milvcrton. Very true. But, note this \ you members 
 of the House of Commons say that we official men have 
 not faith enough in you. Speaking, for the moment, on 
 behalf of official men generally — from ministers down- 
 wards, I say that we have sufficient faith in you as a 
 body; but that we fear the crotchets and the perversity 
 of individual members. And we fear these things on 
 account of the time which it takes to answer the said 
 crotchets and the saitl perversity. I have known a 
 minister give up a really good case, which he ought 
 to have supported, solely because he saw that a night 
 would be lost in supporting it; anil, on the highest 
 public grounds, he could not afford to lose diat niglit.
 
 212 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 EUesmcre. All the mischief arises from a superfluity 
 of human talk. And here I must say something to you 
 which was in my mind during the whole time that 
 Milverton's ornate exordium was being uttered. One 
 can foresee that Milverton will, during this Easter 
 vacation, vex us much about sundry improvements that 
 might be made in the mode, of living of those whom 
 we call the lower classes. 
 
 Now I am going to put before you one felicity of 
 theirs, which almost compensates them for all other 
 evils. They do not have to listen to long talk. 
 
 Cranmer. But they talk a great deal about the same 
 subject. 
 
 Elksmcre. Yes ; but their words are brief. Now, in 
 our own class, in almost every sentence that a man 
 utters, you know how it will conclude. But he 7i<ill put 
 it grammatically ; and he does not spare you from 
 listening to a single unnecessary — " I have no hesitation 
 in avowing " [here Milverton laughed]. 
 
 Milvcrion. I must explain, Sir Arthur. Ellesmere 
 is alluding to an old joke of ours at college. We 
 invented, I believe, a sentence for the late Sir Robert 
 Peel. I cannot believe that he ever uttered anything 
 like it. But it ran thus — " I have no hesitation in 
 ayowing, whatever embarrassment it may hereafter entail 
 upon her Majesty's government, that his present Majesty, 
 the King of the French, has talents and abilities of 
 a far higher order than those of an}' sovereign who has
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 273 
 
 sat upon that throne since the days of the Emperor 
 Napoleon." This was a way of saying that Louis 
 Philippe was a cleverer man than Louis the Sixteenth 
 or Charles the Tenth, and shows what the young men 
 of the universities thought of parliamentary speech- 
 making. ^Vhen you members of the House of Com- 
 mons talk about the want of time, you must, if you 
 please, recollect how much time you waste in unneces- 
 sary verbiage. 
 
 Cranmer. I will take up another point in the essay. 
 Are you, or were you, Milverton, against the ballot? 
 
 Milverton. Neither' for nor against it. You do not 
 understand Avhat I have been saying, if you do not see 
 that I merely took the ballot as furnishing an instance 
 of the immense time and thought given to a political 
 question, not of the highest order, in contrast to the 
 time and thought given to any social question of the 
 highest order. If you refer to the last report of the 
 medical officer of the Privy Council, you will find that 
 thousands of persons die annually of preventable dis- 
 eases."''' Now that constitutes a question of the highest 
 order. 
 
 * " It is the commojii convictiDn of persons wlio have most studied 
 the subject, that the fleaths whicli occur in this country (now about 
 half-a-million a year) are by fully a tliinl part more numerous than 
 thev would be, if exi>lin{j kiiowlcdf^'c of tlie chief causes of disease 
 were reasonably well applied throujjhout llie countiy; and I need 
 hardly add that, if thus some 125,000 cases of preventable sufTermg 
 annually attain their final record in the death-register, that vast 
 
 T
 
 274 SOCIAL PRESSCRE. 
 
 Sir Arthur. The great objecl for a statesman, and, 
 indeed, for all men of statesmenlike minds, is to discern 
 what public questions are those which have a " good 
 cry" to back them up, and those which are inevitably 
 without a good cry. I need hardly say that the latter 
 are the questions respecting which real patriots should 
 most bestir themselves. 
 
 Ellcsmcre. I once saw a paper, I dare say it was 
 written by one of us, indicating the difficulty which 
 forks must have had in persuading men to take these 
 useful implements into their hands, and to overcome the 
 conservatism which resolutely stuck to fingers. I was 
 delighted to find that in Mr. Smith's excavations at 
 Nineveh he had found a fork. Queen Elizabeth, 
 according to pojiular report, in early life at any rate, ate 
 with her fingers, so you see how man)- generations it 
 takes before the simplest improvement, that has no 
 *' good cry " with which to bless itself, must have before 
 it can get itself adopted. 
 
 Mih'erhm. You must forgive me, for the moment, if I 
 take another illustration relating to what EUesmere calls 
 one of my manias — namely, the use of the bearing-rein. 
 
 annual total has the tenible further meaning that each unit in it 
 represents an indefinite (often very 1 irge) other number of cases, in 
 which preventable disease, not ended in death, though often of far- 
 reaching ill-effects on life, has also during the yeai been suffered." — 
 Report oj the Medical OJJicer of the Privy Council and Local 
 Governmeni. Board. New Series. No. I.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 ^/.■) 
 
 There is one consensus, as the theologians would say, 
 prevailing amongst men who have studied horses and 
 the use of draft cattle, which consensus declares that 
 this detestable rein is useless, cruel, and productive of 
 disease; ami, moreover, that it deducts largely from 
 the power of these draft cattle. Yet you cannot get 
 it abolished, or even modified. 
 
 Maulevcrcr. What fools we are ! 
 
 'Sir Arthur. It is an excellent illustration. The 
 good sort of people who possess horses, have no in- 
 tention whatever of being cruel or unreasonable in 
 their treatment of their horses. But the truth is, they 
 cannot believe that there is anything much worth 
 attending to in a matter which has no "good cry" to 
 back it up. Tiiey expect a cry, and are unwilling to 
 trust their own judgment until the "good cry" comes. 
 
 Maulevcrcr. \\'hat fools we are ! 
 
 Ellesmcre. I do believe that ]\Iaule\erer would like 
 to pass his life as the principal leader of a chorus which 
 should only have these four emphatic words to utter after 
 any speech of any of the principal personages of the play. 
 
 Milverton. The moral of it all is exactly what Sir 
 Arthur has said, that the more thoughtful men amongst 
 us should labour to discern the questions which pecu- 
 liarly require their support. 
 
 Sir Arthur. Encouraged by Milverton's praise, I 
 will explain my ideas \\\iq\\ the subject more fully. It is 
 not only that this class of men should favour and further
 
 r76 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 those great questions ^Yhich I might ahiiost call the 
 dumb questions of tlie day, l)ut that they sliould 
 endeavour to reduce to their just proportions the noisy 
 questions of the day. That noise is often produced by 
 a comparatively small section of the community, and 
 does not b) any means represent the good sense, the 
 convictions, or even the feelings of the community. 
 
 Maula.'ercr. What fools we are ! 
 
 EUesniere. Now you are unfortunate there in yo'ur 
 refrain, for Sir Arthur means to indicate that there is a 
 large amount of good sense in the cop-imunity. 
 
 Sir Arthur. No ; I am not prepared to say that, 
 Ellesmere : 1 only mean tliat the thing which is ulti- 
 mately carried is not the real result of the sense or 
 nonsense, thought or thoughtlessness, of the community. 
 It is carried by an energetic section ; and, indeed, is 
 more the consequence of good organization than of 
 anything else. I do not wish to advocate unreasonable 
 slowness of action, but I must say that I have seldom 
 known any great political question which has had suffi- 
 cient thought given to it before it was settled, or, to use 
 a phrase of the day, which has been sufficiently venti- 
 lated beforehand. I am no bigoted Conservative, but I 
 always deliglit in those measures which are called "great 
 measures " being thrown overboard as the end of the 
 session approaches — not because I wish them to be 
 stifled, but because I wish them to have more mature 
 consideration.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 277 
 
 It al.vays seems to me that one of the greatest errois 
 which besets each generation, is that the generation will 
 not consider what a long-Uved thing a nation is, and 
 how unimportant it is that any measure, however great, 
 should be passed this year instead of next year, com- 
 pared with the importance of its being a well-considered 
 bit of legislation. 
 
 Milverton. Our Statute Book is mainly cumbered 
 with the amending acts rendered necessary by hasty 
 legislation in the first instance, that hasty legislation 
 being also rendered ineffective by compromises made to 
 prevent the loss of a single niglit of further debate. 
 
 Ellesmere. Moral, number two, expressed in the form 
 of an aphorism — Always give the best of your thoughts 
 to that subject about which nobody else is thinking. 
 
 Milverton. It is almost a poetic thing to imagine — 
 the real poetry of life — a man's silently devoting himself 
 to some social good purpose, in respect of which he has 
 no hope of fame or fortune, and very little, indeed, of 
 favour or support ; when he foresees that, in all likeli- 
 hood, he will merely be one of those devoted common 
 soldiers whose bodies serve to fill up trenches, over 
 which some ficsh troop of their comrades, henceforth 
 to be honoured with ribbons and medals, will advance 
 to victory. 
 
 Lady Ellesmere. My quarrel with Leonard's hicubra 
 tions, and I am sure Mrs. Milverton will agree with me, 
 is, that he is so prone to dwell upon discomfons which
 
 278 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 only affect the boily. Now don't be cross with me, 
 Leonard ; and don't think it impertinent of me, but I 
 must say that to us, you ahnost always seem to think that 
 if drains were well drained ; that if there were plenty 
 of air and light and food for everybody ; that if 
 there were no adulteration of food; tliat if tliei't were 
 plenty of recreation provided, especially for the lower 
 classes — all would go well. It shows the hardness of 
 men, that they think only, or chiefly, of these physical 
 matters. 
 
 EUcsmere. Here is a sort of rebellion in the camp ! 
 I thought that the clergy, of whom you women are so 
 fond, attended sufficiently to matters which are oi a 
 spiritual kind. I suppose you want Milverton to put 
 down jealousy? 
 
 Milverion. I don't know about jealousy; but I think 
 1 could show you how anger and hate might be 
 diminished. 
 
 Cramner. I am with the ladies. I believe that if 
 one could have the statistics — 
 
 Edesmcre. — Oh, of course, statistics ! 
 
 Crajuner. — the statistics of annoyance and misery, 
 the bulk of them would not be found to be physical. 
 
 Lady EUesma-e. The general stri\ing to get higher, 
 the wild love of competition, are evils untouched by 
 good drainage or non-adulteration of food. 
 
 Milvcrion. This is very hard upon me. There is no 
 living man who has contended more against the evils
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE 279 
 
 and the misery produced by competition — the flies all 
 striving to become beetles. 
 
 EUesmerc. No, no: dragon-flies. They do not wish 
 to get out of their own order, 
 
 Milvcrton. One would really think, to hear Lady 
 EUesmere talk, that women were exempt from the 
 influence of this fury of competition. That is certainly 
 not the case ; but, alas ! I must confess that, in later 
 times, they have not been such promoters of competition 
 as we men have. You have made a good point of 
 attack, Lady Ellesme'e. 
 
 EUesmere. Yes : it is a most curious circumstance 
 to be observed in the present day, tliat women have 
 been more sensible than men in pronouncing against 
 this all-devouring system of competition. 
 
 Alilverton. You draw me from my main subject; but, 
 as I shall not allow myself to be diverted from that 
 subject in what I read to you, I do not care how errant 
 from it you are in your conversations after the readings. 
 
 EUesmere. This is very benevolent. 
 
 MUverton. I am ready to tell you what I think about 
 this subject of competition. The only great check to be 
 given to an exaggeration of competition, and, in short, 
 its grea'est prevent itive, is to instil a care for the thing 
 to be done. 
 
 Cranmer. I don't understand. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I do. Milverton means, that if men 
 were brought up to entertain a keen sense of the bcJuty
 
 2 8o SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 of knowledge, and of the jiulicious presentment of any 
 intellectual subject, their pleasure would be in the 
 perfection of the thing to be done, and not altogether 
 in their doing it themselves. 
 
 Ellcsincre. But this is dreamland. 
 
 Cranmcr. You seem to forget, Milverton, that there 
 are physical advantages attending mental success. The 
 man naturallj does not think so much about the thing 
 being well done, as about his having a hand in doing it. 
 Thence flow more consideration, more honours, perhaps 
 more wealth, for himself. 
 
 MilvertoJi. I cannot get over that difficulty. 
 
 There is one thing that has rather disappointed me. 
 I knew that, as civilization progressed, there would be 
 more objects for competition ; and I hoped that this 
 would check the evils of excessive competition in any 
 one pursuit. 
 
 Cfaiimcr. I am again hazy. I can never follow you 
 men fast enough. 
 
 Ellcsmcre. I share your want of speed, Cranmer. 
 
 Milverton. Why, don't you admit that, as civilization 
 advances, there are more careers in which a man can 
 distinguish himself? Now, of late years, we have had a 
 singular renewal of athletic pursuits. Being of a con- 
 trary opinion to the dons of colleges, I delight in those 
 athletic pursuits. Not for the ordinary reasons which — 
 
 FMesviere. Oh ! of course not. 
 
 Milverton. — which are prominent with most people.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 281 
 
 I delight in them because they open another field for 
 excellence. One of tlie greatest objects we ought to 
 have in view for mankind, one of the things which — if 
 one were a superior being, to whom the fates and fortunes 
 of mankind were entrusted — it seems to me one should 
 look to most, is that no human being should be dis- 
 heartened — 
 
 Ellesmere {aside). Then they must have no relations ! 
 
 Milverton. — and that every one should have a 
 career. 
 
 Ellesmere. Career is a very fine word, but not exactly 
 applicable in the way in which Milverton has used it. I 
 cannot call a devotion to athletic sports, fond as I am ot 
 them, a career. What I delight in is that there should 
 be more ways of amusement provided for us all. This 
 Avould make us wiser, more temperate, more sound in 
 every way. 
 
 Milverton. I quite agree with you that there is but 
 one great means of suppressing intemperance, and that 
 is to provide other modes of amusement. 
 
 Ellesmere. I have always told you that no one, 
 whether he be statesman, philosopher, or man of the 
 world, except myself, who in my own projjer person 
 combine somewhat of the i;liilosoijlicr, statesman, and 
 man of the world — 
 
 Cranmer. Oh ! oh ! 
 
 Ellesmere. — can imagine what a wild love for amuse- 
 ment there is in the hearts of men, especially in men
 
 282 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 who dwell in northern climes, where the sun does not 
 provoke to much sleepiness. 
 
 Only look at this fact. Hail a cab in any part of 
 London where there is a large stream of passers-by. 
 You will observe that several grown-up persons, and 
 a large number of boys, will stop to see you get into the 
 cab. That very commonplace tra.nsaction has some 
 charm for them, their days being passed in such con- 
 tinuous dullness. 
 
 Sir Arthur. Ellesmere is righ^ I have noticed the 
 same thing. 
 
 Ellesmere. 1 object, in general, to proverbs, apho- 
 risms, and dicta of all kinds ; but I cannot resist uttering 
 this one. All vice is but dullness in another form — 
 dullness made active. 
 
 Milvertoii. Without assenting to this sweeping apho- 
 rism, I am so far in agreement with Ellesmere, that I 
 maintain that if j'ou want to conquer a vice or a bad 
 habit, you must introduce some good one to take its 
 place. Judicious recreation is the only sure antidote to 
 intemperance. 
 
 Ellesmere. Let us, therefore, now recreate, lest we 
 should eat and drink too much at dinner. I propose 
 that we should put aside all sensible talk, and walk 
 along the banks of the river as far as Teddington. 
 There is plenty of time. By suggesting such a long 
 walk, we shall get rid gradually of all the philosophers, 
 the statesmen, and the statistical people of our com-
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 283 
 
 pany; and for the last seven miles I shall be alone with 
 the athletes of our party and with Fairy. Dogs, if'you 
 observe, are never tired. It is because they never go 
 into competitive examinations, and never eat or drink 
 more than is good for them. Good heavens ! If we 
 were only as clever as animals. If we could only make 
 our reason as serviceable as their instinct, how happy we 
 should be, and we should not need in our Easter 
 holidays to listen to any of JNIilverton's discussions. 
 
 Sir John's proposal was received very 
 coldly, upon which he said, " Well, if you 
 will .stay in-doors, I should like to know 
 what Mr. Milverton meant when he said, 
 * I could show you how anger and hate 
 might be diminished.' " 
 
 EUesniti'e. If you can do that, Milverton, you will 
 be a clever fellow — almost as clever as Seneca, who, 
 if I recollect rightly, wrote a treatise upon anger which 
 doubtless made all the Romans of his time, especially 
 his charming pupil Nero, perfectly mild and placaljle. 
 Sir Arthur looks astonished. He wonders how I should 
 know anything about Seneca's writings. But he forgets 
 that when we had some talk " About Animals and 
 their Masters," he it was who showed us a passage in 
 Seneca, who came to the wise conclusion, that wild
 
 2 84 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 beasts were without anger, /eras ird carar. In my 
 unlearned fiisliion, I had stupidly imagined that wild 
 beasts, such as lions and tigers, were occasionally in a 
 passion. Oh dear ! how fatally mistaken we unlearned 
 men should be, if we had not the learned to instruct 
 us! I woiild not do Seneca injustice; and therefore 
 I do not fail to remember that he said that wild beasts 
 might have rabies, but not anger — never anger. The 
 noble privilege of anger was reserved for man. Anger 
 could not exist, except with reasoning creatures, 
 
 Milvertoii. Now that we have listened to Ellesmere's 
 sneers, he will perhaps allow me to proceed. 
 
 Will he allow this proposition to be true — that no 
 passion can long exist in the mind, which is utterly 
 hopeless of gratification. Anger leads to hatred : hatred, 
 in most cases, to a desire to injure. 
 
 Sir Arthur. Not in all cases, Milverton. 
 
 Milverton. To a desire in almost all cases that the 
 hated person should be injured, if not by the hater, 
 at least by some other person. 
 
 Now I contend that by no exercise of the imagina- 
 tion can you imagine anything which can injure a man. 
 
 Cranmer. This is a strong proposition ! I never was 
 more interested than to see how Milverton will get out 
 of this difficulty. 
 
 Eilesmere. The ingenuity of sophists, my dear Cranmer, 
 as well as that of schoolmen, is a thing which borders on 
 the infinite.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 285 
 
 Milverton. You must grant me a future life j though, 
 for my own part, 1 think tlie proposition holds good 
 even without that. I suppose you will admit that the 
 moral nature of a man is almost the principal thing with 
 which he is concerned, and even that in which most 
 of his happiness or unhappiness is to be found. 
 
 Now picture to yourselves the state of any man 
 whom you dislike. I will not suppose that such men 
 as you indulge in hating anybody. There is, however, 
 this man whom you dislike. Will you devise any 
 mishap or misfortune that can befall him, of which 
 you are sure that it will be an injury? Ke is a 
 politician, we will say. You wish his measures to 
 fail, himself to be ridiculed, his office to fall from him. 
 I answer that these so-called mishapis are perhaps the 
 best things that could possibly happen to him. 
 
 You dislike him so much, that you are not sorry 
 even when domestic misfortune happens to him — say 
 pecuniary loss, or bereavement, I answer, he is perhaps 
 a very hard man, and this is the only way in which he 
 can be softened. 
 
 Ellesmere. I think I liave heard all this before, both 
 in ancient and modern stories. 
 
 Milverton. Yes : but if you admitted the truth of it, 
 you only did so in the case of those nicely-contrived 
 stories. You did not see that the moral was absolutely 
 of universal application. I defy you to show me any 
 disaster that can happen to any human being which shall,
 
 2S6 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 with your limited knowledge, satisfy you that it is a real 
 injury to that man. 
 
 Then, what is the use of hating hiin? As regards 
 other affections of the mind, you do not go on desiring 
 that which you know to be utterly hopeless of acquire- 
 ment. It is only very little children who stretch out 
 their hands to grasp the moon or the stars. It is true 
 that you might be malignant enough to wish that a man 
 might become morally worse, or intellectually dete- 
 riorated ; but you will find that when you are angry 
 with hiin, you never wish anything so philosophically 
 wicked. It is always some distinctly worldly evil that 
 you are good enough to crave for him. That, as I 
 have shown, is not necessarily an evil, may indeed be 
 a great boon ; and if you saw that fact clearly, you 
 would cease to think ill-naturedly about him. Your 
 anger and your hatred would drop off from you. 
 
 Afauleverer. What Milverton says is very sound, there 
 is no sophistry in it : he forgets, however, that there is 
 another side to the question. What becomes of your 
 benevolence? If your malevolence is to have no force 
 or meaning in it, what, I say, becomes of your bene- 
 volence ? 
 
 EUesmere. Oh ! what a friend in argument is 
 Mauleverer. It is delightful to have him on one's 
 side. 
 
 Milverton, I confess that Mauleverer's friendliness in 
 this case is very damaging ; and I tremble for the fate
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 287 
 
 that a counteracting proposition, which I shall venture 
 to make, will meet from him. 
 
 Mr. Milverton got up and walked about 
 the room. This is a habit of his when he 
 is in any great difficulty, and I knew he 
 must be much perplexed — at length he 
 resumed his seat. 
 
 Milverfoft. Upon the whole, prosperity is a good 
 thing, morally speaking. What is the progress of 
 mankind, what is civilization, but an attempt to increase 
 that prosperity which should enable men to be better, 
 to be greater, to subdue vice, ignorance, and selfishness? 
 The lower the civilization, the less there is of nobility 
 of all kinds, of tenderness of all kinds. 
 
 I contend, therefore, that we may exercise our 
 benevolence to any extent upon this general proposition, 
 and with this general purpose, though, at the same 
 time, we may conclude that our malevolence, however 
 directly gratified, may in no respect accomplish our 
 desires. 
 
 EUesmere. Shades of Duns Scotus, Thomas Aquinas, 
 if present on this occasion, how delighted you must be 
 to listen to the discourse of a friend and a brotlier ! 
 
 Sir Arthur. I am content to take niy place in 
 Ellesmere's disesteem with these mighty Sl.'ades. I
 
 288 SOCIAL PRESSURE, 
 
 do not see an3thing sopliistical in what Milverton ha? 
 said. I wish that so great a theme, instead of being 
 treated in this casual, conversational way, had been made 
 the subject of a careful essay. 
 
 Milverton. I could not have said any more. 
 
 Lady EUesmere. John does himself great injustice. 
 I do not know any one who harbours less malice in 
 his mind than he does. He would forgive you directly, 
 however much you attempted to injure him. 
 
 EUesmere. Oh ! if one is to be praised by one's 
 wife, the sooner one's modesty takes one away the 
 better; and therefore, I for one, vote for discontinuing 
 the conversation. 
 
 The others did not this time dissent, and 
 so the conversation ended.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 T T was a fine day, and we resolved to go 
 out in a punt. 
 
 ** A fishing-punt," said Sir John, when he 
 consented to join this expedition, "is a 
 mitigated evil, when compared with a boat. 
 You can walk up and down it. with tolerable 
 safety. When it is moored in some rushy, ' 
 plashy, reedy place, it is only a bad kind of 
 open summer-house, situated in an unwhole- 
 some and insect-breeding spot. Oh, yes ! 
 I entirely consent to our going out in a punt. 
 The ladies like it : they like anything by 
 way of variety ; and they become very tired 
 of being with us in the house." 
 
 So v/e went out in a punt. 
 
 I am sorry to say that Sir John, who was 
 the punter, very nearly got upset, holding 
 
 u
 
 2qo SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 on stoutly to his punting-pole when it stuck 
 in the mud, upon which he declaimed, in no 
 measured terms, about the impossibility of 
 being happy upon the water, whatever was the 
 form of machine in which you trusted your- 
 self on that detestable element. 
 
 At length, however, we were safely moored 
 at a beautiful part of the river, not far 
 from Kew Bridge, where the houses at Mort- 
 lake made a group of buildings which tempted 
 Lady Hllesmere, no mean artist, to endeavour 
 to make a sketch. 
 
 EUcsmcre. Well, this is very pleasant. It must be 
 delightful for Lady Ellesmere to have six admiring critics 
 looking at each stroke of her brush. 
 
 Lady Ellesmere. Do talk some of your nonsense, 
 John, and divert all this observant criticism from your 
 poor wife. 
 
 EUcsiucre. Shall it be a serious or a gay diversion, my 
 dear? 
 
 Lady Ellesmere. Gay or serious, I do not mind, so 
 that it is interesting, and makes you lose all thought of 
 what I am doing. 
 
 Ellesmere. Well, then, it shall be serious ; very serious. 
 It shall not relate to what Milverton contemptuously
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 291 
 
 would call our miscellaneous and promiscuous essays. 
 How the dull always despise the playful ! It shall relate 
 to a subject Avhich it will please him to discuss, and 
 which I have expected him to discuss, seeing it is the 
 subject of the day. 
 
 Cratimer. The subject of the day is the change ot 
 ministry. 
 
 Milvertou. Changes of ministry in our day are not so 
 all-important ; there is a thing called Public Opinion 
 which controls all administrations. 
 
 E tics mere. We had a hope when our holidays began, 
 that Milverton was going to tell us of some things which 
 Avould make us more comfortable ; but it does not seem 
 to me that his discourse has tended much in the direc- 
 tion of comfort. 
 
 Now, there are these Strikes. They are most uncom- 
 fortable things. I wish anybody could show how they 
 could be made less uncomfortable. Of course, all you 
 men who possess statecraft, have thought a great deal 
 about such matters. It is your business to think about 
 them. 
 
 Craniner. The only hope I have is in education. 
 
 Ellcsincre. Now, my good friend, that is really 
 nonsense. I have heard all my lifetime what great 
 things education is to do, but the great things have not 
 been done. The good times, that education is to create, 
 are, at least, fifty or sixty years off; and these Strikes 
 are a present evil, a thing of today. Future reading,
 
 292 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 WTiting, r.ntl arithmetic, though caiiictl to any extent, 
 even if they ever will eflect the wonders that are expected 
 from them, do not apply to the present case. They will 
 not make coals cheap for us now. 
 
 Milvcrion. It is not education, it is experience, that 
 is wanted ; and this experience may be gained, compara- 
 tively speaking, in a very few years. It is true that there 
 have been Strikes in all ages, but there never was such a 
 sudden development of them as at the present time. 
 
 Then, too, you must remember that in former days 
 there were guilds and corporate bodies of all kinds which 
 made a great ditTerence in these matters. 
 
 Now, though, as I said before, these Strikes are 
 nothing new, yet in places where they are now breaking 
 out, they are new things, and neither side knows exactly 
 how to manage them. I believe that the experience, 
 even of a very few years, would enable the parties con- 
 cerned to conduct these things much more wisely. 
 
 There is a point of wisdom and of fairness to be arrived 
 at — some just compromise. The thing is not an insoluble 
 problem. Do )0u suppose that if we were to go down 
 to the place where, at this moment, theie is the most 
 complicated Strike, that we could not, after hearing both 
 sides, and carefully considering the matter, come to a 
 reasonable conclusion — especially as we have a great 
 lawyer amongst us ? 
 
 What is wanting is, that the strikmg people and the 
 struck people should have had sufficient experience of
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE, 293 
 
 strikes to appreciate their e\i!s, to foresee their limits, 
 and to understand, antl be ready, in some sort, to 
 acknowledge the larger and more far-sighted arguments 
 which would wei;;h with us, the arbitrators. I agree with 
 EUesmere that education, in its ordinary sense, will not 
 do this ; but even some small experience may effect it. 
 
 Cranmer, What do you mean by those " larger and 
 far-sighted arguments ? " 
 
 Milverton. I mean, for instance, the effect of foreign 
 competition when the price of the manufactured, article 
 is raised beyond a certain point. If it were to be so 
 raised for any considerable time, there would be nothing 
 left but emigration. 
 
 Sir Arthur. What do you think of co-operalion .-* 
 
 Alilverton. By all means let it be tried. But there is 
 one terrible drawback to its success ; and that relates to 
 buying and selling. 
 
 I will illustrate what I mean, by what we call gentle- 
 man-farming. There are three hindrances to tlie success 
 of that undertaking. First, the proneness of educated 
 men to try new experiments ; secondly, a possible want 
 of vigilant overlooking ; thirdly, the gentleman's inapti- 
 tude for ^buying and selling. The third is the greatest 
 difficulty of all. I have known the two former difficulties 
 thoroughly conquered ; but hardly ever the third. And 
 I will tell you the reason why. 
 
 The skilful, or, at least, the successful buyer or seller, 
 should always be ready to buy and sell, lie should
 
 294 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 always be in a buying or selling mood. Some day I will 
 tell yo'i how the great Rothschild managed that part of 
 his business. Now the gentleman-farmer has seldom this 
 aptitude for buying or selling of which I have spoken. 
 I regret this very much, for I think that farming is the 
 most delightful, I may say the most fascinating, occupa- 
 tion in tlie world. 
 
 Craiiiiie?: But I don't see, Milverton, how this applies 
 to co-operation. You might have a very good buyer 
 and seller in your co-operative association. 
 
 Milverton. Very true ; but how should he ever 
 continue to satisfy his associates ? I am going now to 
 appeal to a somewhat subtle fact in human nature, but a 
 very assured one. After any bargain is concluded, there 
 is nearly sure to be a reaction in the mind of the buyer 
 or the seller, and often in the minds of both. " I should 
 not have sold this for so little," " I should not have bought 
 this for so much," are the words which are very apt to 
 arise in their respective minds. But the experienced 
 buyers and sellers learn to conquer these feelings. Not 
 so the interested bystander. And, of course, he will some- 
 time's be able to put his finger upon a bad bargain made 
 in his behalf. Hence the co-operative buyer or seller 
 will, after a time, become timid, and lose his market. 
 This matter of buying and selling is essentially a despotic 
 proceeding, and rarely admits of constitutional proceed- 
 ings. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I think that this is almost undeniable.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE 295 
 
 Nevertheless, your friend, Experience, may come in here 
 too, Milverton, and may enable some cooperations to 
 succeed. 
 
 Milverton. I hope so ; but you must remember that 
 the co-operative associates will often have apparently just 
 reason for blaming their manager as regards some par- 
 ticular case of buying and selling, which may be a very 
 large one. Ask any great merchant whether, in the 
 course of his career, he has not made a good many 
 blunders. I think he will tell you that he has — that 
 often, practically, he has only had a iitx^ minutes to 
 decide whether he will take a thing or leave it ; and he 
 has taken it, or left it, wrongly. It is upon the average 
 of his transactions, or rather upon the majority of them, 
 that he has succeeded ; and, if he had been called to 
 account for the whole of them, he would have had but a 
 sorry answer to make. 
 
 Sir Arthur. Tell us about the great Rothschild's 
 mode of proceeding. 
 
 Milverton. Well, when I was a boy, there A^as a 
 certain merchant, a near relative of mine, who would 
 often condescend to talk to me, though a boy, about 
 commercial matters. 
 
 Ellesmere. Can't you see the grave little Mihertun 
 looking up into the old merchant's face, and charming 
 the old man by the attention he was giving to this com- 
 mercial discourse ? 
 
 Alilvcrlon. lie said, " The great Rothschild's plan,
 
 296 SOCIAL PRESSURE, 
 
 my dear boy, is this. He is away from his office all clay 
 long, on 'Change and elsewhere. And, in the course 
 of the day, he makes twenty or thirty bargains. There 
 is no writing : no lawyers are consulted. It is all word 
 of mouth. And then Rothschild goes back to his office, 
 and dictates to his clerks the substance of all these 
 contracts he has made. You see, my dear, it is not like 
 those peddling Frenchmen, who would require a great 
 deal of pen, ink, and paper, to be used, and notaries to 
 be employed. We British merchants are upon honour, 
 and trust one another.'' The good m'^rchant's intention 
 was to show me the superiority of our British modes of 
 procedure ; but I now mention the fact for a different 
 reason. Do you think if Rothschild had had to deal 
 <\vith these matters as the buying and selling member of 
 a co-operative society, he could have conducted them so 
 fearlessly, and, therefore, upon the whole, so judiciously? 
 Doubtless he, too, skilful as he was, committed errors, 
 whic'i also, doubtless, he kept to himself. 
 
 Time is the main element in all human affairs ; and if 
 a man has to explain, and partially to justify his blunders, 
 a great deal of his valuable time will be wasted. To 
 explain how and why the milk came to be spilled, is 
 almost as silly as to cry over it when spilt. 
 
 EUesmere. I am curious to know why Milverton 
 thinks farming such a delightful occupation. 
 
 Milverton. For the most commonplace reasons. • la 
 the first place, it is an out-of-doors occupation, for the
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 207 
 
 most part in good air. The value of health is always 
 underrated I will venture to say, that several thousand 
 times in the course of to-day, the following words, or 
 something like thern, will be uttered : " The first consi- 
 deration should be your health." Of all advice this is 
 the most frequently given, and the most frequently 
 neglected. 
 
 Ellesmere. I am sure such a commonplace reason 
 is not the chief one that makes Milverton admire and 
 envy a farmer's lii'e so much. 
 
 Milverton. Well, perhaps, it is more delightful, intel- 
 lectually speaking, than even physically. You may laugh 
 as much as you like, but it is so. Ineradicable in man- 
 kind is the love of speculation — the fondness for submit- 
 ting their afifairs to chance. This the farmer enjoys, with- 
 out the extreme danger that attends speculation in most 
 other pursuits. Each day's weather, a matter of mere 
 gossip to us townsfolk, is of deep interest to him. Nature 
 is perpetually carrying on, or thwarting, his speculations ; 
 and his life is a life of ups and downs, the ups and downs 
 not being of exceeding magnitude. His calling has 
 somewhat of the fascination of whist. There is skill to 
 be shown in the game, but there is also an innr.ense deal 
 of chance. Mr. Clay once lost-sixtcen games running. 
 And so, both in farming and at whist, one can ahvays 
 lay the blame of flxilure upon somethirig besides one's 
 own want of skill. 
 
 Ellesmere. Uj^on my word this is a very ingenious
 
 2 98 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 eulogy ; but, somehow or other (I can't tell how it is) the 
 world in general has got an idea into its head, that 
 agricultural people are somewhat slow and stupid, not- 
 withstanding their immense advantages. The agricultural 
 labourer, for instance, occupies a low place in our regard, 
 intellectually speaking. 
 
 Milvcrton. I do not wish to be rude, but I do assure 
 you, Ellesmere, that it is your ignorance which leads you 
 to form such a conclusion. To speak frankly, you do 
 not know how to talk to an agricultural labourer. You 
 have not the requisite information. With the clever 
 artisan, mechanic, or factory-hand, you are, doubtless, 
 more at home. His occupation is much more within 
 your ken. And then he talks politics, you talk politics ; 
 and, eventually, you find that he has a great deal to say 
 about political matters which it is worth your while to 
 listen to. Whereas the mind of the agricultural labourer 
 is a sealed book to you. 
 
 Sir Arthur. You will never convince Ellesmere, 
 unless you can show him in detail wherein the intelli- 
 gence of the agricultural labourer consists. 
 
 Milverton. It may seem boastful, but I must premise 
 what I am going to say, by mentioning that, for many 
 years, I was a careful student of agriculture, and even 
 that poor book-knowledge enabled me to talk with 
 agricultural people. I will give you a specimen of the 
 sort of talk. 
 
 George Swan (you remember him, in the cottage
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 299 
 
 nearest to us, a lean man, with a hooked iiosc) is 
 coming up our lane at the back of the kitchen-garden. 
 I look over the dwarf wall to greet him. He asks 
 after my missus, I ask after his, and hear that she is 
 pretty well but that Mary Jane is terrible bad with her 
 teething, whereupon George adds, that he can't see 
 why teeth should be such a " terrible worrit " to us, all 
 through our lives — a remark which most of us have 
 made, though perhaps in different language. 
 
 George is one of Farmer Smithson's labourers. I 
 then say, " So you are going to put the fifteen-acre 
 field into turnips again ? I don't think it Vvill do." 
 
 " Well, master, you are 'cute there, for one as hasn't 
 a call to know; but I says so too. He is as good 
 a master, is Farmer Smilhson, as any man ever had, 
 and he is main clever with cattle. But he is that 
 obstinate when he has once said a thing, nothing can 
 drive un out of it. I told un that he'd never get turmits 
 there." 
 
 "But why, George; what's your reason ?" 
 
 " I tliink it's that there six-foot hedge he's so fond 
 of. You mind we tried turmits three years agone, and 
 for a matter of twenty yards from the hedge, there warn't 
 a single one that came to nothink." 
 
 " I suppose, George, the fly likes shelter from the 
 north winds ? " 
 
 " No, it bcan't that," replies George with a grin. 
 "You man have forgot, master; our hedge is to the
 
 300 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 west. But do you mind that there and thereabouts 
 
 it's always the moistest part of the fifteen-acre ? Them 
 
 beasts (he meant the turnip-flies) comes with changes. 
 
 Sun to-day, rain to-morrow, that brings un out 
 
 rarely." 
 
 ■ " Yes, I have noticed that." 
 
 " Now that there hedge gi'es them a change just 
 when they're young ; and like our cattle, they allays do 
 better when they can get a change two or three times 
 in the day." 
 
 Well, then, George and I go into a discussion as to 
 the best modes of battling with " them bea.^ts," the 
 turnip-flies. He doesn't " hold to " most of my sug- 
 gestions, merely made from book-knowledge, which he 
 contradicts by so-called experience. One or two, how- 
 ever, of these plans he receives with a certain amount of 
 flwour : and then we part. 
 
 It is difficult for me to convey to you the sense and 
 shrewdness of his remarks, mixed, however, with a certain 
 amount of prejudice, the like of wliich you will find in 
 all callings and professions. 
 
 What do you say, Ellesmere, to the elaborate system 
 of pleading, which you had to learn before you were 
 called to the bar.? Did not prejudice keep that up for 
 a long period ? 
 
 Craniner. He is not far wrong there, Eilesmere. 
 
 Milverton. I maintain that the agricultural labourer 
 is often a man of great observation, of nice skill in his
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 301 
 
 handiwork (I wish )-ou knew the difficulty of ploughing 
 a straight furrow), and of powers of reasoning, quite as 
 much developed as those of the men of other crafts. 
 One of the greatest mistakes, which you highly-educated 
 men make, is, to underrate the powers of reasoning which 
 your humbler brethren possess. You cannot perhaps 
 overrate the vanity of men, their natural indolence, the 
 continuous effect of their early prejudices, and the like \ 
 but you almost always overrate what you are pleased to 
 call their stupidity. Nearly all men of average capacity 
 can follow even long trains of reasoning, if you will only 
 put your reasoning into language that is not unfamiliar 
 to them. 
 
 Sir ArtJnir. It is rather ill-natured of me, but 1 
 think I could take down Milverton's excessive delight 
 in the coiintry, and in the joys of farming, by mentioning 
 to him that music is a delight not very compatible with 
 the life of his ideal faimcr. Music belongs to towns, 
 and the best music only to the greatest towns. How 
 will you make up your mind to give up tliat joy, 
 Milverton ? 
 
 Milvcrion. You have made a very palpable hit. I 
 do own that farming and music are the two most 
 charming I'hings in the world, and that one must some- 
 times be sacrificed to the other. 
 
 EUcsiiiere. I never met with any one so music-mad 
 as Milverton. Before now, he has sto])pcd me in one 
 of my sweetest arguments — perhaps an argument on liis
 
 302 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 side of tlie question— to listen to a wretched banel-oigan 
 playing in the street. 
 
 Milva-ioii. I do not know that I could ever make 
 any of you understand what music presents to my mind. 
 I overheard Ellesmere the other day telling my wife, 
 with his usual maliciousness, knowing that music is one 
 of her greatest pleasures, that it was a most sensual 
 thing (he did not even use that miti;iated word, 
 sensuous), and that highly intellectual people either 
 ignored it altogether, or pointed out, as Mill had done, 
 its narrow limits. She seemed rather shocked, and to 
 feel that she had been very sensual all her life without 
 knowing it. 
 
 Now music presents to me all forms of order, all 
 forms of harmony, intellectual and moral, as well as 
 physical. It selects out of millions of particulars — to 
 talk of its limited nature is most absurd — those which 
 are most suitable to be brought together. It represents 
 the highest modes of organization. It is a theatre in 
 which every phase of human life can be best pourtrayed. 
 Its very discords, as in real life, can be so beautifully 
 introduced, as to raise the hearer into some new and 
 higher sphere of harmony, hitherto unknown or un- 
 appreciated by him. I tell you again, as I have told 
 you before, that I " hold to," as we farmers say, the 
 words of dear old Sir Thomas Browne, " That tavern 
 music which makes one man merry and another mad, 
 evokes in me a sense of divine harmony and a full
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 303 
 
 belief in the beneficence of the Divine Creator." Those 
 are not the exact words, but they will recall to 3'our 
 minds the passage. 
 
 If I had anything very difficult to do, whether to write 
 a tragedy or a comedy, or to draw an Order in Council, 
 let me hear music played while I am endeavouring to do 
 it ; and much of the difficulty seems to vanish. 
 
 Then it is the finest form of education that has ever 
 been devised. A noble training is accomplished, 
 mostly without any pedantry, almost unconsciously ; 
 and, observe this, with less accretion of vanity than in 
 any other way. 
 
 EUcsma-e. Again, I say, we are soaring amid lofty 
 regions into which this heavy body cannot rise. I feel 
 like an unwilling and sceptical attendant at a spiritual 
 seance, during which stout personages are lifted into 
 upper air, where, however, such an unspiritual person as 
 I am cannot follow them. Lady Ellesmere, I see, has 
 finished her sketch. Let us dispunt ourselves, and 
 walk home. The benevolent Cranmer will take the 
 ugly thing home ; or if not, I will make myself a beast 
 of burden and drag it along by the towing-path. 
 
 The "benevolent" Cranmer consented to 
 take the punt back ; and the rest of us 
 walked home.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 IWTR. MILVERTON seems to me to 
 make a great effort to choose his 
 opportunities for introducing- the various 
 subjects, upon which he desires to lay his 
 thoughts, before his friends. Whatever Sir 
 John Ellesmere may say, I know that Mr. 
 Milverton is most anxious to hear the 
 criticisms of his friends upon his essays, 
 and that he has a constant fear lest what 
 he may suggest on these practical matters 
 should not, in the least, be practicable. 
 
 There had now been a considerable in- 
 terval after his last essay on Administration. 
 He put this fact before the " Friends in 
 Council," and gained their consent to listen 
 to another section of his work. 
 
 This consent was attained on the evening
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 305 
 
 after our punting expedition, and the next 
 morning was fixed for the reading of the 
 section. Mr. jMIlverton Introduced it thus : 
 
 Milvertoji. There is no occasion for commencing 
 what I have to say with wliat Ellesmere, dehghting in 
 line long Latinized Avords, is pleased to call an 
 exordium. It originally belonged to the essay I read 
 last ; but I made a separation of it, fearing lest you 
 should all be wearied with the long continuance of the 
 same subject. For it is the same subject. Do you see 
 what I am endeavouring to put before you ? 
 
 Ellesmere. Now, Cranmcr, do be honest, and confess 
 that you do not see. 
 
 Cnmmer. I shall say nothing of the kind, 
 
 Ellesmere. Well, then, I will. It has always been 
 a theory of mine, that in sermons, speeches, essays, and 
 theological treatises, you can hardly too often reiterate, 
 in few words, the substance of what you mean to assert, 
 or to prove. I do a man a great service, when I remind 
 him of that fact. 
 
 Milverion. Thank you, Ellesmere. My object is this. 
 I have pointed out to you several social evils. I believe 
 that some remedies may be found for them by judicious 
 administration. I then endeavour to show you how 
 administration, without being made more interfering, 
 may be made more forcible and effective. With this 
 
 X
 
 306 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 purpose, I resume the discussion of questions which, 
 though partly poUtical, have, indirectly at least, great 
 influence upon administration. 
 
 Ssr Arthur. Read on, Milverton. We quite under- 
 stand what your object is, and how you would 
 attain it. 
 
 Mr. Milverton commenced reading, and 
 this is what he read : — 
 
 CHOICE OF MEN FOR OFFICES. 
 
 Another great evil in our political arrange- 
 ments, and one which has had a bad effect 
 in all matters of social reform, is, the limita- 
 tion of choice which is produced by certain 
 appointments being only capable of being 
 held by members of Parliament, Now, here 
 is a real grievance — one which affects all 
 the highly educated and highly cultivated 
 people in the countr}-. It is a grievous fact 
 to state, that, when an office of the kind 
 I allude to is vacant, there should only be 
 two or three candidates capable of being 
 appointed. We sometimes wonder at the 
 choice which an Administration makes on
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 307 
 
 such occasions ; but we forget how exceed- 
 ingly limited is its power of choosing. It 
 frequently happens that an additional element 
 of limitation is thrown in by the fact that the 
 person to be chosen must be pretty secure 
 of his re-election for a seat in Parliament. 
 
 It is well always to be specific : I allude 
 especially to such offices as that of the 
 Post-Master-General, and of the First Com- 
 missioner of Works. I admit that it is 
 desirable that such appointments should 
 not be permanent, and should undergo the 
 changes which are requisite in other political 
 appointments. Otherwise we should have 
 one mode of thought and action too pre- 
 valent ; and, as Tennyson says : 
 
 " Lest one good custom should corrupt the woild." 
 
 But this limitation of choice is quite another 
 thing ; and, if we really cared for good 
 administration, would be quite indefensible. 
 
 To my mind, it is also indefensible that 
 the road to the highest legal appointments 
 should lie through political partizanship, 
 and should be dependent upon the secure
 
 3o8 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 possession of a seat In Parliament. Here, 
 again, I admit that there is something to 
 be said on the other side, and that these 
 great legal appointments have, for the most 
 part, found worthy recipients for them. But, 
 often, it must have been a great derange- 
 ment of the studies and pursuits for which 
 such men have been most fit, that they 
 should have been obliged to seek for the 
 favour of some electoral body, before their 
 great legal attainments could have had full 
 scope. I believe that the difficulty of ob- 
 taining sound and deliberate legal reform, 
 has been much increased by the necessity, 
 which the greatest lawyers have felt them- 
 selves under, of acquiring political favour 
 with some body of constituents. And we 
 cannot say that, without making some great 
 and remarkable exceptions, lawyers have 
 shown themselves to be able statesmen. In 
 the case of these exceptions, I think it may 
 almost always be said that there was more 
 in the man of the statesman than of the 
 lawyer. Much as I wonder that the general
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 309 
 
 body of educated and cultivated men have 
 not protested in the case of certain civil 
 appointments, that the choice should be 
 limited to members of Parliament, I wonder 
 more that the legal profession, perhaps the 
 most powerful body in the community, has 
 not recalcitrated against the practice of 
 its principal offices being conferred upon 
 those who have had the good fortune, or 
 the political skill, to meet with obliging 
 constituencies. 
 
 An objection which will be taken imme- 
 diately, by practical men, to the foregoing 
 observations, is this — that every great de- 
 partment, even though its character and 
 its objects are not in the remotest degree 
 political, must yet have the means of 
 making itself heard in Parliament, and, to 
 use the common phrase of the day, be 
 represented there. I feel deeply the force 
 of this objection, but must contend that 
 the evil is not so great as that of the 
 limitation of choice which I have described. 
 
 Moreover, a remedy might be provided to
 
 3IO SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 meet this difficulty. It might be admitted 
 that persons holding the appointments I 
 have alluded to, should have an official 
 seat In Parliament, and be able to declare 
 the policy of their department, in the House 
 of Commons, or in the House of Lords. 
 
 This would be a great change in the 
 present system, but I believe that it is a 
 change which, in the course of events, will 
 become necessar}\ It is not altogether 
 unwise to see what we can borrow from the 
 wisdom of other nations ; and one of the 
 good points, as it appears to me, of the 
 American constitution, is, that the ministers 
 are independent of parliamentary position. 
 We could probably improve upon their 
 practice in this respect. We could still 
 Insist upon the principal political person- 
 ages obtaining, and being able to retain, 
 the favour of individual constituencies. 
 There are offices, however, which we might 
 judiciously make somewhat independent of 
 this favour. 
 
 I fear, that, with the general political
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE, ' 311 
 
 world, it Is hardly perceived how much more 
 difficult government has become. Subse- 
 quently to the days of our ancestors (take 
 the times of George III., for Instance), the 
 Press has risen Into great power — and 
 deservedly Into great power. There are 
 now a number of persons of much political 
 ability, who devote all their leisure to a 
 real study of political questions. They write 
 from day to day their views upon these 
 questions, and they have the advantage of 
 possessing an immense audience. Some- 
 times they are most serviceable to states- 
 men : sometimes they are an embarrassment, 
 on account of their not possessing all the 
 facts which should enable them to come to 
 a right judgment upon urgent political 
 affairs. 
 
 The main point I want to show forth, is, 
 that they constitute a great power, over 
 which, as a general rule, statesmen have 
 very little hold. To meet this power — even 
 to make the best use of its Intelligence — It 
 is needful that government, speaking of It
 
 312 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 in the abstract, should have new facilities 
 granted to it, to meet the increase of force 
 in other and not always friendly powers. 
 
 Would it not be well, under these circum- 
 stances, that there should be a few official 
 seats in Parliament ? We need have no fear 
 of a ministry oppressing- us by means of 
 these seats, which might be limited to some 
 such number as ten. If there were any 
 such fear, it might be still further controlled 
 by the holders of these seats being deprived 
 of the powder of voting. 
 
 There can hardly be any doubt that the 
 various administrations which have intro- 
 duced measures of electoral reform, have, 
 upon the whole, acted wisely. It was im- 
 possible that the state of things previous to 
 the first Reform Bill could be maintained. 
 Nevertheless, all thoughtful politicians fore- 
 saw then, and foresee now, that these 
 electoral reforms were not all gain. For 
 a man to become a statesman, it is neces- 
 sary that he should have some training 
 for the part ; and, no doubt, it was a great
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 313 
 
 advantage, In former times, that a leading- 
 minister could look out for young- men of 
 much ability, who showed great aptitude for 
 political or administrative work; and when, 
 by means of that ungainly thing called " a 
 Rotten Borough," he could at once place a 
 young man In a position which would show 
 whether this aptitude would be developed, 
 and whether there was in the young man the 
 making of a statesman. The advantage thus 
 possessed by a powerful minister — an advan- 
 tage much more conducive to the welfare of 
 the State than to his own benefit — may be 
 seen by the following consideration. It is 
 not for the mere acquisition of suitable know- 
 ledge that it is desirable to introduce men 
 early into political life. A far greater gain 
 results from this early training — namely, 
 the habit of decisiveness, and the power 
 of enduring great and sudden responsi- 
 bility. After a certain time of life, these 
 habits are rarely acquired, especially in 
 any new form of thought or endeavour, 
 although the person in question may have
 
 314 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 acquired these habits in another sphere of 
 action. 
 
 The representation of the electors of this 
 country appears likely to fall more and more 
 into the hands of middle-aged men, who 
 have acquired some fame, or some local 
 influence, from their success in other pur- 
 suits than those of politics. We can easily 
 see the disadvantage of this state of things 
 if it prevailed in other branches of human 
 effort. An army officered by men Vvho 
 had obtained the suffrages of their fellow- 
 countrymen would never fight, or, at least, 
 would never be led to victor)\ And it is 
 a vain dream to suppose that good leaders 
 for political action will often be found in 
 the ranks of those w^ho have not made 
 politics the business of their lives. It must 
 be obvious to every one, that there is some 
 prospect of this danger being realised ; and 
 it is a ver}'' serious danger. If, therefore, 
 by any plan, however apparently anomalous, 
 any safeguards can be provided to counter- 
 act the evil, the plan may be worth con-
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 315 
 
 siderlng. The one at present proposed 
 would enable an administration to produce 
 before the country men who might possess 
 all the qualifications for statesmanship, ex- 
 cept that conv^entional one which insists upon 
 their being- hereditary peers, or their being 
 able to find a constituency which should 
 at once recognize their merits, and resist 
 all local influence, in order to bring those 
 merits into prominence. You cannot con- 
 ceive that this will ever be done, because, 
 according to my hypothesis, these candi- 
 dates are to be young men. A minister 
 may be able to judge of the aptitude for 
 statesmanship of a Chatham, a Pitt, a Fox, 
 a Sheridan, a Burke, a Wyndam, a Glad- 
 stone, or a Disraeli, while he is yet a youth, 
 perhaps fresh from College. But a constitu- 
 ency is likely to ask the severe Napoleonic 
 question, What has he done? and, Why 
 should we give our suffrages to an unknown 
 and an untried man ? Hence there comes 
 a dearth of youthful statesmen. And it is 
 by no means easy to show how this void
 
 3i6 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 can be replenished, unless we are prepared 
 to adopt some plan of the kind I have 
 ventured to recommend, or unless \ve resort 
 to those modes of election which have been, 
 somewhat superciliously, called " Fancy 
 Franchises." 
 
 The foregoing considerations may appear 
 to have little to do with our main subject ; 
 but the truth is, that social reforms of a 
 delicate and difficult kind require, far more 
 than other reforms, the existence of an 
 early-trained and well-educated body of 
 statesmen. 
 
 Milverion. I have now laid before you one division 
 of my subject. Previously, however, to concluding 
 this reading of mine, I should like to put before you 
 another branch of it. This is not in immediate 
 connection with what I have just read, but is con- 
 sequent upon it. We have been considering the 
 question of Parliamentary Representation. Quite as 
 important in this free country is the question of Local 
 Government. Are you tired, or will you hear now what 
 I have to say upon that ? 
 
 Sir Arthur. We are ready to hear it
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 317 
 
 Mr. Mllverton then read as follows : — • 
 
 LOCAL GOVERNMENT. 
 
 The unit of local government, is the thing 
 to be sought for. In an old country, such 
 as ours, there is exceeding difficulty in 
 getting at this unit, and clearly defining it. 
 If this unit could be a municipal corporation, 
 great expense would be saved — a point of 
 immense importance, considering the heavy 
 pressure which local rates and taxes bring 
 upon poor householders. Moreover, the 
 adoption of this unit would bring much 
 clearness and distinctness into local admi- 
 nistration. 
 
 I am bound, however, to give you the 
 other side of the question. It is doubtful 
 whether such a body would always well 
 fulfil the functions now performed by Im- 
 provement Commissioners, Road Trustees, 
 Burial Boards, and Sanitary Committees — 
 the members of which bodies are chosen (I 
 believe by the ratepayers) on account oi 
 special knowledge, or of suj)j)oscd especial
 
 3i8 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 interest as regards the respective subjects 
 in question. 
 
 Again, you are sure to ask me, what Is 
 to become of the purely rural districts ? We 
 cannot expect municipal corporations to take 
 any care of them. 
 
 With regard to them, I look forward to 
 a great improvement, which I trust will by 
 degrees be made, In county administration. 
 I win tell you how the whole thing presents 
 itself to my mind. The original unit is the 
 parish, all the parishes being originally, we 
 will suppose, subject to the administration of 
 the county. Then there comes an agglo- 
 meration of people upon one spot. Peculiar 
 necessities for special administration arise 
 at that spot; and, If the number of people 
 is sufficiently large, a municipal corporation 
 ought to be formed. 
 
 The plan adopted In a neighbouring 
 country, of a high officer of Govern- 
 ment being- entrusted with the super- 
 intendence of all the affairs of an exten- 
 sive district, seems a very feasible one.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 319 
 
 Considerable disadvantages have, how- 
 ever, resulted from that species of local 
 government ; but this may be from the 
 peculiar nature of the people, and might 
 not apply to a countr}' where liberty is well 
 understood. 
 
 I return to the subject of municipal cor- 
 porations. There is no doubt, I think, that 
 these would be the best units of local 
 government for towns, if only we could 
 be sure that municipal officers w'ould be 
 selected, without any reference to party ties, 
 and would be the really efficient men in 
 their separate localities. But, if a man 
 is to be chosen as a member of a Sanitary 
 Committee, or to be made an Improvement 
 Commissioner, merely because he is an 
 alderman or a common-councilman, then 
 the thing will fail. 
 
 We come to the original difficulty in all 
 human affairs, namely, the choice of men — 
 that choice being very nearly as imj^ortant 
 in small civic matters as in imperial affairs. 
 
 Great fault is now being found Vvitli the
 
 320 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 management of railway affairs. The chief 
 source of this mismanagement is that the 
 choice of a governing body is restricted 
 to those who possess money qualifications 
 which do not, by any means, ensure the 
 possession of other greater qualifications. 
 
 If, as occurs in fables, mankind could 
 ask and receive some boon from the gods, 
 the best thing perhaps to be asked would be 
 that they should understand their fellow- 
 men. Often, now, those are entrusted with 
 this choice who have not the slightest 
 faculty for making it. Talk of their under- 
 standing men, they would not even under- 
 stand chessmen ! I do not mean this as a 
 jest, but as a reality. You find persons 
 high in power who never seem able to 
 perceive the speciality of any person or 
 thing they seek to use ; and are incapable 
 of fully realising that the knight cannot do 
 what the bishop can, and vice versa. 
 
 I have hitherto said nothinsf about those 
 details of sanitary legislation, which, what- 
 ever form of local government may prevail,
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 321 
 
 must be carefully considered. It is a thorny 
 part of the subject, cumbered with many 
 difficulties. I will -tell you what I think 
 would be the best plan ; and then, hereafter, 
 it might be seen how near to that plan the 
 administration could be arranged. 
 
 In the first place two things are wanted, 
 local action and central supervision. Much 
 depends upon the size of what we will call 
 " health districts." They should not be too 
 large for the effectual work of one Health 
 Officer : they should not be so small as that 
 the officer chosen should be much under the 
 control of local influence. 
 
 As regards the choice of these officers, I 
 would not restrict it to any profession. I 
 have known men who would be singularly 
 fitted to become Health Officers, who were 
 not doctors or lawyers, nor belonging to any 
 learned profession. 
 
 You see, after all, the questions to be 
 dealt with are seldom of a very complex 
 character, nor are they such as require that 
 peculiar knowledge which is only to be 
 
 Y
 
 2,22 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 fully qainecl in a profession. In this matter, 
 as in most others, the great thing is to 
 get a man who has the art of managing, 
 who ha« tact, and energy, and pleasantness 
 of behaviour. A man of that kind, endowed 
 as he will be with the powers of persua- 
 sion, can sometimes carry through a difficult 
 plan which the most scientific man in the 
 world, without these gifts, would ignomi- 
 niously fail in carrying. 
 
 Then there comes a point for discussion 
 which is a vital one. It is never well that 
 there should be any employment for men 
 in which there is no opportunity of rising. 
 If you give these appointments in all cases 
 to persons who have other employments, if 
 you make the Health Office a mere adjunct 
 to some other employment, you run a great 
 chance of its being treated by him as a 
 mere adjunct, and occupying only the spare 
 moments of his thought. You tend to make 
 him, in that matter, an amateur, rather than 
 a professional. 
 
 But how Is this scheme of promotion to be
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 323 
 
 provided for? There are two ways. One 
 is, that even in the local administration, 
 there should be offices of larger sway and 
 of a more extensive district than those now 
 entrusted to the ordinary Officer of Health 
 of the primary class. This might be effected 
 by several of the primary districts being 
 under the supervision of a higher officer, 
 appointed, we will say, by the County. 
 
 In addition to this, there might be pro- 
 motion to the offices of Inspectors of tl^ie 
 Central Board, who should be men of much 
 skill and capacity. Into this body, as 
 vacancies occurred, those persons might be 
 introduced who had distinguished them- 
 selves in local administration. 
 
 I have now put before you a scheme 
 which, I think, would have the elements of 
 good work in it ; but, of course, one can 
 seldom expect that an abstract scheme of 
 this kind wiil be at once adopted. The 
 object should be to wurk uj) to it, or to some 
 better plan, as closely as the circumstances 
 of the time will allow you. One ihould
 
 324 SOCIAL PRESSURE. . 
 
 always have a distinct plan of some kind 
 in one's view. The British public will 
 seldom permit of its being adopted at once, 
 but you have to come to it by degrees. 
 
 Another matter, in reference to this sub- 
 ject, seems to me of great importance. I 
 distrust the agglomeration of offices and 
 functions which has been so frequently 
 effected in modern times. It seems to me 
 that the health of the nation is a sub- 
 ject sufficiently large in itself to require 
 a separate branch of administration, with 
 a minister at the head of it; and that 
 it has been unwise to add this branch 
 to the Presidency of the Poor- Law Board. 
 The functions seem to be essentially dif- 
 ferent. In the one case, judicious re- 
 straint appears to be the principal func- 
 tion : in the other, judicious enlargement 
 and development of action. I should 
 imagine that it would rarely happen that 
 any one man would possess the requisite 
 qualifications for filling, as a minister, both 
 these high posts of president of the Poor-
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 325 
 
 Law-Board, and president of my Imaginary 
 Board of Health. But, Indeed, the allot- 
 ment of official work Is, at present, very 
 ill-managed throughout most of the depart- 
 ments of the State. 
 
 Again there was a demand from all the 
 persons present, that there should be no 
 conversation now, and that time should be 
 given them to make up their minds as 
 to what they should comment upon, as 
 regards the various topics which Mr. Mil- 
 verton had submitted to them in the fore- 
 2;-oing section of his work.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 T N the afternoon of the same day came the 
 conversation upon the foregoing- essay. 
 
 EUesma-e. Do you remember what I said a long 
 time ago about tbe necessity for the trumpet? I forget 
 the exact words ; but they were to this effect : If a 
 man has a force which is represented by ten, and that 
 man wants to effect something, he may devote three 
 parts of this force to doing the thing, but must reserve 
 the other seven-tenths to blowing the trumpet about it 
 when it is done. 
 
 Milverton. I recollect sometning of the kind. 
 
 Eltesmcre. Well, this great saying applies still more 
 to writing than to doing. I don't say that any of your 
 suggestions are absurd. Some of them, indeed, appeared 
 to me to be practical and practicable. But I do say 
 that they will never be carried into effect, unless they 
 are blown about by alien trumpets, as well as by your 
 own.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 327 
 
 Sir Arthur. All that you mean, Ellcsmere, is tliat, 
 for the most part, it is a different set of men who 
 suggest things, from those who carry them into effect. 
 
 Cranmer. We all know that. There never was a 
 more notable instance of the truth of the remark, than 
 what befell the Corn Laws and Free Trade generally. 
 The argumentative part of the question was fully 
 worked out long before the men, who were to make 
 those arguments go down with the world, arrived to the 
 fore. 
 
 Mauleverer. I will show you where lies one of the 
 greatest difficulties in this matter. I suppose that, 
 though you deem me to be a pessimist, you will allow 
 that I am not far wrong when I assert that the number 
 of foolish people in the world exceeds the number of 
 the sensible people in the world. 
 
 Ellcsmere. I do not see much harm in admitting the 
 truth of that statement. Something of the same kind 
 has, occasionally, when I have been dyspeptic, occurred 
 to myself. What then? 
 
 Maula:erer. There will be a number of proposals 
 made in writing or speech, and some of them will be 
 wise, and some will be foolish. The foolibh proposals 
 will, naturally, be accepted by die foolish majority 
 of human beings ; and the alien trumpets Uiat Ellcsmere 
 speaks of, will chiefly be heard blowing about a screed- 
 of doctrine which is especially foolish, but which is entirely 
 suitable to the trumpeters.
 
 328 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 One of tlie silliest ideas, one of the most unprac- 
 ticable, that I ever heard, was that the accretions of 
 the value of land made by extraneous causes — I mean 
 by causes extraneous to the labours of the landowner — • 
 should be awarded to the State. Of course the whole 
 of the spare intellect of mankind would be given to the 
 ascertainment of this accretion of value. It would be 
 requisite that every other educated human being should 
 be either a land-surveyor or a lawyer. But you wili 
 find, that such a proposal, in spite of its absurdity, or 
 on account of that very absurdity, will find many 
 favourers, many peojDle to blow these alien trumpets. 
 Whereas, a sensible suggestion (not that I pledge 
 myself by any means to say that Milverton's suggestions 
 are sensible) will, as naturally, find but few favourers. 
 Sense is dull : nonsense is generally lively ; and the 
 world delights in life and animation, 
 
 EHesmere. Upon my word, there is nobody \^■ho has 
 such rivers of cold water to pour down the backs of 
 unhappy suggestive people, as our good friend Maul- 
 everer. It is a beautiful future, though, that he depicts 
 for us, when every other man is to be a land-surveyor, or 
 a lawyer. 
 
 Alilverion. That was a pregnant saying of Burke's, 
 that when bad men combine, good men should associate. 
 Now putting aside the bad men, I would merely say, that 
 good men should combine for the higher purposes, as 
 well as for the lower. I am not one of those who
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 329 
 
 are frightened by the combinations of the present day. 
 Indeed, I suspect that much good may come from them. 
 But, for the most part, they are combinations to effect 
 some distinctly material end, such as the rise of wages, 
 or the diminution of the hours of labour. But, when 
 men are more educated, they will see how necessary 
 is combination to effect much higher aims. That very 
 combination to which Cranmer alluded, though it was 
 a combination devoted to procure a mere material end, 
 was of a thoroughly unselfish kind, and had reference to 
 great principles of thought and action. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I wish that men would devote them- 
 selves to furthering the projects and the aims of some 
 man who is greater than themselves, or at least more 
 suggestive, 
 
 EUesmere. Well, since I have formed one of the 
 Friends in Council, I have heard many vast propositions 
 put forward, but never any like this. Are you aware, 
 Sir Arthur, that most people are rather vain ? and yet 
 you want them to devote themselves to a kind of hero- 
 worship — the heroes being alive, and having only made 
 sensible propositions, which, as Mauleverer has told you, 
 will probably be rather dull and prosaic. 
 
 My quarrel with Milverton is, that he believes too 
 much in government. His suggestions always smack 
 of officiality, if I may invent such a term. 
 
 Cranmer. Well, how should they be otherwise ? 
 
 Ellcsmtrc. There is no day, since we have been
 
 330 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 together tliis Easter — no day after Milverton read his 
 first section of his first essay upon the evils attending 
 the bigness of great towns, that I have not endeavoured, 
 with my limited capacity for such thoughts, to see 
 whether I could make any suggestion that would be 
 of any value ; and, in the end, I always came back to 
 Cranmer's " lights, easements, privileges." You see how 
 generous I am, Cranmer. You always attack me, or 
 delight when anybody else attacks me ; but when you 
 say anytliing admirable, I alwa)'s admire it. 
 
 I don't see anything to be done but providing large 
 spaces to be kept intact — a suggestion of no novelty 
 — indeed it has entered into a common phrase, the 
 providing lungs for the metropolis. Cranmer was quite 
 right when he said that you could not, in this free 
 countr)', jjrevent men from building where they liked, and 
 as they liked. 
 
 Milverton. I do not think, Ellesmere, that you per- 
 ceive the immense advantage of having these subjects 
 ventilated. I have a faidi, it may be a weak one, in 
 the good intentions and good dispositions of the 
 greater part of mankind. Mauleverer ridiculed the 
 proposition that certain accretions of the value of land 
 should be brought to the treasury of the State. If that 
 project has captivated the minds of any writers or 
 thinkers, it is because the minds of those writers and 
 thinkers have been more sensitive than the minds of 
 other men, to the enormous evils which exist among us ;
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE, 331 
 
 and they clutch at anything wliich seems to promise 
 any good for the world. There are hundreds, it may 
 be thousands, of persons anxious to do what good they 
 can ; and, in this matter of providing open spaces to 
 feed with something like pure air the lungs of the 
 metropolis, there are, no doubt, many wealthy men who, 
 if the question were well put before them, would devote 
 some portion of their riches to this end. 
 
 I must no\v endeavour to answer the attack which 
 Ellesmere made upon me, as regards my suggesting as 
 remedies nothing but what was of a governmental or 
 official kind. 
 
 Come close to the point. Do you believe, or do 
 you not believe, that my suggestion that sanitary 
 inspectors should be formed into a kind of official 
 hierarchy, is judicious or not? 
 
 Allow iiie to go into details. Your inspector, in any 
 neighbourhood, is liable, especially if his salary is a 
 small one, to be too much dependent upon the opinion 
 or the favour of his nc'ghbours — that is, if he has 
 nothing else to look to: But if, by diligent ami 
 unprejudiced work, he can attain the favour of his 
 official superiors, and that that favour can produce a 
 rise in his oflicial rank, we have a motive whicli may 
 stem and conquer all his neighbourly affections He 
 will then denounce all nuisances boldly. 
 
 Again, official or not, was my suggestion that a 
 larger choice of men for certain offices should be
 
 332 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 allowed — a reasonable suggestion ? One would think 
 sometimes, to hear you talk, Ellesmere, that official 
 life was a thing apart from ordinary life, and that we, 
 in offices, were employed from morning till night in 
 writing letters to one another, which do not at all 
 concern the public. I only want some of the principles 
 and practices which lead to success in other branches 
 of human effort, to be adopted in official life. What 
 Avould you think of a merchant who only chose the men 
 to v.'ork with him, or under him, from their having a 
 peculiar form of nose? That is not a more absurd 
 limitation than that the supply of men to fill certain 
 offices in the State — offices demanding great conversancy 
 with details — should be limited to those who have a 
 secure seat in Parliament. 
 
 Ellesmere. What I am going to say has nothing 
 whatever to do with the present subject ; but I must 
 say it. In one of your early discourses, you said some- 
 thing of this kind — that the bad atmosphere of London 
 prevented, to some extent, the healing of Avounds in 
 hospitals. I doubted the fact, and so, I believe, did 
 Cranmer, But 1 must tell you that, if this slowness 
 of healing be a fact, I have heard a very different 
 reason given to account for it — namely, that it arises 
 from a certain subtle source of injury caused by 
 several wounded or sick people being brought into 
 somewhat close contact. 
 
 Milverton. Thank you for the correction, if it be
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 333 
 
 a correction. I have, as you know, a horror of 
 exaggeration, or of pressing any argument too far. 
 
 You have certainly brought forward something which 
 may damage that particular statement of mine as 
 regards the quality of the London atmosphere. On 
 the other hand, I have heard something which singu- 
 larly confirms my statement of its corrosive influence. 
 You have all, doubtless, heard of Sir Rutherford Alcock, 
 and how he represented our interests in China. lie 
 visited the Chinese wall, and brought back two bricks 
 from it. I do not pretend to determine for how 
 many centuries those bricks had kept their form, and 
 betrayed no signs of decay, in that atmosphere. But 
 those centuries must have been many. Sir Rutherford 
 put these two bricks out in the balcony of his house 
 in London. This was about two years ago. One of 
 these bricks has already gone to pieces, being entirely 
 disintegrated by the corrosive influence of the London 
 atmosphere. This fact was stated, I believe, to the 
 Geographical Society the other day. 
 
 Ellesviere. Could it have been simple breakage ? 
 
 Milvcrton. No ; the effects of breakage and corro- 
 sion are as different as can possibly be, and could not 
 deceive a practised observer such as Sir Rutherford. 
 
 There is something which I have never brought 
 before you when propounding any scheme of sanitary 
 improvement, but which v/ill come in appropriately now. 
 I must admit that all these schemes require money.
 
 334 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 I must also admit lliat rates for such purposes are 
 sufficiently high now ; and I do not wonder that the 
 rated classes often resist a proposed improvement, which 
 they know to be a real improvement, solely because 
 they have a wholesome dread of the incease of their 
 rates. But if they would only look a little forward, 
 they would see that eventually their rates would be 
 lowered. Oar defects in the application of sanitary 
 science lend to make many heads of families un- 
 rateable, and also throw gre«t additional burdens 
 upon that most important of all rates, the poor-rate. 
 The great art of taxation is to make many persons 
 taxable. 
 
 EUcsmcre. That is a grand maxim — the sort of thing 
 that Chancellors of the Excliequer should have inscribed 
 on the walls opposite to their beds. 
 
 Milverton. I will give you an instance of what I 
 mean. Under Lord Shaftesbury's auspices, a new town 
 for working people is being raised at no great distance 
 from the metropolis. If the Earl succeeds in his 
 excellent project, there will be a great number of 
 rateable persons in that community, and there will be 
 very few persons who will have to come upon the 
 poor-rate. If you could make decent habitation, for that 
 class of the community, the rule and not the exception, 
 you would find that rates would greatly diminish, while, 
 at the same time, much greater sanitary effect would be 
 produced by this lower rating.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 335 
 
 Until you have tried to follow and record 
 any conversation, you can hardly imagine 
 how desultory^ all conversation is. These 
 friends probably keep much closer to the 
 point than most people ; but even they 
 wander about in thought" and talk, amaz- 
 ingly. I cannot tell how it was that the 
 conversation at this moment suddenly de- 
 viated into a discourse about beautiful 
 women. I have some notion, however, that 
 the point of junction arose from some one 
 saying, how important it was to have the 
 women with you, when you proposed any 
 social reform ; and then, I imagine, that 
 some one must have said, " Especially those 
 who are beautiful." Anyhow it came to 
 this, that Mr. Milverton made the following 
 startling remark : — 
 
 Milverton. There is no excess of beauty in the 
 aristocracy of this country. Very graceful they are, very 
 pleasant, and, upon the wliolc, tlicy talk very well, 
 but, as for beauty, you inu^t go to the classes below 
 then;, and very low down too. The day after to- 
 morrow is a general holiday. There will be great
 
 336 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 crowds of people collected near here, to enjoy that 
 holiday. They will not, by any means, belong to what 
 you call the aiistocracy. I am not a betting man, but 
 I will bet you anything, that I ^\ill show you more 
 feminine beauty in these gatherings of what you will 
 call common people, than you have ever seen in the 
 aristocracy. 
 
 Ellesmcre. Done, for a guinea. 
 
 Accordingly, on the day In question, we 
 attended some of these gathering-s ; and, 
 after much contention on Sir J. Ellesmere's 
 part, all the friends were obliged to confess 
 that, in the course of the two hours we spent 
 in this way, Mr. Milverton had succeeded 
 in pointing out to us fifty or sixty girls 
 or women, who were certainly remarkably 
 good-looking. It was decided that Sir John 
 Ellesmere had lost his bet. • 
 
 As we walked home, Mr. Milverton and 
 Sir Arthur lagged behind ; and I went 
 forward with Sir John Ellesmere and the 
 rest of the party. Sir John said : — 
 
 Ellesmere. Do you remember what I mentioned in 
 our first walk here ? How there were men who had a
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 337 
 
 great respect for their oj^inions ; formed them with care ; 
 and neglected no means of defending them ? Milverton, 
 I see, is one of that sort. He thinks it of great 
 importance, if not for the world, at any rate for himself, 
 that Leonard Milverton's opinions should be always 
 sound and secure. 
 
 Crafimer. How few men lose bets with perfect good 
 humour ! 
 
 EUesmere. I was mightily puzzled as to what was 
 the ruling thought in Milverton's mind, when he began 
 that disquisition about the beauty of women. What he 
 cares most about, are not beautiful women, but beautiful 
 theories — chiefly his own. He let the cat out of the bag 
 when he said once or twice, as you must have noticed 
 he did, when he was showman to these beauties of his, 
 " You see that healthiness is a necessary concomitant 
 of beauty, and these people are healthier than the aris- 
 tocracy." 
 
 Maulroerer. I do not agree at all with that state- 
 ment, about health being a necessary concomitant of 
 beauty. 
 
 EUesmere. Nor I ; but it was an important one for 
 him. You know how he is always raging against the 
 modes of life, and the haljits, of what we call society. 
 In some future essay, or discourse, he will be sure to 
 maintain, that the aristocracy arc naturally more beautiful 
 than these people we have seen to-day ; but that their 
 beauty is damaged by injudicious modes of life. And 
 
 Z
 
 338 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 then he will appeal to us, and claim us as witnesses on 
 his side, remembering this day's proceedings. Oh, I 
 know him well ! It was not without some such intention 
 that he gave himself the immense trouble and fatigue, 
 that it must have been to him, to perform the part of 
 showman to-day. 
 
 I must confess that I think Sir John Is 
 right ; and that we are sure to hear some 
 reference to this day's proceedings at a 
 future time. 
 
 In the course of the same day, after our 
 return home, Mr. Cranmer suddenly made 
 the following observations having reference 
 to this day's proceeding. 
 
 Cranmer. Then you don't believe in birth, Mil- 
 verton ? 
 
 Milverton. There is hardly anything in which my 
 belief is so firm, and so strong. A man must be very 
 devoid of observation who does not believe in what you 
 call birth. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I know a man of Eastern descent — 
 remote Eastern descent — but you can trace in him 
 many ancestral qualities derived from the East. He 
 is always cold : he has a Brahminical tenderness for
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 339 
 
 insects. All his ways, his habits, and his modes of life 
 smack of the East. 
 
 Ellesmere. This is fanciful. 
 
 Milve7-toii. But I will tell you what is not fanciful, 
 Ellesmere. Observe those people who are of French 
 descent ; whose forefathers were driven over here by the 
 Edict of Nantes, or by the French Revolution. You 
 can trace them by their French names. Almost all of 
 those whom I have known are restless, lively, brilliant 
 persons. Their French descent has not yet been 
 counteracted by their English intermarriages. A similar 
 statement may be made of those who are of Dutch 
 origin. - 
 
 People are so apt to confuse birth with rank. I do 
 not expect the descendants of a peer made in George 
 III.'s reign, to be especially brilliant personages. 
 
 We, the British nation, owe everything to birth ; and 
 particularly to the intermixture of races. It is the fact 
 upon which I rest the continuance of our greatness. 
 Our aristocracy is wise enough often to intermarry out of 
 its own class. 
 
 But I will go still farther than that. In all classes 
 this intermixture of races goes on perpetually. The 
 somewhat stolid, sober-minded Englishman marries an 
 Irish or a Scotch woman ; and so the next generation 
 has something in it of the brilliant nature of the Irish, or 
 the perfervid nature of the Scotch. 
 
 Why is it that so many f^imilies in which there has
 
 340 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 appeared a man of genius, have become extinct ? I 
 believe it is because the brain of the family, so to speak, 
 has been too much worked. If these men would but 
 have married peasant-girls, we should have had a 
 continuance, in a mitigated form, of the genius — at any 
 rate, we might have had a continuance of the family. 
 
 Modern researches into animal and insect life entirely 
 go to prove my assertion. It is found that the grand- 
 child of the insect partakes the nature of the grandfather 
 insect. And something of the same kind is to be seen 
 in our species. 
 
 Hence it is — I mean from all the considerations that 
 we have been discussing, not from the last one merely — 
 that I think the middle-class of our community to be so 
 important to the well-being of the State. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I don't see what you mean. 
 
 Milverton. I mean this. There will be sure to be a 
 large intermixture of races in this class ; and if they 
 retain sufficient political power, all will go right for the 
 State. 
 
 EUesmere. Whig doctrine ! 
 
 Milverton. I do not care w^hat you call it, but you 
 will find it to be the true doctrine. 
 
 Now I will tell you what my fear is for these Islands. 
 It is lest riches should be absorbed by one class, and 
 that the wage-receiving class should become incom- 
 parably the most numerous. In fact, that both the 
 highest and the lowest class should gain considerable
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 341 
 
 numbers at the expense of that middle-class, which 1 
 believe to be the one capable of resistance to all the 
 folly that may come from the two other classes. 
 
 Cranmer. Why should this middle-class be diminished 
 in power or in numbers ? 
 
 Milverton. My dear Cranmer, don't you see that 
 trade is becoming absorbed by the great capitalists? 
 Don't you see that agriculture is becoming absorbed by 
 the great agriculturists, who, of course, are also great 
 capitalists ? And then, don't you perceive that, day by 
 day, there are fewer people who have what is called a 
 stake in the country? It is a curious thing, but a very 
 lamentable thing, that the wage-receiving portion of the 
 middle-class, however large their wages may be, feel 
 themselves to be dissociated from the class of capitalists. 
 You may observe this even in professional men. The 
 classes which rely upon intellectual or handicraft labour 
 have mighty little sympathy with the class that relies 
 upon accumulated capital for its power and its influence. 
 And the danger that is imminent for the State — perhaps 
 not in our days, but in future days — is, lest these two 
 classes should come into fatal collision — that, in a 
 word, brains and manual labour should combine against 
 ^the capitalist and the possessor of land. This will be 
 the greatest battle that will ever have been seen. 
 
 I am very anxious for the entire abolition of the 
 Income Tax, and chiefly for this reason, that it is likely 
 to be a battle-ground for these three classes. You know
 
 342 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 it is an immensely provoking thing to the professional 
 man, and to the wage-receiving man, that he should 
 be placed upon an equality, as regards taxation, with the 
 man who is living upon realised property. We are 
 enduring this at present, for we are a forbearing people ; 
 but, in any times of trouble and excitement, it would be 
 a fearful subject for agitation. 
 
 Now, as regards the theological questions which are 
 rife in the present day, they are very troublesome, but 
 they will not, as I have said before, produce any political 
 disturbance. All classes are about equally interested in 
 them. The danger to the well-being of a State is when 
 different classes are unequally interested in the peaceable 
 settlement of great questions. And I hold that the 
 great danger to our State is the gradual detraction from 
 the power and influence of the middle-classes. 
 
 My only objection to this co-operative movement, is 
 that, again, by co-operation, you tend to produce a great 
 capitalist in contradistinction to a number of small 
 capitalists. 
 
 Craiuner. Then, Milverton, you would like to have 
 many small agricultural holdings ? 
 
 Milverton. Yes, I should. I admit that agricultural 
 produce may be more certainly attained by large hold- 
 ings. That is, it may in the first instance. Drainage, 
 deep-ploughing, and other essentials for agriculture, 
 often require large means. These necessary things may 
 have to be efiected by large capitalists ; but, afterwards
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 343 
 
 the large capitalist would often do wisely, as it seems to 
 me, in permitting small holdings. If we wish for the 
 stability of a State, we must try and get as many persons 
 interested in that stability as we possibly can, and so 
 increase the numbers of that middle-class as regards 
 which I maintam that it is, and ought to be, the most 
 stable portion ot any community. 
 
 Now, mark this ; and it is one of the greatest lessons 
 cf history : when great States have fallen, yon may 
 almost always trace that decadence to the gradual 
 extinction of the middle-classes.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 ^"Jl /"E were walking about the gardens at 
 Kew, when the following conversation 
 took place. It is especially difficult, as I 
 have often said, to report accurately what 
 is said when people are walking and talking ; 
 but I have here made a great endeavour to 
 do so, thinking that the subject treated to- 
 day, though accidentally brought up and 
 discussed without any preparation, is so 
 important, that even these peripatetic re- 
 marks about it might be worth recording. 
 
 The conversation was at first purely 
 botanical, if indeed botanical it could be 
 called, when none of the company were 
 botanists. Sir John Ellesmere, with that 
 powerful habit of familiarity which he pos- 
 sesses, had made himself acquainted with
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 3-15 
 
 some of the principal people employed in 
 the management of those gardens, and he 
 was quite in his element acting as cicerone 
 to the rest of the party. 
 
 Ellesmere. You see this little insignificant-looking 
 plant. We have made thousands, and I believe tens of 
 thousands of pounds, by cultivating it and sending slips 
 of it, or layers of it (I am sure I don't know whether I 
 use the right word), out to India and to our colonies. 
 
 Milverton. By the way, is it not a fact worth noticing, 
 that the most important plants in the world are so 
 insignificant in appearance ? Now look at this tea- 
 plant ! Who would have thought from its personal 
 appearance that it would be about the most important 
 plant in the world ? 
 
 Then look at this rough weedy-looking thing, the 
 tobacco-plant — who would have thought that that was 
 the plant that would gladden the hearts of Chancellors 
 of the Exchequer all over the world ? for there has been 
 less complaint about the taxes upon tobacco than about 
 almost any other taxes. 
 
 Cranvier. Really it was a very beautiful thought — a 
 thought of high civilization — that led great nations to 
 bring together the plants, trees, and herbs of all climes. 
 How much grander and more useful a thing it is than 
 bringing together the animals of all climes. I don't like
 
 346 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 going to the Zoological Gardejis, because I feel how un- 
 happy most of the poor animals must be. Those wretched 
 monkeys, for ir.stance, the victims of consumption in our 
 changeful atmosphere; but we can manage to make this 
 foreign vegetation thrive. When we were in the palm- 
 house, it seemed to me as if its occupants were very con- 
 tented with their present position, and were very much 
 obliged to Dr. Hooker for placing them there. What a 
 grand idea it gave one of a jungle ! 
 
 Sir Arthur. Seeing all these plants and trees, chiefly 
 brought from our colonies, puts me in mind of some- 
 thing I have long wished to put before you, Milverton. 
 
 You have given us many of your views about govern- 
 ment at home ; and, during this Easter, you have told us 
 what you would do respecting sanitary affairs, and for 
 the improvement of great towns. But I should like to 
 hear what you would say about colonial administration. 
 You may remember that, for a few months, I was once 
 Under-Secretary for the Colonies ; and their fortunes 
 havaever since been very dear to me, and very 'pressing 
 upon my mind. 
 
 Milverton. My dear Sir Arthur, you seem to forget, 
 which is not very complimentary, that I have written a 
 great deal about our colonies, and I have really nothing 
 new to say upon the subject. 
 
 Ellesmcre. Well, re-say it then. An author always 
 seems to think that one has all his lucubrations fully 
 before one at any given period. Whatever offence it
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 347 
 
 may evoke in the author's mind, I must honestly confess 
 that I do not remember a single thought that Miixerton 
 has given us about the colonies. I suppose he told 
 us that they were to be good boys, and that we were to 
 be good fathers and mothers to them. 
 
 Milverton. I think I said a little more than that. 
 But now I will repeat, as far as I can recollect it, what I 
 did say, or, at any rate, what I now think. 
 
 To begin with, very few of us have anything like 
 accurate knowledge of the relation which the colonies 
 bear towards us. This relation is very different in 
 different cases. Some of our colonies are as nearly as 
 possible self-supporting, self-administering, practically 
 almost independent. Others, on the contrary, are, com- 
 paratively speaking, in an infant and dependent position 
 towards us. Others, again, are in a medium state, half- 
 dependent, half-independent. You may imagine how 
 different must be the modes of dealing with these 
 various colonies by the Colonial Office. 
 
 I have always thought, contrary to the opinions of 
 many people, that colonies are an enormous advantage 
 to the nation, an absolutely unspeakable advantage. It 
 seems to me such a great thing to have, in the most 
 distant parts of the earth, large and powerful com- 
 munities, speaking the same language as ourselves, 
 having the same primitive ideas — I mean looking at 
 things substantially in the same way that we do, and yet 
 having a different climate, different products of the earth,
 
 348 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 and even different modes of legislation and government, 
 by all which similitudes and diversities we can p'-ofit, more 
 than other nations, who have not established colonies. 
 
 We sought at first, in a vulgar and self-seeking way, 
 by prohibitive duties, to grant especial encouragement to 
 our colonies, and, at the same time, to make them more 
 closely bountl up with us ; while, for ourselves, wt 
 hoped to gain peculiar advantages from this restriction 
 of commerce. The first motive was the strongest one, 
 namely, the hope of benefiting our colonies by these 
 duties. Our colonial brethren might, in gratitude, 
 sometimes remember this. 
 
 But it was a vicious system ; and free trade has 
 suppressed it. The main error that we have committed, 
 as it seenis to me, and which we still continue to commit, 
 is that we have not sufficiently associated the colonies 
 with the Imperial government. The fountains of honour 
 should have been as freely open to them as to ourselves. 
 Not only by doing that, which may appear a much 
 smaller thing than it really is, but in every way that we 
 could devise, we should have associated the leading men 
 amongst them with otir leading men. There should 
 have been colonial peers, and colonial privy councillors. 
 The wonderful increase in our time of rapidity of loco- 
 motion favours this view ; and I do not believe that any 
 other device would serve so well to attach the colonies 
 to us. The time may come when we may greatly desire 
 the existence of such an attachment.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 3-19 
 
 The governor of an almost independent colony 
 is now in a very isolated position, and cannot do 
 half the good that he would be enabled to do, if he 
 could, occasionally, have assistance in the councils at 
 home from men who have distinguished themselves in 
 the colonies, and are versed in (juestions of colonial 
 administration, which are foreign to the knowledge of 
 most persons. 
 
 We have pursued a wiser course with India ; and 
 there is, no doubt, great advantage derived from the 
 Indian Council. 
 
 I admit that the cases are different ; but something, 
 not altogether dissimilar from the course we i)ur?ue 
 as regards the government of India, might be adopted 
 with regard, at any rate, to some of our colonies. 
 
 The great difficulty and the constant stumbling-block 
 of offence between ourselves and our colonies is, as 
 might be expected, the question of finance. Up to a 
 certain time, we have taken upon ourselves, wholly 
 or partially, the defence of a colony. Then comes the 
 nice question of gradually withdrawing the means for 
 defence; and practically informing the colony that it 
 must, on all ordinary occasions, take care of itself. 
 
 A similar question has arisen as regarils the 
 civil administration of the colony ; and, herein, the 
 question of gradual withdrawal has been even more 
 complicated, and has required still more delicate hand- 
 ling. In all such matters I should venture to say
 
 350 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 that, upon high Imperial considerations, our conduct 
 should lean rather to generosity than to parsimony. 
 Doubtless, this would appear very wild doctrine to 
 those persons who start with the idea that colonies are 
 not very serviceable to the mother-country ; and that, in 
 times of war, they may be a very dangerous possession. 
 But those people should be made aware that we have 
 gone too far, with safety and honour, to retract. It is 
 no use saying, that colonies should, in time of war, 
 take care of themselves. The voice of the people would 
 pronounce distinctly against that doctrine ; and, on any 
 great occasion, the voices of a few political economists 
 would meet with no response. 
 
 Looking at the whole matter practically, I feel 
 certain that we are committed, as it were, to the 
 support of our colonies both in the case of danger from 
 the foreigner, and in the case of great domestic danger 
 or disturbance. Our policy, therefore, should be, by 
 every means in our power to keep up the strictest 
 possible union with the colonies, so that we might 
 avail ourselves of the attachment of each and all of 
 them, for the aid and protection of any one which 
 might be, for the moment, in danger. 
 
 I come now to a much smaller matter, which, never 
 theless, has great influence in times of peace. Of course 
 you will say that I am speaking as an author ; but it is a 
 matter which much concerns the highest cultivation of 
 the world, that there should be good laws, regulating
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 351 
 
 copyright throughout all those countries in which the 
 inhabitants speak the same language. You can hardly 
 imagine what a benefit this would be to the higher 
 branches of literature, of science, and of art. And this 
 object would be greatly promoted by that interchange of 
 thoughtful administration, which would be produced by 
 our having amongst us persons in high and responsible 
 positions who had been, or still were, eminent persons 
 in the colonies. 
 
 There are many other matters of larger moment in 
 which the interests both of the colonies and of the 
 mother-country would be greatly served by this inter- 
 change of thought, and by the presence here, if only 
 occasionally, of the great men of the colonies. 
 
 To my mind, there has never been any people who 
 understood the management of colonies and of provinces 
 so well as did the Romans in their best times. We 
 cannot, at this long interval, and with the scanty 
 records that we have of Roman thought u])on this sub- 
 ject, lay down exactly what were the principles which 
 actuated them. But enough remains to show that they 
 understood the art of making the colonists, and the 
 provincials, feel that they were united by strict bonds to 
 the mother-country, and that a provincial or a colonist 
 should be in every respect a civis Romanis. 
 
 Ellesmere. Sero maiicina paratiir. I'he dose has been 
 dilatory : it comes, I fear, too late. You should have 
 commenced this system long ago.
 
 352 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 Cranmcr. I don't think it is too late. 
 
 Ellesmerc. Are you not, sir, an official man, or, at 
 some time of your life, have you not been in office? 
 Does delay ever make any official man acknowledge that 
 a remedy can come too late ? Go down from the 
 witness-box : you are a discredited witness. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I'his gives me a fair opportunity of 
 saying what I have long wished to say in Ellesmere's 
 presence, but thought it would be rude to do so ; and 
 that is, as to the general treatment of witnesses by 
 counsel. If a man has the misfortune to see or hear of 
 any transaction which is brought into court, he is really 
 liable to undergo peine forte et dure in that abode of 
 mia>.ry, the "witness-box." Most men of a certain age 
 have committed some folly, met with some misfortune, or 
 have done or said something which it is exceedingly un- 
 pleasant for them to recount again. Even women may 
 not, during all their lives, have acted wisely ; and, in 
 fact, there remain no unterrifiable witnesses but children. 
 
 Suppose it were a case of the collision of carriages, 
 and some statesman who happened to be passing 
 by at the time of the collision were examined as a 
 witness, the cross-examination might run thus. " Did 
 you not, sir, in the year i8 — , vow and declare that if 
 there was anything in this world you admired, anything 
 to which you were ready to bow, it was the Englibh 
 Church ? And did you not, in the year i8 — , say all you 
 could to injure that Church?"
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 353 
 
 The wretched statesman would then begin to explain, 
 how he did not exactly say what the counsel makes him 
 to have said, either on the first or the second occasion ; 
 and by repeated cross-examination he would be made to 
 appear a mass of bewildered inconsistency. 
 
 Then the counsel breaks forth with becoming indigna- 
 tion. " It does not seem, sir, that you have ever known 
 on which side you were, or on which side any body else 
 was ; and yet you are perfectly certain that the defend- 
 ant's carriage was on the near side of the road, when the 
 plaintiff's carriage dashed up against it." 
 
 Ellesmcre. This is farcical. 
 
 Milvcrion. Not a bit more than many cross-examina- 
 tions I have read. What does it signify to the case 
 whether a witness has "lived happily with his wife?" 
 Yet that is the sort of thing which you lawyers bring up. 
 
 EUesinere. We must attend to what is in our briefs ; 
 and surely the character of a witness is an important 
 point, as regards his credibility? 
 
 Sir /biJnir. Yes, but it should only be the character 
 ad hoc. Your cross-examination has no right to travel 
 into all the circumstances of a man's life, which cannot, 
 except by a great stretch of f:xncy, be made to apjjly to 
 the bearings of the case. 
 
 Milvcrion. It remains for jurymen and judges to put 
 this evil down ; and it is not one of the least imp-ortant of 
 their functions. 
 
 C/aiuiur. Meanwhile, since we have been enlarging 
 
 A A
 
 354 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 upon the iniquities of lawyers, we have lost sight of our 
 colonial friends. 
 
 Ellesmcre. The truth is, we (at any rate I speak for 
 myself) have not sufficient knowledge to talk upon the 
 subject. Milverton's sayings seemed to me plausible 
 enough. I can well imagine that we have never taken 
 enough pains to make our colonies in unison with our- 
 selves. But you know, there is a touch of the parish vestry 
 even in the greatest assemblies of mankind ; and our own 
 Parliament is not devoid of this parish vestry element. 
 The i^arish purnp will interest it more than any affair 
 in a distant colony, especially if, in that affair, several 
 names, difficult to pronounce, occur. It is for statesmen 
 to have forethought in these matters, not for ordinary 
 members of Parliament. 
 
 No more was said about colonies or 
 colonial administration, and we proceeded 
 in our walk through the garden.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 /~\UR next conversation began after a 
 game of croquet. I do not play 
 myself: It seems a very poor kind of game 
 — at least it does to a Scotchman accus- 
 tomed to play golf; but it amuses these 
 Southerners very much, I can see. 
 
 As for my chief, he would play any 
 game whatever with earnestness and viva- 
 city. I believe he would throw some spirit 
 and some hope into " Beggar my Neigh- 
 bour." He evidently looks upon games as 
 a good means of interrupting thought, and 
 as the surest mode of recreation. 
 
 In a game of croquet. Sir John and 
 Lady EUesmere always play on one side ; 
 Mr. Milverton and Mr. Cranmer on the 
 other. Sir John and his partner are greatly
 
 356 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 the better players ; but the other side 
 sometimes steal a victor}'-, if they can make 
 Sir John and my Lady dispute wirfi one 
 another about the strokes, and so become 
 a little nervous and disjointed in their 
 play. 
 
 When we were in the librar}'', the con- 
 versation began thus : — 
 
 Milverion. There is a great deal to be learnt from 
 games ; but perhaps the greatest lesson is, that one 
 always does a thing better, the more indifferent one is as 
 to the doing of it. Now, if one could but learn that 
 lesson in the larger game of life, how useful it would be. 
 I have observed that a man is hardly ever so successful 
 as when he does not care at all about succeeding. 
 
 I was once at an archery meeting. At a pause in 
 the contest they jokingly asked me to take a shot, wishing 
 probably to get some amusement from the clumsy 
 attempt of an awkward and inexperienced man. I was 
 quite willing to afford this amusement. I remember 
 that I gave a good look at the gold, and then at once 
 shot right into the centre of it. They asked me to join 
 in the game, but I wisely declined. I heard that new 
 and somewhat vulgar word so often in Ellesmere's mouth, 
 " fluke," muttered by some of the bystanders. Now it 
 wa^ not a fluke. It was, that the eye and the hand, not
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 357 
 
 being embarrassed or controlled by any nervous care, 
 did their duty properly and exactly. Some time after- 
 wards, I • did try to find what skill 1 had with those 
 implements, for which Dugald Dalgetty had such a 
 contempt, bows and arrows. I found it was a wonderful 
 event if I hit the target at all ; but then you see I tried 
 hard to hit it. How, too, when we especially wish to 
 please, we mostly fail ! 
 
 There are some defects of mind which seem to be 
 almost incurable ; the shy man remains shy to the end of 
 the chapter, however much you may accustom him to 
 society and to being brought prominently before the 
 world. Well then, as regards public speaking, even such 
 men as the late Lord Derby and the late Sir Robert 
 Peel never succeeded in conquering the nervous timi- 
 dity which they felt in having to speak on any great 
 occasion This kind of nervousness is, I believe, un- 
 conquerable. 
 
 Sir Arthur. What then is conquerable ? What does 
 one learn by experience ? 
 
 Milverton, Ah ! that is the question of questions. 1 
 suppose one is sent here to gain experience. 
 
 Maiileverer. One finds out what a fool one is, and 
 what fools other people are. 
 
 Ellesmere. What a good subject this would make 
 for an essay ! You might call it " Lookmg back upon 
 Life." Milverton shall write the essay, and the icst of 
 us shall be severe critics. We are not very aged,
 
 358 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 any of us ; but every one of us was brought very 
 early into what is called " Life," and so we ought to 
 have learned some experience. When I say every one 
 of us, of course I except the ladies; but then you know 
 they begin life so early, so much earlier than we do. A 
 maiden of seventeen being at least equal to a man of 
 forty in nice and critical observation of all that is brought 
 before her, we may fairly say that, whenever the ladies are 
 our inferiors in age, they are our superiors in experience. 
 I flatter myself, Lady EUesmere, that this is a noble 
 revenge I am taking for your ill-natured comments upon 
 my play at croquet this morning, which made me nervous 
 and caused us to lose the game to those wretched 
 players. I saw through the cunning of that man [point- 
 ing to Mr. Milverton], who did everything he could to 
 sow dissension between us — now siding with you, and 
 now Avith me — in the hope of confusing us, and so 
 winning a victory for his side. How contemptible are 
 the arts of diplomatists and official men ! 
 
 Sir Arthur. Ellesmere's idea, Milverton, is a very 
 good one. He has given you an excellent subject for an 
 essay, and it will be the last one we shall have this year, 
 for we must go up to town on Monday, therefore by 
 next Saturday you must have this essay ready. 
 
 Milverton, It is scant time to allow me for the treat- 
 ment of such a serious subject; but I will do my best. 
 
 Thus it was agreed that Mr. Milverton
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 359 
 
 should write this essay ; and, until Satur- 
 day morning, he and I were busily engaged 
 in our work. When the day came we 
 were ready ; and, without any previous 
 talk, Mr. INIilverton read as follows : — 
 
 LOOKING BACK UPON LIFE. 
 
 In considering this vast subject, it is 
 almost needless to premise that it does 
 not admit of being treated with anything 
 like defined certainty. The very different 
 standpoints, from which different individuals 
 will look back upon life, must make their 
 conclusions very dissimilar. Still, there are 
 some general results which may be set 
 down as matters of comparative certainty. 
 
 It is as if, with our present imperfect 
 knowledge, we were to undertake to make 
 a map of Africa. Nevertheless, there are 
 certain great outlines which may be taken 
 to be determined. 
 
 Roughly we may divide this subject 
 into three heads : namely, what we find,
 
 36o SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 in looking back upon life, of change of 
 view as regards ourselves — as regards our 
 fellow-men — and as regards the world in 
 general. 
 
 First, with regard to ourselves. Perhaps 
 the most remarkable change that, on this 
 retrospection, we discover in ourselves, is, 
 that we have begun to find out the truth 
 of the tritest sayings : of sayings, indeed, 
 which were little more than so many well- 
 disposed and well-connected words to us 
 at our outset in life. They were words 
 which we supposed to have some truth and 
 meaning in them, because they seemed to 
 have been accepted in all ages and by all 
 peoples. No doubt, we thought, they con- 
 cern other persons ; and, in truth, they 
 were even then accepted by us from a 
 kind of polite conformity. 
 
 Proverbs, which once we thought were 
 of a certain respectable character — proverbs 
 which we were ready to admit justly found 
 a place in all good collections of proverbs 
 — have ceased to become merely respect-
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 361 
 
 able, and, perhaps, have become almost 
 dreadful by reason of their close applica- 
 tion to ourselves, and our own past con- 
 duct. 
 
 Of the virtues, that one which some of 
 us had most despised, or, at any rate, had 
 supposed to be a mean, poor, and middle- 
 aged virtue, quite unequal to deal with 
 the great occasions of life, has probably 
 become the one of which, from experience, 
 we could now speak most highly. We 
 have found, to our cost, that Prudence is 
 indeed the mother of all the virtues. 
 
 One of the things that must strike a 
 thoughtful man very forcibly when he looks 
 back upon life. Is the Immense power given 
 to the Individual — a power to Injure him- 
 self to any extent — to Injure or oppress his 
 fellow-men to a fearful extent — and, not 
 less, to injure and oppress the rest of the 
 animal creation. This is, perhaps, the 
 most astonishing phenomenon in the world, 
 viz., the apparently limitless extent, for evil, 
 of the power of an individual.
 
 302 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 Again, in looking- back upon life, most 
 thoughtful men will recollect how great a 
 mystery and perplexity the system of the 
 world has been to them. With some men^ 
 and not by any means the least thoughtful, 
 this terrible enigma increases in difficulty. 
 It continues to sadden them, and numb 
 their efforts, to the end of their lives. With 
 others, who certainly may claim to be the 
 more practical men, the burden of this 
 difficulty is at some period of their lives 
 resolutely put aside ; and they set to work 
 to do what they can to render life smoother 
 for themselves and their fellow-men, re- 
 gardless of the vast chaotic difficulties and 
 incomprehensibilities, which at one time 
 had pervaded all their thoughts, and had 
 tended greatly to deaden their activity. 
 
 In looking back upon life, a man will 
 recognize to which of these two great sec- 
 tions of mankind he has belonged. 
 
 In this retrospect, it is well to see 
 to what injurious things one becomes 
 accustomed. I believe that most men
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 363 
 
 will find, upon self-examination, that they 
 have become, to a certain extent, used to 
 contumely, abuse, and calumny — but not to 
 misrepresentation. If this statement be 
 true, it tells well for human nature. It is 
 the untruthfulness of misrepresentation that 
 vexes men so much. The basis of this 
 feeling is the same as that which prompted 
 the celebrated words, " Strike, but hear 
 me." The misrepresented man says, " Call 
 me knave, coward, fool ; but tell the stoiy 
 truly upon which you found these injurious 
 accusations." 
 
 Ingratitude is a hard thing to bear ; but 
 men become much more easily accustomed 
 to bear even that, than to endure mis- 
 representation. The probability that my 
 statement is true, is shown by the answer 
 often given to the perplexing question, 
 " Would you rather be condemned upon a 
 true accusation than upon a false one ? " 
 From the answers to this incjuiry, you will 
 find that most men are ready to accept 
 the strange conclusion, that they cuuld
 
 364 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 better bear when guilty, than when inno- 
 cent, to suffer condemnation. 
 
 When we indulge in a retrospective 
 mood, do we find that the great passions 
 or affections of the mind — such as Hope, 
 Fear, Love, and the like — have lost their 
 sway? Certainly not, I would maintain, 
 as regards those persons who possess na- 
 tures of much pith and force. With such 
 men, the objects of these passions may be 
 changed ; are, indeed, in some respects, 
 certain to be changed ; but not the depth 
 and vitality of the passions themselves. 
 For example, the young man mostly 
 begms with a large and vivid hope of what 
 he is to do by his own efforts. If he is 
 a man of benevolent tendency, he is to 
 effect much in the regeneration of mankind. 
 Experience teaches him how little he can 
 do ; but his hopefulness will not be entirely 
 fooled, and soon comes to fix itself upon 
 the general advance of mankind in civili- 
 zation — an advance which he now perceives 
 is to be attained by innumerable individual
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 365 
 
 efforts. In fine, the hope changes. its form, 
 but not its substance. 
 
 His fears, if they do not take a similar 
 course, are not, at any rate, less potent 
 than they were in early life ; and, if he is 
 naturally of a timid disposition, those fears 
 deepen and darken as age advances. 
 
 With regard to love, that passion of 
 course changes somewhat of its character, 
 and one form of it may die out altogether ; 
 but its essential nature is unchanged, and 
 perhaps unchangeable. Indeed, there is 
 no affection of the human soul whicli, pro- 
 bably, as age advances, gains more in 
 extent, variety, and versatility. The hind- 
 rances which sometimes in youth confine 
 that affection within narrow bounds, such 
 as intolerance, largeness of expectation, are 
 gradually removed by the experience of life, 
 and therefore the affection, nay, I would say 
 the passion, itself has only a wider and a 
 deeper sway as age advances. 
 
 Even the lesser affections of the soul 
 are not dwarfed or diminished by increase
 
 366 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 of years^— as, for instance, the capacity for 
 enjoyment. The immortal soul does not 
 grow old in seventy years. Often it feels 
 itself to be younger. And why? Because 
 it thinks less about itself, is less perplexed 
 about its own doings, is less weakly sensi- 
 tive, and therefore has wider sympathies, 
 and enters more heartily into the enjoy- 
 ments partaken by its fellows. Unless 
 hindered by physical circumstances, such 
 as ill-health, loss of hearing, or loss of 
 sight, the capacity for social enjoyment, 
 wath many persons, goes on steadily in- 
 creasing. 
 
 There is another reason for this advance 
 in the capability of enjoyment, besides the 
 one already given. It is that criticism 
 becomes more indulgent, fastidiousness less 
 prevalent ; and the youth who began by 
 proneness to blame and censure, and by 
 disappointment at the feebleness of all 
 human efforts (including their attempts at 
 pleasure as well as their attempts at man- 
 aging the serious affairs of life) ends perhaps
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 367 
 
 by being somewhat astonished at the suc- 
 cess which, with all their shortcomings, 
 men have attained in Art, Science, and 
 even in the Pleasures of life — their most 
 common source of failure. Finding how 
 little he himself has been able to accom 
 plish in any of these directions, he begins 
 to look with some respect, and much 
 wonder, at what mankind, taken as a whole, 
 have after all accomplished 
 
 Ellesmcre. Do let me interrupt for a moment, just for 
 the sake of giving Milverton some breathing time. I 
 am going to agree with him, so there will be no dis- 
 cussion. Let us all pray thai, if we commit any crime, it 
 may be our good fortune to have in the jury that tries us 
 a fair number of elderly men. I assure you, that in the 
 two or three great criminal cases 1 have been engaged in, 
 as counsel for the prisoner, the first thing on entering 
 the Court tliat I have done, is to look at the jury to 
 see if there was a handsome sprinkling of middle-aged or 
 elderly men amongst them. Now go on, Milverton. 
 
 Milverton. Your interruption, Ellesmere, was not as 
 inconvenient as usual, for I was going to commence 
 dealing widi the second division of my subject, and 
 I will do so now.
 
 368 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 In looking back upon life, I suppose that 
 most of us will find that we have come to 
 form a very different estimate of human 
 character from that with which we began. 
 I do not know of anything which more 
 fascinates youth than what, for want of a 
 better word, we may call brilliancy. 
 Gradually, however, this peculiar kind of 
 estimation changes very much. It Is no 
 longer those who are brilliant, those who 
 affect to do the most and the best work 
 with the least apparent pains and trouble, 
 whom we are most inclined to admire. 
 We eventually come to admire labour, and 
 to respect It the more, the more openly It 
 is proclaimed by the laborious man to be 
 the cause of his success, If he has any 
 success to boast of. 
 
 Again, there is a certain form of charac- 
 ter which, at the outset of life, has little 
 or no attraction for us, and which, to 
 say the honest truth, we think Is rather 
 slow. 
 
 I allude to that peculiarly felicitous
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 369 
 
 character which displays a certain pro- 
 portion of aims, ends, and even of affec- 
 tions. Ever}' year that we live makes us 
 perceive more the beauty of such a cha- 
 racter, and increases the influence which it 
 silently acquires over us. 
 
 Ag"ain, we no longer think that eloquence 
 is the first of human gifts. Alere wit and 
 sarcasm also lose some of their hold upon 
 us ; and even among the m^ost commonplace 
 people you will observe that, as life advances, 
 the appreciation of sound argument is more 
 and more developed. They have found 
 that the transactions in this world are very 
 serious things ; and they want to know 
 whether anybody can tell them anything 
 which will make the world go on better. 
 This statement must not be held to con- 
 tradict what has been said about the 
 capacity for enjoyment not diminishing as 
 age advances. As our years go on, we do 
 not the less delight in listening to eloquence, 
 or less appreciate wit and humour. But, 
 secretly, we come to consider all these things 
 
 £ B
 
 370 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 as mere adjuncts, and only as very pntty 
 fringe to the real stuff of the questions at 
 issue. And, as our time on earth shortens, 
 we are more and more anxious to get, if 
 possible, at the real substance of eveiything 
 brought under our consideration. 
 
 There is another very general and very 
 important conclusion which most men will 
 find that they have arrived at in looking 
 back upon life. Tt is, that their fellow- 
 men are much better fellows than from 
 history and biography they appear to have 
 been, or, from our first impressions, they 
 appear to be. The study of history is, no 
 doubt, a most valuable and needful one. 
 But this fact ought always to be in the 
 mind of the student — namely, that history 
 chiefly deals with the outbreaks of folly, 
 ambition, and passion, which have been so 
 frequent among mankind. Taken by itself, 
 it gives a very unfair view of human life. 
 A similar conclusion is to be arrived at 
 with regard to the writings of cynical 
 philosophers. A young man reads his
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 371 
 
 Rochefoucauld, or his Swift, or his Rabelais, 
 or certain modern writers whom I could 
 mention, and is apt to think that these 
 cynical philosophers give a just view of 
 human life. In his own talk, he shows 
 that he thinks it to be a fine thing, and a 
 just thing, to imitate their sayings. But 
 all this is mightily changed as he advances 
 in life; and, in looking back, he is nearly 
 sure to become aware of this change. He 
 is more likely, then, to agree with the views 
 of a certain defunct Prime Minister, which 
 I believe I have imparted to you before, 
 my brethren in council. A Prime Minister 
 now living, on entering into his high office, 
 asked one of his eminent predecessors what 
 his experience of mankind had led him to 
 conclude about them. The reply was to 
 this effect, and nearly, I believe, in these 
 words : " Oh ! they are capital fellows — much 
 better fellows than you would imagine; but 
 deuced vain, you know — deuced vain ! " 
 
 There alone it will probably be found, 
 that the most cynical writers have not
 
 372 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 exaggerated when they have toucliecl upon 
 this, the principal faihng of mankind — its 
 vanity. 
 
 In looking back upon life, one may per- 
 ceive what changes life has brought upon 
 oneself; also what different views one has 
 learnt to take of other men, considered as 
 individuals. There still remains, however, 
 a very important observation to be made 
 which concerns men not viewed as indi- 
 viduals, but as units in a very complicated 
 social system. This part of experience, if 
 it Is ever attained, is of the utmost value. 
 For Instance, suppose you wish to persuade 
 a number of men to take a given course. 
 You may have persuaded each one of them 
 separately ; but still you cannot rely upon 
 what they will do when they come to con- 
 sult, or to act, together. 
 
 Moreover, even if they should, in council 
 or in action, go entirely with you as a 
 body, the outer world beyond them may 
 prove a great hindrance to their doing 
 what you wish, and what they wish, espe-
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 3-3 
 
 cially as regards the time of doing it. 
 The result of all this complication, which 
 increases almost in exact proportion with 
 the increase of certain kinds of civilization, 
 is sure to be immense delay — a delay for 
 which the young, the ardent, and the inex- 
 perienced seldom make due allowance. 
 
 Probably the greatest disappointment in 
 life is the finding out, as one does gra- 
 dually, the enormous time, as it seems to 
 us, that it takes to get an)'thing done. 
 Almost every form of organization goes 
 wrong at first, from the organizer, if he 
 be inexperienced, supposing that every 
 person or body concerned will act at the 
 right time, namely, the time that he has 
 set down for their action. The great skill 
 of great commanders will often be found 
 to consist in a keen appreciation of the dif- 
 ficulty of getting the right thing done at 
 the right time. Sufficient allowance is 
 hardly ever made for such a simple matter 
 as illness — the illness of your agents or 
 other subordinates. And yet even in the
 
 37-1 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 arrangements for pleasure, experience shows 
 us liow many defaulters there will be from 
 illness, when any considerable number of 
 persons are to be brought together. 
 Moreover, you have to allow for the un- 
 punctuality, the laziness, and the disobe- 
 dience of mankind. 
 
 The final result Is, that, In looking back 
 upon life, most men will have to own they 
 have made some terrible miscalculations as 
 to the length of time, or rather, want of 
 speed, with which several of their principal 
 objects in life have been attained. 
 
 Again, there are other very noticeable 
 facts to be observed In the conduct of men, 
 when they think or act in bodies. Infallibly 
 there enters much exaggeration. You may 
 see this in the correction of any great 
 abuse. The movement Is seldom that 
 which would merely suffice to correct 
 the abuse ; but it is a movement which 
 very often carries the movers towards 
 another abuse In the contrary direction. 
 The pendulum Is made to swing as much
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 375 
 
 in the opposite direction as it did in the 
 one sought to be neutralized. You will 
 not easily make bodies of men stop, when 
 and where you want them to stop. 
 
 Another evil attendant upon the conduct 
 of large bodies of men, is their sheepish- 
 ness. This word is used in its largest 
 signification, not as indicating timidity or 
 shamefacedness, but as that most notable 
 instinct of the ovine race to follow thought- 
 lessly and rushingly in whatever direction 
 the bell-wether is pleased to lead. them. 
 
 In the retrospect, therefore, of life, you 
 will generally find that neither for this ex- 
 aggeration, nor for this sheepishness, have 
 you made sufficient allowance. 
 
 Another error which, in your juvenile days, 
 did much prevail with you, was the belief that 
 other men, especially large bodies of men, 
 would act in conformity with the dictates 
 of right reason ; whereas those disturbing 
 elements — feeling, prejudice, fancy — play 
 an immense part in human affairs. This 
 puzzles pedants ; and we all begin by
 
 376 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 being- pedants, pedantry being a peculiar 
 attribute of the young. 
 
 Again, in looking back upon life, you are 
 nearly sure to perceive that you have, at 
 one time or other, thrown the weight of 
 your voice and opinion in behalf of one 
 of two classes, from both of whom your 
 maturer judgment would keep you clear. 
 There is an intense love of an unreasoning- 
 conservatism in some human breasts. It is 
 probably well that there should be this 
 feeling, otherwise the framework of human 
 society might soon go to pieces. There is 
 also, in another class of minds, an intense 
 love of destructiveness, or at least of 
 change. Nothing- is right with them, 
 everything must be forthwith altered en- 
 tirely. The wittiest of modern French 
 writers has pictured the Conservatives as 
 protesting- ag-ainst the innovation of creative 
 force. *' Mon Dieu ! conservons le chaos," 
 he has made them say. On the other 
 hand, he might have made the destructives 
 say, *' Mon Dieu ! revenons au chaos "
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 377 
 
 There can be little doubt that most 
 reflective men, in considering their past 
 lives, would confess that they have, at one 
 time or other, belonged to the party of 
 chaos — whether of the chaos to be retained 
 by unreasonable preservation, or of that to 
 be attained by irrational destruction. 
 
 We speak of the timidity of age ; but, 
 consistently with what has been said before, 
 it may be argued that timidity has not so 
 much increased as circumspection. What 
 fiery old generals there have been, both in 
 modern and ancient times, whose daring has 
 equalled that of the youngest men in their 
 armies ! 
 
 There is one portion of experience, from 
 which most men, in looking back upon life, 
 derive some profit. They learn how dif- 
 ficult it is to make men understand any- 
 thing thoroughly — for instance, how needful 
 it is to repeat arguments, to bring them 
 home to the hearer by various illustrations, 
 and to retrace and restate the course of any 
 argument from the beginning. In youth, when
 
 378 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 you have stated anything, and the hearer 
 assents, or appears to assent, you are easily 
 satisfied as to his understandinij what has 
 been said. Experience, however, convinces 
 you how rarely men. give undivided attention 
 to anything that is said to them ; and you 
 find out that the practice in which lawyers 
 indulge, when addressing juries — namely, 
 of repeating their arguments many times — 
 is requisite not only in legal matters, but 
 in any question of every - day life. In 
 giving instructions, for example, to agents 
 or inferiors, we learn by degrees that those 
 instructions must be frequently repeated, 
 and that we must be assured beforehand 
 that they are thoroughly understood, if we 
 wish them to be completely acted upon. 
 
 In careful retrospection, that element in 
 human affairs which we call chance, seems 
 to have played a great part in our affairs, 
 and, indeed, to have had almost its own 
 way with us. Most men will own that the 
 main tenor of their lives has been at the 
 mercy of the most trivial circumstances.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 379 
 
 If they had not crossed the road, at that 
 particular moment, if this man had been 
 at home when they called, if that man had 
 not met them in the street, if they had been 
 here, and not there, when such and such 
 a thing happened — how different would 
 have been their course in life, how alto- 
 gether changed ! 
 
 I have not cared to dwell upon any of 
 the darker features of my subject — to 
 describe the vain regrets, the sad longings, 
 the direful remorses, which must come to 
 most men in looking back upon life. My 
 object has mainly been to show the changes 
 of thought, opinion, and of conduct which 
 any discreet man will be likely to perceive 
 in himself, when entering upon the retro- 
 spection which I have imagined for him. 
 
 It is meant to be the retrospection of 
 ordinary experience, and not of secret 
 sorrow. 
 
 Ellesmcre. This will be the third time, I believe, in 
 the course of our sojourn here, that I have had to 
 mention to you the ignominious fact that my intellectual
 
 3 So SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 capacities are limited. Now, as regards speeches in 
 Parliament, I have generally found, that even very able 
 speeches contain no more than three or four arguments. 
 Take away the padding, and there remain about four 
 telling sentences to answer. Practical experience con- 
 vinced me of the truth of this statement. Some man 
 would be making a good speech which, from the first, I 
 suspected I should have to answer, and so I endeavoured 
 to make a careful analysis of it, as it proceeded. Then, 
 perhaps, would come a whisper from the Prime Minister, 
 or a little note from him, commanding me to reply — 
 which command of course I obeyed. 
 
 In looking over my adversary's speech next morning, 
 I rarely found that I had understated the number of his 
 arguments. I don't pretend to say that I gave good 
 answers to all of them. He might have hail the better 
 case. My point is to show you the smallness of the 
 number. Now, in listening to such an essay as this, 
 you cannot reduce the number of argum.ents, or at least 
 statements, to anything like the number four. There 
 was Milverton with his "Again, and again, and again," 
 until one hardly knew where one was. 
 
 Briefly, it is a fine day, let us disperse ourselves; and 
 I, for one, must have the written essay lent to me if I am 
 to say anything about it worth hearing.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 nPHE other " Friends " also took the essay 
 away with them ; and, I believe, each 
 of them read it over separately. Mr. Mil- 
 verton and I were therefore prepared for a 
 g-reat deal of hostile criticism ; and, in this 
 respect, as the reader will see, we were 
 not mistaken. He said to me, " You may 
 be sure, Johnson, that what they will do, 
 will be to point out the number of things 
 I have not touched upon. Critics will 
 hardly ever place themselves in the posi- 
 tion of the person whom they criticise. 
 It is in vain that he tells them, ' I am 
 here, and not there.' They will insist upon 
 looking at his work from ' there,' and 
 not 'here,' Now you will see that some 
 of them are sure to say, ' Why did you not
 
 382 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 deal v/ith the greater, the deeper parts of 
 the subject?' which, as you know, I told 
 them at the end of the essay I expressly 
 avoided. I did not want to make them 
 miserable during the last day or two of 
 our meeting. Of course one could make 
 any man miserable by writing a deplorable, 
 tearful essay upon such a painful subject 
 as looking back upon life. I meant, as you 
 know, to show forth those common-sensible 
 conclusions to which the retrospect of an 
 active life (and they have most of them 
 had active lives) might lead them. I don't 
 mind telling you what I think to be the 
 truest part of the essay; but it is very 
 commonplace. It Is what I said about 
 delay. Now you are a young fellow. You 
 could hardly profit more by the experience 
 of other and older men, than by getting 
 into your mind the length of time that it 
 takes to get anything done. I assure you, 
 It Is only by dread experience that I have 
 found out this, and have learnt at all to 
 prepare for it.'*
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 383 
 
 In the course of the evening of that day, 
 the " Friends" said that they were ready to 
 discuss the essay, and the conversation thus 
 began. 
 
 Sir Arthur. What pleased me most in the essay, is 
 the part where Milverton maintained that the feelings of 
 hope and fear, and even of love, remain as a constant 
 quantity, or, at any rate, do not largely diminish. There 
 is a little treatise of Jean Paul Richter's to the same 
 effect — 
 
 " Ueht bag Snimcrcjvuu itufovcr ©ctu()le." 
 
 EUesmcre. German again ! [Said somewhat whisper- 
 ingly.] 
 
 Sir Arthur. Now do not be so absurd, Kllesmere, as 
 to affect to despise the greatest literature of modern 
 times.* 
 
 EUcsmere. I don't despise it, Sir Arthur, but I think 
 we could do without it sometimes. However, do not let 
 us quarrel about German literature; but let us dissect 
 the present essay. It appeared to me to have one 
 
 • Afterwards Sir Arthur read to us the following passage, from 
 Jean Paul's e;-say : — 
 
 " ?Jur cin cti'jciS J&cvj UHicf))! iiidit, afcv cin ireitciS iviib cjvrpcv : jciuiJ 
 Dercn^en bie 3a()rc, bicfcS bctjneu fid; aud." 
 
 " (Mn antevntal ijtaiitt tcv SWcnfd) fid) vom ?l(tcr crfaltct, ivcil cr in 
 il)in blo(3 fur l)rl)cie ©Cijcnetdnfcc cnthcuiicu faiui, <x\i fcld;c, fcie il;n 
 \il\%a ertsdrmten."
 
 384 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 prevailing fault, namely, that it contained the views of a 
 thoughtful, questioning man; but not tliose of the woiM 
 in gf neral. Moreover, it had an air of business about it. 
 For instance, all that he said about delay was just the 
 kind of thing which a shrewd attorney would find out, 
 and would comment upon, in looking back upon life, but 
 was not what the ordinary man would discover. Now 
 you have alluded to the " ever-green " of feelings, to use 
 Jean Paul's phrase ; but do you mean to tell me that 
 there is this " ever-green " as regards the exercise of the 
 intellectual faculties ? On the contrar)', do you not find 
 that most men cease to exercise those faculties in any 
 new direction, and that they seem to be contented with 
 the knovt'Iedge they have acquired in early days ? Of 
 course I shall hear about Cato's having begun to learn 
 Greek at eighty. 
 
 Milverton. Let me answer him. I contend that the 
 ordinary mind does not become less active, but it has 
 sufficient food to act upon. It is perpetually testing by 
 experience all that goes on around it, and this affords 
 sufficient exercise for it. Doubtless, the more vigorous 
 minds learn new languages, pursue fresh studies, and are 
 alvvays gaining knowledge. 
 
 Crannicr. Don't you think he was right, Ellesmeie, 
 when he said that, in looking back upon life, one finds 
 that one has gradually made a very different estimate, as 
 regards human character, from that which one began by 
 making — how one comes to admire those cliaractcrs
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 385 
 
 which in youth one thought httle of? I thoroughly 
 agreed with all that part of the essay. 
 
 Ellesmere. Yes, no doubt Cranmer admires more and 
 more the Blue-Book element in human nature — the solid, 
 proportionate man, as compared with the brilliant, 
 irregular genius. 
 
 ^ Maidroa-cr. Now I think that the greatest oversight 
 in the essay was this — that the essayist did not tell us 
 that, in looking back on life, one did not notice how liltle 
 either one's self, or anybody else whom one knew well, 
 has really changed in character. There is a certain film 
 of varnish which covers over the man's manners, and all 
 that he is pleased to show of his character, but the 
 underlying substance is the same. 
 
 Sir Arthur. That is nearly the greatest scandal that 
 can be uttered against human nature, and goes far to 
 deny what I believe to be the main purpose of human 
 life. It is a commonplace saying, and one that I rather 
 wonder that such a man as Mauleverer should have 
 counter-signed. An important part of the essay was 
 directetl against this pernicious view. Did not Mil- 
 vcrton show you, and even Ellesmere agreed with him, 
 that we become incomparably more tolerant as we 
 advance in life ? But I should have gone much farther. 
 Do you mean to tell me that selfishness is not largely 
 subdued as we grow older ? Even the faults of 
 temper are considerably modified ; and, in fact, there 
 is often a radical change in the wliolc character 
 c c
 
 3S6 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 of the man. Otherwise what would be the good of 
 living? 
 
 Ellcsmcre. I suppose, then, that avarice becomes less 
 and less predominant. 
 
 Milvcrtoii. I do not mind that sneer at all. After all, 
 avarice is not so much a passion as an occupation, anil 
 that is why it gains upon men as they grow older. I 
 admit that most men fear to take up anything new. It 
 is a great mistake ; but they certainly are apt to believe, 
 that they have no longer the capacity for new work. 
 And, then, that v.'hich is the besetting fault of human 
 nature, its indolence, confirms them in this view; and so 
 they go on increasingly devoting themselves to their old 
 occupations. That is how I account for the predomi- 
 nance of avarice, if it is predominant, as we advance in 
 life. 
 
 Maulaercr. I have been unlucky, it appears, in the 
 objection I have taken., I .shall be more fortunate, I 
 suppose, when I indicate my agreement with another 
 part of the essay. I did think that Milverton was right 
 in what he said about our discovering that men, when 
 acting in masses, were prone to indulge in much 
 exaggeration. You never can over-estimate the ab- 
 surdity of mankind when they are collected together. 
 Folly is a contagious or infectious disease ; but wisdom 
 is by no means catching ; and the abode of truth 
 is most judiciously placed at the bottom of a very 
 deep well.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 387 
 
 Ellesmere. I am going to make a remark which 
 ought to meet with general approval ; but I suppose it 
 won't, owing to the captiousness of philosophers. I 
 maintain that the thing which we call temperament does 
 not alter. The sanguine man remains sanguine still, the 
 desponding man desponding still ; and to bring my 
 statement close home, I declate that I cannot see-any 
 change in the temperaments of my learned friends who 
 surround me. 
 
 Milverion. I am by no means prepared to admit that 
 statement, at any rate without much qualification. I 
 admit that the first impulses given by temperament, are 
 very similar throughout a man's life. 
 
 EUesmere. Then, so far, you are with me. 
 
 Milverion. But I maintain that these impulses are 
 greatly modified and checked by experience. You do 
 not perceive this so much in men's talk, as in their action. 
 The sanguine man, for example, when a subject is 
 brought before him in conversation, is apt to show that 
 his temperament is still very sanguine ; but, give him the 
 time which is requisite for action, and he will generally 
 show you that other elements have entered into his 
 composition, which go far to control his naturally san- 
 guine temperament. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I do not wish to be captious, Milverton, 
 but I must say I think there was some truth in what 
 EUesmere said in an early period in our conversation, 
 when he remarked that there was an air of business
 
 3SS SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 about the essay. You seemed to me studiously to avoid 
 some of the deeper parts of the subject. 
 
 Milverton. Specify. 
 
 Sir Arthur. You did not say, whether, on looking 
 back upon life the retrospect of sorrow diminished or 
 increased sorrowfulness, and whether the retrospect of 
 joy contained much or little joyfulness. 
 
 Milverton. I think that the retrospect of sorrow is, 
 with most persons, not very sorrowful. They see that 
 sorrow is the great improver, the great chastener. I 
 think that the retrospect of joy is still, with most persons, 
 full of joyfulness. I hold the views of Horace as inter- 
 preted by those splendid lines of Dryden, which I have 
 often quoted to you as a rare instance of a translation 
 exceeding in force and beauty the original. 
 
 Cranmer. I don't remember them. 
 
 Milverton. 
 
 •' Be fair, or foul, or rain, or sliine, 
 The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine. 
 Not Jove, himself, upon the past has power, 
 But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour." 
 
 By the way, I think Dryden the greatest writer of 
 English we have ever had. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I am inclined to agree with you. 
 
 Milverton. But I have something to say to you 
 touching the general subject, which I think will be new 
 to you, and which will account to you for my not having 
 touched upon what you call the deeper parts of the subject.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 389 
 
 I think that in considering all these matters, and 
 many other matters too, the question of memory plays a 
 large part. I begin by asserting, contrary to the opinion 
 of the world, that all great people have great memories. 
 Such at least has been my experience. Without any 
 exception, all the eminent statesmen I have worked with 
 and under, have possessed powers of memory far superior 
 to those of the average of mankind. I cannot see how 
 it can be otherwise. A good memory, as I take it, is 
 the result of the impression made at the time by any 
 incident aftecting the remembering person. The prin- 
 cipal difference between men of much faculty and 
 ordinary men is, ihat the former are more impressible 
 and give more profound attention to all they see or hear. 
 Attention is, in my belief, the main part of genius. 
 
 Sir Arthur. So far I am with you. 
 
 Milverton. I proceed to show you how this power 
 of memory acts upon the moral qualities. Mark you, it 
 is by no means altogether a blessing. It forms the basis 
 of all revengeful feelings. It is easy for the man of 
 a loose, careless, unholding memory, to forgive : it 
 is very difficult for a person of steadfast memory to 
 forgive. I quite understand the saying of Queen Eliza- 
 beth to the Countess of Nottingham, " (lod may fc:give 
 you : I cannot." Elizabeth had a very potent memory. 
 To such persons the original injury comes back, years 
 after, with the freshness of feeling as on the day upon 
 which it was endureil ; while, to the persons of poor
 
 3yo SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 memory, the original transaction coines back in a very 
 blurred and indistinct manner. 
 
 Now the conduct of these two different sets of people 
 must be very dissimilar. 
 
 After what I have said in favour of people who possess 
 great memories, it may seem a boastful thing for me to 
 say tliat I have a great memory, but it is a fact. Now, 
 as we have said before several times in this conversation, 
 let us bring the matter home. We will imagine, though 
 it is a great stretch of imagination, that Ellesmere has 
 said something very rude to me years ago, and that we 
 approached to something like a quarrel. Of course 
 nothing of the kind has ever happened, but we will 
 imagine it. If the fact returns to the recollection of 
 both of us, how different will be our feelings ! With me 
 the* thing is as vivid as if it occurred yesterday, ^^'ith 
 Ellesmere the thing comes back in a very blurred and 
 defective form ; and he especially takes care to forget the 
 sharpest parts of his rudest sayings. What immense 
 merit there is in nie if I continue to forgive, though I do 
 not forget one tithe or tittle of the original offence ! 
 
 Elhsmere. ^^'hat a grand fellow he is making himself 
 out to be ! Not that he does forgive, for you must 
 have observed there was an important "if" in the case. 
 
 Milverton. In all that I have hitherto said on the 
 subject of memory, I was only preparing you for wliat I 
 am going to say. I avoided what you call the deep 
 parts of the subject, because I felt that in an essay I
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 391 
 
 could not sufficiently explain the views which I look, 
 upon those parts. 
 
 Now, in considering the effect of retrospection, as 
 regards past joys or sorrows, you must see how much 
 depends upon the vividness with which they recur to the 
 remembering person. 
 
 Then comes in the question of temperament. The 
 man of a joyful, sanguine temperament is again delighted 
 with the joyful subjects of remembrance. The man of a 
 morbid, self-condemning, others-condemning tempera- 
 ment, dwells upon the melancholy portions of his past 
 life. And so the question, whether, in looking back 
 upon life, joyful or sorrowful remembrance predominates, 
 is complicateil by these two disturbing elements of 
 memory and temperament. Hence I feared to make 
 any general statement on the subject, perceiving how 
 likely it was to be erroneous, if all these refinements 
 were not adequately considered. Have I justified 
 myself? 
 
 Sir Arthur. I think you have ; and I admit that 1 
 have never taken these two elements into consideration. 
 
 Milvcrton. It has always appeared to me, that in 
 treating of moral subjects, those are the elements that 
 have been most neglected. I am sure I do not know in 
 what temperament consists. Great physiologists might 
 be able to tell us something of the subject ; but we 
 unscientific persons cannot do so. 
 
 I was very much struck by some i)h)siological cxpcii-
 
 392 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 ments Avhich I rend of some time ago, whereby it seemed 
 to be proved, that sensations and impressions of all 
 kinds were conveyed to the brain of one man much 
 quicker than to that of another. We are apt to judge ot 
 character by what we suppose to be the essential attri- 
 butes, such as, Avhether it is an ill-disposed, or well- 
 disposed, an amiable or unamiable character ; but we 
 seldom consider the pace at which all the emotions ol 
 the mind proceed in different human beings. 
 
 Ellcstiicre. This is all too recondite for me, and the 
 examples given are almost impossible ones for me to 
 imagine. I never could have dared to be rude to 
 Milverton, of whom I stand in so much awe, and there- 
 fore, with my poor powers of imagination and of memory, 
 I cannot tell what would happen if an imaginary instance 
 of rudeness on my part were to be brought to his recol- 
 lection and to mine. You may all laugh ; but your 
 laughing does not endow me with accurate remembrance, 
 or with the splendid powers of his imagination. 
 
 Hitherto what I have said has not been well received : 
 but I am going to make an assertion now, which none 
 of you can gainsay. 
 
 In looking back upon life you must admit that nearly 
 everybody is discontented with his own avocation, 
 whatever it may be. Now that would have been a fiict 
 well worth noting. You doubt it, do you ? Why, each 
 one of you has confessed to me his dissatisfaction with 
 his own career.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 393 
 
 Cranmcr. That is not exactly the point, Ellesmeie. 
 You said with his " avocation," not with his " career." 
 
 Elksmere. Right : I will take you one by one. 
 Milverton thinks that his gift is the gift of speech : and 
 that he ought to have been in the House of Commons. 
 As he is a persuasive kind of fellow, and is versed in all 
 the arts of compromise, I dare say he would have carried 
 a bill through the House of Commons with considerable 
 skill. I can hear him declaring that a clause composed 
 by him would exactly meet the opposing views of 
 all his opponents, whether friends or foes. But, 
 good Heavens, how he would have mourned over his 
 occupation ! No time for thought : no time for writing : 
 no time for acquiring knowledge. I am becoming, he 
 would say, one of the most brutally ignorant men in the 
 <"ountry. 
 
 Sir Art/ncr. Milverton is silent 
 
 Ellcsmcre. Yes : he has some gleams and glimpses of 
 honesty left. Now, for you, Sir Arthur. Do you 
 remember walking with me up that hill near Springfield 
 farm, when you told me that statesmanship was a 
 thankless affair? You had once a hand in two or 
 three great measures ; but nobody gave you any credit 
 for them. If, howev r, you had but given to the world 
 that new edition of Aristotle, which was always in your 
 mind, with copious notes, (of course, from the German,) 
 and with an account of the various theories of ethics and 
 metaphysics that had prevailed since Aristotle's lime,
 
 394 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 yoa would have done something which the world would 
 not wiUingly let die. 
 
 Cranmcr. Sir Arthur is silent. 
 
 EUesnure. It" any of you dare to interru]>t, I shall 
 take him 01* her in hand immediately. Now there is 
 Cranmer. He can make a wonderful likeness of that 
 gate-post, which is \isible from the window there. And 
 he said to me, (it is true it was some years ago, but that 
 does not vary the matter) that the minor people in 
 parliamentary official life had little or no credit given to 
 them for their great labours. He wished he had been 
 firmer with his father when he (Cranmer) proposed to 
 become an artist. He thought he should have been 
 a faithful one at least : and you should have heard how 
 eloquent he was, when he said that the works of an 
 artist were delightful to future generations — that they 
 elicited from those generations the same great thoughts 
 that had pervaded the artist's mind while he was making 
 his pictures ; and, in short, that Titian was the man of 
 the past the most to be envied. 
 
 Lady EUesmcrc. i\Ir. Cranmer is silent. 
 
 EUesmere. I can see that my lady wishes to know 
 what I can say about her; otherwise she would not have 
 interrupted me. Her idea of life is to be a hospital 
 nurse. She attends some hospital once a fortnight : and 
 I reserve all my domestic difficulties for that day. She 
 comes back thoroughly pleased with herself, and, there- 
 fore, with me. On that day, she is good enough to
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE, 595 
 
 remember that important third vow in the words " love, 
 honour, and obey," of which she is somewhat obUvious 
 on the other thirteen days. On that day Cato is allowed 
 to come in after dinner to see me. What wonderful 
 creatures dogs are ! Cato knows " hospital day " as 
 well as I do ; and howls furiously if there is any delay in 
 letting him free to enter the dining-room. Then, too, he 
 has some distant sense of how he ought to behave to 
 Mildred. He su[>poses her, foolish dog, to be a friend 
 of mine ; and, therefore, somebody to whom a certain 
 attention must be paid, though he well knows that she 
 does not very much like him. Accordingly, after 
 exuberant demonstrations to me, he politely puts his 
 big paws upon her lap, and looks up into her face. She 
 receives his attention with some timidity for herself, and 
 much fearfulness for her gown. But it is very good of 
 her to endure him at all. Oh ! you have no idea how 
 agreeable Lady Ellesmere is — on hospital days. 
 
 Lady Ellesmere, Well, you can't say anything about 
 my sister. She is thoroughly contented with her lot in 
 life. 
 
 Ellesmere. The most discontented of all of you ! I 
 once had the honour of travelling abroad with Mr. and 
 Mrs. Milverton. We came to one of the vast hotels in 
 Switzerland. The weather was rainy. Milverton and I, 
 nevertheless, made excursions— she remained at the 
 hotel, and made the acquaintance of Madame Ulanchard, 
 the manager of the establishment. You should have
 
 396 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 heard how Mrs. Milvcrton lauded that woman, and 
 envied her lot. I could see that Mrs. Milverton's ideal 
 of life was to be at the head of some great concern like 
 this hotel, in which avocation all the powers of organiza- 
 tion which she possesses, and her husband talks about, 
 would have a fitting field. She spoke with a kind of 
 enthusiasm of the number of cooks and laundry-maids 
 employed. She would kindly have allowed Milverton 
 to be the nominal master of the hotel ; but precious 
 little interference would have been permitted on his 
 part. 
 
 I said that it was wet weather when we first came to 
 the hotel : "Just showery, showery, wi' rain between," as 
 a Scotch gillie said to a friend of mine, justifying his 
 Scotch weather to the English mind. Well, then, it 
 brightened up, and an excursion was proposed to some 
 place ending with the word " horn." Notwithstanding 
 it was fine, Mrs. Milverton declined to go with us, 
 making several rambling and vague excuses. I saw 
 through it at once. IMilverton did not. Husbands do 
 not always understand their wives. After we had left, 
 I asked our guide whether soniething was not going 
 to happen at the hotel. 
 
 " Oh, yes," he said ; " the bishop is coming, and all 
 his clergy. It is the confirmation; my Aunchen is to 
 be confirmed." 
 
 " And Madame Blanchard will be very busy, will she 
 not?"
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 397 
 
 " Yes," he replied, " the old lady is in a dreadful way. 
 There are thirty more beds wanted, and more than 
 seventy new people are expected at the table-d'hote to- 
 day." 
 
 I felt sure that this was the reason why Mrs. Milverton 
 would not accompany us. Her pleasure was to see 
 what arrangements the clever Madame would make to 
 meet the difficulty, and perhaps to assist her by sugges- 
 tions. This was more interesting to Mrs. Milverton 
 than going to any number of Horns, Avhatever grandeur 
 of view might be seen from them; but Milverton could 
 not make it out at all : dense mortal ! 
 
 There is no audible dissent from Mrs. Milverton. 
 
 I shall dispose of Mauleverer in a single sentence. 
 He has not had any active occupation : but he once 
 said to me, that he wished he had been more actively 
 employed in life, as it would have enabled him to 
 observe more closely the large and continuous folly of 
 mankind. 
 
 Lady EilestJicre. What about yourself, mj- dear? You 
 are, as w-e all know, the most contented of mankind. 
 
 Ellesmere. No : I am not. I should like to have 
 been a country gentleman — not one widi a great estate ; 
 but what the French call a Jlobcnaii, and what the Irish 
 call a Squireen. I am the most unscikntary of men ; 
 and have been condemned to a sedentary life. How I 
 should have enjoyed going about with my dogs, and 
 visiting my pigs and my cattle 1
 
 398 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 Lady Eltcsmae. It is true. This is one of John's 
 dreams ; and he often inflicts upon me long tirades as to 
 the happiness to be found in this squireen life. He is 
 pleased to forget, that he would have spoken rudely ot 
 the clergyman's sermons ; that he would have had 
 a quarrel with the churchwardens; that he would have 
 made himself odious to the other vestrymen ; that he 
 would have had a dispute, carried through all the courts, 
 with the greater squire about boundaries, or game ; and 
 that, after we had been in this abode of bliss for about a 
 year and a half, there would not have been a single 
 neighbour who would have come near us. He would 
 then have quarrelled with me. Distinctly foreseeing this 
 event, I have always set my face against this Hobcreaic 
 or Squireen scheme. I admit tliat I am fond of doing 
 what I can to relieve the sufferings of the poor people in 
 the hospitals. Indeed, it is probable that I have some 
 skill in nursing, seeing that I have always had the care 
 of one Incurable. 
 
 Eilesmcre. We have none of these nasty sarcasms on 
 the days when she attends her hospital. 
 
 But now, without any joking, is it not really singulai 
 that, with a number of such differently constituted men 
 and women as we are, it does appear that not one of 
 us is thoroughly satisfied with his, or her, vocation ? 
 
 I have often heard Milverton say, when he has been 
 praising proverbs, that one of the most curious facts 
 connected with literature, is, that no historical record
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 309 
 
 remains regarding tlie authorship of these priiverbs. 1 
 am going to make a proverb which -will sum up the 
 whole of our recent discourse ; .and I beg to be remem- 
 bered, as the auihor of this proverb. It is, Every man 
 believes that every other man's bread and butter is nicer 
 than his own. I have noticed this fact a hundred limes. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I must confess that Ellesmere has made 
 a good point. What he says is borne out by the fact 
 which I myself have noticed — viz. : that not one fatlier 
 in a hundred is pleased at any of his sons adopting the 
 profession, or calling, in which he, the father, has been 
 employed. That, too, notwithstanding that the father 
 may have been very successful in the profession or 
 calling. 
 
 Milvcrtou. It is a very melancholy fact, if it be a 
 fact — I mean what Ellesmere has been asserting — and 
 yet there is something grand about it too. 
 
 Ellesmere. Yes, Milverton always finds out something 
 very delightful in the most discouraging facts. 
 
 Milverlon. You see every nian, being an immortal 
 creature, imagines a greater s|)here of usefulness for 
 himself, than any which he fulfils, however well he may 
 fulfil it, in this life. The discontent is merely the 
 discontent of a being who is too large in his aims and 
 hopes, to find any full employment for them on this 
 earth. 
 
 Sir Arthur. 1 don't think I c^uite appreciated what 
 you said, at the beginning of the essay, about our coming
 
 400 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 to understand the tritest sayings, and Uie full meaning of 
 \'rovoi"bs. 
 
 Milvcrton. Let me give you instances of what I 
 meant, though, I dare say, I sliall not be able to gi\'C 
 good ones, nothing, at least, equal to Ellesmere's. For 
 when one endeavours to recall any portion of that vast 
 body of anonymous literature, the proverbial, one seldom 
 is happy in the selection. " More haste, worse speed ; " 
 "The half is greater than the whole;" "The absent are 
 always in the wrong ; " " Nobody knows where the shoe 
 pinches, but the wearer," are all of them proverbial 
 sayings, of which, in looking back upon life, one learns 
 the full value. 
 
 Still, I have not hit upon any one proverb which fully 
 illustrates my meaning. In looking over this old 
 library I found a collection of proverbs. Here it is ; 
 and I will try whether I can find any one that will be 
 exactly suitable for my purpose. The first thing I come 
 upon is very good, but is not exactly what I want. It is 
 from the Italian. " He commands enough, who obeys a 
 wise man." 
 
 The next is better — " He that hath a fellow-ruler, 
 hath an over-ruler." That, I think, was first said by 
 Pope Sixtus v., when he found his College of Cardinals 
 to be very troublesome ; and he put the saying in this 
 way : " He that has partners has masters." It take? 
 some time, and some knowledge of life, before one 
 discovers the full force of that proverb.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 401 
 
 The next one is still better for my purpose : " The 
 offender never pardons." I suppose something of that 
 kind has been said in all languages, and how true it is ! 
 Not taken literally, of course : no proverb is absolutely 
 true ; but all experience of life shows that it is the one 
 v/ho gives the offence, with whom it is most difficult to 
 make up. The reason, too, is obvious. The offending 
 man is secretly very angry with himself, and he has to 
 forgive both you and himself — himself for having been 
 unreasonable, and you for having been in the way when 
 he was unreasonable. 
 
 EUesmere. ' Please give me the book ; I shall f.nd 
 something good in it, I have no doubt. 
 
 " As the good man saith, so say we ; 
 Jjut as the good won'.an saith, so it must be." 
 
 " As great pity to see a woman weep, as a goose go 
 bare-foot." " Marry in haste, and repent at leisure '' 
 is, of course, the proverb that would be more suitable 
 to Milverton's purpose. 
 
 Lady Ellesincre. Please take the book from John, 
 and shut it up. It is clear that most of the proverbs 
 in the workl have been made by men, and are a very 
 one-sided performance. 
 
 MilvertoJi. But, before v/e leave this proverbial 
 subject, don't you see what I meant : that what is 
 commonplace and trite, is the thing that we find out to 
 be true ? 
 
 Sir Arl/nir. Well, you know, Milverton, it is the 
 D D
 
 402 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 same thing with Shakespeare, I have observed that the 
 young persons who have much force and honesty of 
 mind, seldom appreciate their Shakespeare. They are 
 apt to think him an over-rated man ; but the admiration 
 for Shakespeare goes on steadily growing as we advance 
 in life, 
 
 Milvaion. That bears out my view, Sir Arthur. 
 The quantity of conmion sense expressed by Shakespeare 
 is amazing — also what is commonplace and trite, only 
 it is brought in so well, and is so admirably worded, that 
 you hardly perceive the triteness and the commonplaced- 
 ness, A volume of proverbs might be made out ot 
 Shakespeare's v.orks. 
 
 EUcsmcre. Now I am going to show you, Milverton, 
 where you exaggerated greatly. It was where you said 
 that the individual had the power to injure his fellow- 
 men to a fearful extent. 
 
 Milvaion. You have hit a blot, I felt, as I was 
 reading, that my words at that point were not suffi- 
 ciently guarded. What I meant, and ought to have 
 expressed, was, that the individual, in his own circle, in 
 his own possible sphere of action, had a huge power 
 of doing mischief Of course tlie circle of Hodge, the 
 farm-labourer, is a very ditierent one from that of mighty 
 conquerors, or great statesmen ; but in his circle, ol 
 whatever circumference U may be, a man has great 
 I^ower for good or for evil. 
 
 EUcsmere. Let this day be marked with the whitest
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 403 
 
 of chalk, for an author has confessed himself to be in the 
 wrong, and his critic in the right. 
 
 Cranma: I liked what you said about misrepre- 
 sentation, Milverton. My experience goes with yours : 
 I never met with a man who bore misrepresentation with 
 thorough calmness and complacency. 
 
 Milverto7i. Nor I, and I will venture to say that 
 there are thousands of persons of all ranks explaining 
 to others, at this moment, that they and tlieir doings, 
 or sayings, have been misrepresented. It forms a large 
 part of the talk of the world. 
 
 EUesmere. I have only one more remark to make ; 
 but it is a very serious one. I believe that you were 
 entirely wrong when you asserted that, as we advanced 
 in life, we were less captivated by eloquence, that we 
 more and more respected solid qualities, and less and 
 less esteemed brilliant qualities; that the justly pro- 
 portionate character was the one for which we finally 
 reserved our admiration; and the like. This is all unreal 
 stuff. It comes fro'in an author's considering what is 
 right to be said, and what is best to be said, and not 
 what is the fact. 
 
 Milverton. This is rather strong language, is it 
 not? 
 
 Elksmcrc. Not too strong. One of the principal 
 characteristics of the late Lord Lytton's writings, is 11 
 certain depth of worltlly shrewdness, wliich is occa- 
 sionally revealed in them. I remember once being
 
 404 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 singularly struck by an observation of his, which rather 
 counteracts ^vhat Master Milvcrton has said. Lord 
 Lytton arserted that it was the liveliest of the young 
 Mho received the largest bequests from the middle-aged, 
 or the old. This assertion opens a vista of contradiction 
 to Milverton's sayings. We do not admire or love, or •> 
 even fully appreciate the results, when embodied in other 
 persons, of our own experience in life. 
 
 Milvaion. I can make no answer to this statement. 
 I can only say that, for my own part, I more and niore 
 admire and appreciate what I have called the justly 
 proportionate charifcter, and that I only said what I 
 thought, and was not looking out for the proper things 
 to say. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I must own, Milverton, that I think 
 there is a great deal of truth in what Ellesmere has 
 saiil : and, if I may ' be allowed to make the remark, 
 I should say that there was a little inconsistency 
 between your assertion that our passions, our aflections, 
 and our feelings of joy and sorrow do not much 
 diminish as age advances, and your assertion that we 
 learn to appreciate the solid qualities more and more, 
 and what is brilliant less and less. 
 
 Milverton. I fliil to see the inconsistency. I delight 
 in wit, in brilliancy of every kind ; but I fancy (it may 
 be an arrogant fancy) that I put these qualifications 
 into their proper places, and have learnt to admire othei 
 qualifications more than I used to do.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 405 
 
 I do not appreciate EUesmere's wit less than I formerly 
 did ; but when he condescends to be sensible and judi- 
 cious, as well as witty, I estimate more and more these 
 intervals of solid and sound thought. 
 
 EUesincre. After this, pray do not let us have any 
 more talk. He is sure to spoil this compliment, if it 
 be a compliment, should we provoke him to add anothei 
 word. 
 
 Milverion. No ; I have something more to add. 
 As I have said again and again, I endeavoured, during 
 the essay, to keep somewhat clear of the greater, at any 
 rate, of the more painful, subjects which would naturally 
 recur to any one on looking back upon life. One of my 
 main objects was to insist upon the fact that very com- 
 monplace verities acquire a singular significance from our 
 own personal experience, and indeed remove themselves 
 from the cloudland of other people's experience to the 
 hard and dry land of our own. The foregoing is a sort 
 of apology for bringing forward a very trite matter which 
 every one supposes that he already understands. I 
 allude to the fact that corporate bodies and assemblages 
 of men of all kinds are curiously devoid of conscience. 
 Sayings, embodying this statement, liave almost passed 
 into proverbs. But, as I have shown to be the 'case 
 with proverbs generally, the particular proverbs in 
 question have seldom made any impression on any one's 
 mind, until, in the course of an aclive life, he has found 
 them to apply to himself.
 
 4o6 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 This, however, was not what 1 chielly intended to set 
 before you. It is a matter of much more subtle experi- 
 ence, but still of sure experience, to which I wish to 
 draw your attention. 
 
 Elksinere. I wonder what is coming after this elabo- 
 rate prelude. 
 
 Milverion. It is not only that these bodies, acting 
 as bodies in their corporate capacity, will do very unjust 
 things — such things as no individual amongst them would 
 do if he were acting for himself; but that when a 
 member of a corporate body acts as its representative, 
 he is often found to be as devoid of conscience as the 
 said corporate body. This, by the way, not unfrequently 
 applies to the representatives of the highest bodies 
 — even to those who represent governments. And, 
 again, looking at the whole subject of personal repre- 
 sentation, you will nearly always find that the represen- 
 tative hardens his heart against all those considerations 
 of pity, tenderness, and forbearingness, which would 
 have some weight, and ought to have some weight, with 
 the persons represented. This is a result which is 
 hardly to be arrived at, except by personal experience ; 
 and it is one of the conclusions that thoughtful rnen 
 come to in looking back on life. 
 
 EUesmere. Moral :— I am always making the morals 
 for Milverton's fables, if I may call them so — Never deal 
 with representatives, if you can manage to get near the 
 principals.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 407 
 
 Milvcrton. Yes, that is exactly it : and the moral is 
 a Yery important one. Tlie young often fear to deal^ 
 with the principal, and think they should manage much 
 better in dealing with the representative ; but this is an 
 entire delusion. 
 
 And here I leave this part of the subject. 
 
 EHesmere. Sandy, some time ago, was very angry 
 because I said his chi^f was a despot, and that he, 
 of course, took the hue of his despotic master's 
 mind. 
 
 Now, there is such a thing as a silent despotism. 
 
 Observe how we have all kept to social subjects merely 
 because Milverton told us that much good time had been 
 wasted in considering the ballot question, which time 
 might have been so delightfully spent in considering 
 drains and sewers, foul air, foul water, and adulterated 
 food. 
 
 I consider that Sir Arthur's essays, Mauleverer's, and 
 my own, have all fought shy of politics, and have been 
 devoted to such social subjects as Intiusiveness, Over- 
 Publicity, Hospitality, Vulgarity, Ridicule, and the 
 Uniform extent of human folly in all generations. 
 
 O'anmcr. I am fated to take excej;lion to any 
 general statement of Ellesmere's. Did not Milverton in 
 one of his essays dwell upon the difllcult question of the 
 improvement of government bills ? 
 
 EUesvicrc. YoiT simple man ! Did you not see that 
 he did not care a farthing about your political bills? lie
 
 4o8 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 was anxious to add the superfluous wisdom of permanent 
 officials to parliamentary wisdom, only when considering 
 bills which bear on social questions. 
 
 Afili<erton. Where is the pressure nowadays ? Is it 
 for political reform ? Not much of that. But the 
 pressure for reform in social matters is strong and conti- 
 nuous from all the sensible people in this realm. 
 
 Ellesmar. Now, Sandy, if you ever make use of our 
 essays and lucubrations, take this as your title for them, 
 "Social Pressure." It is vague j sounds important ; does 
 not tell too much ; and, at any rate, it keeps clear of 
 politics. You need not say from whom the pressure 
 comes : each reader will suppose that it comes from 
 himself. 
 
 Milverton. And so it ought to come ; for, you may 
 depend upon it, social subjects are those which, at the 
 present moment, most concern us all, from the highest 
 to the lowest. 
 
 Maitlevcrer. There is one point, Milverton, which 
 I wonder you did not touch upon ; and it is this, that 
 as men advance in life, they become more truthful and 
 more sincere. It is one of those odd fables, apparently 
 believed by mankind in all ages, that truth and sincerity 
 are the virtues of the 3'oung. 
 
 Ellesmere. This is an astounding proposition ! 
 
 Maidevcrer. No less just, than astounding. Truth 
 would almost go out of the world, if it were not for 
 middle-aged and elderlv people.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 409 
 
 Milvcrton. I am as much surprised as Ellesmere is. 
 What do you mean, Mauleveicr ? Give us an illus- 
 tration. 
 
 Maulrc'crcr. We went out in a boat the other day. 
 You and Ellesmere were good enough to accompany 
 us ; but amused yourselves all the time by telling us 
 what an odious and detestable thing boating is. Now 
 no young man would have done that. lie would not like 
 to go against the prevailing sentiment of his company; 
 would conceal his own sentiments; and would even pre- 
 tend to be pleased with what he secretly ili&liked. If 
 that is not insincerity, I do not know what is. You 
 must not say, it would be respectfulness to his elders and 
 betters; the same thing would occur, if it were a party of 
 young men. 
 
 JMilverton. There is a great deal in what you say ; 
 but I think there is a large admixture of causes for the 
 result which you indicate. 
 
 Maidrcercr. I will not argue the question ; but will 
 only ask you, for the future, to try and observe whether 
 there is not much truth in my assertion. 
 
 Ellesmert. It is generally very hard to extract a 
 compliment to ourselves out of anything Mauleverer 
 may say ; but I think we may do so now. It is clear 
 that Johnson, being juvenile, is the only person amongst 
 us who is untruthful and insincere. The rest of us, 
 with the exception of the ladies, being decidedly middle- 
 aged, have become models of truth and sincerity.
 
 410 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I wish, Ellesmcie, lliat, in addition to 
 our being models of truth ami sincerity, we had been 
 models of suggestiveness as regards the imj)ortant 
 questions Milverton has put betore us. He has ma.le 
 me think, as I never thought before, of the dangers 
 and the difficulties attending the agglomeration of large 
 numbers of people in great towns — an oi)eration which 
 is evidently proceeding in this age more rapidly than 
 ever. He has made me see how this fact shouki 
 induce us more and more to attend to ' what are 
 called social reforms. Of political reforms we have 
 probably had enough of late years to last us for some 
 little time. 
 
 Milverton. I have often dared to think (perhaps it 
 was a wicked thought — certainly a bold one) what an 
 advantage it would be for this country if parliamentary 
 discussions were put aside for two or three years, and 
 the attention of the country were directed to adminis- 
 tration. I could even venture to think, that during that 
 happy period, political personages might enjoy supreme 
 rest, and the Government of the country be carried on 
 by their Private Secretaries, who are generally very intel- 
 ligent fellows, and by the permanent officials of each 
 department. 
 
 Ellesmere. I declare that Milverton is indulging in a 
 strain of sarcasm which would better befit other persons 
 in the company, such as Cranmer and myself. 
 
 Cranmcr. I decline to be placed in this conjunction.
 
 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 411 
 
 I suppose, Milverton, you would allow that during 
 this interregmim, parliamentary committees might sit 
 which had for their object those social and administrative 
 reforms which are so dear to you. 
 
 Milverton. Certainly. But now, without any jesting 
 or sarcasm, or cynicism, do you not own with me that 
 there is an enormous deal to be done in those branches 
 of human effort w^hich have nothing whatever to do with 
 the redistribution of political power, with theological 
 matters, or with any of those questions which are abun- 
 dant in strife, and which pro. luce very little improvement 
 for the great masses of mankind ? 
 
 They were all inclined to assent to this 
 proposition, and so the conversation ended. 
 
 On remarking- afterwards on this conver- 
 sation, Sir John Ellesmere said, " I do 
 believe the world gets on best by each man 
 pushing forward to the utmost the objects of 
 the career in which he is embarked. Milver- 
 ton is an administrator ; and doubtless he 
 perceives what good works might be accom- 
 plished by improvements in administration. 
 This view is not likely to be taken up by 
 many persons, therefore I am cjuite willing 
 that he .should put into it whatever force lio
 
 412 SOCIAL PRESSURE. 
 
 cai. bring-. It is sure to be suflicicntly 
 counteracted by other influences." This 
 sentiment was much approved by the 
 "Friends;" and, moreover, they agreed 
 among- them.selves that, if any suggestion 
 should occur to them which might aid 
 Mr. Milverton in his fight for good admi- 
 nistration, especially in reference to the 
 management of great towns, they would 
 take care to impart it to him. 
 
 Alas! this was the final day of our 
 friendly conversations The Easter holi- 
 days were over ; and, on the Monday, we 
 returned, with somewhat of the heavy hearts 
 of boys going to school, to our work in 
 town aoain. 
 
 THE END.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY I 
 
 Los Alleles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 RECD LD-URL 
 
 APR 2 6 1983 
 
 315