Ex Libris C. K. OGDEN 47J flp&vL s 7* THE BEST SOCIETY AND OTHER LECTURES THE BEST SOCIETY AND OTHER LECTURES BY J. JACKSON GOADBY, F.G.S. Author of ' Timely Words,' ' Bye-Paths in Baptist History,' etc. LONDON EDWIN, VAUGHAN AND CO. 1898 Edinburgh: T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty PREFACE THESE Lectures were not originally intended by the writer, the Rev. J. Jackson Goadby, for publication ; but after his death it was thought on looking through his MSS. that work of such marked individuality and freshness of setting would be of interest to many outside the circle of his friends. He was a man of strong and vigorous personality, keenly interested in literature, science, and the bypaths of historical research ; and during a long and busy life, as a minister, was untiring in his efforts to inspire others to enter into that ' Best Society ' which he so prized himself. While his lectures to various literary societies show how wide and scholarly were his tastes and literary attainments, his racy talks to working men and popular audiences reveal that he was a man among men, and not a mere bookworm or antiquarian. The lectures are numerous and on a variety of subjects, as will be seen from the titles of some of the unpublished MSS. : ' Daniel Defoe, 1 ' Michael Faraday,' ' Guy Fawkes, 1 'The Harvest of the Sea, 1 'The Ocean World, 1 'Light- houses, 1 ' The Spanish Armada, 1 ' Witches and Witch- craft, 1 'Trial by Ordeal, 1 'Russia and the Russians,' 'John Bull, 1 'Wanted a Pilot, 1 'Neighbour's Fare, 1 'Volcanoes and Earthquakes, 1 'Fossil Sunshine, 1 'Only v vi THE BEST SOCIETY a Piece of Chalk, 1 ' Mr. Speaker Lenthall and Bishop Longland, 1 * Valentine's Day, 1 ' Talk and Talkers, 1 ' John Bright, 1 ' John Bunyan, 1 ' John Milton, 1 ' Scripture Entomology, 1 ' The Queen's English, 1 etc. etc. Among the lectures in this volume are his two latest, given to the Reading Literary and Scientific Society during his presidency ' Bulstrode Whitelock, 1 to which he intended to make additions from unpublished manu- scripts in the British Museum, and ' Mrs. Lucy Hutchin- son, 1 which was given in October 1897, only a few months before his death. PAGE THE BEST SOCIETY ..... 3 THOMAS FULLER . . . . .23 WORK AND PLAY . . . . .51 WISE SAWS ...... 75 OLIVER CROMWELL . . . . .105 BULSTRODE WHITELOCK . . . . .141 MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON . . . l67 JOHN HOWARD ...... 195 SYDNEY SMITH ...... 229 WILLIAM COBBETT .... 253 00 THE BEST SOCIETY ' These are the masters that instruct us without rods and without ferules, with- out hard words and anger, without clothes or money. If you approach them they are not asleep ; if investigat- ing you interrogate them, they conceal nothing ; if you mistake them, they never grumble; if you are ignorant, they cannot laugh at you.' RICHARD DE BURY. Written A.D. 1344. THE BEST SOCIETY THERE are various answers to the question What is Society ? The whole race of man is society. The people of any nation or city are a society. Bodies of men banded together for common objects are societies. Society is, say others, the sayings and doings, the follies and pleasures, of the men and women of rank and distinction in any country. To get into this select set is to get into society ; to be debarred, for whatever reason, from sharing its life, is to be out of society ; and to be ' out of society, so some think, is literally not to be in the world at all, or, at any rate, you might as well be out of the world. Of course there are endless copies, on a smaller scale, in every town and village, of this kind of society : men and women who regard themselves, or are regarded by their neighbours, as society ; who affect all the airs of the bigger people, who are quite as exclusive, who are quite as select, and who are often very much vainer. Not to be of their company is to be nobody ; and you may therefore look upon yourselves as virtually without existence. You may have 'hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions 1 ; you may be 'fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer "" as society ; you will bleed if pricked, laugh if tickled, die if poisoned : it is no matter. You are nobody, because you are not ' in society.' 4 THE BEST SOCIETY Not that mere company is society. ' I do not care for society," 1 once said a sage, ' because I do not wish to be alone.' A similar feeling led Nathaniel Hawthorne to decline an English lady's invitation to a dance. ' I feel,' said he, ' in the position of an owl or bat invited to take a pleasure trip in the sunshine. Of course it would be a most delightful affair,' but he felt it was fitter that ' he should stay in his own dusky hole, than to go blinking about among other people's enjoyment.' Nor is ' sitting on other people's chairs' society. You may do that, and yet sit on thorns. You may have nothing in common with your host and his guests, and you may hail with delight the first possible excuse for doing the only bit of stealing you ever did in your life steal out of their company, and as soon as you are fairly outside the house, ' Richard 's himself again.' Nor is society merely eating together. It is a good old English custom never, if you can help it, to eat alone : it is pleasant, when you are hungry and the food is well- cooked and toothsome, to dine or sup together ; but having dined and supped, having made an end of eating what comes next ? Not necessarily society. Exchang- ing news, talking common gossip, abusing your neigh- bours, or praising them that is not society. What, then, is society ? It is the union of any per- sons, for pleasure or profit, on equal terms, the union of rational beings in a rational way, the converse of one mind with another, the exchange or the reception of thoughts on things in which you have a common interest. There must be equality, or there is no real society. If you are snubbed by the man who is lavishly pouring out his ideas, you are not in society, you are in purgatory. But it does not follow, because you meet another on terms of equality, that your minds are the same in calibre. His may be the noblest of his class, and yours THE BEST SOCIETY 5 may not be that, although he talks with you. And yet you may be ' in society,' share it, love it, profit by it. He talks, and you listen ; and if you do not talk, you perhaps do what is far better you think. Now, if this definition of Society be correct, what is the 'best society'? Is it not that which lives the longest, and changes the least ? Is it not the gathering together of the choice spirits of all ages ? Is it not that which brings you into the company of the greatest variety of gifted men and women ; which makes you free of the noblest and most illustrious that the world ever knew ; which has the power of creating an undying friendship ; which never loses its temper, whatever may be your humour ; which never cold-shoulders you, how- ever threadbare your coat ; which never laughs at your ignorance behind its fan ; which does not grumble when you are dull ; which is never so taken up with some one bigger than you that it has no leisure for your company ; which fills you with thoughts that make the dullest day bright, and the sunniest day happier ; which gives a new pleasure to the commonest objects, and a new joy to the most familiar sounds ; which lifts you up to the skies when the lark trills his song, and fills you with new gladness when the glories of the sunset flash upon you ; which helps to broaden your world and assists you to get more correct ideas of men, of affairs, and of life ; which arouses your powers, by putting you on your mettle ; which stirs what is best in you, and helps you the more thoroughly to know your own mind ; which knocks the conceit out of you ; which lifts you, as long as you are in it, above the mere buying and selling, and getting gain, and gives you a taste of that which will outlast them all; which does not unfit you for your common work, but plies you with motives and examples to make that work, whatever it be, better, honester, truer ; which 6 THE BEST SOCIETY brings you nearer the fountain itself of heavenly radiance : in a word which makes a man of you ? What is the best society ? It is the best men and women at their best. If such be the best society, how may we enter it? You will not be qualified because you are ' Consolled up to the chin, or acred up to the lips.' You have not to make a big name with which the world shall ring or the parish before you can enter. You need no formal introduction. If you drive up in your carriage and pair, you will find no warmer welcome than if you had walked. You have no need to send in your card by the footman, and wait. However shabby your coat, the same door is opened to you as that through which monarchs enter. The first qualification is a love of reading. This is the open door through which you pass to the best society the world ever had in it. ' If the riches of both Indies, 1 said Fenelon, 'if the crowns of all the kingdoms of Europe were laid at my feet, in exchange for my love of reading, I would spurn them all.' Emerson has said that the men and women in books are dumb, until we let them speak. They are imprisoned and bound, as by an enchanter's spell, until we enter and set them free. They have, some of them, been waiting two, ten, or twenty centuries for us. They are eager to give us a sign, that they may unbosom themselves to our hearts ; but it is the grim law of their limbo, that they must not speak until spoken to. Speak ! and instantly is broken the silence of centuries, and we find ourselves in company with the men who made history, or who wrote it; with the poets in their singing robes; with the mighty magicians who wield a strange enchantment, who first create new worlds, and then people them with living men and women ; with the sages, who slowly utter their wisdom ; or the philosophers, who calmly unfold THE BEST SOCIETY 7 their theories ; or the men of science, who draw back the veil which hides from us the mighty wonders of earth and sky. Books are the treasure-houses of the world, the bridges and ships that carry us over dark morasses and barren oceans, the leaders who boldly conduct us into the heart of sacred cities, of lofty palaces, of solemn temples ; the revealers to us of the boundless riches of the human soul. And in these days good books are cheap. You can buy a Shakespeare for a shilling, a New Testament for three- pence, and a Milton for a quart of beer. The only man who is shut out from the best society is the man who shuts himself out. ' A poor man, 1 said Charles Kingsley, ' can now obtain better scientific books than a duke or a prince could sixty years ago, simply because the books did not then exist.' Mere fondness for reading is not enough. Much more depends on how you read. There are readers and readers. There are the skimmers : dipping here and dipping there, but very lightly, until the different flavours of the differ- ent books become so confused that all books taste alike. There are the sieves : retaining nothing, merely contented to get through the book. There are the parrot-readers : who quote the last book they have read, and repeat by rote some of its good things echoes, and no more. And there are the snails, who creep, creep oh, so slowly ! and never creep very far ; who are like the man who always reads one newspaper through before taking up another advertisements, dry reports, sparkling para- graphs, from the title to the imprint at the end and who, when told by a friend of some event that happened a month ago, exclaimed, ' Indeed ! I Ve not yet come up to it in the newspapers ! ' Let me say at once, then, that if you belong to any one of these kinds of readers you will never be free of the 8 THE BEST SOCIETY best society. How to read is, therefore, a pressing ques- tion. I do not pretend to exhaust so great a theme : but this I venture to say, that if you would read to remember you must often pause in your reading ; you must read, re-read, and read again ; read, until the music of the poet enters your soul ; until the glory of the brave deed kindles your enthusiasm. You should make your own digest of some books, as did Sir William Hamilton, and with surprising results. You cannot gallop through a book, if you adopt his plan ; and yet some books are only worth a hasty gallop, or a canter through their pages. Although there is no ' Professor of Books/ you will discover that what to read is mainly embraced in these several things : 1. Read the books that will fit you more intelligently to do your own proper work books on your own trade and calling. 2. Read the books which will best help you to cultivate your own powers for every man has powers that are specially his own; and common-sense is this, 'to find out what you are, where you are, what you can do, and to do it/ 3. Read the books which will train your mind and strengthen it ; books that will help to make it robust, and not a mere bit of flabby stuff. Read books against your natural taste, to bring out your latent powers. 4. Read as an Englishman. Know all you can from books about your country, its great men, its great deeds, its great responsibilities not to be puffed up with a windy conceit of yourself, and a supreme contempt for other nations, but that you may take your share in what is to be done ; that you may think wisely and righteously and justly, and be thereto incited by the highest ideals. 5. Read books medicinally. If you are dull, take a THE BEST SOCIETY 9 cheerful book ; if you are buoyant, take a grave one. It is marvellous what a subtle power books have to touch and kindle our souls to finest issues, or to soothe and heal them in sadness and weariness. 6. Read, not to accept, not to swallow but to weigh and consider. 'As mastication is to meat, so is medita- tion to what we read/ There are shoals of worthless books in the world, but we shall pass them by in safety if we read books that have made themselves a name famed books. Read such books thoroughly and their number is not great and you get the best collegiate education without going to college. For what is a college educa- tion ? ' It is the thorough reading of some books," 1 says Emerson, 'which scholars regard as the best on certain subjects.' 7. Read at the right time. If you read to remember, read when your mind is the freshest and the most open. If you nod over your book, your book will nod to you, and little good will come of your mutual nodding. Read the drier books in the morning. You can be amused at almost any time : it is a pity therefore to give the best time to amusement. A tale will enthral you when a treatise would send you to sleep. Novels will charm you when you are weary, and poets will sing you a morning or an evening song. 8. Read according to the time at your disposal. If you have but little time, be chary of giving that little to ephemeral or worthless books. If you have not much time, make a little. If you like a thing, you can generally find time for it, and money also. Since, then, the best society is within every man's reach, why should he be content to have palmed off upon him inferior stuff? When the company of the wise beckons him, why should he stay in the company of fools ? When the learned are willing to talk with him, why 10 THE BEST SOCIETY listen to the fribble of the ignorant ? When the ripest minds offer him their friendship, why should he be satis- fied with the products of minds either crude or debased ? A love of reading is not enough, even to be free of the best society. A man must have a love of beauty or what will the glorious company of the poets be to him ? He may think that everything is poetry that begins with a capital letter and ends with a jingle ; or that poets are stupid folk that have a roundabout way of saying simple things ; or that they are mere dreamers ; and so deprive himself of some of the choicest society in the world. If he wants everything done for him into the baldest prose, he will find the Sacred Bards, with all their sweet music, no society for him. He will heed not, although Homer shall sing the ' tale of Troy divine.' He will give no ear when the wonders of Paradise, or Inferno, or Purgatory are chanted by the solemn Dante. He will have no joy thrilling his soul as Goethe sings his song of Faust, or Schiller portrays his pageantries, or Milton justifies the ways of God to man, or the great English dramatists, and the greatest of them all, * body forth the forms of things unknown, 1 and ' give to airy nothing a local habitation and a name.' And yet, even such a man may have lying in the heart of him a love of beauty that only needs awakening. * Because the time was ripe, 1 says Mrs. Browning, ' I chanced upon the poets. 1 If one poet can- not arouse this latent love of beauty, perhaps another can. There are a hundred different notes heard in the woods in the early summer's morning ; and yet who would wish one note the less? There are a hundred different voices in the great choir of bards, and if one does not kindle our souls, another may. Keep in their company, and you will find that their notes will steal into your very heart, how you hardly know. You will find that the old bards have notes of their own, and that the THE BEST SOCIETY 11 new ones are equally distinct ; and whether it be Homer, or Dante, or Goethe, or Schiller, or Milton, or Byron, or Coleridge, or Scott, or Festus, or Tennyson, or Browning, that they each have their own gifts. It will be strange indeed if, companying with them, you do not find the soul within you aroused, and your latent love of beauty awakened and developed. The grand chorus of gifted singers now with notes as clear as fifes ; now with shrill, clarion voices as of trumpets ; now with twanging harps ; now with deep, mellow organ tones will chant their varied music to your enraptured ear. Only let there be a love of sweet words wedded to sweet thoughts and musical ; only let there be a love of beauty, in form and in idea ; only let there be an open ear, and an open eye, and an open mind, and there is no bard, however lofty, but will warble forth his dulcet sounds for your delectation, and help you to look with new eyes on the world and on men, and even wing your thoughts until they shall soar upward, like the prophet-lark, singing as they soar. If, however, we would not exclude ourselves from some of the richest and most gifted minds, we also need, besides a love of reading and a love of beauty, a love of truth. But this love must be no cheap, second-hand thing, but that which we have purchased with a great sum. If a man loves falsehood and false things, he can never become free of the best society. He may open the books in which they speak, keep them near his side, and dili- gently read their pages : but because he has no deep, strong, and abiding love of truth, the words of the wise will be as naught. It will be like a man listening to a language of which he understands not a word, for truth will give such men no instruction, convey to them no precious meaning, and will stand for no more than the sighing of the wind or the plashing of the waves on the shore. Sages are dumb before such men, be they 12 THE BEST SOCIETY never so wise ; singers will utter notes that they fail to see are linked with grandest harmonies ; prophets will be voices crying in the wilderness ; philosophers, mean- ingless chatterers of inconsiderate trifles ; and the great, the noble, and the good, will stand for no more than the common clods of the valley. The man without a love of truth shuts himself off from the company of men who would kindle his soul into nobleness, and exalt his heart with celestial aspira- tions. He that walketh with the wise shall be wise ; he that walketh with the great shall be great ; he that walketh with the true shall be true : but for any real pleasure in such company there must be a love some sort of love of wisdom, of greatness, and of truth. Such choice spirits are as dumb as the statue of Memnon, unless men prefer truth before all things ; but once seek truth for its own sake, once let them see that you love it supremely, and the coyest sage will unbosom his choicest thoughts, and the most shrinking and retiring among the wise will, in rich abundance, pour forth of their ample stores. Come as a lover of truth, and you are welcome ; present yourself in any other guise, and you shall be sent empty away. Another qualification for entering the best society is a love of men. If you are a moping, dull, prosy, mis- anthropic, man-hating soul, you can never get entrance into the best society. You may be with it, but you will not be of it : you can never really enter until you share the feeling of the poet Terence, who, twenty centuries ago, declared that he was a man, and therefore everything about men, and belonging to men, was what he liked, and for what he cared. The reason some men who are great readers never get beyond the mere surface of books is this deficiency in human grip, this lack of sympathy with men, this disbelief that ' the proper study of man- THE BEST SOCIETY 13 kind is man,' and that of all subjects on earth that can engage our attention, none can for one moment be com- pared with men themselves. To those who possess this love of their kind what a world of attraction is opened to them ! What a multitude beyond all numbering of those who really make the best society ! The great and illustrious men of former days not only sweep in grand procession before our astonished eyes, but pause and talk to us as they pass. In travels, in history, in biography, in fiction what men and women there are with whom we may share the happiest hours ! We can tramp through continents with explorers like Livingstone, Cameron, Pinto, Holub, and Stanley. We can sail over strange seas, and beneath unaccustomed stars, with expeditions to the North with Nansen, or to the South with the Challenger. We can float through isles of beauty that seem like Paradise Regained. We can take our share in the ' moving accidents by flood and field ; Hairbreadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach.' We can fight over again the great decisive battles of the world, hear ' the neighing of the war horse, 1 and feel our hearts leap up at 'the shouting of the captains.' We can live over again the early struggles with the great leaders and pioneers of the world. We can share in the adventures of the bold and noble men who warred with belted knight and mitred bishop for their freedom, and who knew how to keep their liberty when they had won it. We can follow the great lines of ancient or of modern history, of Greece or Rome, of Holland, of Venice, of Britain conducted by sure guides, who will not be hurt if we pause in the midst of their most eloquent descrip- tions. We can listen to the pithy and sententious talk of some of the Greek and Latin writers of history, whose words are rendered for us in our own mother tongue ; or 14 THE BEST SOCIETY we can give earnest heed to the flowing periods of Gibbon, the sharp epigrams and antitheses of Macaulay, the wise generalisations of Green, the masterly words of Motley, or the pleasant and chatty talk of McCarthy. If the Story of the Nations be the thing we desire to know, there are a hundred voices ready to teach us, and there is no great difficulty in discovering which is the safest voice to follow. But not one of these voices will say a word to us, unless we wish them ; and when we have had enough, we can lay them aside without feeling that their pride will be hurt, and the next time we want them to talk to us they will neither be sullen nor dumb. And as biography is history teaching by example, and the lives of some few men in the earlier ages gathered into themselves the great forces out of which history was made, what a magnificent array of such books is within our reach, bringing us into the innermost heart of men, and showing us of what stuff they were made ! If we have never allowed the lives of great and good men to speak to us, what an ignorance holds us of human nature in its many and diverse aspects ; showing, as such lives do, how men thought and wrought, and lived and died ; what possibilities lie folded up in the hearts of men ; what mountains of hardship may be climbed, from whose summits we overlook half a world ; what nobilities of goodness, of kindness, of truth it is possible for men to achieve, if only they set themselves resolutely to work ! And then there are the table-talks of great men, full of wise prattle and piquant speech and suggestive counsel, treasured up for our use, so that we can hear brave, rough Martin Luther talk, and wise Selden, and fussy, inimitable Boswell, and conversational Coleridge, and a score of others. We see, too, that the poet is often prosy ; the orator can be as dumb as a fish ; and the men of action are sometimes idlers ; yet we should be most THE BEST SOCIETY 15 unwilling to lose the little we know of the great ones of the earth in their leisure-hours, at their play, when only seen by their most intimate friends. How human these glimpses of the great ones show them to be ! We like them on that account all the better. We may perhaps overhear their bickerings, watch their follies, chronicle their blunders, and then ' lay the flattering unction to our souls ' that in some of these things we are actually greater than they. At any rate, we have felt the force of the musty adage when seeing the feebleness of the strong, and hearing of the follies of the wise, and learning of the foibles and even coarsenesses of the great that 4 the best men are men at the best. 1 And if table-talk be not to our taste, we can listen to the chatty old chroniclers, monkish, English, and French, who shall tell us at their leisure, and in their own simple way, of knights and fair ladies, of falconry and jousts and tournaments, of feudal ways and feudal people, of the strange wonders that once shook men's souls with awe, of scenes and sights, of stress and storm, the like of which, since science has come, the world never more shall see. To many, however, the great romancers offer the strongest attractions. They can follow the Wizard of the North as he peoples every nook and cranny in old Edinburgh, every hillside and vale and ruined castle by fair loch in Scotland, with men and women ; and to them there is, as with Ruskin, no companion like Walter Scott. Others find their joy in Bulwer, or Reade, or Dickens, or Thackeray, or Currer Bell, or George Eliot, or Wilkie Collins ; but the one thing which gives charm to them all is this, that they paint for us men and women. Like the poets, the novelists utter what many feel but cannot express. At times they bring us into strange society, and none of the best ; but there still live in their books 16 THE BEST SOCIETY men and women who help us to know ourselves, and make for us a wider world than we should ever see from our narrow surroundings. It is no doubt needful, when the romancer deals with history, to correct his represen- tations by submitting them to the test of hard and sober fact, and we shall then discover that the romancer has romanced with a vengeance, as may be seen in the Car- dinal Pole of Harrison Ainsworth, the Amy Robsart of Walter Scott, and the early Christians of Bulwer's Last Days of Pompeii. But even with these deductions we shall ask for a novel, as Emerson puts it 'ask leave, that is, for a few hours to be a poet, and paint things as they ought to be.' But when we open the book of the greatest wizard of them all, what a perfect galaxy of beauty, wit, and wis- dom flashes on our astonished eyes, in the delineations of women so different as Portia, Rosalind, Miranda, Ophelia, Constance, Juliet, Desdemona, Imogen, Hermione, Jessica, Beatrice; in courtiers like Biron, Mercutio, Benedick, Polonius ; in wags like Gobbo, the grave-diggers in Hamlet, Falstaff', Bottom, Costard, and Touchstone; in creatures like Ariel and Caliban ; in human demons like lago ; in dunderheads like Dogberry and his friends ; in military coxcombs like Fluellen ! What religious lessons, persuasive, wonderful, immortal, are conveyed to us in the delineations of the madness of jealousy in Othello, in the misery of ambition in Macbeth, in the grandeur of mercy in the Merchant of Venice, the purity of innocence in the Tempest, the nobleness of patriotism in Henry Fifth, and the perplexities of a troubled soul in Hamlet ! How we gradually discover, as our acquaint- ance with this master-mind increases, not only that he has enriched our common English speech, but that there is hardly a shade of feeling, barely a thought of any character, which Shakespeare has not weighed, balanced, THE BEST SOCIETY 17 and represented. If the parson sees the weaker side of human nature, as some hold ; if the lawyer sees the darker side ; if the doctor sees the more diverse side this poet of all time puts us in the position of advantage above them all. We know men the better as we keep in his company, and it is not his fault if we do not find our narrowness and party exclusiveness rebuked by the man who knew human nature so well, and was himself of no sect or party. Or if we open the great Book of Books, again we find that it is man that is portrayed ; and it is only as we have a true love for humanity that we shall enter with keenest pleasure into its manifold society; for 'if we love not our brother, whom we have seen, how shall we love our Father, whom we have not seen ? n Living, then, in such society as I have suggested, and the very pick of it ; having sages, philosophers, prophets, poets, historians, leaders of men, and the great creative minds of the world moral, political, and religious re- formersand even One greater than all, we can hardly take a narrow and parochial view of men, of duty, of obligation, of interest, of service. By keeping in such company we shall broaden our view of affairs and of life, and cease to think that ' the rustic murmur of our bourg is the great wave that echoes round the world. 1 We shall cease to think that one little party, or one great party, can hold all the world. We shall be helped to know and to respect men who differ from ourselves. We shall gather such vital energies into our souls as will compel us to throw off our prejudices as outworn garments, and save us from the dwarfing and worsening effects of bigotry. In a word, if you keep in the best society you will have no taste for the society that is inferior. There are books which blight the young minds that read them, demon- 18 THE BEST SOCIETY like books, that leave a virus in the blood it takes years to expel. Keep out of their company; avoid them as you would the plague. The men who tell you that it is childish not to read them, give you unwholesome counsel. Rather pass through the world in ignorance of their very names than allow the filth of such books to leave their stain on your memories and your hearts. Perhaps you may say : but are there not coarse things in Shakespeare ? Does not even the Bible record some things which shock us ? Undoubtedly. But neither in the Bible nor in Shakespeare do you find that evil is praised. It is shown up, it is denounced. Vice sees her own image, and virtue will loathe it. The very company of the better sort will create a dis-relish for evil. In ways so subtle that it is hard to track them, the great and noble and good will influence our souls, if we only keep in their society. As the warm spring sunshine stirs the very roots of trees deep down in the earth, so will these books quicken us into vigour and strength and life. They will purify the taste. They will make hateful the evil. They lead a man to detect and abhor the corrupt, as the man who has just breathed the free fresh mountain air finds the city air distasteful. The company of the best society is to be kept for the betterment of our succeeding life, for the nobleness that it reveals and the nobleness it creates, and for the inspiration to do noble things, and not dream them. Unless we read to live, and not merely live to read, we miss the most valuable end and purpose of keeping in the best society. The outcome of our reading should be seen in our character. If the great bards sing to you ; if the great prophets prophesy unto you ; if you walk in the company of the choicest of earth's great men, you are thereby put under the larger obligation to live nobler lives, and to show to others the sort of company you have THE BEST SOCIETY 19 been keeping. If in such society you have tasted the purest gladness, let the men you mix with see something of it in your spirit. Let men see that you have not had all these high privileges in vain : that you have received hallowed impulses from your friendship with the great, the noble, and the good ; that you are yourself, in how- ever small a measure, the centre of pure and generous influences ; that you are doing your best to make the world more righteous by being righteous yourself, to make the world truer by being true yourself ; that, having found your way into the best society, you will show men the road into that charmed circle, and warmly welcome all who share it with you. ' He that regards truth, let him expect martyrdom on both sides ; and then he may go on fearless. It is the course I take myself.' THOMAS FULLER. THE WIT AND WISDOM OF THOMAS FULLER IF you had asked John Howe, Cromwell's chaplain ; George Fox, the founder of the Quakers ; or that chatty and pleasant fisherman Isaak Walton ; or Samuel Pepys, that amusing old gossip Who was Thomas Fuller ? you would not have had to wait very long for an answer. John Howe once did Fuller a good turn in getting him through the Court of Tryers ; and at the time he did him this good turn Thomas Fuller was a tall, well-made, ruddy- faced, curly-pated, flaxen-haired, blue-eyed, portly divine; who stood by the king in the Civil War, but was yet such a lover of moderation that he neither pleased Cavalier nor Roundhead. George Fox did not like Fuller's sharp speech about Quaker ways and Quaker English, and said that Fuller ' railled against the Quakers ' ; and when Fox replied to him, Fuller was plain ' Thomas, 1 and no more. ' Thomas saith,' ' Thomas is offended,' ' Thomas is angry,' so wrote George Fox of him. Fuller was Isaak Walton's dear friend, a man after his own heart ; as fond of eels and toothsome fish as Walton himself, although Fuller was no fisherman. Samuel Pepys was a great admirer of Fuller's preaching ' good Dr. Fuller,' as he calls him once and again in that amusing diary which has only been deciphered in our day. Or suppose you had asked Samuel Taylor Coleridge, or Charles Lamb Who was Thomas Fuller ? neither of them would have long kept you in doubt as to their estimate 23 24 THE WIT AND WISDOM OF of the man. Coleridge thought him ' next to Shake- speare 1 in the power he had of exciting the sense and emotion of the marvellous. ' He was, 1 he adds, ' incom- parably the most sensible, the least prejudiced, great man in an age that boasted a galaxy of great men . . . Shakespeare, Milton, Fuller, De Foe, Hogarth ! As to the remaining mighty host of our great men, other countries have produced something like them ; but these are uniques. England may challenge the world to show a corresponding name to either of the five." 1 Such was Coleridge's opinion of the man whom he elsewhere calls ' that stout church-and-king man Tom Fuller. 1 Charles Lamb is hardly less enthusiastic in his praises, and, of course, expresses himself after his own quaint fashion. Lamb borrowed some of Fuller's books from Mr. Gilman, of Highgate, read through eagerly three big folios in as many days, and when he returned the books to Gilman, ' the golden works, 1 as he styles them, ' of the dear, fine, silly old angel, 1 he adds, ' I part from them bleeding. I shall be uneasy until I hear of Fuller's safe arrival. 1 Lamb afterwards published some ' Selections from the writings of Thomas Fuller, 1 as he wished the people generally to know something of his 'manner, 1 and in those days Fuller was only known to the curious. There can be little doubt that LamVs 'Selections 1 revived the taste for him, and if they did not make him as popular as he was in his own day, they sent many eager readers to Fuller's original writings. Fuller was born in the same year as Milton and Clarendon, 1608, three years after Gunpowder Plot. He was in after years not a little proud of his own county ' the county of spires and squires, of springs and spinsters. 1 ' I must confess myself born in Northamptonshire ; and if that county esteems me no disgrace to it, I esteem it an honour to me. 1 His father was the incumbent of St. Peter's THOMAS FULLER 25 Aldwinkle, and known in the language of the time as a ' painful ' (painstaking) preacher. Fuller's first school was in the village, kept by a certain Adam Smith, one of the humdrum class of village pedagogues, who believed in thrashing knowledge into the boys 1 heads by belabouring their backs. Lilye's grammar was then in general use ; and many years after, looking back at the discipline of Smith's school, and especially thinking of this grammar, Fuller declares, ' I was often beaten for Lilye's sake.' The shrewd, observing boy had his eyes wide open and his wits wide awake, and was getting his notions of what a good schoolmaster ought to be which Adam Smith was evidently not. ' Every boy, 1 said Fuller in later years, ' can teach a man ; whereas he must be a man who can teach a boy. It is easy to inform them who are able to understand ; but it must be a masterpiece of industry and discretion to descend to the capacity of children. 1 Fuller's father next became his teacher, and the boy prospered accordingly. His bright, frank, open ways made the father determine to train his son for the church. He acted in this respect differently from what some other fathers did in Fuller's day (of course, they never do it now). ' Some fathers, 1 said Fuller, ' be- grudge their children to God's service, reserving the straight timber for beams in other buildings, and only condemn the crooked pieces for the temple, so that what is found unfit for the city, camp, and court, not to add ship and shop, is valued as worth enough for the church. 1 Fuller's father gave the church his eldest son and his brightest. ' Old Aubrey ' who knew Hobbes, Milton, Dryden, Samuel Butler, Hooke, and others, and who delighted to treasure up scraps of information about the person, features, dress, habits, peculiarities, and sayings of such men, and always told them in his own quaint, antique style tells us one little morsel of news about 26 THE WIT AND WISDOM OF Fuller's boyhood. ' He was a boy of pregnant wit, and when his uncle the bishop (Dr. Davenant) and his father were discoursing, he would be by and hearken, and now and then put in, and sometimes beyond expectation or his years. He was of middle stature, strong set, curly hair. A very working head, insomuch that walking and meditating before dinner, he would eat up a penny loaf not knowing that he did it.' Two books were his early favourites. One was Foxe's Book of Martyrs : the other was the old Bible, the one chiefly in use before the Authorised Version was issued. The pictures in Foxe's book (it was the big folio, in black letter) were Fuller's special delight. He lingered over them until each one was burned into his memory. The lessons of the Book of Martyrs were fostered by his parents and by his mother's mother. This old lady's mother, Fuller's great-grandmother, was a favourite of Bishop Gardiner, although she was a known heretic. The bishop lodged in Farnham Castle, where she and her husband dwelt, and ' being,' as Fuller says, * of a consumptions state of body, and finding physic out of the kitchen more beneficial for him than that out of the apothecary's shop, and special comfort from the cordials she provided for him, did not only himself connive at her heresy, but also protected her during his life from the fury of others.' Fuller's grandmother remembered the old bishop, who forgave the heretic for the sake of her ' cordials ' ; and she also remembered the horrors of that dark time, and gave many telling bits of detail to her eager and open- minded grandson. Fuller, thanks to such home-training, was always a strong and sturdy Protestant. Speaking of his childhood, he says : ' I was possessed of a reverent esteem for the martyrs, as most holy and pious men, dying for the profession of the truth ; which opinion THOMAS FULLER 27 having from my parents taken quiet possession of my soul, they must be very forcible reasons which eject it.' ' Our first martyrs,' as he calls them, ' reverend Cranmer, learned Ridley, downright Latimer, zealous Bradford, pious Philpot, patient Hooper, were men who had their failings, but worthy in their generation.' Fuller's fond- ness for Foxe's book often crops out in his own writings. His other favourite book was the Bible the old Bible, with its quaint phrases, printed in black letter, and having an old-world flavour about it. Not that Fuller refused to use the Authorised Version, but he clung to the older one, just as men cling now to the Authorised Version. But two reasons inclined Fuller to look with respect on the new translation. One was, that some of his own relatives had been engaged upon it; and the other was, his pride in the pure English of his own county, the best in any shire in England, as he thought, and as philologists have since shown. ' The last transla- tion of the Bible,' says Fuller, ' which no doubt was done by those learned men in the best English, agreeth per- fectly with the common speech of our county.' Fuller himself wrote good strong Saxon English, such as could best be picked up from the common speech of the market or the shop and street. Coleridge is vehe- ment in his praise of this feature in Fuller's language, and lashes out against Dr. Nicolson, bishop of Carlisle, who had found fault with Fuller for his homely style. ' Grant me patience, Heaven ! ' writes Coleridge : ' a tithe of Fuller's beauties would be sold cheap for a whole library of our classical writers, from Addison to Dr. Johnson and Junius inclusive . . . and Bishop Nicolson is a painstaking old charwoman of the antiquarian and rubbish concern ! The venerable nest and dust of the whole firm are not worth an ounce of Fuller's earth.' Fuller knew Robert Brown, the founder of the Brownists, 28 THE WIT AND WISDOM OF and in his boyhood often walked over to Achurch to see the clergyman who, being determined to think his own thoughts and speak them, gave the authorities so much trouble. He also knew something of 'the Powder Traitors, 1 as he styles them. Indeed, Sir Francis Tres- hanVs house was only two miles from St. Peter's Aid- winkle. These two facts Achurch being on the one side, and Liveden, Sir Francis 1 place, being on the other side of his native village furnished Fuller with one of his many illustrations in praise of the moderation he loved so well. ' My nativity may mind me,' he says, ' of moderation, whose cradle was rocked between two rocks. . . . God grant that we may hit the golden mean, and endeavour to avoid all extremes the fanatic Anabaptist on the one side, and the fiery zeal of the Jesuit on the other, that so we may be true Protestants ; or, which is a far better name, real Christians indeed. 1 At the early age of twelve Fuller went to Queens 1 College, Cambridge, the college, as he often reminds us, where Erasmus studied. He was hardly an illustration of his remark about the Franciscan monks, ' who surprised many children into their order before they could well distinguish between a cap and a cowl, and who became Masters of Arts before they were masters of themselves. 1 During the seven years he was at Cambridge he worked hard, and worked with no little profit to himself. From Queens 1 he passed for a time to Sidney Sussex College, Milton's college, and where Milton then was. He was at Cambridge when Charles i. was proclaimed, and when Charles n. was born. His first literary effort was made during this period, and was an ode on the birth of the Princess Mary. His next venture was much more ambi- tious, the very title of which gives us an inkling of Fuller's fondness for alliteration. It is a poem in three books, entitled David's Hainous Sin, Hartie Repentances, THOMAS FULLER 29 and Heavie Punishment. But Fuller was no poet, although he continued to write rhymes to the end of his life. This poem is chiefly valued as his first separate work, and original copies, now very scarce, are of ex- ceptional price, and will almost fetch their weight in gold. Fuller's first preferment was a perpetual curacy at St. Bennetts, Cambridge, the parish in which Hobson lived, the jobmaster whose custom of making students take the first horse as it stood in his stables gave rise to the familiar saying, ' Hobson's choice ; that or nothing.' Hobson died of the plague whilst Fuller was curate ; and although the whole body of students fled from Cam- bridge when the plague broke out, Fuller bravely stuck to his post. Fuller's bishop uncle tried hard to get his nephew a fellowship, but failed. He, however, made him prebend of Salisbury, and secured him the rectory of Broad Windsor, Dorset. Here Fuller settled down as a country parson, but with all manner of literary projects in his head. His advice to persons about to marry is pithy and to the point : ' Take the daughter of a good mother.' Fuller acted on his own advice. Soon after his marriage he published his History of the Holy Wars, a misleading title, since it is a history of the Crusades. The book brought him some fame, and first revealed the character of his mind. It is learned, but not pedantic, shows great narrative power, is marked by his well-known quaint- nesses, drollery, alliteration, and fondness for antitheses. Here is a bit about Turkey, which was written more than two centuries and a half ago, and yet is scarcely antiquated : ' The Turk's head is less than his turbant, and his turbant less than it seemeth ; swelling without, hollow within. If more seriously it be considered, this State cannot be strong which is a pure and absolute 30 THE WIT AND WISDOM OF tyranny. His subjects under him have nothing certain but this that they have nothing certain, and may thank the Grand Signor for giving them whatsoever he taketh not away from them. . . . We have just cause to hope that the fall of this unwieldy empire doth approach. It was high noon with it fifty years ago. We hope now it draweth near night. . . . Heaven can as easily blast an oak as trample a mushroom, and we may expect the ruin of this great empire will come, for of late it hath little increased its stock, and now beginneth to spend its principal. 1 This book, Fuller's first ambitious effort, fully justifies Coleridge"^ remark about the entertaining character of Fuller's books. Every few sentences there is something worth remembering, either from the terseness of the style, from its droll humour, or from its unexpectedness. Here are a few passages in illustration. 'The best way to keep great princes together is to keep them asunder. 1 'Charity's eyes must be open as well as her hands. 1 ' Slander quicker than martial law arraigneth, con- demneth, and executeth all in an instant. 1 ' Mariners 1 vows end with the tempest. 1 'It is charity to lend a crutch to a lame conceit. 1 ' No opinion is so monstrous but if it had a mother it will get a nurse. 1 But whilst Fuller's Holy War was gaining great popularity for its author, another war was fast approach- ing, the war between Charles i. and his subjects. The mutterings of the tempest were already heard even in so remote a district as Broad Windsor. The Short Parlia- ment had been called, and at the same time Convocation assembled. After the noise about the ship-money, the affairs of the nation were fast rushing to chaos. Fuller's only son was born in 1640, and a few months later his wife died, and he left Broad Windsor for London. He took with him the MS. of a book partly finished, THOMAS FULLER 31 namely, The Holy and Profane State, but its publica- tion was delayed through the sudden pressure of work thrust upon the printing-offices. It came out, however, in 1641, and at once won great popularity. The book itself consists of moral essays, as full of good sense and wit as they can hold, and short biographies of such men and women as Fuller thinks best illustrate the subject of the essays. For example, we have an essay on ' The good wife, 1 followed by a brief life of Monica, the mother of St. Augustine ; ' The good husband,' followed by a life of Abraham ; together with essays on parents, children, masters, servants, widows, and virgins, each followed by some examples. The second book deals with general characters : those outside the home circle, as the good advocate, the good physician, the true church antiquary, the good parishioner, patron, landlord, schoolmaster, merchant, soldier, sea- captain, herald, yeoman, and others. The third book consists of miscellaneous essays like those of Lord Bacon, which touch on hospitality, jesting, self-praise, travelling, company, building, anger, memory, recreation, and many others. The fourth book is chiefly composed of short biogra- phies, of which Cardinal Wolsey, Lord Burleigh, Gus- tavus Adolphus, Queen Elizabeth, and the Black Prince are the chief. These four books are the ' Holy State.' The fifth, and the briefest, is the ' Profane State, 1 and contains essays and biographies of witches, hypocrites, harlots, liars, traitors, and tyrants. The Holy and Profane State belonged to a class of literature very popular in the seventeenth century ; as, for example, Bacon's Essays, Bishop Hall's Characteristics of Virtues and Vices, and Overbury's Characters. The grow- 32 THE WIT AND WISDOM OF ing seriousness of the English people at the time gave these books great attraction, and filled the place once occupied by romances. It would swell this paper to undue length to quote a thousandth part of the felicitous and pithy sayings in this book. They are in Fuller's happiest vein, and are as witty, and punning, and wise as anything he ever wrote. Here are a few. Monica, who did not live long after Augustine's conversion, leads Fuller to remark, ' God sends His servants to bed when they have done their work. 1 ' A father that whipped his son for swearing, and swore himself whilst he whipped him, did more harm by his example than good by his correction. 1 ' They that marry where they do not love, will love where they do not marry. 1 ' He lives long that lives well ; and time misspent is not lived but lost ; God is better than His promise, if he takes from him a long lease, and gives him a freehold of greater value. 1 Hypo- crites are described as ' fools who, to persuade men that angels lodge in their hearts, hang out the devil for a sign in their faces. 1 ' Physicians, 1 he says, ' are like beer best when they are old ; and lawyers, like bread, when young and new. 1 ' Reasons, 1 we are told, ' are the pillars of the fabric ; similitudes are the windows which give the best light. 1 ' It is a shame, 1 says Fuller, ' when the church itself is ccemeterium (a sleeping-place), when the living sleep above the ground, and the dead beneath. 1 ' God is not so hard a Master but that He alloweth His servants sauce (besides hunger) to eat with their meat. 1 * It is difficult for gleaners, without stealing whole sheaves, to fill a barn. 1 ' It is cruelty to beat a cripple with his crutches (scoff not at natural defects). Mock not a cobbler for his black thumbs. 1 This is a fine piece of terse wisdom : ' He that falls into sin is a man ; he that grieves at it is a saint ; he that boasteth of it is a devil. 1 Here is a motto that might be written on every work- THOMAS FULLER 33 room wall and in every house : ' Air is a dish one feeds on every minute, and therefore it need be good.' About memory he has some quaint remarks : * Moderate diet and good air best preserve memory. But what air is best I dare not define, when such great ones differ. Some say a pure and subtle air is best : another commends a thick and foggy air. For the Pisans, sited (situated) in the fens and marshes of Arnus, have excellent memories, as if the foggy air were a cap for their heads. 1 ' Fine words with nothing in them are like Irish mountains with bog at the top. 1 Surely that would be no unsuitable rejoin- der to those who are merely taken with what they call ' beautiful language. 1 This is an odd conceit about the pyramids : ' The pyramids, doting with age, have for- gotten the age of their founders. 1 This is Fuller's advice to plain people : ' Be glad that thy clay cottage hath the necessary rooms, though the outside be not so fair plastered as some others. 1 This about contentment is very shrewd : ' Contentment consists, not in adding more fuel, but in taking away some fire. 1 And the quaintness of this : ' They that marry ancient people merely in ex- pectation to bury them, hang themselves in hope that one will come and cut down the halter. 1 Surely none but Fuller would have hit upon this odd simile about fame : ' Fame hath much of a scold in her : the best way to silence her is to be silent, and then at last she will be out of breath blowing her own trumpet. 1 Of garrulous country people he says : ' Country-folk in court cannot give evidence about a hen, but they must begin with it in the egg. 1 This also is shrewd : * Men have a touch- stone whereby they try gold ; but gold is a touchstone whereby to try men. 1 And this : ' Sincerity is an entire thing in itself; hypocrisy consisteth of several parts cunningly closed together. 1 TindaFs being in a room, we are told, hindered a juggler from playing his feats ; c 34 THE WIT AND WISDOM OF on which Fuller remarks : ' A saint's presence stops the devil's elbow-room to do his tricks. 1 ' Justice is a kind of mercy, 1 but, adds Fuller, ' God grant that my portion of mercy be not paid me in that coin. 1 Speaking of extreme measures as needful in extreme cases, he adds : ' Hot waters may be good to be given in a swoon, but they will burn his heart out who drinks them constantly when in health. 1 This is a sound bit of advice : ' To use force first, before people are fairly taught the truth, is to knock a nail into a board without wimbling a hole for it, which then either not enters, or turns crooked, or splits the wood it pierceth. 1 Here is another homely simile on the men who dismiss their old servants when worn out : ' How many throw away those dry bones out of which themselves have sucked the marrow ! 1 Speaking of men who are compelled to wait wearily on the favour- ites of court, he says : * How whilst their heels cool, their hearts do burn I 1 Here is an odd turn to the injunction ' Let not the sun go down on your wrath ' : ' Do not understand the apostle so literally that we may take leave to be angry till sunset ; then might our wrath lengthen with the days ; and men in Greenland, where day lasts above a quarter of a year, have plentiful scope of revenge. 1 And here is another counsel : ' Give not place to the devil. Why should we make room for him who will crowd in too fast of himself? Heat of passion makes our souls to chap, and the devil creeps in at the crannies. 1 But enough of quotations for the present. Let us come back to the author of these homely and witty sayings. Fuller on coming to London became minister of the Savoy chapel, grew popular with the courtiers, and in later days received many kindnesses from men whose acquaintance he then made. ' The distractions of this age, 1 of which he speaks in the preface to the Holy THOMAS FULLER 35 and Profane State , were daily waxing greater. Fuller was still minister of the Savoy when Charles attempted to arrest the five members, when the King raised his standard at Nottingham, and when with the battle of Edgehill the Civil War had actually begun. The politi- cal influence of the London pulpits at this time was very great perhaps never greater. Gradually Parliament, knowing this, had filled most of them with their own adherents. But Fuller was still allowed to keep his post, although he was known to be a staunch Royalist. He was strongly desirous to secure peace ; but he felt that the greatest hindrances to peace were the national sins. He laboured, both in public and private, to heal the breach which was daily widening; and in March 1643 took the bold step of preaching in Westminster Abbey (by permission of the Dean and Chapter) on the duties of submission, from the text: 'Yea, let him take all, for as much as my lord the King has come again in peace unto his own house/ Fuller's stay in London was imperilled by this sermon, which certainly leaned more to the King than to the Parliament. Waller's Plot, and the stringent measures afterwards adopted in London, made it difficult for Royalists of known repute to remain. Fuller's sermons in the Savoy also began to draw the attention of Parliament on himself. He refused, with- out certain reservations, to sign the Solemn League and Covenant, and at length fled to the King at Oxford. Matters were not much mended for Fuller by his flight. Of course Parliament seized his books and papers, and appointed another preacher at the Savoy. That was inevitable. But what Fuller hardly expected was his cool reception at Oxford. He was suspected by hot Royalists of being a trimmer, and a sermon he preached soon after his arrival did not remove this suspicion. Fuller had a large and brilliant assembly to hear him 36 THE WIT AND WISDOM OF in St. Mary's; but he was no fiery Hugh Peters. He was rather a son of consolation. With all the force of strong conviction he counselled moderation, and did not disguise his desire for peace, and had the boldness to rebuke the shameless lives of some of the Cavaliers. This plain speaking was not to the taste of men who were full of fight, and also conscious of their moral delinquencies. The courtiers deemed the tone of the sermon 'ill-judged,' 1 and Fuller was literally 'cold-shouldered 1 by his party nay, more, from ease and plenty he was reduced to comparative want. Lincoln College had hitherto been his home ; but the cost of living was fast wasting his little substance. As Royalists thought him lukewarm, he at once resolved to show of what stuff he was made, and offered himself as chaplain to Sir Ralph Hopton, one of the King's generals, then in Oxford, and was accepted. Fuller tells us that ' for the first five years during our actual civil wars, I had little list or leisure to write, fearing to be made a history, and shifting daily for my safety. All that time I could not live to study, who did only study to live. 1 But in this remark Fuller does himself an injustice. He was far from idle. As Sir Ralph Hopton moved from place to place, the Cavalier parson filled up his odd moments by collecting material for his History of' the Worthies of' England. No one knew better than he how to worm out local traditions from village patriarchs, or to glean from their rambling talk a solitary fact ; the private papers of county families were freely put at his disposal ; and no church monument which had anything to tell, no old brass but was carefully noted. The materials, although of a very medley kind, were first put into some sort of Fullerian shape in after years; but the book itself was not published until after his death. THOMAS FULLER 37 Fuller was in Basing House when that place was besieged by Waller. When the Royalists were driven out of Cornwall, he sought a refuge in Exeter. Here he published one of his best-known books, namely, Good Thoughts in Bad Times, consisting, as the title-page tells us, of ' personal meditations, Scripture observations, historical applications, and mixed contemplations. 1 Grave as the book is, it is grave after Fuller's manner. In one meditation he speaks of himself as being in danger, ' on the brink of the brink of it, yet fell not in. They are well kept," 1 he adds, ' who are kept by God/ In another he prays : ' Lord, teach me the art of patience when I am well, and give me the use of it when I am sick. In that day either lighten my burden, or strengthen my back. 1 In a third he thus speaks of his voice: 'Lord, my voice by nature is harsh and untuneable. Can my singing of psalms be pleasing to Thy ears which is unpleasing to my own ? Yet though I cannot chant with the nightingale or chirp with the blackbird, I had rather chatter with the swallow, yea, rather croak with the raven, than be altogether silent. 1 In this passage Fuller has, through his love of alliteration, been betrayed into two inaccuracies rather surprising in one bred in the country. The sweet, mellow note of the blackbird is certainly no ' chirp, 1 nor is the swallow's note rightly described as a ' chatter. 1 In another meditation, written at home, and for home- staying folk on the Sunday, he prays : ' Lord, Thy servants are now praying in the church, and I am staying at home, detained by necessary occasions. Be pleased to send me a dish of their meat hither, and feed my soul with holy thoughts. 1 In one meditation, with a fine and noble spirit, he desires that ' he may make other men^ gifts his own by being thankful for them. 1 He elsewhere asks to be saved from bad company, or from its infection, if in it, ' that bad company may make him better for their 38 THE WIT AND WISDOM OF badness, like the dirt of oysters, whose mud hath soap in it, and doth rather scour than defile. 1 Some men were straining the parables beyond their obvious meaning, and he desires that he ' may never rack a Scripture beyond the true intent thereof, lest, instead of sucking milk, I squeeze blood out of it." 1 He gives a sly thrust at the habits of the soldiers in the King's army by means of a tale. Some simpleton, who was about to measure swords with another, gauged the valour of his antagonist by the greatness of his appetite. ' If, 1 says Fuller, ' by the standard of their cups, and the measure of their drinking, one might truly infer soldiers 1 strength by rules of proportion, most vast and valiant achievements may justly be expected from some gallants of these times. 1 The whole of the two hundred brief medita- tions are full of choice sayings, odd similes, witty turns of phrase, puns, piety, and wisdom. When Exeter was taken by the Roundheads, Fuller was permitted to go free on certain honourable condi- tions conditions which saved him from much subsequent annoyance. He at once went to London. It was a sorrowful journey, and not without its perils. Wayfarers fared hard, and Fuller was now little better than a wayfarer. He passed near his old peaceful country home, not without longings for quieter days; passed Basing House, now a ruin ; and when he reached London, so changed had everything become, that he was thankful for a lodging in Williams 1 house, the publisher of his books. A little fund, the balance of Williams 1 sales of his books, was a welcome discovery to a nearly penniless man. Fuller now found the truth of his own words: ' Protestants in some kind serve their living ministers as Papists their dead saints. For aged pastors, who have borne the heat of the day in the church, are jostled out of respect by young preachers not half their THOMAS FULLER 39 age nor a quarter of their learning and religion. Yet let not the former be disheartened, for thus it ever was and will be English Athenians, all for novelties new sects, new schisms, new doctrines, new discipline, new prayers, new preachers. 1 Fuller obtained a composition for his estate from the committee appointed by Parliament ; but was many months silent, no pulpit being open to him. Not that Fuller was idle : he never was. If he could not use his tongue his pen was busy ; and out came at this period AndronicuS) Good Thought* in Worse Times, and some other books, one of which tells us that Fuller has made up his mind to reach men 1 s hearts by his pen as he cannot reach them from his pulpit. A year later he got the lectureship of St. Clement's, Eastcheap, where he preached every Wednesday afternoon, and also preached occasionally at St. Dunstan's, East. It was at this last church that Fuller gave that quick retort to a teacher of mnemonics a ' memory mountebank, 1 as he calls him. ' When I came out of the pulpit of St. Dunstan's, East, one told me in the vestry before credible people that he, in Sidney College, had taught me the art of memory. I returned him that it was not so, for I could not remember that I had ever seen his face; which I con- ceive was a real refutation. 1 Fuller's memory was very tenacious, and as remarkable as Macaulay's. At that time London streets were filled with signs ' blue boars, black swans, red lyons, 1 not to mention 'flying pigs, and hogs in armour, with other creations more extraordinary than any in Africa. 1 Fuller, if he had once walked from the Royal Exchange to Temple Bar, could tell all the signs over the shops, either backward or forward. It is said that he had the curious habit of only writing the first and last words in a line in his pulpit MS. What Fuller thought of aids 40 THE WIT AND WISDOM OF to memory may be gathered from his essay on memory from which I have already quoted. ' Artificial memory is rather a trick than an art,' he says, ' and more for the gain of the teacher than the profit of the learners.' In regard to memory itself he says : ' Observe these plain rules : First, soundly infix in the mind what thou desirest to remember. Then, overburden not thy memory, to make so faithful a servant a slave. 1 Again : ' Spoil not thy memory by thine own jealousy, nor make it bad by suspecting it. Marshal thy notions into a handsome method. Adventure not all thy learning in one bottom, best divide it betwixt thy memory and thy note-books. 1 In regard to ' handsome methods of marshalling notions, 1 Fuller says : ' One will carry twice more weight trussed and packed up in bundles, than when it lies untowardly flapping and hanging about his shoulders. Things orderly folded up under heads are most portable.' Fuller's preaching in London was now of short dura- tion. The beheading of the King filled him with un- utterable grief. He was a staunch Royalist to the last, and would not credit the too patent proofs of the King's duplicity. He was ' dazzled with the lustre of majesty.' Indeed, to Fuller a king was more than ' the Lord's anointed.' He was, as he tells us, ' a mortal God.' The panegyric of Charles i., read by the light of modern researches, makes Fuller's flattery sound hollow and monumental ; and yet Fuller was a true man, and did not believe that Charles i. could do any wrong. For some years Fuller now became a wandering, if not a homeless, divine. In 1649 the Earl of Carlisle pre- sented him with the living of Waltham Holy Cross, and made him his chaplain. Another earl, the Earl of Manchester, gave Fuller a timely and generous gift, namely, the good library of the late earl. Once more Fuller was surrounded with his beloved books, and worked THOMAS FULLER 41 away with a will. A severe attack of smallpox nearly cost him his life. ' Under God/ he says, ' I owe my life to saffron, a most admirable cordial/ It was whilst at Waltham that Fuller wrote and com- pleted one of his most characteristic books, known as A Pisgah- Sight of Palestine, and the Confines thereof', with the History of the Old and Neiv Testament acted thereon (1650). It is divided into five books, and is full of entertainment. He first gives a general description of Judea ; then notices the twelve tribes and their lots ; Jerusalem and the temple ; the surrounding nations, and closes with one on miscellaneous topics. The book bears abundant proof of Fuller's love of the Bible, exact knowledge of every part, and acquaintance with the existing literature on the subject. The maps are a great curiosity, and the reasons he assigns for the mistakes made by the engravers in some of the illustra- tions are full of odd humour and whimsical excuses. If he cannot himself be quite sure where any town should be placed on the map, and one' authority says it is here, and another there, Fuller tells us that he has ' pitched upon a middle number betwixt them both. 1 If the place of the altar of Ed is doubtful, Fuller puts two altars on the map, ' one on each side of the river," adding, that he 'leaves it to the discretion of the judicious reader to accept or to refuse which he pleaseth ! ' If he cannot quite decide himself where some particular site should be placed on his maps, he sticks up flags, to show that the site is conjectural, 'one side of which flags humbly confesseth our want of certainty ; the other as earnestly craveth better information.'' He also expresses his wish to be set right by the reader, to whom he will give his thanks, ' or else let him conclude my face of the same metal with the plates of these maps ! 1 He discovers that the engraver has made the faces of the spies bearing 42 THE WIT AND WISDOM OF the bunches of grapes from Eshcol look the wrong way : ' for being to go south-east to Kadesh-Barnea, they look full west to the Mediterranean Sea ' ; and this is how he excuses the mistake : ' It was proper for the spies, like watermen and rope-makers, for surety's sake, to look one way and work another.' He uses the same simile when describing the clergy in King John's day (would it not also do for some in our day ?) : ' They look at London, but row to Rome : they carry Italian hearts in English bodies. 1 No other writer save Fuller would have lighted up dry details with the same humour, or have shown such ready wit in discoursing on familiar themes. The Plsgah- Sight is crammed full of good sense, and although now utterly superseded, is not without its own advantages. Dr. Lightfoot, the learned Hebraist, was meditating a book on the same subject ; but wisely let meditating serve when he heard that his old friend Dr. Fuller had published this book. The motto put by the writer on the title-page is Ager Fullonum (Fullers' Field). A few examples of Fuller's wit and wisdom in this book must suffice. ' Nain : the place where our Saviour raised the widow's son, so that she was twice a mother, yet she had but one child. 1 ' Aphek : whose walls falling down gave both death and gravestones to 27,000 of Benhadad's soldiers. 1 ' Gilgal : where the manna ceased, the Israelites till then having been fellow-commoners with the angels. 1 ' Gibeon : whose inhabitants cozened Joshua with a pass of false-dated antiquity. Who would have thought that clouted shoes would have covered so much subtilty ? ' ' Gaza : the gates whereof Samson carried away ; and being sent for to make sport in the House of Dagon, acted such a tragedy as pluckt down the stage, slew himself, and all the spectators.' ' Edrei : the city of Og, on whose giant-like proportions the THOMAS FULLER 43 Rabbis have more giant-like lies. 1 ' Pisgah : where Moses viewed the land ; hereabouts the angel buried him, and also the grave, lest it should occasion idolatry. 1 After the issue of this book, Fuller set to work on another, or rather shared in its composition. This was Abel Redivivus. Some few biographies in it are added by other persons ; but it is not difficult to pick out Fuller's work. This, for example, about the three rival popes, is Fuller all over : ' A schism happened in the Church of Rome betwixt three popes, at the same time, so that Peter's chair was like to be broken betwixt so many sitting down together ! ' Fuller's Church History of Britain was his next and largest book, and some think his best. It had long been promised, but until his quiet home at Waltham offered him leisure to complete it, was again and again delayed. One of his rhyming friends twitted him with these repeated delays, and thus wrote on the issue of A Pisgah- Sight : ' Fuller of wish than hope, methinks it is, For me t' expect a fuller book than this ; Fuller of matter, fuller of rich sense, Fuller of art, fuller of eloquence ; Yet dare I not be bold to entitle this The fullest book : the author Fuller is, Who though he empty not himself, can fill Another fuller, yet continue still Fuller himself, and so the reader be Always in hope a fuller work to see.' One curious fact comes out in regard to the publication of Fuller's Church History. It is this : that so small was the stock of printer's type in one or two of the offices, that it required the joint efforts of several to bring the book out. Hence the original edition is printed in different types, and was set up in different offices. 44 THE WIT AND WISDOM OF It is a mistake, however, to call this book a History, for history it is not. The book consists of any number of odd paragraphs, put in a method of his own, allowing him ample room and verge enough for odd illustrations, amusing stories, gossiping digressions, sly pokes at the commonwealth and its upholders, and perpetual rambling. As with all his other books, you are sure to find before you have read very far something amusing. You read on protesting against such a book being called a History, only to find more fun, more digressions, more punning, more laughable stories, with here and there sententious wisdom that would have made the fortune of half a dozen ' Poor Richards.' He was determined to be read ; and he succeeded, and thus dropped many seeds of truth into minds that would have turned away from a sober History. In 1658 Fuller left Waltham Abbey for Cranford, Hounslow Heath, the living being presented to him by Lord Berkley, an ardent Royalist, and a great befriender in those days of Royalist clergymen. At Cranford, Fuller, a second time a married man, applied himself anew to his books, was often in London, did not a little to prepare the way for the Restoration by some pamphlets, and was one of the party that waited on Charles n. at the Hague. His panegyric on Charles n. was written before that dissolute and shameless monarch had shown himself in his true colours, or one might have doubted Fuller's discernment and even probity. Think of a clergyman writing of such a man as we know him to have been : ' Though your eyes were with all objects filled, Only the good into your soul distilled ' ! Or think of a clergyman writing such words as these of that libertine : THOMAS FULLER 45 ' Long live our gracious Charles, second to none In honour, whoe'er sate upon the throne. Be you above your ancestors renowned, Whose goodness wisely doth your greatness bound ; And knowing that you may be what you would, Are pleased to be only what you should ' ! After a long string of similar lines, as limping and as laudatory, he suddenly breaks off and says : ' Here my muse craves her own Nunc Dimittis, never to make verses more ; and because she cannot write on a better, will not write on another occasion. 11 The Worthies of England, the book in which this rubbish is found, was left in MS. when he died. Fuller did not live long after the Restoration. He caught cold in Salisbury, was taken with fever whilst preaching in the Savoy chapel, had with great reluctance a sedan chair to take him to his lodgings in Covent Garden, and according to the wretched system of the day was at once bled, and speedily sank. Charles u. had made him one of his chaplains, and would have made him a bishop ; but Fuller was taken from the evil days which followed, as well as from the promised but not coveted honour. Of his last book, The History of the Worthies of England, a few words only. The book is a sort of scamper through the counties of England and Wales, the counties being taken in alphabetical order. Besides the chief people who have lived in each county, princes, saints, writers, soldiers, statesmen, he gives a list of the men who have been Lord Mayor, the gentry of the county, and the sheriffs. He also dilates on the manufactures of the county, its medicinal waters, wonders, buildings, local proverbs, medicinal herbs, and ends each division with a ' farewell, 1 in which he wishes that the county may hereafter possess some excellence of which it is now thought to be deficient. Like all his other historical 46 THE WIT AND WISDOM OF books, it is an amusing compound of fact, fiction, gossip, brief biographies, and perpetual fencing with the reader. Berkshire is the first county in the series, and the proverb about the Vicar of Bray is, he tells us, the sole proverb of the county. A string of wise and witty say- ings, with the true Fullerian flavour, might easily be culled from the whole book. Here are a few : ' None will pinch themselves so as to fetch blood, but others may." ' The ancient Britons, who went without clothes, may well be presumed to live without physic.' ' Many see the oak when grown, whilst few remember the acorn when set. 1 ' It is better that ten drones be fed than one bee famished. 1 ' Some love not a rose of another's gathering, but delight to pluck it for themselves/ ' Pigeons keep no Lent of seven weeks in the year, betwixt the going out of the old and the coming up of the new grain/ He tells the Northampton people, who were then, as now, famous for the manufacture of shoes, that ' their town may be said to stand on other people's legs ' ; and the people in Corn- wall, that because they find tin in the earth, ' God rains meat, and gives dishes too. 1 Speaking of the six wives of Henry vm. he says : ' Such as desire to know the names, number, and success of the six may conceive King Henry thus speaking on his deathbed : ' " Three Kates, two Nans, and one dear Jane I wedded, One Spanish, one Dutch, and four English wives ; From two I was divorced, two I beheaded, One died in childbed, and one me survives." ' He was a shrewd observer of some of the doings of his Protestant friends, and knew how to satirise them in a kindly spirit, as this remark of his on their ostentatious meanness at church collections will show: 'I have observed some at the church door cast in sixpence with such ostentation, that it rebounded from the bottom, and THOMAS FULLER 47 rung against both sides of the basin (so that the same piece of silver was both the alms and the giver's trumpet), whilst others have dropped down five shillings without any noise. ' Fuller's wit is always genial. It flashes but does not scorch. Now he plays upon a word ; now he brings in some pat allusion to a well-known story ; now he shows an adroit use of a common saying; now he is tartly ironical ; now he affects simplicity ; now he hits upon an odd similitude ; and now indulges in a quirkish reason. Fuller might have sat for Isaac Barrow's definition of wit for in all the points we have quoted he was simply without a rival. Who besides Fuller would have said that the reason the apostle first advised women to submit themselves to their husbands, and then counselled the husbands to love their wives, was this : ' That it was fittest that women should first have their lesson given to them, because it was hardest to be learned, and therefore they would have the more time to con it ' ? Who besides Fuller would have found lessons in the genealogy of Christ given in the Gospel by the evangelist Matthew, finding that bad fathers had bad sons, bad fathers good sons, and good fathers bad sons, and then saying : * I see thence my father's piety cannot be entailed ; that 's bad news for me : but I see also that actual impiety is not always hereditary ; that's good news for my son. 1 Or again, what but wit and wisdom interblent would have drawn that lesson from the apostle John getting the apostle Peter into the hall of the High Priest ? ( John spoke to the maid that kept the door, and got admission for Peter. John meant to let him out of the cold, and not to let him into tempta- tion. I pray I may never let my kindness damage my friend.' Fuller speaks of the bald style of the school- men as bald by design, ' lest any of the vermin of equi- vocation should hide themselves under the nap of their 48 THE WIT AND WISDOM OF words.' ' Philosophers, 1 he says, ' place memory at the rear of their heads it seems that the mine of memory is there, because there men naturally dig for it, scratching it when they are at a loss. 1 When told that Merlin brought Stonehenge from Ireland through the air, Fuller exclaims, ' What ! in Charles's Wain ? ' Wit was not so much an accident with Fuller as the very stuff and substance of his intellect. Many-sided, natural, innocent, never irreverent, it is sometimes in excess. And yet he himself knew how to rebuke his own habit. 'It is good to make a jest,' he says, 'but not to make a trade of jesting. Harmless mirth is the best cordial against the consumption of the spirits ; wherefore jesting is not unlawful, if it trespasseth not in quantity, quality, or season. 1 'Wanton jests, 1 he says, ' make fools laugh and wise men frown. 1 There is not a wanton jest to be found in the whole of his many books. Fuller's judgment was often at fault; but when not biassed by his loyalty, was shrewd and in the best sense worldly-wise. He talks a good deal about fish, flesh, and fowl in one of his books ; thinks trout pleasant, salmon dainty, and eels also, but especially silver eels ; and wishes ' eels loved men as much as men loved them ' ; and yet two meals a day sufficed him. His last book shows boyish fondness for wonders ; but in spite of this, he had a strong vein of practical common-sense. Genial as a companion, true as a friend, earnest as a Christian, sagacious and entertaining as a writer, it will be no credit to his countrymen if they willingly let the name of Thomas Fuller sink below the horizon and be quietly forgotten. This mirth-loving divine shows us that all was not so grim during that terrible convulsion of the great Civil War, and makes it possible for the descendants both of ancient Cavaliers and Roundheads to blend their voices in honouring his name. WORK AND PLAY ' Genuine WORK alone, what thou workest faithfully, that is eternal, as the Almighty Founder and World- Builder himself. Stand thou by that ; and let Fame and the rest of it go prating.' ' Blessed is he who has found his work ; let him ask no other blessedness. He has a work, a life-purpose ; he has found it, and will follow it ! ' CARLYLE, Past and Present. ' Refresh that part of thyself which is most wearied. If thy life be sedentary, exercise thy body ; if stirring and active, recreate thy mind. But take heed of cozening thy mind, in setting it to do a double task, under pretence of giving it a play-day, as in the labyrinth of chess, and other tedious and studious games.' THOMAS FULLER, Holy and Profane State. WORK AND PLAY (DELIVERED AT A WORKING MEN'S INSTITUTE) SYDNEY SMITH had a great notion of an Englishman's fondness for work. ' If,' said he, ' the English were in a Paradise where everything grew without cultivation, they would continue to dig and plough, though they were never a peach or a pineapple the better for it.' There is a grain of truth in this saying ; and for this reason it points to the necessity for work, which most Englishmen are soon made to understand. Unless you are born with ' a silver spoon in your mouth,' to work you must go, in order to earn even a wooden spoon to eat with. There is no country under the sun where there are so many rich men as in England ; but even they work in their way. There is what is called ' sport,' to which rich men are very prone ; and yet no mistake could be greater than to suppose that ' sport ' is the same thing as ' play.' It is often a very serious and fatiguing business. Sydney Smith declared that the genuine English country gentle- man, as soon as he had swallowed his breakfast, said to his guests, ' Let us go out and kill something.' If your man carries your gun and loads it for you you fire it off yourself: and wandering about through stubble-fields and lank damp grass for hours at a stretch, is a toil of a pleasure. You don't mend matters much if you get astride a horse, and rush madly after a poor wretched fox, especially if you get the usual chapter of accidents 51 52 WORK AND PLAY that belong to the hunting-field a leap over a five- barred gate that sends you flying from your saddle like a stone from a catapult, or a jump over a treacherous fence that lands you and your horse, not on solid ground, but in a dirty pond, where you flounder up to the arm-pits covered with mud and duckweed. The wretched stiffness after all this walking or riding in pursuit of ' sport,' no poor man ever suffers from, although he may have done a hard day's work. And then the balls, the evening parties, and dinners, to say nothing of other amusements of fashionable people what can be harder work ? All this, and much more like it, led an English gentleman (Sir G. Cornewall Lewis) to utter that sarcastic saying : ' Life would be very tolerable but for its pleasures.' A man must work if he wishes to keep his body healthy. ' Doctor,' said a lazy and well-fed citizen to the famous Abernethy, ' pray tell me what is a cure for the gout ? ' What was the doctor's reply ? ' Live on sixpence a day, Tind earn it ! ' Many of the complaints of ' well-to-do people ' never trouble the man who works for his living. With muscles innumerable, with all manner of joints and hinges about us ; with ducts here and ducts there ; with a great breathing apparatus, called the lungs ; and with a fire within that needs keeping up unless a man takes some kind of physical work, he will soon be full of aches and pains which no doctor can cure. But we are not all stomach and lungs. We have at least some of us have minds. You can't keep your mind healthy without work ; and the more you use any part of it, in moderation, the more you may. It is a great mis- take to suppose that work kills men. It is not work, but worry. One of the commonest delusions of business men is, that they will work on up to a certain point, until they have gathered a particular amount, and then they will take their ease 'eat, drink, and be merry.' But unless a WORK AND PLAY 53 man has used his mind, has been something else than a mere business machine, when he ' retires ' life will become a burden to him. The dullest man I ever knew was a retired linen-draper whose mind never soared above his yard-measure. He walked up the town streets and down them, so many hours a day, stopped sometimes before his old shop windows to see them ' dressed,' and then walked away with a sigh. I have been told on good authority, that at home he was bored with everything, and found comfort in nothing, and all for want of mental cultiva- tion. Another man of this stamp, of whom I once heard, was a retired tea-merchant in the city. All his life he had lived within sound of Bow Bells, until the day when he bought a small farm, and began to think of living in the country. He sold his business, began to build a fine house on his estate, with stables, vineries, and the rest. As soon as the house was ready, off he went to it, and thought, ' Now I am going to enjoy life.' As long as he found any occupation about the house and grounds the time passed merrily ; but at length the moment came when everything was in 'apple-pie 1 order: pictures all right, furniture all right, gardens all right, green-houses, stable, and the rest all right. There was positively nothing left for him to do. He could not read a book. He had no taste for politics. Newspapers ceased to interest him after he had seen whether the markets were 'steady' or 'lively.' He sighed, like the linen-draper; but he was a wiser man. Without saying a word to his wife, he drove off to London in his carriage, saw in his private room the gentleman to whom he had sold his business, told his tale, begged as a favour to be allowed, without salary, to come for three hours a day to his old place in the counting-house, had his wish granted, and regularly drove in to town every day to his work. Life was unbearable until he again found something to do. 54 WORK AND PLAY In fact, this man's case shows the advantage of what are called ' hobbies.' If he had had a hobby liked to fatten rabbits, feed white mice, grow cabbages, or tulips, or roses, was fond of any of the ' ologies ' no matter which his leisure from business would not have proved such a burden to him. He might then have cantered about on his ' hobby-horse,' morning, noon, and night, happier than a king. As to the varieties of work, every year seems to multiply their number. I once spent a pleasant hour or two in a pin manufactory, and was there enlightened as to the number of trades that were concerned in making so common a thing as a pin. Just think of them : There were the miners, who got the ores of which the brass was made out of the earth, all the machinery used in making their tools and carrying on their work ; the skill of joiners, tool-makers, lamp-makers, rope-makers, coopers, and the rest. Next came the smelters, who fused the metals together ; then the wire-makers ; and then the necessary means for transmitting the wire to the pin-makers. How many processes were wanted for the pin, I am afraid to say. I saw some machines that did their work very deftly. They seized the brass wire, cut it into the required lengths, stamped a head upon it, pointed it, and then turned it out into a basket. But this was only the beginning of the process. These glittering yellow pins, nobody would buy. The next process was boiling them in huge kettles with the substance that whitens them. After they were boiled the kettles were emptied into bran, which was put out to dry. The pins, now white and silvery, were then picked out of the bran by youths and placed carefully in boxes with the heads all one way. They were then carried into the papering room, in which girls were at work. An ingenious machine cut the papers the required lengths, seized each WORK AND PLAY 55 separate paper in its teeth, drew it within the machine, stamped a double row of holes at equal distances on the paper, and forced the pins into the holes as it went on. I noticed that all the holes were not filled with pins ; but this defect was soon remedied by the hand. Now at last, after all these processes, the sheet of pins was ready for the market. The same thing happens in other trades besides pin-making. A good many varieties of labour go to make any one thing. And it is just this skilled labour which adds so much to the value of what in itself, as a bit of raw material, is of such small value. Take the hairspring of a watch as an example. How light it is ! How very small the amount of metal in it. But by the skill bestowed upon it, that little morsel has come to be worth more than its weight in gold. But here one at once sees two kinds of work work of the brain, work of the hand. The work of the brain first hit upon making springs, and then one mind after another improved upon it, until we had that most delicate bit of mechanism the hairspring of a watch. The mind devised, the hand completed. Now, I will not suppose that you are so forgetful of this fact as to say, that only that man works who uses his body. The hardest work, because it is the most exhausting, is the work of the mind. You may get too weary to sleep through great physical fatigue ; but you soon get over that. If, however, you strain your mind, you ' murder sleep. ' Learn, then, to respect workers who do not work in your way, but work every whit as hard. 'The eye cannot say unto the hand, I have no need of thee ; nor again the head to the feet, I have no need of you. 1 Brain-workers and hand-workers are as much parts of the great body of workers as the feet, the hands, and 56 WORK AND PLAY head are parts of the same human structure. Some farming friends of mine, when they came in from their ploughing and flung themselves exhausted in their big oaken chairs, used to rate their boy visitors soundly in their racy Saxon, when they chanced to see them intently reading ' What ! got your nose in a book again ! Always got your nose in a book ! ' ' Yes, 1 said a tart boy once in reply, ' but I read with my eyes, and not with my nose.' Those stalwart farmers could not read a book through if it were to save their lives ; and when, for a few seconds, they took up their weekly paper, not many minutes passed away before their noses were liter- ally in their newspapers, and various snorts and nods soon showed where they were. Things have strangely altered even with them, as I can bear witness. They have founded a village library, and some of them cannot wait for the Saturday's paper they get one every day. And surely, if anything shows the variety of work that goes to make one thing, a daily paper does ; but I must not be tempted to talk of that. One illustration is as good as a thousand, and after pin-making, one need not say another word about the variety in work. But the dignity of labour demands a word or two. The silly conceit that led men born ' in clover ' to look down on men in trade, if not dead, is dying out. 'My father drives his carriage,' said a vain boy at a public school. ' Yes,' said his companion, who was the son of a brewer, ' and my father has drays, but he lets his men drive them: he doesn't drive them himself!' This re- minds me of Brinsley Sheridan's sharper retort to the uppish son of a London physician who was his school- fellow at Harrow, and more than once taunted him with being the son of a player. Sheridan bore his taunts until he could bear them no longer, and one day when the sneer was again repeated, replied : ' Yes, I know. WORK AND PLAY 57 My father lives by pleasing people : your father lives by killing them.' Not many years ago a letter appeared in one of the London daily papers from an old Etonian, commending the editor for advising gentlemen to send their sons to business. He told the following story : ' I am one of the very few of the so-called "Upper Ten" who have taken up business. At seventeen I left school, intending to go into the diplomatic service, and went abroad for three years. Finding that I should have to wait some years for a nomination, I gave up all idea of that service, and with some difficulty got permission to enter a factory on the same footing as a common apprentice. I worked steadily for nearly three years, taking almost no holiday, and kept the usual factory hours, summer and winter, from six to six. I was then offered, and accepted, the manage- ment of a factory at =^400 a year, with the prospect of an increase. I mean to keep this for four years or so, and then take a factory myself with the few thousands I can command. Now, in what profession could I get ^400 a year at twenty-three ? I know of none. I should strongly recommend young men in my position, who are not afraid of hard work, to do the same thing. At first, it is true, it will be a hard thing to persuade the business men that the " swell " is serious, and has not taken up trade as a freak, but it is possible to do it. I enclose my card, but not for publication. ' P.S. I have no relation in trade nor any friends. 1 This shows that the old and foolish prejudice is giving way. It is surely more dignified to earn your own crust by honest toil than to saunter about in the ante-rooms of big folk, waiting, like Mr. Micawber, ' for something to turn up. 1 It is the hardest work in the world to do nothing. ' What are you doing, John ? ' Punch once made the Queen say, in one of his best cartoons, when 58 WORK AND PLAY Lord John Russell was Prime Minister, things political were at a standstill, and people were getting angry at this loitering, and said they were ' What are you doing, John ? ' What did the smug-looking little footman say ? ' Doing ? I 'm doing nothing ! ' ' And what are you doing ? ' said the Queen to another bedecked and glorious footman Lord Pam, I think. 'Doing? I'm helping John ! ' ' Sloth,' said old Isaac Barrow, ' is the argument of a mind wretchedly mean, which disposeth a man to live gratis on the public stock as an insignificant cipher among men, as a burden of the earth, as a wen of any society. ... A noble heart will disdain to subsist upon the honey gathered by others 1 labour ; like a vermin to filch its food out of the public granary ; or like a shark to prey on the lesser fry ; but will one way or other earn his subsistence ; for he that doth not earn can hardly own his bread. 1 There is dignity in toil, because it is helping a man to live honestly. But when we think what labour has done ; of all its proud achievements on land and sea ; of fields tilled, quarries dug, fabrics made, cities built, roads constructed, rivers spanned, mountains pierced, oceans crossed; how the secrets have been wrested from air and land and sea ; how year by year the domain of knowledge has been enlarged, and the lamp of science has been carried farther and farther into the surrounding dark- ness he would indeed be a bold and presumptuous man who denied to work its dignity, and sought to rob labour of its hard-earned and honourable crown. You might as well try to puff out the sun as to extinguish the triumphs of human labour. It is only the silly fopling, who flutters his idle hour in the sun, that affects to look down upon the workers as a race of inferior beings, hardly deserving a passing notice. Take from his bejewelled hand the WORK AND PLAY 59 rings that labour has fashioned ; remove from his super- cilious eye the glass which labour has ground and polished ; strip him of every particle of dress that labour has wrought, and empty his pockets of the coin that labour has smelted and stamped and chased, and what would he be ? ' Well, my good fellah," said a couple of such over-dress,ed noodles as they eyed a farm-servant busily sowing ' Well, my good fellah ! it 's your busi- ness to sow, but we reap the fruits of your labour ! ' ' Very likely you may," said Hodge, who knew them to be a couple of scapegraces ' Very likely you may ; for just now I'm sowing hemp !' Work keeps a man out of mischief. It is not on the busy days that men fall out with one another, and come from sharp words to blows, but when they are idling. A man never seems so much of a man as when he is buckling to his work, no matter what it is, so that it be honest. And a man is never so little of a man as when he is fuddling himself with drink until he does not know the lamp-post from his wife, and a great A from a bull's foot. He is ripe then for any mischief, and has about as much dignity as one of those fat prize pigs in Smith- field Show, and no more. There is only one way to excel in work, and that is, to be master of your work and like it. Men who feel that their work is beyond them, too hard for them to over- come, and who are perpetually listening for the clock to strike, will never do much good at it. The handicrafts- man who loves scamping his work above all things, and the artist who does not put his soul in his work, will never be more than commonplace and unsuccessful. It was when men were eager to finish the unseen parts of their work that art flourished ; when artists said of these hidden portions of their toil, ' The gods see it, if men do not, 1 that masterpieces were produced. Conscientious 60 WORK AND PLAY work is the only work on which men can look back with inward satisfaction. And here let me say, that unless more care is taken in what is called technical education, English workmen will by and by be beaten out of the world's market. In these days it will not do for work- men to be merely contented, like the Chinese, to do as did their fathers. They must do better. The old English eminence in the quality of the goods made is in danger of being lost in the rage for cheap goods. ' Cheap and nasty,' says one, and not without reason ; a very cheap article is always dear, and will not hold its ground against a really excellent one. Before, then, we can successfully compete with the French in finish and de- sign, our workpeople must have a better education. As for giving a man more education than his station warrants, and so unfitting him for it, the fallacy is so absurd that I have but to state it for you at once to answer it for yourselves. Ignorance is a danger, wherever it exists ; and no state can be strong and permanent that does not rest on the broad and ample foundation of intelligence and liberty. If we were like the Hindoos, and believed in caste viz., that if your father was an organ-blower, a chimney-sweep, or a cobbler, all his sons must follow in the same trade, and all his daughters be married to men in the same trade there would be some reason in this absurd notion of being educated above your calling. But Englishmen do not believe in caste ; and some of the most illustrious men show that they do not. Open the roll of England's greatest names, and what do you see ? This, that it depends upon a man's self what he is to be, and not on what his father was. Look at your poets. Pope was the son of a draper, Butler of a farmer, Collins of a hatter, Beattie of a small shopkeeper, Akenside of a butcher, Cowley of a grocer, Keats of a livery-stable keeper, Chatterton of a sexton, WORK AND PLAY 61 Blomfield of a tailor, Ramsay of a miner, Kirke White of a butcher, Falconer of a barber, Burns of a gardener, Hogg of a shepherd, Hood of a publisher, Ben Jonson of a minister, Milton of a scrivener, and Shakespeare the son of a glover, or a butcher, or a poor wood-merchant, who had to make his mark because he could not sign his name. Look at your artists, and you see the same thing. Sir Thomas Lawrence was the son of an innkeeper, Etty of a gingerbread baker, Haydon of a wheelwright, Chantrey of a milkseller, Turner of a hairdresser. If you turn to celebrated authors and men of learning, you have precisely the same testimony. Blackstone was the son of a draper, Defoe of a butcher, Richardson of a joiner, Person of a parish clerk, Foster of a weaver, Eldon of a small shopkeeper, and Dickens the son of a poor naval officer. Especially in science have the sons of humble parents been distinguished. Newton was the son of a small farmer, Herschel of a poor musician, Sir Humphry Davy of a woodcarver, Watt of a shipbuilder, and Stephenson the son of a fireman of a colliery pumping engine. And what were our greatest reformers and philanthro- pists ? Men of equally humble origin. Latimer was the son of a Leicestershire farmer, Howard of an upholsterer, Whitefield of an innkeeper, Martyn of a miner, Carey of a shoemaker, Williams of a shopkeeper, and Moffat the son of a farmer. And so one might go on for hours ; but enough. The necessity, the value, the variety, and the dignity of toil are abundantly illustrated ; and the roll of England's foremost men, in art, in science, in all branches of litera- ture, proves this that her noble army of workers, and not her idlers, her men in trade, and not her titled and wealthy nobility, contribute the men who have most 62 WORK AND PLAY helped to make England what she is, and are now hold- ing her name up before the nations as chiefest in arts, in mind, in freedom. But if this is work, what is play, and what relation does it bear to it ? Hear Milton's version : ' God hath set Labour and rest, as day and night to men Successive : Man hath his daily work of body or mind Appointed, which declares his dignity, And the regard of heaven on all his ways.' 'No creature lives, 1 says a thoughtful writer, 'that must not work, and may not play.' Indeed, play is as neces- sary as work, and as much a divine ordinance. It is only a misuse of Revealed truth which regards it as reducing life to a perpetual, hard, and grinding toil. Even work itself will only be done successfully as you do it cheerfully, and you need the refreshment of relaxation for renewed effort. It is impossible to recruit your energies without some kind of play. You cannot other- wise keep young, or get the true honey of delight out of existence. I care not which class of workers you may select, all have their hours of play. Their play might not have delighted you, but it pleased them. What do you say, for example, to that learned man who found relaxation from his hard mental toil in twirling round his study chair for five minutes every two hours ? Or to Samuel Clarke's ' play,' which was not spinning chairs on their legs, but leaping over them ? Or to Paley's, who enjoyed a canter over the fields, and thought that being thrown from his horse was a joke ? Or to the Sultan whose ' play ' was carving wooden spoons ? Or to a late Sultan who found his pleasure in wrestling, and then rewarding the man who had thrown him ? Concerning all which we may say, ' Every man to his taste.' Some WORK AND PLAY 63 recreation, however, we must have, if we would keep our bodies healthy and our tempers sweet. You will generally find that the sourest and grimmest men are those who declare that they are above such childish things as re- laxation. Nature certainly has her revenge, and such men show what is the character of that revenge in their ungenial spirit, and in their dull and sunless lives. Recreation, to be healthy, should be pure that is, have no taint of evil in it. If a man from the play he seeks is the worse man, then let him shun that kind and adopt another. I am not here to prescribe how men shall unbend themselves to say that carving cherry- stones is the thing, or fishing, or boating, or cricket. My purpose is to suggest what seem to me general prin- ciples, and to leave you to make the application. It is, however, a thousand pities that with the noblest litera- ture in the world, working men should yet be contented to know so little about it ; although I am fully aware that it is hardly possible, when one is tired out with sheer, hard, manual toil, to sit down to a 'dry"* book. But thousands of books are not ' dry. 1 If a man cannot settle himself down to read a book on Political Economy, he may find an innocent pleasure in letting some poet or romancer lead him into a world of fancy. It will do him no harm, unless he begins to dream at his work ; and then let him close, for the time, the enchanter's book. Reading for amusement, for play, is healthy, and to be commended, so that it be not carried to excess. Moderation in all things, even if lawful and pure. Abernethy once cured a talkative and fanciful patient, who teased him with questions about what she was to eat, and what she was to avoid. ' Doctor, may I eat oysters ? May I eat pork ? May I eat veal ? May I eat suppers ? ' The doctor grew impatient, and said : ' Madam, you may eat anything but the poker and bellows, for the one 64 WORK AND PLAY is too hard for digestion and the other is too full of wind ! ' So say I. Read anything you can, so long as your mental digestion is not disturbed : history, fiction, philosophy. Let your own common sense guide you in what you read. Give the largest share of your attention to such books as will best fit you to do your daily work, and to fill wisely and well your position as a citizen, and the head, or the prospective head, of a family. But reading for amusement will unfit you for either if you are not wise in the choice of your books. There are books, and there are periodicals, which unfortunately possess a great fascination for some working men, and for many of their children, for which I have only words of the strongest and most emphatic condemnation, such as the Police News, with its demoralising contents and its repulsive illustrations, and books of the Newgate Calendar order. But to return to my subject. Play that is work ceases to be play. If your amusements unfit you for your daily toil, and exhaust you, break off with them. Your aim in seeking recreation is defeated. Not that I have a word to say against manly exercises or games. They will bring into play, if wisely selected, a set of muscles that will make you all the healthier for their use. But every man, in this respect, must be a law unto himself. If sailors like nothing so well as riding on donkeys, and workmen nothing better than football, and men whose occupation takes them out of doors nothing equal to a quiet game of chess, by all means let them have them. Only, mind that your play is play, and not work. There is a story told of a French nobleman who was once taken to Lord's cricket ground to see a grand match. After watching in the broiling August sun for an hour, and seeing the batting and bowling, with the sundry stiff runs that ' long-leg 1 and ' long-stop 1 got, he at last asked WORK AND PLAY 65 this remarkable question : ' Ven veel see shentlemans commence for to play ? ' To his mind the English ' play ' was hard work. Play does not depend upon the place, but upon the mind. One often used to see about London a board which said : ' Rosherville is the place to spend a happy day.' Now, the fact is, the happiness of the day depends on how you spend it : not on the place, but on the person. It was this fact that led an American essayist to say : ' Travelling is a fool's paradise. We owe to our first journeys the discovery that place is nothing. At home I dream that at Naples, at Rome, I can be intoxicated with beauty, and lose my sadness. I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea, and at last wake up in Naples, and there beside me is the stern fact, the sad self from which I fled. . . . My giant goes with me wherever I go. . . . It is want of self-culture that makes travelling the idol of the Americans. They who made England, Italy, or Greece venerable in the imagination did so not by rambling round creation like a moth round a lamp, but by sticking fast where they were, like an axis of the earth. ... I have no churlish objection to the circumnavigation of the globe for the purposes of art, of study, and benevolence, so that the man is first domesticated, or does not go abroad with the hope of finding somewhat greater than he knows. He who travels merely to be amused, or to get somewhat which he does not carry, travels away from himself, and grows old even in youth, among old things. In Thebes, in Palmyra, his will and mind have become as dilapidated as they. He carries ruins to ruins. 1 In other words, it depends on your mind what is the value of your travelling. It depends upon yourself whether you will find what you seek. If a man spends his holiday in gorging to excess, or in E 66 WORK AND PLAY drinking till he is a beer barrel on legs, he need not go far to do that. If happiness consists only in eating and drinking, the pigs have the best of it. Healthful play does not come of place but of mind ; and to have that we must keep our hearts pure, our cares under, and see that we do not get our holiday or our amusement at some one else's expense. A tradesman in a large town once complained to me, that since the rage for excursions had set in, many working men and women spent in trips the money that ought to have gone to pay their bills. The art of amusement is at rather a low ebb in England ; and there is still some truth in the old French chronicler's account of us, ' that we take our pleasures sadly. 1 If you doubt this, I should like you to take your stand on the Rosherville pier when the excursion boats come in from London, and watch the people. I have often done this myself; and have no hesitation in saying that the dolorous looks of the men and the gravity of the women would suggest to those who did not know where they were going, that they were all mourners bound for some great funeral. Perhaps they were already thinking of the dreary ride home, and the dull, splitting headache they were sure to have on the morrow ; and so ' wrinkled care 1 sits on every face. There is no commoner error than to suppose that we need wealth to possess pleasure, and that only the rich can be happy. Until we learn to find pleasure in simple things, ' mirth will never admit us in her crew 1 ; and the art of doing this has yet to be acquired. With sights and sounds of nature around him, a man need not be at a loss for delight, and for the deepest and most lasting enjoyment. Hear what the poet says about such pure delights : ' Some time walking, not unseen By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green, WORK AND PLAY 67 Right against the eastern gate Where the great sun begins his state ; Robed in flames and amber light The clouds in thousand liveries dight ; While the ploughman, near at hand, Whistles o'er the furrow' d land, And the milkmaid siiigeth blithe, And the naower whets his sithe, And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale. Straight mine eye had caught new pleasures, Whilst the landskip round it measures ; Russet lawns, and fallows gray Where the nibbling flocks do stray ; Mountains, on whose barren breast The labouring clouds do often rest ; Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks and rivers wide : Towers and battlements it sees Bosom'd high in tufted trees. Sometimes with secure delight The upland hamlets will invite, When the merry bells ring round, And the jocund rebecks sound To many a youth, and many a maid Dancing in the chequer'd shade ; And young and old come forth to play On a sunshine holy-day.' But after all, the eye needs educating to enjoy scenery, whether pastoral or romantic ; and yet the education is not difficult, and no man need wait for a professor to teach him. Use your eyes, and use your ears, and a stroll in the fields or a merry picnic will afford you a store of pleasure on which you may feast in the dullest homes and grimiest workshops for many days. But all this is good enough, as far as it goes, says some one. How are we to find recreation in winter ? If the weather is sloppy and life turns out to be wetter than 68 WORK AND PLAY you expected, as Dickens found, when he went on that memorable journey from Rochester to London inside the coach in damp straw, and felt like 'game, carriage paid" 1 what then ? Every man to his taste : not every man to the grog-shop. If men would only spend as much money in finding amusement at home, or at each others' houses, as they spend for three months in beer, there would be no difficulty in finding amusement. If there are young people at home, be young with them, it will do you a world of good. Whatever you do, don't sit twirling your thumbs and contemplating the end of your noses like so many Hindoo fakeers ! Don't mope, and pule, and whine, and talk scandal, and draw people out, and then go home and abuse your neigh- bours. Give a joke and take one, but let it be without a sting full of honey, and not full of vinegar, as pleasant as you will, but not prurient, and never nasty. You can be witty without being waspish ; and, if you have the gift of the tongue, pray let your neighbour speak as well as yourself. If you would be a good talker you must be a good listener ; and never drag your tales in by hook or by crook. Let them be pat, a sudden flash and sparkle, not a laboured effort of the memory. Puns are pleasant, like plums if you don't have too many of them, notwith- standing the savage verdict of Dr. Johnson, ' that a man who would make a pun would pick your pocket'; but of all the dreary companions, a confirmed punster or joker is the worst. It is not every man that could reply with Hood when some one told him that there was a man living near him whose name was ' Furlong,' and that he had eight daughters 'Then he has a mile of them.' Nor with Curran, who was told by a conceited barrister, ' that nobody ought to be admitted to the Bar who had not an independent landed property.' 'Pray, sir, how many acres make a wiseacre?' Nor as the Irish beggar WORK AND PLAY 69 who appealed in vain to a rich and gouty old miser ' I wish your honour's heart were as tender as your toes ! ' Nor as the sharp attorney who was rudely asked how he came to choose such a little body for his wife ' Oh, of two evils, choose the least ! ' Nor as Charles Lamb, who was asked why he shunned the monkey cages at the Zoological Gardens 'I don't like to look on my poor relations ! ' Yet remember one thing : play must come after work, if you are really to relish it, whether it be indoors or out. No lazy lout who dawdles over his work can ever know the real zest of relaxation; just as no schoolboy who drones over his books or shirks his work can ever leap, and run, and jump, and climb with half the pleasure that boy feels who has worked with a hearty good will. No idle shopman, who takes advantage of his master's absence to play practical jokes, can rightly enjoy his early-closing privileges. One reason why we all enjoy Christmas so much is, that with nearly every one of us it comes after a harder measure of work than usual. We always enjoy that which we have fairly and honestly earned ; and this is especially true of our holidays. Play loses its flavour without it. When Charles Lamb was set free from the drudgery of his work at the old India House, he did not find the pleasure so great as he thought ; and he wrote to the poet Wordsworth : ' Every year is as long as three ; that is, I have three times as much rest time time that is my own, in it. I wander about, thinking I am happy, and feeling I am not. . . . Now, when all is holiday, there are no holidays.' And yet Charles Lamb was not like the linen-draper or the tea merchant he had his hobby. He had simply lost that relish for ' play ' which all men feel who earn their holiday by a good stroke of hard work. Buckle to your work, then, like honest men. No 70 WORK AND PLAY shirking, no silly grumbling at your lot as harder than your neighbour's. You know but little of what your neighbour's is, and if you did, you might find little to envy in it. The old fable has an everlasting moral ; the fable that tells us how, once upon a time, Jupiter gave out that all men and women should have their pick of the sorrows and burdens of life for one day ; and forth- with there came trooping up men with one eye, that went away with two, but carried instead a hump on their back ; wooden-legs threw away their crutches, but hobbled on their new toes, and found they had the gout; deaf people became quick of hearing, but were pinched with rheumatics ; old women became young, but discovered that their eyes were out of the square, their cheek-bones prominent, and their noses anything but Grecian ; and young men suddenly found that they were bent double with age, wheezed with asthma, and were blind as bats ! Ho ! what grumbling there was all the livelong day ! Long before the night came every mother's son and daughter of them was hustling and crowding round Jupiter's chair of state, imploring him to give them their own infirmities back again, since they had found their neighbour's much harder to bear than their own. Wooden-legs positively ran off with delight when he got his timber-toes again, and all the rest lived happily with their own infirmities ever after. Buckle to, then, no matter what your work and what your burden. Sing at your work if you can ; if not, make merry in your heart. Be a bit of sunshine abroad and at home. Let the children and your wife welcome you because you always bring a pleasant face, a cheery word, and a stout heart. Never be ashamed of your work. Let your master feel an honest pride in you, because he can depend upon you. Make your work a badge of honour, and by the nobleness of your aim, by WORK AND PLAY 71 the thoroughness of your labour, and by the manliness of your character, you will then earn that sweetest of all diplomas a good name ; and as you have had your work, you will relish all the more keenly those snatches of play which help to refresh you into newer vigour and a happier life. WISE SAWS ENGLISH AND FOREIGN 'The justice, . . . With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances.' As You Like It. WISE SAWS ENGLISH AND FOREIGN I AM to-night to speak about ' wise saws. 1 True : but what is a wise saw ? Perhaps, at the outset, our best plan will be to quote some attempts at defining a proverb. ' A proverb, 1 said Erasmus, ' is a well-known saying, remarkable for some elegant novelty.' Now, ' novelty 1 is just the one thing that most popular proverbs decidedly lack, for ' they are as familiar in our mouths as household words'; and as for ' elegance," 1 unless, we find another meaning for it than the one in common use, elegance is the very last adjective we should select by which to describe a proverb. ' Proverbs, 1 said Lord John Russell (to illustrate whose aptness for everything Sydney Smith said, ' He could be either First Minister of the Crown or Commander of the Channel Fleet ') ' Proverbs are the wit of one and the wisdom of many. 1 There is a grain of truth in this, since many wise saws are the bright sparks thrown off by the genius of some speaker or writer, by the light of which others are contented to walk. Some one has defined proverbs as ' hobnail philosophy, 1 which is good, as far as it goes ; and Cervantes, the author of Don Quixote, himself a great quoter of proverbs, hits upon this very happy definition : ' Proverbs are short sentences drawn from long experience. 1 And yet the question comes back to us, ' What is a proverb ? ' Well, then, let us make another attempt to 75 76 WISE SAWS answer it. A proverb needs certain qualities to make it a proverb. ' You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, 1 and you can't make a good proverb out of any common saying. For one thing, it must be brief. * Brevity is the soul of wit, 1 and brevity is one of the essential things in a proverb. You must pack your good sense as closely as you can, and use as few words as possible in the process. If you can do it in half a dozen words, or even in less, so much the better. Some of the most popular saws are of this character : for example, '111 got, ill spent 1 ; '111 weeds grow apace 1 ; 'No joy without alloy ' ; ' No sport, no pie ' ; ' Old foxes want no tutors ' ; ' Set a thief to catch a thief ; ' Soon hot, soon cold 1 ; ' A penny saved is a penny gained 1 ; ' Store is no sore ' ; ' Time and straw make medlars ripe 1 ; ' Truth never grows old 1 ; ' Under water, famine under snow, bread 1 ; ' Unknown, unkissed ' ; ' Women and dogs set men by the ears ' ; ' Doing nothing is doing ill 1 ; ' Don't buy a pig in a poke. 1 But a second quality is equally important. The pro- verb must have some strong sense in it, something sharp and biting, like that Italian proverb, ' He who has a straw tail is always afraid of its catching fire ' ; or this from the same country, ' He can give little to his ser- vant who licks his own trencher ' ; or this, obviously English, ' He goes a great voyage that goes to the bottom of the sea ' ; or this, ' He has a head as big as a horse and brains as much as an ass ' ; or this, evidently pointing to the glutton or the tippler, ' He has a hole under his nose that all his money runs into ' ; or this Scotch saying, ' He hath feathered his nest, he may flee when he likes ' ; or this, which is a Gloucestershire proverb, and is used to describe a sour-faced man, ' He looks as if he had lived on Tewkesbury mustard ' ; or this Spanish saying, ' He who follows his own advice, let him take the consequences ' ; WISE SAWS 77 or this, ' He that is his own lawyer has a fool for his client. 1 A third quality is essential in a proverb. It must be endorsed by popular use ; it must, like a well-worn coin, bear evidence of being in constant circulation. Unless it have this quality you have mere commonplaces like the moral sayings in boys' copy-books ; and nobody in his sense would ever take such sayings as wise saws. Often these copy-book texts have no ' bite, 1 and commonly they are as destitute of wit as they are of freshness. Of course there are other things which the true proverb shows aptness and homeliness in its figures, rhyme, alliteration ; but these are not absolutely essential. They may tell us, for example, that ' He who waits for dead men's shoes may go barefoot ' ; ' He that 's carried down a stream need not row ' ; that, as the Spaniards say, ' He that says what he likes, must hear what he does not like ' ; or as they say again, ' He who stumbles twice over one stone deserves to break his shins ' ; ' Patience is a virtue, and a little won't hurt you ' ; ' East and West, home is best ' ; 'Like master, like man 1 ; 'A little pot is soon hot'; or this Italian one, ' Like priest, like people.' But all proverbs do not contain figures of speech, alliteration, or rhyme. These, then, are certainly the essential things in true proverbs brevity, pungency, and popularity. Perhaps you will not be surprised to hear that that scented and superfine gentleman, Lord Chesterfield, despised proverbs, and in that outspoken way of his bluntly declared, ' No man of fashion ever uses a pro- verb.' Now, in this fashionable contempt of proverbs, as in so many other ways, Shakespeare, the greatest of the dramatists, shows how entirely he could enter into and exactly depict the failings and follies of fops and frivo- lous men. Coriolanus is pictured by Shakespeare as 78 WISE SAWS giving vent to his scorn of the people in scorn of their proverbs, and yet Coriolanus could flatter the populace when it served his turn. ' Hang 'em !' says Coriolanus, ' They said they were an hungry ; sighed forth proverbs : that hunger broke stone walls ; that dogs must eat ; that meat was made for mouths ; that the gods sent not corn for the rich men only, with these shreds they vented their complainings.'' Now, whatever Lord Chesterfield may think was becoming to that be-powdered, empty-headed, much- scented, frivolous and fantastical creature of his day known as 'the man of fashion, 1 the real men the men of grit, of sinewy strength, of force and brain, the true aristocracy of a nation have always, in every age, loved proverbs, and have shown their love in unmistakable ways ; among others, by collecting proverbs, and by doing their best to explain those which had become obscure through time, and through the dropping out of sight of the set of circumstances in which they sprang into existence. Aristotle, Plautus, Plutarch, Cervantes, Shakespeare, Rabelais, Montaigne, George Herbert, Thomas Fuller, and men of similar grasp and genius, although not one of them what you would call ' a man of fashion," 1 were among the lovers and quoters of proverbs, and some of them were also makers of proverbs. Nor let us omit to mention that Solomon is said to have written three thousand proverbs ; and that 'a greater than Solomon 1 was a quoter of other men's proverbs and a maker of proverbs of His own. If you ask me, Where did proverbs come from ? I confess the question is about as hard to answer as Samson's riddle. Of this I am absolutely sure, and can state it without fear of contradiction, that some of the wise saws now in daily use are older than the first wisdom-tooth ever cut by any modern or even WISE SAWS 79 ancient European. More than three hundred years before Christ, that wise Greek, Aristotle, spoke of proverbs as 'remnants of an ancient philosophy preserved amid very many destructions, on account of their brevity and fitness for use.' Proverbs are often, as Carlyle would put it, 'peaks of a submerged world,' and yet some of them are as familiar as the face of our oldest friend. What, for example, is better known than this old saw, ' Never look a gift horse in the mouth ' ? or this, ' Liars should have good memories ' ? or this, ' A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush ' ? and yet long before the Jutes landed in Kent these proverbs were in common use all over the Continent. Many of our most familiar sayings may still be found in their original form in quaint monkish Latin, and others go back far beyond the days when Cicero declaimed in the Forum at Rome, or Julius Caesar brought the Roman eagles to Britain. It is, therefore, a great mistake to suppose, when you are knocking me on the head with a good thumping proverb, because I am too stupid to see the points of your argument, that your weapon is a weapon of the newest pattern. It was in use before the invention of gunpowder even by the Chinese, and belongs to the great armoury of wisdom which has been somehow gathered and stored up and made free for any one's use, in the far-back ages of the world. Another point worth observing is this : proverbs were common property among the earliest nations. Nothing, for instance, is more usual than to meet with the very same proverb in half a dozen languages not merely in languages which are first cousins, like Italian, Spanish, and French, but in languages almost as distinct as English and Turkish. It therefore happens, sometimes vexatiously, that when you are making a collection of proverbs, and think that, being a Welshman or being a 80 WISE SAWS Scot, you have hit upon a genuine bit of Welsh wit or Scottish shrewdness, as you extend your reading, this way and that way, you discover, to your no small morti- fication, that this very proverb is not Welsh or Scotch, but is common to half a dozen nations older than either. Nor is this very difficult to explain. There is the same human nature in every man, no matter what may be the colour of his skin or the land of his birth. He who endowed men with reason and wit and imagination, did not give a monopoly of these to any one people ; and moreover, there has always been going on in the world, between nation and nation, an unconscious ' give and take,' and proverbs are just the sort of riches that men could easily carry wherever they went. Many familiar proverbs are older than the old Roman civilisation, or even that of Greece. Everyday incidents in all men's lives, cleverly hit off by some shrewd wit, early took hold of the popular mind ; and hence it happens that Chinese, Arabic, Latin, German, English, Scotch, African, Turkish, and Spanish proverbs are often alike with a difference. This is especially true of the graver proverbs. Take as an illus- tration these sayings about retribution. The Turks say, ' Curses, like chickens, come home to roost 1 ; the Africans, ' Ashes fly back in the face of him that throws them ' ; the Spaniards, ' Who sows thorns, let him not go bare- foot.' Here the thought is the same, although the form in which it is cast is widely different. The same thing is seen in the variations on the well-known proverb, * Threatened folk live long. 1 The Spaniards say, ' More are threatened than are stabbed ; ' the Danes, ' A curse does not knock an eye out, unless the fist goes with it ' ; and the Livonians, ' The cat's curse hurts the mice less than her bite.' WISE SAWS 81 Some proverbs are purely local, and have been born out of local incidents. Many examples of this class of proverbs are given in quaint Thomas Fuller's Worthies of England. Rustic and boorish people in Oxfordshire were described as born in Hogs Norton. The sole proverb of Berkshire, says Fuller, is ' the Vicar of Bray will be Vicar of Bray still. 1 Fuller thus descants on this proverb : ' The vivacious vicar hereof living under Henry vni., Edward vi., Queen Mary, and Queen Elizabeth, was first a Papist, then a Protestant, then a Papist, and then a Protestant again. He had seen some martyrs burned two miles off, at Windsor, and found this fire too hot for his tender temper. This vicar, being taxed by one for being a turncoat and an inconstant changeling, replied, " Not so, for I always keep my prin- ciple, which is this, to live and die Vicar of Bray." Such,' adds Fuller, ' be many nowadays, who though they cannot turn the wind, will turn their mills, and set them so, that wheresoever it bloweth their grist shall certainly be grinded. 1 Immense woods once covered Buckingham- shire, and were the refuge of footpads and highwaymen : hence the old Bucks proverb, ' If you beat a bush it 's odds but you'll start a thief. 1 Lincolnshire supplies this proverb, in which great and empty talkers are lampooned : ' He 's like Grantham gruel nine grits and a gallon of water. 1 A Norfolk proverb describes a set of men who are all alike by the names of certain villages lying close together : ' Gimmingham, Trimmingharn, Knapton and Trunch ; North Repps, South Repps, all of a bunch ! ' Leicestershire, according to Thomas Fuller, supplies one odd proverb. I give the proverb and Fuller's explanation. ' Bean-belly Leicestershire, so called, 1 says Fuller, ' from the great plenty of that grain growing therein. Yea, those in the neighbouring counties used to say merrily, " Shake a Leicestershire yeoman by the collar, and you 82 WISE SAWS shall hear the beans rattle in his belly ! " However, nothing will put Leicestershire men out of conceit of their beloved beans. 1 Southey says the answer was, ' But no other county man dare do it. 1 Some proverbs sprang into existence out of certain events which took a strong hold of men's imaginations, like that Old Testament saying ' Is Saul among the pro- phets ? ' Others are choice thoughts of witty minds. Lord Bacon, for example, was just the man to make a proverb. Here is one of his : ' Hope is a good breakfast, but a bad supper.' Thomas Fuller was another creator of wise saws, and wise saws that had in them the very stuff of which the best proverbs are made. Here is just a sheaf of Fuller's a very small sheaf where one might gather a rich harvest : ' Many see the oak when grown, whilst few remember the acorn when set ' ; ' He is no fox that hath but one hole'; 'He that is a bad husband for himself, will never be a good one for his sovereign/ Now and then proverbs start into life through the sharp saying of one man quickly caught up by others. This was the case of that biting speech of the first Lord Shaftesbury a very different man from that noble philanthropist who has since passed away. The first Earl of Shaftesbury was a Royalist, then a Roundhead, and then again a Royalist. He had a keen and sharp wit. and was not afraid of using it. One day Shaftes- bury had as his guests the Duke of York, afterwards James IL, and Lauderdale. Shaftesbury overheard Lauderdale whisper in the Duke's ear, ' Fools make feasts, and wise men eat them.' Before the words were well out of Lauderdale's mouth, Shaftesbury retorted, 'Witty men make jests, and fools repeat them.' History does not report whether, after this stinging Roland for his Oliver, Lauderdale lost his appetite for the rest of the feast. Hundreds, nay, thousands of proverbs, after all, seem WISE SAWS 83 to belong to nobody. They were born nobody knows when, nobody knows where, nobody knows how. They are, to all intents and purposes, foundlings. They have somehow scrambled into the world, and once here they stop. Who, for instance, can claim to be the father of these proverbs : ' He that lies down with dogs shall rise up with fleas ' ; ' Before you make a friend, eat a bushel of salt with him ' ; ' Take heed of an ox before, of a horse behind, and of a monk on all sides ' ? This proverb is said to come from China : ' Eggs are close things, but the chicks come out at last ' ; and this is said to be of Dutch origin : ' It 's not always the hen that cackles the most that lays the most eggs.' These foundlings are often common proverbs in different countries, but nobody knows who is their father. If they could give any account of themselves, their answer would be like black little Topsy's in Uncle Tain's Cabin. ' Where were you born ? ' asked Miss Ophelia. Topsy replied, ' Never was born : I 'spect I growed.' Some proverbs are sad tell-tales of national character. We can almost guess, when once we hear them, to what country they belong. 'The genius, 1 said Lord Bacon, ' the wit, and the spirit of a nation are discovered in its proverbs. 1 Nay, we may see more : their superstitions, their dominant passion, their inmost heart. Nobody would have a moment's hesitation in detecting this as a German proverb : ' Not every parish priest can wear Martin Luther's shoes.' Disraeli's father, in his fascinat- ing book, Curiosities of Literature, speaks rather harshly of the Italians, and declares that every tenth Italian proverb is some cynical or some selfish maxim, and that a collection of Italian proverbs is ' a book of the world for worldlings.' And what can be worse than these Italian proverbs? 'Revenge is a morsel for God'; ' Revenge of a hundred years old hath still its sucking- 84 WISE SAWS teeth. 1 But these other Italian sayings are in a better strain : ' Friends tie their purses with a spider's web ' ; ' For an honest man half his wits are enough ; but the whole is too little for a knave 1 ; 'With the Gospel one becomes a heretic 1 ; ' The devil is subtle, but he weaves a coarse web. 1 Spanish proverbs stand in advance of those of all other nations in point of numbers, originality, and pungency. One Spanish scholar made a collection of over twenty thousand. Spanish proverbs are marked by a dry and caustic humour. Here are a few : ' The ass knows in whose face he may bray 1 ; 'It is God that cures, and the doctor gets the money ' ; ' By the vicar's skirts the devil gets into the belfry ' ; ' A woman^s counsel is no great thing, but he who does not take it is a fool ' ; ' People never give black puddings to those who do not kill pigs, 1 which is near akin to that English proverb, ' People never send apples save where they keep orchards. 1 The ignoble spirit of the Egyptian is seen in these proverbs : ' If the monkey reigns, dance before him 1 ; ' Kiss the hand which thou canst not bite ' ; ' Do no good and thou shalt find no evil. 1 This queer Irish proverb comes from Ulster : ' Of all the ould women that ever I saw, Sweet bad luck to my mother-in-law. 1 And this familiar proverb is, beyond all question, English, and could only have been born in a land of fickle weather like our own : ' Make hay whilst the sun shines. 1 The nationality of proverbs is a large subject, and full of interest ; but to be treated as it deserves, it should have a lecture to itself. The shrewdness, the wit, the homely wisdom, the sly humour of hundreds of proverbs, is one thing their morality is quite another. A fuller acquaintance with the proverbs of different nations would at once show us that if some are ' children of darkness, 1 others are ' children of light. 1 Take each nation as it displays itself in its WISE SAWS 85 best proverbs, and we should discover a much stronger regard for the highest morality than many suppose. Their proverbs would be found to bear testimony to the popular belief in God's government and man's brother- hood, to the deepest regard for home, for charity, for truth, and for righteousness. They also hit off the strength and weakness of human nature, the dark side of things and the bright side, its woes, its sufferings, its wants, its hatreds, its affections, its evil, and its good. Not, however, that the teaching of individual proverbs is to be taken as final ; nor yet, that the pithy thought they enshrine is at once to be accepted without further question. If only you are familiar enough with proverbs, you may always neutralise one proverb by quoting another. Proverbs show truth at different angles, not the whole truth at once. They should be treated as you treat a doubtful coin : you ring it on the counter or you test it with acid. If the ring is clear and true, if it stands the acid test, pass it on ; but if not nail the lying thing to the counter and have done with it. With a dry humour for which he is deservedly held in esteem, Charles Lamb, the genial essayist, whose memory lovers of English literature will not willingly let die, has poked fun at some well-worn sayings and has shown how little they are to be trusted. Sixteen of such wise saws are selected by him for this treatment, amongst them the following : ' Ill-gotten gain never prospers ' ; ' Enough is as good as a feast ' ; ' The worst puns are the best ' ; ' Handsome is that handsome does' 1 ; 'You must not look a gift horse in the mouth ' ; ' Home is home, though it is never so homely ' ; that we should ' Rise with the lark ' ; that we should 'Lie down with the lamb 1 ; and that you must ' Love me, love my dog.' Very whimsical and amusing are some of Charles Lamb's adverse comments on these proverbs, or, as he 86 WISE SAWS calls them, ' popular fallacies. 1 He says, in regard to the wise saw, '111 -gotten gain never prospers," that it is the weakest part of mankind that have this saying commonly in their mouths, and that men do not find that gold glides, like thawed snow, from the thief s hand that grasps it ! He vents his rage against the old saw, ' Enough is as good as a feast. 1 He does not think that those who use this proverb believe it, or that its inventor believed in it himself. He thinks it was made in revenge by somebody who was not invited to a feast ; that it is, as he puts it, ' a vile, cold, scrag-of-mutton sophism, a lie palmed on the palate which knows better things ; that if nothing else could be said for a feast, this is sufficient, that from the superflux there is usually something left for the next day.' Again, in commenting adversely on the old saw, ' You must not look a gift horse in the mouth, 1 Charles Lamb adds, ' Nor a lady's age in a parish register. We hope we have more delicacy than to do either ; but some faces spare us the trouble of these dental inquiries. 1 He then goes on to urge that in spite of the proverb, gifts are sometimes bestowed as baits ; and that ' a horse giver has no more right than a horse seller to palm his spavined article on us for good ware. 1 There is a good deal of biting sarcasm in Lamb^ comment on ' Home is home, though it is never so homely. 1 ' Oh, "'tis a fine thing to talk of the humble meal shared together by husband and wife. But what if there be no bread in the cupboard ? The innocent prattle of his children takes out the sting of a man's poverty. But the children of the very poor do not prattle. They have no young times. It makes the very heart bleed to overhear the casual street talk between a poor woman and her little girl. It is not of toys, of nursery-books, of summer holidays, of the promised sight, of praised proficiency at school. It is of mangling and clear-starching, of the WISE SAWS 87 prices of coals and potatoes. The questions of the child, that should be the very outpourings of curiosity in idle- ness, are marked with forecast and melancholy providence. It has come to be a woman before it was a child. It has learned to go to market ; it chaffers, it haggles, it envies, it murmurs ; it is knowing, acute, sharpened ; it never prattles.' As for 'rising with the lark,' Lamb declares, that having once or twice, in earlier life, been tempted to get up thus early, his curiosity was abated, and he is no longer ambitious of being the sun's courtier, or attending at his morning levee ! And as to ' lying down with the lamb,' that is absurd. ' A sheep, when it is dark, has nothing to do but shut its silly eyes and sleep, if it can.' But as for himself, he loves, ' by candlelight ' (Lamb wrote in the days of tallow 'dips'), 'to read, to talk, sit silent, eat and drink.' He even thinks that the absence of candlelight in the earlier times accounts for the serious- ness of the older poetry. He believes that Milton's ' Morning Hymn ' in Paradise Lost was penned at mid- night, and that Jeremy Taylor's fine description in one of his sermons, of a sunrise, smells of the taper. He confesses that these papers of his on 'Popular Fallacies' were mostly written at night, that he then gets his best thoughts, and tunes his best cadences. 'Even,' adds the humorous commentator, ' even now a loftier speculation than we have yet attempted courts our endeavour. We would indite something about the Solar System, Betty, bring the candles ! ' Much as Charles Lamb loved to poke fun at wise saws, he was himself the maker of not a few. This is one of his : ' A rogue is a fool, with a circumbendibus.' Of fools in general, however not the fools that Charles Lamb was thinking about, but light, trifling folk, whom nothing will teach of this class of men proverbs may be 88 WISE SAWS noted by the hundred. They are simply unmerciful toward fools. They cuff them, they pinch them, they beat them, they sneer at them, as if the authors of these proverbs found the keenest zest in the treatment they deal out to fools. Let me give only a sample. A Livonian proverb says, ' If you want to go into a bog, ask five fools the way to a wood. 1 A Spanish proverb says, ' The son of an ass brays twice a day ' ; a French proverb, that you may ' wash a dog, and comb a dog, but still a dog is but a dog.'' The Greeks say, ' You can never make a sieve of a pig's tail.' Other proverbs tell us that : ' Fools are always resolute to make good their own folly ' ; ' Fools are pleased with their own blunders ' ; ' Fools build houses, wise men buy them ' ; ' Fools grow without watering 1 ; 'As the fool thinks, the bell tinks.' A French story is often quoted to illustrate this last proverb. A widow consisted a priest about getting married again. She didn't feel safe o' nights; she wanted a protector; she thought she saw one who would suit the foreman of her late lamented. He was industrious ; he knew the trade ; he was liked by the customers ; he was about her own age, and and he was not bad-looking. ' Very well,' said the priest, ' you had better marry him.' ' But,' added the widow, ' I 'm half afraid that my servant will then be my master.' ' Very well, then,' said the obliging priest, ' don't marry him.' 'But but the business is more than I can manage, and John would keep it together.' ' Marry, then,' said the priest. ' Yes, but if John turned out a scamp, got hold of my money, and ran off with a young maid ! ' ' Then, don't marry,' chimed the priest. Thus the dialogue went on, the priest always echoing the last wish expressed by the widow ; and seeing, plainly enough, that let the issue be what it might, the widow had made up her mind to marry her man John, the WISESAWS 89 priest told her to consult the church bells. The four bells in the church tower were now set ringing, and what did they seem to say to the widow ? ' Do take your man ; do take your man. 1 That settled it : the widow and her man John were married. When once the knot was tied her worst fears proved but too true : John soon swaggered more than his master ; he gambled, he swore, he drank, he became a sot, and in one of his drunken fits he struck his wife a brutal blow. Back went the poor woman to the priest, full of complaints, and sorely lamenting that she had taken his advice about the church bells. ' My dear soul, I fear, 1 said the priest, ' you did not read the message of the bells aright. Listen again ! ' She listened, and then she saw her folly : instead of confirming her choice, the four bells spoke as plainly as bells could speak; and what did they say? 'Do not take him ; do not take him.' Yes : ' As the fool thinks, the bell tinks. 1 In further proof of the dislike proverbs have of fools, here are some few others about them : ' Forbid a fool to do a thing, and he "11 do it 1 ; ' Experience keeps a dear school, but fools will learn in no other, and scarcely in that ' ; ' A fool's tongue is long enough to cut his throat 1 ; ' A fool's bolt is soon shot ' ; ' He hath need of a fool that plays the fool himself; 'If the wise erred not, it would go hard with the fools ' ; ' Every one hath a fool in his own sleeve. 1 Next to fools, proverbs fire off their chiefest squibs at priests, doctors, lawyers, women, and boasters. But to the proof. Spanish proverbs are bitter against priests, bnt other nations have not been slow at following suit. A Spanish proverb says, ' Oh, what must I suffer for the church ! ' cried the abbot, when the roast fowl burned his fingers. ' Offend a single monk, 1 says a German proverb, 'and the lappets of all cowls flutter as far as Rome. 1 90 WISE SAWS 'Priests, nuns, monks, and poultry, 1 says an Italian proverb, ' are hard to fill. 1 ' Where friars swarm, keep your eyes open, 1 say the Spaniards ; also, ' Have neither a good monk for your friend, nor a bad one for your enemy. 1 The Germans think you cannot be too severe with priests, and say, ' You must either not meddle with priests, or else smite them dead. 1 The Bohemians say, ' If you offend a clerk (that is, a priest), kill him, or else you will never have peace with him. 1 The little confidence the Spaniards have in friars peeps out in one of their most caustic proverbs, ' As for friars, live with them, eat with them, and then sell them, for thus they do them- selves. 1 The noble art of healing, and the men who practise it, have not escaped the winged shafts of proverbial wit. This may partly be explained by the rough and ready methods of treating disease once in vogue, and partly by the bitter speeches of eminent medical men. Hoffmann, for example, the famous physician, gives this as his seventh and last rule of health : ' Shun doctors, and doctors 1 stuff, if you wish to be well. 1 And the celebrated Sir Astley Cooper declares, with biting sarcasm, of the science of medicine as practised in his day, ' The science of medicine is founded on conjecture, and improved by murder. 1 But, as applied to the science of medicine to- day, no words could be less true. Of the Continental nations, the French, the Spanish, and the Germans are the most caustic in their proverbs about doctors. The French say, ' The doctor is more to be feared than the disease 1 ; the Spaniards, ' The earth covers the mistakes of the physicians 1 ; and the Germans, ' Dear physic is always good, if not to the patient, at least to the apothecary. 1 An Italian proverb speaks the truth when it says, 'The doctor seldom takes physic. 1 Other proverbs declare that ' Every man at forty is WISE SAWS 91 either a fool or a physician ' ; that ' The best physicians are, Dr. Diet, Dr. Quiet, and Dr. Merryman. 1 Much, however, as many proverbs abuse doctors, there are fewer men who are looked for more eagerly when illness enters the home, and there are few families who do not treasure among their most precious memories the unflagging attention, the patient kindness, the practised skill, and the unselfish and ungrudging service of some member of the medical profession. l A medical man,' says George Eliot, with perfect truthfulness, ' is the good angel of the troubled house. 1 The expensiveness of consulting lawyers has always been thought fair game for the laughers, and many proverbs reveal this old and long-standing enmity of civilised nations towards members of the legal profession an enmity that takes its revenge in wholesale denuncia- tion, after the manner of angry people. Mr. Tulliver's dislike of lawyers, as sketched by George Eliot in her fascinating book, The Mill on the Floss, is by no means overdrawn. If the law-loving miller considered that ' Old Harry ' had a good deal to do with unscrupulous lawyers, he was only putting the truth in a picturesque form, and one not unfamiliar. Proverbs are a fair reflec- tion of this popular dislike of lawyers, and are, at least some of them, rasping in their verdict. In this case, however, as in others, the profession as a whole is made to suffer for the shortcomings of some black sheep. An Italian proverb says, ' No good lawyer ever goes to law. 1 But we have a striking example to the contrary in a notorious Lord Chancellor of England, Lord Thurlow. When a builder was erecting a house by contract for Lord Thurlow, the litigious old lawyer ordered some change in the plans to be made, thus invalidating the contract. The Lord Chancellor disputed this, went to law, and lost his case. Perhaps this was one of the 92 WISE SAWS incidents that led to the saying that 'No man was so wise as Lord Thurlow looked ' ! * Agree,' says another proverb about law, ' for the law is costly. 1 Another saw affirms that ' He that loves law will get his fill of it. The celebrated Lord Mansfield, one of the shrewdest of the many shrewd English lawyers, once said that if any man claimed a field of him he would give it up, rather than go to law, provided the man said nothing about it. But many lawyers would give very different advice. ' A lean agreement,"* says an Italian proverb, ' is better than a fat lawsuit. 1 Another proverb from the same country declares that ' Lawyers 1 garments are lined with suitors 1 obstinacy. 1 A French proverb is even more caustic: it declares that ' Lawyers 1 houses are built with fools 1 heads. 1 A Spanish proverb affirms that ' A hungry man discovers more than a hundred lawyers 1 ; and a Dutch proverb, with scant charity, declares ' The greater the lawyer the worse the Christian. 1 But a French proverb goes even farther in its uncharitableness, and stoutly proclaims that ' Unless hell is full never will a lawyer be saved ! 1 Bad, however, as many proverbs are in their sarcasm on fools, monks, doctors, and lawyers, proverbs at least a good many of them are simply abominable in their ungallant treatment of women. All the stock slanders against women are echoed by many bitter proverbs. With all their politeness, the Spaniards say, ' Beware of a bad woman, and put no faith in a good one. 1 Even a French proverb affirms that 'A man of straw is worth two women 1 ; and yet, when it comes to counsel, another French saw tells us to ' Take a woman's first counsel, and not her second. 1 The Italians put the same idea in another way. ' Women, 1 they say, ' are wise off-hand, and fools on reflection. 1 The idea is, that women surpass men in the quick, leopard-like spring of their intuition, but have less logical power than men. The German WISE SAWS 93 shows no great regard for the counsel of women, for he says, ' Summer-sown corn and women's advice turn out well once in seven years. 1 In Servia there is a saying that 'It is sometimes right to obey a sensible wife'; and a story is told to illustrate it. A Kadi, or judge, was once asked whether it were right to obey a wife ? ' Verily, no,' said the Kadi, little thinking what would follow. ' Good,' said the inquiring husband ; ' good : my wife pressed me this morning to bring you a pot of beef suet ; so that I have done well in not obeying her.' The Kadi, finding he had fallen into a trap, hastened to add' Verily, sometimes, it is right even to obey a sensible wife ' ! Scores of proverbs poke fun at the fickleness of women. The Germans declare that ' Women are as variable as April weather' ; the Spaniards, that ' Women are as variable as wind and fortune ' ; and the French, ' A woman changes oft ; who trusts her is right soft.' This last proverb is attributed to the French king Francis i., but no doubt the king got the credit of it, and some one else was its author. At any rate, there is a pretty story told of Francis and this proverb. Francis scratched this rhyming proverb on a pane of glass, and his sister, Queen Margaret of Navarre, caught him in the act. The queen protested against the slander, affirming that she could quote scores of instances in which men, and not women, had proved inconstant. The king retorted that he should be satisfied if she could give him a single instance of the constancy of women. Shortly after this a gentleman in the French court was thrown into prison on a serious charge, and presently the rumour spread that the wife of the im- prisoned man (one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting) had eloped with her page, for both lady and page were missing. Francis twitted his sister with this proof of the truthful- ness of the proverb about woman's inconstancy ; but, 94 WISE SAWS nothing daunted, she strongly expressed her disbelief in the popular rumour about the elopement. The king shook his head, and then promised his sister that if, within four weeks, the missing lady's innocence should be established, he would not only break the pane of glass on which he had scratched the proverb, but grant the queen whatever she asked. Not many days after this promise the truth came out. It was discovered that the lady had riot fled, but that through his devoted wife the husband had given his gaolers the slip. She managed it in this way : One day, on a visit to her imprisoned husband, she urged him, being about the same height, to exchange clothes with her, taking care when he went out to keep the veil down. The plan was adopted, after much friendly wrangling ; the husband escaped, and the wife took her husband's place. The queen, as soon as this fact was known, claimed the husband's pardon, which the king not only granted but, in honour of the wife's devotion, gave a great fete and tournament. Of course the pane of glass, with the offending couplet scratched upon it, was broken, but the slander remains. May we not, therefore, surmise that if the ladies had caught the gentlemen in the very act of coining those sharp proverbs against them, they would not only have questioned their truthfulness, but perhaps have been as successful as Margaret of Navarre in carrying their point ? I have not yet done, however, with these stinging pro- verbial arrows shot at women. It is better to know the worst, and prepare against it. There is woman's power of speech, for example: what say the proverbs about that? Alas! what do they not say? The Welsh tell us that with all his valour the famous King Arthur could not tame a woman's tongue. The Italian proverb says that, ' Three women and three geese make a market ' ; WISE SAWS 95 The Danes declare that 'All women are good Lutherans they would rather preach than hear mass ' ; the Chinese, that ' A woman's tongue is her sword, and she does not let it rust ' ; the Spanish, that ' A woman and a magpie tell what you would speak in the market ' ; and the English, that ' A woman conceals what she does not know.' Harry Hotspur is made by Shakespeare to speak thus to Kate, his wife : .' Constant you are, But yet a woman, and for secrecy No lady closer ; for I will believe Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know, And so far I will trust thee, Kate.' 1 Foxes are all tail, and women are all tongue ! ' says a French proverb. Another biting speech is evidently of English origin : ' A woman's tongue wags like a lamb's tail ! ' The Welsh say ' A woman's strength is in her tongue.' As to the strength of a woman's will, the proverbs of different nations offer a remarkable agreement of opinion. ' Whatever a woman will,' say the Italians, ' she can.' The French say, with a smack of irreverence, ' What a woman wills, God wills.' The well-known old English rhyme testifies what our forefathers thought, whatever may be our opinion in this most enlightened age : f That man 's a fool, who thinks by force or skill To stem the torrent of a woman's will ; If she will, she will you may depend on 't ; And if she won't, she won't : and there 's an end on 't. ' On the subject of a woman's beauty proverbs are very sarcastic, not to say rude. The Spanish say : ' No woman thinks she is ugly when she is dressed'; the French, ' By candlelight a goat looks like a lady'; the Dutch, ' Nobody's sweetheart is ugly ' ; and the Germans, ' He whose sweetheart squints, says she ogles.' 96 WISESAWS Again, as to marriage, ladies do not escape the whip of proverbial sarcasm. The Italians say, although most of us have considered this an English proverb, ' Marry in haste, repent at leisure ' ; the French, ' Wedlock rides in the saddle, and repentance in the croup ' ; the Spanish, 'The day you marry, you kill or cure yourself; the Italians again, ' In buying horses and taking a wife, shut your eyes and commend yourself to God 1 ; the Portu- guese, ' Marry, marry ; and what about housekeeping ? ' and the Scots, ' Put your hand in the creel, and take out an adder or an eel.' I have already quoted what Disraeli's father said about the vindictive and selfish character of Italian proverbs ; but let me say here, that whatever warrant some Italian proverbs may seem to give to his harsh opinion of Italian character, there are no proverbs about love, in any other European language, equal in grace and beauty to Italian proverbs. You would find it difficult, for example, to match proverbs like these : ' Love knows no measure ' ; ' Love warms more than a thousand fires ' ; ' Love rules without law ' ; ' Love knows no labour ' ; ' Love is master of all arts. 1 Some proverbs are very bitter against widows. Indeed, Samuel Weller, senior, in Pickwick, must have fed largely on these proverbs ; and, after his own experience, could have probably added something to this kind of diet for other men's consumption. One proverb says, ' He that marries a widow with two daughters has three back doors to his house,' or according to another version, ' marries three thieves'; another bids us 'Never marry a widow unless her first husband was hanged ' ; and a third says that ' He that marries a widow will have a dead man's head cast in his dish.' But as I have quoted so freely from different nations their proverbs against the ladies, it is only fair that I WISESAWS 97 should quote some of the opposite kind. The Irish say, ' You must ask your wife's permission to be rich ' ; another, * The wife is the key of the house. 1 * Faults,' say the Welsh, ' are thick when love is thin.' The Italians say, 'England is the paradise of women, the hell of horses, and the purgatory of servants ' ; and our own English proverb tells us that 'What is sauce for the goose, is sauce for the gander,' which is another way of putting Mrs. Peyser's speech in Adam Bede. Bartle Massey complained to Mrs. Poyser that God had made all the women foolish ' Yes,' she quickly retorted, ' He made 'em to match the men ! ' As to the proverbs about vain boasters, a long string of them might be quoted. A few must suffice: 'Great boast, little roast,' says an English rhyme. 'A long tongue betokens a short hand,' say the Spaniards ; and the Italian proverb says, that ' It is easy to frighten a bull from the window.' The same people say, ' Many are brave when the enemy flies' ; and the French, ' Hares are not caught with beat of drum.' Now, in all these proverbs about fools, monks, doctors, lawyers, women, and boasters, and in thousands of others, we see another thing which gives the proverb its charm, namely, the proverb does not exhaust the subject. It rather hints at it, leaves a good deal to be filled in by your experience or by your imagination. Among Eastern folk proverbs always carry great weight. The Hebrews had a large collection, and also the Arabs. Nor is it improbable that the long occupation of Spain by the Moors fostered the Spanish fondness for proverbs. No sane man supposes that you can pack a bushel of oats into a tea-cup ; but this packing of much in little, this hinting at more, so common in proverbs, at once arrests the Oriental mind ; and the citation of a proverb is often regarded by Eastern people as the end of all controversy. 98 WISE SAWS They like to take refuge in what has the appearance of a large experience. The English mind, on the other hand, is disposed to take proverbs to pieces, as Charles Lamb did, rather than swallow them without examina- tion. Many old English or European saws would tell powerfully on Eastern people. Assure them that ' It takes a good many shovelfuls of earth to bury the truth, 1 and their eyes would brighten with quick apprehension of its meaning ; say, in regard to profit from reading a book, much depends on the reader, and clench your assertion by the proverb, ' Where the bee sucks honey the spider sucks poison, 1 and the effect would be electrical ; declare that ' The devil's meal is all bran,' and not another word need be spoken in explanation. Nor would a Chinaman have much difficulty in understanding your sly humour if you declared that everything had its true use, and added, 'A handsaw is a good thing, but not to shave with. 1 If you ask me this question Are proverbs, after all, of any real value to us ? I should reply, that depends upon another thing, whether you are willing to follow their best teaching. There is plenty of whimsicality in some proverbs, and not a little cold cynicism in others ; as, for instance, when you are told that ' There are three sorts of friends your friends who love you, your friends who do not care for you, and your friends who hate you 1 ; but other proverbs say some excellent things about friendship, and things we should be all the better for noting. ' A sure friend, 1 says an old Latin proverb, ' is known in a doubtful case. 1 'They are rich who have friends, 1 says another saw ; whilst a third assures us that ' A hundred friends are too few 1 ; and the Portuguese say that ' There is no living without friends. 1 Proverbs warn you against idleness by affirming that * He who works fights with one devil, but he who is idle fights with a thousand. 1 They teach you that natural WISE SAWS 99 character will out, in spite of all your attempts to hide it, since ' If you set a frog on a golden stool, it hops oft' into the pool. 1 They point out that exalted station will not hide low manners, by saying, * The higher the ape goes the more he shows his tail/ They ridicule, in merriest vein, the attempt to do impossible things, and assure you that ' It is hard to shave an egg, 1 and that ' You can't make a windmill go with a pair of bellows. 1 They declare, in a very Socialistic tone, that ' When all men have what belongs to them it cannot be much ' ; and they assure you that the ' Very height of boldness is for a mouse to nestle in a cat's ear. 1 They warn you of the influence you have on your children the unconscious influence by telling you that ' The child says nothing but what it hears by the fire ' ; and they point to the power of paternal example when they say, ' In the house of the fiddler all fiddle. 1 They tell you that ' Virtue and a trade are the best portion for your children. 1 And the Jewish proverb goes farther, and says, ' If you do not teach your son a trade, you teach him to be a thief. 1 But even this is not all proverbs do for us. Weary work as it may appear to wade through a big collection of proverbs, such as Ray has gathered and Bohn has re- published and edited, yet proverbs serve many useful purposes, beside the not vain purpose of tickling our fancy and provoking our laughter. Proverbs reveal the common nature to be found in men, no matter what their country or age. They attest their universal kinship, the brotherhood of men. Some proverbs are foolish, some are coarse, and some are venomous ; but in this, as in other things, they bear witness to the mixed and the imperfect character of men. The proverbs of different nations betray the common follies and the common foibles of our race. That there are what have been called 'scoundrel 100 WISE SAWS maxims' 1 is beyond question ; that some proverbs are ' of the earth, earthy,' and that others are worse still, are even Satanic, any large collection of wise saws will show. But these are the darnel and the charlock to be generally found among the cleanest crop of wheat : they are not the best part of the crop. If some proverbs pander to inborn selfishness, and others seem to laugh at morality, there are yet hundreds that teach a noble scorn and even loathing of sin, and advocate the truest manliness, the completest self-reliance, the stoutest courage. They tell us that ' A lie has no legs ' ; that ' God helps those who help themselves ' ; that ' Where one door shuts another opens ' ; that ' The world is his who has patience ' ; that ' God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb ' ; that ' There is no ill but that it comes for good ' ; and that ' Our worst misfortunes are those that never befall us.' This is something ; but even this does not exhaust their teaching. Mingled as are the threads of good and ill, of light and darkness, bearing painful witness to the confusion in men's minds, the mixture of good and bad in their character, it is yet abundantly true that many proverbs bear noble testimony to higher things. If proverbs do not deserve to be called, as the Spanish call them, ' little gospels,' they teach us how utterly impos- sible it is to bury the truth, how fading and valueless are the supposed advantages which men reap from false- hood ; how difficult and yet possible is the attainment of virtue and manliness, how unquestionable are the proofs that God rules the world, and how certain is the coming of the great day of final reckoning. They affirm that ' Truth and oil always come to the surface ' ; that ' A liar is sooner caught than a cripple ' ; that ' Good things are hard ' ; that ' What God loathes, men will presently loathe ' ; that ' The way to Heaven is by Weeping Cross ' ; that 'God never wounds with both hands'; that 'He WISE SAWS 101 who serves God serves a good Master 1 ; that ' Punishment is lame, but presently comes ' ; that ' The mill of God grinds late, but it grinds to powder 1 ; and that ' The foot of the Avenger is shod with wool. 1 In these, and in scores of proverbs of similar tone and character, we shall not be far wrong in saying that ' The voice of the people is the voice of God. 1 ' The happiness of free nations does not consist merely in the liberties and privileges they enjoy ; but in the sense they have of the excellency and use of those privileges, and the taste they have for liberty itself. Liberty is the darling of human nature. . . . Oppres- sion may endure for a season ; but liberty always finds time and instruments to recommend herself to the world. . . . The yoke of tyranny is but transient and variable . . . for the life of bondage is that which mankind by nature abhors. . . . Liberty makes nations thrive, people great, a country pleasant, nature fruitful ; for liberty encourages industry, whilst sloth and slavery go hand in hand.' DANIEL DEFOE. OLIVER CROMWELL (A LECTURE GIVEN TO THE YOUNG MEN'S SOCIETY HENLEY-ON-THAMES, DECEMBER 12, 1878) I HAVE given myself the task of speaking about Oliver Cromwell in one lecture. I could much more easily give a dozen. The man himself is so full of interest, the period of our national history to which he belongs is so throbbing with life ; there are so many Babel voices uttering their dissonant and discordant cries about the man, and about his times, that I am fairly puzzled to know how to compress what I have to say into one night's talk. Give me your patience if I should be longer than you are wont to listen; and give me your indulgence whilst I express my own strong convictions not taken up from others nor formed hastily, but adopted after much investigation of all manner of authorities. I have listened to what the disappointed Republicans of Oliver's own acquaintance have had to say about him. I have paid marked attention to Clarendon, who speaks always in official language, and is the chief Royalist writer, from whom Hume, Goldsmith, and smaller fry gather their invectives. I have sought the company of strong partisan writers on the Royalist side of things ; and I have carefully read through three several times that marvellous mine of industry and research Carlyle's Letters and Speeches of' Oliver Cromwell. What I have to say, then, I say of myself. I am responsible for it, and 105 106 OLIVER CROMWELL no one else. I shall give you my sober, calm, and de- liberate judgment. You may not like it; but probe the matter for yourselves. You may dispute my opinion on the strength of some bitter party writer. Be it so : but before you condemn me, hear the other side. I purpose to give a brief and rapid outline of Cromwell's life. I shall then deal with the chief charges made against him. I shall afterward point out some few of the many elements of his character. The first is necessary to understand the last ; and the second is necessary to understand me. Cromwell was born eleven years after the destruction of the Spanish Armada 25th April 1599. Queen Eliza- beth, when Oliver was a baby in arms, had yet four years to live. His age, therefore, is always one year ahead of the century. Oliver was four years old when James i. came to England and was entertained by Cromwell's grandfather, who beggared himself for life by his hospitality. Oliver always had a quick eye, and we cannot doubt that he took note of James, as any sharp boy would do James, the wisest fool in Christendom, with ' his big head, his slobbering tongue, his quilted clothes, his rickety legs, his goggle eyes' and as he noted him he would never forget him. He was eleven years old when the Authorised Version of the Scriptures was made. This fact about the Bible is not to be over- looked. It had a good deal to do with the events of the days which followed, and was of immense influence on Oliver himself. A sturdy, robust, well-knit, muscular youth with a fondness for outdoor life rather than for books such Oliver appears to have been in his boyish days. On the day that Shakespeare died at Stratford-on- Avon, Oliver Cromwell became a student at Cambridge University, and was entered as a Commoner at Sidney Sussex College. Here he remained two years. At nine- OLIVER CROMWELL 107 teen he returned home, his father being dead, and he now became ' his own master,' as we say. At twenty-one he was married, settling in Huntingdon as a yeoman, a man tilling his own land, but adding to his farming brewing. (In those days there was no tea, coffee, or cocoa, but all had beer for breakfast, beer for dinner, beer for tea.) Soon after his marriage a religious crisis came. He discovered, as other men have done, that there is another and more real world than this, which lies round this, and with which we do well to have to do. He had fits of religious melancholy, which sorely puzzled the family doctor at Huntingdon, good Dr. Simcott, sending for him often at midnight, and showing symptoms that his art could not diagnose. Indeed, he passed through an experience akin to Bunyan's, and writes about himself at that time as Bunyan afterwards wrote of his own character. He was henceforth a new man. 'I live in Meshac 1 so he writes to a friend 'in Meshac, which they say signifies Prolonging; in Kedar, which signifies Blackness ; yet the Lord forsaketh me not. 1 The next ten years of his life were nearly all spent in quiet seclusion. His character was now being formed, and he became what we afterwards find him. He tilled his land, he fattened his sheep, he brewed his beer ; but he did a good deal besides. One book was very much his companion that book was the Bible. Oliver's house at Huntingdon became the frequent home of the poor hunted Puritan clergymen, whom Arch- bishop Laud was vexing, harassing, pursuing, imprisoning, pillorying, sending forth with two big letters burned on their cheeks with red-hot irons S.S. 'Sower of Sedition 1 and often minus their ears, which Laud's minions had cut off. There was much talk by Oliver's warm fireside in those days of Laud and his doings Laud, 'cold, pedantic, ridiculous, superstitious,' a Papist at heart, 108 OLIVER CROMWELL who was secretly offered a cardinal's hat by the Pope so well did he do the Pope's work in England ; Laud who dotted down in his private diary, which afterwards very unexpectedly came to light ' Twenty-one things which I have projected to do, if God bless me in them. 1 As each one of these 'projected things 1 was accomplished, Laud wrote at the end, ' Done. 1 Among these ' pro- jected things ' was the suppression of the Puritan lecturers. These were men who had permission to preach, to lecture, as it was called; who lectured, under various conditions often in some market town on market day ; on Sunday afternoon, as supplemental to the regular priest when he might happen to be idle, or given to ' black and white surplices 1 ; or, as running lecturers, now here, now there, over a certain district. They were much followed by the serious part of the people. Laud set to work to stop this : weeded out one after another, imprisoned, fined, suppressed ; until he wrote after this ' projected thing ' * Done. 1 Many other things Laud did by means of the Star Chamber, not only on Puritan lecturers, but on all men who dared to make a religious meeting in a house, and read to their neighbours out of the Bible. He set the whole bench of bishops to work to root out these ' sectaries, 1 as they were then called ' Nonconformists, 1 as we should call them ; and at length the bishops said that there was not a single sectary in any of their dioceses. ' Done, 1 wrote Laud . He also set about changing the service within the churches. The communion table, which used to stand in the centre of the church, he had moved to the east end, and put a railing round, Clarendon says, ' to keep off' the dogs, 1 but in effect to convert the table into an altar. He stopped the old habit of sitting at communion, and made kneeling compulsory, and hundreds were OLIVER CROMWELL 109 excommunicated for refusing to comply. He introduced bowing to the altar in the cathedrals. He encouraged Roman Catholic doctrine and ritual. He promoted to bishoprics men of known Papist opinions. He broke off all union with the Reformed Church on the Continent, and dallied with Rome. By means of the Crown he crushed the clergy, by means of the Church he crushed civil liberty. Here were a number of 'projected things' after which he could write ' Done. 1 But the doing of all these things galled men's minds and soured their hearts. They asked themselves ' What country are we living in ? Is this free England ? ' Nay, verily. So thousands betook themselves to America, until even Laud became alarmed, and stopped the emigration. The king too, Charles i., was not doing wisely. He had accepted his father's notions about governments and royal prerogatives. He talked the rankest despotism, and began to act in a way that made Englishmen wince. Because Parliament would not do what he wanted them, he dismissed them, and began to collect money on his own account, at the sword's point, and otherwise behaved toward his * dear people ' as the Turk behaves nowadays toward his ; and, like the Turk, he made no exceptions friends or foes, all shared alike. The king himself granted monopolies, and squeezed money out of purses that way ; monopolies on almost every article of com- mon use. Soap was a scarcity, for few men could pay the price for it. The shoe not only pinched in one place : it pinched all round. One of the men who smarted under all this, when at length he found his tongue and dare speak, thus spoke of these monopolies of King Charles : ' They dip in our dish, they sit by our fire ; we find them in the dye-vat, the wash-bowls, and the powdering tub. They share with the cutler in his box. They have marked and sealed us from head to foot.' All these 110 OLIVER CROMWELL things were being pondered by Oliver in that quiet yet strangely eventful time of his life. Then came Oliver's political life. He was returned as M.P. for Huntingdon (1628). His neighbours knew him, knew his value, knew his opinions, and knew that he would be on the right side. Next we find him M.P. for Cambridge (1640) no bad sign of what Cambridge thought of him, since she pre- ferred him to the Court candidate. The struggles with Charles i. had begun. Cromwell was in the Parliament that squeezed out of Charles the famous ' Petition of Right ' (June 1628), the second great charter of English freedom. Henceforth * on the word of a king' there were to be no more moneys taken from the people without the consent of Parliament ; no more imprisonments of men without appeal to due course of law ; no more courts-martial of civilians. But ' the word of a king 1 proved to be about as reliable as the word of a pickpocket. He levied his ship-money, and John Hampden refused to pay, and all England was aroused by John Hampden's pluck. He tried to arrest five of the members of Parliament Pym, Hampden, Hollis, Hazelrig, Strode in their places in the House (1640), and failed. He left London (10th January 1642), and the rupture began and widened between Charles and the Parliament. The king reared his standard at Nottingham, and now the Civil War was opened. Cromwell's next appearance was as a soldier. Every gentleman wore his sword in those days, and was more or less trained to the use of arms. Cromwell wore his sword when he was ' in full dress,' and every M.P. wore a sword. Cromwell, who had sold his Huntingdon estates and gone down to Ely, gathered there a handful of men as soldiers, sixty, of whom he was captain ' troop sixty-seven.' They were the nucleus of his Ironsides. Cromwell OLIVER CROMWELL 111 believed in thoroughness, no matter what was the thing in hand. He drilled his troop. He tricked them by surprises into vigilance and into quick-handedness. He made them look after their weapons, their ammunition, their horses. 'If a man has not good weapons, 1 says Cromwell, 'horse, harness (armour), he is nought. 1 ' Heed well your motions, 1 he says to his men (your way of life, as we should say). ' The Lord helpeth those who heed His commandments ; and those who are not punctual in small matters, of what account are they when it shall please Him to call them forth ? ' ' He had especial care, 1 says Richard Baxter (old Richard was a Royalist), ' to get religious men into his troop. 1 ' I raised such men, 1 said Cromwell, ' as had the fear of God before them, and made some conscience of what they did. 1 And once ' raised,' Oliver's troop got to work. Cam- bridge Castle was seized for the Parliament, and the University plate, valued at ,20,000, was stopped before it could be sent to Oxford and melted for the needy king^ use. Cromwell was now at Edgehill where the first fight took place between the king's army and the army of the Parliament now at Hertford, now at Lowe- stoft, now at Grantham : here, there, everywhere falling like a thundering and crushing avalanche upon the foe, ' The Malignants, 1 known to us as the Cavaliers. If the Roundheads called the Cavaliers ' Malignants, 1 the Cavaliers styled the Roundheads ' Rebels. 1 Oliver was always well served, because he knew a man when he saw one. His scouts were so wide awake that no Cavalier could creep out in the eastern counties but Oliver knew of it. He rapidly rose in rank as his ability came out. His soldiers as quickly grew in repute. His handful of men became a thousand. Then followed the battle of Marston Moor and Oliver's victory (2nd July 1644), after which he wrote that touching letter to 112 OLIVER CROMWELL Colonel Valentine Walton, to break to him the news of the death of his son. However much Oliver might be hidden before, there was no hiding him now. He was conspicuously the ablest soldier England had. Then came the ' New Modelling ' of the army, which meant the removal of men as officers who only had half their hearts in the work, and were afraid to win. Whilst this thing was being talked of in Parliament, Oliver had to chase Prince Rupert in the north. The king was warned by a bishop, ' either to win Cromwell,' whom he saw to be the coming man, ' by fair means ; or to catch him by stratagem, and cut him off. 1 Truly a godly bishop this ! Nay, even the king himself let it be known as widely as he dared only it must not get to Oliver's ears ' I would some one would do me the good service to bring me Cromwell dead or alive ! ' But nobody dared, and nobody could. The battle of Naseby followed (14-th June 1645), when Prince Rupert had the first taste of Oliver's Ironsides. Charles was routed, and Rupert repeated the mistakes of Edgehill and Marston Moor. The king's letters that were taken showed that ' the word of a king ' was a word of straw. By and by the king was, after some wander- ings, given up by the Scots sold, in fact and Oliver would have negotiated with him, but that he found the king false. The deceitful king spoke fair to Oliver's face, but secretly wrote letters of another kind. One of these Oliver intercepted. Here is a bit of it, and about Oliver : ' I humoured him that I might snare and hang him.' Can you wonder that Oliver did not believe him after that ? It was impossible. Then came the imprisonment in Holmby House and Hampton Court, in Carisbrook, Hurst Castle, and in London. Then came the king's trial and the king's execution. It is not easy indeed, OLIVER CROMWELL 113 it is not possible to conceive what horror filled men's hearts on the news coming out that the king really was beheaded. For myself, I do not hesitate to say that the execution of Charles i. was a great blunder, and a blunder for which England suffered many years after- wards, and for which some think that England is now suffering. But Cromwell did not think it a blunder, nor did John Milton, no, nor yet any of the great Puritan leaders. They knew how they had smarted under the crushing and grinding tyranny of this king ; how, for years, the whole land had been given up to war; and what hundreds of widows and orphans there were who owed their desolation to the king's taking up arms against his own subjects. They saved their tears for the in- voluntary victims of the king's evil reign, of his despotic temper, of his bitter war. They did not lavish them on the author, as they honestly thought, of all this misery. But modern readers of history can only see the pale figure of that unhappy king as he comes out of White- hall to the block, and the snow falling on that dark January morning, and the king dying as a king should die. The other pale figures in the farmhouses, in the manors, in the halls, and in many a citizen's home they do not see, and do not remember. But, I say again, the king's execution was a blunder. The first stone of the Restoration of the House of Stuart was laid by that foolish deed. The king beheaded proved to be more powerful than the king alive. Pity did for his house what lies could not do ; and the work of pity has proved more powerful than swords. You can slay your enemy with the sword, but, in the manner of his dying, you may evoke a feeling which shall create a thousand enemies, and which shall yet slay you. It is just so with King Charles. A falser man never lived. He lied by system. He broke his oath as if it were a H 114 OLIVER CROMWELL reed. He was a despot of the Tudor type, and would have ruled as they did, if he could. He did much evil. He strained the dormant powers of the prerogative always a dangerous game and was at last caught in his own meshes. When you know what Charles did you need not wonder, as Clarendon tell us, that the ' country was full of pride and mutiny and discontent.' It would not have been England if men had not writhed under such a yoke. When, then, you are asked to weep for Charles, spare also a few tears for the men and women and little children whose lives he darkened, whose homes he broke up, whose hearts he crushed. After the king's execution came the Irish campaign. Before I say a word about the character of the campaign itself, and of Cromwell's action in it, let me quote a few words showing what the Catholics had been doing in Ireland a few years before Oliver went there. * In a fortnight,' says Froude, 'every town, village, fort, or private house belonging to a Protestant in the six counties, was in the hands of the insurgents ; while the roads were covered with bands of miserable fugitives dragging themselves either towards Dublin or Derry or Carrickfergus, pursued and harassed as they went by bands of wretches, who were hunting them like starved jackals. Murder, when the spirit of it has gone abroad, becomes a poison, and man grows more ferocious than a beast of prey. Savage creatures of both sexes, yelping in chorus, and brandishing their skenes (long knives) ; boys practising their young hands in stabbing and torturing the English children these were the scenes which were witnessed daily throughout all parts of Ulster. . . . Religion was made the new dividing-line, and the one crime was, to be a Protestant. The escorts proved in most cases but bands of assassins. In the wildest of remembered winters the shivering fugitives OLIVER CROMWELL 115 were goaded along the highways stark naked and food- less. If some, happier than the rest, found a few rags to throw about them, they were torn instantly away. If others, in natural modesty, twisted straw ropes round their waists, the straw was set on fire. When the tired little ones dropped behind, the escort lashed the parents forward, and the children were left to die. . . . Some were driven into rivers and drowned ; some hanged, some mutilated, some ripped with knives. The priests told the people that the Protestants were worse than dogs ; they were devils, and served the devil ; and that the killing of them was a meritorious act. 1 . . . 'Two cowboys boasted of having murdered thirty women and children ; and a lad was heard swearing that his arm was so tired with killing, that he could scarce lift his hand above his head. 1 ' Numbers of Protestants were buried alive as many as seventy in one trench. An Irish priest, MacOdeghan, captured forty Protestants, persuaded them to abjure their religion on the promise of quarter, got them to say that Christ was bodily present in the host, and then said " Now, then, you are in good faith," and at once cut all their throats lest they should relapse into heresy. 1 This is the testimony of Sir James Temple, who lived at the time. The total number of victims in this Irish St. Bartholomew are variously esti- mated at from fifty thousand to two hundred thousand. Here was a state of things for Cromwell to put right. Not ' rose-water sprinklings 1 could cure such evils as these. It must be a ' terrible surgery. 1 It must also be just, as terrible. At first, even Cromwell shrank from undertaking the task. It was pressed upon him, and he consented. ' Oliver descended upon Ireland like the hammer of Thor: smote it, as at one fell stroke, into dust and ruin, never to reunite against him more. 1 Oliver himself, writing after the siege of Drogheda to 116 OLIVER CROMWELL Bradshaw, the chairman of the Council of State, says : ' The enemy were filled with much terror. And truly I believe this bitterness will save much effusion of blood.' In another letter he says, a letter to Lenthall (' sly-faced Lenthall,' Carlyle calls him), who was Speaker of the House, referring to the killing of some soldiers and the shipping of others to Barbadoes after this siege : ' I am persuaded that this is a righteous judgment of God on these barbarous wretches, who have imbrued their hands in so much innocent blood ; and that it will tend to prevent the effusion of blood in the future : which are the satisfactory grounds for such actions which otherwise cannot but work remorse and regret.' Wexford next followed, where some of the most barbarous deeds had been committed by the Irish rebels. 'They had seized all the castles and houses of the English, and had driven them out with their wives and children stript naked.' Wexford succumbed. Ross followed, frightened at Oliver's success. Ireland was, at last, pacified and made habitable. Now followed years of prosperity for the country. In ten years from the time of Oliver's subjugation, the whole country was covered with elegant and useful buildings, fine planta- tions, and new enclosures. Peace, ease, and industry had returned to that unhappy land. Cromwell's return to London after his campaign in Ireland was a great triumph. This was May 31st, 1650. A big crowd came out to meet him ; Fairfax and the chief officers came as far as Hounslow Heath ; from Hounslow Heath to Hyde Park came the Trainbands and the Lord Mayor ; to Whitehall and to the Cockpit (where Cromwell lived), was one swaying, heaving, shouting mass of human beings. It was on this occasion that Cromwell said, or is repprted to have said, when some sympathetic person observed, ' What a vast OLIVER CROMWELL 117 multitude is come out to see your Lordship ! ' 'Aye,' said he, * but how many more would come to see me hanged ! ' Cromwell had worsted one Stuart. He had now to fight another. Charles n., with Mrs. , came to Scotland. It was hard to swallow it ; but Charles made a bolt of the ' Solemn League and Covenant ' with wry face, and the douce bodies in the land o' cakes shut their eyes to the presence of Mrs. . But the Scots got an army, and Cromwell must go and meet it. After some delay he won Dunbar, a most surprising victory; was ' rather crazy in his health,' and so the Parliament sent two doctors to look after him. He became master of Edinburgh, subdued the Highlands, dealt with moss- troopers as gamekeepers deal with stoats, and, leaving General Monk in Scotland, marched with rapid strides back again into England, for Charles u. had gathered an army near Worcester. Then came the battle of Worcester (3rd September 1651) 'the crowning mercy,' as Cromwell calls it, from which time Cromwell never fought in the field again. The cause of Charles n. was hopeless at present. Cromwell now stood so far out beyond all other Englishmen of the day as the capable man, that he shortly became Lord Protector. The Army was really King, and the Parliament had become the slave of its own servant. Again and again Cromwell was asked to become king. He refused. He knew how the little men were envying his greatness. He knew how Republican friends were scowl- ing, how unpopular such an act would be with the army. He therefore declined. Clarendon says he made a mistake in not receiving the title, and Hume echoes Clarendon in this, as in other things. Perhaps he did. There would have henceforth been no chance for Stuarts, so the Royalists themselves say. 118 OLIVER CROMWELL But Cromwell refused the crown. He did not, how- ever, refuse to use the power which the crown was supposed to wield. He was not afraid of force. He had been bred in it ; and he used it. But, whilst his power was despotic, even party writers, who hate Cromwell with all their hearts, confess that he was obliged, such was the then disordered state of England, thus to rule. This was Clarendon's opinion ; and of course of his echo, Hume. This also was Southey's opinion ; and as these writers say he could not do otherwise, well we will give in to their judgment ! About this more presently. Cromwell was surrounded by plotters. Charles n. offered %OQ a, year to any man who would take Crom- well's life, and yet he died in his bed. His daughter was suffering from fever. Cromwell watched her, was constantly with her, and took her death greatly to heart. Shortly after his daughter's death, Cromwell himself suc- cumbed to malarial fever, September 3rd, 1658. A big storm was raging at the time of his death, an equinoctial gale. It was a very touching illness, and as remarkable a death. Most of the sovereigns of Europe went into mourning, and even Louis xiv. among the rest. Richard gave his father a grand funeral. For two months that strange mockery lasted lying in state ; and then came Richard's poor sham reign. If it had been Henry instead of 'idle Dick,' what would have happened ? This, for certain : no more Stuarts would have sat upon the English throne. Crom- well was strong enough when he died to leave the Protectorate in the hands of his son ; but his son soon showed that he was not strong enough to keep it. Then came the Restoration, with all its shameful orgies, and ' Nell Gwynn Defenders of the Faith,' the gibbeting of Cromwell's dead body, and all the other dirty things of the foulest king that ever polluted the sweet air of England. OLIVER CROMWELL 119 I have now to deal with the chief charges made against Cromwell. Perhaps few men have been more mercilessly abused. One historian after another for nearly two hundred years has pelted his tomb, as the Arabs pelt stones at the tomb of Absalom in the King's Vale, and every stone is winged with a curse. The first charge is, that Cromwell was a hypocrite. This is Clarendon's biggest stone. Clarendon speaks of him as a man of ' rare dissimulation, in which, sure, he was a very great master. 1 ' He was the greatest dis- sembler living, and always made his hypocrisy of singular use and benefit to himself. 1 Hume, parrot-like, repeats the phrase. He was guilty of ' profound dissimulation. 1 Poor Goldsmith gives a little change of words, ' He exhausted the arts of dissimulation. 1 Blunt says in his Reformation in England, ' In religion he was an enthusiast and a hypocrite. 1 And so the other mocking-birds, who all follow Clarendon, repeat. Now, what is dissimula- tion ? It is playing the hypocrite. But what is ' playing the hypocrite 1 ? It is pretending one thing before men and another before God. It is wearing a mask, and grinning behind it at the poor dupes who are taken in. Is that Cromwell's character ? Well : how can we test it? For many years, indeed, until the year 1845, it was not possible thoroughly to test it. But in that year came out, collected from old oaken chests, from all sorts of strange lumber-boxes and mouldy drawers, letters Oliver's own letters : letters to his personal friends, who knew him well ; letters to his relatives ; letters to his wife, to his daughters, to his sons, to his sons-in-law, to his daughters-in-law ; to official persons ; indeed, a body of letters such as few men leave behind them, preserved by a strange fortune ; and these letters were printed, with just such notes and elucidations as were needful to make them clear, in modern spelling and in modern type. And 120 OLIVER CROMWELL what do private letters generally contain those that men send to the men who know them, send to their wives and children ? Why, the very hearts of the writers. Strange tell-tales are private letters. And what tale do Oliver's private letters tell ? This : that his life was all of a piece ; that he was a true man, a deeply religious man, a Puritan, with all a Puritan's strength and weaknesses ; who spoke the strange, uncouth Puritan dialect, who breathed the Puritan spirit, and who lived the Puritan life. Oliver Cromwell a hypocrite ? Then John Bunyan was ; then John Howe was ; then Richard Baxter was ; then John Wesley was. Ah ! no. Oliver was no hypocrite who appeared one thing to men, and another to God. There was no need to wear a mask before his wife and children ; nor yet before his friends and acquaintance. Oliver never wore one. He was far too outspoken, too real for that. Let no man, then, in the face of those letters private letters, not meant for publication ; letters meant for no eye but his wife's, and letters not meant for the public eye let no man henceforth repeat Clarendon's slander. It is slander, and nothing else. Clarendon's notion of religion may be inferred from the fact that he thought the cause of the Parliament, in taking up arms against the king, the sin against the Holy Ghost ; and as for Hume's notions of religion, we all know what they were. Hume was a cool-hearted sceptic to whom the fervours of faith were madness ; and as for poor tipsy Goldsmith, with his thriftless! habits, if he did 'write like an angel, and talk like poor Poll,' when he wrote of Oliver as he did, he was only a ' poor Poll ' and nothing more. Oliver had ' a conscience,' and no ' pretence ' of one. Would that all men had as good ! Another charge against Cromwell is, ' that the most brutal ferocity marked all his actions and tarnished his OLIVER CROMWELL 121 victories.'' These are Goldsmith's words. Clarendon shall answer him. I will not. Listen : these are Clarendon's own words ' Cromwell was not so far a man of blood as to follow Machiavel's method ; which prescribes, upon a total alteration of Government as a thing absolutely necessary, to cut off all the heads of those, and extirpate their families who are friends to the old one. It was con- stantly reported that, in the Council of officers, it was more than once proposed that there might be a general massacre of all the royal party, as the only expedient to secure the Government, but that Cromwell would never consent to it.' We can afford, after this, to smile at Clarendon's telling us that Oliver was 'a brave wicked man,' who had some good qualities, but for whom ' dam- nation is denounced, and hell-fire prepared.' Poor Clarendon ! The more we know of Cromwell's career as a soldier, the more does his humanity appear. Charles did some very cruel deeds ; but about these Clarendon is silent. Nor does he tell us of the shameful conduct of his own soldiers when they besieged the town of Leicester, and actually repeated some of the deeds of the rebels in Ireland. I challenge any man to prove that the like of that once occurred in the case of any siege, skirmish, or battle through the whole of Cromwell's career. A third charge is, ' that he had peculiar dexterity in discovering character, and taking advantage of the weak- ness of mankind.' That he had a quick discernment of men is true ; but the fact that Englishmen like Milton spoke of him in such high terms, and cunning men like Mazarin trembled at his word, tells against this insinua- tion. He must have known how to rule men, or he would never have reached the height he did ; but men's weak- nesses were never made the steps of his advancement. He was simply the ablest statesman of his age, as Southey says, and he was a Royalist. Southey even goes further. 122 OLIVER CROMWELL He declares that in the day when the race of great men were not yet extinct, Oliver was the greatest of them all. Another charge is, that his rule was ' very prejudicial to the solid interest of the kingdom.' The best refuta- tion of this sneer is to be found in Clarendon. He declares ' that his greatness at home was but a ^shadow of his glory abroad.' Bishop Burnet also attests the pros- perity of his reign, and Dr. Hetherington, the Scotch historian, tells us ' that throughout the whole of Scotland, during the period of Cromwell's domination, there prevailed a degree of civil peace beyond what had almost ever before been experienced.' Enough of detractions. The men who try to blacken his character are obliged to acknowledge his virtues. Clarendon declares that ' he could not condemn him with commending him.' Hume speaks of the virtues of his home ; Goldsmith, in spite of his charge about his hypocrisy, believes that Oliver ' had a thorough con- viction of the rectitude of his cause'; and Blunt thinks that if he were ' rude ' and ' uncultivated ' he was of ' a very superior genius.' Surely, after all these detractions, which are as worth- less as they are feeble, we may listen to the other side. Listen to Milton's words Milton, who knew him intim- ately, which Clarendon never did. ' Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud Not of war only, but detractions rude, Guided by faith and matchless fortitude To peace and truth thy glorious way hast plough'd, And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud Hast rear'd God's trophies, and his work pursued While Darwen's stream, with blood of Scots imbrued, And Dunbar field resounds thy praises loud, And Worcester's laureat wreath. Yet much remains To conquer still ; Peace hath her victories OLIVER CROMWELL 123 No less renown'd than War : New foes arise Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains : Help us to save free conscience from the paw Of hireling wolves, whose gospel is their maw.' What sort of man, in personal appearance, was Oliver ? Here is one portrait by Sir Philip Warwick : 'The first, time that ever I took notice of him was in the very beginning of the Parliament held November 1640, when I vainly thought myself a courtly young gentleman (for we courtiers value ourselves much upon our clothes). I came one morning into the House well clad, and perceived a gentleman speaking (whom, I knew not) very ordinarily apparelled, for it was a plain cloth suit, which seemed to have been made by a country tailor. His linen was plain, and not very clean, and I remember a speck or two of blood upon his little band, which [band] was not much larger than his collar. His hat was with- out a hat-band. His stature was of a good size ; his sword stuck close to his side ; his countenance swollen and reddish ; his voice sharp and untameable ; and his eloquence full of fervour. ... I lived to see this very gentleman, whom out of no ill-will I thus describe, having had a better tailor and more converse with good com- pany [Sir P. Warwick, to wit], appear of a great and majestic deportment and comely presence. 1 Old Dr. South, the court chaplain, in a very courtly sermon, preached in Westminster Abbey, wherein he speaks of Oliver as * a lively copy of Jeroboam," has the very bad taste to suggest that Oliver's coat was torn and thread- bare, that his hat was greasy, and that neither coat nor hat were paid for ! Poor Dr. South ! A man's case must be very weak when he descends to such pitiful spite as this. Here is a second portrait. This time the artist is Mr. John Maidstone, gentleman-in-waiting to the Lord 124 OLIVER CROMWELL Protector. ' Cromwell's body was well compact and strong ; his stature under six feet, I believe about two inches. His head so shaped as you might see it a store- house and shop both of a vast treasury of natural parts. His temper was exceeding fiery, as I have known, but the flame of it kept down for the most part, or soon allayed by those moral endowments he had. He was naturally compassionate toward objects in distress, even to an effeminate measure ; though God had made him a heart wherein was left little room for any fear. ... A larger soul, I think, hath seldom dwelt in a house of clay than his was.' After this, let me give you still another. It is a portrait specially drawn for the French market by Lamartine. ' Oliver Cromwell was of middle height, square-chested, stout-limbed, with a heavy and unequal gait, a broad, prominent forehead, blue eyes, a large nose, dividing his face unequally, somewhat inclined to the left, and red at the tip, like the noses attributed to those addicted to drink ; but which in Cromwell indicated only the asperity of his blood, heated by fanaticism. His lips were wide, thick, and clumsily formed, indicating neither quick in- telligence, delicacy of sentiment, nor fluency of speech. His face was more round than oval, his chin was solid and prominent, a good foundation for the rest of his features." 1 Not, evidently, a handsome man ; but a man standing firmly in his shoes, and no dancing-master; no sloven, despite South's sneers ; and no fop, as Warwick shows ; but a man with a presence, a man whose care was for something else than ' effigies, 1 as they called them. Cromwell was vexed when he heard that Parliament, after Dunbar, struck a medal, and put his plain face upon it. ' I should have been better pleased, 1 he wrote, ' to be spared having my effigies upon it.' And yet he did not wish to hide anything of his defects. When sitting for OLIVER CROMWELL 125 his portrait to young Lely he said : ' Paint me as I am : if you leave out the scars and wrinkles, I will not pay you a shilling. 1 Yes; Cromwell was a thorough man, every inch of him : sober in judgment, swift in perception, vigorous in action. Power did not intoxicate him. He was as grandly simple when he was Lord Protector as when he was a plain country gentleman at Huntingdon. What- ever was to be done, he did : if brewing, he brewed ; if farming, he farmed ; ' prating ' in Parliament, he prated ; if fighting, he fought ; if praying, he prayed ; if ruling, he ruled. He always did well, and did heartily the next thing. A man intensely real and practical, he hated shams. He could forgive a man for being a dupe ; he could not forgive a man for being a mask. ' Subtlety may deceive you,' said Oliver; 'integrity never will.' Liars, hypocrites, masqueraders, were his utter abomina- tion. It was commonly said of him, that every word he spoke was a Thing. Practical good sense common sense, which is so un- common was a distinguishing feature in his character. He could master the points of a case in quicker fashion than a practised lawyer. He seized, as with a sort of instinct, the kernel of the matter. There was, to give an instance of his sagacity, that draining of the fens, which one of his latest biographers blunderingly says Oliver opposed. Not he ! Oliver's father was in favour of it, and Oliver also. What Oliver did oppose was the public injustice which King and Council were bent on doing ; namely, stopping the work as if it were already ended. Oliver was one who could set well at a mark, take aim, and hit it. He did over this business. He roused the whole region. He got a great meeting at Huntingdon. He stopped the injustice, but not the draining, and got nicknamed by his neighbours 'The 126 OLIVER CROMWELL Lord of the Fens.' Oppose the draining ? Nonsense ! Years and years after this, when Oliver was in power and the first man in England, a new company for push- ing on the draining was formed Adventurers, they were called. Oliver was one. A letter came up to the Lord General in London, telling him that the work was checked by some narrow-souled ignorant clod-hoppers, who always think you are going to rob them of their rights when you put down a nuisance. A great, a magnificent work, had been impeded by a few old women of both sexes a work which remains to this day. Oliver heard it by that letter; and this is what he says: 'To Mr. Parker, agent for the Company of Adventurers for Draining the Great Level of the Fens. ' WHITER ALL, 23rd April 1653. ' MR. PARKER, I hear some unruly persons have committed great outrages in Cambridgeshire, about Swaffham and Botsham, in throwing down the works making by the Adventurers, and menacing those they employ thereabout. Wherefore I desire you to send one of my Troops, with a Captain, who may by all means persuade the people to quiet, by letting them know, They must not riotously do anything, for that must not be suffered : but that if there be any wrong done by the Adventurers, upon complaint, such course shall be taken as appertains to justice, and right will be done. I rest, your loving friend, OLIVER CROMWELL.' His sagacious mind saw what was needed when the Civil War broke out, and he at once set about doing it. He chided his cousin John Hampden on the stuff of which the Parliamentary army was made mere tapsters, OLIVER CROMWELL 127 old decayed serving-men, and anybody who would take arms, the riff-raff of alehouses and the scum of London. This would not do. Here, he said, were the Royalist troops composed chiefly of 'gentlemen's sons, younger sons, and persons of quality. Do you think, cousin, that the spirits of such base and mean fellows as tapsters will be able to encounter gentlemen that have honour and courage and resolution in them ? ' If John Hampden did, Oliver did not. We have already seen of what stuff his first troop was composed, and they were a sample of the rest. Southey tells us, quoting one of the journals of Cromwell's day, ' No man swears (among Oliver's soldiers) but he pays his twelve pence ; if he be drunk, he is set in the stocks, or worse ; if one calls the other Roundhead, he is cashiered ; insomuch that the countries where they come, leap for joy of them, and come in and join with them.' The captains were often preachers. Baxter was asked to be one of their chaplains, but declined, and afterwards regretted it. In place of the ribald talk so common in camp, Oliver's men sang psalms, held meetings for prayer, or listened to some pious exhortation. Oliver ruled his men with a firm and yet tender hand, as soldiers like to be ruled. They despise, as schoolboys do, the man who is weak and whom they can trick. You could not trick Oliver. He was too wide awake. When he gives his orders they are short, pithy, to the point. ' We are in sure hints that a meeting of Malig- nants takes place at Lowestoft on Tuesday,' he writes. ' Now, I want your aid, so come with all speed, on getting this, with your troop ; and tell no one your route, and let me see you before morning.' The letter did its business. Help came ; the Royalists were pounced upon suddenly, and ' Malignancy ' was effectually stamped out of the whole district. He knew the secrets of his foes. 128 OLIVER CROMWELL for his scouts were everywhere, and as lynx-eyed as Oliver. This is how he saves the reputation of his men : ' Tell W. I will not have his men cut folk's grass without compensation.'' Oliver always paid most scrupulously for all he had ; and dealt summarily with all pilferers. When guilt was brought home to any one of his soldiers, he was stern, and struck terror by his swift punishment. Here is an order : ' Hang that fellow out of hand, and I am your warrant, for he shot a boy by Pelton-bee by the Spinney, the widow's son, her only support. 1 ' Give no quarter,' he says to another, 'as they shed blood at Bourne, and slew three poor men not in arms.' ' Cut home,' speaking of the moss-troopers, ' as no mercy ought to be shown those rovers, who are only robbers, and not honourable men.' These moss-troopers had been stealing into the camp at night and rifling and murdering Oliver's soldiers. There was a soldierlike brusqueness in Oliver, what Clarendon calls ' a rough brisk temper,' in his way of dealing with men. When he was Governor of Ely, one Mr. Hitch, a creature of Laud's, would go on with his mummeries in the cathedral. ' Leave off your fooling,' he cried, 'and come down, sir.' Poor man, he was com- pelled to obey. Oliver was not imitating Laud, for Laud would have had the man's ears off, and all Cromwell advised was, that he should teach the people and catechise the children. He was, however, lenient to many Royalist clergymen after he became Protector, and even permitted a Papist bishop to live in London to look after the Catholics. Oliver was able to pick out capable men. He was true himself, and hence soon knew men that could be trusted. No man was ever better served at home and abroad. His ambassador in France was one of the ablest men of his day. Many trivial things that would have upset smaller men did not disturb Oliver. Take, as a proof, his treat- OLIVER CROMWELL 129 ment of George Fox, the Quaker. He came to reprove Oliver, but first said, on coming into Whitehall : ' Peace be to this house. 1 'Thank you, George,' said Oliver; 'let us hear what you have to say. 1 And he heard some rude things from 'the man in leathern breeches,' but asked him to dinner, and to repeat his visit. Richard Baxter was reported to be praying down at Kidderminster for the return of the royal family, and some of his court thought he ought to be silenced ; not so Oliver. ' Well, well, 1 he said, 'he's a good man, isn't he? He lives in the hearts of his people ? He is a painful (laborious) preacher ? Oh yes ! Well, well, let him alone. The Lord knows what is best, and won't answer his prayers. 1 Oliver's generosity was conspicuously shown. One remarkable testimony to this is from the pen of Richard- son, a Baptist of Cromweirs day. Richardson thus writes : ' It is the honour of princes to pity the miserable, to relieve the oppressed and the wrongs of the poor. Cromwell is this. He is humble ; he despiseth not any because they are poor, and is ready to hear and to help them. He gives in money to maimed soldiers, widows and orphans, ="1000 a week to supply their wants. He is not a lover of money, which is a singular and extra- ordinary thing. He will give, and not hoard up money, as some do. 1 It ought also to be remembered that he lent Parliament money at the beginning of the Civil War, and that he gave over ^3000 to the Irish campaign, besides cancelling large arrears of pay which were due to him. But whilst careless about himself, he was anxious about his soldiers. ' Send us money, 1 he writes ; ' the men are in want. If you wish to preserve anything but the horses' skins, send the means of getting provender. Hasten our money allotted to us lest you put us to stand with our fingers in our mouths. 1 Oliver was touched to the quick by the news of the i 130 OLIVER CROMWELL dragonnades, the massacres of the Waldenses. * The sufferings of these poor people lie as near, or rather nearer, to my heart, than if it had concerned the nearest relations I had in the world. 1 Very terrible were their sufferings. It was the Irish massacre over again, with all its worst horrors. The Vaudois were enjoined by their savage persecutors to become Papists, or budge. Hun- dreds of families fled in the depths of the severe winter. Villages were burned by the score by the ruthless soldiers ; families were burned to death in their own houses; men were hewn in pieces, women were impaled naked, children were torn from their mothers' arms, and their brains dashed out against the rocks. A hundred women were beheaded in one place, and the soldiers played bowls with their skulls. Then it was that the blind bard of Paradise Lost, 'the organ voice of England,' swept his hand over his harp, and sang: ' Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold ; Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones, Forget not : in thy book record their groans Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piedmontese that roll'd Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills, and they To Heav'n. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow O'er all th' Italian fields, where still doth sway The triple Tyrant ; that from these may grow A hundredfold, who, having learn'd thy way, Early may fly the Babylonian woe.' And not only did Milton sing, but Cromwell helped. He gave some J 2000 at once, out of his own pocket. He stirred up the people to help. Collections were made all over England in all places of worship, and even from house to house, and =40,000, nearly .100,000 of our present money, was sent. A general day of fasting and OLIVER CROMWELL 131 humiliation was appointed all over England ; and Crom- well, who was then about to sign a treaty with France, refused, until the King and Cardinal Mazarin bound themselves to see those poor people righted. There were springs of tenderness, fresh, strong, and pure, beneath the rugged exterior of Cromwell. Hume, I have said, praised his home life. These are his words : * His private deportment, as a son, a husband, a friend, merits the highest praise. ' Hume can say no more than this about his idol, Charles i. The publication of Crom- well's private letters show him as he was never seen before. We look into the very heart of the man in those letters to ' idle Dick ' his eldest son ; in the one in which he says to Dick's wife, Dorothy, ' I stick not to say I do entirely love you ' ; in his advising ' idle Dick ' to read history, to study the mathematics, and to fit himself for public services ' for which a man is born ' ; in the out- pourings to his wife and to his nearest friends. I know nothing finer in thought, in feeling, in sympathy, in truest and tenderest emotion, than that letter already referred to where he consoles his friend Colonel Walton on the death of his son, and bids him let this consolation ' drink up his sorrow." He speaks of his own son's death in that letter : ' It went as a dagger to my heart, indeed it did, 1 says Cromwell. If any man doubts Cromwell's possession of deep springs of tenderness, let him read these private letters. Nor was it Lady Claypole's up- braidings that cut Oliver to the quick, as Royalists say and poets and artists have portrayed, but his deep affec- tion for her, and grief at her death. Never was a more affectionate father than Oliver Cromwell. Active and devoted as he was to public interests, he dearly loved the refreshments and pleasures and freedom of home life. He could romp with his children, play crambo with his courtiers, smoke a pipe with Lord Com- 132 OLIVER CROMWELL missioner Whitelock, and laugh and crack jokes with his soldiers. He did not fence himself about, but was always accessible. He loved music, not only psalm-singing. He never lost his dignity of manner in public, however he might unbend in private ; and it was his very affable- ness, which Clarendon is too blind to see, which made the dissolute and drunken courtiers of Charles n. treat Oliver as a coarse buffoon. Cromwell never set up for a man of letters, and yet he loved learning, showed a leaning to men of scholarship, and encouraged the universities to single out the pro- mising men for promotion. He was the practical saviour of the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge ; and during the Protectorate, learning flourished in them both as it had not done for many a year, Clarendon himself being our witness. He founded the University of Durham, ' which might have been another Oxford if the principles of the Restoration had not diverted the wealth of its endowments into the pockets of bishops and deans. 1 He accepted, with befitting thanks, the Chancellorship of the University of Oxford ; and the name of Cromwell grimly intrudes into its long list of Tory and High Church chiefs. Oliver may be pardoned if he neglected and even despised the poets and dramatists who sprang up like mushrooms on the Restoration, and especially he will be by all who value decency and despise frivolity. He offered Hobbes, of the Leviathan, the post of secretary to his household ; had John Milton for his Latin secretary ; took no offence at Casaubon for declining his pension, or at Selden, who excused himself from writing a history of the Civil Wars. He was kind to Archbishop Usher ; desired to stand well with 'philosopher Cudworth 1 ; imported paper free of duty, on which Dr. Walton printed his celebrated ' Polyglot Bible, 1 and liberally patronised the other learned Puritans. He was friendly with the OLIVER CROMWELL 133 patriot and poet Andrew Marvel], and with Samuel Morland, inventor and projector, with Petty, the Irish Statist, founder of the Lansdowne family, with Pell, the famous linguist and mathematician, and he gave Waller, the poet, a place in his court. He even per- mitted Butler to meditate Hudibras in which he lam- poons the Puritans so unmercifully in the house of one of his officers, and he gave Davenant permission to open a private theatre for the performance of his comedies. I have said that Oliver was a Puritan. Like many others in his own day, his mind was tinctured with a Hebrew spirit. The language, the imagery, the Judaism of the Old Testament had for him a special fascination. He quotes the Gospels but rarely, and his religion had a strong Genevan cast. The rock on which he stumbled, and which will explain some of his gravest mistakes, was his belief in ' particular faith in prayer, 1 namely, that his own feeling, after earnest prayer on any subject, should solely guide his conduct. John Howe, that strong Puritan giant, preached against this delusion in Cromwell's hearing ; but it was too deeply rooted to be destroyed. Popery, it is needless to say, was Cromwell's abhor- rence. His first speech in Parliament was about Dr. Alabaster. ' He had heard, 1 he said, ' that Dr. Alabaster had preached flat Popery at Paul's Cross ; and that the Bishop of Winchester (Dr. Neile) had commanded him to his Diocesan, he should preach nothing to the con- trary. Mainwaring, so justly censured in this House for his sermons, was by the same Bishop 1 s means pre- ferred to a rich living. If these are the steps to Church- preferment, what are we to expect? 1 Oliver's Protestantism was what we now call Orangeism, pure and simple : but we must remember the times and the doings still fresh in the memories of men. The roasting of men and women by 'Bloody Mary,' the 134 OLIVER CROMWELL Spanish Armada, the Gunpowder Plot, the massacres in Ireland by the Papists, and the savage conduct abroad, were all too recent to be forgotten. Oliver looked on the Papists as the Hebrews looked on the children of Moab and Ammon. He had in mind a grand scheme for gathering all the forces of Protestantism into one focus a great European Protestant Confederation. It was to have its seat in London, and to draw into it all the Protestants throughout the world. Oliver did him- self become the great Protestant Defender of his age. If the exiled Cavaliers felt a measure of pride when they saw the dash of Oliver's soldiers on the Continent, the proudest potentates were made to feel that Oliver him- self would have no shuffling from them about their treat- ment of his Protestant brethren. The French said that Mazarin feared Cromwell more than he did the devil. The poor Pope was in such fear of CromwelFs Admiral Blake, and the threat about his cannon being heard in the Vatican, that he ordered public processions of priests to go about the streets, and daily mass to be said. The Spanish Inquisitors trembled in their shoes, for Cromwell hated both Spain and her peculiar institution. Oliver was far ahead of his own age on the question both of civil and religious liberty, the only exception being the Papists. To him Popery was less a faith than a policy ; a policy of intolerance, obscurantism , darkness, and slavery ; and these things his soul hated. He stopped the persecutions against the Jews ; they had virtually been banished from England for four hundred years, and he would have granted them complete tolera- tion and a home in these islands. But the divines and statesmen of the day were not wise enough to see the fitness of this. Oliver tried to bring about a Synod of all Christian men, of every name, that they might arrive at some peaceable agreement with one another, OLIVER CROMWELL 135 but the Christians of that fermenting period of religious feeling were not ripe for it. He quickly checked the petty annoyances and persecutions of the Presbyterians when once he had the power ; and he relieved his soldiers from the burden of signing the Solemn League and Covenant, in which many of them did not believe. God- fearing men, be they Presbyterian, Independent, or Ana- baptist, he welcomed them all, and often spoke stout words in their praise. That letter from Market Harboro', after the battle of Naseby, is a case in point. Men of Bunyan's faith were numerous in the army, and at Naseby fight Bunyan himself had not yet written his POgriaft Progress, but was acting it on the face of the earth in old Leicester with a brown matchlock on his shoulder. Oliver does not scruple to write remonstrating letters to Royalist gentlemen, even in the very outset of his career, to intercede for some poor men, tenants of the Royalist, who are being put under the theological screw by the steward : ' and are likely to suffer for their con- science and humours as the world interprets it.' He says: ' I am not ashamed to ask this favour, doing as even I would be done by. 1 This was Oliver's temper right through his life. He would have no man's spirit bound. He was the apostle of Religious Toleration. Oliver was no vulgar plotter for power and peace. When Protector, he told the Parliament that he would rather have kept sheep on a hillside and lived in peace, than be where he was. Indeed, his speeches show what sort of enemies he had to fight in those later days. Oliver's quarrel with the king, and the Parliamentary quarrel, was this : that the king had tried to govern England without Parliament, and so contrary to law. The king had taken no heed to Sir John Eliot's ominous saying, ' None have gone about to break Parliaments, but in the end Parliaments have broken them.' Oliver never 136 OLIVER CROMWELL schemed for a Republic, as some of his friends and officers did. He would have been a loyal subject if the king had been a man in whom he could believe. The king clapped on taxes without the consent of Parliament, and collected them at the point of the bayonet. Englishmen would have been slaves, emasculated by long bondage, to have borne that. They did not bear it. They could not. They never will. Hence the war with the king. But when Cromwell found that the king was 'a faithful betrayer, a subtle fool, a religious liar, 1 then he had no more faith in the king. Englishmen must do without him. Events and his own deeds pushed Oliver to the front, and he could not retire without cowardice. Even Hume affirms ' that it is not easy to see how the various factions could, at that time, have been restrained without a mixture of military and arbitrary authority. 1 The more closely we examine the times, the more patent this becomes that the country was falling to pieces, and Oliver stepped in to bind the scattered sticks together and make a compact whole. As for the assertion that Oliver disregarded law, the whole Protectorate refutes the aspersion. He was as busy as a man could be, putting the house in order, clearing away rubbish, open- ing long-closed shutters, rubbing off dirt and cobwebs of many years 1 standing from the windows. Many most useful Acts were passed, but the ' blessed Restoration, 1 with its most Christian king and ' Nell Gwynn Defenders of the Faith, 1 repealed them all. But, whatever power Oliver took, it was by and with the consent of the only power that then existed the army ; and he was most anxious, as his conduct shows, to shift the Government from its military base to another and a civil one. When the first of his Parliaments spent all their time in debating whether Oliver was really in power, and did not forward this 'settlement 1 an inch, he OLIVER CROMWELL 137 dismissed them. ' I called not myself to this place, 1 said Oliver to that first Parliament Barebone's Parliament ; ' I say again, I called not myself to this place. God and the people have called me. God and the people shall take it from me, else I will not part with it. I bear not witness to myself. ... I was by birth a gentleman, living neither in any considerable height, nor yet in obscurity. I have been called to several employments in the nation, and did ever discharge my duty as an honest man. 1 He always regarded the people of England as the final appeal, and as the true source of the nation's power. ' I have taken my oath, 1 said Oliver, ' to govern according to the laws that are now made; and I trust that I shall fully answer it. And know, I sought not this place. 1 ' Who, 1 asks Carlyle, ' would have "sought 11 it that could have as nobly avoided it ? Very scurvy creatures only. The " place " is no great things I think ; with either Heaven or else Hell so close upon the rear of it, a man might do without " the place I 11 Know all men, Oliver did not seek this place ; but was sought to it, led and driven to it by the Necessities, the Divine Provi- dences, the Eternal Law. 1 ' I speak before God, angels, and men, 1 says Oliver,'! did not seek it. You sought me for it ; and I took my oath to be faithful to these nations, and to be faithful to the Government. 1 And faithful Oliver proved. ' Having mastered him- self, 1 says John Milton, ' the first day he took the field, he was a veteran in arms 1 ; and it was this self-mastery, which Clarendon confesses he had, that led him to govern wisely in such a hurly-burly as then existed in England. He seems to have been the only man who had a steady hand and a cool and resolute will, and was really sober- minded. He deserved therefore to be, as Milton says he was, ' the leader of our councils, 1 but he also adds that Cromwell was the father of our country, the patron and 138 OLIVER CROMWELL tutelary genius of liberty. England had never risen to such a height before as during the days of the Protector- ate. Her power was felt everywhere ; and Oliver's boast came true, an Englishman was as much respected as of old was a Roman citizen. Her colonial possessions were developed. Her commerce was immensely increased. Her name was everywhere respected ; and no man's word had such authority in Europe as Oliver's. Of no other English sovereign can so much be said as can be said of Oliver, Lord Protector. He did what he thought to be the wise and right thing, and left his character to his country and to God. With prophetic words he said : ' I know God in His own time will vindi- cate me : I have no cause to complain.' The glamour of some illustrious names in the charmed pages of English story dwindles and dies as the ages roll on. The great men and the great names before which many generations, each in their turn, have fallen down and worshipped, disen- chanting Truth has shown to be but idols of earth and of clay ; and not all the tinsel with which they have been bedecked by their votaries can ever win back the old and ignorant adoration. But that same Truth, as it shines upon actions like Alfred's, upon chivalrous lives like Sidney's, upon stout-hearted patriotism like Hampden's, shall only increase their brightness and their glory. So will it be with Oliver Cromwell. I hesitate not to say that his name is one of the grandest names on the roll of England's heroes a man, a real man, sagacious, sober, true ; penetrating, capable, doing with a will the thing to be done ; tender and yet strong, fearless, pure, devout, after the Hebrew Christian pattern; of broad and tolerant spirit, reverent for law, and standing by it even when men said he had broken it ; loving free air, free thought, free men, and doing his best to make this England free, and the men free who lived in it, such was Oliver Cromwell ! BULSTRODE WHITELOCK 1 WTiitelock conformed to all changes during the course of the Rebellion, not from any greedy or ambitious views, but because he hoped that every change might be the last, and dreaded the danger of any attempt at restoring that order of things which had been by violence subverted.' SOUTHEY. BULSTRODE WHITELOCK IN the month of August 1654, Sir Thomas Vyner, Lord Mayor of London, with the aldermen in their civic array, and accompanied by five hundred horsemen, rode out of the Metropolis to meet one of the foremost statesmen of the day, and to conduct him, with special marks of distinction, to a public banquet in the city. The man whom they thus delighted to honour was First Com- missioner of the Great Seal, was one of the eight Com- missioners for the Exchequer, and was now returning from the second city of the time, Bristol the Queen of the West of which city he was the Recorder. Two days after this tribute of London to an illustrious citizen, Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protector, rode in state to Westminster Abbey, with Lambert in the procession carrying the sword, and with the First Commissioner of the Great Seal carrying the purse. Such was the popu- larity in England of this notable purse-bearer, that a few weeks before he had been chosen M.P. for three such different constituencies as the city of Oxford, the borough of Bedford, the county of Buckingham. It was barely a month since his return from the court of Sweden, whither he had been sent, with special marks of favour and a great retinue, as Lord Ambassador for the Commonwealth. Of middle height, in the prime of life, with thoughtful face, long straight nose, firmly closed lips, flowing and frizzy locks, small moustache, with the mien of a student although he was a man of affairs, he was as handsome and manly-looking an Englishman as 141 142 BULSTRODE WHITELOCK you would wish to see. Such was the Right Honourable Bulstrode Lord Whitelock, now in the height of his popularity, whom his neighbours at Reading, with a keen eye to a suitable choice, four months later elected their High Steward. Born in London, in a house in Fleet Street, three months before the discovery of Gunpowder Plot, he lived through the reign of James i., through the troubled years of Charles i. and the Civil War, through the thirteen years of the Commonwealth and Protectorate, and for fifteen years out of the twenty-five of the reign of Charles n., dying in the year when that monarch became a pensioner of the French king. Such is a brief outline of Whitelock's career ; and it is now my purpose to fill in so much of this outline as will show what manner of man he was. Bulstrode Whitelock 1 s education eminently fitted him for the distinguished part he played in his manhood. Bulstrode's father, a learned barrister, afterwards a famous judge, was determined to leave nothing to chance in his only son's education. At the early age of seven he was sent to the Merchant Taylors 1 School, where his father had been trained ; and the judge, by his counsel and example, kept his son close to his books, so that to the end of his life Bulstrode remained a hard and devoted student. At thirteen he was regarded as strong for his years, and had used his strength in many pitched battles with boys of St. Paul's School ; but a league of amity having been formed, the perpetual conflicts between the pupils of the two schools came to an end. Besides his school lessons, Whitelock was taught, at home, shorthand, music, dancing, and fencing. His father having purchased Fawley Court, near Henley-on- Thames, a vacation was passed at this well-known spot ; but his ambitious sire, detecting signs of a strong BULSTRODE WHITELOCK 143 preference in his son for a country life, hurried him back to London, and entered him as a student of law at the Society of the Middle Temple, of which he was at that time the Reader. After the term was over, Bulstrode was permitted to revisit Fawley Court, but was passed on to St. John's College, Oxford. This college was selected because the President, Dr. Laud, was a fellow- student and early friend of the father at the same college. Dr. Laud appointed Dr. Parsons, a discreet and learned physician, as Bulstrode's tutor, who not only read with his pupil, but conversed with him on the current topics of the day, and treated him as a com- panion. Dr. Laud also kept a strict account of his studies, constantly had him to his lodging, and examined him privately. Bulstrode, besides his other work, made a special study of history, particularly that of his own country. He made the acquaintance, whilst at the university, of Mr. Juxon, then incumbent of Somerton, afterwards President of St. John's. From Juxon, who hunted for his health's sake, having wasted his strength by severe study, he not only learned some of the wood- man's craft, but acquired his love for field sports, which he retained through life. In later years he added to this love of hunting, falconry, fishing with cormorants, boating, and bowls. After two years at Oxford he returned to Fawley, to be nursed of a lameness contracted on one of his tramps on foot after the hounds, for he was kept too short of cash to boast of a nag. He sprained his leg, and before it was well, sprained it again, and, weary with his sport, fell exhausted, and slept for two hours on the damp ground. His sprain, and the mischief that followed through his outdoor nap, baffled the entire faculty at Oxford, and his mother hearing from Dr. Parsons how matters stood, instantly sent off the old coach from Fawley, with beds and pillows ; and 144 BULSTRODE WHITELOCK Bulstrode, after some hours of painful travelling, reached home a sad cripple. His mother would not accept the verdict of the Oxford doctors, that her son was incurable, but, quack or no quack, speedily fetched down from London Dr. Mathias, a German, who enjoyed much repute for his skill among the citizens of the Metropolis ; and what the Oxford doctors failed to do was soon done by the despised quack. When he was cured Whitelock returned to London, and quietly settled down to study common law in the Middle Temple. Among the students in his own Inn, and in other Inns, with whom he became acquainted, and who made a mark in the world in later years, were Mr. Maynard, afterwards King's Serjeant and Lord Keeper, who lived to the Revolution of 1688 ; Mr. Hyde, afterwards Lord Clarendon, the grandfather of two queens ; and Mr. Matthew Hale, the judge to whom Bunyan's wife made her touching appeal. Whitelock's love of music, begun at home, was kept up in Oxford, and was now further perfected by weekly concerts at his father's house, in which his two sisters took their part. He also enjoyed at this critical time in his life he was not yet twenty the immense advantage of the counsel and friendship of that veteran jurist, John Selden, who gave him lessons in Hebrew and other branches of Oriental knowledge, and showed such liking for him as to allow him the free use of his choice library. Selden often gave him the benefit of his personal guidance and instruction a great impetus to his present studies, and of untold service to his future. During this period another branch of knowledge was first opened to Whitelock, and in an unexpected manner. He wished to travel on the Continent, and his father, an untravelled Englishman, told him the story of Lord Burleigh, who, when his son expressed the same desire for foreign travel, asked him BULSTRODE WHITELOCK 145 if he had seen Crowland, adding, that England contained objects of interest and antiquity as well worth seeing as those in any part of the world, and that he wished him to see England before he saw other countries. White- lock at once took the hint, and shrewdly suggested probably to his father's surprise that as his father was now Judge of the King's Bench, he should obtain the consent of the other judges for his son to attend them on their several circuits, and thus get the opportunity of seeing all the principal places and persons in various counties, and at the same time improve his knowledge of circuit business. The hint was taken, the judges' 1 consent was readily obtained ; and a neighbour near Fawley, Sir Cope D'Oiley, of Greenlands, made Whitelock the acceptable and timely present of a good nag, the first horse he had ever possessed. He soon after began his travels over different counties of England, and continued them, as opportunity served, until he had a better personal knowledge of England than most men of his time. During these journeys he picked up a good deal of professional knowledge, from conversation with barristers during meals, when cases were put and technically discussed knowledge of great service to the future barrister. In order that nothing might be left to haphazard, and that his knowledge of England might be accurate and usable, he took with him Camden's Britannia^ and Speed's History, with maps ; and added to his book-knowledge by converse with educated residents in the several places he visited. If the sittings of the courts in any town were long, excursions were made in the neighbourhood, and careful notes taken, which are still preserved. He also completed, at this period, his own abridgement of the History of England. When yet barely twenty years of age another source of education was opened to him, such as few young men K 146 BULSTRODE WHITELOCK enjoyed. The arbitrary and illegal acts with which Charles i. began his reign occupied the serious attention of the judges, especially his attempts to cheat the country by ordering ' coat-money ' and ' conduct-money ' to be paid for twelve thousand soldiers called out in the different counties, with the assurance (never meant to be acted upon) that the Exchequer would repay the money. The troops thus levied were about to be sent to the Palatinate as foreign, not as English soldiers, and the king granted a commission for martial law, to keep these men in order. All these doings were deliberate viola- tions by the king of the English Constitution ; and Whitelock's father and other learned judges discussed these violations, Whitelock, as the only son of the Judge of the King's Bench, and already of known sobriety of mind and character, being permitted to be present during their debates. ' They much improved my knowledge,' he cautiously says, when afterwards chronicling the fact in his Annals. He was also present when the judges debated, with great freedom, on the king's proposal to change his style, and in future be described in all legal acts and proceedings as ' King of Great Britain,' which they decided could not be done. It is further evident, from the notes in his diary, that Whitelock was a keen observer of the king's arbitrary courses, of his constant shirking the redress of grievances, and of his failure to secure a more pliant Parliament by removing it to Oxford, on the pretext that the Plague had broken out in London. The Oxford Parliament was incensed at the king's conduct in sending English ships to serve against the Protestants at Rochelle, recalling the children of recusants from beyond the seas, and at the same time fulminating against Popish priests. Whitelock's atten- tion was, therefore, drawn to consider England's foreign policy, of which he now made a special study ; in each BULSTRODE WHITELOCK 147 of these ways increasing his knowledge of constitutional law. The Plague still raging, and Whitelock's father being in great fear about it, he was not only reluctant to leave Fawley for London, but objected to his son's going with him on account of the danger. The Judge had to go to adjourn the Michaelmas term from Westminster to Reading, and his son went to keep up his father's spirits. Whitelock tells us how they drove the first day to his uncle's at Horton, near Colnbrook, and the second day to Hyde Park corner, where they dined by the way-side on the meat and drink brought with them, and then drove as fast as they could through the grass-grown and empty streets to Westminster. The Judge hastily adjourned the Court, and at once returned with his son to Horton, and thence to Fawley. Whitelock was now Reporter in the King's Bench, and the term being kept at Reading, he drove over every day from Fawley, on one of his drives risking his neck by carelessly handling four restive young horses, and overturning the coach. The next step in his education was being elected M.P. for Charles the First's second and short Parliament in 1626. He was now of age, and full of interest in politics. Two constituencies chose him as their member, Stafford and Brigge, and on his father's advice he sat for Stafford. Whitelock became a diligent member, was frequently appointed on committees, made copious notes of every- thing that took place, and, as there were in the House such men as his friend Selden, Eliot, Coke, Wentworth, Pym, and Hampden, he gathered much information of their thoughts and opinions. The impeachment of Buckingham, the glaring proofs of corruption in the Court, and of treachery and villainy in high places, deeply impressed his mind, and disposed him to join the party opposed to the Court. When Parlia- 148 BULSTRODE WHITELOCK ment was dissolved, Whitelock returned to his professional duties, became a barrister-at-law, but spent the first part of his leisure in making an extended tour in the west, visiting Hants, Dorset, Wilts, Devon, Cornwall, part of Wales, and returning back through Warwick and Ban- bury to Fawley, having travelled about a thousand miles. Five other journeys of a similar character were afterwards taken in other directions, of which many notes are preserved. As he was not elected for Charles the First's third Parliament, Whitelock, as if in mockery, set up among the young benchers in town a mimic Parlia- ment, of which he was elected Speaker. For a year or two he now gave himself up to innocent amusements, and has left a long description of a masque played by the young lawyers before the Court, of whicli masque he was the chief organiser, and in which he was a prominent actor. Finding, however, that he was running into debt, and scorning to ask his father for any further allowance, he determined to attend more closely to his profession. He received his first fee from one Michael Bott, an honest neighbour at Henley, and other clients quickly followed, among them the town of Henley and Sir T. Freake. His first year's fees in the Oxford circuit amounted to 15%, 16s., his next year's double that sum, and these, with his father's allowance of <400 a year, proved ample for his necessities. I do not propose to follow Bulstrode Whitelock's career in further detail, but having seen how he was trained and fitted for his professional and public life, another side of his character now demands attention. His father's anxiety to get his only son suitably married led him to attempt at least two thoroughly commercial bargains on Bulstrode's behalf. The first attempted negotiation was with Mr. Wilcox, a wealthy citizen of London. We do not know what Miss Wilcox BULSTRODE WHITELOCK 149 was like, but the judge commends his son's suit in no stinted terms, and describes him as ' an honest young man, dutiful to his parents, and a good proficient at his books. 1 The bargaining came to nothing, as the fathers could not agree on the marriage settlements and con- ditions. This happened the same year that Whitelock was elected M.P. The second attempt was made two years later. This time we are told that the lady was a 'great beauty," 1 and, what was of more consequence, ' of sweet disposition. 1 She was the daughter of Sir John Garrett, of Hertfordshire. A second time the bargain- ing fathers could not agree about the settlements, and the negotiations were broken off. The judge's third attempt was more successful. The young lady was Miss Rebecca Wilson, the daughter of a wealthy widow, who had one house in Cheapside, and another at Mortlake. Miss Wilson is described as being ' comely, proper, handsome, and ingenuous. 1 The young people, in dutiful obedience to parental orders, first met at the house in Cheapside, and after receiving due notice from the parents, other meetings were permitted, either at the city house of Mrs. Wilson or at Mortlake. The marriage took place at the last-named village, in June 1630, but his wedding-day gave Whitelock a sad taste of what was yet to come. His bride was epileptic, and had two fits on the day of her marriage the first, before the ceremony, which threatened to defer the marriage in- definitely, and the second, after the wedding feast. Fortunately she recovered, at least for a time. His mother died at Fawley on Whitsun Eve the next year, and two years after, Whitelock lost his father, to whom he was greatly attached, for they had much in common. He now moved from Mortlake (where he had been living with his wife's mother) to Fawley ; but his wife finding the house dull, owing to his frequent absence on profes- 150 sional duties, he took a house in London. Then came a renewed attack of his wife's malady, which preyed upon his spirits, especially as the doctor wished that she should be kept apart from all her friends for six months, as the only means of recovery. Whitelock found his home dull, and decided to travel. He put his child under proper care, obtained the Lord Chamberlain's licence from the Privy Council to go to France, and set off on his first visit to the Continent, armed with letters of introduction from noblemen and men of mark, and being specially recommended to the king's Resident at Paris. He again sought distraction in his old way, by field sports and by study ; was cheered by the kindly landladies of the inns at which he stayed, both at Dieppe and Paris ; found he was under Richelieu's espionage from the moment of his landing ; got permission to join the French army in Picardy ; was offered and accepted a commission to command a troop of horse ; was often cheered by his friend Hyde's letters, but hearing no better news of his wife, wrote to Hyde, * My present indisposition is so great that I can hardly hope to see England again.' Further news followed, now favourable, now unfavourable, and, whilst irresolute as to his course, a letter came telling him of his wife's death. Then followed letters about his mother-in-law, who had given out that he was dead, and sought the king's permission for the custody of her grandson, and for appropriating the profits of Whitelock's estate, which last attempt his friend Hyde successfully frustrated. Whitelock hastened back to England, and was glad to hear on his arrival, that before her death his wife had recovered her senses, and had spoken in affectionate terms of her husband. He brought back with him from France a Parisian youth, as a com- panion, to perfect his knowledge of French, and to get the solace of the Frenchman's skill on the lute. He gave BULSTRODE WHITELOCK 151 up his town house, returned to Fawley Court, again took up his professional duties, and, in the vacations, amused himself with field sports. At this time there came to live near Henley, Lady Willoughby and her daughter, with whom Whitelock soon became acquainted. Opportunity and inclination, which, Dr. Johnson says, are the chief conditions of courtship, favoured his suit, and Miss Willoughby became his second wife. Years afterwards, Whitelock wrote in his diary about Miss Willoughby : ' When we first met it was upon terms of affection only, without consideration of portion or estate or settlements 1 : in a word, this was a love-match. Their wedded life extended through the troubled times of the Civil War, down to the year that Cromwell won the battle of Worcester. Her death was a heavy blow to her husband, who was left with ten children. He had no heart to make any entry in his diary of his bereave- ment, and lived under its shadow for two years. He now sought a third wife, his choice resting on the young widow of a famous London alderman, handsome, rich, and childless ; Mrs. Wilson by name, but whether a relative of his first wife or not does not appear. Mrs. Wilson herself has left a most interesting diary, from which we learn that at the time of Whitelock's acquaint- ance ' she had many matches offered her, but she could not bring her mind to like any. 1 Mrs. Wilson was a Puritan by birth, by education, and by conviction. This will explain the next entry in her diary : ' As my friends urged me to marry, I prayed to God to choose out a fitting match for me ; and when I was in this sweet frame of spirit, amongst many others there came a grave, gentle man, that had ten children, which at the first did startle me, and did cause all my friends to be against it.' She goes on in her diary to say, however : ' I was brought by certain Scriptures to consider that children were a 152 BULSTRODE WH1TELOCK blessing, so that I durst not refuse a man that had ten blessings. All give a good report of this widower for a very honest, gallant, and gentle man. 1 She declares that his high office in the State did not attract her, but she thought she might dispose him to render good service to God and His people. ' If ever a marriage was the fruit of prayer, I think ours was.' The young widow proved an excellent mother to Whitelock's ten children, greatly fostered the Puritan strain in his character, was passionately attached to him, cared for his home comforts in a way that would have delighted his mother, added six more to the large family circle, cheered and comforted him in his reverses, and outlived him some years. Notwithstanding Whitelock's love for masques and music, there was a sombre and almost melancholy strain in his character, and it is noteworthy that in the whole of his voluminous writings he never once refers in any way, by quotation or by allusion, to Shakespeare. During his melancholy sojourn in France he consoled himself with reading Epictetus, and one passage took such hold of him that, slightly altered, he made it the motto of his life. The passage was this : ' All things are fortunate for me if I so will.' Whitelock was a diligent reader of the Scriptures in their original tongues ; he became the priest in his own house, listened attentively to the lengthy sermons then in vogue, and occasionally preached to his own family. Like other men of his time, he was a believer in astrology, portents, prodigies, and the like. He records the death of the Earl of Pembroke, because it had been predicted in his hearing by an astrologer, and trusted the stars and their interpreters rather than his own senses. He notes the fact with wondering awe, that when Prince Charles was born, a bright star appeared shining at noon- day in the east ; that some island burst into eruption at BULSTRODE WHITELOCK 153 the time Charles the First gave way to the Scots ; and that some other portent appeared when the king fell from his horse. His friend Lilly, the notorious astrologer, predicted the success of the arms of the Parliament, a few days before the battle of Naseby, and this prediction made such a deep impression on his mind that, although Lilly's subsequent predictions were not so fortunate, Whitelock, to his own disadvantage, frequently gave heed to his counsels. Whitelock, to return now for a moment to his public career, was elected M.P. for Great Marlow in the Long Parliament, and delivered his maiden speech soon after it met, nobly and triumphantly defending his father's character. On the proposed impeachment of Strafford, Whitelock was appointed on the committee to draw up the articles, was made chairman, and had custody of its papers. As his colleagues on this committee there were, among others, Pym, Hollis, Hampden, Maynard, and Selden. After Strafford's trial and execution, Whitelock was smitten with remorse ; and decided, and kept his vow, never again to have anything to do with prosecutions on capital charges. He was selected to draw up the Bill which virtually made the Long Parliament master of the situation, he was present when the king attempted to arrest the five members, and, in the debate on the militia question, made a statesman-like speech, which created a profound impression, and stamped his reputa- tion as a master of constitutional law. Seeing which way affairs were drifting, Whitelock stood unflinchingly forth as the champion of peace ; but when the Civil War broke out, he sided with the Parliament. His seat at Fawley Court was plundered by Prince Rupert after the battle of Edgehill. As a neighbour, he had joined Hampden's regiment, and saw some service. He was appointed by Parliament one of 154 BULSTRODE WHITELOCK the Commissioners to offer peace propositions to the king at Oxford, and left that city with a heavy heart, when he saw how useless it was to treat with the double- dealing king. One can imagine that the sturdy Episco- palian made a wry face when, for the sake of retaining his influence with the Republican leaders, he subscribed, as did the rest of the House, to ' the Solemn League and Covenant. 1 We next find Whitelock, with Selden and others, selected by the House of Commons to meet with the Assembly of Divines for the settlement of the Protestant religion. But when the House nominated him one of the Committee to draw up the charges against Laud, he boldly refused, declaring that ' it would be disingenu- ous and ungrateful to be personally the instrument of taking away the life of a man who had been so instru- mental for bettering his ' ; and afterwards strove hard, but in vain, to save his old friend from the block. Whitelock often spoke in the House, and on one occasion talked against time, to prevent a snap vote being taken in favour of establishing Presbyterian ism. It does not appear when Whitelock first became personally acquainted with Cromwell, but as he voted and spoke against the 'Self-denying Ordinance ' an attempt to ruin Cromwell his vote and speech may have inclined the latter to think favourably of him. At any rate, this we know, that, asking leave of the House to go down to Fawley, he rode over at once to Fairfaxes camp, was greeted most cordially by Cromwell, and was cheerfully admitted to their councils of war. Whitelock was able to make favourable terms with them for the Oxford Colleges, and saved the libraries and other properties from sequestration. In 1647 Whitelock was appointed one of the Com- missioners of the Great Seal, with Sir Thomas Widdring- BULSTRODE WHITELOCK 155 ton as a colleague. Three days after ' Pride's Purge, 1 when Colonel Pride drove out from the House all members suspected of loyalty, Whitelock met Cromwell with Colonel Dean and Sir Thomas Widdrington, and they discussed together the pressing question of the settlement of the nation, which was made the subject of further debate by the same persons at Whitehall on the following day. Whitelock was then asked to draw up a statement which would appease the army ; but not much came of his efforts, as the officers, and the leading Republicans, were bent on pushing forward the impeach- ment of the king. He was appointed one of the committee of thirty-eight to draw up the articles of impeachment, but courageously declined to act. He also refused to have anything to do with the king's trial, and when Charles i. was beheaded, writes in his diary : ' I went not to the House, but stayed all day at home in my study, and at my prayers, that this day's work might not so displease God as to bring prejudice to this poor nation." 1 Some time after, when appointed one of the thirty-eight who formed the Council of State, he had the boldness to refuse to sign a paper saying that he approved what the House had done with respect to the king and his execution, and the abolition of the House of Peers ; but three days later than this he did sign a declaration giving his approval to what the Commons, as the supreme authority over the nation, might do hereafter. Whitelock was on friendly terms with Cromwell, and tells us of his supping one night with him and Ireton, when Cromwell was very cheerful, and talked with him till a late hour on the many instances of special Provi- dence in the late war. He was also one of those who played bowls with Cromwell at Whitehall in later days. Whitelock, Cromwell, and others were appointed to 156 BULSTRODE WHITELOCK confer with Fairfax, and remove his scruples, if it were possible, about invading Scotland, but their efforts were futile. Cromwell's great battle of Dunbar followed not long after. When Worcester was won, the House appointed Whitelock with three others to meet Crom- well on his way to London, and congratulate him on his victory. The deputation was received with great kindness and respect, and each one was presented by Cromwell with a fine horse and two Scots prisoners. Three months after, in December 1651, an important meeting was called at the Speaker's house, to decide on some settlement of affairs which should secure the civil and religious liberties already won. Whitelock was one of the company, and the others were Cromwell, Colonel Whaley, Sir T. Widdrington, Harrison, Fleetwood, and St. John. Whitelock suggested that the first thing to be decided was, whether the settlement was to be an absolute Republic, or with any mixture of monarchy, showing his own preference for the last, because English law and custom were all interwoven with the power and practice of monarchy, and much inconvenience would arise if this were upset. The other lawyers were on AVhitelock's side, but the officers were all for a Republic, although Cromwell affirmed, to use his own words, ' that a settlement if somewhat with monarchical power in it would be very effectual,'' yet confessing that the whole business was one of no ordinary difficulty. Whitelock writes in his diary at the time, that he fancied Cromwell had called this meeting to sound the opinions both of lawyers and soldiers ; and thinking this, he watched Cromwell's course of action with the greatest care and interest. Whatever might then have been Cromwell's projects, a whole year passed before he broke through his reserve. Then followed a most remarkable conference between the two men. They met by accident BULSTRODE WHITELOCK 157 in St. James 1 Park, and Cromwell greeted Whitelock with more than usual courtesy. He asked for a private con- versation, which he said he desired because of Whitelock's ability and judgment, and particular affection and friendship for himself. The conversation is full of interest, but is much too long to be given here. Suffice it to say that Cromwell told Whitelock that he could trust his life with him, and the most sacred matters about the Commonwealth ; that he did not want to be fooled out of his hard-earned victories ; but that the dis- sensions and private janglings of the officers seriously menaced the Commonwealth, and nothing could be hoped from Parliament. ' What,' said Oliver Cromwell, ' if a man should take upon him to be king?' Whitelock replied that the remedy would be worse than the disease, and showed Cromwell that he already had kingly power, and that even foreign affairs were solely under his control, and begged pardon for the frankness of his speech. Cromwell thanked him for his counsel, and the long interview broke up with Cromwell's remark that the subject was difficult, and required more time and con- sideration than could then be given. Whitelock says that Cromwell never referred to this conversation, but he fancied that their intimacy slackened for a time, and that Cromwell did not consult him so frequently. Lady Claypole is said to have declared, at a later period, that her father wished to send Whitelock out of the way on some honourable employment, that he might be no impediment to his ambitious designs, and that for this purpose the embassy to Sweden was arranged. It is also recorded by Whitelock himself, that when Cromwell proposed that he should go on this embassy, his own wife shared opinions not unlike Lady Claypole's. White- lock also confesses to feeling some pique at this time that, whilst he was considered to be so much in favour 158 BULSTRODE WHITELOCK with Cromwell and his friends, he was yet left out of Cromwell's council, and out of that assembly that called itself a Parliament. But Cromwell so put this question of the Swedish embassy to Whitelock as to break down all opposition to its acceptance. He urged his fitness on account of his knowledge of Latin and French, of his acquaintance with foreign affairs, of his discretion, his honourable descent, and his high office, and even asked him to go as a personal favour. It would occupy too much time to describe, in any detail, Whitelock's embassy to Sweden ; but those who care to go into this matter more fully will find his journal full of interest, from start to finish. Whitelock's greatest difficulty was to get his wife's consent to his going ; but when once she saw that he had made up his mind, like the true wife she was, she found reasons for his going out of her Puritan leanings, begged him to act for the honour of God and the advantage of the Protestant religion, and busied herself in making admirable provision for his personal comfort, in the shape of flour, conserves, wine, beer, clothing, and the like. Two of his sons went with him, and a hundred gentlemen and servants, many of the gentlemen speaking Latin, and some of them French and High Dutch. From the first he treated his company as a family, and ordered his household as Cromwell ordered his Ironsides : no swearing being allowed, no drunkenness, disorder, gaming, or the like, whilst the utmost civility was to be shown to the Swedes. Two chaplains, a physician, and a musician, formed part of their company. Before they left London, in almost royal state and with salutes from the Tower, a solemn service was held, at which all were present, and Whitelock gave a pious ex- hortation. During their voyage out and home they had prayers twice a day, and long services on the Sunday. For three days his chaplains were sea-sick, and then, says BULSTRODE WHITELOCK 159 Whitelock, ' one Percall, a kind of master's mate in his mariner's habit, an elderly man, prayed every day, well and honestly, much beyond expectation, God having bestowed on him extraordinary gifts in praying and expounding the Scriptures.' The same man, on one of the Sundays of the voyage out, ' preached,' says White- lock, ' a very honest and good sermon.' To prevent mischief, Whitelock devised nightly concerts and debates and other modes of amusement, both on sea and on shore, the report of which on his return greatly won Cromwell's admiration. Whitelock allowed no infraction of his orders, and instant dismissal followed disobedience. A man who was smuggled on board among the stablemen proved to be an assassin, sent by some fanatical Royalists, to take away Whitelock's life, but he was so conscience- stricken because of the kindness he received, that on reaching Sweden he made his escape. The Common- wealth were somewhat niggardly in their allowances, and Whitelock often grumbles about this parsimony in his journal, but Cromwell ultimately saw that all the expenses were defrayed. The account of the voyage from England to Sweden, although made in one of the best ships of the time, shows what our seamen had to endure in those days ; and Whitelock's full description of his journey from Gotten- burg to the capital indicates how primitive were the vehicles of Sweden small wagons drawn by bullocks and driven by women, the wagons not much bigger than a costermonger's cart. The English travellers found that the roads had been mended for their greater convenience ; but the inns were wretched, the fare coarse. Whitelock often slept in his camp bed and his gentlemen on straw : as it was the depth of winter, and the frosts were keen, their discomfort was great. The protracted and tedious negotiations with the queen and her states- 160 BULSTRODE WHITELOCK men, his observations on the manners and customs of the Court and country, his dogged determination to abate no jot of what he regarded as due respect to his office or to the Commonwealth of England, and his lengthy talks with the amusing and sagacious young queen, are all set down with great fidelity. He attended a Swedish wedding, and made merry afterwards by showing the ladies, at the queen's request, the English method of kissing. He still kept up his habit of note-taking, and brought home much valuable information. He had no high opinion of the habits of the people, who were then notorious for their deep drinking. The untravelled man appears in the remarks he makes on the voyage of seeing ' divers strange fishes ' ; in speaking of the fiords, to which visitors from England are now drawn yearly in such large numbers, as ' full of huge, tall, craggy, numberless company of rocks ... a prospect full enough of dread and terror ' ; and in the astonishment he expresses at the log-built houses of the Swedish noble- men, with only brick and stone in the chimneys. He also gives a picture of the wretched poverty of a country Lutheran minister, whose children, in that inclement season, had nothing on them but torn shirts, and whose wife was little better clad. Whitelock's visit to Sweden strengthened the reputa- tion of the Commonwealth, and he won for himself great distinction by his courtly bearing, his marked sobriety, his religiousness, his shrewdness, his learning, and his hospi- tality. On one occasion he met a son of Salmasius, one of Milton's bitterest critics, and silenced his flippant talk. He was pleased to find that some of Milton's prose works were known to Swedish scholars. On his return Whitelock barely escaped shipwreck on the Norfolk coast. Cromwell, who had been made Lord Protector during his absence, received him with great BULSTRODE WHITELOCK 161 favour, and the House of Commons publicly thanked him for his distinguished services. As for himself, one of the first things he did after reaching London was to hold a thanksgiving service, not a single member of his retinue having suffered any great harm or loss during their absence of eight months. His greatest grief at this time was the death of his old friend John Selden, which took place shortly after, of whom he wrote, ' his mind was as great as his learning ; he was as hospitable and generous as any man, and as good company, to those whom he liked/ Whitelock went back again to his professional duties, and showed his courage by refusing to comply with what he regarded as the arbitrary and illegal interference by the Lord Protector with the Court over which he presided. This boldness led to his being called upon to give up the Great Seal ; but, to show that he bore him no ill-feeling for this boldness, Cromwell soon afterwards made him one of the Commissioners of the Treasury, in which office he did excellent service. The Protector also consulted him on all questions of foreign policy, and when a Swedish ambassador came to England, left his entertainment largely in his hands. It was this which led Whitelock to bring him down in his own coach to Aldermaston near Reading, to see English hunting and falconry, which were both entirely new to him. They had three days 1 excellent sport at Sir Humphrey Foster's, and says Whitelock, ' within doors the ambassador played cards with the ladies. All were full of mirth, and the sports abroad afforded great delight to the Swedes. 1 Whatever coolness had once existed in the Protector towards Whitelock had now entirely passed away. He was much in Cromwell's confidence, was chosen for further offices of public trust, was made one of the Protector's House of Peers, and was one of those who strongly urged L 162 BULSTRODE WHITELOCK him to assume the title of king. He also gave the Pro- tector his word that he would uphold his son Richard to the best of his power. He was acquainted with General Monk^s plotting, and would have outwitted him in making terms with Charles n., but for the backwardness of his colleagues. At the Restoration Whitelock was one of those in- cluded in the general pardon and oblivion, but, unlike some others, paid for his pardon by a big round sum. He did not actually pay the full sum demanded, c90,000, but did pay .50,000, and to raise this large sum sold his Greenlands estate and mortgaged Fawley Court. On his bringing the money to Charles n., the king smiled favourably upon him, and when he left his presence gave him (as of little further use to himself) his Coronation Bible and Prayer Book. Whitelock retired to Chilton Park, near Hungerford, his wife's property, and spent the remainder of his days in busy and scholarly leisure, his malady cutting him off from all field sports. He wrote, for the king's use, a voluminous work on the History of Parliaments. He also wrote, for the benefit of his children, his Annals, of which the extant ' Memorials ' is a mere fragment ; and a book called A Father's Lectures upon Particular Occa- sions to his Family. Besides these he wrote lectures on the Book of Job, many religious books, one in French, and, according to William Penn, a Treatise on the power of Princes, especially in Ecclesiastical Matters. Whitelock's valuable notes, made during the Protec- torate, were, much to his regret, destroyed by his wife at the Restoration, lest they should be found to contain any compromising matter which would endanger his life. He lived to the age allotted to man by the Psalmist, and was privately buried in Chilton parish church, his wife fearing that some fanatical Royalist might put on his BULSTRODE WHITELOCK 163 dead body the same indignities that had been put on the bodies of the Protector and some of the leading Republicans. It is strange that a man of such character and eminence has been allowed by his countrymen to sink into compar- ative oblivion. He was one of the most earnest law reformers that ever lived, and did enough in this direction alone to earn for himself an enduring fame. He was of great repute in his profession ; he was consulted by Hampden and other Republicans as well as by Royalists ; and after the Civil War his opinion was deferred to in many State Councils, as that of a man of the highest legal acumen. Whitelock does not deserve to be called, as Lord Somers calls him, ' a time-serving politician.' He was a man of cool temper, calm judgment, and great knowledge of affairs and of men, and in the troublous times in which he lived, saw what was possible, if not what was best for his country. Shrewd, learned, patriotic, devout, tolerant, humane, Whitelock was a type of man of whom England has every reason to be proud. MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON ' We do not know where to look for a more noble and engaging character than that under which this lady presents herself to her readers ; nor do we believe that any age of the world has produced so worthy a counterpart to the Valerias and Portias of antiquity.' LORD JEFFREY. MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON THE sources of our knowledge of Mrs. Lucy Hutchinson are but two : first, her own brief account of her child- hood ; and second, the Life of her husband, Colonel Hutchinson. For nearly a century and a half the MSS. of both these books were carefully hidden from the public by the staunch Royalist and Episcopal descendants of the Hutchinson family, who abhorred the Colonel as a regicide, and hated the Puritans and Republicans and all their works. Even in 1806, when both books first appeared, the editor, the Rev. Julius Hutchinson, a descendant, felt it incumbent to justify their publication, and this he did in the most handsome manner. The first edition was quickly followed by three other editions, and many have since been issued. The sadly too brief auto- biography of herself, and the more extended Life of Colonel Hntchiiison, Governor of Nottingham Castle during the first Civil War, have now taken a permanent place among our most valuable and readable English Memoirs of the seventeenth century. In her autobiography, Mrs. Lucy Hutchinson describes what she calls certain 'passages of her youth,' and these are so entertaining that one is constantly regretting that the writer tore out many leaves of her MS., and ended so abruptly the fascinating tale she was telling. She accounts among the special advantages of her life, for which she never ceased to be thankful, her parents, her country, her rank, and the times in which she lived. 167 168 MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON She was born in January 1620, in the Tower of London, of which celebrated fortress her father, Sir Allen Apsley, was Lieutenant. An attractive picture is given by the affectionate and gifted daughter of her father and mother. Her father, as a young man, had been in Queen Eliza- beth^ household, and he obtained his knighthood from James i. He was active and enterprising in his youth, and a student rather of living men than of books; an indulgent husband, a kind father, a noble master, a father to his prisoners (among them being some of Elizabeth's great captains) ; ready at all times to help with his purse men eminent in learning and arms, free from pride and covetousness, by no means anxious to ' rank himself with princes,' and making the Tower a home for his wife's less fortunate relations. Lucy's mother was a Miss St. John of Wiltshire, the most beautiful daughter of a family in which all the daughters were beautiful. She was married when only sixteen years of age to a husband who was forty-eight; but no marriage was ever happier. Lucy was their first daughter. Two sons had been born before, and three daughters and two sons came after Lucy. Among the prisoners in the Tower were Sir Walter Raleigh and Mr. Ruthin, who made experiments in chemistry at her mother's expense, for their own diversion, and to aid her mother the better to minister to sick prisoners, for whom she not only prepared suitable medi- cines, but also made broths and restoratives, in which humane employment she was presently assisted by Lucy. Lady Apsley visited and comforted the prisoners, and so cared for them that the Tower was rather a home than a dungeon. Bountiful to many poor widows and orphans, both high and low, the Tower was constantly filled with distressed families and poor relations. Like her husband, she was a devout Puritan, showed great partiality for the Puritan clergy, and for all godly people of the same MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON 169 faith. In her husband's last illness she was his nurse, his cook, and his physician, and kept him alive longer than his medical attendants thought it possible he could live. On his death, as became a devout Puritan, she showed a true humility and patience. Lucy was then only ten years old ; but this account of her parents is valuable because it shows that the qualities she herself afterwards displayed were due to the stock from which she sprang, and to the example before her in the most impressionable time of her life. On her husband's death Lady Apsley took a house at Richmond. About Lucy's life here we do not gather much information from her autobiography; but while still living in the Tower she showed something of the traits by which she was distinguished in later years. At an early age her memory was remarkable ; she carried away and repeated the greater part of the Puritan ser- mons which she was taken to hear by her mother, and showed such amazing quickness in mimicking the style of the preachers, that there was some danger of her being spoilt by flattery. A French nurse made her familiar with French from the time she could talk. For some time the only daughter, and showing great precocity, she was much petted by her mother. When seven years old she had eight tutors for languages, music, dancing, writing, and other subjects. She outstripped her two brothers in Latin, much to her father's delight. Her teacher was her father's chaplain, whom she describes as 'a pitiful dull fellow.' But if he was dull his pupil was not. She frankly declares that she did not care for music and dancing, and that she was averse to all things save her books. Of these she certainly made excellent use, since she was not only acquainted with French and Latin, but with Greek and Hebrew. The MS. of her translation of 170 MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON several books of Lucretius is still to be found in the British Museum. She also translated part of Virgil's JEneid^ the MS. of which is still in the possession of a descendant of her husband's family. Lucy must have appeared a strange child to other children. She ' absolutely," as she puts it, ' hated her needle ' ; and when children came to play with her pulled their dolls to pieces, and gave sober lectures, so that the little mites who listened were only too glad when Lucy left them and sought the company of her elders. She was never so happy as when listening to the grave and learned talk of the scholars and divines at her father's table. Well grounded in Puritan theology, she did not at this early time disdain witty songs and amorous sonnets and poems. Both her love of theology and her love of amorous literature she turned to account on her mother's maids. She gave them sundry religious exhortations, which were, perhaps, all the more readily listened to because, in their love matters, she became their willing and interested confidante. ' None of these maids,' says Lucy, ' but had many lovers, and some par- ticular friends beloved above the rest.' The Autobiography at this point suddenly ceases, merely recording the birth of a sister, and the trans- ference of her mother's affection to the newcomer. The thread of the story is taken up some eight years later on, when her mother was living at Richmond. This was the time when she first became acquainted with John Hutchin- son, her future husband. The story of that acquaintance is far too long to be given in detail ; but before offering a brief summary, some account must precede it of John Hutchinson's early love-passages, all the more entertain- ing because they are written by Lucy herself from know- ledge subsequently obtained from her husband. John (afterwards Colonel) Hutchinson was the son of Sir Thomas Hutchinson, and of his wife Margaret, MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON 171 daughter of Sir John Byron, of Newstead. His father was also uncle to Ireton, and related to other Notting- hamshire families. He had a good property at Owthorpe, a few miles from Nottingham, and a house in the town itself. John Hutchinson, after being a scholar in the Nottingham and Lincoln Grammar Schools, went to Peterhouse, Cambridge. When two-and-twenty years old (1637) he entered Lincoln's Inn, but devoted himself to music and divinity rather than to law. He was meditating a tour on the Continent, when his fondness for music took him to Richmond, to secure the advantage of lessons on the viol from Mr. Gregory, a composer of note, whose house was the centre of attraction to James the First's musicians, and also to many well-to-do young people of both sexes, of musical tastes. Now let us go back to these previous attempts on the heart of John Hutchinson. His wife tells us these stories, nothing extenuating, nor setting down aught in malice, but with evident gusto, and with a subdued sort of triumph as she herself was the eventual winner of the prize. In describing other ladies, she differentiates her- self. There were, she says, at least three attempts made on the affections of this young and handsome man, a gentleman by birth, by taste, and by education. The first happened at Lincoln, when John Hutchinson was still in his teens. A certain Lady Grantham lived at Lincoln, who was something of a match-maker. Her husband and herself were close friends of Hutchinson's father. Father and son were staying at Lady GranthanTs on a short visit. Lady Grantham ' had staying with her a very pretty young gentlewoman, the daughter of Sir Adam Newton ; my lady's design was to begin an early acquaintance, which might afterwards draw on to a marriage between her and Mr. Hutchinson, and it took such effect that there was a great inclination in the gentlewoman to 172 MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON him ; and there was so much good nature on his side as amounted to a mutual respect, and to such a friendship as their youth was capable of, which the parents and others that wished so, interpreted to be a passion of love ; but if it were so, death quenched the flame, and ravished the young lady from him in the sweet blooming of her youth.' About the same time Hutchinson suffered from a sickness, which, Lucy says, his friends wrongly assigned to his grief at Miss Newton's death. The second love-passage took place in Nottingham, soon after Hutchinson left the University and came to live with his father. This time Lucy tells us that the lady, the daughter of a physican in the town, was young, beautiful, and rich, ' but of base parentage and of penurious education.' ' She conceived a kindness ' for young Hutchinson, and thought it returned ; but it was only his civility, for his ' great heart could never stoop to think of marrying into so mean a stock ; yet, by reason of some liking he she-wed for her company, and the melancholy he had, with some discontents at home, (there was a step-mother and a second family), she was willing to flatter herself it was love for her; whereon, when she discovered her mistake, it was a great grief. However,' Lucy continues, ' she was, without much love on either side, by and by married to an Earl's son, and both of them wanting the true ground of happiness in marriage, mutual love, enjoyed but little felicity either in their great fortune, or in one another.' The third instance Lucy describes very briefly. She says, ' In the house with Mr. Hutchinson (at Notting- ham) there was a young gentlewoman of such admirable tempting beauty, and such excellent good nature, as would have thawed a rock of ice ; yet even she could never get an acquaintance with him. Wealth and beauty,' she continues, ' thus in vain tempted him, for MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON 173 it was not yet his time of love : but it was not far off: Now we go back to Richmond, whither John Hutchin- son was gone for lessons on the viol, and because it pro- mised much diversion in other ways. He was solemnly warned by his London friends before he went, that Mr. Gregory's house was a dangerous place, and many young men had lost their hearts as soon as they got there. Hutchinson found, on his settlement with Gregory, that there was no lack of attractive young ladies, and that there were many opportunities of making love. There was 'a great deal of good company'' at Gregory's, and those living there were often invited to the houses in the neighbourhood, and were 'nobly treated with all the attractive arts that young women and their parents use to procure their lovers ; but although some were very handsome, others wealthy, witty, and well quali- fied, and all of them set out with all the gaiety and bravery that vain women put on to set themselves off, yet Mr. Hutchinson could not be entangled in any of their fine snares ; but without any taint of incivility, he in such a way of handsome raillery reproved their pride and vanity, as made them ashamed of their glory, and vexed that he alone, of all the young gentlemen that belonged to the Court and the neighbourhood, should be insensible of their charms.' In Mr. Gregory's house, also ' tabled there ' like Mr. Hutchinson, was the younger daughter of the late Sir Allen Apsley 'a very child,' as Lucy calls her sister. From one of his acquaintances at Gregory's, Hutchinson heard a good deal in praise of the gifts and attractions of Lucy Apsley, but was also told that she shunned men ' as the plague.' That greatly piqued Hutchinson. He eagerly asked for more information, and became ena- moured with his own picture of the unknown fair one. 174 MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON If she would not allow other men's acquaintance, he at least would do his best to break down her reserve. One day, at the little sister's request, Hutchinson went with her to the locked-up house of her mother, to fetch some trifle, Lady Apsley and Lucy being in Wiltshire, and whilst waiting, he saw Latin and other books with Lucy's name in them. He heard about this journey of the mother and daughter into Wiltshire, and became moody at the thought that Lucy, the unknown, might be on the eve of marriage. By and by the unknown lady returned to Richmond with her mother. Hutchin- son persuaded the ' very child ' to delay her return home that night till after supper, when he would accompany her. Let Lucy tell the story of her first meeting with John Hutchinson : ' His heart being prepossessed with his own fancy, was not free to discern how little there was in her to answer so great an expectation. She was not ugly ; in a careless riding habit. She had a melan- choly negligence both of herself and others, as if she neither affected to please others, nor took notice of any- thing before her; yet, in spite of all her indifference, she was surprised with some unusual liking in her soul when she saw this gentleman, who had hair, eyes, shape, and countenance to beget love in any one at the first, and these set off with a graceful and generous mien, which promised an extraordinary person." 1 This is very well for a first glimpse, and shows what sharp eyes she had. Listen to her further account of young Hutchinson : ' Although he had but an evening sight of her he had so long desired, and that at disadvantage enough for her ; yet the prevailing sympathy of his soul made him think all his pains well paid ; and this first did whet his desire to a second sight, which he had by accident the next day, and to his joy found that she was wholly dis- engaged from that treaty which he had so much feared MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON 175 had been accomplished ; he found, withal, that though she was modest, she was accostable, and willing to enter- tain his acquaintance. This soon passed into mutual friendship between them, and though she innocently thought nothing of love, yet she was glad to have ac- quired such a friend who had wisdom and virture enough to be entrusted with her counsels, for she was much per- plexed in her mind/ What these perplexities were appears from some further remarks. Her mother and friends were anxious that she should marry; she had had many suitors, both among the courtiers in the neighbourhood, and others, and had refused many ad- vantageous offers; but, whilst anxious to please her mother, she did not feel disposed to marry unless her heart felt more inclination to some one of her many suitors than at present was the case. She evidently took Mr. Hutchinson into her counsels on the subject, and he speedily, like a sensible man, turned this favour- able opportunity to account. For six weeks they saw each other every day ; the spring was now come ; many pleasant walks together followed, although never alone ; and the young ladies at Gregory's and in the locality ' began to grow jealous and envious,' and did their best by ' malicious practices ' to break off the acquaintance the ladies, with ' witty spite, 1 dilating on Lucy's neglect ' of dress and habit and all womanish ornaments,' and over-fondness for study and writing; and the man who had first excited his curiosity about her, by cautions, and disparagement, and * subtle insinuations.' But Hutchinson, as she tells us, nothing daunted, ' prosecuted his love with so much discretion, duty, and honour, that at length, through many difficulties, he accomplished his design.' She adds with provoking reticence : ' I shall pass by all the little amorous relations which, if I would take the 176 MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON pains to relate, would make a true history of a more handsome management of love than the best romances describe; but these are to be forgotten as the vanities of youth, not worthy of mention among the greater transactions of his life. 1 As Lucy was writing for her children's benefit, and especially for her eldest son, one does not greatly marvel, that she passed lightly over this period of their mother and father's courtship ; but she takes care to add, that 'this only is to be recorded of John Hutchinson, that never was there a passion more ardent and less idolatrous; he loved her better than his life, with inexpressible tenderness and kindness ' ; that whilst with indulgence he marked and sought to remove her imperfections, ' he soon made her more equal to him than when he found her ' ; that she was his ' faithful mirror, though dimly reflecting his glories, and that the greatest excellency she had was the power of apprehend- ing and the virtue of loving his.' This may appear the very exaggeration of love ; but listen to what follows : ' That day that the friends on both sides met to conclude the marriage, she fell sick of the smallpox, which was in many ways a great trial to him. First, her life was in almost desperate hazard, and then the disease for the present made her the most deformed and disfigured person that could be seen, for a great while after she recovered ; yet he was nothing troubled at it, but married her as soon as she was able to quit her chamber, when the priest and all that saw her were affrighted to look on her ; but God recompensed his justice and constancy by restoring her though she was longer than ordinary before she recovered to be as well as before.' The happy pair were married at St. Andrew's Church, Holborn, on July 3rd, 1638, Lucy being then only eighteen, and her husband twenty-three. For four months they lived at Richmond with Lady Apsley, MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON 177 and then removed, for Lucy's health, to the Blue House, Enh'eld Chase, and afterwards to Owthorpe, Nottingham- shire. 'The North was, 1 says Mrs. Lucy Hutchinson, ' a formidable name among London ladies,' but it had no terrors for her since she had the companionship of her husband. The next two years were spent by Hutchinson in studying divinity, on which he was set, partly by natural inclination, and partly by the good library collected at Owthorpe by his father. He also, as the mutterings of the coming storm of the Great Civil War were heard, tried to master the grounds of difference between Charles i. and his Parliament, which ended in Hutchinson, although all his relatives and most of his neighbours and friends were Royalists, taking the side against the king. ' Before, 1 in his wife's picturesque phrase, ' the flame of the Civil War broke out in the top of the chimneys, the smoke ascended in every county.' That 'smoke' was already to be seen in Nottingham, and the Royalists became very active for the king. As Hutchinson's decision to take sides with the Parliament became known, although he held aloof from present activity on its behalf, his Royalist relatives and neigh- bours, by their plots to snare him, soon forced him out of his neutral position. He escaped one plot to seize his person by flight into Leicestershire, and then sent for his wife. He next removed to Kelmarsh, near Market Harboro', and thence to Northampton. At Kelmarsh the quick wit of his wife led Prince Rupert's soldiers to seize Hutchinson's brother George as a prisoner, instead of her husband, and greatly incensed the soldiers against her when they discovered how she had befooled them. It was during Hutchinson's stay in Kelmarsh that the king unfurled his standard in Nottingham, and that the first Civil War began in real earnest. During this time Owthorpe was plundered by the Earl of Chesterfield. M 178 MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON Hutchinson returned home after the battle of Edgehill. In June 1643, by order of the Parliamentary Committee in the town and of Sir John Meldrum, Hutchinson was made Governor of Nottingham Castle. The town was unforti- fied, and the garrison was weak and ill-supplied, but the new Governor did his best to improve the military position both of the town and Castle. Five months after his appointment he received from Lord Fairfax a commission to raise a foot regiment (Nov. 1643), and at the same time Parliament confirmed his appointment as Governor both of the town of Nottingham and the Castle. With his proverbial humanity he offered shelter in the castle to Separatists and well-affected townspeople ; but Nottingham, like every other town at the time, was torn by political and personal feuds, and at first the larger proportion of the inhabitants were distinctly in favour of the king. The neighbouring Royalist commanders, Hutchinson's cousin, Sir Richard Byron, and the Marquis of Newcastle, attempted to corrupt him ; and Newcastle's agent offered a bribe of =10,000 (a big sum in those days) and promised that he should be the best lord in Nottinghamshire, if he would give up the Castle to the king. Hutchinson indignantly refused the bribe, and set about the further defence of the fortress, and after- wards refused other temptations to betray his trust. Officers and ministers regularly dined at the Castle at Hutchinson's expense, and although Parliament voted a sum for this purpose, his wife tells us that the amount did not cover a third of the cost. His father's death shortly after his appointment as Governor left him poorer; much of his property passed into the hands of his stepmother and her children, and the estates which came to him were seized by the Royalists. The four years of public life in his post as Governor of Nottingham and the Castle, belong rather to the MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON 179 biography of Col. Hutchinson than to that of his remark- able wife. It is patent, however, to any one who reads her account of this stirring time, how much Col. Hut- chinson owed to her shrewdness, her constant helpfulness, and her practical good sense. She now turned to account the lessons she had learnt from her mother in the Tower, she prepared medicines for the wounded soldiers, and made excellent balsams and plasters. She dressed, with the aid of a gentleman of some surgical skill, the gunshot wounds of the Royalist prisoners, and refused to desist from this humane work although, as she puts it, ' bellowed against' by a military gospeller, one Captain Turner, who angrily declared that she was ' a favourer of Malig- nants and Cavaliers.' The many feuds in the town, and opposition to the Governor by jealous Royalists, caused Col. Hutchinson great vexation ; and the Parliamentary Committee of both Kingdoms, to whom the plotters against him appealed, suggested a compromise, which the Governor found it hard to persuade his uncharitable and jealous opponents to accept. 'All the drunken rogues in the town were against the Governor, 1 * says his wife, ' and the many Presbyterians and Royalists. His friends in Nottingham were called the Castilians.' Whilst he was in London to meet the charges against him, the Treasurer of the town of Nottingham made off with the money in the town's chest, and also with the list of the tenants ; so that the Governor had to face fresh difficul- ties on his return. His wife records with natural pride the general welcome which, despite these envious oppon- ents, greeted her husband on his return : guns and cannon were fired, the church bells rang a merry peal, and his friends rallied round him. Mrs. Hutchinson sympathised entirely with her husband's habit of befriending the Separatists of what- 180 MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON ever class (and their name was legion). It is also on record in George Fox's Journal that the Governor once sent soldiers down from the Castle to rescue Fox from an infuriate and senseless rabble. ' Col. Hutchinson,' says his wife, ' was the most reconcilable man in the world, 1 and as one proof of this trait she refers to his treatment of Goodhall, the Presbyterian preacher, who often railed against him in the great church of St. Mary's, Nottingham. Not long after these railings Goodhall was taken prisoner by the Royalists, and Hutchinson secured his release by exchange, and to make this possible even passed over some faithful Parliamentarians who were prisoners, which led the Colonel's friends to say that the best way to secure a favour from the Governor was to be his enemy. Good- hall was so struck with remorse at this returning of good for evil, that he humbly begged the Colonel's forgiveness, and to his dying day never ceased to speak in the warmest terms of his behaviour. Another incident occurred at this time of a different character. Mrs. Hutchinson, like her husband, was at heart an Independent. One day she found in the room of an army chaplain in the Castle some notes on baptism. These she carefully read, and talked them over with the Colonel. At her suggestion, a few days after, all the ministers in the town were invited to dinner at the Castle, that the question of baptism might be thoroughly discussed. At the close both the Colonel and his wife felt that the replies of the ministers to the notes of the army chaplain were feeble and inconclusive, and from that time they virtually held what were then known as Anabaptist opinions. During the time that he was Governor at Nottingham Castle and town, Hutchinson rendered the Parliamentary cause great service. MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON 181 In 1647 the Castle was reduced, and he went back for a year to Owthorpe, making what shift he could in his partly dismantled house. The whole family then removed to London that Hutchinson might attend Parliament. He was a Republican of Republicans, and intensely dis- liked the power won by the army. Neither he nor his wife in the least favoured Cromwell. Mrs. Hutchinson speaks of him as if she were a hot Royalist, dubs him ' an usurper,' and says that ' ambition ulcerated his soul. 1 She yet acknowledges that it was entirely owing to Crom- well's valour and sagacity that the battle of Marston Moor was won. She goes further : she says ' that Crom- well had much natural greatness, and well became the place he usurped. 1 She also says that ' Oliver's personal courage and magnanimity upheld him against all his enemies and malcontents. 1 But for his family and their aims she has nothing but scorn, and speaks contemptu- ously of what she calls ' the many fools who accepted his mock titles. 1 The Protector tried hard to win over Hutchinson to his side, but he tried in vain. This was on the only occasion that Hutchinson saw Cromwell, after he was Lord Protector. It is stated, but on what authority I know not, and I am myself inclined to doubt its truth, that Cromwell, but for his death, would have imprisoned Hutchinson. From the beginning to the end of the Protectorate, Hutchinson withdrew from all public life. Having come into possession of some money, he spent in London about ^2,000 in pictures, statues, gems, antiques, etc., and got, says his wife 'many good pennyworths. 1 Some of the pictures were part of the great collection made by the late King. Hutchinson then went down to Owthorpe, and found much recreation in his favourite sport of hawking, congenial employment in planting, in rebuild- ing, and in the general improvement of his estates. 182 MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON Music was still a favourite pastime, as it was with many Puritans, Cromwell and Milton among the number. Hutchinson acted with Monk during Richard Cromwell's brief protectorate, in the belief that he was in favour of restoring the Commonwealth, and was utterly amazed when he discovered Monk's treachery. But, in truth, Hutchinson, brave and good a man as he was, can hardly be regarded as much of a politician, and but for his wife's biography would have made no great mark. He was returned for the Convention Parliament, but in 1660 was expelled as a Regicide, was made incapable of bearing any office or place of trust, and was with great difficulty included in the Act of Indemnity, which was vainly supposed to secure him protection in estate and life. He now retired once more to Owthorpe, and for a couple of years fell back again into his old occupations and pastimes. But dark shadows now began to gather about his fortunes. He was suspected, without the slightest evidence, of being mixed up with what was known as the Yorkshire plot, a vain attempt to upset the king's government. His house was searched for arms by Royalist soldiers. He was also taken prisoner to Newark, roughly treated by his jailers, but was set at liberty after a few days by the Duke of Newcastle. Once more he returned to Owthorpe, little suspecting the storm that was about to burst upon him. One Sunday night in 1663, whilst expounding, in Puritan fashion, the epistle to the Hebrews to his assembled household, suddenly, and without any warning, in rushed upon them a pursuivant from London to take him prisoner. His departure from Owthorpe his final departure, as it proved was marked by tearful leave-taking from his servants and children. His wife accompanied him to London, and stayed with him at the Crown Inn, Holborn. Not long after his arrival lie was taken as a prisoner to MRS. LUCY HUTCH IN SON 183 Lambeth Palace. It was here that he saw the disgrace- ful conduct of General Monk and his wife toward some of the old Parliamentary men and Regicides, who were now prisoners. These prisoners were brought by their jailers to the prison grating, by order of Monk and his wife, that they might stare at them and mock them. It makes one blush for one's countrymen and women to find that any of them could stoop so low, and behave with such inhumanity. Hutchinson escaped the fate of the other Regicides, thanks to the intercession of his Royalist relatives. He was regarded as favouring the return of the king by keeping aloof from the Protector. He was subjected, on arriving in London, to a good deal of cross-examination on the conduct of the other Regicides, but was cautious in his replies. His answers indeed were hardly looked upon as satisfactory, especially by Lord Chancellor Hyde. His devoted wife used all her influence with her Royalist relatives to save his life. She even wrote to the Speaker, as if in her husband's name (she could exactly imitate his handwriting), and begged for his liberty on parole to attend to some matters of family business. She tells us by this act she thought that she had never deserved so well of her husband, but that never, as she found, had she so displeased him in her life. He had suffered at the sight of others 1 sufferings, when still unmolested at Owthorpe, and was very unwilling to accept the favour his wife won for him. She complained in passionate terms to the Privy Council on his last arrest, on his unjust imprisonment, but her husband forbade her to sue for his release. Imprisonment restored Hutchinson 1 s peace of mind. He felt he was now free from the painful submission to the king already made, and from the obligations under which he had reluctantly placed himself, evidently at the 184 MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON urgent request of his wife to save his life. From Lambeth Palace he was removed to the Tower of London. The lieutenant of the Tower, Sir John Robinson, treated him from the first with the greatest harshness. He was confined in the Bloody Tower, where the princes were murdered. It was a sharp winter the Colonel bitterly felt the cold in his wretched cell. His servant was taken from him ; his comforts were lessened ; and the delicate man began to break down in health. To add to his wretchedness his wife and children were refused admission. Sir John Robinson also began to whisper against him in the ear of the King, and his master, Lord Chancellor Hyde, the most malicious and shameful lies. Robinson also demanded most unjust and exorbitant dues. Allow- ances made by government for prisoners, he in part appropriated to his own use. At length Hutchinson could bear all this no longer. He wrote to Robinson (and secretly got printed), a long letter detailing all his ill-usages and malpractices, and sent the written copy to him, with a threat that unless matters were mended he would publish the letter. Robinson was furious, and harsher treatment than ever now followed. If Hutchi- son's wife were refused admission to the Tower, her woman's wit discovered a way of sending letters to her husband every day, and getting replies. When she found that since his letter to Robinson, the Colonel's treatment was more severe, she herself wrote the governor a smart letter (and she could write sharply when she liked), and enclosed a printed copy of her husband's letter to Robin- son, which she declared she would at once publish. This threat brought the wretched creature to his knees. Mrs. Hutchinson was now permitted to see her husband for a whole day without the presence of a warder ; and from that time he was less harshly treated. An order was now made out to send the Colonel as a MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON 185 prisoner to the Isle of Man ; he had feared that like some other prisoners, he would be sent to Tangiers. For some reason, which does not appear, the order about banishment was not executed. He was however presently sent to a ruinous, tumble-down, damp, partially-glazed old castle at Sandown, in Kent, close by the sea. As a parting shot Robinson fastened on the Colonel as a companion prisoner, for whom he was to be at charges, a lewd, noisy, profane, and ignorant fellow, named Gregory. Hutchinson with his wife and children went down to Gravesend by boat, and at this town they parted for a time, his wife and children returning to London, and the Colonel being hurried off to Sandown. His quarters were of the poorest description. The bleak air of the sea, the damp which pervaded the ruinous old castle and made all his trunks mouldy, the poor though costly food bought at Deal, the absence of decent beds, and the general dis- comfort of the place, soon began to tell on the Colonel's broken health. A troop of soldiers of the worst and dirtiest type were sent from Dover to Sandown as a guard, and the miserable castle was thereby made more wretched than ever. The Colonel did, at some cost, get beds for himself and Gregory and his manservant, glazed the broken windows, and patched up his own apartment, but both the poor food and the atmosphere of the place still remained unchanged. In vain his wife besought the Governor to allow her to be with her husband, and to permit of more humane treatment. Failing this, she herself came down to Deal, a mile away, and took lodgings for herself and one son and daughter. Every day they walked over to Sandown Castle, shared the only fare they could get, and then walked back again at night. Hutchinson was allowed to walk by the sea in company with a guard. It is piteous indeed to read the story of what his wife and children did to divert him ; they collected 186 MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON common cockle-shells on the shore, that he might amuse himself in sorting and polishing them, as, in his more prosperous days at Owthorpe, he had done with his precious onyx stones and agates. Through all his sufferings and hardships, from first to last, Colonel Hutchinson still kept up a cheerful spirit, and rallied his wife on her depression. At last even she, at the sight of his poor surroundings and his growing weakness and suffering, utterly broke down and wept bitterly. Her husband tried hard to comfort her, and very touching is their recorded con- versation, long and sad, on that melancholy day. He spoke as if he really believed in the speedy return of brighter and happier days, and with that strong con- viction in the speedy change, political and religious, in which so many Republicans like himself then honestly shared. It was useless talk and did not deceive his wife. ' I know, 1 said his sorrowful wife, ' this will conquer the weakness of your constitution, and that you will die in prison 1 ; to which he replied that the cause they both loved might be better served by his death than by his life. Then she feared that whilst she was gone to Owthorpe to fetch the rest of the children, his enemies would send him away to Tangiers, and she should see him no more ; but he rejoined ' that the God who took him to Tangiers would bring him back ; and that the same God was at Tangiers as was at Owthorpe. 1 So they talked on for many sad hours in the waning summer days of 1664. At length she left the Colonel for Owthorpe to bring the other children, and he sent a cheer- ful letter after her about the planting, and other matters, as if he himself would soon return. In September the Colonel grew feverish. The Deal doctor did not like the look of his patient, and a more skilful man from Canterbury, one Dr. Jachin, was called in. On Jachin's MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON 187 way down he naturally asked the messenger about his patient's former mode of life, and of his present sur- roundings, and when he heard, he at once said that his journey would be to no purpose, for the place itself had killed him. He went on, however, and was met by the Colonel's brother George, the brother he called ' Bab. 1 ' Fie, Bab ! ' said the Colonel, when he saw George's sorrow at his pitiable and hopeless state, ' Fie, Bab ! do you mourn for me as for one without hope ? ' He declared that now he had no pain, ' that his head was well, that his heart was well, and that he had no sickness/ Since his pulse had almost ceased, and these were his symptoms, the doctors knew what it all meant. He spoke many bright and cheerful words about his trust, but regretted that he could not once more see his wife and his dear ones, ordered them to let his wife arrange about his funeral, and left this message : ' Let her, as she is above other women, show herself in this occasion a good Chris- tian, and above the pitch of ordinary women. 1 The end now came, on Sunday, llth September 1664. Both doctors were deeply touched by the Colonel's courage and steadfastness of faith, and Jachin said that he had been with many eminent persons, but had never seen one who received death with greater calmness, and constancy, and Christian faith. The body was embalmed, and the Colonel's brother George stayed with it, sending on the sad news of his brother's death to Owthorpe. Ten days after, Captain Freeman, the Governor of Sandown Castle, insisted on having an inquest, and a jury was impanelled. Of course the jury, hearing the evidence of the doctors, all came to the same conclusion ' the place had killed him,' and of this they made affidavit. The Colonel's two elder sons and all his household servants came up to London, obtained a hearse and coaches, and got an order 188 MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON from the Secretary of State for the burial at Owthorpe, and came down to Deal. Here Captain Freeman again showed what manner of man he was ; demanded exorbitant fees, and then, when bluster would not serve, whined for them, but whined in vain. In revenge he kept all the Colonel's trunks and personal goods, but this delay also put the family, says Mrs. Hutchinson, to an intolerable expense in that ' cut-throat town of Deal ' ; and yet it had its bright side, since it gave her daughter, who was there, time to recover from a sudden sickness. They now at last started from Deal to Owthorpe, and when past Canterbury came to a town where there was a Fair. ' The priest of which place, 1 says Mrs. Hutchinson, ' came out with his clerk in his fool's coat to offer burial, and they laid hold of the horses to stop their hearse, but the attendants, putting them by, the wicked rout at the Fair took part with them, and set upon the horsemen ; but they broke several of their heads, and made their way clear, having beaten off all the town and the Fair, and came on to London.' The people in London streets, through which they passed in the day time, ' uttered no reviling word, but several, 1 says Mrs. Hutchinson, ' were much moved at that sad witness of the murderous cruelty of the men in power.' From London the sorrowful pro- cession came on to Owthorpe, and the nearer they got to it, the greater were the tokens of respect. ' He was brought home with honour to his grave,' says his affec- tionate widow in closing the story of his life, ' through the dominions of his murderers, who were ashamed of his glories, which all their tyrannies could not extinguish with his life.' Mrs. Hutchinson sold the Owthorpe estate to one of the Colonel's half-brothers. From her reference to the Colonel's debts, piled up in the service of his country, during the first Civil War ; from his losses through the MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON 189 plundering of his estates by Royalists; and from an expression in her book, written for her daughter, Mrs. Orgil, 'not to despise her mother's advice though she sees her in adversity ,' it is highly probable that when the money was divided among her seven children she was left in reduced circumstances. There is no record of the date of her own death, but she appears to have outlived her husband a dozen years. In regard to the two books by which Lucy Hutchinson is best known, something remains to be said. The style of both is clear, idiomatic, racy, simple, with very little attempt at fine writing. The writer has something to say, and she says it in the best English at her command, and very good seventeenth century English it is. Both the autobiography and the Life of her husband, if once they are opened, will immediately fasten the reader's attention. They are as entertaining as a novel, with this additional attraction, that they are facts and not fiction. Mrs. Lucy Hutchinson had remarkable natural gifts, developed and perfected by diligent training. The Life of Colonel Hutchinson is, on many accounts, of con- siderable value. It gives us graphic pictures of the every day doings of a besieged Midland town during the Civil War, and supplies us with a fair idea of what was passing at the same time in other parts of the country. It paints the manners of the men of the seventeenth century with as much minuteness and with far more force than has been done by Clarendon himself. We can see the roysterers of the time, the toilers, the soldiers, and the excited townsfolk. We can take our place with the rest in St. Mary's Church, and listen to the hot words of Presbyterian divines, and understand Hudibras 1 lines : ' And Pulpit drum Ecclesiastic, Was beat with fist instead of stick.' 190 MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON We can follow at night through the streets of Notting- ham the band of fifty women, that, she tells us, willingly patrolled the town to prevent it from being set on fire by the Royalists. We can share in the daily care and nightly alarm, incidental to a besieged citadel, and peep in upon a burdened Governor toiling to keep his men together, and often hard beset by false friends and by open foes. The Life is a valuable record of events in Nottingham during the first Civil War, and is really based on an earlier account of them, which Mrs. Lucy Hutchinson had written, and which still exists in the British Museum. Like all who live in the stress and storm of great Civil conflicts she has strong preferences, and equally strong dislikes, and hits off some of her husband's foes in biting and trenchant phrases. One is a ' dull Dutch rogue 1 ; another is ' a drunken reveller 1 ; a third is 'little better than a beast. 1 And what shall I say of her description of her husband ? Green says that * he stands out from his wife's canvas with the grace and tenderness of a portrait by Vandyck. 1 She dwells on the personal beauty which distinguished his youth, on 'his teeth, even and white as the purest ivory; his hair of brown, very thick set in his youth, softer than the finest silk, curling with loose great rings at the end. 1 But when it comes to describing his virtues, all this fond remembrance by his widow of his personal attractions in youth falls into the shade. She frankly declares that whatever excellence she had, she owed to him. She fears, in her poor monument which she builds in his Life, ' to injure and disgrace his name 1 ; and is distressed 'lest her treacherous memory should lose the dearest treasure it ever had committed to its trust. 1 'To number his virtues, 1 she says, ' is to give the epitome of his life. 1 ' It was hard to say which virtue predominated in him, as it MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON 191 was to say which was the chief virtue. 1 ' He was honour- able, through and through a Christian, tolerant of others, prudent, modest, discerning, of natural dignity, of great courage, of much learning, in all relations of life a pattern, of thankful disposition, affable, alert, a lover of hospitality and of good men, not covetous, and chivalrous in his treatment of women. 1 It was surely with no small pride that she wrote of him for her children's remem- brance, ' that when she herself ceased to be young and lovely her husband began to show her most kindness. 1 One can make allowances for the natural exaggeration of affection, when such a fine-spirited gentleman was its cause. If she did see in his defects some things that compensated for them, who can wonder ? She confesses, speaking of his personal appearance, that his lower jaw did project over the upper, ' yet, 1 she says, ' it was in such a manner as was not unbecoming. 1 If he loved plain dress as became a Puritan, yet she sees that ' in his most negligent apparel he is very much of the gentleman. 1 If he is angry (and there is no great question that he was somewhat hot-tempered) "yet,' affirms his wife, 'he never was angry without just cause. 1 In painting her husband's portrait, Lucy Hutchinson unconsciously painted her own. She was a true wife, if ever there were one, and no mother was ever more devoted to her children. 'A nation that produces many such wives and mothers, 1 it has been well said, 'must be both great and happy. 1 ' She was a woman of singular merit, 1 says Mr. Smyth, ' who, if her political opinions be forgiven, will appear without a blemish ; will be thought to have united the opposite virtues of the sexes, and to have been alike fitted to give charm to existence amid the tran- quillity of domestic life, and in an hour of trial to add enterprise and strength to the courage of a hero. 1 Lucy Hutchinson was an intense Englishwoman, with 192 MRS. LUCY HUTCHINSON all our national excellencies and defects. For her there was no land like her own. She thought her native country ' a garden enclosed, pleasant to dwell in, and fruitful beyond many others." 1 She considered the history of her countrymen full of great deeds that stirred the blood, and quickened the pulse ; and as for the English themselves, they were as valiant, as gifted, as learned, as well-to-do, and as devout as any men that were to be found in any land under the sun. ' God ' she says, ' had in comparison with other countries, made England a paradise ; but, like Eden, it had in it its Tempter.' She, like her husband, was a Puritan of the most pronounced type, and her pure soul loathed the infamies which dis- graced the Court and nobility of James i. She gladly recognised the purity of the Court of Charles i. whilst confessing that that purity was not imitated by the gen- try of the land. Mrs. Hutchinson was indeed a true counterpart of her husband in piety, dignity, virtue, patriotism and nobleness. She was one of the many honourable women of the Commonwealth, and remains a distinguished ornament in the splendid gallery of gifted and virtuous women of England. ' Never give way to sadness. Put on your hat, and go and visit the poor and sick in your neighbourhood. Seek out the desolate and distressed ; inquire into their wants, and sympathise with and minister to them. I have often tried it, and have always found it the best medicine for a heavy heart.' JOHN HOWARD. JOHN HOWARD SEVENTEEN years before Daniel Defoe wrote Robinson Crusoe, he was imprisoned in Newgate for writing a witty and satirical pamphlet called, The Shortest Waywith the Dissenters. Here for five hundred days, he was compelled to live in company with thieves, loose women, highway- men, house-breakers, and murderers, his ears stung with their filthy and profane talk, his health imperilled by the loathsome condition of the prison. Newgate, as Defoe found it, was a sample of every other prison then existing in England. Some feeble efforts were made to improve this state of things in the very year of Defoe^s release, and a sudden spurt of righteous anger was shown on the subject in the House of Commons ; but the prisons re- mained unchanged for more than half a century longer. In these days it will hardly be credited what that con- dition really was. The buildings were often insecure, and to prevent the escape of prisoners, the inmates were often chained together, or chained to the floor ; and in some cases at Ely, for example were compelled to wear an iron collar of spikes round their necks. At other prisons, and Salisbury was one, the prisoners were chained to the outside door of the prison, in order to pick up a scanty living by selling nets and laces. Some of the worst prisons were the property of private gentlemen and even bishops ; others were so crammed with prisoners, that the inmates could not lie down, and so low in the ceiling that they could not stand up ; others were always damp, like 196 196 JOHN HOWARD the prison at Norwich, which generally had, in certain seasons of the year, two feet of water in it. The jailers, having to pay window tax, blocked up many of the tiny holes which passed for windows, so that some prisoners were in perpetual darkness. There was often no allow- ance of bread, no ventilation, no water, no sewers ; or where sewers existed they were rarely ^flushed, and so became the means of spreading fever. Few surgeons were appointed, and even when they were, a special clause in their contract, as at Exeter, released them from visiting prisoners stricken with jail fever. Infirmaries there were none ; and hence infection quickly ran through a whole prison. Jail fever, small-pox, and other diseases were rife ; and in a single year more prisoners died of jail fever than were hanged, although at that time hanging was common, and at least a hundred and sixty offences were thus punished. Prisoners avenged themselves on society for its neglect by infecting judges, lawyers, jurymen, and spectators with the fever that raged in their dismal cells. The Law Courts were then often placed above these horrible cells, and the prisoners brought up with them the fever-germs that filled the air below. So fatal was the infection that in 1750 the Lord Mayor of London, an Alderman, most of the jury, and a large number of spectators caught jail fever whilst attending Assizes at the Old Bailey, and many of them died. It was as a preservative against such danger, that a bunch of rue was placed in front of the seats occupied by the presiding judge and jury, and the old custom still remains. Jail fevers, thus communicated, caused the suspension of the business of the Court, and led to some of the most terrible and fatal outbreaks of fever on record. The jailers were a set of inhuman harpies. They received no salaries, but wrung a living out of the JOHN HOWARD 197 exorbitant fees they were permitted to levy on the prisoners. A jailer literally bought his post, or hired it, at so much per year, the highest rent paid being ^40, and the lowest half that sum. Many poor prisoners, confined for trivial offences, and fined a merely nominal sum, were often kept in prison for months because they could not scrape money enough together to pay the grasping demands of the jailers. Innocent people and those who had been pronounced ' Not guilty ' by the judge, were detained in the same manner. One poor debtor, owing <7, was in prison for over ten years because he could not pay his jail fees. Others from the same cause lay in prison until death released them from their miseries. The jailer had taken his post as a trade speculation, and meant it to pay, no matter at what cost to the prisoners. Hence men totally unfit for the post were jailers, and in at least eight of the jails in England even women rougher and more exacting than men held the office. This is only part of the dreary tale. The jailer drove a roaring trade in wine and spirits for which he de- manded exorbitant prices ; and scenes of the grossest debauchery and intoxication were everywhere prevalent inside the prison. No work of any kind was done, save what the inmates themselves chose to do, and hence cards, dice, skittles, and gambling filled up the dreary hours. All classes, old and young, men and women, debtors and felons, sane and insane, were huddled to- gether in the same cells without distinction. Living men were locked up in little cells where men lay dead of smallpox ; and nobody protested. If resolute and determined inmates refused to submit to the cruelties and illegal tortures imposed on them by the jailers, they were overpowered, slowly starved to death, and buried without any questions being asked. When the men of 198 JOHN HOWARD Salisbury saw prisoners chained in couples, begging in the streets at Christmas, nobody was shocked. Jail customs helped to foster the dissoluteness and drunken- ness of the prisoners. Every new comer was asked for ' garnish,' or ' footing,' and if it were not forthcoming, his very clothes were sold to furnish it. Few chaplains existed, and these were often young men of immoral lives. In some jails a whole year passed without a single religious service being held. From these few facts, which might be largely increased, it is not difficult to see into what a deplorable and disgraceful state the prisons of this country had fallen. But you ask : Did the people of England know that this state of things existed ? Perhaps a few ; but the general feeling was one of stolid indifference, or of downright repugnance to the whole subject. Why trouble their heads about felons ? The prisons might be bad ; but the best thing was to take care not to get into them. It was absurd to think of reclaiming rogues and vagabonds. Transport them to America, to the Colonies, anywhere, so that England got rid of them. As for the rest who had been guilty of the nearly 200 offences punishable by death, ' Hang them ! Hang the rogues ! and have done with them. 1 They were human vermin, and the world must be cleared of them. If this were the tone of many, there were some who thought very differently, but who felt themselves powerless to remedy such gigantic evils. Here then, in the improvement of prisons, in the bettering of the condition of prisoners, in the carting away of the numberless abuses which had choked up every prison in the country, was a mighty work to be done, an immense Augean stable, at which even the fabled Hercules might have been utterly appalled. Was not the very magnitude of the labour enough to tax the JOHN HOWARD 199 strength of a hundred men ? Even before the work was attempted, there was still the discovery to be made that these frightful abuses really existed. Who would dare to enter upon so long and perilous an investigation as that of laying bare to all England the condition of every prison in it ? And if that gigantic task were accom- plished, who would follow suit among the thousands of prisons on the continent of Europe? Who had the courage, the disposition, the means ? The man to do the work was an Englishman all honour to his name ! John Howard, of Cardington, near Bedford. But if such were the immense work that needed to be done, the question is one of deepest interest : How came John Howard to think of doing it ; and what were his special qualifications for its accomplishment ? John Howard was first prompted to begin his great work by his own taste of prison life on the Continent. Howard was the son of a retired London tradesman ; had been apprenticed by his father to a grocer to gain the advantage of business discipline ; bought himself out at his father's death ; spent two years in foreign travel, partly for his health's sake, and partly to gratify his taste for the fine arts ; returned to England little improved in body or mind ; settled for a time at Stoke Newington, where, out of sheer gratitude to his landlady for nursing him in a serious illness, he offered her his hand, though she was much older than himself and a confirmed invalid ; lived happily with her for some three years, and whilst bewailing her death the news of the Great Earthquake at Lisbon reached England ; when Howard set off to Lisbon with the sole view of relieving some of the thousands of sufferers out of his own purse. The ship in which he sailed was seized by a French privateer and all on board were carried to France. Howard was imprisoned with the rest, and hard and 200 JOHN HOWARD miserable as was his own lot, he soon found it was easy compared with others. He was released on his word of honour, and did his best on reaching London to make known the state of the prisoners left behind in France, and to secure them relief. He gathered, whilst in captivity, a good deal of information from his fellow- prisoners as to other French prisons ; and this he after- wards turned to a wise account. His second impulse sprang from another personal view of prison life : this time not as a prisoner, but as Sheriff of Bedford. Some time had elapsed between the taste of French imprisonment and this second revelation of the horrors of jails; a period in which Howard lived on his estate, and showed himself the true country gentleman. He found Cardington a miserable, vicious, dirty, poor, ignorant village ; and he at once set to work to alter all this. He built better cottages for his labourers and schools for the children, and incited his rich neighbours, the Whitbreads and others, to follow his example. He also began to dabble in natural science. Howard was now married a second time, to a lady of his own age, who after a brief and happy union died, leaving behind an only child, a son. The death of his wife, who had so much in common with himself, was a sore trial. He loved her with the same passionate fervour that John Stuart Mill tells us he loved his wife, and like that philosopher rejoiced to speak of his large indebtedness to that amiable and devoted woman for whom he mourned all the days of his life. There was however, this difference : John Stuart Mill speaks chiefly of intellectual stimulus; Howard of stimulus that was moral and spiritual. Howard was a Puritan, without the Puritan's supposed sourness and contempt for art ; but with all the Puritan's acknowledged strength and robustness of character. The loss of his wife sent John Howard again on his travels for relief; and during JOHN HOWARD 201 his stay in Italy he drew up a solemn Covenant, after a fashion once so common among our Puritan forefathers. He gave himself up to religious exercises, and when he returned home his heart was all aglow with the fervour of an Apostle. He only needed to find the true channel in which that molten fire might calmly and steadily flow, and he also would show himself ' in labours abundant, in prisons oft, in perils among robbers, and in perils by land and by sea. 1 The channel was not long in being found. Howard, although a Congregationalist, had been made Sheriff of Bedford. The odious and tyrannical Test Act was then in existence, one of those oppressive acts by which the worldly prelates of that ' most religious king ' Charles n. sought to stamp out Dissent in this fair realm of England. According to that act, as Howard did not take the sacrament at the parish church, he was liable to a fine of 500 if he accepted the office of Sheriff and still refused to attend the parish church. He accepted the office, and, to the honour of his neighbours be it spoken, not a man among them was found mean enough to turn informer. ' If,' said Howard, ' the law be bad, my accepting this office may challenge attention to it, and may lead to its repeal. If no notice be taken of it, a precedent will be established. 1 And, as every one knows, we dearly love ' precedents ' in Old England. As Sheriff it was his duty to inspect the prisons and prisoners within a certain district. His work began, strange to say, with that prison in Bedford where, a century before, John Bunyan had been confined for twelve years. Here he found to his amazement that prisoners were still kept in custody whom judge and jury had pro- nounced ' Not guilty ' ; and who were so kept for no other reason than this : they could not pay the jailer's exacting fees. Howard at once suggested to the magistrates that they should abolish this vicious system, and pay the jailer 202 JOHN HOWARD a regular salary. The magistrates replied that, however desirable, there was ' no precedent for such a course. 1 ' No precedent ! 1 thought Howard, ' is that possible ? "" He therefore at once determined to discover one for him- self. He visited twelve counties in England, and most of the jails in every county, but 'no precedent 1 of the kind wanted could he discover. But if he found no pre- cedent for paying the jailer a salary, instead of letting him wring a fat living out of the miseries of those under his charge, he found that the abuses which sprang out of this system, however grievous, were as nothing compared with other things to be seen in every prison. He found, in a word, those facts which I mentioned at the opening of this lecture ; and having found them, he was determined they should be known to all England. The great philanthropist was now fairly started on his grand and merciful crusade. This insight of English prison-life had aroused a spirit of inquiry and benevolent determination which was never likely to rest until some attempt had been made to correct, if not to remove, these abuses. Five journeys were undertaken by Howard, one after the other in quick succession, that he might be sure of his facts ; and the shocking revelations thus brought to his knowledge began to leak out, and he was summoned before a committee of the House of Commons. Public attention was aroused by his clear, full, unreserved, and practical testimony, and his suggestions were regarded with great attention and respect. One wretched creature on the committee, whose soul dwelt in his breeches 1 pocket, could not understand the simple benevolence of a man like Howard, and asked ' at whose expense he had travelled? 1 But despite this miserable questioner, John Howard was called to the Bar of the House of Commons, and thanked by the Speaker for his noble and self-denying philanthropic labours. JOHN HOWARD 203 Whilst, however, his taste of prison-life in France may have first provoked Howard to seek the relief of other prisoners, and whilst the knowledge he gained of the abuses in English prisons prompted him, after his examination by the committee of the House of Commons to make five other journeys before he published to the world his celebrated book on ' The State of the Prisons in England and Wales, 1 the true secret of his labours was the devout spirit of the man and his deep and passionate humanity. It was this that sent him on his self-appointed errand, and cheered him amidst its numberless perils; which prompted him after exposing the evils of the English prisons, to turn his steps to the Continent, and examine year after year different parts of the prison system in every State in Europe ; and when the survey of prisons was ended, to enter upon a course of inquiry into the state of the Lazarettos for the plague-stricken, in France, Italy, Greece, and even Russia and Turkey. When John Howard began his noble crusade against the evils of English prisons, as Sheriff of Bedford, he was in the very prime of life : about eight and forty years old. In appearance by no means striking : thin and spare in make, under the middle height, of sallow com- plexion, large features, keen and penetrating eyes, with soft, gentle, and winsome address. There was nothing about him to arrest attention, save the calm and even good-nature that literally beamed out of his genial face. Many instances of that good-nature have been pre- served. An old gardener of Howard's father, who lived to be nearly ninety, was fond of repeating many stories in illustration of the young master's kindly heart. One of his favourite anecdotes refers to the time when John Howard, now released from his apprenticeship, was repairing the house at Clapton where his father died. 204 JOHN HOWARD The young master came daily to see how the work was going on, and as regularly as the early bread cart passed the house, bought a loaf rather more costly then than now hid himself behind the buttress of the wall, threw the loaf into the garden, and then entering the gate, cried out to the gardener with a cheery laugh, ' Harry, look among the cabbages, you will find something for your family.'' When the little home was broken up at Stoke Newington, on the death of his first wife, Howard made his wife's little property over to her sister, and dis- tributed the furniture among the most deserving poor in the neighbourhood. With children those incorruptible, exacting, and yet accurate judges of character Howard was always a great favourite. He knew the way straight to their young hearts. His pockets were a perfect mine of wealth for his friends' 1 children ; and their bright eyes twinkled with anticipated delight when Howard appeared. He was quickly besieged by the ever victorious Infantry, now in flank, now in rear, now in front ; but almost always succumbed to the first assault. Out came from his pockets, toys, fruits, sweets, amidst screams of delight. He was a child with children ; and they knew it. In all the many journeys he took on the Continent he never came back without a whole cargo of foreign toys and knick-knackeries ; and in those days toys were neither so common nor so cheap as in ours. The poor also found in him a warm-hearted friend. In the midst of one of the busiest of his Continental journeys, when he was ransacking every hole and corner in the prison world, he could yet find time to think about his poor tenants at Cardington ; and when he was kept in quarantine for forty days, amused himself by writing a long letter to his steward as to the distribution of his Christmas gifts. Here is a bit of the letter. ' Some fine currants will, I hope, soon come, as I was JOHN HOWARD 205 about six weeks ago at Zante, and the currants are finer this year than usual. They are for my tenants, widows and poor people at Cardington, about three pounds each. At Christmas give Mrs. Thompson and Beccles a guinea ; Rayner, what I usually give him, half a guinea ; if not given last Christmas then a guinea; Dolly Basset a guinea; the blind man's widow half a guinea ; five guineas to ten poor widows, ten shillings and sixpence each, where you think it will be acceptable one of which widows must be Mrs. Tingey, in memory of Joseph Tingey ; whom I promised to excuse one year's rent. 1 The same generous heart was shown to hundreds of poor prisoners whom he met with in his twenty-one journeys, at home and abroad. He paid the fees of some of them to liberate them from the clutches of the jailers. He supplied other famishing creatures with food, where he thought the allowance too low ; and in one prison in Florence left a small sum of money to buy each man rations of beef and mutton, and each woman sugar and tea. Howard thought no more of this, for him a very common act of kindness; but on visiting the prison a few days afterward he was unex- pectedly assailed by the prisoners, not with new appeals to his generosity, but with a loud chorus of thanks, and even laudatory hymns, as if he had been one of their Romish saints suddenly come down from heaven. The prisoners did more : they fell at his feet. They clung about him like bees. They uttered words which were little short of worship, which Howard instantly restrained and checked, as Peter did the greetings of Cornelius, and Paul the impulsive acts of the people of Lycaonia. In Milan, he paid the fine of a man who was imprisoned on the charge of bigamy, having found that he was more sinned against than sinning, but dropped a fatherly word of counsel in his ear as he departed. Nor was Howard deficient in plainness of speech, with 206 JOHN HOWARD all his kindly heart. He hated shams as much as Carlyle, no matter where he found them, in high or low, in rich or poor. Jailers began to tremble when they heard that Howard was coming, and did their best to put their prisons in order, since they got to know how outspoken he could be, and how certain his rebukes in words might be followed by public condemnation. At Plymouth he found a surgeon who had grossly neglected his duty when fever raged in one of the hospital ships, and threatened that he would report the man for taking the Govern- ment pay and not doing the work ; and he was as good as his word. The surgeon was soon afterwards removed. He visited one of the monasteries in Prague on a fast- day, and, to his surprise and indignation, found the monks holding high revel at a grand banquet. They invited him to join their carouse ; he not only refused, but he turned to the elder monks and read them a pretty sharp lecture on their hypocrisy, in pretending to retire from the world in order to live a life of abstemiousness and prayer, and yet indulging in such unseemly revelry. He further told them, heretical Protestant though he was, that he was going to Rome, and when there, would ask his Holiness the Pope, whether this loose living and shameful violation of vows met with his approval. The rebuke struck home. The next morning, when their potations had had time to evaporate, four or five penitent monks waited upon Howard at his hotel, to beg his pardon for the offence they had committed, and to implore him not to say a word about it to the Pope. Howard would, however, make no promises. He said that he should be guided by circumstances ; that he should keep himself well informed of their doings ; and that if he heard that they returned, on his departure, to their old courses, he should use his own discretion as to what he should do at Rome. The terrified monks gave JOHN HOWARD 207 a solemn promise never again to violate the rules of their order, and then gravely withdrew. On another occasion, when dining at the house of the English ambassador in Vienna, a large and highly aristocratic party being pre- sent, Howard greatly alarmed the timid guests by his blunt, bold speech. The subject of conversation was torture in prison ; and a German nobleman boasted that Joseph ii. had abolished torture throughout every part of his dominions. ' Pardon me, sir,' said Howard, rather warmly, knowing well from personal observation what was the real condition of prisons ' Pardon me, sir : His Imperial Majesty has only abolished one species of torture to establish in its place another still more cruel ; for the torture which he abolished lasted at most only a few hours ; but that which he has appointed lasts many weeks, nay, sometimes years. The poor victims are plunged into a noisome dungeon, as bad as the Black Hole at Calcutta, from which they are not taken until they confess whatever is laid to their charge, and then only taken out to be executed.' 'Hush, 1 said the timid ambassador, evidently alarmed, and well knowing his guests, 'your words will be repeated to His Majesty.' But Howard cared more for truth than emperors, and quickly replied : ' What ! shall my tongue be tied from speaking the truth by any king or emperor in the world ? I repeat what I have asserted, and maintain its veracity.' Here was a dangerous man ! A man whose homage was reserved for truth, and not for crowned heads ! His bold words rang like a clarion, and struck terror into the hearts of the timid courtiers, a dead silence followed : and the subject of torture was not again resumed. Some years after this Howard had an interview with the Emperor himself. Howard was travelling under an assumed name, in order the better to secure his object, the gathering of information about the plague ; but, 208 JOHN HOWARD with the numerous spies employed by the German Government it was soon known that Howard was in Vienna, and the fact was reported to Joseph ir. At once the Emperor desired an interview ; Howard declined, pleaded the pressure of other duties ; was again solicited, again declined ; but at last gave way, owing to the tact of Prince Kaunitz. The visit was so arranged by this accomplished tactician, that neither the independent spirit of the Englishman should be wounded, nor yet any slight be thrown upon the stiff' dignity exacted by the Austrian Emperor. The interview lasted some hours, both speakers standing during the whole period. But even when ' standing before kings ' Howard did not cease his great plainness of speech. He referred to this pre- tended abolition of torture whilst there were practices carried on infinitely worse. 'Poor wretches are confined, 1 said Howard, 'twenty feet below the ground, in places j ust fitted to receive their dead bodies ; and some of them are kept there for eighteen months. Others are in dungeons chained so closely to the walls that they can hardly breathe. All of them are deprived of proper con- solation and religious support." Here the Emperor, annoyed at this severe rebuke of his favourite institu- tions, abruptly exclaimed, ' Why, Sir, in your country, they hang men for slight offences. ' Howard at once rejoined, 'I grant that the number of her capital punish- ments is a disgrace to England ; but as one fault does not excuse another, so neither, in this case, is the parallel just; for I declare to you that, if it were possible, I would rather be hanged ten times over, than endure such a lengthy imprisonment as some of the unhappy beings endure who have the misfortune to be confined in your Majesty's prisons." 1 The Emperor heard more to the same effect ; and then turned the conversation to work- houses. Howard remembering the change for the worse JOHN HOWARD 209 which had been made in Ghent in one of these establish- ments, and made by the Emperor himself, replied, ' In them, too, are many defects. The people are compelled to sleep in their clothes, a practice which in the end never fails to bring distempers ; little or no attention is paid to cleanliness ; and the allowance of bread is too small. ' In spite of these severe words, the Emperor asked, with an air of pride, * Where do you find better institutions of the kind P 1 Howard replied, knowing that the thrust would go right home: 'There was one better in Ghent : but not so now ; not so now ! ' The Emperor winced under this remark ; for he was little used to this plain speaking, and he knew the words were too true. The interview ended, despite these reproofs, in the Emperor pressing cordially the hand of the plain and simple English gentleman, with repeated thanks for his visit and his counsels. The next day the Emperor told the English ambassador that his countryman was not much given to ceremony or compliments, but that he liked him all the better for that ; adding that he was much pleased with the interview, and that some of his counsels he should certainly follow, but that others he should decline. If Howard did not report the doings of the monks at Prague to the Pope, he had an interview with Pius vi., who had tried to thwart the Emperor Joseph in his efforts to bring the priests in his dominion under civil law, and also afterwards carried on a foolish contest with the French, in which he was humbled by General Bonaparte. Pius vi. had the reputation of being obstinate as a mule, but was also noted for his good humour and personal kindliness. No report has come down to us of the topics discussed during the interview, but Howard refused to see him if the ceremony of kissing the Pope's slipper were insisted upon ; and the Pope had therefore dispensed with 210 JOHN HOWARD it for the sturdy Englishman. At parting, the pontiff put his hands upon the head of the distinguished heretic, and said good-humouredly, ' I know you Englishmen care for none of these things, but the blessing of an old man can do you no harm''; and Howard accepted the kindly meant benediction. An earlier visit paid to Rome, when he was less known, is thus referred to in his diary : ' The Pope passed very close to me yesterday. He waved his hand to bless me. I bowed, but did not kneel, which displeased some of the Cardinals. My temper is too open for this country." Akin to this outspokenness of Howard was the thoroughness with which he did everything he undertook. He stuck to the grocer's warehouse, when a youth, as if his whole living depended upon it. He became equally dili- gent in superintending the repairs of his father's property at Clapton. Like the celebrated Strafford, he might have adopted 'Thorough' as his watchword. He found in his second wife a true helpmeet in his efforts to transform Cardington from a very sink of village evils into a model village a ' sweet Auburn ' without any of its drawbacks. His wife was as hearty and as thorough as himself. She even gave up a surplus on the housekeeping account, that her husband might build another cottage ; and sold her jewels to relieve the poor. Howard's devotion to any pursuit he might have in hand may be seen by this one circumstance. He had been elected a Fellow of the Royal Society, and was anxious not to wear an empty title ; and often in the depth of winter he would creep out of his warm bed in the middle of the night, go down with a lantern to look at his thermometer at the bottom of the garden, register the temperature, and then return again to bed. His biographer does not tell us how this course was approved by his wife. His desire for completeness and accuracy was so consuming that before the publica- JOHN HOWARD 211 tion of his first book, he went again and again to the prisons in different parts of England, in order to make sure of all his facts. The book itself was frequently delayed in order that some one subject might be probed to the very bottom. The rough notes were revised by two friends, and all their suggestions were listened to with eager thankfulness. When the manuscript was ready, he went down to Warrington, where the book was printed, in order that he might add any new material, or correct any old statements as the work was being carried through the press. Once and again to verify some facts he started off from Warrington to revisit certain prisons, and in this way alone journeyed hundreds of miles. The same feature marked his examination of Continental prisons, and especially when gathering facts about the Plague and the Lazarettos of Europe. Again and again the gloomy scenes were revisited that not a single fact might be omitted, not a single colour painted too darkly, not a single mitigating feature be unrecorded. He was just the man to do a work of this kind for the prison- systems of England and of Europe, since in his desire for thoroughness, nothing daunted him ; neither toil, risk, expense, nor time. His courage was as conspicuous as his thoroughness. No personal peril ever deterred him from his work. Neither jail fever, smallpox, nor even the plague possessed any terrors for him. He fearlessly and cour- ageously braved them all. Like many others of his day he was anxious to know something about the dark and mysterious prison in Paris known as the Bastille. He sought admission through ambassadors, and high French officials ; but all in vain. Day after day he haunted its gloomy portals, which sternly frowned forbiddance to all comers but those who rarely returned. He now thought of trying a bold course. One day he rang the 212 JOHN HOWARD bell of the Bastille violently, and awaited the result. The gate was opened. Howard walked in passed the astonished doorkeeper, passed the equally surprised sentry, and right through a file of soldiers who were on duty and pressed on to the side of the great drawbridge in the inner court, and there stood gazing in thoughtful silence upon the gloomy prison. An officer greatly sur- prised and agitated ran up to him. Howard saw in his face a kindly expression of remonstrance at his boldness, and he therefore thought it best to beat a retreat ; and the guard, evidently paralysed with the unlooked-for boldness of the man, allowed him to pass out of the gate. He thus narrowly escaped an imprisonment, the details of which he would never have been permitted to report. Howard was equally anxious to find out all about the Inquisition in Rome, and lingered round it for hours, in the vain hope of being able to enter. He was more fortunate in Spain, and through the courtesy of the Inquisitor General in Madrid did get a hasty glimpse of a portion only of the building. He saw, both here and at Valladolid, the tribunal-room, the shelf of heretical books mostly English the painted cap and vestments of the condemned victims and the private staircase by which the prisoners were brought from their cells to the tribunal-room ; but nothing more. He told one of the secretaries at Valladolid that he would not mind being confined for a month in one of their cells, just to satisfy his curiosity ; but the astute servant replied, ' that none ever came out under three years, and that even then they had to take the oath of secrecy. 1 But perhaps the most remarkable instances of his courage were seen in his search after information about the Plague, which necessi- tated a close inspection of the Lazarettos, or hospitals where the plague-smitten were kept. Here is one instance. The French, smarting under Howard's too JOHN HOWARD 213 faithful exposures of their prison-system and their treat- ment of prisoners of war, had positively forbidden him to enter France. Now, as one of the most important Lazarettos was in Marseilles, what was to be done ? What ? why, go, to be sure. He soon hit upon a device. He went across to Holland, disguised himself as a physician, and set off to Paris. The spies were on the watch, and the news quickly reached the police. In the middle of the night of his arrival he had a visit from a detective, but managed in some clever way to evade him. He had hitherto performed his numerous journeys accom- panied either by his old and faithful retainer, Prole, or, after Prole's marriage, by Thomasson, the young man who, it is feared, did so much to corrupt his son. But this being a journey of special peril, he went alone. The midnight visit of the police showed him his danger, but did not alarm him, nor did he alter his plans. As soon as the agents of the police were gone, Howard dressed hastily, shouldered his modest trunk, watched this way and that, and finding the street clear, left the hotel. It was a dark cold night, about one o'clock. He knew Paris well, and kept out of harm's way until the first diligence started, and long before daybreak was off to the south of France. His assumed calling was more than once put to the test during his journey to Lyons ; but as he had studied medicine out of sheer love for the healing art, and spoke French like a native, he managed to escape with- out detection. Once in Lyons, his friend the Protestant minister strongly urged him to leave France, as the police were searching for him in all directions. He was undeterred by his friend's advice, and did at last get into the Lazaretto in Marseilles, obtained plans of it, and also a minute account of the working of every department. Then came the fresh difficulty How to escape from France ? His friend said that it was impossible to leave 214 JOHN HOWARD by land. ' Very well, 1 said Howard, ' then by sea.' His plans were instantly formed. To leave from Marseilles would be imprudent. He therefore went off to Toulon, dressed himself in the very height of fashion, as if he were a Paris < exquisite,' sauntered about in this disguise for four days ; and at last persuaded the captain of a wind- bound vessel to put to sea and take him to Nice. The captain did as he wished, but the vessel had a very narrow escape of total wreck before they reached the port. Another example of Howard's courage, amounting to daring, was the boldness with which he carried on his investigations concerning the plague in Smyrna and Con- stantinople. In the last city, refusing to be the guest of the English ambassador because of the risks which the household might run, he established himself in the house of a physician, and went to work. Not a pesthouse, not a Lazaretto, not an imperfect caravanserai, escaped his piercing eye. He bravely entered where neither drago- man nor physician ever ventured. For days and weeks he breathed the plague-laden air, which seems, in his case, only to have produced a scorching pain across his temples, and which an hour's exercise in the fresh air generally removed. But even this close and searching investigation of the plague did not satisfy him. He had come out armed with a long string of questions, with which he had been furnished by some of the foremost physicians in England, and he wished not only for the opinions of medical men on the spot in answer to them, but for such close and personal knowledge as could only be supplied on board a plague-ship. He, therefore, voluntarily took his passage on one which was leaving Smyrna, and yet escaped unhurt. It was during the voyage in this ship that he showed qualities never before suspected. Shortly after the vessel left Modon, in the Morea, a Barbary privateer bore down upon them. For JOHN HOWARD 215 a time the sailors on Howard's vessel defended themselves with great bravery; but their numbers were few, and their weapons indifferent. Howard now saw that the conflict was going against the vessel on which he was only a passenger, and knew that if she fell a prey to the privateer, every man would be sold as a slave. His resolution was at once taken ; and the proverbial pluck and courage of the Cromwellian Ironsides were reproduced in this modern apostle. A single gun of large calibre was on deck. He instantly assumed the direction of this, as if he were an old and practised gunner, although he had probably never even fired a rifle in his life. He loaded the gun with nails, spikes, and similar charge, and coolly waited his opportunity, and then, when the Corsairs were all crowding on the deck of the privateer expecting to see the Venetian ship strike her flag, he let fire among them. The effect was tremendous. The pirates fell right and left; and when they had recovered from their surprise, and had time to count their losses, turned about their ship and sailed off. It was only then, when the pirates were fairly beaten, that Howard learnt from the captain of the Venetian ship the extent of his danger. The captain had decided rather than fall into the hands of the pirates, the moment they boarded his vessel, to set fire to the powder magazine, and blow the ship into the air ! Howard's strong common sense was another feature of his character. Nobody knew better how to manage men, or how to turn any difficulty to a favourable account. In his journeys, as his object was the investigation of prisons, and for this he was ready to sacrifice time and health, he never spared his money. He opened the eyes of many ostlers by his liberal ' tips ' for their attention to his horse, and soon became able to command the quickest and most cheerful service. He astonished some 216 JOHN HOWARD drosky drivers in Russia by this profuse liberality ; and when the shining silver was put into their hands in place of the expected copeks, they lifted their heads in utter bewilderment, and thought there had been some mistake. ' When you undertake a journey, 1 said he, 'that is certain to cost three or four hundred pounds, why trouble about an extra fifty pounds, when it will secure you what you want ? ' And yet Howard did not throw his money about recklessly. On one occasion a coach driver had greatly vexed all the passengers by his incivility, and by his careless driving. All remonstrance proved in vain. Again and again the passengers spoke to the bad-tem- pered Jehu, Howard among the number. At length they came to the last stage for changing horses. Howard got down from the coach, called to him a poor woman who lived hard by, and, in sight of the landlord, coachman, and passengers, paid out into her hand just double the money which it was usual to give as a ' tip "" to the coachman, saying, as he did so : ' I should have given half this money to you, if you had deserved it ; but to show you that I do not withhold the money from any stingy motive, but solely to teach you better manners, I have given this woman double the amount/ Howard^s precautions against infection illustrate his strong practical common sense. He carried with him a simple phial of vinegar, when he entered fever-tainted cells ; but found it often needful, especially in his earlier visits to English prisons, to change this after every three visits. His note-book, of which he made constant use, often became so impregnated with fever-germs that he was wont to lay it before a big fire to sweeten it ; and his clothes were so filled with contagion that he thought it better not only to change his dress frequently, but to ride on horseback that his clothes might get disinfected in the open air. JOHN HOWARD 217 Howard was not in the least a man of impulse. Whatever he did was done from a strong conviction of duty. And yet his decision of character was remarkable, and won the warmest eulogies from John Foster, in his celebrated essay on that subject an essay which every young man ought carefully to read. ' In this dis- tinction, 1 says Foster, ' no man ever exceeded, or ever will exceed, the late illustrious Howard. The energy of his determination was so great, that if, instead of being habitual, it had been shown only for a short time on particular occasions, it would have appeared a vehement impetuosity ; but by being unintermitted, it had an equability of manner which scarcely appeared to exceed the tone of a calm constancy. ... It was the calmness of intensity kept uniform by the nature of the human mind forbidding it to be more, and by the character of the individual forbidding it to be less. . . . The moment of finishing his plans in deliberation, and commencing them in action, was the same. I wonder what must have been the amount of that bribe, in emolument, or pleasure, that would have detained him a week, inactive, after their final adjustment? 1 Scores of illustrations of this feature of his character might be quoted from a life that is full of them. During his many long and toilsome journeys he never relaxed his purpose. His few and hurried snatches of rest at Cardington, seemed scarcely to suffice for the renewal of his exhausted energies : but these were all he allowed himself. He found his rest in his work, where any man may find it, if only it be conducted in the right spirit. Not that Howard was indifferent to the pleasures and comforts of home. On the contrary, few men had a keener or more refined pleasure in them. Scattered up and down his letters will be found many references to that English homestead near Bedford he loved so well. 218 JOHN HOWARD ' I thirst, 1 he says, in a letter from Berlin, ' for the land of liberty, for my Retreat, and for my Cardington friends ' ; and this in spite of his being daily and hourly besieged to accept the invitations of nobles, princes, and emperors. They sought him ; he never, save to further the object he had in view, sought them. Nor is it true to say that he only found objects of pity thousands of miles ^from home. His kindly thoughtful- ness for his poor neighbours at Cardington is a proof to the contrary ; but the same sneer is uttered by some because of the painful career and death of his only son. I shall not stay to refute the slanders which are now thrice slain; but I will simply say, that the tone of affection which breathes in all his letters when references are made to his son, and the recorded expressions of love which were used by that son himself, are enough to kill any such slander, if it should ever again rise from the grave. Howard had nothing on which to reflect concerning his treatment of that unhappy youth, whose sufferings were brought on by his own vices, and whose career ended in an asylum for the insane at Leicester. Howard's modesty and self-depreciation were no mere sentiments, put on for the occasion. They were, like everything else about the man, genuine and real. He was inexpressibly grieved when men began to fete him and glorify his doings in newspapers. Some people proposed to raise a monument to him. Subscriptions poured in rapidly ; for all men were willing to do honour to the great modern Apostle. The news reached Howard whilst he was going through his forty days 1 quarantine for visiting the Lazarettos in Venice. He at once did his best to discountenance the projected testimonial ; and he wrote to his old and tried servant Prole : * As to the other affair [the projected statue] it distresses my mind. Whoever set it on foot I know not ; but sure I am they JOHN HOWARD 219 were totally unacquainted with my temper and disposi- tion. Once before, on an application to sit for my picture, I hesitated not a moment to show my aversion to it. 1 In another letter, writing on the same subject to one of his friends, he thus refers to it : ' Why could not my friends, who know how much I detest such parade, have stopped such a hasty measure ? As a private man, with some peculiarities, I wish to retire into obscurity and silence. Indeed, my friend, I cannot bear the thought of being dragged out. I wrote immediately, and hope something may be done to stop it. My best friends must disapprove of it. It deranges and confounds all my schemes. My exaltation is my misfortune, my fall. 1 The committee, however, still persisted, and said that Howard had no right to veto the project. He thought otherwise. He took the pains to dissuade the public from contributing to the fund ; wrote through the news- papers, to thank those who had already sent in their subscriptions, expressed his strong repugnance to the project, and urged that the money should at once be returned to the subscribers. About < J 2000, a third of the amount already given, was returned ; but the rest of the subscribers refused to take back a farthing of the money ; a portion was expended in liberating between fifty and sixty poor debtors ; and the remainder was handed over, after Howard"^ death, to purchase the statue which now adorns St. Paul's Cathedral. None of the attentions which Howard received from crowned heads and the great men of the earth ever lifted him up with pride. He still remained the same simple, kindly, devoted Christian gentleman. Perhaps another instance of his modesty may be pardoned. It happened during his visit to Constantinople when gathering facts about the Plague, and did not a little to open his way in 220 JOHN HOWARD what was then the most exclusive city in Europe. The favourite daughter of a Turk, high in rank, was seized with illness. All native medical skill failed. The father was vainly struggling to reconcile himself to her loss, when he heard of the wonderful cures of the Prankish physician, John Howard, for so rumour described him. Howard was implored to see the child. He consented. His quick eye, and natural gift in reading disease, at once told him that the case was not beyond relief, and he quickly administered some English remedies, and the child recovered. The gratitude of the Turk was un- bounded. He pressed the skilful physician to receive a purse containing 2000 sequins, about =900. Of course this was refused, Howard telling the father that he never received money for his services, but that he would not object to receive a handful of grapes from his sumptuous and well-cultivated garden ! The request astonished the father as much as the cure of his child, and he gave orders that whilst Howard remained in the country he should be supplied with the choicest fruits his garden offered. Howard's habits must also be reckoned among the things which helped to fit him for his self-appointed work. He was by no means an ascetic ; but finding that his constitution was feeble, and that he was healthiest on a simple diet, he rigidly adhered to it. He was a vegetarian for years, and began this custom even before he took his long and fatiguing journeys. He was also a strict abstainer, his favourite beverages being tea and milk. In all his home travels it was not difficult to get fresh milk, no matter where he might be ; but tea was another thing; and he therefore invariably carried his tea and kettle with him. Not that Howard avoided hotels. He mostly stopped at the best, ordered a sumptuous dinner for two, himself and his servant Prole, JOHN HOWARD 221 and then, when the landlord had withdrawn from the room, Prole removed the smoking joints to a side-table and master and man sat down to a dinner of herbs, moistened with tea or milk. Howard paid for the dinner and the wine, all the same ; and hence became a welcome guest at every hotel. Howard was always an early riser; but during the publication of his first book he was often up at two o'clock, in order to read over his proofs, breakfasted at seven, and then trudged off to the printing-office. He was equally early to bed ; and this habit was one of which his young servant, Thomasson, had taken ad- vantage when Howard was in London, and had sallied out with ' Jack,' Howard's son, ' to see life ' ; which is only another phrase for seeing things which men would be ashamed to see in company with their sisters. Indeed, the vicious habits of Howard's son were then formed and confirmed. A man of such simple tastes was not hard to please ; and although he occasionally found a difficulty in some Continental countries in getting what he calls 'fresh garden stuff,' he never relinquished his vegetarianism. He was a ' teetotaller ' long before teetotalism became a cry, and from a conviction that it best suited his health, and so left him the largest measure of power for carrying on his various and untiring labours. His habit of early rising was of great service to him in his journeys ; and when other travellers were snoring off their heavy suppers, Howard was up, and ready to start with the diligence before the dawn of day. To all the other qualifications for the great work he so cheerfully undertook must be added his opinions on the right use of property. By the careful savings of his father, who was a parsimonious man, firm, decisive, almost sternly just, Howard became possessed of a fair 222 JOHN HOWARD estate, considering the times in which he lived. From the very first moment of entering upon it, Howard regarded himself, not as the absolute proprietor, and therefore entitled to use it for his own selfish ends ; but as a steward, who must answer for that as well as for the right use of his time and his talents. His father had shown his confidence in making him his residuary legatee; and Howard showed that the confidence was not misplaced, by the use he made of his wealth. There was not a man, woman, or child on Howard's estate who was not made the sharer, in some way or other, of his fortune ; and his free expenditure of money for his great object, prison inspections and prison reform, with the numberless instances of gifts to poor prisoners, showed that Howard used 'all good fidelity.' When his first book appeared, a book which marked an epoch in prison jurisprudence, he literally gave it away wholesale, that the end he had in view might be the more quickly accomplished. Every man of any note in the country had a copy presented to him, and the price at which it was originally published would scarcely pay for the paper on which it was printed. Here, then, were qualities pre-eminently fitting Howard for his work : devotion, deep, strong and true ; humanity as vigorous as it was tender and wide-reaching ; a bold speech, that never minced its words, but was as outspoken as John the Baptist's ; thoroughness ; sublime courage ; good, practical common sense ; a swift, calm, imperturbable decision, that drove him straight to his mark, and made him see it long before he reached it, as men see the pyramids in the clear air of Egypt, miles before they come up to them ; simple and even childlike habits; and a willingness to act always upon the New Testament admonition, 'Freely ye have received, freely give 1 such was John Howard. 'My venerable friend,' JOHN HOWARD 223 said Bentham, when men found fault with Howard"^ literary style, ' was much better employed than in arranging words and sentences. Instead of doing what so many could do if they would, what he did for the service of mankind was what scarce any man could have done, and no man would do, but himself. In the scale of moral desert the labours of the legislator and the writer are as far below his, as earth is below heaven. His was the truly Christian choice ; the lot in which is to be found the least of that which selfish nature covets, and the most of what it shrinks from. His kingdom was of a better world. 1 And what came of his work ? Gradually, slowly, but surely, the ripe fruit fell into his lap ; not harshly plucked, but toiled for year after year, as never man has toiled to win for himself a fortune or a name. His first book shone like a beam from heaven upon the darkness of the prison- world. Public opinion was aroused. Acts of Parliament quickly followed, first for bettering the prisons, and then for improving the condition of the prisoners. The same thing followed in other countries- Wise men sat willingly at his feet, and kings were com- pelled, by the force of a general sentiment he had helped to create, to become his disciples. The old dark days of prison abuses passed away, never more to return, at least in civilised Europe. It was no longer thought in England an infringement upon the liberty of the subject to com- pel rogues and vagabonds to work in prison. It ceased to be thought a truism that a debtor and a criminal were still men, and not beyond the reach of recovery ; and it presently dawned upon the minds of Christendom that the best way of preventing the crowding of prisons was to deal with the classes out of which criminals came. If ever any man earned the gratitude of the world for show- ing it its duty, and the gratitude of the unfortunate and 224 JOHN HOWARD the vicious for bringing them comfort and hope of a brighter future, John Howard was that man. He had done all this without being possessed of a single spark of what men call genius. He was never remarkable for any great mental powers. He was not a scholar, although he spoke French like a native, and was more versed in one Book, which after all is a literature of itself, than any other. He bore, it is true, what men call ' a charmed life,' and save a fever here, the ague there, and some other ailments, never seriously suffered during all his visits to infected places, noisome cells, lazar-houses, and buildings impregnated with the Plague. His own account of his immunity from disease is worth recording. ' Next to the free goodness and mercy of the Author of my being, temperance and cleanliness are my preservatives. Trusting in Divine Providence, and believing myself in the way of my duty, I visit the most noxious cells, and while thus employed " I fear no evil." ' What sublime faith ! What strong and unconquerable repose in God ! Here, in very deed, is the stuff out of which heroes are made, high-souled patriots, and faithful and unflinching martyrs. But the end came at last, and very mournful it was. He was making a second inspection of the plague-centres of Europe ; and was in Russia at Kherson. The Russian officers, it being winter-time, were amusing themselves at the port. A young lady, who lived fourteen miles away, came to the balls, took cold, fell ill of fever, and was on the point of death. Howard was urgently pressed to attend her. At first he refused, on the ground that he was only a physician for the poor. He at last consented, prescribed for the young lady, and an improvement at once set in. Howard wished the parents to let him know how the patient fared, but the letter sent to him was not delivered until eight days after it was written. JOHN HOWARD 225 Howard was perplexed and alarmed. It was now night, winter, very cold, and rain was falling in torrents. No horse could be found save an old dray-horse, used by his friend Admiral Priestman. Howard did not hesitate. He at once mounted it and set off, only to find the poor girl dying. He himself was benumbed with cold, wet through with his ride in the rain ; watching thus by her bedside, he caught the poor girl's fever. He hastened back, but rapidly grew worse. His friend, Admiral Priestman, was grieved to see his pitiable case. 'Ah, 1 said Howard with a stroke of pleasantry, ' I must die. It's only such jolly fellows as you, Priestman, who get over these fevers. How can such a man as I lower my diet ? ' The gallant sailor turned away to hide his tears. Howard then spoke of his funeral, and begged that there might be no pomp, no monument, only a sun-dial over his grave : ' Lay me quietly in the grave, and let me be forgotten.' That same night, Jan. 20th, 1790, John Howard died. The sad news soon spread through Europe. The effect in England was without a parallel. It was announced in an official Gazette, a distinction never before accorded to a private citizen. It was the mournful theme of a thousand tongues. The court, the parliament, the bar, the press, the pulpit, even the stage, each in its own way, brought their chaplets to his tomb. Very touching was his funeral at Kherson. Private that funeral could not be, when so many thousands were ready to follow him to his last earthly resting-place. All Kherson at once went into mourning. A public funeral was improvised by the people ; admirals, generals, staff-officers, magistrates, merchants, a large body of Russian cavalry, and an im- mense concourse of private citizens, made the funeral pro- cession. At the end of the long line of carriages and military men there followed on foot at least three thousand people 226 slaves, prisoners, common sailors, humble soldiers, poor Russian Moujiks, the truest, if they were the humblest, of his mourners. And when the funeral pomp was over, and the stately cavalcade of military men and rich citizens had filed away, these poor slaves and prisoners with their companions stole quietly up to the grave. They remembered the thousand acts of kindness, the number- less words of love and gentleness, which this good man, this stranger in a foreign land, had given them. They had been sick and in prison, and he had visited them. Poor, friendless, outcast, in him they had found, in him they had lost a father. Not a dry eye was seen among all that mighty throng : and as the humble sharers in his goodness passed by his grave they wondered where he had learnt that tender devotion, for alas, but few of these poor men knew of Him whose follower John Howard was who came ' to seek and to save that which was lost. 1 The name of John Howard can never be forgotten. Never ! so long as the world shall stand ! The universal grief that bedewed his grave does but represent the universal admiration that not Englishmen alone shall ever give, but every man who has a heart to pity and understand the heroism, the self-denial, the lofty philan- thropy of the man who, after living like an apostle, died like a martyr. SYDNEY SMITH WIT, PHILOSOPHER, AND DIVINE ' Never give way to melancholy ; resist it steadily, for the habit will encroach. I once gave a lady two-and-twenty recipes against melancholy : one was a bright fire ; another to remember all the pleasant things said to and of her ; another, to keep a box of sugar- plums on the chimney-piece, and a kettle simmering on the hob.' SYDNEY SMITH. SYDNEY SMITH WIT, PHILOSOPHER, AND DIVINE SYDNEY SMITH'S father was a very odd man. He married a young lady of great personal attractions, came out of church with her, and then went off on his travels for several months, and did not settle down in England permanently until he had spent some of the best years of his life in wandering over the world. Well might his granddaughter, Lady Holland, say of such a man that, if very clever, ' he was odd by nature, but still more odd by design.' One of the greatest delights he had was to create astonishment, and he no doubt succeeded in doing this when he left his handsome young bride at the church door with her mother, and started for America. Sydney's mother was the daughter of a French exile, driven out by the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, and from her he inherited not a few of his remarkable qualities : quickness, delicacy of feeling, brilliant ex- pression, charm of manner, and goodness of heart. From his father who is said to have greatly mellowed with age he derived his qualities of courage, self-reliance, promptness, determination, and energy. Sydney was the second son, and was born at Woodford, in Essex. His elder brother, Robert Percy, better known as 'Bobus' the pet family name was a remarkable man ; the two younger were Courtenay and Cecil. Sydney and his three brothers were all precocious lads, 230 SYDNEY SMITH read and wrangled like grown-up men, and forsook boyish romps to devour books, or discuss questions that were fitted for men. The odd father saw this, and at once wisely decided on his course, sending Bobus and Cecil the eldest and youngest to Eton, and Sydney and Courtenay to Winchester. Dr. Joseph Warton, the headmaster of Winchester, was the friend of Johnson, Goldsmith, and Burke, and one of the head boys in the school when Sydney entered was William Howley, afterwards Archbishop of Canter- bury. When they were both old men, Sydney Smith thus refers to the Primate, in a letter to Archbishop Singleton : ' I was at school and college with the Arch- bishop of Canterbury. Fifty years ago he knocked me down with a chess-board for checkmating him, and now he is attempting to take away my patronage. I believe these are the only two acts of violence he ever committed in his life. 1 * Sydney had a hard time of it at Winchester ; was half- starved, neglected and brow-beaten ; but he and his brother Courtenay were always winning prizes, until the other boys sent a round-robin to Dr. Warton to say that if the two Smiths competed again they would try no longer. Sydney was greatly encouraged by a stranger giving him a shilling, when he found him absorbed during play-hours with his Virgil. ' Clever boy, clever boy, 1 said the unknown stranger, whom Sydney never forgot ; ' that is the way to conquer the world. 1 This clever boy was once praised by the doctor for a catapult he found him making, the doctor little suspecting that young Sydney designed the catapult to knock over a well-fed turkey of his master's, which had tempted the ill-fed youth. From Winchester Sydney went to New College, Oxford, where, at twenty, he obtained a fellowship of .100 a year. It was out of this sum that he gave Courtenay ^30 to pay SYDNEY SMITH 231 his debts, because he could not bear the sight of the lad's distress. The moral tone of Oxford University was then very low. This was at the end of the last century. ' It is possible to acquire nothing in this place," 1 said Jeffrey, then at Queen's, 'except praying and drinking''; and Sydney Smith himself asserts that at that time one-third of the gentlemen of England were always drunk. Sydney would have preferred to go to the Bar ; but the resolute father, who had spent no little money on Bobus 1 legal education, promptly said, * You may be a college tutor or a parson.' Although he entered the Church with no enthusiasm and many misgivings, Sydney soon set him- self to work with patience and cheerfulness, and became one of the most exemplary country parsons in England. His first taste of parsonic life was bitter enough. Vivacious, fond of society, and eager to live among men of similar tastes to his own, he was plumped down in a little out-of-the-way village in the middle of Salisbury Plain. He soon set to work, however, and in the two or three years he spent at Nether Avon, succeeded in im- proving the mental condition of his poorer parishioners. The lord of the manor, Mr. Hicks-Beach, and his amiable wife, helped him in the social changes, and his day and Sunday schools effected the rest. Through his acquaintance with this excellent household, Sydney was offered and accepted the post of tutor and companion to the eldest son, Michael Hicks-Beach, grand- father of the present baronet ; at first intending to take him to Germany ; but afterwards giving this up owing to the wars of Napoleon, and at length settling in Edinburgh just two years before the present century began. This step was one of the most important of any in his life. He did his duty by his young pupil, played the part of mentor in a faithful and fatherly fashion, but yet found time to make many acquaintances, among whom SYDNEY SMITH were Jeffrey, Horner, Brougham, Murray, Walter Scott, and Thomas Campbell. Both pupil and tutor shared together the society of these remarkable men. Social life was then robustly simple. Nobody made any great show, and friends accepted and were welcomed to frugal, if substantial, meals. Sydney's letters, at this period, to the father of his pupil, are full of good sense and humour. He tells him in one of them that he could forgive Nature for dooming him to be an eternal copper colour, if the people of Edin- burgh would not gape at his sermons ! ' In the middle of an exquisite address to Virtue, beginning, " O Virtue," I saw, 1 he says, ' a rascal gaping as if his jaws were torn asunder. I have a great horror of suicide, and therefore I yet live." 1 It was to Edinburgh in June 1800 that Sydney Smith brought his bride. The marriage was one that proved full of comfort and blessing. His humorous account of his little fortune, which consisted of some silver spoons, is told in a letter to his patrons, Mr. and Mrs. Hicks-Beach, and also the account of his primitive household, when he went to Burntisland for his wife's health. 'Our meat larder is a hamper hung on a beam ; Mrs. Smith's dressing- table is a herring-barrel ; her bell a pair of tongs tied to a rope passed through the door. The books are kept in the corner cupboard with the yellow pickles.' It was in Edinburgh that Sydney Smith, and a few equally vigorous-minded and liberal men, started the Edinburgh Review. For thirty years he was one of its most constant writers, and showed in these contributions that he was a born teacher of the people. He flew bravely at the most cherished prejudices of the people, the Court, and the Government. It is impossible now to conceive the state of things which existed when the Review was started. It was, as he himself said, 'an SYDNEY SMITH 233 awful period for those who ventured to maintain liberal opinions ; and who were too honest to sell them for the ermine of the judge or the lawn of the prelate. A long and hopeless career in your profession; the chuckling grin of noodles ; the sarcastic leer of the genuine political rogue ; prebendaries, deans, bishops made over your head ; reverend renegades advanced to the highest dignities of the church for helping to rivet the fetters of Catholic and Protestant Dissenters. . . . These were the penalties exacted for liberality of opinion at that period ; and not only was there no pay, but there were many stripes.' It was ' considered a piece of impertinence if a man of less than two or three thousand a year had any opinions at all on important subjects; and in addition, he was sure to be assailed with all the Billingsgate of the French Revolution. Jacobin, leveller, atheist, Socinian, in- cendiary, regicide, were the gentlest appellations used ; and any man who breathed a syllable against the senseless bigotry of the two Georges, or hinted at the abominable tyranny and persecution exercised against Catholic Ire- land, was shunned as unfit for the social relations of life. 1 But Sydney Smith was nothing daunted by this. He ridiculed abuses, exposed tyranny, preached and wrote in favour of freedom, and lived to see not a few of the evils of the first days of the Review cleared away for ever. He had a passionate love of justice and common sense; and, speaking of justice, wrote these remarkable words : ' Truth is its handmaid, freedom its child, peace its companion : safety walks in its steps ; victory follows in its train. It is the brightest emanation from the Gospel, it is the greatest attribute of God.' Besides his occasional writing to the Review, and attention to his pupils, of whom there were now three, Sydney attended the lectures in Edinburgh University on medicine and moral philosophy, the know- ledge thus perfected being afterwards turned to account : 234 SYDNEY SMITH the medicine in his country parishes, and the moral philo- sophy in popular lectures afterwards given in London. Three years after his marriage he removed to London. His wife sold her family jewels to obtain a little ready cash, and he himself became preacher at the Foundling Hospital, and lectured on Moral Philosophy at the Royal Institution. For four years, however, he had a struggling life, although his brilliant talk soon won him many friends, and obtained him an introduction to Holland House, then the centre of all that was brightest and most cultivated in London. He had also social evenings at his own house, which house he had furnished out of the proceeds of his lectures ; and these quiet unpretentious gatherings were the favourite resort of some of the most distinguished men of the day. His fun was irrepressible, and showed itself sometimes when least expected. At one of their suppers, a simple, warm-hearted rustic, a country cousin of Smith's, was present, and she came up to him and whispered, ' Now, Sydney, I know that these are all very remarkable men ; do tell me who they are.' ' Oh yes, 1 said Sydney, laugh- ing ; ' that is Hannibal," 1 pointing to Mr. Whishaw ; ' he lost his leg in the Carthaginian War; and that is Socrates, 1 pointing to Luttrell; 'and that is Solon, 1 pointing to Francis Horner; 'you have heard of Solon? 1 On another occasion Sir James Mackintosh brought with him to supper a raw Scotch cousin of his own, belonging to a Highland regiment. On hearing the name of his host, the Scottish soldier nudged Sir James, and said, ' Is that the great Sir Sidney ? 1 Sir James nodded, whispered afterwards to Sydney, who carried on the joke for the rest of the evening, assuming that he was the hero of the siege of Acre, fought his battles over again, showed how he charged the Turk, and immensely delighted the young Scotsman, although the other SYDNEY SMITH 235 guests were tortured with suppressed laughter at the scene. In 1807 preferment came. Sydney Smith was appointed to the living of Foston-le-Clay in Yorkshire, but hoped he would be able to remain in London. It was during this year that he brought his family down to Sonning, near Reading, to give them a taste of the country. Here he made the acquaintance of Sir William Scott, after- wards Lord Stowell, who then lived at Sonning. 'Ah, Mr. Smith, 1 said this Tory gentleman, 'you would have been in a different situation if you had belonged to us.' It was in Sonning that the first of those remarkable letters, on the subject of the Irish Catholics, was written. Peter Ply alley's Letters to his brother Abraham in the Country. The effect of the first letter was as if a spark had fallen on gunpowder. Everybody was reading it, in town and country. Letter followed letter, and the excitement continued. The Government did their best to find out the author, but failed. He ridiculed, in these letters, the fears of the Protestants about the Catholics ; showed how cruelly Catholics had been treated, and pleaded for them in such earnest tones that the Catholics themselves published cheap editions of the letters, and dispersed them over Ireland. The absurdity and the danger of the system then pursued were shown up with all Sydney's wit and wisdom ; and one contemporary speaks of them as being, ' after Pascal's Letters, the most instructive piece of wisdom in the form of irony ever written. 1 Nor were they without effect. 'Dear Abraham,' begins the first letter, 'a worthier and better man than yourself does not exist ; but I have always told you from the time of our boyhood that you were a bit of a goose. 1 He then banters him with always dreading the arrival of the Pope or some of his emis- saries, and shows up the absurdity of his fears. 'The 236 SYDNEY SMITH rustic," 1 he declares, speaking of Abraham's congregation, ' has in general good principles, though he cannot control his animal habits; and however loud he may snore (in church on Sunday), his face is perpetually turned to the fountain of orthodoxy. ' Abraham was a representative man, and reflected the opinions of thousands. They were always dreading the plotting of the Pope, and Peter assures Abraham from his fuller knowledge, that if the Pope were not yet landed, there was still much reason to dread that he was ' hovering about our coast in a fishing- smack.'' What was the regard of parson and squire for Dis- senters in those days, the two following extracts from Peter Plymley's Letters will show. In the second letter he says : 'No eel, in the well-sanded fist of a cook-maid, upon the eve of being skinned, ever twisted and writhed as an orthodox parson does, when he is compelled by the gripe of reason to admit anything in favour of a Dis- senter. 1 ' When a country squire hears of an ape, his first feeling is to give it nuts and apples ; when he hears of a Dissenter, his immediate impulse is to commit it to the county jail, to shave its head, to alter its customary food, and to have it privately whipped. This is no caricature, but an accurate picture of national feelings, as they degrade and endanger us at this very moment.'' In 1808 'the sepulchral Spencer Perceval' brought in the Clergy Residence Bill, and Sydney Smith had to make his choice between giving up his living at Foston or going down to reside in the parish. So remote was the village that he once said to a friend, ' Life is a difficult thing in the country, I assure you, and it requires a good deal of forethought to steer the ship, when you live twelve miles from a lemon.' But where was he to live ? There was no house, save a tumble- down barn of a place, that the village carpenter said SYDNEY SMITH 237 was worth about jt J 50, and the village stonemason con- sidered would be dear at the price. A house, then, must be built, and a house was built, Sydney being his own architect ; but whilst it was building he lived at Hesling- ton, near York. At Heslington some of the later letters of ' Peter Plymley ' were written, and the most powerful of his political and social essays in the Edinburgh Review, which show that he advocated the claims of the slave, protested against the cruelties practised on the poor 4 climbing-boys, 1 fulminated against the game laws, seconded the work which Howard had so nobly begun in reforming prisons ; and before strong- minded women were known, loudly asked for the better education of women. He reprobated the setting of spring-guns for the sake of preserving game, and affirms that the men who set these guns ' have no objection to preserve the lives of their fellow- creatures also, if both can exist at the same time ; if not, the least worthy of God's creatures must fall, the rustic without a soul, not the Christian partridge, not the immortal pheasant, not the accountable hare." 1 His irony was always at the service of the suffer- ing. ' What,' he asks, speaking of the poor ' climbing- child, 1 barely five years old, burned in a hot chimney ' what is a toasted child compared with the agonies of the mistress of the house with a deranged dinner ? It is quite right to have climbing-boys, because humanity is a modern invention.' 1 At Heslington, Dugald Stewart, Sir James Mackintosh, Brougham, Horner, Murray, Sir Samuel Romilly, and other distinguished men, became Sydney Smith's guests. It was not the life he preferred, in this out of the way rustic village, but he made the best of it. ' If it be my lot to crawl,' he wrote in 1809 to Lady Holland, 'I will crawl contentedly ; if to fly, I will fly with alacrity ; but as long as I can avoid it, I will never be unhappy. If, 238 SYDNEY SMITH with a pleasant wife, three children, a good house and farm, many books, and many friends who wish me well, I cannot be happy, I am a silly, foolish fellow, and what becomes of me is of very little consequence. 1 The record of his trouble in building his house at Foston ; of the twenty-two years of his life after he once was able to get into it ; of his part as village doctor, farmer, and parson combined ; of his happy nicknames for gates, fences, horses, chariots, and servants; of the strange sensation such a man made at meetings of the clergy, when the clergy were very different from what they are in our own day ; of his helpfulness to Arch- bishop Harcourt, who loved a joke, and hated a bore; of the friends he had to visit him during his residence at Foston ; of the loss of his eldest son, which greatly saddened his heart, and the marriage of his eldest daughter to Sir Henry Holland, which was a source of happiness to him ; of his being made Canon of Bristol ; of his humours with his servants and his strong common sense as a magistrate ; of his bold, outspoken words in favour of Religious Toleration in Bristol Cathedral ; of his sudden rise of fortune through his brother Courtenay's death and legacy ; of his exchange of Foston in York- shire for Combe Florey in Devon ; of his being made Canon of St. Paul's ; of his later days, and many friends, and quiet end of all this I must content myself by just this passing reference. Suffice it to say that when he died, some fifty years ago, there were few men better known or more greatly esteemed ; and that his epitaph did but speak the truth when it said that ' his talents although great were sur- passed by his unostentatious benevolence, fearless love of truth, and endeavour to promote the happiness of man- kind by religious toleration and rational freedom.' I have not so much undertaken to give a life of Sydney SYDNEY SMITH 239 Smith as to speak of him as a wit, a philosopher, and a divine. Let us take these points in the reverse order to that I have given. One hears so much of Sydney Smith's wit, that one forgets he was a hard-working, diligent, and conscientious clergyman. We have some means of ascertaining what was the quality of his sermons, since several were published at different periods in his career ; and although he settled in Nether Avon, in Wilts, with a slender stock of divinity, he at once set about gathering the materials of a sound knowledge of what was once known as the queen of sciences. He was, however, rather dis- tinguished by practical good sense than by theological subtleties, and at one time appeared to have a special dislike to the tone and talk of what would now be called Low Churchmen. This was especially seen in certain papers on Indian Missions, that appeared in the Edin- burgh Review. He misrepresented, and misunderstood, the splendid enthusiasm which stirred the Nonconformists to set about the great work of Foreign Missions at the beginning of the present century. He ridiculed ' brother Carey ' and ' brother Ward," and their ailments at sea. He made sweeping charges against the Methodists at home and the missionaries abroad, which events have shown to be utterly unwarranted; and as we now read his witticisms on both we wonder that so clear-sighted a man could be so blind. But, alas ! like many other men before and since, his mind was marked by invincible prejudice. His first publication was a small volume of sermons, preached in Charlotte Street Chapel, Edinburgh ; and the titles of these half-dozen sermons reveal the character of his preaching. They were on 'Love of Country," ' Scepticism,' ' Poor Magdalene,' the * Best Mode of Charity,' the ' Predisposing Causes to the reception of 240 SYDNEY SMITH Republican Opinions,' and ' The Immortality of the Soul. 1 The preface to these sermons is brief but vigorous, and shows the man. He tells us that ' he wrote them to do good," 1 and for the same reason makes them public. He knows that sermons are an unpopular species of composition ; and, whoever wishes to imply, in a piece of writing, the absence of everything agreeable and inviting, calls it a sermon. He does not see, however, why he should not endeavour, by their publication, to do a little good, although he cannot do much. He shows why the English clergy are such dull preachers, and anticipates John Foster's remarks on the ' Aversion of men of taste to Evangelical Religion. 1 He advocates the use of good English in sermons, and not a jargon of phrases that weary by their repetition and technical character. He denounces the wretched delivery of the pulpit, and asks whether it is the rule of oratory to balance the style against the subject ? ' Is sin, 1 he asks, ' to be taken from men, as Eve was taken from Adam, by casting them into a deep slumber ? ' He abhors any adulteration of manly piety with mummery and parade. He even thinks that he shall be laughed at when he declares that warm churches, solemn music, animated preaching upon practical subjects, and a service some little abridged, were all good things, and might well take the place of hot invectives against Rousseau, Voltaire, and the whole pandemonium of atheists. The sermons themselves abound with strong common sense. In speaking, for example, of the love of country, he says : ' In spite of the prostitution of this venerable name, there is, and there ever will be, a Christian patriotism, a great system of duties which man owes to the sum of human beings with whom he lives. To deny it is folly ; to neglect it is crime." His bold charity and thorough Christian feeling is shown in SYDNEY SMITH 241 another place where he says : ' The Church must be distinguished from religion itself; we might be Christians without any Established Church at all, as some countries of the world are at this day. A Church establishment is only an instrument for teaching religion. 1 He then praises the Established Church in no measured terms, but presently adds : ' The true Christian, amid all the diversities of opinion, searches for the holy in desire, for the good in counsel, for the just in works; and he loves the good, under whatever temple, at whatever altar, he may find them.' Other and separate discourses were published in later years, but all show the same features : freshness, reality, common-sense, and urgent desire to be practical. There is a sermon of his preached on the ascension of the Queen to the throne which now possesses special interest. It is on ' the duties of the Queen," and these duties are set forth as four-fold : (1) She should bend her mind to the education of her people. (2) She should cherish a rooted horror of war, for war is the greatest curse that can visit mankind. There is an eloquent passage describing the horrors of a battlefield, and this part of the sermon ends with a yearning wish that, at the end of the Queen's reign, there may not be many widows and orphans who mourn the loss of their husbands and fathers. (3) The Queen, whilst loving and cherishing the National Church, is not to listen to men who would dispose her to curtail the freest religious liberty to all. His last counsel is (4) that the Queen should be slow to listen to the abuse in which the sects indulge against each other, and especially those which are commonly uttered against the Roman Catholics. Other sermons have come down to us, and all are of the same unconventional and manly character. His sermons, when Canon of St. Paul's, made men feel that 242 SYDNEY SMITH they were ' listening to the voice of a man of strong and original character, who spoke with the air of authority, and in the accents of conviction. The freshness and variety of the preacher's language was not more remark- able than the vigorous thought and generous sympathy which marked his utterances, and the favourable impres- sion thus created was deepened by his familiar yet dignified manner, and the evident sincerity and natural- ness of the man himself. 1 ' Strangers entering St. Paul's in 1834 ' would have seen in the pulpit ' a burly but active- looking man of sixty-three, of medium height, with dark complexion and iron-grey hair. When he stood up to preach, the shapely and well-carried head, the fine eyes, with their quick and penetrating glance, the expression of thorough benevolence which lit up the sensitive yet boldly chiselled features of the strong and intellectual face, would all contribute to heighten favourably the first general impression of one whose whole movements suggested intelligence, determination, and kindliness.' 1 Mr. Grenville, who often heard him, says that at this time his manner was impressive, his voice sonorous, and agreeable, and rather familiar, but not offensively so, that his language was simple and unadorned, and his sermon clever and illustrative. Mrs. Austin says : ' I went to hear Sydney Smith preach with some misgivings as to the effect which that well-known face and voice, ever associated with wit and mirth, might have upon me, even in a sacred place. Never were misgivings more quickly and entirely dissipated. The moment he ap- peared in the pulpit, all the weight of his duty, all the authority of his office, were written on his countenance, and without a particle of affectation, of which he was in- capable, his whole demeanour bespoke the gravity of his purpose. The whole audience listened eagerly. The perfect good sense, expansive benevolence, and plain ex- SYDNEY SMITH 243 position of Christian duty seemed to find a soil fitted to receive it. 1 I can add myself that whilst reading his sermons, one seems rather to be listening to a layman preaching, than to an ecclesiastic who has allowed his profession to narrow his sympathies and shrivel up his manliness. Sydney Smith was a divine, but he was a thoroughly human divine, a type extremely rare in his own day, but one with which we are now by no means unacquainted. Now a word or two about Sydney Smith as a philo- sopher. I question whether he himself would have thought the title deserved, at least in its more limited sense ; but I do not hesitate to apply it to him. If a philosopher be a man well versed in the principles of moral and intellectual Science ; if he be a lover of wisdom, and one who zealously sought it all his life long, then, assuredly, Sydney Smith was a philosopher. No man ever loved wisdom with a purer love. He did not apply himself to the mastery of any physical science, and was rather apt to make merry at the expense of those who did ; but he had such a fund of sound sense ; was so shrewd and observing ; so quick to read character, and so ready to illustrate it, that all through his life proofs of this were constantly cropping up. His philo- sophy took a practical turn, and was marked by a desire that never flagged, to make the world, and the men and women in it, all the better for their contact with him. His popular lectures on Moral Philosophy delivered in the Royal Institution showed that he was an admir- able interpreter of philosophy, if not an original inves- tigator. He would have laughed heartily at the idea of being placed by the side of the great leaders of moral science, at whose feet he was ever willing to sit as a listener ; but by his lectures he gave a taste for studies that were at one time little in favour among matter-of- 244 SYDNEY SMITH fact English people. Sketchy as are his lectures on Moral Philosophy, they abound with proofs of his own love of knowledge, and the keenness and discrimination of his judgment. I can only offer a few examples of this. Speaking in one of these lectures on the conduct of the understand- ing, he says : ' Some men may be disposed to ask, " Why conduct my understanding with so much endless care, and what is the use of so much knowledge ? " " What is the use of so much knowledge ? " I solemnly declare that, but for the love of knowledge, I should consider the life of the meanest hedger and ditcher preferable to that of the greatest and richest man here present ; for the fire of our minds is like the fire which the Persians burn on the mountains it flames night and day, and is immortal and not to be quenched. Upon something it must act and feed upon the pure spirit of knowledge, or upon the foul dregs of polluting passions. Therefore when I say, in conducting your studies, love knowledge with a great love, with a vehement love, with a love coeval with life what do I say but love innocence, love virtue, love purity of conduct, love that which, if you are rich and great, will sanctify the blind fortune which made you so, and make men call it justice; love that which, if you are poor, will render your poverty respectable, and make the proudest feel it unjust to laugh at the meanness of your fortunes. ... If any young man have embarked his life in pursuit of know- ledge, let him go on without doubting or fearing the event; let him not be intimidated by the cheerless be- ginnings of knowledge, by the darkness from which she springs, by the difficulties which hover around her, by the wretched habitations in which she dwells, by the want and sorrow which sometimes journey in her train ; but let him follow her as the angel that guards him, and SYDNEY SMITH 245 as the genius of his life. She will bring him at last into the light of day, and exhibit him to the world compre- hensive in acquirements, fertile in resources, rich in imagination, strong in reasoning, prudent and powerful above his fellows in all the relations and all the offices of life/ I do not know a better example of the sort of philo- sophy which Sydney Smith loved and practised than that unpublished essay of his entitled, ' A little moral advice : a fragment on the cultivation and improvement of the animal spirits.' There is wit interblent with wisdom running through the whole of it. I can give only a few examples of both. ' It is surprising to see for what foolish causes men hang themselves. The most silly impulse, the most trifling ruffle of temper, or de- rangement of stomach anything seems to justify an appeal to the razor or the cord. I have a contempt for persons who destroy themselves. Live on, and look evil in the face ; walk up to it, and you will find it less than you imagined ; and often you will not find it at all ; for it will recede as you advance. When you are in a melancholy fit, first suspect your body, appeal to rhubarb and calomel, and send for the apothecary ; a little bit of gristle sticking in the wrong place, an un- timely consumption of custard, excessive gooseberries, often cover the mind with clouds, and bring on the most distressing views of human life. 1 ' I start up at two o'clock in the morning, after my first sleep, in an agony of terror, and feel all the weight of life on my soul. It is impossible that I shall bring up such a family of children ; my sons and daughters will be beggars ; I shall live to see those whom I love exposed to the scorn and contumely of the world. But stop, thou child of sorrow, thou humble imitator of Job, and tell me on what you dined ? Was not there soup and salmon, 246 SYDNEY SMITH and then a plate of beef, and then chicken, blanc-mange, cream cheese, diluted with beer, claret, champagne, hock, tea, coffee, noyau ? And after all this you talk of the mind, and the evils of life ! These kind of cases do not need meditation but magnesia." 1 ' Nothing contributes more to animal spirits than benevolence. 1 " ' I also recommend light as a great improver of animal spirits. How is it possible to be happy with two mould candles ill-snuffed ? . . . Every room in which I sit is lighted up like a town after a naval victory, and in this cereous galaxy and with a blazing fire it is scarcely possible to be low-spirited, a thousand pleasing images spring up in the mind, and I can see the little blue demons scampering off like parish boys pursued by the beadle/ In his essay ' Of the Body,' he says : ' My friend sups late ; he eats some strong soup, then a lobster, then some tart, and he dilutes these esculent varieties with wine. The next day I call upon him. He is going to sell his house in London, and to retire into the country. He is alarmed for his eldest daughter's health. His expenses are hourly increasing, and nothing but a timely retreat can save him from ruin. All this is lobster.'' Sydney Smith's common-sense philosophy came out in his scattered words, thrown off at random in ordinary talk ; in his sagacious methods of dealing with boys and men ; and in his practical suggestions about common things, which are a very treasure-house of wisdom that Benjamin Franklin would have envied. It would not be possible to give many examples of these. Let us take a few only. ' Ah ! you talk very lightly about common sense, but you forget, as I said in my lectures, that two thousand years ago common sense was not invented, and that philosophers would be considered as inspired by the SYDNEY SMITH 247 gods, and would have had altars raised to them for advice which a grandmother now gives to a child six years old/ ' Keep doing, expect little from others, but cherish con- fidence in their good will. Be thankful. 1 ' Great care must be taken that life does not become wearisome before it is time to depart. 1 'The liberality of churchmen generally is like the quantity of matter in a cone both get less as they move higher and higher. 1 Speaking of some one^ weakness, he said : ' He is like a barometer the more you press him the higher he rises. 1 Another man's understanding was 'as small and as pinched as the feet of a Chinese woman/ One day the talk turned on an obstinate man, full of prejudices difficult to remove. Sydney Smith, who knew him well, said, ' You might as well attempt to poultice the humps off' a camel's back ! 1 His knowledge of human nature and sound practical sense in dealing with men is seen in his address to his parishioners at Foston, and especially in his dealing, whilst a magistrate, with the unfortunate village lads who came before him. If he saw the lads were really penitent he let them off" easily ; but if they were obdurate he was wont to say : ' John, bring me my private gallows ! " That never failed to bring them to their knees, and signs of repentance at once ensured their pardon. What in the way of practical philosophy could be shrewder than these counsels ? ' Remember that every person, however low, has rights and feelings. In all con- tentions, let peace be your object rather than triumph ; value triumph only as a means to peace. 1 'When you meet with neglect, let it arouse you to exertion, instead of mortifying your pride. 1 ' Take short views, hope for the best, and trust in God. 1 But it is time we spoke of Sydney Smith as a wit. And yet is there any need to speak ? Some of his witty 248 SYDNEY SMITH sayings have helped to set up dull men as lively com- panions, and scores of his sayings have now passed into proverbs. Who does not remember his describing Macaulay as ' a book in breeches, 1 or Daniel Webster as ' a steam engine in trousers ' ? Who has not heard of his telling the child that stroked the shell of the turtle to please it, that it ' might as well stroke the dome of St. Paul's to please the Dean and Chapter'? or of his saying to that venerable body in the chapter-house when perplexed about laying down wood pavement round St. Paul's, ' If my reverend brethren here will but lay their heads together, the tiling will be done in a trice ' ? or of his journey to Paris, where, the reception-rooms being full of mirrors, he said, ( I remember entering a room with glass all round it, and saw myself reflected on every side. I took it for a meeting of the clergy, and was delighted, of course'? or his remark, on hearing that a certain bishop was about to marry, ' How can he ? How can he flirt ? The most he can say is, " I will see you in the vestry after the service " ' ? Or his saying, ' If you mast-head a sailor for not doing his duty, why should you not weathercock a parishioner for not paying his tithes?' A physician recommended him to take a walk on an empty stomach, and Sydney Smith laconically replied ' Whose ? ' He had all manner of odd ways of hitting oft' the peculiarities of people, as when he spoke suddenly to a young lady who had shaken hands with him in his garden at Combe Florey : ' Nothing,' said he, ' is more charac- teristic than shakes of the hand. I have classified them. There is the high official the body erect, a rapid short shake, near the chin. There is the " mortmain " (dead- hand) the flat hand introduced into your palm, and hardly conscious of its contiguity. The digital one finger held out, much used by the high clergy. There is SYDNEY SMITH 249 the shakus rusticus, where your hand is seized in an iron grasp, betokening rude health, warm heart, and distance from the metropolis. Next there is the retentive shake, one which, beginning with vigour, pauses as it were to take breath, but without relinquishing its prey, and before you are aware, begins again, until you feel anxious as to the result, and have no shake left in you. 1 He laughed at the popular idea that a witty man is always shallow, and was himself an illustration of the opposite. In his lecture on ' Wit and Humour, 1 Sydney Smith says : ' I know of no principle which it is of more importance to fix in the minds of young people than that of the most determined resistance to the encroachments of ridicule. . . . You can no more exercise your reason if you live in constant dread of laughter, than you can enjoy life if you are in constant terror of death. . . . Let men call you mean, if you know you are just; hypo- critical, if you are honestly religious ; pusillanimous, if you feel you are firm ; resistance soon converts unprin- cipled wit into sincere respect ; and no aftertime can tear you from those feelings which every man carries within him who has made a noble and unsuccessful exertion in a virtuous cause. 1 His other lectures on the same theme are well worth reading. It is in one of them that he quotes the instance of a slovenly boy who always said 'partridges 1 when reading the word patriarchs, and of whom some one said that ' it could hardly be called negligence, since the boy was making game of the patriarchs. 1 His love of fun never led him to jest on religious subjects, although some of his best jokes were aimed at the failings and foibles of the clergy of his day. He strongly disliked the obnoxious people who scoff' at re- ligion, and took a keen delight in rebuking them. Once at a dinner-party a man of this type loudly proclaimed 250 SYDNEY SMITH that he did not believe in anything, but suddenly began to praise a dish of which he was partaking. ' I am glad to see, 1 said Sydney Smith in his driest tones, 'that Mr. at all events believes in the Cook ! ' But Sydney Smith did not regard himself as a professed wit, and had very little respect for men who were. He thought that mere wits were too apt to live for applause, and to sacrifice truth, friends, and decency for the sake of a laugh. When, however, wit was allied to sense, ' it gave vigour to the mind, taught age and pain to smile, extorted gleams of pleasure from the melancholy, and charmed even the pangs of grief.' Sydney Smith was a man of whom these words were eminently true. The world has long recognised his quality as a wit, but it has hardly done justice to his wisdom, and we cannot but think that Edward Everett, the distinguished American, was well within the mark when he said, after listening to the table-talk of Sydney Smith, ' that if he had not been known as the wittiest man of his day, he would have been accounted one of the wisest. 1 WILLIAM COBBETT ' Go and kick an ant's nest about, and you will see the little laborious, courageous creatures instantly set to work to get it together again ; and if you do this ten times over, ten times over they will do the same. Here is the sort of stuff that men must be made of to oppose, with success, those who, by whatever means, get possession of great and mischievous powers.' WILLIAM COBBETT. WILLIAM COBBETT THE England of to-day is strangely unlike the England into which William Cobbett was born. Farmer George had been on the throne two years. The population of England was barely twice the size of modern London. The people were mainly devoted to agriculture. Har- greaves had not yet invented the spinning jenny, nor Arkwright the spinning machine, nor Watt the steam engine. The roads were so bad that cheap and quick transit was impossible. The moral and mental condition of the people was lamentably low. The Established Church was asleep in spite of the alarm call of Wesley and Whitfield. Political corruption triumphed in the House of Commons ; seats were unblushingly advertised, and their respective prices affixed. One rich man, like the Duke of Newcastle, by means of his close boroughs actually returned one-third of the Lower House. The Tudor sovereigns had created a large number of Parlia- mentary boroughs, most of them mere villages, in order to establish a Court Party in the Commons, and in process of time these boroughs passed into the hands of the neighbouring land-owners. Hence the meaning of the term ' Borough-mongers ' which often occurs in the writings of Cobbett. The suffrage was so restricted that out of the eight millions of people little more than half a million had votes. How Farmer George, with his little mind and big obstinacy, was determined to be both First Minister of 263 254 WILLIAM COBBETT the Crown, as well as King, how he used his enormous patronage to create M.P.'s who would be his supple tools ; how Lord Bute, with the abilities of a gentleman usher, was the humble servant of the King; how, the House of Commons being what it was, public discontent broke out with violence hitherto unknown ; how America was lost to England, and France passed through the fire and blood of the first Revolution ; how Bonaparte, at first caressed, at last became the terror of Europe ; and all the wonderful events in English and European history, down to the time of Cobbett's death, three years before the Queen ascended the throne, and three years after the passing of the First Reform Bill all this I must pass over. My theme is William Cobbett ; sometime ploughboy, then attorney's clerk, then a soldier, then a political pamphleteer, next a political leader-writer and editor of a newspaper, next M.P. for Old ham : a many-sided, many-hued, strangely-marked personality, who did a good day's work in his contentious way, and to whom we of this day are, in many ways, greatly in- debted. William Cobbett tells us, in a fragmentary account of himself, that he was born at Farnham, in Surrey, and on the 9th of March 1762. He looked back with pride on his wagon-driving grandfather, and William Cobbett, the third of four grandsons, was put to farming work when he could hardly climb the gates and stiles. Tying hop-poles, scaring birds, weeding wheat, harrowing barley, i leading a single horse, and at last reaching the dignity of holding a plough such was his early taste of life. The old dame to whom he was sent to school did not succeed in teaching him his letters; but his father taught his sons in the winter evenings the three R's. Cobbett tells us a story of these early days, in which, not yet in his teens, he repaid a huntsman who gave him a sharp cut with his WILLIAM COBBETT 255 whip for the humane act of pulling a hare from the dogs. Cobbett watched his opportunity, and the next time the harriers were out, knowing that they would first be taken to certain fields, led the hounds and the huntsmen a pretty chase by trailing a red-herring, now here, now there, until it brought the false scent to a swamp. The hunting party were thereby sent on a fooFs errand, and Cobbett had the grim pleasure of seeing them crawl out of the swamp, half-leg deep in the mire, and then ride home at the end of a drizzling day, soaked through, and with empty bags. When on a brief visit to Portsmouth a little later, the fine sight of the ships at Spithead half inclined him to be a sailor ; but the considerate and sensible officer to whom he appealed for admission spoke kindly to the raw country lad, told him some plain truths about the service, and persuaded him to return home. Not long after, taken with a sudden freak, he went to London, and was assisted by one of his companions on the coach to secure the post of copying clerk in an attorney^ office in Gray^ Inn Lane. The dreariness, the monotony, and utter wretchedness and griminess of his surroundings led him to sigh for release. He never forgot that dull drudgery, and years afterwards exclaims, 'If I am to be wretched, bury me beneath Iceland snows, and let me feed on blubber; stretch me under the burning line ; nay, suffocate me with the infected and pestilential air of a democratic club-room : but save me from the desk of an attorney ! ' Cobbett left the dismal office, enlisted in the Fifty-fourth at Chatham, now in his twenty-first year, and at once began that strenuous and determined self-education by which he rose in the ranks, until at the time of his discharge he was Sergeant-Ma) or. Cobbett was never weary of referring to this part of his life, and drew from it some of his most telling morals and illustrations. His regiment was I 256 WILLIAM COBBETT ordered to Nova Scotia, and it was there that he saw the girl who, he at once determined, should be his wife. The story is so like the man, that it is best given in his own words. ' When I first saw my wife she was thirteen years old, and I was within a month of twenty-one. She was the daughter of a sergeant of artillery, and I was sergeant- major of a regiment of foot, both stationed in forts near the city of St. John, in the province of Brunswick. I sat in the same room with her for about an hour, in company with many others, and I made up my mind that she was the very girl for me. That I thought her beautiful is certain, for that, I had always said, should be an indispensable qualification ; but I saw in her what I deemed marks of that sobriety of conduct of which I have said so much, and which has been by far the greatest blessing of my life. It was now dead of winter, and, of course, the snow several feet on the ground, and the weather piercing cold. It was my habit, when I had done my morning's writing, to go out at the break of day to take a walk on a hill at the foot of which our barracks lay. In about three mornings after I had first seen her, I had, by an invita- tion to breakfast with me, got up two young men to join me in my walk, and our road lay by the house of her father and mother. It was hardly light, but she was out on the snow, scrubbing out a washing-tub. " That 's the girl for me ! " said I, when we had got out of her hearing. . . . From the day that I first spoke to her, I never had a thought of her ever being the wife of any other man, more than I had a thought of her being transformed into a chest of drawers ; and I formed my resolution at once to marry her, as soon as we could get permission, and to get out of the army as soon as I could.' Cobbett's Advice to a Lover, pp. 94-95. Cobbett showed his entire trust in this young girl by WILLIAM COBBETT 257 putting into her hands one hundred and fifty guineas, his own savings, when she and her father left for Woolwich, and before he could himself return to England. She had Cobbetfs full permission to use the money for her own advantage. But, Pitt having got to loggerheads with Spain about Nootka Sound, Cobbett did not return to England until four years later. ' Oh, how I cursed Nootka Sound, and poor bawling Pitt too,' says Cobbett, in his strong Saxon. When Cobbett returned to England he found, he says, 'his little girl a servant of all- work (and hard work it was) at five pound a year; and without hardly saying a word about the matter she put into my hands the whole of my one hundred and fifty guineas unbroken ! Need I tell,' says the proud lover, ' what my feelings were ? ' One of Cobbett's objects in coming to England, now that he was free from the army, was, to bring to light some peculations in his own regiment. But in this he was sorely defeated. He now took his young wife over to France, intending to stay some time in Paris, and perfect his French accent ; but when he landed he heard that the king had been dethroned, and that Paris was in uproar. His resolution was at once taken : he set off for Philadelphia, where he first made a living by teaching French emigrants English, the celebrated Talleyrand being one of his pupils. He next became a pamphleteer, and by and by a bookseller, and got great note as ' Peter Porcupine,' the critic of Priestley and Paine, the defender of George in., and also of George Washington. After a lawsuit, which had greatly lessened his finances, he returned in 1800 to England, was a Tory of the deepest colour, was admired as his champion by George in., was hailed by Lord North as the greatest political reasoner of his time ; and was even regarded by the refined and accomplished Windham as a man of genius. In 1804 R I 258 WILLIAM COBBETT England was scared by the threat of invasion by Napoleon, and Cobbett wrote a pamphlet, entitled Important Considerations for the Peopk of this King- dom. The MS. was submitted to Mr. Addington, without Cobbetfs name being disclosed; and so impressed was the minister with its pith and patriotism that he ordered it to be printed, to be nailed to every church door, and to be read from every parish pulpit in the country. Cobbett did not acknowledge the authorship of this remarkable pamphlet until attacked, years afterward, as an enemy of his country ; and, as the patriotism of that pamphlet had been acclaimed by every intelligent Englishman, Cobbett effectually silenced his defamers. His first newspaper was called the Porcupine, but this was presently dropped, and was succeeded by his famous Political Register. In this journal he showed himself a perfect Ishmaelite, but conducted it with singular ability. Cobbett's comments in this journal on current public events, his open letters to public men, his strong Saxon speech, his fearlessness, his sincerity, and his marvellous versatility, soon made his Political Register an immense power in the country. Great men sought to win Cobbett over to their side, but sought in vain ; adversaries tried to rival his power, but utterly failed. He did nothing by halves. After doing battle for the Government, he turned against it, and became the associate and mouth- piece of Sir Francis Burdett, Mr. Hunt, and Major Cart- wright, the stout advocates of Parliamentary reform. Sorely did the Government wince under Cobbetfs lash, and Acts of Parliament were passed to entrap him ; but he was aware of their purpose, and once more retired to America. When the obnoxious Acts were repealed he returned ; but even during this second residence in America his Political Register still kept kept on its course, with only WILLIAM COBBETT 259 occasional interruptions. Reforms, vexed questions, general grievances, popular wants and wishes, were venti- lated in its pages. For holding up to scorn the flogging of some English militiamen at Ely, Cobbett was con- j victed of libel, was fined ^1000, and was imprisoned in I Old Newgate for two years. 'But,' said brave-hearted I Cobbett, ' putting a man in prison for two years does not kill him.' Imprisoned or free, Cobbett went on with his political writing, and in spite of the attempt to crush him came out of prison a popular hero. The whole country cried 'Shame' when he was imprisoned; and when he was liberated, dinners were given in his honour. Hampshire church parsons forgot their grudges against him and permitted the church bells to be rung when he entered some of their villages, and Cobbetfs power was deepened and widened. Cobbett came out of prison in 1812. Time would fail me to tell of all his activities whilst in Newgate, and how he not only conducted his newspaper but his farm work and the education of his children. I must not follow Cobbett step by step through his long and busy life. Suffice it to say that he loved country air and scenes, and hated 'that big wen' London ; now pitched his tent at Harpenden, then at Botley, then at Normandy farm, Surrey. He became the first M.P. for Oldham in the Reform Parliament, and was killed by the late hours and the change of habits which they brought. A man who all his life had been in bed at nine o'clock and had risen at four, was hardly fitted to stand the wear and tear of a modern M.P. He died in June 1835, and amid expressions of universal regret. Do you ask What sort of man was William Cobbett? Well, to look at, said Hazlitt : ' His figure was tall and portly. He had a sensible face rather full with little grey eyes, and a hard square forehead, a ruddy com- 260 WILLIAM COBBETT plexion, with hair grey or powdered. He wore a scarlet broadcloth waistcoat, with the flaps of the pocket hang- ing down, as was the custom with gentlemen farmers of the last century. 1 He was ' easy of access, affable, clear- headed, 1 adds Hazlitt ; ' simple and solid in his manner, deliberate and unruffled in his speech, though some of his expressions were not very qualified.' Cobbett was a man of remarkable industry. He traces this habit to his home training, as he traces more than one good quality in his character. But the best instruc- tions of home are not always fallowed, largely through parents losing the affection of their children, or neglect- ing to adapt their guidance and teaching to the individual character of each separate child. The industry of his boyhood was kept up by Cobbett all through his busy life. He rose betimes, and so found leisure for self-improve- ment. The amount of work he was able to do was simply enormous. He wrote upwards of a hundred books and pamphlets, and for forty years rarely omitted public comments or open letters in his Political Register. He even wrote a comedy, but it is no great discredit to Cobbett to say that comedy was not his forte. He was not satisfied with weekly leader-writing, but started also serial volumes, containing a full report of Parliamentary debates, with Hansard for printer. This he presently gave up to Hansard, and the debates have ever since been published in his name. He also published serial volumes of State trials and Parliamentary history. Independence was another feature of Cobbetfs char- acter. He early gave proof of this, and he retained it to the last. Although he knew what discipline meant in the army, he still kept a remarkable degree of independence. The same feature comes out in all his writings. Once and again the Government of the day thought to buy Cobbett, but they soon found how vain was the attempt, and one WILLIAM COBBETT 261 of their own organs was at last compelled to say that ' Cobbett was a man whom no corruption could seduce, nor any personal danger intimidate, from the performance of his duty. 1 He was offered help by the Government for carrying on his Political Register, but firmly declined it, and when it was hinted that perhaps something might be done for his family, he proudly replied, that he hoped by his own thrift and industry to provide for them himself. He refused to adopt any of the prevalent modes of bribing constituencies, and was twice elected M.P. for Oldham on purity principles. Cobbett's self-education is another trait in his character. The purchase of his first book showed that the child was father to the man. When barely twelve years old he had got employment as gardener's boy in the Bishop of Winchester's grounds, near his native town. The account he heard of Kew Gardens prompted him to seek work at Kew. Off he started, in his blue smock-frock, his gaiters tied up under his knees with red ribbon, and thirteen halfpence in his pocket. He spent on the road twopence in bread and cheese, a penny in small beer, and a half- penny he lost. This left him threepence. After a long walk he reached Richmond, saw Dean Swift's Tale of a Tub in a bookseller's window, had his curiosity excited by the odd title, and what should he do ? Go to bed without supper ; or, buy the book ? He did not long hesitate : he carried off his treasure into a field at the upper corner of Kew Gardens, sat down under a hay- stack (it was midsummer), and read on and on, a new world opening before him ; his mind was wakened up as it had never been before ; he read on till dark, without any thought of bed or supper, slept soundly under the hay-stack, and when the birds woke him he started off to Kew Gardens, won the heart of the Scottish gardener, who set him to work and gave him food. The loss of I 262 WILLIAM COBBETT that precious volume, fourteen years afterward (it was in a box that fell overboard in the Bay of Fundy), * gave me greater pain, 1 says Cobbett, 'than I have since felt in losing thousands of pounds. 1 His next lesson was in handwriting, and this he perfected in the attorney's office. But after his enlistment, thinking over his de- ficiencies, he set to work with a will to master the English grammar. He read over long portions of Lowth's Grammar ; wrote them out, learned them by heart, and then repeated them over whilst on duty as sentry. In this plodding fashion he thoroughly mastered the prin- ciples of grammar. But this was not enough : he wanted books, and books he must have. He saved enough money to join a subscription library, and began at once to devour eagerly all the books it contained novels, plays, history, and poetry. He next applied himself to get a special knowledge of his calling, and worked away at fortification and kindred subjects. The edge of his berth in the guardroom was his study, his knapsack his book- case, and a bit of board on his knees his writing-desk. He could only take his turn at the fire, and he was too poor to buy candles. In spite of the noise in the guard- room and rollicking comrades, of singing, shouting, swear- ing, and what not, Cobbett plodded steadily on with his studies. He followed the same course when promoted, and after he was sent out to Nova Scotia. In trying to master French, he found, like every one else, that the genders of the nouns was one of the great difficulties, and he set to work to master the whole in the following way : Every noun in the French dictionary was copied into a small pocketbook, and when any doubt arose as | to the gender of a noun, out came his book. The doubt was set at rest, and then by constant use the genders of the French nouns became as familiar as his fingers. This sort of training strengthened his memory, sharpened his I WILLIAM COBBETT 263 observation, and gave him the most perfect mastery of whatever he knew. Cobbetfs will was strong and determined, or he would never have plodded through so much dry study with no other aid than books. Indeed, he had immense energy and force, and used them. No doubt his great staying power was mainly the result of his splendid mental and bodily soundness ; but his masterful will was the steam that drove the machine. Cobbett was not the man to give in : if he failed in one thing, he tried another. If difficulties drove him from Philadelphia, he marched off' to New York, and opened another business. By his indomitable will he pushed through all the obstacles that beset his course. Courage was another feature of his character. He always had the courage of his opinions, and was fearless in expressing them, cost what it might. Hundreds of examples could be quoted in illustration. Let one suffice. Cobbett was living in Philadelphia. He had taken up cudgels for England and the King against the Democrats and Jacobins. The booksellers were all against him, so he opened a shop of his own, and threw prudence to the winds, for his life had been threatened. He spent the whole of the Sunday before he opened his shop in pre- paring a surprise for the people ; and when he took down his shutters on Monday morning the inhabitants of the Quaker city were fairly aghast at the collection of prints arrayed in their defiance. There were effigies of George in., which had never been shown in any window since the American Rebellion began. Cobbett displayed also all the prints he could find of English kings, bishops, generals, of battles and royal processions in fact, his windows were a perfect blaze of royalty in prints. Of course Cobbett was scolded for his boldness, but he won his freedom. The newspapers called him a ' porcupine, 1 1 \ 264 WILLIAM COBBETT because of his readiness to fight. Cobbett adopted the name straightway, and out came his journal, which he styled Peter Porcupine's Gazette, and long afterward signed himself, not William Cobbett, but ' Peter Porcu- pine, at your service. 1 Cobbett knew how to take the sting from caricature and slander, and if called ill names, as in this instance, adopted them. When, years after- ward, Castlereagh and others sneered at his Political Register, which was reduced in price from one shilling to twopence, as 'Twopenny Trash,' Cobbett adopted the sneer, altered the title of this cheap issue, and hence- forward styled it Cobbetfs Twopenny Trash. On the title-page Cobbett told his readers that his object in publishing this cheap newspaper was to show the people what it was that kept them poor, and how their con- dition might be bettered. His courage never failed. When the Philadelphians threatened to imprison him for libel he stoutly replied, 'They may seize my body, but they cannot seize my soul.' Cobbett was a man of strong and even vehement passions. He had a vigorous frame, and a double dose of bile in it, to say nothing of steam, always ' up,' and always ready to be let off. He never did things by halves, whether it were talking, writing, or working. Indeed, he could hardly understand cooler-headed people, and was too much disposed to think them sly or cunning. Cobbett was one of those natures that run fast, and soon get heated. But of one thing there is no question Cobbett was a bigoted and thorough-paced Englishman. He loved the country, he loved the people, he loved the constitution ; he loved everything that was English except the London smoke and fogs, and about these he wrote some passionate words, and fled from the metro- polis as if it had been a plague-smitten city. Notwith- standing his hard words he was no leveller. He loved WILLIAM COBBETT 265 the rural life of England, and would gladly echo Cowper's saying, ' God made the country, man made the town.' Some of the happiest sketches of rural sights and scenes are scattered through that entertaining book, Cobbett's Rural Rides. He had a great affection for the farm labourers of England, and, with Goldsmith, regarded them as ' once their country's pride.' He would have them if he could well housed, well taught, and well fed. 'I am for loading the stomach with bacon and bread,' said Cobbett ; ' the body is all the better for loading.' ' Common sense tells us,' he also says, ' that God never intended that labourers should be fed worse than gentle- men's dogs, lodged far worse than dogs, and treated worse than the least valuable of farmers' horses.' ' Amongst the labouring people, the first thing you have to look for is honesty, speaking the truth, and refrain- ing from thieving ; and to secure these the labourer must have his bellyful, and be free from fear ; and this bellyful must come to him from his own wages, and not from benevolence of any description.' ' This was the happiest country in the world: it was the country of roast beef; it was distinguished above all others for good food, good raiment, and good morals of the people/ In Cobbett's opinion, the chief cause of the altered condition of the poor was, ' the desolating and extravagant expenses of the long and bloody wars of George in., and the thousands of dead-weight people' that is, people who lived on the taxes. ' The pension list,' said Cobbett, 'is the poor-book of the aristocracy of England. Taxes kept the people poor ; taxes were put on by Parliament ; then let Parliament lower the taxes.' Any one who doubts the true patriotism of Cobbett should read that strong, clear, pithy and impassioned address, written on the threatened invasion of England, to which I have already referred. One may be excused after reading I 266 WILLIAM COBBETT that splendid and patriotic outburst if one feels several inches taller. Cobbett had the defects of his qualities, as the French express it. If he were industrious, even his recreations partook of the nature of work. He delighted in wrest- ling, singlestick, and tell it not in Gath ! in boxing. Music was 'a light and frivolous thing, 1 in Cobbetfs estimation, 'hardly suited to a man who meant work.' ' A great fondness for music, 1 said Cobbett, ' is a mark of great weakness, great vacuity of mind ; not hardness of heart ; not of vice ; not of downright folly ; but of a want of capacity or inclination for sober thought. 1 Cobbett's independence often became bluntness, and even rudeness, both in speech and manner. He was so utterly free from all truckling himself, that he carried it with a high hand toward any man who lacked his rough independence ; and hesitation was regarded, not as a sign of caution, but of a cringing and cowardly spirit. No doubt his self-education was responsible for some of his gravest defects. He despised the learned languages but then, like Shakespeare, he had little Latin, and less Greek ; and like the late Lord Sherbrooke, he considered modern languages more marketable, as he always had an eye to the practical side of things. His self-education is responsible for his egotism, and yet, in all literature there is nothing exactly like the egotism of Cobbett. He is the greatest egotist that ever lived ; but his egotism is so original, so individual, so lacking in small vanity, so incessantly and yet pleasantly obtruded upon us, that we laugh at it, come to look for it, and feel disappointed if it be not forthcoming. We get such funny peeps into the man's mind that we really should miss a good deal if we had Cobbett without his egotism. Hear him, for a moment or two, when he is prancing about on his highest steed ! ' What man ever performed WILLIAM COBBETT 267 a greater quantity of labour than I have performed ? What man ever did so much ? ' He assures us that ' his rare conduct, and great natural talents ' gave him great weight as a soldier. He speaks of his French Grammar as 'that famous Grammar for teaching French people English, written during the time I took my share in night-watching over a sick child, who lingered many months, and died in my arms.' His English Grammar, it has been truly said, is the only amusing Grammar that was ever written. But this is how Cobbett speaks of it : ' For me not to say that I deem my English Grammar the best book for teaching this science would be affectation, and neglect of my duty besides, because I know that it is the best, and because hundreds and hundreds of men and women have told me, some verbally and some by letter, that though many of them were at Grammar Schools for years, they never knew anything of grammar until they studied my book.' Now and then Cobbetfs conscience gives him a twinge because of this self-praise of his own books, and, even after a sort of apology for doing it, he at once falls back again into the old vein. 'We are all," 1 Cobbett says, 'apt to set too high a value on what we ourselves have done ; and I may do this ; but I do firmly believe that to cure any young woman of fine lady notions she has only patiently to read my Cottage Economy ' ! But here, surely, is a more caustic outburst a veritable volcanic explosion of egotism. ' When I am asked, what books a young man or young woman ought to read, I always answer, Let him or her read all the books that I have written. This does, it will doubtless be said, smell of the shop. No matter: it is what / recommend, and experience has taught me that it is my duty to give the recommenda- tion. 1 So thoroughly convinced was Cobbett of the value of his weekly comments in his Political Register, WILLIAM COBBETT that he declares an Oxford man would find a month's reading of that newspaper 'would produce more effect, and do more good in the world, than all that had for a hundred years been written by all the members of that University'! He affirms that his introduction of corn maize into the Channel Islands did more good than the Whig Ministry could if they lived to the age of Methuselah ; and when Lord Carnarvon said he did not like Cobbetfs politics, Cobbett replied ' But what did he mean by my politics ? / have no politics but such as lie ought to have. . . . Dislike them or like them, to those very politics the Lords themselves must come at last ! ' Cobbett is naturally vain of his success. It is lie who has fought and conquered the disadvantages of birth, station, employment, ignorance, temper, opposi- tion : it is he who has pushed his way into the front line, and has taken his place side by side with men to whom he once looked with awe ; it is he who tells us this, makes us smile as he tells us, and we learn to discount (his egotism and passion. Cobbetfs very strength of will led to a good deal of his headstrong and impetuous action. He often acted on the spur of the moment, frequently wrote just as he felt at the time, forgetting what he had already said to the contrary. Like all strong natures he was impatient with weak-willed men, and utterly scorned what he re- garded as fools and simperers. ' Suffer fools gladly ? ' Nay ! fools were his complete detestation. Cobbetfs courage, like his will, ran into defect. It was often foolhardy, sometimes to provocation, as when he did that silliest of all his many silly things bring Tom Paine's bones to England, as if he bore with him the relics of a saint which all lovers of freedom would at once worship. Cobbett was a man of war from his youth ; was never so happy as when in the thickest of the fight. Hazlitt's WILLIAM COBBETT 269 description of his pugnacity is a caricature : he repre- sents Cobbett as beating about him with a flail, hitting right and left, friend or foe, for the mere pleasure of the thing, and then, when he had made a ring for himself, running out of it. That Cobbetfs strong and passionate nature often led him astray is beyond question. He was emphatically, as Henry Bulwer labels him in his brilliant essay, ' the contentious man. 1 On occasion he could be bitter, rancorous, and even savage. He pleaded in justification a motto he professed to find in his old master, Swift : * If a flea bite me, I will kill it, if I can." Cobbett had the insular temper of the old-fashioned Englishman in excess. ' Who will say," 1 Cobbett wrote, when in America, 'that an Englishman ought not to despise all the nations of the earth ? For my part I do, and that most heartily. 1 How much English politics owe to Cobbett it would be hard to estimate. His comment on public events led to his being sneered at as 'a fool, 1 ' an incendiary, 1 ' vulgar," 1 ' a libeller, 1 and half a dozen other names ; and yet Cobbett's opinions are now looked upon by all parties as the plainest political commonplaces. Cobbetfs Political Register was read by all classes ; because it was written in plain Saxon, and was smart, racy, and to the point. Even old Lord Thurlow actually declared, Tory though he was, that Cobbett was the only writer who deserved the name of political reasoner. Cobbett's fight with the Government of the day about the flogging of the militiamen at Ely won freedom for the press. Before this time political writers were often transported, were imprisoned, were fined, without limit or conscience ; and within six years five hundred news-agents had been clapped in jail. But the breakdown of the last Govern- ment prosecution of Cobbett ended the long struggle for liberty. Bishop Horsley said ' that people had nothing I 270 WILLIAM COBBETT to do with the laws but to obey them. 1 Cobbett reiter- ated, week by week and year by year, another lesson. It was this that the first duty of a citizen was to maintain his rights ; and, fortunately for England, Cobbett's lesson was at length accepted as a political commonplace. There was another side to Cobbetfs character the side that showed the man at home. A Latin proverb tells us ' that the fireside is often the key to the forum ' ; and Cobbett by the fireside shows us Cobbett at his best. There was no fighting in Cobbetfs home no jar, no discord ; it was a bright, happy, wholesome English sanctuary. Cobbett, however, had some odd notions of the duty of husbands, one of which was, never to take your wife for a walk after you were married : she had something else to do than go idly gadding about, and you ought to have some more serious occupation ! But his conduct at Philadelphia shows the true man. His wife was ill ; the weather was hot, for nights she had no sleep, and her recovery hinged on her getting rest. But the barking dogs in the street kept her awake. Instantly Cobbetfs resolution was formed ; but he shall tell the rest of the story himself: 'I was, about nine in the evening, sitting by my wife's bed. " I do think," she said, " that I could go to sleep now, if it were not for the dogs." Down stairs I went, and out I sallied, in my shirt and trousers, and without shoes and stockings; and, going to a heap of stones lying beside the road, set to work upon the dogs, going backward and forward, and keeping them at two or three hundred yards' distance from the house. I walked thus the whole night, bare- footed, lest the noise of my shoes might possibly reach her ears ; and I remember that the bricks of the cause- way were, even in the night, so hot as to be disagreeable to my feet. My exertions produced the desired effect : WILLIAM COBBETT 271 a sleep of several hours was the consequence, and at eight o'clock in the morning off I went to a day's business, which was to end at six in the evening. 1 The pictures of Cobbett's home life at Botley are very graphically painted by himself, and most attractive they are. On wet and long evenings books and pictures played an important part in the education and amusement of his children. A big, strong table stood in the middle of the room, near which sat his wife at work, the baby in a high chair, the rest of the children employed as they pleased scribbling, looking at prints of animals, conning over books on gardening, hunting, coursing, fishing, and planting, imitating their father's bold handwriting, or trying to pick up some information from Bewictfs Quadrupeds, with their father at hand to explain the prints, or read- ing to them out of a French book, and giving them the sense in English as he read. When his sons were older, Cobbett encouraged them to share in field-sports, and always, all through their youth, encouraged their con- fidence and kindly feeling. Scolding and force were unknown, and moral training was carried on without harsh- ness and without passion. The result might be foreseen his sons always spoke in the most endearing terms of their father, and themselves became men of repute and honour. He taught his children to be merciful, trust- worthy, and humane, and they bettered his instruction. His first care was, not for book-learning, but for strong, healthy, vigorous bodies, and he went the right way to get them. Cobbett's hospitality was hearty and thoroughly English. He loved to have friends about him, and knew how to make them feel at home. Miss Mitford gives the following picture of her first visit : ' Sporting, not politics, had brought about our present visit to subsequent intimacy. . . . Cobbett had at this time a 272 WILLIAM COBBETT large house at Botley, with a lawn and gardens sweeping down to the Bursledon river. . . . The house large, high, massive, red, and square, and perched on a con- siderable eminence always struck me as being not unlike its proprietor. It was filled with guests to overflowing, guests for the hour or for the day, of almost all ranks and descriptions. . . . The house had room for all, and the hearts of the owners would have had room for three times the number. I never saw hospitality more genuine, more simple, or more thoroughly successful in the end of hospitality putting everybody completely at their ease. There was not the slightest attempt at finery, or display, or gentility. They called it a farmhouse, and everything was in accordance with the largest idea of a great yeoman of the old time. . . . Mrs. Cobbett was a sweet, motherly woman." 1 Recollections of a Literary Life. Cobbett was an abstemious man, although you might think from some of his letters that he was fond of eating and drinking ; but these references always occur when insisting that people should be well fed. Long before teetotallers began their agitation, Cobbett was already an advocate of temperance, and declared that a man who could not spend the evening without drinking merited the name of a sot. He cautioned the public to beware of brewers 1 poison, showed how welcome water-drinkers were wherever they went, and affirmed that abstinence from strong drink was a duty. Not that he was partial to ' tea and kettle slops," 1 and he had almost as much to say against excessive tea-drinkers as some modern doctors. He tells us that, riding from Gloucester to Oxford, and hearing that on the route inns were neither good nor numerous, he filled his pockets with apples and nuts ; adding, ' They say that nuts of all sorts are un- wholesome ; if they had been, I should never have written Registers. On an average I have eaten a pint a day WILLIAM COBBETT 273 since I left home. I could be very well content to live on nuts, milk, and home-baked bread. 1 Rural Rides. Cobbett hated Malthus and all his works, and never lost an opportunity of having a fling at that humane and much misunderstood divine. In Cobbetfs comedy, Malthus is his chief butt. ' Surplus population, 1 says Mrs. Styles in that comedy, ' is a disease of which I have never before heard. 1 ' We be'ant troubled with it in these parts, 1 she adds, ' though we Ve the smallpox, and measles terrible bad sometimes. 1 As for Squire Thimble, who is a disciple of Malthus, drastic measures alone will satisfy him. ' Surplus population 1 is, in his opinion, the great curse of England, and he thinks that ' Government ought to import a shipload of arsenic. Nothing will save the country but plague, pestilence, famine, and sudden death.' In Cobbett's opinion, no being in the world appeared so wretched as an old bachelor ; and his remarks about married men and their duties should be read by every young man the day before he is married, and by married men at least once a year, to the end of their days. If men do not choose to take Cobbett's advice about select- ing their wives (that is, by seeing how they eat a mutton chop), there is a great deal of sound and wholesome counsel to be found in Cobbett to young men as youths, bachelors, lovers, brothers, husbands, and citizens; and he tells us, his Advice to Young- Men is also for young women, and if only they will pardon his bluntness and occasional coarseness of phrase, young women will find it by no means profitless. As for Cobbett's other books, so numerous are they that I do not pretend to have read a tithe of them. His English Grammar, written for soldiers, sailors, appren- tices, and ploughboys, some think only of value for Avhat Cobbett says on the subjunctive mood; but this may be 274 WILLIAM COBBETT said of it that it is as entertaining as a well-told tale. He selects his illustrations from current events, from his own political likes and dislikes, and from Queen's speeches, and ends his Grammar with six lessons for statesmen to prevent them from using 'bad grammar, which is only another name for nonsense. 1 Cobbett shows himself to be a sharp verbal critic, and flouts Dr. Blair for his dictum, that to write good English a man must give his days and nights to reading Addison. He first pounces on Dr. Blair's bad grammar, and then pounces on the bad grammar of Addison himself. He shows up the bad grammar also of Blackstone, Hume, Goldsmith, Dr. Watts, and mercilessly tears in pieces the bad grammar of Bishop Tomline, tutor to Pitt, Lord Castlereagh, the Duke of Wellington, the Prince Regent, and many others, and when he ends this scathing exposure of the Bishop of Winchester, he exclaims : ' Let chambermaids, M.P.'s, and learned doctors thus write : be you content with plain words to express your meaning.' 1 Cobbetfs History of the Reformation is a violent book, full of the most absurd statements, and of caricatures both of events and persons. He makes Henry vin. a stalking-horse from which to fire shot and shell at George iv. He seeks to whitewash Bishop Bonner, lauds Philip ii. of Spain, glosses over the St. Bartholomew massacre, and grossly defames Coligny. Cobbetfs Twelve Sermons are in another vein, once preached by many clergymen, attracted to them by their good sense. They are on hypocrisy, cruelty, drunkenness, bribery, oppres- sion, the unjust judge, the sluggard, murder, public robbery, the unnatural mother, forbidding marriage, parsons, and tithes. Whichever of these sermons the parsons read from the pulpit, I am quite sure they would not read the last, for, like his last book (Cobbetfs Legacy to Parsons), its purport is to show that tithes were origin- I WILLIAM COBBETT 275 ally given for three purposes, namely, the maintenance of the fabric of the churches, the relief of the poor, and, last of all, for the benefit of parsons ; and he quotes Elfric's sermons in proof, after which he abuses the parsons, in good round terms, for absorbing the whole of the tithe. That Cobbett, in spite of his fierce attacks on the Estab- lished Church, was no great admirer of Roman Catholics, many passages in his writings reveal; and in his sermon on ' the sluggard 1 he affirms that ' the hermits, the monks, the nuns, and all the endless tribes of the impostors of ancient times, indulged in laziness at the expense of the industrious; affected peculiar devotion to God, and dedicated, as they termed it, their bodies to the Lord.' In another book he asks, ' Why are abstinence and fasting enjoined by the Catholic Church? Why? to make men humble, meek, and tame ; and they have this effect. This is visible in whole nations, as well as in individuals. 1 Cobbett was equally variable in his verdicts on Quakers. In one place he calls them ' unbaptized, buttonless blackguards 1 ; and in another he writes ' Here am I amongst the thick of the Quakers. All is ease, plenty, and cheerfulness. These people are never giggling, and never in low spirits. Their minds, like their dress, are simple and strong. Their kindness is shown more in acts than words. Let others say what they will, I have uniformly found them sincere and upright men ; and I verily believe that all those charges of hypocrisy and craft that we hear against the Quakers arise from a feeling of envy ; envy inspired by seeing them possessed of such abundance of all those things which are the fair fruits of industry, economy, sobriety, and order, and which are justly forbidden to the drunkard, the prodigal, and the lazy. 1 Cobbetfs Political Register and Twopenny Trash are crammed full of good political teaching, but his earlier productions are his best. Owing to the provocations under 276 WILLIAM COBBETT which he lived, Cobbett's later writings are often coarse, abound in personal abuse, and are sometimes profane. Good churchman as he professed to be, Cobbett's writings, speech, and private letters bear many evidences of his dis- regard of the third commandment. At the best period of his writing, Cobbett's English is a marvel of clearness, strength, homeliness, purity, and raciness. He is not sententious, because his writing has always the character of a spoken rather than of a written style ; but he could, upon occasion, weld his thought into a few vigorous words. Let two examples suffice. ' The sweetest flowers, when they become putrid, stink the most ; and a nasty woman is the nastiest thing in nature."" ' Goldsmith's History of England is a little romance to amuse children, and the other historians give us larger romances to amuse lazy persons who are grown up. 1 Cobbett was not, in fine, the mere passionate and hot- headed partisan some represent him to be, nor was he by any means flawless ; but every man should be judged, not by his faults, but by his excellencies. Cobbett, so estimated, was a manly man, pure, honourable, sober, incorruptible, a lover of home and country ; one who did in his time a good stroke of work for England ; and who could say without hesitation, ' I am the watchman, the man on the tower, who can neither be coaxed, wheedled, nor bullied ; and I have expressed my deter- mination never to quit my post until I obtain cheap government for the country, and, by doing away with places and pensions, prevent the people's pockets from being picked.' Cobbett was not, as Coleridge said, ' the last of the Saxons,' for since his day, perhaps stimulated by his example, the love of pure, strong, Saxon speech has never ceased to grow. If pensioned nobodies hated his name ; if fickle and place-loving statesmen frowned upon his WILLIAM COBBETT 277 verdicts ; if kings trembled at his fearless words the common people of England have every reason to hold him in honour. He entered their cottages as a friend, i He brightened their prosaic lives with his cheery speech. He lifted them over many weary stiles in their education. He heartened them for their grim fight to keep the wolf from the door. He taught them honest, plain speech, independence, a love of freedom, a love of country, and a love of home. II Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press THE WRATH OF ACHILLES Or, The Story of the Iliad RETOLD BY LILIAN GOADBY Crown 87W. Cloth. 31. 6d. OPINIONS OF THE PRESS The Guardian. '. . . This would be an excellent book to give a boy about the time of setting him to the Iliad, the more so that, though it follows the original as closely as is desirable the similes, for instance, being introduced wherever possible it would hardly lend itself to the purposes of a crib. The English is of the simplest kind, as it should be ; while the omissions, made solely (one judges) for the sake of shortening a sufficiently long story, seem on the whole judicious.' The Bookman. '. . . The story of the Iliad is here told in simple and graceful language, suitable for youthful readers, who will find in this book not the narrative merely, but much of the imagery of the original.' The Scotsman. ' Such liberties as Miss Goadby takes with the venerable Homer, as, for instance, missing out his catalogue of ships, and not letting a reader see him when he nods, would be noticed only by scholars ; while what she has retained makes a stirring narrative of adventure.' Manchester Guardian. ' ... A compressed prose version of the Iliad. The points of the story are well kept. ' Westminster Gazette.' In The Wrath of Achilles ... we have told once again successfully the story of the Iliad.' Worcester Daily Times. ' It is the stirring story that is here in one way presented, in another way indicated ; and it is good method thus to entice to deeper study and higher appreciation.' Reading Observer. ' So well has she accomplished her task that even "children of a larger growth," whose Greek has grown rusty from years of disuse, may enjoy her simple story, and once more feel in touch with their old favourite. The author's English is easy and graceful" Dundee Courier. ' Its story is so gracefully penned, and contains so much to interest young and old, that it is sure to be appreciated by a large circle.' EDWIN, VAUGHAN AND COMPANY II AND 13 ST. BRIDE STREET, LONDON, E.G. A 000 096 660 6