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 HUMAN INTERCOURSE 
 
 .
 
 Ex LibriS 
 C. K. OGDEN 
 
 HUMAN INTERCOURSE 
 
 BY 
 
 PHILIP GILBERT HAMERTON 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'THE INTELLECTUAL LIFE,' 
 ETC. ETC. ETC. 
 
 ' I love tranquil solitude, 
 And such society 
 As is quiet, wise, and good.' 
 
 SHELLEY
 
 Printed by R. & R, CLARK, Edinburgh,
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF C*T,TFORNIA 
 T SANTA BARBARA 
 
 H3 
 
 TO THE 
 
 MEMORY OF EMERSON. 
 
 IF I dedicate this book on Human Intercourse to the 
 memory of one whose voice I never heard, and to whom I 
 never addressed a letter, the seeming inappropriateness will 
 disappear when the reader knows what a great and per- 
 sistent influence he had on the whole course of my thinking, 
 and therefore on all my work. He was told of this before 
 his death, and the acknowledgment gave him pleasure. 
 Perhaps this public repetition of it may not be without 
 utility at a time when, although it is clear to us that he 
 has left an immortal name, the exact nature of the rank he 
 will occupy amongst great men does not seem to be evident 
 as yet. The embarrassment of premature criticism is a 
 testimony to his originality. But although it may be too 
 soon for us to know what his name will mean to posterity, 
 we may tell posterity what service he rendered to ourselves. 
 To me he taught two great lessons. The first was to rely 
 confidently on that order of the universe which makes it 
 always really worth while to do our best, even though the 
 reward may not be visible ; and the second was to have
 
 vi TO THE MEMORY OF EMERSON. 
 
 self-reliance enough to trust our own convictions and our 
 own gifts, such as they are, or such as they may become, 
 without either echoing the opinions or desiring the more 
 brilliant gifts of others. Emerson taught much besides, 
 but it is these two doctrines of reliance on the compensations 
 of Nature, and of a self -respectful reliance on our own 
 individuality, that have the most invigorating influence on 
 workers like myself. Emerson knew that each of us can 
 only receive that for which he has an affinity, and can only 
 give forth effectually what is by birthright, or has become, 
 his own. To have accepted this doctrine with perfect con- 
 tentment is to possess one's soul in peace. 
 
 Emerson combined high intellect with pure honesty, and 
 remained faithful to the double law of the intellectual life 
 high thinking and fearless utterance to the end of his 
 days, with a beautiful persistence and serenity. So now I 
 go, in spirit, a pilgrim to that tall pine tree that grows 
 upon " the hill-top to the east of Sleepy Hollow" and lay 
 one more wreath upon an honoured grave. 
 
 June 24, 1884.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 WHEN this book was begun, some years ago, I made a 
 formal plan, according to which it was to have been one 
 long Essay or Treatise, divided into sections and chapters, 
 and presenting that apparently perfect ordonnance which 
 gives such an imposing air to a work of art. I say 
 "apparently perfect ordonnance" because in such cases 
 the perfection of the arrangement is often only apparent, 
 and the work is like those formal pseudo-classical build- 
 ings that seem, with their regular columns, spaces, and 
 windows, the very highest examples of method ; but you 
 find on entering that the internal distribution of space 
 is defective and inconvenient, that one room has a 
 window in a corner and another half a window, that one 
 is needlessly large for its employment and another far 
 too small. In literature the ostentation of order may 
 compel an author to extreme condensation in one part 
 of his book and to excessive amplification in another, 
 since, in reality, the parts of his subject do not fall more 
 naturally into equal divisions than words beginning with 
 different letters in the dictionary. I therefore soon
 
 viii PREFACE. 
 
 abandoned external rigidity of order, and made my 
 divisions more elastic ; but I went still further after some 
 experiments, and abandoned the idea of a Treatise. 
 This was not done without some regret, as I know that 
 a Treatise has a better chance of permanence than a 
 collection of Essays; but, in this case, I met with an 
 invisible obstacle that threatened to prevent good literary 
 execution. After making some progress I felt that the 
 work was not very readable, and that the writing of it 
 was not a satisfactory occupation. Whenever this happens 
 there is sure to be an error of method somewhere. What 
 the error was in this case I did not discover for a long 
 time, but at last I suddenly perceived it. A formal 
 Treatise, to be satisfactory, can only be written about 
 ascertained or ascertainable laws ; and human intercourse 
 as it is carried on between individuals, though it looks 
 so accessible to every observer, is in reality a subject 01 
 infinite mystery and obscurity, about which hardly any- 
 thing is known, about which certainly -nothing is known 
 absolutely and completely. I found that every attempt 
 to ascertain and proclaim a law only ended, when the 
 supposed law was brought face to face with nature, 
 by discovering so many exceptions that the best practical 
 rules were suspension of judgment and a reliance upon 
 nothing but special observation in each particular case. 
 I found that in real human intercourse the theoretically 
 improbable, or even the theoretically impossible, was
 
 PREFACE. ix 
 
 constantly happening. I remember a case in real life 
 which illustrates this very forcibly. A certain English 
 lady, influenced by the received ideas about human 
 intercourse which define the conditions of it in a hard 
 and sharp manner, was strongly convinced that it would 
 be impossible for her to have friendly relations with 
 another lady whom she had never seen, but was likely to 
 see frequently. All her reasons would be considered 
 excellent reasons by those who believe in maxims and 
 rules. It was plain that there could be nothing in 
 common. The other lady was neither of the same 
 country, nor of the same religious and political parties, 
 nor exactly of the same class, nor of the same generation. 
 These facts were known, and the inference deduced from 
 them was that intercourse would be impossible. After 
 some time the English lady began to perceive that the 
 case did not bear out the supposed rules ; she discovered 
 that the younger lady might be an acceptable friend. 
 At last the full strange truth became apparent that she 
 was singularly well adapted, better adapted than any 
 other human being, to take a filial relation to the elder, 
 especially in times of sickness, when her presence was a 
 wonderful support. Then the warmest affection sprang 
 up between the two, lasting till separation by death and 
 still cherished by the survivor. What becomes of rules 
 and maxims and wise old saws in the face of nature and 
 reality ? What can we do better than to observe nature
 
 x PREFACE. 
 
 with an open, unprejudiced mind, and gather some of 
 the results of observation ? 
 
 I am conscious of several omissions that may possibly 
 be rectified in another volume if this is favourably 
 accepted. The most important of these are the influence 
 of age on intercourse, and the effects of living in the 
 same house, which are not invariably favourable. Both 
 these subjects are very important, and I have not time to 
 treat them now with the care they would require. There 
 ought also to have been a careful study of the natural 
 antagonisms which are of terrible importance when people, 
 naturally antagonistic, are compelled by circumstances 
 to live together. These are, however, generally of less 
 importance than the affinities, because we contrive to 
 make our intercourse with antagonistic people as short 
 and rare as possible, and that with sympathetic people 
 as frequent and long as circumstances will permit. 
 
 I will not close this preface without saying that the 
 happiness of sympathetic human intercourse seems to 
 me incomparably greater than any other pleasure. I 
 may be supposed to have passed the age of enthusiastic 
 illusions, yet I would at any time rather pass a week 
 with a real friend in any place that afforded simple 
 shelter than with an indifferent person in a palace. In 
 saying this I am thinking of real experiences. One of 
 my friends who is devoted to archaeological excavations 
 has often invited me to share his life in a hut or a
 
 PREFACE. xi 
 
 cottage, and I have invariably found that the pleasure 
 of his society far overbalanced the absence of luxury. 
 On the other hand I have sometimes endured extreme 
 ennui at sumptuous feasts in richly appointed houses. 
 The result of experience, in my case, has been to con- 
 firm a youthful conviction that the value of certain 
 persons is not to be estimated by comparison with any- 
 thing else. I was always a believer, and am so at this 
 day more than ever, in the happiness of genuine human 
 intercourse, but I prefer solitude to the false imitation of 
 it. It is in this as in other pleasures, the better we 
 appreciate the real thing, the less we are disposed to 
 accept the spurious copy as a substitute. By far the 
 greater part of what passes for human intercourse is not 
 intercourse at all, but only acting, of which the highest 
 object and most considerable merit is to conceal the 
 weariness that accompanies its hollow observances. 
 
 One sad aspect of my subject has not been touched 
 upon in this volume. It was often present in my thoughts, 
 but I timidly shrank from dealing with it. I might have 
 attempted to show in what manner intercourse is cut 
 short by death. All reciprocity of intercourse is, or 
 appears to be, entirely cut short by that catastrophe ; but 
 those who have talked with us much in former years 
 retain an influence that may be even more constant than 
 our recollection of them. My own recollection of the 
 dead is extremely vivid and clear, and I cultivate it by
 
 xii PREFACE. 
 
 willingly thinking about them, being especially happy 
 when by some accidental flash of brighter memory a 
 more than usual degree of lucidity is obtained. I accept 
 with resignation the natural law, on the whole so benefi- 
 cent, that when an organism is no longer able to exist 
 without suffering, or senile decrepitude, it should be 
 dissolved and made insensible of suffering, but I by no 
 means accept the idea that the dead are to be forgotten 
 in order that we may spare ourselves distress. Let us 
 give them their due place, their great place, in our hearts 
 and in our thoughts, and if the sweet reciprocity of 
 human intercourse is no longer possible with those who 
 are silent and asleep, let the memory of past intercourse 
 be still a part of our lives. There are hours when we 
 live with the dead more than with the living, so that 
 without -any trace of superstition we feel their old sweet 
 influence acting upon us yet, and it seems as if only a 
 little more were needed to give us "the touch of a 
 vanished hand, and the sound of a voice that is still." 
 
 Closely connected with this subject of death is the 
 subject of religious beliefs. In the present state of con- 
 fusion and change, some causes of which are indicated 
 in this volume, the only plain course for honourable 
 men is to act always in favour of truthfulness, and there- 
 fore against hypocrisy, and against those encouragers of 
 hypocrisy who offer social advantages as rewards for it. 
 What may come in the future we cannot tell, but we
 
 PREFACE. xiii 
 
 may be sure that the best way to prepare for the future 
 is to be honest and candid- in the present. There are 
 two causes which are gradually effecting a great change, 
 and as they are natural causes they are irresistibly power- 
 ful. One is the process of analytic detachment, by which 
 sentiments and feelings once believed to be religious are 
 now found to be separable from religion. If a French 
 peasant has a feeling for architecture, poetry, or music, 
 or an appreciation of eloquence, or a desire to hear a 
 kind of moral philosophy, he goes to the village church 
 to satisfy these dim incipient desires. In his case these 
 feelings and wants are all confusedly connected with 
 religion; in ours they are detached from it, and only 
 reconnected with it by accident, we being still aware that 
 there is no essential identity. That is the first dissolving 
 cause. It seems only to affect the externals of religion, 
 but it goes deeper by making the consciously religious 
 state of mind less habitual. The second cause is even 
 more serious in its effects. We are acquiring the habit 
 of explaining everything by natural causes, and of trying 
 to remedy everything by the employment of natural 
 means. Journals dependent on popular approval for 
 the enormous circulation that is necessary to their exist- 
 ence, do not hesitate, in clear terms, to express their 
 preference of natural means to the invocation of super- 
 natural agencies. For example, the correspondent of 
 the Daily News at Port Said, after describing the annual
 
 xiv PREFACE. 
 
 blessing of the Suez Canal at the Epiphany, observes : 
 "Thus the canal was solemnly blessed. The opinion 
 of the captains of the ships that throng the harbour, 
 waiting until the block adjusts itself, is that it would be 
 better to widen it." Such an opinion is perfectly modern, 
 perfectly characteristic of our age. We think that steam 
 excavators and dredgers would be more likely to prevent 
 blocks in the Suez Canal than a priest reading prayers 
 out of a book and throwing a golden cross into the sea, 
 to be fished up again by divers. We cannot help thinking 
 as we do : our opinion has not been chosen by us volun- 
 tarily, it has been forced upon us by facts that we cannot 
 help seeing, but it deprives us of an opportunity for a 
 religious emotion, and it separates us, on that point, from 
 all those who are still capable of feeling it. I have given 
 considerable space to the consideration of these changes, 
 but not a disproportionate space. They have a deplor- 
 able effect on human intercourse by dividing friends and 
 families into different groups, and by separating those who 
 might otherwise have enjoyed friendship unreservedly. 
 It is probable, too, that we are only at the beginning of 
 the conflict, and that in years not immeasurably distant 
 there will be fierce struggles on the most irritating of 
 practical issues. To name but one of these, it is probable 
 that there will be a sharp struggle when a strong and 
 determined naturalist party shall claim the instruction of 
 the young, especially with regard to the origin of the
 
 PREFACE. xv 
 
 race, the beginnings of animal life, and the evidences of 
 intention in nature. Loving, as I do, the amenities of a 
 peaceful and polished civilisation much better than angry 
 controversy, I long for the time when these great questions 
 will be considered as settled one way or the other, or 
 else, if they are beyond our intelligence, for the time when 
 they may be classed as insoluble, so that men may work 
 out their destiny without bitter quarrels about their 
 origin. The present at least is ours, and it depends 
 upon ourselves whether it is to be wasted in vain dis- 
 putes or brightened by charity and kindness.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 ESSAY PAGE 
 
 i. ON THE DIFFICULTY OF DISCOVERING FIXED LAWS i 
 
 2/ INDEPENDENCE ..... 9 
 
 3! OF PASSIONATE LOVE . . . .29 
 
 4. COMPANIONSHIP IN MARRIAGE , . . . 40 
 
 5. FAMILY TIES ... . . .58 
 
 6. FATHERS AND SONS . . . .72 
 
 7. THE RIGHTS OF THE GUEST ... 92 
 
 8. THE DEATH OF FRIENDSHIP . . . 102 
 
 9. THE FLUX OF WEALTH . . . .no 
 
 10. DIFFERENCES OF RANK AND WEALTH . . 121 
 
 11. THE OBSTACLE OF LANGUAGE . . .138 
 
 12. THE OBSTACLE OF RELIGION . . .150 
 
 13. PRIESTS AND WOMEN 
 
 PART I. SYMPATHY . . . .164 
 
 PART II. ART . . . .176 
 
 PART III. ASSOCIATION . . .183 
 
 14. WHY WE ARE APPARENTLY BECOMING LESS RELI- 
 
 GIOUS ...... 193 
 
 15. HOW WE ARE REALLY BECOMING LESS RELIGIOUS 203 
 
 16. ON AN UNRECOGNISED FORM OF UNTRUTH . 219
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 ESSAY PAGE 
 
 17. ON A REMARKABLE ENGLISH PECULIARITY . 226 
 
 1 8. OF GENTEEL IGNORANCE .... 239 
 
 19. PATRIOTIC IGNORANCE .... 250 
 
 20. CONFUSIONS ..... 266 
 
 21. THE NOBLE BOHEMIANISM . . . 280 
 
 22. OF COURTESY IN EPISTOLARY COMMUNICATION . 299 
 
 23. LETTERS OF FRIENDSHIP .... 320 
 
 24. LETTERS OF BUSINESS .... 337 
 
 25. ANONYMOUS LETTERS .... 352 
 
 26. AMUSEMENTS ..... 365
 
 ESSAY I. 
 
 ON THE DIFFICULTY OF DISCOVERING 
 FIXED LAWS. 
 
 A BOOK on human intercourse might be written in a 
 variety of ways, and amongst them might be an attempt 
 to treat the subject in a scientific manner, so as to eluci- 
 date those natural laws by which intercourse between 
 human beings must be regulated. If we knew quite 
 perfectly what those laws are we should enjoy the great 
 convenience of being able to predict with certainty which 
 men and women would be able to associate with pleasure, 
 and which would be constrained or repressed in each 
 other's society. Human intercourse would then be as 
 much a positive science as chemistry, in which the effects 
 of bringing substances together can be foretold with the 
 utmost accuracy. Some very distant approach to this 
 scientific state, may, in certain instances, actually be 
 made. When we know the characters of two people 
 with a certain degree of precision, we may sometimes 
 predict that they are sure to quarrel, and have the satis- 
 faction of witnessing the explosion that our own acumen 
 has foretold. To detect in people we know those incom- 
 patibilities that are the fatal seeds of future dissension is 
 one of our malicious pleasures. An acute observer really 
 
 * B
 
 2 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 has considerable powers of prediction and calculation 
 with reference to individual human beings ; but there his 
 wisdom ends. He cannot deduce from these separate 
 cases any general rules or laws that can be firmly relied 
 upon, as every real law of nature can be relied upon, 
 and therefore it may be concluded that such rules are 
 not laws of nature at all, but only poor and untrust- 
 worthy substitutes for them. 
 
 The reason for this difficulty I take to be the extreme 
 complexity of human nature, and its boundless variety, 
 which make it always probable that in every mind which 
 we have not long and closely studied there will be ele- 
 ments wholly unknown to us. How often, with regard 
 to some public man who is known to us only in part 
 through his acts or his writings, are we surprised by 
 the sudden revelation of characteristics that we never 
 imagined for him, and that seem almost incompatible 
 with the better known side of his nature ! How much 
 the more, then, are we likely to go wrong in our esti- 
 mates of people we know nothing about, and how im- 
 possible it must be for us to determine how they are 
 likely to select their friends and companions ! 
 
 Certain popular ideas appear to represent a sort of 
 rude philosophy of human intercourse. There is the 
 common belief, for example, that in order to associate 
 pleasantly together people should be of the same class 
 and nearly in the same condition of fortune ; but when 
 we turn to real life we find very numerous instances in 
 which this fancied law is broken with the happiest results. 
 The late Duke of Albany may be mentioned as an 
 example. No doubt his own natural refinement would 
 have prevented him from associating with vulgar people,
 
 i.] FIXED LA WS. 
 
 but he readily associated with refined and cultivated 
 people who had no pretension to rank. His own rank 
 was a power in his hands that he used for good, and he 
 was conscious of it, but it did not isolate him ; he desired 
 to know people as they are, and was capable of feeling 
 the most sincere respect for anybody who deserved it. 
 So it is, generally, with all who have the gifts of sympathy 
 and intelligence. Merely to avoid what is disagreeable 
 has nothing to do with pride of station. Vulgar society 
 is disagreeable, which is a sufficient reason for keeping 
 aloof from it. Amongst people of refinement, associa- 
 tion, or even friendship, is possible in spite of differences 
 of rank and fortune. 
 
 Another popular belief is that " men associate together 
 when they are interested in the same things." It would, 
 however, be easy to adduce very numerous instances in 
 which an interest in similar things has been a cause of 
 quarrel, when, if one of the two parties had regarded 
 those things with indifference, harmonious intercourse 
 might have been preserved. The livelier our interest in 
 anything, the more does acquiescence in matters of detail 
 appear essential to us. Two people are both of them 
 extremely religious, but one of them is a Mahometan and 
 the other a Christian ; here the interest in religion causes 
 a divergence enough in most cases to make intercourse 
 impossible, when it would have been quite possible if 
 both parties had regarded religion with indifference. 
 Bring the two nearer together, suppose them to be both 
 Christians ; they acknowledge one law, one doctrine, one 
 Head of the church in heavea Yes, but they do not 
 acknowledge the same head of it on earth, for one 
 accepts the Papal supremacy, which the other denies,
 
 4 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 and their common Christianity is a feeble bond of union 
 in comparison with the forces of repulsion contained in 
 a multitude of details. Two nominal, indifferent Chris- 
 tians, who take no interest in theology, would have a^ 
 better chance of agreeing. Lastly, suppose them to be 
 both members of the Church of England, one of the old 
 school, with firm and settled beliefs on every point, and 
 a horror of the most distant approaches to heresy ; the 
 other of the new school, vague, indeterminate, desiring 
 to preserve his Christianity as a sentiment when it has 
 vanished as a faith, thinking that the Bible is not true 
 in the old sense, but only " contains " truth, that the 
 divinity of Christ is "a past issue," 1 and that evolution 
 is, on the whole, more probable than direct and inten- 
 tional creation, what possible agreement can exist 
 between these two ? If they both care about religious 
 topics, and talk about them, will not their disagreement 
 be in exact proportion to the liveliness of their interest 
 in the subject ? So in a realm with which I have some 
 acquaintance that of the fine arts ; discord is always 
 probable between those who have a passionate delight 
 in art. Innocent, well-intentioned friends think that 
 because two men "like painting" they ought to be 
 introduced, as they are sure to amuse each other. In 
 reality their tastes may be more opposed than the taste 
 of either of them is to perfect indifference. One has a 
 severe taste for beautiful form and an active contempt 
 for picturesque accidents and romantic associations, the 
 other feels chilled by severe beauty, and delights in the 
 picturesque and romantic. If each is convinced of the 
 superiority of his own principles, he will deduce from 
 1 An expression used to me by a learned Doctor of Oxford.
 
 i.] FIXED LA WS. 5 
 
 them an endless series of judgments that can only 
 irritate the other. 
 
 Seeing that nations are always hostile to each other, 
 always watchfully jealous, and inclined to rejoice in 
 every evil that happens to a neighbour, it would appear 
 safe to predict that little intercourse could exist between 
 persons of different nationality. When, however, we 
 observe the facts as they are in real life, we perceive that 
 very strong and durable friendships often exist between 
 men who are not of the same nation, and that the chief 
 obstacle to the formation of these is not so much nation- 
 ality as difference of language. There is, no doubt, a 
 prejudice that one is not likely to get on well with a 
 foreigner, and the prejudice has often the effect of 
 keeping people of different nationality apart, but when 
 once it is overcome it is often found that very powerful 
 feelings of mutual respect and sympathy draw the 
 strangers together. On the other hand, there is not 
 the least assurance that the mere fact of being born in 
 the same country will make two men regard each other 
 with kindness. An Englishman repels another English- 
 man when he meets him on the Continent. 1 The only 
 just conclusion is that nationality affords no certain rule 
 either in favour of intercourse or against it. A man 
 may possibly be drawn towards a foreign nationality by 
 his appreciation of its excellence in some art that he 
 loves, but this is the case only when the excellence is 
 of the peculiar kind that supplies the needs of his own 
 intelligence. The French excel in painting ; that is to 
 say, that many Frenchmen have attained a certain kind 
 
 1 The causes of this curious repulsion are inquired into elsewhere 
 in this volume.
 
 6 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 of excellence in certain departments of the art of paint- 
 ing. Englishmen and Americans who value that par- 
 ticular kind of excellence are often strongly drawn 
 towards Paris as an artistic centre or capital, and this 
 opening of their minds to French influence in art may 
 admit other French influences at the same time, so that 
 the ultimate effect of a love of art may be a breaking 
 down of the barrier of nationality. It seldom happens 
 that Frenchmen are drawn towards England and America 
 by their love of painting, but it frequently happens that 
 they become in a measure Anglicised or Americanised 
 either by the serious study of nautical science or by the 
 love of yachting as an amusement, in which they look to 
 England and America both for the most advanced 
 theories and the newest examples. 
 
 The nearest approach ever made to a general rule 
 may be the affirmation that likeness is the secret of 
 companionship. This has a great look of probability, 
 and may really be the reason for many associations ; but 
 after observing others we might come to the conclusion 
 that an opposite law would be at least equally applicable. 
 We might say that a companion, to be interesting, ought 
 to bring new elements, and not be a repetition of our 
 own too familiar personality. We have enough of our- 
 selves in ourselves; we desire a companion who will 
 relieve us from the bounds of our thoughts, as a neigh- 
 bour opens his garden to us and delivers us from our 
 own hedges. But if the unlikeness is so great that 
 mutual understanding is impossible, then it is too great. 
 We fancy that we should like to know this or that author, 
 because we feel a certain sympathy with him though he 
 is very different from us ; but there are other writers
 
 i.] FIXED LA WS. 
 
 whom we do not desire to know, because we are aware 
 of a difference too excessive for companionship. 
 
 The only approximation to a general law that I would 
 venture to affirm, is, that the strongest reason why men 
 are drawn together is not identity of class, not identity 
 of race, not a common interest in any particular art or 
 science, but because there is something in their idiosyn- 
 crasies that gives a charm to intercourse between the 
 two. What it is I cannot tell, and I have never met 
 with the wise man who was able to enlighten me. 
 
 It is not respect for character, seeing that we often 
 respect people heartily without being able to enjoy their 
 society. It is a mysterious suitableness or adaptability ; 
 and how mysterious it is may be in some degree realised 
 when we reflect that we cannot account for our own 
 preferences. I try to explain to myself, for my own 
 intellectual satisfaction, how and why it is that I take 
 pleasure in the society of one very dear friend. He is a 
 most able, honourable, and high-minded man ; but others 
 are all that, and they give me no pleasure. My friend 
 and I have really not very much in common ; far less 
 than I have with some perfectly indifferent people. I 
 only know that we are always glad to be together, that 
 each of us likes to listen to the other, and that we have 
 talked for innumerable hours. Neither does my affection 
 blind me to his faults. I see them as clearly as if I 
 were his enemy, and doubt not that he sees mine. 
 There is no illusion, and there has been no change in 
 our sentiments for twenty years. 
 
 As a contrast to this instance, I think of others in 
 which everything seems to have been prepared on pur- 
 pose for facility of intercourse, in which there is similarity
 
 8 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY i. 
 
 of pursuits, of language, of education, of everything that 
 is likely to permit men to talk easily together ; and yet 
 there is some obstacle that makes any real intercourse 
 impossible. What the obstacle is, I am unable to ex- 
 plain even to myself. It need not be any unkind feeling, 
 nor any feeling of disapprobation ; there may be good- 
 will on both sides, and a mutual desire for a greater 
 degree of intimacy ; yet with all this the intimacy does 
 not come, and such intercourse as we have is that of 
 simple politeness. In these cases each party is apt to 
 think that the other is reserved, when there is no wish to 
 be reserved, but rather a desire to be as open as the 
 unseen obstacle will allow. The existence of the obstacle 
 does not prevent respect and esteem, or even a consider- 
 able degree of affection. It divides people who seem to 
 be on the most friendly terms ; it divides even the nearest 
 relations brother from brother, and the son from the 
 father. Nobody knows exactly what it is, but we have a 
 word for it, we call it incompatibility. The difficulty of 
 going further, and explaining the real nature of incom- 
 patibility, is, that it takes as many shapes as there are 
 varieties in the characters of mankind. 
 
 Sympathy and incompatibility these are the two 
 great powers that decide for us whether intercourse is 
 to be possible or not ; but the causes of them are dark 
 mysteries that lie undiscovered, far down in the " abysmal 
 deeps of personality."
 
 ESSAY II. 
 
 INDEPENDENCE, 
 
 THERE is an illusory and unattainable independence 
 which is a mere dream, but there is also a reasonable 
 and attainable independence not really inconsistent with 
 our obligations to humanity and our country. 
 
 The dependence of the individual upon the race has 
 never been so fully recognised as now, so that there is 
 little fear of its being overlooked. The danger of our 
 age and of the future is rather that a reasonable and 
 possible independence should be made needlessly diffi- 
 cult to attain and to preserve. 
 
 The distinction between the two may be conveniently 
 illustrated by a reference to literary production. Every 
 educated man is dependent upon his own country for 
 the language that he uses ; and again, that language is 
 itself dependent on other languages from which it is 
 derived ; and further, the modern author is indebted for 
 a continual stimulus and many a suggestion to the 
 writings of his predecessors, not in his own country 
 only, but in far distant lands. He cannot, therefore, 
 say in any absolute way, " My books are my own," but 
 he may preserve a certain mental independence which 
 will allow him to say that with truth in a relative sense. 
 If he expresses himself such as he is, an idiosyncrasy
 
 io HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 affected but not annihilated by education, he may say 
 that his books are his own. 
 
 Few English authors have studied past literature more 
 willingly than Shelley and Tennyson, and none are more 
 original. In these cases idiosyncrasy has been affected 
 by education, but instead of being annihilated thereby 
 it has gained from education the means of expressing its 
 own inmost self more clearly. We have the true Shelley, 
 the born Tennyson, far more perfectly than we should 
 ever have possessed them if their own minds had not 
 been opened by the action of other minds. Culture is 
 like wealth it makes us more ourselves, it enables us to 
 express ourselves. The real nature of the poor and the 
 ignorant is an obscure and doubtful problem, for we can 
 never know the inborn powers that remain in them un- 
 developed till they die. In this way the help of the 
 race, so far from being unfavourable to individuality, is 
 necessary to it. Claude helped Turner to become 
 Turner. In complete isolation from art, however mag- 
 nificently surrounded by the beauties of the natural 
 world, a man does not express his originality as a 
 landscape painter ; he is simply incapable of expressing 
 anything in paint. 
 
 But now let us inquire whether there may not be 
 cases in which the labours of others, instead of helping 
 originality to express itself, act as a check to it by making 
 originality superfluous. 
 
 As an illustration of this possibility I may take the 
 modern railway system. Here we have the labour and 
 ingenuity of the race applied to travelling, greatly to the 
 convenience of the individual, but in a manner which is 
 totally repressive of originality and indifferent to personal
 
 ii.] INDEPENDENCE. n 
 
 tastes. People of the most different idiosyncrasies travel 
 exactly in the same way. The landscape painter is hurried 
 at speed past beautiful spots that he would like to con- 
 template at leisure, the archaeologist is whirled by the 
 site of a Roman camp that he would willingly pause to 
 examine, the mountaineer is not permitted to climb the 
 tunnelled hill, nor the swimmer to cross in his own 
 refreshing natural way the breadth of the iron-spanned 
 river. And as individual tastes are disregarded, so in- 
 dividual powers are left uncultivated and unimproved. 
 The only talent required is that of sitting passively on a 
 seat and of enduring, for hours together, an unpleasant 
 though mitigated vibration. The skill and courage of 
 the horseman, the endurance of the pedestrian, the art 
 of the paddler or the oarsman, are all made superfluous 
 by this system of travelling by machines in which pre- 
 vious labours of engineers and mechanics have deter- 
 mined everything beforehand. Happily, the love of 
 exercise and enterprise has produced a reaction of indi- 
 vidualism against this levelling railway system, a reaction 
 that shows itself in many kinds of slower but more 
 adventurous locomotion, and restores to the individual 
 creature his lost independence by allowing him to pause 
 and stop when he pleases, a reaction delightful to him, 
 especially in this, that it gives him some pride and 
 pleasure in the use of his own muscles and his own 
 wits. There are still, happily, Englishmen who would 
 rather steer a cutter across the Channel in rough weather 
 than be shot through a long hole in the chalk. 
 
 What the railway is to physical motion settled con- 
 ventions are to the movements of the mind. Convention 
 is a contrivance for facilitating what we write or speak,
 
 12 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 by which we are relieved from personal effort, and 
 almost absolved from personal responsibility. There 
 are men whose whole art of living consists in passing 
 from one conventionalism to another, as a traveller 
 changes his train. Such men may be envied for the 
 skill with which they avoid the difficulties of life. They 
 take their religion, their politics, their education, their 
 social and literary opinions, all as provided by the brains 
 of others, and they glide through existence with a 
 minimum of personal exertion. For those who are 
 satisfied with easy conventional ways, the desire for 
 intellectual independence is unintelligible. What is 
 the need of it ? Why go, mentally, on a bicycle or in a 
 canoe by your own toilsome exertions when you may sit 
 so very comfortably in the train, a rug round your lazy 
 legs, and your softly-capped head in a corner ? 
 
 The French ideal of " good form " is to be undistin- 
 guishable from others, by which it is not understood 
 that you are to be undistinguishable from the multitude 
 of poor people, but one of the smaller crowd of rich 
 and fashionable people. Independence and originality 
 are so little esteemed in what is called " good society " 
 in France that the adjectives " independant " and " ori- 
 ginal " are constantly used in a bad sense. " // est 
 trls independant" often means that the man is of a 
 rude, insubordinate, rebellious temper, unfitting him 
 for social life. "// est original" or more contemptu- 
 ously, " c'est un original" means that the subject of the 
 criticism has views of his own which are not the fashion- 
 able views, and which, therefore (whatever may be their 
 accuracy), are proper objects of well-bred ridicule. 
 
 I cannot imagine any state of feeling more destructive
 
 ii.] INDEPENDENCE. 13 
 
 of all interest in human intercourse than this, for if, on 
 going into society, I am only to hear the fashionable 
 opinions and sentiments, what is the gain to me who 
 know them too well already ? I could even repeat them 
 quite accurately with the proper conventional tone, so 
 why put myself to inconvenience to hear that dull and 
 wearisome play acted over again? The only possible 
 explanation of the pleasure that French people of some 
 rank appear to take in hearing things which are as stale 
 as they are inaccurate, repeated by every one they know, 
 is that the repetition of them appears to be one of the 
 signs of gentility, and to give alike to those who utter 
 them and to those who hear the profound satisfaction 
 of feeling that they are present at the mysterious rites 
 of caste. 
 
 There is probably no place in the whole world where 
 the feeling of mental independence is so complete as it 
 is in London. There is no place where differences of 
 opinion are more marked in character or more frank 
 and open in expression; but what strikes one as particu- 
 larly admirable in London is that in the present day (it 
 has not always been so) men of the most opposite 
 opinions and the most various tastes can profess their 
 opinions and indulge their tastes without inconvenient 
 consequences to themselves, and there is hardly any 
 opinion, or any eccentricity, that excludes a man from 
 pleasant social intercourse if he does not make himself 
 impossible and intolerable by bad manners. This in- 
 dependence gives a savour to social intercourse in 
 London that is lamentably wanting to it elsewhere. 
 There is a strange and novel pleasure (to one who lives 
 habitually in the country) in hearing men and women
 
 14 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 say what they think without deference to any local 
 public opinion. 
 
 In many small places this local public opinion is so 
 despotic that there is no individual independence in 
 society, and it then becomes necessary that a man who 
 values his independence, and desires to keep it, should 
 learn the art of living contentedly outside of society. 
 
 It has often occurred to me to reflect that there are 
 many men in London who enjoy a pleasant and even a 
 high social position, who live with intelligent people, 
 and even with people of great wealth and exalted rank, 
 and yet who, if their lot had been cast in certain small 
 provincial towns, would have found themselves rigorously 
 excluded from the upper local circles, if not from all 
 circles whatsoever. 
 
 I have sometimes asked myself, when travelling on 
 the railway through France, and visiting for a few hours 
 one of those sleepy little old cities, to me so delightful, 
 in which the student of architecture and the lover of the 
 picturesque find so much to interest them, what would 
 have been the career of a man having, for example, the 
 capacity and the convictions of Mr. Gladstone, if he had 
 passed all the years of his manhood in such a place ? 
 
 It commonly happens that when Nature endows a 
 man with a vigorous personality and its usual accom- 
 paniment, an independent way of seeing things, she 
 gives him at the same time powerful talents with which 
 to defend his own originality; but in a small and ancient 
 city, where everything is traditional, intellectual force is 
 of no avail and learning is of no use. In such a city, 
 where the upper class is an exclusive caste impenetrable 
 by ideas, the eloquence of Mr. Gladstone would be
 
 ii. 1 INDEPENDENCE. 15 
 
 ineffectual, and if exercised at all would be considered 
 in bad taste. His learning, even, would tend to separate 
 him from the unlearned local aristocracy. The simple 
 fact that he is in favour of parliamentary government, 
 without any more detailed information concerning his 
 political opinions, would put him beyond the pale, for 
 parliamentary government is execrated by the French 
 rural aristocracy, who tolerate nothing short of a deter- 
 mined monarchical absolutism. His religious views would 
 be looked upon as those of a low Dissenter, and it would 
 be remembered against him that his father was in trade. 
 Such is the difference, as a field for talent and originality, 
 between London and an aristocratic little French city, 
 that those very qualities which have raised our Prime 
 Minister to a not undeserved pre-eminence in the great 
 place would have kept him out of society in the small 
 one. He might, perhaps, have talked politics in some 
 cafe" with a few shopkeepers and attorneys. 
 
 It may be objected that Mr. Gladstone, as an English 
 Liberal, would naturally be out of place in France and 
 little appreciated there, so I will take the cases of a 
 Frenchman in France and an Englishman in England. 
 A brave French officer, who was at the same time a 
 gentleman of ancient lineage and good estate, chose (for 
 reasons of his own which had no connection with social 
 intercourse) to live upon a property that happened to be 
 situated in a part of France where the aristocracy was 
 strongly Catholic and reactionary. He then found him- 
 self excluded from "good society," because he was a 
 Protestant and a friend to parliamentary government. 
 Reasons of this kind, or the counter-reasons of Catholi- 
 cism and disapprobation of parliaments, would not exclude
 
 1 6 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 a polished and amiable gentleman from society in London. 
 I have read in a biographical notice of Sidney Dobell, 
 that when he lived at Cheltenham he was excluded 
 from the society of the place because his parents were 
 Dissenters, and he had been in trade. 
 
 In cases of this kind, where exclusion is due to hard 
 prejudices of caste or of religion, a man who has all the 
 social gifts of good manners, kind-heartedness, culture, 
 and even wealth, may find himself outside the pale, if he 
 lives in or near a small place where society is a strong 
 little clique, well organised on definitely understood 
 principles. There are situations in which exclusion of 
 that kind means perfect solitude. It may be argued 
 that to escape solitude the victim has nothing to do but 
 associate with a lower class, but this is not easy or 
 natural, especially when, as in DobelFs case, there is 
 intellectual culture. Those who have refined manners 
 and tastes, and a love for intellectual pursuits, usually 
 find themselves disqualified for entering with any real 
 heartiness and enjoyment into the social life of classes 
 where these tastes are undeveloped and where the 
 thoughts flow in two channels the serious channel 
 studded with anxieties about the means of existence, and 
 the humorous channel, which is a diversion from the 
 other. Far be it from me to say anything that might 
 imply any shade of contempt or disapprobation of the 
 humorous spirit that is Nature's own remedy for the 
 evils of an anxious life. It does more for the mental 
 health of the middle classes than could be done by the 
 most sublimated culture, and if anything concerning it 
 is a subject for regret, it is that culture makes us in- 
 capable of enjoying poor jokes. It is, however, a simple
 
 ii.] INDEPENDENCE. 17 
 
 matter of fact, that although men of great culture may 
 be humorists (Mr. Lowell is a brilliant example), their 
 humour is both more profound in the serious intention 
 that lies under it, and vastly more extensive in the field 
 of its operations than the trivial humour of the unedu- 
 cated, whence it follows that although humour is the 
 faculty by which different classes are brought most easily 
 into cordial relations, the humorist who has culture will 
 probably find himself b Vetroit with humorists who have 
 none, whilst the cultured man who has no humour, or 
 whose humorous tendencies have been overpowered by 
 serious thought, is so terribly isolated in uneducated 
 society that he feels less alone in solitude. To realise 
 this truth in its full force the reader has only to imagine 
 John Stuart Mill trying to associate with one of those 
 middle-class families that Dickens loved to describe, 
 such as the Wardle family in Pickwick. 
 
 It follows from these considerations that unless a 
 man lives in London, or in some other great capital 
 city, he may easily find himself so situated that he must 
 learn the art of being happy without society. 
 
 As there is no pleasure in military life for a soldier who 
 fears death, so there is no independence in civil existence 
 for the man who has an overpowering dread of solitude. 
 
 There are two good reasons against the excessive 
 dread of solitude. The first is that solitude is very 
 rarely so absolute as it appears from a distance, and the 
 second is that when the evil is real, and almost com- 
 plete, there are palliatives that may lessen it to such a 
 degree as to make it, at the worst, supportable, and at 
 the best for some natures, even enjoyable in a rather 
 sad and melancholy way.
 
 1 8 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [KSSAY 
 
 Let us not deceive ourselves with conventional notions 
 on the subject. The world calls " solitude " that con- 
 dition in which a man lives outside of " society," or, in 
 other words, the condition in which he does not pay formal 
 calls and is not invited to state dinners and dances. Such 
 a condition may be very lamentable and deserving of 
 polite contempt, but it may not be absolute solitude. 
 
 Absolute solitude would be the state of Crusoe on 
 the desert island, severed from human kind, and never 
 hearing a human voice ; but this is not the condition of 
 any one in a civilised country who is out of a prison 
 cell. Suppose that I am travelling in a country where 
 I am a perfect stranger, and that I stay for some days 
 in a village where I do not know a soul. In a sur- 
 prisingly short time I shall have made acquaintances 
 and begun to acquire rather a home-like feeling in the 
 place. My new acquaintances may possibly not be rich 
 and fashionable : they may be the rural postman, the inn- 
 keeper, the stone-breaker on the roadside, the radical 
 cobbler, and perhaps a mason or a joiner, and a few 
 more or less untidy little children ; but every morning 
 their greeting becomes more friendly, and so I feel my- 
 self connected still with that great human race to which, 
 whatever may be my sins against the narrow laws of 
 caste and class, I still unquestionably belong. It is a 
 positive advantage that our meetings should be acci- 
 dental and not so long as to involve any of the embar- 
 rassments of formal social intercourse, as I could not 
 promise myself that the attempt to spend a whole even- 
 ing with these humble friends might not cause diffi- 
 culties for me and for them. All I maintain is that 
 these little chance talks and greetings have a tendency
 
 ii.] INDEPENDENCE. 19 
 
 to keep me cheerful and preserve me from that moody 
 state of mind to which the quite lonely man exposes 
 himself. As to the substance and quality of our con- 
 versations, I amuse myself by comparing them with 
 conversations between more genteel people, and do not 
 always perceive that the disparity is very wide. Poor 
 men often observe external facts with the greatest shrewd- 
 ness and accuracy, and have interesting things to tell 
 when they see that you set up no barrier of pride against 
 them. Perhaps they do not know much about architec- 
 ture and the graphic arts, but on these subjects they are 
 devoid of the false pretensions of the upper classes, 
 which is an unspeakable comfort and relief. They 
 teach us many things that are worth knowing. Humble 
 and poor people were amongst the best educators of 
 Shakespeare, Scott, Dickens, Wordsworth, George Eliot. 
 Even old Homer learned from them touches of nature 
 which have done as much for his immortality as the fire 
 of his wrathful kings. 
 
 Let me give the reader an example of this chance 
 intercourse just as it really occurred. I was drawing 
 architectural details in and about a certain foreign 
 cathedral, and had the usual accompaniment of youthful 
 spectators who liked to watch me working, as greater 
 folks watch fashionable artists in their studios. Some- 
 times they rather incommoded me, but, on my complain- 
 ing of the inconvenience, two of the bigger boys acted 
 as policemen to defend me, which they did with stern 
 authority and promptness. After that, one highly intelli- 
 gent little boy brought paper and pencil from his father's 
 house, and set himself to draw what I was drawing. 
 The subject was far too difficult for him, but I gave him
 
 20 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 a simpler one, and in a very short time he was a regular 
 pupil. Inspired by his example, three other little boys 
 asked if they might do likewise, so I had a class of four. 
 Their manner towards me was perfect, not a trace of 
 rudeness nor of timidity either, but absolute confidence 
 at once friendly and respectful. Every day when I went 
 to the cathedral at the same hour my four little friends 
 greeted me with such frank and visible gladness that 
 it could neither have been feigned nor mistaken. During 
 our lessons they surprised and interested me greatly by 
 the keen observation they displayed, and this was true 
 more particularly of the bright little leader and originator 
 of the class. The house he lived in was exactly opposite 
 the rich west front of the cathedral, and I found that, 
 young as he was (a mere child), he had observed for 
 himself almost all the details of its sculpture. The 
 statues, groups, bas-reliefs, and other ornaments were all, 
 for him, so many separate subjects, and not a confused 
 enrichment of laboured stone-work as they so easily 
 might have been. He had notions, too, about chronol- 
 ogy, telling me the dates of some parts of the cathedral, 
 and asking me about others. His mother treated me 
 with the utmost kindness, and invited me to sketch 
 quietly from her windows. I took a photographer up 
 there, and set his big camera, and we got such a photo- 
 graph as had been deemed impossible before. Now in 
 all this does not the reader perceive that I was enjoying 
 human intercourse in a very delicate and exquisite way ? 
 What could be more charming and refreshing to a solitary 
 student than this frank and hearty friendship of children 
 who caused no perceptible hindrance to his work, whilst 
 they effectually dispelled sad thoughts?
 
 n.] INDEPENDENCE. 21 
 
 Two other examples may be given from the experi- 
 ence of a man who has often been alone, and seldom 
 felt himself in solitude. 
 
 I remember arriving long ago in the evening at the 
 head of a salt water loch in Scotland, where in those 
 days there existed an exceedingly small beginning of a 
 watering-place. Soon after landing I walked on the 
 beach with no companion but the beauty of nature and 
 the " long, long thoughts " of youth. In a short time I 
 became aware that a middle-aged Scotch gentleman was 
 taking exercise in the same solitary way. He spoke to 
 me, and we were soon deep in a conversation that began 
 to be interesting to both of us. He was a resident in 
 the place, and invited me to his house, where our talk 
 continued far into the night. I was obliged to leave 
 the little haven the next day, but my recollection of 
 it now is like the memorandum of a conversation. I 
 remember the wild romantic scenery and the moon upon 
 the water, and the steamer from Glasgow at the pier; 
 but the real satisfaction of that day consisted in hours 
 of talk with a man who had seen much, observed much, 
 thought much, and was most kindly and pleasantly 
 communicative a man whom I had never spoken to 
 before, and have never seen or heard of since that now 
 distant but well-remembered evening. 
 
 The other instance is a conversation in the cabin of 
 a steamer. I was alone in the depth of winter, making 
 a voyage by an unpopular route and during a long, dark 
 night. It was a dead calm. We were only three pas- 
 sengers, and we sat together by the bright cabin fire. 
 One of us was a young officer in the British Navy, just 
 of age ; another was an anxious-looking man of thirty.
 
 22 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 Somehow the conversation turned to the subject of 
 inevitable expenses, and the sailor told us that he had a 
 certain private income, the amount of which he men- 
 tioned. " I have exactly the same income," said the 
 man of thirty, " but I married very early and have a wife 
 and family to maintain ;" and then as we did not know 
 even his name, and he was not likely to see us again 
 he seized the opportunity (under the belief that he was 
 kindly warning the young sailor) of telling the whole 
 story of his anxieties in detail. The point of his dis- 
 course was that he did not pretend to be poor or to 
 claim sympathy, but he powerfully described the exact 
 nature of his position. What had been his private in- 
 come had now become the public revenue of a household. 
 It all went in housekeeping, almost independently of his 
 will and outside of his control. He had his share in the 
 food of the family, and he was just decently clothed, 
 but there was an end to personal enterprises. The 
 economy and the expenditure of a free and intelligent 
 bachelor had been alike replaced by a dull, methodical, 
 uncontrollable outgo, and the man himself, though now 
 called the head of a family, had discovered that a new 
 impersonal necessity was the real master, and that he 
 lived like a child in his own house. " This," he said, 
 "is the fate of a gentleman who marries on narrow 
 means, unless he is cruelly selfish." 
 
 Frank and honest conversations of this kind often 
 come in the way of a man who travels by himself, and 
 they remain with him afterwards as a part of his know- 
 ledge of life. This informal intercourse that comes by 
 chance is greatly undervalued, especially by Englishmen, 
 who are seldom very much disposed to it except in the
 
 ir.] INDEPENDENCE. 23 
 
 humbler classes ; but it is one of the broadly scattered 
 inestimable gifts of nature, like the refreshment of air 
 and water. Many a healthy and happy mind has en- 
 joyed little other human intercourse than this. There 
 are millions who never get a formal invitation, and yet in 
 this accidental way they hear many a bit of entertaining or 
 instructive talk. The greatest charm of it is its consistency 
 with the most absolute independence. No abandonment 
 of principle is required, nor any false assumption. You 
 stand simply on your elementary right to consideration as 
 a decent human being within the great pale of civilisation. 
 
 There is, however, another sense in which every- 
 superior person is greatly exposed to the evil of solitude 
 if he lives outside of a great capital city. 
 
 Without misanthropy, and without any unjust or un- 
 kind contempt for our fellow-creatures, we still must 
 perceive that mankind in general have no other purpose 
 than to live in comfort with little mental exertion. The 
 desire for comfort is not wholly selfish, because people 
 want it for their families as much as for themselves, but 
 it is a low motive in this sense, that it is scarcely com- 
 patible with the higher kinds of mental exertion, whilst 
 it is entirely incompatible with devotion to great causes. 
 The object of common men is not to do noble work by 
 their own personal efforts, but so to plot and contrive 
 that others may be industrious for their benefit, and not 
 for their highest benefit, but in order that they may have 
 curtains and carpets. 
 
 Those for whom accumulated riches have already 
 provided these objects of desire seldom care greatly for 
 anything except amusements. If they have ambition, it 
 is for a higher social rank.
 
 24 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 These three common pursuits comfort, amusements, 
 rank, lie so much outside of the disciplinary studies that 
 a man of studious habits is likely to find himself alone 
 in a peculiar sense. As a human being he is not alone, 
 but as a serious thinker and worker he may find himself 
 in complete solitude. 
 
 Many readers will remember the well-known passage 
 in Stuart Mill's autobiography, in which he dealt with 
 this subject. It has often been quoted against him, 
 because he went so far as to say that " a person of high 
 intellect should never go into unintellectual society unless 
 he can enter it as an apostle," a passage not likely to 
 make its author beloved by society of that kind; yet 
 Mill was not a misanthropist, he was only anxious to 
 preserve what there is of high feeling and high principle 
 from deterioration by too much contact with the common 
 world. It was not so much that he despised the common 
 world, as that he knew the infinite preciousness, even to 
 the common people themselves, of the few better and 
 higher minds. He knew how difficult it is for such 
 minds to " retain their higher principles unimpaired," 
 and how at least " with respect to the persons and affairs 
 of their own day they insensibly adopt the modes of feel- 
 ing and judgment in which they can hope for sympathy 
 from the company they keep." 
 
 Perhaps I may do well to offer an illustration of this, 
 though from a department of culture that may not have 
 been in Mill's view when he wrote the passage. 
 
 I myself have known a certain painter (not belonging 
 to the English School) who had a severe and elevated 
 ideal of his art. As his earnings were small, he went to 
 live in the country for economy. He then began to
 
 ii.] INDEPENDENCE. 25 
 
 associate intimately with people to whom all high aims 
 in painting were unintelligible. Gradually he himself 
 lost his interest in them, and his nobler purposes were 
 abandoned. Finally art itself was abandoned, and he 
 became a coffee-house politician. 
 
 So it is with all rare and exceptional pursuits, if once 
 we allow ourselves to take, in all respects, the colour of the 
 common world. It is impossible to keep up a foreign 
 language, an art, a science, if we are living away from 
 other followers of our pursuit, and cannot endure solitude. 
 
 It follows from this that there are many situations in 
 which men have to learn that particular kind of independ- 
 ence which consists in bearing isolation patiently for the 
 preservation of their better selves. In a world of common 
 sense they have to keep a little place apart for a kind of 
 sense that is sound and rational, but not common. 
 
 This isolation would indeed be difficult to bear if it 
 were not mitigated by certain palliatives that enable a 
 superior mind to be healthy and active in its loneliness. 
 The first of these is reading, which is seldom valued at 
 its almost inestimable worth. By the variety of its 
 records and inventions, literature continually affords the 
 refreshment of change, not to speak of that variety which 
 may be had so easily by a change of language when the 
 reader knows several different tongues, and the other 
 marvellous variety due to difference in the date of books. 
 In fact, literature affords a far wider variety than conver- 
 sation itself, for we can talk only with the living, but 
 literature enables us to descend, like Ulysses, into the 
 shadowy kingdom of the dead. There is but one defect 
 in literature that the talk is all on one side, so that we 
 are listeners as at a sermon or a lecture, and not sharers
 
 26 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 in some antique symposium, our own brows crowned 
 with flowers, and our own tongues loosened with wine. 
 The exercise of the tongue is wanting, and to some it is 
 an imperious need, so that they will talk to the most 
 uncongenial human beings, or even to parrots and dogs. 
 If we value books as the great palliative of solitude and 
 help to mental independence, let us not undervalue those 
 intelligent periodicals that keep our minds modern, and 
 prevent us from living altogether in some other century 
 than our own. Periodicals are a kind of correspondence 
 more easily read than manuscript, and involving no 
 obligation to answer. There is also the great palliative 
 of occasional direct correspondence with those who 
 understand our pursuits, and here we have the advantage 
 of using our own tongues, not physically, but at least in 
 an imaginative way. 
 
 A powerful support to some minds is the constantly 
 changing beauty of the natural world, which becomes 
 like a great and ever-present companion. I am anxious 
 to avoid any exaggeration of this benefit, because I know 
 that to many it counts for nothing, and an author ought 
 not to think only of those who have his own mental 
 constitution ; but although natural beauty is of little use 
 to one solitary mind, it may be like a living friend to 
 another. As a paragraph of real experience is worth 
 pages of speculation, I may say that I have always found 
 it possible to live happily in solitude, provided that the 
 place was surrounded by varied, beautiful, and changeful 
 scenery, but that in ugly or even monotonous places I 
 have felt society to be as necessary as it was welcome. 
 Byron's expression 
 
 ' I made me friends of mountains,"
 
 i i.l INDEPENDENCE. 27 
 
 and Wordsworth's 
 
 " Nature never did betray 
 The heart that loved her," 
 
 are not more than plain statements of the companionship 
 that some minds find in the beauty of landscape. They 
 are often accused of affectation, but in truth I believe 
 that we who have that passion, instead of expressing 
 more than we feel, have generally rather a tendency to 
 be reserved upon the subject, as we seldom expect 
 sympathy. Many of us would rather live in solitude 
 and on small means at Como than on a great income in 
 Manchester. This may be a foolish preference, but let 
 the reader remember the profound utterance of Blake, 
 that if the fool would but persevere in his folly, he would 
 become wise. 
 
 However powerful may be the aid of books and 
 natural scenery in enabling us to bear solitude, the best 
 help of all must be found in our occupations themselves. 
 Steady workers do not need much company. To be 
 occupied with a task that is difficult and arduous, but 
 that we know to be within our powers, and to awake 
 early every morning with the delightful feeling that the 
 whole day can be given to it without fear of interruption, 
 is the perfection of happiness for one who has the gift 
 of throwing himself heartily into his work. When night 
 comes he will be a little weary, and more disposed for 
 tranquil sleep than to " danser jusqu'au jour chez 
 1'ambassadeur de France." 
 
 This is the best independence to have something to 
 do, and something that can be done, and done most per- 
 fectly, in solitude. Then the lonely hours flow on like 
 smoothly gliding water, bearing one insensibly to the
 
 28 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY IT. 
 
 evening. The workman says, " Is my sight failing ? " 
 and lo the sun has set ! 
 
 There is but one objection to this absorption in 
 worthy toil It is that as the day passes, so passes life 
 itself, that succession of many days. The workman 
 thinks of nothing but his work, and finds the time all 
 too short. At length he suddenly perceives that he is 
 old, and wonders if life might not have been made to 
 seem a little longer, and if, after all, it has been quite 
 the best policy always to avoid ennui.
 
 ESSAY III. 
 
 OF PASSIONATE LOVE. 
 
 THE wonder of love is, that, for the time being, it makes 
 us ardently desire the presence of one person, and feel 
 indifferent to all others of her sex. It is commonly 
 spoken of as a delusion, but I do not see any delusion 
 here ; for if the presence of the beloved person satisfies 
 his craving, the lover gets what he desires, and is not 
 more the victim of a deception than one who succeeds 
 in satisfying any other want. 
 
 Again, it is often said that men are blinded by love ; 
 but the fact that one sees certain qualities in a beloved 
 person need not imply blindness. If you are in love 
 with a little woman, it is not a reason for supposing her 
 to be tall. I will even venture to affirm that you may 
 love a woman passionately, and still be quite clearly 
 aware that her beauty is far inferior to that of another 
 whose coming thrills you with no emotion, whose 
 departure leaves with you no regret 
 
 The true nature of a profound passion is not to attri- 
 bute every physical and mental quality to its object, but 
 rather to think, " Such as she is, with the endowments that 
 are really her own, I love her above all women, though 
 I know that she is not so beautiful as some are, nor so 
 learned as some others." The only real deception to
 
 30 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 which a lover is exposed, is, that he may over-estimate 
 the strength of his own passion. If he has not made 
 this mistake, he is not likely to make any other, since, 
 whatever the indifferent may see, or fail to see, in the 
 woman of his choice, he surely finds in her the adequate 
 reason for her attraction. 
 
 Love is commonly treated as if it belonged only to 
 the flowering of the spring-time of life ; but strong and 
 healthy natures remain capable of feeling the passion in 
 great force long after they are supposed to have left it far 
 behind them. It is indeed one of the signs of a healthy 
 nature to retain for many years the freshness of the heart 
 which makes one liable to fall in love, as a healthy palate 
 retains the natural early taste for delicious fruits. 
 
 This freshness of the heart is lost far more surely by 
 debauchery than by years ; and for this reason worldly 
 parents are not altogether dissatisfied that their sons 
 should " sow their wild oats " in youth, as they believe 
 that this kind of sowing is a preservative against the 
 dangers of pure love and an imprudent or unequal 
 marriage. The calculation is well founded. After a few 
 years of indiscriminate debauchery, a young man is likely 
 to be deadened to the sweet influences of love, and 
 therefore able to conduct himself with steady worldliness, 
 either remaining in celibacy or marrying for position, 
 exactly as his interests may dictate. 
 
 The case of Shelley is an apt illustration of this 
 danger. He had at the same time a horror of de- 
 bauchery and an irresistible natural tendency to the 
 passion of love. From the worldly point of view, both 
 his connections were degrading for a young gentleman 
 of rank. Had he followed the very common course of a
 
 in.] OF PASSIONATE LOVE. 31 
 
 real degradation, and married a lady of rank after ten 
 years of indiscriminate immorality, is it an unjust or an 
 unlikely supposition that he would have given less dis- 
 satisfaction to his friends ? 
 
 As to the permanence of love, or its transitoriness, 
 the plain and candid answer is, that there is no real 
 assurance either way. To predict that it will certainly 
 die after fruition is to shut one's eyes against the evident 
 fact that men often remain in love with mistresses or 
 wives. On the other hand, to assume that love is fixed 
 and made permanent in a magical way by marriage 
 is to assume what would be desirable rather than what 
 really is. There are ho magical incantations by which 
 Love may be retained ; yet sometimes he will rest and 
 dwell with astonishing tenacity when there seem to be 
 the strongest reasons for his departure. If there were 
 any ceremony, if any sacrifice could be made at an altar 
 by which the capricious little deity might be conciliated 
 and won, the wisest might hasten to perform that cere- 
 mony, and offer that acceptable sacrifice ; but he cares 
 not for any of our rites. Sometimes he stays in spite of 
 cruelty, misery, and wrong; sometimes he takes flight 
 from the hearth where a woman sits and grieves alone, 
 with all the attractions of health, beauty, gentleness, and 
 refinement. 
 
 Boys and girls imagine that love in a poor cottage or 
 a bare garret would be more blissful than indifference in 
 a palace, and the notion is thought foolish and romantic 
 by the wise people of the world ; but the boys and girls 
 are right in their estimate of Love's great power of cheer- 
 ing and brightening existence, even in the very humblest 
 situations. The possible error against which they ought
 
 32 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 to be clearly warned is that of supposing that Love 
 would always remain contentedly in the cottage or the 
 garret. Not that he is any more certain to remain in a 
 mansion in Belgrave Square, not that a garret with him is 
 not better than the vast Vatican without him ; but when 
 he has taken his flight, and is simply absent, one would 
 rather be left in comfortable than in beggarly desolation. 
 
 The poets speak habitually of love as if it were a 
 passion that could be safely indulged, whereas the whole 
 experience of modern existence goes to show that it is 
 of all passions the most perilous to happiness except in 
 those rare cases where it can be followed by marriage ; 
 and even then the peril is not ended, for marriage gives 
 no certainty of the duration of love, but constitutes of 
 itself a new danger, as the natures most disposed to 
 passion are at the same time the most impatient of 
 restraint. 
 
 There is this peculiarity about love in a well-regulated 
 social state. It is the only passion that is quite strictly 
 limited in its indulgence. Of the intellectual passions 
 a man may indulge several different ones, either succes- 
 sively or together ; in the ordinary physical enjoyments, 
 such as the love of active sports or the pleasures of the 
 table, he may carry his indulgence very far, and vary it 
 without blame ; but the master passion of all has to be 
 continually quelled, the satisfactions that it asks for have 
 to be continually refused to it, unless some opportunity 
 occurs when they may be granted without disturbing any 
 one of many different threads in the web of social exist- 
 ence, and these threads, to a lover's eye, seem entirely 
 unconnected with his hope. 
 
 In stating the fact of these restraints I do not dispute
 
 in.] OF PASSIONATE LOVE. 33 
 
 their necessity. On the contrary, it is evident that in- 
 finite practical evil would result from liberty. Those 
 who have broken through the social restraints, and allowed 
 the passion of love to set up its stormy and variable 
 tyranny in their hearts, have led unsettled and unhappy 
 lives. Even of love itself they have not enjoyed the 
 best, except in those rare cases in which the lovers have 
 taken bonds upon themselves not less durable than those 
 of marriage, and these unions themselves, which give no 
 more liberty than marriage itself gives, are accompanied 
 by the unsettled feeling that belongs to all irregular 
 situations. 
 
 It is easy to distinguish in the conventional manner 
 between the lower and the higher kinds of love, but it 
 is not so easy to establish the real distinction. The 
 conventional difference is simply between the passion in 
 marriage and out of it; the real distinction would be 
 between different feelings ; but as these feelings are not 
 ascertainable by one person in the mind or nerves of 
 another, and as in most cases they are probably much 
 blended, the distinction can seldom be accurately made 
 in the cases of real persons, though it is marked trench- 
 antly enough in works of pure imagination. 
 
 The passion exists in an infinite variety, and it is so 
 strongly influenced by elements of character which have 
 apparently nothing to do with it, that its effects on con- 
 duct are to a great extent controlled by them. For 
 example, suppose the case of a man with strong pas- 
 sions combined with a selfish nature, and that of another 
 with passions equally strong, but a rooted aversion to 
 all personal satisfactions that might end in misery for 
 others. The first would ruin a girl with little hesita- 
 
 D
 
 34 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 tion, the second would rather suffer the entire privation 
 of her society by quitting the neighbourhood where she 
 lived. 
 
 The interference of qualities that lie outside of passion 
 is shown very curiously and remarkably in intellectual 
 persons in this way. They may have a strong temporary 
 passion for somebody without intellect or culture, but 
 they are not likely to be held permanently by such a 
 person, and even when under the influence of the 
 temporary desire they may be clearly aware of the 
 danger there would be in converting it into a permanent 
 relation, and so they may take counsel with themselves 
 and subdue the passion or fly from the temptation, 
 knowing that it would be sweet to yield, but that a 
 transient delight would be paid for by years of weariness 
 in the future. 
 
 Those men of superior abilities who have bound 
 themselves for life to some woman who could not pos- 
 sibly understand them, have generally either broken 
 their bonds afterwards, or else avoided as much as 
 possible the tiresomeness of a ttte-ci-t'ete, and found in 
 general society the means of occasionally enduring the 
 dulness of their home. For short and transient rela- 
 tions the principal charm in a woman is either beauty 
 or a certain sweetness, but for any permanent relation 
 the first necessity of all is that she be companionable. 
 
 Passionate love is the principal subject of poets and 
 novelists, who usually avoid its greatest difficulties by 
 well-known means of escape. Either the passion finishes 
 tragically by the death of one of the parties or else it 
 comes to a natural culmination in their union, whether 
 according to social order or through a breach of it. In
 
 in.] OF PASSIONATE LOVE. 35 
 
 real life the story is not always rounded off so conveni- 
 ently. It may happen, it probably often does happen, 
 that a passion establishes itself where it has no possible 
 chance of satisfaction, and where, instead of being cut 
 short by death, it persists through a considerable part of 
 life and embitters it. These cases are the more un- 
 fortunate that hopeless desire gives an imaginary glory 
 to its own object, and that, from the circumstances of 
 the case, this halo is not dissipated 
 
 It is common amongst hard and narrow people, who 
 judge the feelings of others by their own want of them, 
 to treat all the painful side of passion with contemptuous 
 levity. They say that people never die for love, and 
 that such fancies may easily be chased away by the 
 exercise of a little resolution. The profounder students 
 of human nature take the subject more seriously. Each 
 of the great poets (including, of course, the author of 
 The Bride of Lammermoor^ in which the poetical ele- 
 ments are so abundant) has treated the aching pain of 
 love, and the tragedy to which it may lead, as in the 
 deaths of Haidee, of Lucy Ashton, of Juliet, of Margaret. 
 In real life the powers of evil do not perceive any neces- 
 sity for an artistic conclusion of their work. A wrinkled 
 old maid may still preserve in the depths of her own 
 heart, quite unsuspected by the young and lively people 
 about her, the unextinguished embers of a passion that 
 first made her wretched fifty years before, and in the 
 long solitary hours of a dull old age she may live over 
 and over again, in memory, the brief delirium of that 
 wild and foolish hope which was followed by years of 
 self-repression. 
 
 Of all the painful situations occasioned by passionate
 
 36 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 love, I know of none more lamentable than that of an 
 innocent and honourable woman who has been married 
 to an unsuitable husband, and who afterwards makes the 
 discovery that she involuntarily loves another. In well- 
 regulated moral societies such passions are repressed, 
 but they cannot be repressed without suffering, which has 
 to be endured in silence. The victim is punished for 
 no fault when none is committed, but she may suffer 
 from the forces of nature like one who hungers and 
 thirsts and sees a fair banquet provided, yet is forbidden 
 to eat or drink. It is difficult to suppress the heart's 
 regret. " Ah, if we had known each other earlier, in 
 the days when I was free, and it was not wrong to love !" 
 Then there is the haunting fear that the woful secret 
 may one day reveal itself to others. Might it not be 
 suddenly and unexpectedly betrayed by a momentary 
 absence of self-control ? This has sometimes happened, 
 and then there is no safety but in separation, immediate 
 and decided. Suppose a case like the following, which 
 is said to have really occurred. A perfectly honourable 
 man goes to visit an intimate friend, walks quietly in the 
 garden one afternoon with his friend's wife, and suddenly 
 discovers that he is the object of a passion, which, until 
 that moment, she has steadily controlled. One outburst 
 of shameful tears, one pitiful confession of a life's un- 
 happiness, and they part for ever ! This is what happens 
 when the friend respects his friend and the wife her hus- 
 band. What happens when both are capable of treachery 
 is known to the readers of English newspaper reports 
 and French fictions. 
 
 It seems as if, with regard to this passion, civilised 
 man were placed in a false position between nature, on
 
 in.] OF PASSIONATE LOVE. 37 
 
 the one hand, and civilisation on the other. Nature 
 makes us capable of feeling it in very great strength and 
 intensity at an age when marriage is not to be thought 
 of, and when there is not much self-control. The tend- 
 ency of high civilisation is to retard the time of marriage 
 for men ; but there is not any corresponding postpone- 
 ment in the awakening of the passions. The least 
 civilised classes marry early, the more civilised later and 
 later, and not often from passionate love, but from a 
 cool and prudent calculation about general chances of 
 happiness ; a calculation embracing very various elements, 
 and in itself as remote from passion as the Proverbs of 
 Solomon from the Song of Songs. It consequently 
 happens that the great majority of young gentlemen dis- 
 cover early in life that passionate love is a danger to be 
 avoided; and so indeed it is, but it seems a peculiar 
 misfortune for civilised man that so natural an excite- 
 ment, which is capable of giving such a glow to all his 
 faculties as nothing else can give, an excitement which 
 exalts the imagination to poetry and increases courage 
 till it becomes heroic devotion, whilst it gives a glamour 
 of romance to the poorest and most prosaic existence 
 it seems, I say, a misfortune that a passion with such 
 unequalled powers as these should have to be eliminated 
 from wise and prudent life. The explanation of its early 
 and inconvenient appearance may be that before the 
 human race had attained a position of any tranquillity or 
 comfort, the average life was very short, and it was of 
 the utmost importance that the flame of existence should 
 be passed on to another generation without delay. We 
 inherit the rapid development which saved the race in 
 its perilous past, but we are embarrassed by it, and in-
 
 38 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 stead of elevating us to a more exalted life it often 
 avenges itself for the refusal of natural activity by its 
 own corruption, the corruption of the best into the worst, 
 of the fire from heaven into the filth of immorality. The 
 more this great passion is repressed and expelled the 
 more frequent does immorality become. 
 
 Another very remarkable result of the exclusion of 
 passionate love from ordinary existence is that the idea 
 of it takes possession of the imagination. The most 
 melodious poetry, the most absorbing fiction, are alike 
 celebrations of its mysteries. Even the wordless voice 
 of music wails or languishes for love, and the audience 
 that seems only to hear flutes and violins is in reality 
 listening to that endless song of love which thrills through 
 the passionate universe. Well may the rebels against 
 Nature revolt against the influence of Art ! It is every- 
 where permeated by passion. The cold marble warms 
 with it, the opaque pigments palpitate with it, the dull 
 actor has the tones of genius when he wins access to its 
 perennial inspiration. Even those forms of art which 
 seem remote from it do yet confess its presence. You 
 see a picture of solitude, and think that passion cannot 
 enter there, but everything suggests it. The tree bends 
 down to the calm water, the gentle breeze caresses every 
 leaf, the white-pated old mountain is visited by the short- 
 lived summer clouds. If in the opening glade the artist 
 has sketched a pair of lovers, you think they naturally 
 complete the scene ; if he has omitted them it is still a 
 place for lovers, or has been, or will be on some sweet 
 eve like this. What have stars and winds and odours 
 to do with love ? The poets know all about it, and so 
 let Shelley tell us
 
 ni.] OF PASSION A TE LO VE. 39 
 
 " I arise from dreams of Thee 
 In the first sweet sleep of night, 
 When the winds are breathing low 
 And the stars are shining bright : 
 I arise from dreams of Thee, 
 And a spirit in my feet 
 Has led me who knows how? 
 To thy chamber window, Sweet ! 
 
 " The wandering airs they faint 
 On the dark, the silent stream 
 The champak odours fail 
 Like sweet thoughts in a dream ; 
 The nightingale's complaint 
 It dies upon her heart, 
 As I must die on thine, 
 O beloved as thou art ! !>
 
 ESSAY IV. 
 
 COMPANIONSHIP IN MARRIAGE. 
 
 IF the reader has ever had for a travelling-companion 
 some person totally unsuited to his nature, and quite 
 unable to enter into the ideas that chiefly interest him, 
 unable even to see the things that he sees, and always 
 disposed to treat negligently or contemptuously the 
 thoughts and preferences that are most his own, he may 
 have some faint conception of what it must be to find 
 oneself tied to an unsuitable companion for the tedious 
 journey of this mortal life ; and if, on the other hand, 
 he has ever enjoyed the pleasure of wandering through 
 a country that interested him, along with a friend who 
 could understand his interest and share it, and whose 
 society enhanced the charm of every prospect and ban- 
 ished dulness from the dreariest inns, he may in some 
 poor and imperfect degree realise the happiness of those 
 who have chosen the life-companion wisely. 
 
 Whgn^fter-arL experiment of months or years, the 
 truth becomes plainly evident that a great mistake has 
 been committed, that there is really no companionship, 
 that there never will be, never can be, any mental com- 
 munion between the two, but that life in common is to 
 be like a stiff morning call, when the giver and the 
 receiver of the visit are beating their brains to find some-
 
 ESSAY iv.] COMPANIONSHIP IN MARRIAGE. 41 
 
 thing to say, and dread the gaps of silence, then in the 
 blank and dreary outlook comes the idea of separation, and 
 sometimes, in the loneliness that follows, a wild rebellion 
 against social order, and a reckless attempt to find in some 
 more suitable union a compensation for the first sad failure. 
 The world looks with more indulgence on these 
 attempts when it sees reason to believe that the desire 
 was for intellectual companionship than when inconstant 
 passions are presumed to have been the motives, and it 
 has so happened that a few persons of great eminence 
 have set an example in this respect which has had the 
 unfortunate effect of weakening in a perceptible degree 
 the ancient social order. It is not possible, of course, 
 that there can be many cases like that of George Eliot 
 and Lewes, for the simple reason that persons of their 
 eminence are so rare ; but if there were only a few more 
 cases of that kind, it is evident that the laws of society 
 would either be confessedly powerless or else it would 
 be necessary to modify them and bring them into har- 
 mony with new conditions. The importance of the case 
 alluded to lies in the fact that the lady, though she was 
 excluded (or willingly excluded herself) from general 
 society, was still respected and visited, not only by men, 
 but by ladies of blameless life. Nor was she generally 
 regarded as an immoral person, even by the outer world. 
 The feeling about her was one of regret that the faithful 
 companionship she gave to Lewes could not be legally 
 called a marriage, as it was apparently a model of what 
 the legal relation ought to be. The object of his exist- 
 ence was to give her every kind of help, and to spare 
 her every shadow of annoyance. He read to her, wrote 
 letters for her, advised her on everything, and, whilst
 
 42 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 full of admiration for her talents, was able to do some- 
 thing for their most effectual employment. She, on her 
 part, rewarded him with that which he prized above 
 riches, the frank and affectionate companionship of an 
 intellect that it is needless to describe, and of a heart 
 full of the most lively sympathy and ready for the most 
 romantic sacrifices. 
 
 In the preceding generation we have the well-known 
 instances of Shelley, Byron, and Goethe, all of whom 
 sought companionship outside of social rule, and enjoyed 
 a sort of happiness probably not unembittered by the 
 false position in which it placed them. The sad story 
 of Shelley's first marriage that with Harriett Westbrook 
 is one of the best instances of a deplorable but most 
 natural mistake. She is said to have been a charming 
 person in many ways. "Harriett," says Mr. Rossetti, 
 " was not only delightful to look at, but altogether most 
 agreeable. She dressed with exquisite neatness and 
 propriety; her voice was pleasant, and her speech 
 cordial ; her spirits were cheerful, and her manners 
 good. She was well educated ; a constant and agreeable 
 reader; adequately accomplished in music." But in 
 spite of these qualities and talents, and even of Harriett's 
 willingness to learn, Shelley did not find her to be com- 
 panionable for him, and he unfortunately did discover 
 that another young lady, Mary Godwin, was companion- 
 able in the supreme degree. That this latter idea was 
 not illusory is proved by his happy life afterwards with 
 Mary, so far as a life could be happy that was poisoned 
 by a tragic recollection. 1 Before that miserable ending, 
 
 1 The exact degree of blame due to Shelley is very difficult to 
 determine. He had nothing to do with the suicide, though the
 
 iv.] COMPANIONSHIP IN MARRIAGE. 43 
 
 before the waters of the Serpentine had closed over the 
 wretched existence of Harriett, Shelley said : " Every 
 one who knows me must know that the partner of tpy 
 life should be one who can feel poetry and understand 
 philosophy. Harriett is a noble animal, but she can 
 do neither." Here we have a plain statement of that 
 great need for companionship which was a part of 
 Shelley's nature. It is often connected with its apparent 
 opposite, the love of solitude. Shelley was a lover of 
 solitude, which means that he liked full and adequate 
 human intercourse so much that the insufficient imitation 
 of it was intolerable to him. Even that sweetest solitude, 
 of all, when he wrote the Revolt of Islam in summer shades, 
 to the sound of rippling waters, was willingly exchanged 
 for"the society of the one dearest and best companion. 
 
 " So now my summer-task is ended, Mary, 
 
 And I return to thee, mine own heart's home ; 
 As to his Queen some victor Knight of Faery, 
 Earning bright spoils for her enchanted dome. 
 Nor thou disdain that, ere my fame become 
 A star among the stars of mortal night 
 
 (If it indeed may cleave its native gloom), 
 Its doubtful promise thus I would unite 
 With thy beloved name, thou child of love and light. 
 
 " The toil which stole from thee so many an hour 
 
 Is ended and the fruit is at thy feet. 
 No longer where the woods to frame a bower 
 With interlaced branches mix and meet, 
 Or where, with sound like many voices sweet, 
 
 separation was the first in a train of circumstances that led to it. 
 It seems clear that Harriett did not desire the separation, and clear 
 also that she did nothing to assert her rights. Shelley ought not 
 to have left her, but he had not the patience to accept as permanent 
 the consequences of a mistaken marriage.
 
 44 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 Waterfalls leap among wild islands green 
 
 Which framed for my lone boat a lone retreat 
 Of moss-grown trees and weeds, shall I be seen : 
 But beside thee, where still my heart has ever been." 
 
 It is not surprising that the companionship of conjugal 
 life should be like other friendships in this, that a first 
 experiment may be a failure, and a later experiment a 
 success. We are all so fallible that in matters of which 
 we have no experience we generally commit great 
 blunders. Marriage unites all the conditions that make 
 a blunder probable. Two young people, with very little 
 conception of what an insurmountable barrier a difference 
 of idiosyncrasy may be, are pleased with each other's 
 youth, health, natural gaiety, and good looks, and fancy 
 that it would be delightful to live together. They marry, 
 and in many cases discover that somehow, in spite of the 
 most meritorious efforts, they are not companions. 
 There is no fault on either side ; they try their best ; 
 but the invisible demon, Incompatibility, is too strong 
 for them. 
 
 From all that we know of the characters of Lord and 
 Lady Byron, it seems evident that they never were likely 
 to enjoy life together. He committed the mistake of 
 marrying a lady on the strength of her excellent reputa- 
 tion. " She has talents and excellent qualities," he said 
 before marriage ; as if all the arts and sciences, and all 
 the virtues put together could avail without the one 
 quality that is never admired, never understood, by others 
 that of simple suitableness. She was "a kind of 
 pattern in the north," and he " heard of nothing but her 
 merits and her wonders." He did not see that all these 
 excellencies were dangers; that the consciousness of
 
 iv.] COMPANIONSHIP IN MARRIAGE. 45 
 
 them, and the reputation for them, would set the lady 
 up on a judgment-seat of her own, from which she would 
 be continually observing the errors, serious or trivial, of 
 that faulty specimen of the male sex that it was her lofty 
 mission to correct or to condemn. All this he found 
 out in due time, and expressed in the bitter lines 
 
 Oh ! she was perfect, past all parallel 
 Of any modern female saint's comparison, 
 
 Perfect she was. 
 
 The story of his subsequent life is too well known to 
 need repetition here. All that concerns our present 
 subject is that ultimately, in the Countess Guiccioli, he 
 found the woman who had for him that one quality, 
 suitableness, which outweighs all the perfections. She 
 did not read English ; but, though ignorant alike of the 
 splendour and the tenderness of his verse, she knew the 
 nature of the man, and he enjoyed in her society, pro- 
 bably for the first time in his life, the most exquisite 
 pleasure the masculine mind can ever know that of 
 being looked upon by a feminine intelligence with clear 
 sight and devoted affection at the same time. The 
 relation that existed between Byron and the Countess 
 Guiccioli is one outside of our morality ; a revenge of 
 Nature against a marriage system that could take a girl 
 not yet sixteen and make her the third wife of a man 
 more than old enough to be her grandfather. In Italy 
 this revenge of Nature against a bad social system is 
 accepted, within limits, and is an all but inevitable con- 
 sequence of marriages like that of Count Guiccioli, which, 
 however they may be approved by custom and conse- 
 crated by religious ceremonies, remain, nevertheless,
 
 46 . HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 amongst the worst (because the most unnatural) immor- 
 alities. All that need be said in his young wife's defence 
 is, that she followed the only rule habitually acted upon 
 by mankind the custom of her country and her class ; 
 and that she acted from beginning to end with the most 
 absolute personal abnegation. On Byron her influence 
 was wholly beneficial. She raised him from a mode 
 of life that was deplored by all his true friends to the 
 nearest imitation of a happy marriage that was accessible 
 to him; but the irregularity of their position brought 
 upon them the usual Nemesis ; and after a broken inter- 
 course, during which he never could feel her to be really 
 his own, he went to Missolonghi and wrote, under the 
 shadow of Death 
 
 " The hope, the fear, the jealous care, 
 
 The exalted portion of the pain 
 And power of love, I cannot share, 
 But wear the chain." 
 
 The difference between Byron and Goethe in regard 
 to feminine companionship lies chiefly in this, that whilst 
 Byron does not seem to have been very susceptible of 
 romantic love (though he was often entangled in liaisons 
 more or less degrading), Goethe was constantly in love, 
 and imaginative in his passions, as might be expected 
 from a poet He appears to have encouraged himself 
 in amorous fancies till they became almost or quite 
 realities, as if to give himself that experience of various 
 feeling out of which he afterwards created poems. He 
 was himself clearly conscious that his poetry was a trans- 
 formation of real experiences into artistic forms. The 
 knowledge that he came by his poetry in this way would 
 naturally lead him to encourage rather than stifle the
 
 iv.] COMPANIONSHIP IN MARRIAGE. 47 
 
 sentiments which gave him his best materials. It is 
 quite within the comprehensive powers of a complex 
 nature that a poet might lead a dual life being at the 
 same time a man, ardent, very susceptible of all passionate 
 emotions, and a poet, observing this passionate life and 
 accumulating its results. In all this there is very little 
 of what occupies us just now the search for a satis- 
 factory companionship. The woman with whom he 
 most enjoyed that was the Baroness von Stein ; but 
 even this friendship was not ultimately satisfying, and 
 had not a permanent character. It lasted ten or eleven 
 years, till his return from the Italian journey, when " she 
 thought him cold, and her resource was reproaches. 
 The resource was more feminine than felicitous. Instead 
 of sympathising with him in his sorrow at leaving Italy, 
 she felt the regret as an offence ; and perhaps it was ; 
 but a truer, nobler nature would surely have known how 
 to merge its own pain in sympathy with the pain of one 
 beloved. He regretted Italy ; she was not a compensa- 
 tion to him ; she saw this, and her self-love suffered." 1 
 And so it ended. " He offered friendship in vain ; he 
 had wounded the self-love of a vain woman." Goethe's 
 longest connection was with Christiane Vulpius, a woman 
 quite unequal to him in station and culture, and in that 
 respect immeasurably inferior to the Baroness von Stein, 
 but superior to her in the power of affection, and able to 
 charm and retain the poet by her lively pleasant dis- 
 position and her perfect constancy. Gradually she rose 
 in his esteem, and every year increased her influence 
 over him. From the precarious position of a mistress 
 out of his house she first attained that of a wife in all 
 1 Lewes's Life of Goethe.
 
 48 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 but the legal title, as he received her under his roof in 
 defiance of all the good society of Weimar ; and lastly, 
 she became his lawful wife, to the still greater scandal 
 of the polite world. It may even be said that her pro- 
 motion did not end here, for the final test of love is 
 death, and when Christiane died she left behind her the 
 deep and lasting sorrow that is happiness still to those 
 who feel it, though happiness in its saddest form. 
 
 The misfortune of Goethe appears to have been that 
 he dreaded and avoided marriage in early life, perhaps 
 because he was instinctively aware of his own tendency 
 to form many attachments of limited duration ; but his 
 treatment of Christiane Vulpius, so much beyond any 
 obligations which, according to the world's code, he had 
 incurred, is sufficient proof that there was a power of 
 constancy in his nature, and if he had married early and 
 suitably it is possible that this constancy might have 
 stayed and steadied him from the beginning. It is easy 
 to imagine that a marriage with a cultivated woman of 
 his own class would have given him in course of time, 
 by mutual adaptation, a much more complete companion- 
 ship than either of those semi-associations with the Frau 
 von Stein and Christiane, each of which only included 
 a part of his great nature. Christiane, however, had the 
 better part his heartfelt affection. 
 
 The case of John Stuart Mill and the remarkable 
 woman by whose side he lies buried at Avignon is the 
 most perfect instance of thorough companionship on 
 record, and it is remarkable especially because men of 
 great intellectual power, whose ways of thinking are quite 
 independent of custom, and whose knowledge is so far 
 outside the average as to carry their thoughts continually
 
 iv.] COMPANIONSHIP IN MARRIAGE. 49 
 
 beyond the common horizon, have an extreme difficulty 
 in associating themselves with women who are naturally 
 attached to custom, and great lovers of what is settled, 
 fixed, limited, and clear. The ordinary disposition of 
 women is to respect what is authorised much more than 
 what is original, and they willingly, in the things of the 
 mind, bow before anything that is repeated with circum- 
 stances of authority. An isolated philosopher has no 
 costume or surroundings to entitle him to this kind of 
 respect He wears no vestment, he is not magnified by 
 any architecture, he is not supported by superiors or 
 deferred to by subordinates. He stands simply on his 
 abilities, his learning, and his honesty. There is, how- 
 ever, this one chance in his favour, that a certain natural 
 sympathy may possibly exist between him and some 
 woman on the earth if he could only find her and 
 this woman would make him independent of all the rest. 
 It was Stuart Mill's rare good fortune to find this one 
 woman early in life in the person of Mrs. Taylor, and 
 as his nature was intellectual and affectionate rather than 
 passionate, he was able to rest contented with simple 
 friendship for a period of twenty years. Indeed this friend- 
 ship itself, considered only as such, was of very gradual 
 growth. " To be admitted," he wrote, " into any degree 
 of mental intercourse with a being of these qualities 
 could not but have a most beneficial influence on my 
 development; though the effect was only gradual, and 
 many years elapsed before her mental progress and mine 
 went forward in the complete companionship they at 
 last attained. The benefit I received was far greater 
 than any I could hope to give. . . . What I owe, even 
 intellectually, to her, is in its detail almost infinite." 
 
 E
 
 50 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 Mill speaks of his marriage in 1851 (I use his words) 
 to the lady whose incomparable worth had made her 
 friendship the greatest source to him both of happiness 
 and of improvement during many years in which they 
 never expected to be in any closer relation to one another. 
 " For seven and a half years," he goes on to say, " that 
 blessing was mine ; for seven and a half only ! I can 
 say nothing which could describe, even in- the faintest 
 manner, what that loss was and is. But because I know 
 that she would have wished it, I endeavour to make the 
 best of what life I have left, and to work on for her 
 purposes with such diminished strength as can be derived 
 from thoughts of her and communion with her memory." 
 ..." Since then I have sought for such alleviation as 
 my state admitted of by the mode of life which most 
 enabled me to feel her still near me. I bought a cottage 
 as close as possible to the place where she is buried, and 
 there her daughter (my fellow-sufferer and now my chief 
 comfort) and I live constantly during a great portion of 
 the year. My objects in life are solely those which were 
 hers, my pursuits and occupations those in which she 
 shared or sympathised, and which are indissolubly asso- 
 ciated with her. Her memory is to me a religion, and 
 her approbation the standard by which, summing up as 
 it does all worthiness, I endeavour to regulate my life." 
 
 The examples that I have selected (all purposely 
 from the real life of well-known persons) are not alto- 
 gether encouraging. They show the difficulty that there 
 is in finding the true companion. George Eliot found 
 hers at the cost of a rebellion against social order, to 
 which, with her regulated mind and conservative instincts, 
 she must have been by nature little disposed. Shelley
 
 iv.] COMPANIONSHIP IN MARRIAGE. 51 
 
 succeeded only after a failure, and whilst the failure still 
 had rights over his entire existence. His life was like one 
 of those pictures in which there is a second work over a 
 first, and the painter supposes the first to be entirely con- 
 cealed, which, indeed, it is for a little time, but it reappears 
 afterwards and spoils the whole. Nothing could be more 
 unsatisfactory than the domestic arrangements of Byron. 
 He married a lady from a belief in her learning and virtue 
 only to find that learning and virtue were hard stones in 
 comparison with the daily bread of sympathy. Then after 
 a vain waste of years in error he found true love at last, but 
 on terms which involved too heavy sacrifices from her who 
 gave it, and procured him no comfort, no peace, if indeed 
 his nature was capable of any restfulness in love. Goethe, 
 after a number of attachments that ended in nothing, 
 gave himself to one woman by his intelligence and to 
 another by his affections, not belonging with his whole 
 nature to either, and never in his long life knowing what 
 it is to have equal companionship in one's own house. 
 . Stuart Mill is contented for twenty years to be the 
 esteemed friend of a lady married to another, without 
 hope of any closer relation, and when his death permits 
 them to think of marriage they have only seven years 
 and a half before them, and he is forty-five years old. 
 
 Cases of this kind would be discouraging in the 
 extreme degree, were it not that the difficulty is excep- 
 tional High intellect is in itself a peculiarity, in a 
 certain sense it is really an eccentricity, even when so 
 thoroughly sane and rational as in the cases of George 
 Eliot, Goethe, and Mill It is an eccentricity in this 
 sense, that its mental centre does not coincide with that 
 of ordinary people. The mental centre of ordinary
 
 52 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 people is simply the public opinion, the common sense, 
 of the class and locality in which they live, so that to 
 them the common sense of people in another class, 
 another locality, appears irrational or absurd. The 
 mental centre of a superior person is not that of class 
 and locality. Shelley did not belong to the English 
 aristocracy, though he was born in it ; his mind did not 
 centre itself in aristocratic ideas. George Eliot did not 
 belong to the middle class of the English Midlands, nor 
 Stuart Mill to the London middle classes. So far as 
 Byron belonged to the aristocracy it was a mark of 
 inferiority in him, owing to a touch of vulgarity in his 
 nature, the same vulgarity which made him believe that 
 he could not be a proper sort of lord without a prodigal 
 waste of money. Yet even Byron was not centred in 
 local ideas ; that which was best in him, his enthusiasm 
 for Greece, was not an essential part of Nottinghamshire 
 common sense. Goethe lived much more in one locality, 
 and even in a small place, but if anything is remarkable 
 in him it is his complete independence of Weimar ideas. 
 It was the duke, his friend and master, not the public 
 opinion of Weimar, that allowed Goethe to be himself. 
 He refused even to be classed intellectually, and did not 
 recognise the vulgar opinion that a poet cannot be 
 scientific. In all these cases the mental centre was not 
 in any local common sense. It was a result of personal 
 studies and observations acting upon an individual 
 idiosyncrasy. 
 
 We may now perceive how infinitely easier it is for 
 ordinary people to meet and be companionable than for 
 these rare and superior minds. Ordinary people, if bred 
 in the same neighbourhood and class, are sure to have
 
 iv.] COMPANIONSHIP IN MARRIAGE. 53 
 
 a great fund of ideas in common, all those ideas that 
 constitute the local common sense. If you listen atten- 
 tively to their conversations you will find that they hardly 
 ever go outside of that. They mention incidents and 
 actions, and test them one after another by a tacit refer- 
 ence to the public opinion of the place. Therefore they 
 have a good chance of agreeing, of considering each 
 other reasonable, and this is why it is a generally re- 
 ceived opinion that marriages between people of the 
 same locality and the same class offer the greatest proba- 
 bility of happiness. So they do, in ordinary cases, but 
 if there is the least touch of any original talent or genius 
 in one of the parties, it is sure to result in many ideas 
 that will be outside of any local common sense, and then 
 the other party, living in that sense, will consider those 
 ideas peculiar and perhaps deplorable. Here, then, are 
 elements of dissension lying quite ready, like explosive 
 materials, and the merest accident may shatter in a 
 moment the whole fabric of affection. To prevent such an 
 accident an artificial kind of intercourse is adopted which 
 is not real companionship, or anything resembling it. 
 
 The reader may imagine, and has probably observed 
 in real life, a marriage in which the husband is a man of 
 original power, able to think forcibly and profoundly, 
 and the wife a gentle being, quite unable to enter into 
 any thought of that quality. In cases of that kind the 
 husband may be affectionate and even tender, but he is 
 careful to utter nothing beyond the safest commonplaces. 
 In the presence of his wife he keeps his mind quite 
 within the circle of custom. He has, indeed, no other 
 resource. Custom and commonplace are the protection of 
 the intelligent against misapprehension and disapproval.
 
 54 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 Marriages of this unequal kind are an imitation of 
 those equal marriages in which both parties live in the 
 local common sense, but there is this vast difference 
 between them, that in the imitation the more intelligent 
 of the two parties has to stifle half his nature. An 
 intelligent man has to make up his mind in early life 
 whether he has courage enough for such a sacrifice or 
 not. Let him try the experiment of associating for a 
 short time with people who cannot understand him, and 
 if he likes the feeling of repression that results from it, 
 if he is able to stop short always at the right moment, if 
 he can put his knowledge on the shelf, as one puts a 
 book in a library, then perhaps he may safely undertake 
 the long labour of companionship with an unsuitable 
 wife. 
 
 This is sometimes done in pure hopelessness of ever 
 finding a true mate. A man has no belief in any real 
 companionship, and therefore simply conforms to custom 
 in his marriage, as Montaigne did, allying himself with 
 some young lady who is considered in the neighbourhood 
 to be a suitable match for him. This is the manage de 
 convenance. Its purposes are intelligible and attainable. 
 It may add considerably to the dignity and convenience 
 of life, and to that particular kind of happiness which 
 results from satisfaction with our own worldly prudence. 
 There is also the probability that by perfect courtesy, by 
 a scrupulous observance of the rules of intercourse 
 between highly civilised persons who are not extremely 
 intimate, the parties who contract a marriage of this kind 
 may give each other the mild satisfactions that are the 
 reward of the well-bred There is a certain pleasure in 
 watching every movement of an accomplished lady, and
 
 iv.] COMPANIONSHIP IN MARRIAGE. 55 
 
 if she is your wife there may also be a certain pride. 
 She receives your guests well, she holds her place with 
 perfect self-possession at your table and in her drawing- 
 room, she never commits a social solecism, and you feel 
 that you can trust her absolutely. Her private income 
 is a help in the maintenance of your establishment, and 
 so increases your credit in the world. She gives you in 
 this way a series of satisfactions that may even, in course 
 of time, produce rather affectionate feelings. If she died 
 you would certainly regret her loss, and think that life 
 was, on the whole, decidedly less agreeable without her. 
 
 But alas for the dreams of youth, if this is all that is 
 to be gained by marriage ! Where is the sweet friend 
 and companion who was to have accompanied us through 
 prosperous or adverse years, who was to have charmed 
 and consoled us, who was to have given us the infinite 
 happiness of being understood and loved at the same 
 time ? Were all those dreams delusions ? Is the best 
 companionship a mere fiction of the fancy, not existing 
 anywhere upon the earth ? 
 
 I believe in the promises of Nature ; I believe that in 
 every want there is the promise of a possible satisfaction. 
 If we are hungry there is food somewhere, if we are 
 thirsty there is drink. But in the things of the world 
 there is often an indication of order rather than a realisa- 
 tion of it; so that in the confusion of accidents the 
 hungry man may be starving in a beleaguered city, and 
 the thirsty man parched in the Sahara. All that the 
 wants indicate is, that their satisfaction is possible in 
 nature. Let us believe that for every one the true mate 
 exists somewhere in the world She is worth seeking 
 for at any cost of trouble or expense, worth travelling
 
 56 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 round the globe to find, worth the endurance of labour 
 and pain and privation. Men suffer all this for objects 
 of far inferior importance ; they risk life for the chance of 
 a ribbon, and sacrifice leisure and peace for the smallest 
 increase of social position. What are these vanities in 
 comparison with the priceless benefit, the continual 
 blessing, of having with you always the one person 
 whose presence can deliver you from all the evils of 
 solitude, without imposing the constraints and hypocrisies 
 of society ? With her you are free to be as much your- 
 self as when alone; you say what you think and 
 she understands you. Your silence does not offend her ; 
 she only thinks that there will be time enough to talk 
 together afterwards ! You know that you can trust her 
 love, which is as unfailing as a law of nature. The 
 differences of idiosyncrasy that exist between you only 
 add interest to your intercourse by preventing her from 
 becoming a mere echo of yourself. She has her own 
 ways, her own thoughts that are not yours, and yet are 
 all open to you, so that you no longer dwell in one intel- 
 lect only, but have constant access to a second intellect, 
 probably more refined and elegant, richer in what is 
 delicate and beautiful. There you make unexpected 
 discoveries ; you find that the first instinctive preference 
 is more than justified by merits that you had not divined. 
 You had hoped and trusted vaguely that there were 
 certain qualities ; but as a painter who looks long at a 
 natural scene is constantly discovering new beauties 
 whilst he is painting it, so the long and loving observa- 
 tion of a beautiful human mind reveals a thousand unex- 
 pected excellences. Then come the trials of life, the 
 sudden calamities, the long and wearing anxieties. Each
 
 iv.] COMPANIONSHIP IN MARRIAGE. 57 
 
 of these will only reveal more clearly the wonderful 
 endurance, fidelity, and fortitude that there is in every 
 noble feminine nature, and so build up on the foundation 
 of your early love an unshakable edifice of esteem and 
 respect and love commingled, for which, in our modern 
 tongue, we have no single term, but which our forefathers 
 called "worship."
 
 ESSAY V. 
 
 FAMIL Y TIES. 
 
 ONE of the most remarkable differences between the 
 English and some of the Continental nations is the 
 comparative looseness of family ties in England. The 
 apparent difference is certainly very great, the real differ- 
 ence is possibly not so great. It may be that a good 
 deal of that warm family affection which we are constantly 
 hearing of in France is only make-believe, but the keep- 
 ing up of a make-believe is often favourable to the reality. 
 In England a great deal of religion is mere outward 
 form, but to be surrounded by the constant observance 
 of outward form is a great practical convenience to the 
 genuine religious sentiment where it exists. 
 
 In boyhood we suppose that all gentlemen of mature 
 age who happen to be brothers must naturally have 
 fraternal feelings; in mature life we know the truth, 
 having discovered that there are many brothers between 
 whom no sentiment of fraternity exists. A foreigner 
 who knows England well, and has observed it more 
 carefully than we ourselves do, remarked to me that the 
 fraternal relationship is not generally a cause of attach- 
 ment in England, though there may be cases of excep- 
 tional affection. It certainly often happens that brothers 
 live contentedly apart, and do not seem to feel the need
 
 ESSAY v.] FAMILY TIES. 59 
 
 of intercourse, or that such intercourse as they have has 
 no appearance of cordiality. A very common cause of 
 estrangement is a natural difference of class. One man 
 is so constituted as to feel more at ease in a higher class, 
 and he rises ; his brother feels more at ease in a lower 
 class, adopts its manners, and sinks. After a few years 
 have passed the two will have acquired such different 
 habits, both of thinking and living, that they will be dis- 
 qualified for equal intercourse. If one brother is a 
 gentleman in tastes and manners, and the other not a 
 gentleman, the vulgarity of the coarser nature will be all 
 the more offensive to the refined one that there is the 
 troublesome consciousness of a very near relationship 
 and of a sort of indefinite responsibility. 
 
 The frequency of coolness between brothers surprises 
 us less when we observe how widely they may differ from 
 each other in mental and physical constitution. One 
 may be a sportsman, traveller, man of the world ; another 
 a religious recluse. One may have a sensitive, imaginative 
 nature, and be keenly alive to the influences of literature, 
 painting, and music ; his brother may be a hard, practical 
 man of business, with a conviction that an interest in 
 literary and artistic pursuits is only a sign of weakness. 
 
 The extreme uncertainty that always exists about 
 what really constitutes suitableness is seen as much 
 between brothers as between other men, for we some- 
 times see a beautiful fraternal affection between brothers 
 who seem to have nothing whatever in common, and 
 sometimes an equal affection appears to be founded 
 upon likeness. 
 
 Jealousy in its various forms is especially likely to 
 arise between brothers, and between sisters also, for the
 
 60 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 same reason, which is, that comparisons are constantly 
 suggested and even made with injudicious openness by 
 parents and teachers and by talkative friends. The 
 development of the faculties in youth is always extremely 
 interesting, and is a constant subject of observation and 
 speculation. If it is interesting to onlookers, it is still 
 more likely to be so to the young persons most concerned. 
 They feel as young race-horses might be expected to feel 
 towards each other if they could understand the conver- 
 sations of trainers, stud-owners, and grooms. 
 
 If a full account of family life could be generally 
 accessible, if we could read autobiographies written by 
 the several members of the same family, giving a sincere 
 and independent account of their own youth, it would 
 probably be found in most cases that jealousies were 
 easily discoverable. They need not be very intense to 
 create a slight fissure of separation that may be slowly 
 widened afterwards. 
 
 If you listen attentively to the conversation of brothers 
 about brothers, of sisters about sisters, you will prob- 
 ably detect such little jealousies without difficulty. " My 
 sister," said a lady in my hearing, "was very much 
 admired when she was young, but she aged prematurely." 
 Behind this it was easy to read the comparison with 
 self, with a constitution less attractive to others, but 
 more robust and durable, and there was a faint rever- 
 beration of girlish jealousy about attentions paid forty 
 years before. 
 
 The jealousies of youth are too natural to deserve 
 any serious blame, but they may be a beginning of future 
 coolness. A boy will seem to praise the talents of his 
 brother, with the purpose of implying that the facilities
 
 v.] FAMILY TIES. 61 
 
 given by such talents make industry almost superfluous, 
 whilst his own more strenuous efforts are not appreciated 
 as they deserve. Instead of soothing and calming these 
 natural jealousies, some parents irritate and inflame 
 them. They make wounding remarks that produce evil 
 in after years. I have seen a sensitive boy wince under 
 cutting sarcasms that he will remember till his hair is 
 gray. 
 
 If there are fraternal jealousies in boyhood, when the 
 material comforts and the outward show of existence are 
 the same for brothers, much more are these jealousies 
 likely to be accentuated in after life, when differences of 
 worldly success, or of inherited fortune, establish dis- 
 tinctions so obvious as to be visible to all. The opera- 
 tion of the aristocratic custom by which eldest sons are 
 made very much richer than their brethren can scarcely 
 be in favour of fraternal intimacy. No general rule can 
 be established, because characters differ so widely. An 
 eldest brother may be so amiable, so truly fraternal, that 
 the cadets, instead of feeling envy of his wealth, may take 
 a positive pride in it ; still, the natural effect of creating 
 such a vast inequality is to separate the favoured heir from 
 the less favoured younger sons. I leave the reader to 
 think over instances that may be known to him. Amongst 
 those known to me I find several cases of complete or 
 partial suspension of intercourse, and others of manifest 
 indifference and coolness. One incident occurs to my 
 memory after a lapse of thirty years. I was present at 
 the departure of a young friend for India, when his 
 eldest brother was too indifferent to get up a little 
 earlier to see him off, and said, " Oh, you're going, are 
 you? Well, good-bye, John!" through his bedroom
 
 62 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 door. The lad carried a wound in his heart to the 
 distant East 
 
 There is nothing in the mere fact of fraternity to 
 establish friendship. The line of In Memoriam 
 
 " More than my brothers are to me," 
 
 is simply true of every real friend, unless friendship adds 
 itself to brotherhood, in which case the intimacy arising 
 from a thousand details of early life in common, from 
 the thorough knowledge of the same persons and places, 
 and from the memories of parental affection, must give 
 a rare completeness to friendship itself, and make it in 
 these respects even superior to marriage, which has the 
 great defect that the associations of early life are not the 
 same. I remember a case of wonderfully strong affec- 
 tion between two brothers, who were daily companions 
 till death separated them ; but they were younger sons, 
 and their incomes were exactly alike ; their tastes, too, 
 and all their habits were the same. The only other case 
 that occurs to me as comparable to this was also of 
 two younger sons, one of whom had an extraordinary 
 talent for business. They were partners in trade, and 
 no dissension ever arose between them, because the 
 superiority of the specially able man was affectionately 
 recognised and deferred to by the other. If, however, 
 they had not been partners, it is possible that the brilliant 
 success of one brother might have created a contrast 
 and made intercourse more constrained. 
 
 The case of John Bright and his brother may be 
 mentioned, as he has made it public in one of his most 
 charming and interesting speeches. His political work 
 has prevented him from labouring in his business, but
 
 v.] FAMILY TIES. 63 
 
 his brother and partner has affectionately considered him 
 an active member of the firm, so that Mr. Bright has 
 enjoyed an income sufficient for his political independ- 
 ence. In this instance the comparatively obscure brother 
 has shown real nobility of nature. Free from the 
 jealousy and envy which would have vexed a small mind 
 in such a position, he has taken pleasure in the fame of 
 the statesman. It is easy to imagine the view that a 
 mean mind would have taken of a similar situation. 
 Let us add that the statesman himself has shown true 
 fraternal generosity of another kind, and perhaps of a 
 more difficult kind, for it is often easier to confer an 
 obligation than to accept it heartily. 
 
 It has sometimes been a subject of astonishment to me 
 that between very near relations a sensitive feeling about 
 pecuniary matters should be so lively as it is. I remem- 
 ber an instance in the last generation of a rich man in 
 Cheshire who made a present of ten thousand pounds to 
 a lady nearly related to him. He was very wealthy, she 
 was not ; the sum would never be missed by him, whilst 
 to her it made a great difference. What could be more 
 reasonable than such a correction of the inequalities of 
 fortune ? Many people would have refused the present 
 out of pride, but it was much kinder to accept it in the 
 same good spirit that dictated the offer. On the other 
 hand, there are poor gentlefolks whose only fault is a 
 sense of independence so farouche that nobody can get 
 them to accept anything of importance, and any good 
 that is done to them has to be plotted with consum- 
 mate art. 
 
 A wonderful light is thrown upon family relations 
 when we become acquainted with the real state of those
 
 64 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 family pecuniary transactions that are not revealed to the 
 public. The strangest discovery is the widely different 
 ways in which pecuniary obligations are estimated by 
 different persons, especially by different women. Men, 
 I believe, take them rather more equally, but as women 
 go by sentiment they have a tendency to extremes, either 
 exaggerating the importance of an obligation when they 
 like to feel very much obliged or else adopting the con- 
 venient theory that the generous person is fulfilling a 
 simple duty, and that there is no obligation whatever. 
 One woman will go into ecstacies of gratitude because a 
 brother makes her a present of a few pounds, and another 
 will never thank a benefactor who allows her, year by 
 year, an annuity far larger than is justified by his pre- 
 carious professional income. In one real case a lady 
 lived for many years on her brother's generosity, and 
 was openly hostile to him all the time. After her death 
 it was found that she had insulted him in her will. In 
 another case a sister dependent on her brother's bounty 
 never thanked him or even acknowledged the receipt of a 
 sum of money, but if the money was not sent to the day 
 she would at once write a sharp letter full of bitter 
 reproaches for his neglect. The marvel is the incredible 
 patience with which toiling men will go on sending the 
 fruits of their industry to relations who do not even make 
 a pretence of affection. 
 
 A frequent cause of hostility between very near rela- 
 tions is the restriction of generosity. So long as you set 
 no limit to your giving it is well, you are doing your 
 duty; but the moment you fix a limit the case is altered : 
 then all past sacrifices go for nothing, your glory has set 
 in gloom, and you will be considered as more niggardly
 
 v.] FAMILY TIES. 65 
 
 than if you had not begun to be generous. Here is a 
 real case, out of many. A man makes bad speculations, 
 but conceals the full extent of his losses, and by the 
 influence of his wife obtains important sums from a near 
 relation of hers, -who half ruins himself to save her. 
 When the full disaster is known the relation stops short, 
 and declines to ruin himself entirely ; she then bitterly 
 reproaches him for his selfishness. A. very short time 
 before writing the present Essay I was .travelling, and 
 met an old friend, a bachelor of limited means, but of 
 a most generous disposition, the kindest and most affec- 
 tionate nature I ever knew in the male sex. I asked for 
 news about his brother. " I never see him now, a cold- 
 ness has sprung up between us." " It must be his fault, 
 then, for I am sure it did not originate with you." "The 
 truth is, he got into money difficulties, so I gave him a 
 thousand pounds. He thought that under the circum- 
 stances I ought to have done more, and broke off all 
 intercourse. I really believe that if I had given him 
 nothing we should have been more friendly at this day." 
 
 The question how far we are bound to allow family 
 ties to regulate our intercourse is not easily treated in 
 general terms, though it seems plainer in particular cases. 
 Here is one for the reader's consideration. 
 
 Owing to natural refinement and to certain circum- 
 stances of which he intelligently availed himself, one 
 member of a family is a cultivated gentleman, whose 
 habitual ways of thinking are of rather an elevated kind, 
 and whose manners and language are invariably faultless. 
 He is blessed with very near relations whose principal 
 characteristic is loud, confident, overwhelming vulgarity. 
 He is always uncomfortable with these relations. He
 
 66 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 knows that the ways of thinking and speaking which are 
 natural to him will seem cold and uncongenial to them, 
 that not one of his thoughts can be exactly understood 
 by them, that his deficiency in what they consider 
 heartiness is a defect he cannot get over. On the other 
 hand, he takes no interest in what they say, because 
 their opinions on all the subjects he cares about are too 
 crude and their information too scanty or erroneous. 
 If he said what he felt impelled to say all his talk would 
 be a perpetual correction of their clumsy blunders. He 
 has therefore no resource but to repress himself and try 
 to act a part the part of a pleased companion ; but this 
 is wearisome, especially if prolonged. The end is that 
 he keeps out of their way, and is set down as a proud 
 conceited person and an unkind relative. In reality he 
 is simply refined, and has a difficulty in accommodat- 
 ing himself to the ways of all vulgar society whatever, 
 whether composed of his own relations or of strangers. 
 Does he deserve to be blamed for this ? Certainly not. 
 He has not the flexibility, the dramatic power, to adapt 
 himself to a lower state of civilisation ; that is his only 
 fault. His relations are persons with whom, if they were 
 not relations, nobody would expect him to associate, 
 but because he and they happen to be descended from 
 a common ancestor he is to maintain an impossible 
 intimacy. He wishes them no harm, he is ready to 
 make sacrifices to help them ; his misfortune is that he 
 does not possess the humour of a Dickens that would 
 have enabled him to find amusement in their vulgarity, 
 and he prefers solitude to that infliction. 
 
 There is a French proverb, " Les cousins ne sont pas 
 parents" The exact truth would appear to be rather
 
 v.] FAMILY TIES. 
 
 that cousins are relations or not just as it pleases them 
 to acknowledge the relationship, and according to the 
 natural possibilities of companionship between the parties. 
 If they are of the same class in society (which does not 
 always happen), and if they have pursuits in common 
 or can understand each other's interests, and if there 
 is that mysterious suitableness which makes people like 
 to be together, then the fact of cousinship is seized upon 
 as a convenient pretext for making intercourse more 
 frequent, more intimate, and more affectionate; but if 
 there is nothing to attract one cousin to another the 
 relationship is scarcely acknowledged. Cousins are or 
 are not relations just as they find it agreeable to them- 
 selves. It need hardly be added that it is a general 
 though not an invariable rule that the relationship is 
 better remembered on the humbler side. The cousinly 
 degree may be felt to be very close under peculiar cir- 
 cumstances. An only child looks to his cousins for the 
 brotherly and sisterly affection that fate has denied him 
 at home, and he is not always disappointed. Even dis- 
 tant cousins may be truly fraternal, just as first cousins 
 may happen to be very distant, the relationship is so 
 variable and elastic in its nature. 
 
 Unmarried people have often a great vague dread of 
 their future wife's relations, even when the lady has not 
 yet been fixed upon ; and married people have some- 
 times found the reality more terrible e_ven than their 
 gloomy anticipation. And yet it may happen that some 
 of these dreaded new relations will be unexpectedly 
 valuable, and supply elements that were grievously 
 wanting. They may bring new life into a dull house ; 
 they may enliven the sluggish talk with wit and inform a-
 
 68 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 tion ; they may take a too thoughtful and studious man 
 out of the weary round of his own ideas ; they may even 
 in course of time win such a place in one's affection that 
 if they are taken away by Death they will leave a great 
 void and an enduring sorrow. I write these lines from 
 a sweet and sad experience. 1 
 
 Intellectual men are, more than others, liable to a 
 feeling of dissatisfaction with their relations, because 
 they want intellectual sympathy and interest, which 
 relations hardly ever give. The reason is extremely 
 simple. Any special intellectual pursuit is understood 
 only by a small select class of its own ; and our relations 
 are given us out of the general body of society without 
 any selection, and they are not very numerous, so that 
 the chances against our finding intellectual sympathy 
 amongst them are calculably very great. As we grow 
 older we get accustomed to this absence of sympathy 
 with our pursuits, and take it as a matter of course ; but 
 in youth it seems strange that what we feel and know 
 to be so interesting should have no interest for those 
 nearest to us. Authors sometimes feel a little hurt that 
 their nearest relations will not read their books, and are 
 but dimly aware that they have written any books at all ; 
 but do they read books of the same class by other 
 writers? As an author you are in the same position 
 that other authors occupy, but with this difference, which 
 is against you, that familiarity has made you a common- 
 place person in your own circle, and that is a bad open- 
 ing for the reception of your higher thoughts. This 
 
 1 Only a poet can write of his private sorrows. In prose one 
 cannot sing 
 
 " A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young."
 
 v.] FAMIL Y TIES. 69 
 
 want of intellectual sympathy does not prevent affection, 
 and we ought to appreciate affection at its full value in 
 spite of it Your brother or your cousin may be strongly 
 attached to you personally, with an old love dating from 
 your boyhood, but he may separate you (the human 
 creature that he knows) from the author of your books, 
 and not feel the slightest curiosity about the books, be- 
 lieving that he knows you perfectly without them, and 
 that they are only a sort of costume in which you per- 
 form before the public. A female relative who has given 
 up her mind to the keeping of some clergyman, may 
 scrupulously avoid your literature in order that it may 
 not contaminate her soul ; and yet she may love you 
 still in a painful way, and be sincerely sorry that you 
 have no other prospect but that of eternal punishment 
 
 I have sometimes heard the question proposed, 
 whether relations or friends were the more valuable 
 as a support and consolation. Fate gives us our rela- 
 tions, whilst we select our friends, and therefore it would 
 seem at first sight that the friends must be better adapted 
 for us ; but it may happen that we have not selected 
 with great wisdom, or that we have not had good oppor- 
 tunities for making a choice really answering to our 
 deepest needs. Still, there must have been mutual 
 affinity of some kind to make a friendship, whilst rela- 
 tions are all like tickets in a lottery. It may therefore 
 be argued that the more relations we have the better, 
 because we are more likely to meet with two or three to 
 love us amongst fifty than amongst five. 
 
 The peculiar peril of blood-relationship is, that those 
 who are closely connected by it often permit themselves 
 an amount of mutual rudeness (especially in the middle
 
 70 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 and lower classes) which they never would think of in- 
 flicting upon a stranger. In some families people really 
 seem to suppose that it does not matter how roughly they 
 treat each other. They utter unmeasured reproaches 
 about trifles not worth a moment's anger ; they magnify 
 small differences that only require to be let alone and 
 forgotten ; or they relieve the monotony of quarrels with 
 an occasional fit of the sulks. Sometimes it is an iras- 
 cible father who is always scolding, sometimes a loud- 
 tongued matron shrieks " in her fierce volubility." Some 
 children take up the note and fire back broadside for 
 broadside, others wait for a cessation in contemptuous 
 silence and calmly disregard the thunder. Family life, 
 indeed ! domestic peace and bliss ! Give me, rather, 
 the bachelor's lonely hearth, with a noiseless lamp and a 
 book ! The manners of the ill-mannered are never so 
 odious, unbearable, exasperating, as they are to their 
 own nearest kindred. How is a lad to enjoy the society 
 of his mother if she is perpetually " nagging " and " natter- 
 ing" at him? How is he to believe that his coarse 
 father has a tender anxiety for his welfare when every- 
 thing that he does is judged with unfatherly harshness ? 
 Those who are condemned to live with people for whom 
 scolding and quarrelling are a necessary of existence must 
 either be rude in self-defence or take refuge in a sullen 
 and stubborn taciturnity. Young people who have to 
 live in these little domestic hells look forward to any 
 change as a desirable emancipation. They are ready 
 to go to sea, to emigrate. I have heard of one who 
 went into domestic service under a feigned name that 
 he might be out of the range of his brutal father's tongue. 
 The misery of uncongenial relations is caused mainly
 
 v.] FAMILY TIES. 71 
 
 by the irksome consciousness that they are obliged to 
 live together. "To think that there is so much space 
 upon the earth, that there are so many houses, so many 
 rooms, and yet that I am so unfortunate as to be com- 
 pelled to live in the same lodging with this uncivilised, 
 ill-conditioned fellow ! To think that there are such 
 vast areas of tranquil silence, and yet that I am com- 
 pelled to hear the voice of that scolding woman !" This 
 is the feeling, and the relief would be temporary separa- 
 tion. In this, as in almost everything that concerns 
 human intercourse, the rich have an immense advantage, 
 as they can take only just so much of each other's society 
 as they find by experience to be agreeable. They can 
 quietly, and without rudeness, avoid each other by living 
 in different houses, and even in the same house they 
 can have different apartments, and be very little together. 
 Imagine the difference between two rich brothers, each 
 with his suite of rooms in a separate tower of the paternal 
 castle, and two very poor ones, inconveniently occupying 
 the same narrow, uncomfortable bed, and unable to re- 
 main in the wretched paternal tenement without being 
 constantly in each other's way. Between these extremes 
 are a thousand degrees of more or less inconvenient 
 nearness. Solitude is bad for us, but we need a margin 
 of free space. If we are to be crowded, let it be as the 
 stars are crowded. They look as if they were huddled 
 together, but every one of them has his own clear space 
 in the illimitable ether.
 
 ESSAY VI. 
 
 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 THERE is a certain unsatisfactoriness in this relation in 
 our time which is felt by fathers, and often avowed by 
 them when they meet, though it does not occupy any 
 conspicuous place in the literature of life and manners. 
 It has been fully treate'd by M. Legouve, the French 
 Academician, in his own lively and elegant way, but he 
 gave it a volume, and I must here confine myself to the 
 few points which can be dealt with in the limits of a 
 short essay. 
 
 We are in an interregnum between two systems. The 
 old system, founded on the stern authority of the father, 
 is felt to be out of harmony with the amenity of general 
 social intercouse in modern times, and also with the 
 increasing gentleness of political governors and the free- 
 dom of the governed. It is therefore, by common con- 
 sent, abandoned. Some new system that may be founded 
 upon a clear intelligence of both the paternal and the 
 filial relations has yet to come into force. Meanwhile 
 we are trying various experiments suggested by the dif- 
 ferent characters and circumstances of fathers and sons, 
 each father trying his own experiments, and we com- 
 municate to each other such results as we arrive at. 
 
 It is obvious that the defect here is the absence of a
 
 ESSAY vi.] FATHERS AND SONS. 73 
 
 settled public opinion to which both parties would feel 
 bound to defer. Under the old system the authority of 
 the father was efficiently maintained, not only by the 
 laws but by that general consensus of opinion which is 
 far more powerful than law. The new system, whatever 
 it may be, will be founded on general opinion again, but 
 our present experimental condition is one of anarchy. 
 
 This is the real cause of whatever may be felt as 
 unsatisfactory in the modern paternal and filial relations. 
 It is not that fathers have become more unjust or sons 
 more rebellious. 
 
 The position of the father was in old times perfectly 
 denned. He was the commander, not only armed by 
 the law, but by religion and custom. Disobedience to 
 his dictates was felt to be out of the question, unless the 
 insurgent was prepared to meet the consequences of 
 open mutiny. The maintenance of the father's authority 
 depended only on himself If he abdicated it through 
 indolence or weakness he incurred moral reprobation 
 not unmingled with contempt, whilst in the present day 
 reprobation would rather follow a new attempt to vindi- 
 cate the antique authority. 
 
 Besides this change in public opinion there is a new 
 condition of paternal feeling. The modern father, in 
 the most civilised nations and classes, has acquired a 
 sentiment that appears to have been absolutely unknown 
 to his predecessors ; he has acquired a dislike for com- 
 mand which increases with the age of the son, so that 
 there is an unfortunate coincidence of increasing strength 
 of will on the son's part, with decreasing disposition to 
 restrain it on the father's part. What a modern father 
 really desires is that a son should go right of his own
 
 74 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 accord, and if not quite of his own accord, then in con- 
 sequence of a little affectionate persuasion. This feeling 
 would make command unsatisfactory to us, even if it 
 were followed by a military promptitude of obedience. 
 We do not wish to be like captains and our sons like 
 privates in a company ; we care only to exercise a certain 
 beneficent influence over them, and we feel that if we 
 gave military orders we should destroy that peculiar 
 influence which is of the most fragile and delicate nature. 
 
 But now see the unexpected consequences of our 
 modern dislike to command ! It might be argued that 
 there is a certain advantage on our side, from the very 
 rarity of the commands we give, which endows them with 
 extraordinary force. Would it not be more accurate to 
 say that as we give orders less and less our sons become 
 unaccustomed to receive orders from us, and if ever the 
 occasion arises when we must give them a downright 
 order it comes upon their feelings with a harshness so 
 excessive that they are likely to think us tyrannical, 
 whereas if we had kept up the old habits of command 
 such orders would have seemed natural and right, and 
 would not have been less scrupulously obeyed? 
 
 The paternal dislike to give orders personally has 
 had a peculiar effect upon education. We are not yet 
 quite imbecile enough to suppose that discipline can be 
 entirely dispensed with, and as there is very little of it 
 in modern houses it has to be sought elsewhere ; so boys 
 are placed more and more completely under the authority 
 of schoolmasters, often living at such a distance from 
 the father of the family that for several months at a time 
 he can exercise no direct influence or authority over his 
 own children. This leads to the establishment of a
 
 vi.] FATHERS AND SONS. 75 
 
 peculiar boyish code of justice. Boys come to think it 
 not unjust that the schoolmaster should exercise authority, 
 when if the father attempted to exercise authority of 
 equal rigour, or anything approaching it, they would 
 look upon him as an odious domestic tyrant, entirely 
 forgetting that any power to enforce obedience which is 
 possessed by the schoolmaster is held by him vicariously 
 as the father's representative and delegate. From this 
 we arrive at the curious and unforeseen conclusion that 
 the modern father only exercises strong authority through 
 another person, who is often a perfect stranger, and 
 whose interest in the boy's present and future well-being 
 is as nothing in comparison with the father's anxious and 
 continual solicitude. 
 
 The custom of placing the education of sons entirely 
 in the hands of strangers is so deadly a blow to parental 
 influence that some fathers have resolutely rebelled 
 against it and tried to become themselves the educators 
 of their children. James Mill is the most conspicuous 
 instance of this, both for persistence and success. His 
 way of educating his illustrious son has often been 
 coarsely misrepresented as a merciless system of cram. 
 The best answer to this is preserved for us in the words 
 of the pupil himself. He said expressly, " Mine was 
 not an education of cram," and that the one cardinal 
 point in it, the cause of the good it effected, was that 
 his father never permitted anything he learnt to degenerate 
 into a mere exercise of memory. He greatly valued the 
 training he had received, and fully appreciated its utility 
 to him in after-life. " If I have accomplished anything," 
 he says, " I owe it, amongst other fortunate circumstances, 
 to the fact that through the early training bestowed on
 
 76 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 me by my father, I started, I may fairly say, with an 
 advantage of a quarter of a century over my contem- 
 poraries." 
 
 But -though in this case the pupil's feeling in after-life 
 was one of gratitude, it may be asked what were his 
 filial sentiments whilst this paternal education was going 
 forward. This question also is clearly and frankly 
 answered by Stuart Mill himself. He says that his 
 father was severe, that his authority was deficient in the 
 demonstration of tenderness, though probably not in the 
 reality of it, that "he resembled most Englishmen in 
 being ashamed of the signs of feeling, and by the absence 
 of demonstration starving the feelings themselves." 
 Then the son goes on to say that it was "impossible 
 not to feel true pity for a father who did, and strove to 
 do, so much for his children, who would have so valued 
 their affection, yet who must have been constantly feeling 
 that fear of him was drying it up at its source." And 
 we probably have the exact truth about Stuart Mill's 
 own sentiments, when he says that the younger children 
 loved his father tenderly, " and if I cannot say so much 
 of myself I was always loyally devoted to him." 
 
 This contains the central difficulty about paternal 
 education. If the choice were left to boys they would 
 learn nothing, and you cannot make them work vigor- 
 ously " by the sole force of persuasion and soft words." 
 Therefore a severe discipline has to be established, and 
 this severity is incompatible with tenderness, so that in 
 order to preserve the affection of his children the father 
 entrusts discipline to a delegate. 
 
 But if the objection to parental education is clear in 
 Mill's case, so are its advantages, and especially the one
 
 vi.] FATHERS AND SONS. 77 
 
 inestimable advantage that the father was able to impress 
 himself on his son's mind and to live afterwards in his 
 son's intellectual life. James Mill did not abdicate as 
 fathers generally do. He did not confine paternal 
 duties to the simple one of signing cheques. And if it 
 is not in our power to imitate him entirely, if we have 
 not his profound and accurate knowledge, if we have 
 not his marvellous patience, if it is not desirable that we 
 should take upon ourselves alone that immense responsi- 
 bility which he accepted, may we not imitate him to 
 such a degree as to secure some intellectual and moral 
 influence over our own offspring, and not leave them 
 entirely to the teaching of the schoolfellow (that most 
 influential and most dangerous of all teachers), the 
 pedagogue, and the priest ? 
 
 The only practical way in which this can be done is 
 for the father to act within fixed limits. May he not 
 reserve to himself some speciality ? He can do this if 
 he is himself master of some language or science that 
 enters into the training of his son, but here again certain 
 difficulties present themselves. 
 
 By the one vigorous resolution to take the entire 
 burden upon his own shoulders, James Mill escaped 
 minor embarrassments. It is the partial education by 
 the father that is difficult to carry out with steadiness 
 and consistency. First, as to place of residence. If 
 your son is far away during his months of work, and at 
 home only for vacation pleasures, what, pray, is your 
 hold upon him? He escapes from you in two direc- 
 tions, by work and by play. I have seen a Highland 
 gentleman who, to avoid this and do his duty to his sons, 
 quitted a beautiful residence in magnificent scenery to
 
 78 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 go and live in the dull and ugly neighbourhood of Rugby. 
 It is not convenient or possible for every father to make 
 the same sacrifice, but if you are able to do it, other 
 difficulties remain. Any speciality that you may choose 
 will be regarded by your son as a trifling and unimport- 
 ant accomplishment in comparison with Greek and Latin, 
 because that is the school estimate, and if you choose 
 either Greek or Latin your scholarship will be immedi- 
 ately pitted against the scholarship of professional 
 teachers, whose more recent and more perfect methods 
 will place you in a position of inferiority, instantly per- 
 ceived by your pupil, who will estimate you accordingly. 
 The only two cases I have ever personally known in 
 which a father taught the classical languages failed in 
 the object of increasing the son's affection and respect, 
 because, although the father had been quite a first-rate 
 scholar in his time, his ways of teaching were not so 
 economical of effort as are the professional ways, and the 
 boys perceived that they were not taking the shortest cut 
 to a degree. 
 
 If, to avoid this comparison, you choose something 
 outside the school curriculum, the boy will probably con- 
 sider it an unfair addition to the burden of his work. 
 His view of education is not your view. You think it a 
 valuable training or acquirement, he considers it all task- 
 work, like the making of bricks in Egypt, and his notion 
 of justice is that he ought not to be compelled to make 
 more bricks than his classfellows, who are happy in 
 having fathers too indolent or too ignorant to trouble 
 them. If, therefore, you teach him something outside 
 of what his schoolfellows do, he does not think, " I get 
 the advantage of a wider education than theirs," but he
 
 vi.] FATHERS AND SONS. 79 
 
 thinks, " My father lays an imposition upon me, and my 
 schoolfellows are lucky to escape it." 
 
 In some instances the father chooses a modern lan- 
 guage as the thing that he will teach, but he finds that, 
 as he cannot apply the school discipline (too harsh and 
 unpaternal for use at home), there is a quiet passive 
 resistance that will ultimately defeat him unless he has 
 inexhaustible patience. He decrees, let us suppose, that 
 French shall be spoken at table, but the chief effect of 
 his decree is to reveal great and unsuspected powers of 
 taciturnity. Who could be such a tyrant as to find fault 
 with a boy because he so modestly chooses to be silent ? 
 Speech may be of silver, but silence is of gold, and it is 
 especially beautiful and becoming in the young. 
 
 Seeing that everything in the way of intellectual train- 
 ing is looked upon by boys as an unfair addition to 
 school work, some fathers abandon that altogether and 
 try to win influence over their sons by initiating them 
 into sports and pastimes. Just at first these happy pro- 
 jects appear to unite the useful with the agreeable, but 
 as the youthful nature is much better fitted for sports and 
 pastimes than middle -age can pretend to be, it follows 
 that the pupil very soon excels the master in these things, 
 and quite gets the upper hand of him and offers him 
 advice, or else dutifully (but with visible constraint) con- 
 descends to accommodate himself to the elder man's 
 inferiority, so that, perhaps, upon the whole, it may be 
 that sports and pastimes are not the field of exertion in 
 which paternal authority is most likely to preserve a 
 dignified preponderance. 
 
 It is complacently assumed by men of fifty that over- 
 ripe maturity is the superior of adolescence, but an
 
 8o HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 impartial balance of advantages shows that some very 
 brilliant ones are on the side of youth. At fifty we may 
 be wiser, richer, more famous than a clever boy ; but he 
 does not care much for our wisdom, he thinks that expenses 
 are a matter, of course, and our little rushlights of reputa- 
 tions are as nothing to the future electric illumination of 
 his own. In bodily activity we are to boyhood what a 
 domestic cow is to a wild antelope, and, as boys rightly 
 attach an immense value to such activity, they generally 
 look upon us, in their secret thoughts, as miserable old 
 "muffs." I distinctly remember, when a boy, accom- 
 panying a middle-aged gentleman to a country railway- 
 station. We were a little late, and the distance was 
 long, but my companion could not be induced to go 
 beyond his regular pace. At last we were within half a 
 mile, and the steam of the locomotive became visible. 
 " Now let us run for it," I cried, " and we shall catch 
 the train!" Run? he run, indeed! I might as well 
 have asked the Pope to run in the streets of Rome ! 
 My friend kept in silent solemnity to his own dignified 
 method of motion, and we were left behind. To this 
 day I well remember the feelings of contemptuous pity 
 and disgust that filled me as I looked upon that most 
 respectable gentleman. I said not a word, my demeanour 
 was outwardly decorous, but in my secret heart I de- 
 spised my unequal companion with the unmitigated 
 contempt of youth. 
 
 Even those physical exertions that elderly men are 
 equal to the ten miles' walk, the ride on a docile 
 hunter, the quiet drive or sail are so much below the 
 achievements of fiery youth that they bring us no more 
 credit than sitting in a chair. Though our efforts seem
 
 vi.] FATHERS AND SONS. 81 
 
 so respectable to ourselves that we take a modest pride 
 therein, a young man can only look upon them with 
 indulgence. 
 
 In the mental powers elderly men are inferior on the 
 very point that a young man looks to first. His notion 
 of cleverness, by which he estimates all his comrades, is 
 not depth of thought, nor wisdom, nor sagacity; it is 
 simply rapidity in learning, and there his elders are 
 hopelessly behind him. They may extend or deepen 
 an old study, but they cannot attack a new one with the 
 conquering spirit of youth. Too late ! too late / too late ! 
 is inscribed for them on a hundred gates of knowledge. 
 The young man, with his powers of acquisition urging 
 him like unsatisfied appetites, sees the gates all open, 
 and believes they are open for him. He believes all 
 knowledge to be his possible province, knowing not yet 
 the chilling disheartening truth that life is too short for 
 success in any but a very few directions. Confident in 
 his powers, the young man prepares himself for difficult 
 examinations, and he knows that we should be incapable 
 of the same efforts. 
 
 Not having succeeded very well with attempts to 
 create intercourse through studies and amusements, the 
 father next consoles himself with the idea that he will 
 convert his son into an intimate friend, but shortly dis- 
 covers that there are certain difficulties, of which a few 
 may be mentioned here. 
 
 Although the relationship between father and son is 
 a very near relationship, it may happen that there is but 
 little likeness of inherited idiosyncrasy, and therefore 
 that the two may have different and even opposite tastes. 
 By the law or accident of atavism, a boy may resemble 
 
 G
 
 82 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 one of his grandfathers or some remoter ancestor, or he 
 may puzzle theorists about heredity by characteristics for 
 which there is no known precedent in his family. Both 
 his mental instincts and processes, and the conclusions 
 to which they lead him, may be entirely different from 
 the habits and conclusions of his father, and if the father 
 is so utterly unphilosophical as to suppose (what vulgar 
 fathers constantly do suppose) that his own mental habits 
 and conclusions are the right ones, and .all others wrong, 
 then he will adopt a tone of authority towards his son 
 on certain occasions which the young man will excusably 
 consider unbearable, and which he will avoid by shunning 
 the paternal society. Even a very mild attempt on the 
 father's part to impose his own tastes and opinions will 
 be quietly resented, and felt as a reason for avoiding 
 him, because the son is well aware that he cannot argue 
 on equal terms with a man who, however amiable he 
 chooses to be for the moment, can at any time arm him- 
 self with the formidable paternal dignity by simply 
 taking the trouble to assume it. 
 
 The mere difference of age is almost an insuperable 
 barrier to comradeship; for though a middle-aged man 
 may be cheerful, his cheerfulness is "as water unto 
 wine" in comparison with the merriment of joyous 
 youth. So exuberant is that youthful gaiety that it often 
 needs to utter downright nonsense for the relief of its 
 own high spirits, and feels oppressed in sober society 
 where nonsense is not permitted. Any elderly gentle- 
 man who reads this has only to consult his own recollec- 
 tions, and ask himself whether, in youth, he did not often 
 say and do utterly irrational things. If he never did, he 
 never was really young. I hardly know any author,
 
 vi.] FATHERS AND SONS. 83 
 
 except Shakespeare, who has ventured to reproduce, in 
 its perfect absurdity, the full flow of youthful nonsense. 
 The criticism of our own age would scarcely tolerate it 
 in books, and might accuse the author himself of being 
 silly ; but the thing still exists abundantly in real life, 
 and the wonder is that it is sometimes the most intelli- 
 gent young men who enjoy the most witless nonsense of 
 all. When we have lost the high spirits that gave it a 
 relish, it becomes very wearisome if prolonged. Young 
 men instinctively know that we are past the apprecia- 
 tion of it. 
 
 Another very important reason why fathers and sons 
 have a difficulty in maintaining close friendships is the 
 steady divergence of their experience. 
 
 During his son's childhood the father's knowledge of 
 places, people, and things includes the child's knowledge, 
 as a large circle includes a little one drawn within it. 
 Afterwards the boy goes to school, and has comrades 
 and masters whom his father does not personally know. 
 Later on he visits many places where his father has 
 never been. 
 
 The son's life may socially diverge so completely 
 from that of the father that he may really come to 
 belong to a different class in society. His education, 
 habits, and associates may be different from those of his 
 father. If the family is growing richer, they are likely to 
 be (in the worldly sense) of a higher class ; if it is be- 
 coming poorer, they will probably be of a lower class 
 than the father was accustomed to in his youth. The 
 son may feel more at ease than his father does in very 
 refined society ; or, on the other hand, he may feel 
 refined society to be a restraint, whilst he only enjoys
 
 84 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 himself thoroughly and heartily amongst vulgar people 
 whom his father would carefully avoid. 
 
 Divergence is carried to its utmost by difference of 
 professional training, and by the professional habit of 
 seeing things that follows from it. If a clergyman puts 
 his son into a solicitor's office, he need not expect that the 
 son will long retain those views of the world that prevail 
 in the country parsonage where he was born. He will 
 acquire other views, other mental habits; and he will 
 very soon believe himself to possess a far greater and 
 more accurate knowledge of mankind, and of affairs, 
 than his father ever possessed. 
 
 Even if the son is in the father's own profession, he 
 will have new views of it derived from the time at which 
 he learns it, and he is likely to consider his father's 
 ideas as not brought down to the latest date. He will 
 also have a tendency to look to strangers as greater 
 authorities than his father, even when they are really on 
 the same level, because they are not lowered in his esti- 
 mate by domestic intimacy and familiarity. Their opinion 
 will be especially valued by the young man if it has to 
 be paid for, it being an immense depreciation of the 
 paternal counsel that it is always given gratuitously. 
 
 If the father has bestowed upon his son what is con- 
 sidered a " complete " education, and if he himself has 
 not received the same "complete" education in his 
 youth, the son is likely to accept the conventional esti- 
 mate of education, because it is in his own favour, and 
 to estimate his father as an "uneducated" or "half- 
 educated " man, without taking into much account the 
 possibility that his father may have developed his 
 faculties by mental labour in other ways. The conven-
 
 vi.] FATHERS AND SONS, 85 
 
 tional division between " educated " and " uneducated " 
 men is so definite that it is easily seen. The educated are 
 those who have taken a degree at one of the universities ; 
 the rest are uneducated, whatever may be their attainments 
 in the sciences, in modern languages, or in the fine arts. 
 
 There are differences of education even more serious 
 than this, because more real. A man may be not only 
 conventionally uneducated, but he may be really and truly 
 uneducated, by which I mean that his faculties may never 
 have been drawn out by intellectual discipline of any 
 kind whatever. It is hard, indeed, for a well-educated 
 young man to live under the authority of a father of that 
 kind, because he has constantly to suppress reasons and 
 motives for opinions and decisions that such a father 
 could not possibly enter into or understand. The rela- 
 tionship is equally hard for the father, who must be aware, 
 with the lively suspicion of the ignorant, that his son is 
 not telling him all his thought, but only the portion of it 
 which he thinks fit to reveal, and that much more is kept 
 in reserve. He will ask, " Why this reserve towards me 9" 
 and then he will either be profoundly hurt and grieved by 
 it at times, or else, if of another temper, he will be irritated, 
 and his irritation may find harsh utterance in words. 
 
 An educated man can never rid himself of his educa- 
 tion. His views of the most ordinary things are different 
 from the views of the uneducated. If he were to express 
 them in his own language they would say, "Why, how 
 he talks !" and consider him "a queer chap ; " and if he 
 keeps them to himself they say he is very " close " and 
 " shut up." There is no way out of the dilemma except 
 this, that kind and tender feelings may exist between 
 people who have nothing in common intellectually ; but
 
 86 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. .[ESSAY 
 
 these are only possible when all pretence to paternal 
 authority is abandoned. 
 
 Our forefathers had an idea with regard to the 
 opinions of their children that in these days we must be 
 content to give up. They thought that all opinions 
 were by nature hereditary ; and it was considered an act 
 of disloyalty to ancestors if a descendant ventured to 
 differ from them. The profession of any but the family 
 opinions was so rare as to be almost inconceivable ; and 
 if in some great crisis the head of a family took a new 
 departure in religion or politics, the new faith substituted 
 itself for the old one as the hereditary faith of the family. 
 I remember hearing an old gentleman (who represented 
 old English feeling in great perfection) say that it was 
 totally unintelligible to him that a certain member of 
 parliament could sit on the liberal side of the House of 
 Commons. "I cannot understand it," he said; "I 
 knew his father intimately, and he was always a good 
 Tory." The idea that the son might have opinions of 
 his own was unthinkable. 
 
 In our time we are beginning to perceive that 
 opinions cannot be imposed, and that the utmost that 
 can be obtained by brow-beating a son who differs from 
 ourselves is that he shall make false professions to satisfy 
 us. Paternal influence may be better employed than in 
 encouraging habits of dissimulation. 
 
 M. Legouve" attaches great importance to the religious 
 question as a cause of division between fathers and sons, 
 because in the present day young men so frequently 
 imbibe opinions which are not those of their parents. 
 It is not uncommon in France for Catholic parents to 
 have unbelieving sons ; and the converse is also seen,
 
 vi.] FATHERS AND SONS. 87 
 
 but more frequently in the case of daughters. As 
 opinions are very freely expressed in France (except 
 where external conformity is an affair of caste) we find 
 many families in which Catholicism and Agnosticism 
 have each their open and convinced adherents ; yet 
 family affection does not appear to suffer from the differ- 
 ence, or is at least powerful enough to overcome it. In 
 old times this would have been impossible. The father 
 would have resented a difference of opinion in the son 
 as an offence against himself. 
 
 A very common cause of division between father and 
 son, in old times, was the following : 
 
 The father expressed a desire of some kind, mildly 
 and kindly, perhaps, yet with the full expectation that it 
 should be attended to ; but the desire was of an exorbi- 
 tant nature, in this sense, that it involved something that 
 would affect the whole course of the young man's future 
 life in a manner contrary to his natural instincts. The father 
 was then grievously hurt and offended because the son did 
 not see his way to the fulfilment of the paternal desire. 
 
 The strongest cases of this kind were in relation to 
 profession and marriage. The father wished his son to 
 enter into some trade or profession for which he was 
 completely unsuited, or he desired him to marry some 
 young lady for whom he had not the slightest natural 
 affinity. The son felt the inherent difficulties and re- 
 fused. Then the father thought, " I only ask of my 
 son this one simple thing, and he denies me." 
 
 In these cases the father was not asking for one 
 thing, but for thousands of things. He was asking his 
 son to undertake many thousands of separate obligations 
 succeeding each other till the far -distant date of his
 
 88 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 retirement from the distasteful profession, or his release, 
 by his own death or hers, from the tedious companion- 
 ship of the unloved wife. Sometimes the concession 
 would have involved a long series of hypocrisies, as, for 
 example, when a son was asked to take holy orders, 
 though with little faith and no vocation. 
 
 Peter the Great is the most conspicuous example in 
 history of a father whose idiosyncrasy was not continued 
 in his son, and who could not understand or tolerate the 
 separateness of his son's personality. They were not 
 only of independent, but even of opposite natures. 
 " Peter was active, curious, and energetic ; Alexis was 
 contemplative and reflective. He was not without intel- 
 lectual ability, but he liked a quiet life. He preferred 
 reading and thinking. At the age when Peter was 
 making fireworks, building boats, and exercising his 
 comrades in mimic war, Alexis was pondering over the 
 Divine Manna, reading the Wonders of God, reflecting 
 on Thomas a Kempis's Imitation of Christ, and making 
 excerpts from Baronius. While it sometimes seemed 
 as if Peter was born too soon for the age, Alexis was 
 born too late. He belonged to the past generation. 
 Not only did he take no interest in the work and plans 
 of his father, but he gradually came to dislike and hate 
 them. . . . He would sometimes even take medicine to 
 make himself ill, so that he might not be called upon 
 to perform duties or attend to business. Once, when 
 he was obliged to go to the launch of a ship, he said to 
 a friend, ' I would rather be a galley-slave, or have a 
 burning fever, than be obliged to go there.' " l 
 
 In this case one is sorry for both father and son. 
 1 Schuyler's Peter the Great.
 
 vi.] FATHERS AND SONS. 89 
 
 Peter was a great intelligent barbarian of immense mus- 
 cular strength and rude cerebral energy; Alexis was 
 of the material from which civilisation makes priests 
 and students, or quiet conventional kings ; but he was 
 even more unlike Peter than gentle Richard Cromwell 
 was unlike authoritative Oliver. The disappointment to 
 Peter, firmly convinced, as all rude natures are, of the 
 perfection of his own personality, and probably quite 
 unable to appreciate a personality of another type, must 
 have been the more bitter that his great plans for 
 the future required a vigorous, practically-minded inno- 
 vator like himself. At length the difference of nature 
 so exasperated the autocrat that he had his son three 
 times tortured, the third time in his own presence, and 
 with a fatal result. This terrible incident is the strongest 
 expression known to us of a father's vexation because 
 his son was not of his own kind. 
 
 Another painful case that will be long remembered, 
 though the character of the father is less known to us, 
 is that of the poet Shelley and Sir Timothy. The little 
 that we do know amounts to this, that there was a total 
 absence of sympathy. Sir Timothy committed the very 
 greatest of paternal mistakes in depriving himself of the 
 means of direct influence over his son by excluding him 
 from his own home. Considering that the supreme grief 
 of unhappy fathers is the feebleness of their influence 
 over their sons, they can but confirm and complete their 
 sorrow by annihilating that influence utterly, and depriving 
 themselves of all chance of recovering and increasing it 
 in the future. This Sir Timothy did after the expulsion 
 from Oxford. In his position a father possessing some 
 skill and tact in the management of young men at the
 
 90 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 most difficult and wayward period of their lives, would 
 have determined above all things to keep his son as 
 much as possible in the range of his own control. 
 Although Shelley afterwards returned to Field Place for 
 a short time, the scission had been made ; there was an 
 end of real intercourse between father and son; the 
 poet went his own way, married Harriet Westbrook, 
 and lived through the rest of his short unsatisfactory 
 existence as a homeless wandering declasse. 
 
 This essay has hitherto run upon the discouraging 
 side of the subject, so that it ought not to end without 
 the happier and more hopeful considerations. 
 
 Every personality is separate from others, and expects 
 its separateness to be acknowledged. When a son 
 avoids his father it is because he fears that the rights of 
 his own personality will be disregarded. There are 
 fathers who habitually treat their sons with sneering 
 contempt. I have myself seen a young man of fair 
 common abilities treated with constant and undisguised 
 contempt by a clever, sardonic father, who went so far 
 as to make brutal allusions to the shape of the young 
 man's skull ! He bore this treatment with admirable 
 patience and unfailing gentleness, but suffered from it 
 silently. Another used to laugh at his son and call him 
 " Don Quixote " whenever the lad gave expression to 
 some sentiment above the low Philistine level. A third, 
 whom I knew well, had a disagreeable way of putting 
 down his son because he was young, telling him that up 
 to the age of forty a man " might have impressions, but 
 could not possibly have opinions." " My father," said 
 a kind-hearted English gentleman to me, "was the most 
 thoroughly unbearable person I ever met with in my life."
 
 vi.] FATHERS AND SONS. 91 
 
 The frank recognition of separate personality, with 
 all its rights, would stop this brutality at once. There 
 still remains the legitimate power of the father which he 
 ought not to abdicate, and which is of itself enough to 
 prevent the freedom and equality necessary to perfect 
 friendship. This reason, and the difference of age and 
 habits, make it impossible that young men and their 
 fathers should be comrades, but a relation may be estab- 
 lished between them which, if rightly understood, is one 
 of the most agreeable in human existence. 
 
 To be satisfactory it must be founded, on the father's 
 side, on the idea that he is repaying to posterity what 
 he has received from his own parents, and not on any 
 selfish hope that the descending stream of benefit will 
 flow upwards again to him. Then he must not count 
 upon affection, nor lay himself out to win it, nor be 
 timidly afraid of losing it ; but found his influence upon 
 the firmer ground of respect, and be determined to 
 deserve and have that, along with as much unforced 
 affection as the son is able naturally and easily to give. 
 It is not desirable that the affection between father and 
 son should be so tender, on either side, as to make 
 separation a constant pain, for such is human destiny 
 that the two are generally fated to see but little of each 
 other. 
 
 The best satisfaction for a father is to deserve and 
 receive loyal and unfailing respect from his son. 
 
 No, this is not quite the best, not quite the supreme 
 satisfaction of paternity. Shall I reveal the secret that 
 lies in silence at the very bottom of the hearts of all 
 worthy and honourable fathers? Their profoundest 
 happiness is to be able themselves to respect their sons.
 
 ESSAY VII. 
 
 THE RIGHTS OF THE GUEST. 
 
 IF hospitality were always perfectly practised it would 
 be the strongest of all influences in favour of rational 
 liberty, because the host would learn to respect it in the 
 persons of his guests, and thence, by extension of habit, 
 amongst others who could never be his guests. 
 
 Hospitality educates us in respect for the rights of 
 others. This is the substantial benefit that the host 
 ought to derive from his trouble and his outlay, but the 
 instincts of uncivilised human nature are so powerful 
 that this education has usually been partial and incom- 
 plete. The best part of it has been systematically evaded 
 in this way. People were aware that tolerance and for- 
 bearance ought to be exercised towards guests ; and so 
 to avoid the hard necessity of exercising these qualities 
 when they were really difficult virtues, they practised 
 what is called exclusiveness. In other words, they 
 accepted, as guests, only those who agreed with their 
 own opinions and belonged to their own class. By this 
 arrangement they could be both hospitable and intolerant 
 at the same time. 
 
 If, in our day, the barrier of exclusiveness has been 
 in many places broken down, there is all the greater 
 need for us to remember the true principle of hospitality.
 
 ESSAY vii.] THE RIGHTS OF THE GUEST. 93 
 
 It might be forgotten with little inconvenience in a very 
 exclusive society, but if it were forgotten in a society 
 that is not exclusive, the consequences would be exactly 
 the opposite of what every friend of civilisation most 
 earnestly desires. Social intercourse, in that case, so 
 far from being an education in respect for the rights of 
 others, would be an opportunity for violating them. 
 The violation might become habitual, and if it were so, 
 this strange result would follow, that society would not 
 be a softening and civilising influence, but the contrary. 
 It would accustom people to treat each other with dis- 
 regard, so that men would be hardened and brutalised 
 by it, as schoolboys are made ruder by the rough habits 
 of the playground, and urbanity would not be cultivated 
 in cities, but preserved, if at all, in solitude. 
 
 The two views concerning the rights of the guest may 
 be stated briefly as follows : 
 
 1. The guest is bound to conform in all things to the 
 tastes and customs of his host. He ought to find or 
 feign enjoyment in everything that his host imposes 
 upon him ; and if he is unwilling to do this in every 
 particular, it is a breach of good manners on his part, 
 and he must be made to suffer for it. 
 
 2. The guest should be left to be happy in his own 
 way, and the business of the host is to arrange things 
 in such a manner that each guest may enjoy as much as 
 possible his own peculiar kind of happiness. 
 
 When the first principle was applied in all its rigour, 
 as it often used to be applied, and as I have myself 
 seen it applied, the sensation experienced by the guest 
 on going to stay in certain houses was that of entirely 
 losing the direction of himself He was not even
 
 94 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 allowed, in the middle classes, to have any control over 
 his own inside, but had to eat what his host ordered 
 him to eat, and to drink the quantity of wine and spirits 
 that his host had decided to be good for him. Resist- 
 ance to these dictates was taken as an offence, as a 
 crime against good fellowship, or as a reflection on the 
 quality of the good things provided, and conversation 
 paused whilst the attention of the whole company was 
 attracted to the recalcitrant guest who was intentionally 
 placed in a situation of extreme annoyance and discom- 
 fort, in- order to compel him to obedience. The victim 
 was perhaps half an invalid, or at least a man who could 
 only keep well and happy on condition of observing a 
 certain strictness of regimen; he was then laughed at 
 for idle fears about his health, told that he was a hypo- 
 chondriac, and recommended to drink a bottle of port 
 every day to get rid of such idle nonsense. If he declined 
 to eat twice or three times as much as he desired, the 
 hostess expressed her bitter regret that she had not been 
 able to provide food and cookery to his taste, thus placing 
 him in such a position that he must either eat more 
 or seem to condemn her arrangements. It was very 
 common amongst old-fashioned French bourgeois, in the 
 last generation, for the hostess herself to heap things on 
 the guest's plate, and to prevent this her poor persecuted 
 neighbour had to remove the plate or turn it upside 
 down. The whole habit of pressing was dictated by 
 selfish feeling in the hosts. They desired to see their 
 guests devour voraciously, in order that their own vanity 
 might be gratified by the seeming appreciation of their 
 things. Temperate men were disliked by a generation 
 of topers, because their temperance had the appearance
 
 vii.] THE RIGHTS OF THE GUEST. 95 
 
 of a silent protest or censure. The discomfort inflicted 
 by these odious usages was so great that many people 
 either injured their health in society or kept out of it in 
 self-defence, though they were not sulky and unsociable 
 by nature, but would have been hearty lovers of human 
 intercourse if they could have enjoyed it on less unac- 
 ceptable terms. 
 
 The wholesome modern reaction against these dread 
 ful old customs has led some hosts into another error. 
 They sometimes fail to understand the great principle 
 that it is the guest alone who ought to be the judge of 
 the quantity that he shall eat and drink. The old press- 
 ing hospitality assumed that the guest was a child, too 
 shame -faced to take what it longed for unless it was 
 vigorously encouraged; but the new hospitality, if, 
 indeed, it still in every case deserves that honoured 
 name, does really sometimes appear to assume (I do 
 not say always, or often, but in extreme cases) that the 
 guest is a fool who would eat and drink more than is 
 good for him if he were not carefully rationed. Such 
 hosts forget that excess is quite a relative term, that 
 each constitution has its own needs. Beyond this, it is 
 well known that the exhilaration of social intercourse 
 enables people who meet convivially to digest and assi- 
 milate, without fatigue, a larger amount of nutriment 
 than they could in dull and perhaps dejected solitude. 
 Hence it is a natural and long-established habit to eat 
 and drink more when in company than alone, and the 
 guest should have the possibility of conforming to this 
 not irrational old custom, until, in Homer's phrase, he 
 has " put from him the desire of meat and drink." 
 
 Guests have no right whatever to require that the
 
 96 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 host should himself eat and drink to keep them in coun- 
 tenance. There used to be a belief (it lingers still in 
 the middle classes and in country places) that the laws 
 of hospitality required the host to set what was considered 
 "a good example," or, in other words, to commit excesses 
 himself, that his friends might not be too much ashamed 
 of theirs. It is said that the Emperor William of Ger- 
 many never eats in public at all, but sits out every 
 banquet before an empty plate. This, though quite 
 excusable in an old gentleman obliged to live by rule, 
 must have rather a chilling effect, and yet I like it as a 
 declaration of the one great principle that no person at 
 table, be he host or guest, ought to be compelled to inflict 
 the very slightest injury upon his own health, or even 
 comfort. The rational and civilised idea is that food 
 and wines are simply placed at the disposal of the people 
 present to be used, or abstained from, as they please. 
 
 It is clear that every invited guest has a right to expect 
 some slight appearance of festivity in his honour. In 
 coarse and barbarous times the idea of festivity is invari- 
 ably expressed by abundance, especially by vast quantities 
 of butcher's meat and wine, as we always find it in Homer, 
 where princes and gentlemen stuff themselves like savages; 
 but in refined times the notion of quantity has lost its 
 attraction, and that of elegance takes its place. In a 
 highly civilised society nothing conveys so much the idea 
 of festivity as plenty of light and flowers, with beautiful 
 table-linen, and plate, and glass. These, with some 
 extra delicacy in cookery and wines, are our modern 
 way of expressing welcome. 
 
 There is a certain kind of hospitality in which the 
 host visibly declines to make any effort either of trouble
 
 vii.] THE RIGHTS OF THE GUEST. 97 
 
 or expense, but plainly shows by his negligence that he 
 only tolerates the guest. All that can be said of such 
 hospitality as this is, that a guest who respects himself 
 may endure it silently for once, but would not be likely 
 to expose himself to it a second time. 
 
 There is even a kind of hospitality which seems to 
 find a satisfaction in letting the guest perceive that the 
 best in the house is not offered to him. He is lodged 
 in a poor little room when there are noble bedchambers, 
 unused, in the same house ; or he is allowed to hire a 
 vehicle in the village to make some excursion, when 
 there are horses in the stables plethoric from want of 
 exercise. In cases of this kind it is not the privation of 
 luxury that is hard to bear but the indisposition to give 
 honour. The guest feels and knows that if a person of 
 very high rank came to the house everything would be 
 put at his disposal, and he resents the slight put upon 
 his own condition. A rich English lady, long since 
 dead, had a large mansion in the country, with fine bed- 
 rooms, so she found a pleasure in keeping those rooms 
 empty, and sending guests to sleep at the top of the 
 house, in little bare and comfortless chambers that the 
 architect had intended for servants. I have heard of a 
 French house where there are fine state apartments, and 
 where all ordinary guests are poorly lodged, and fed in 
 a miserable salle a manger. An aggravation is when the 
 host treats himself better than his guest. Lady B. invited 
 some friends to a country-house, and they drove to 
 another country-house in the neighbourhood in two 
 carriages, one containing Lady B. and one friend, the 
 other the remaining guests. Her ladyship was timid and 
 rather selfish, as timid people often are, so when they 
 
 H
 
 98 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 reached the avenue she began to fancy that both 
 carriages could not safely turn in the garden, and she 
 despatched her footman to the second carriage with 
 orders that her guests (amongst whom was a lady very 
 near her confinement) were to get out and walk to the 
 house, whilst she drove up to the door in state. 
 
 A guest has an absolute right to have his religious and 
 political opinions respected in his presence, and this is 
 not invariably done. The rule more generally followed 
 seems to be that class opinions only deserve respect, and 
 not individual opinions. The question is too large to 
 be treated in a paragraph, but I should say that it is a 
 clear breach of hospitality to utter anything in disparage- 
 ment of any opinion whatever that is known to be held 
 by any one guest present, however humble may be his 
 rank. I have sometimes seen the known opinions of a 
 guest attacked rudely and directly, but the more civilised 
 method is to do it more artfully through some other 
 person who is not present. For example, a guest is 
 known to think, on important subjects, very much as 
 Mr. Herbert Spencer does ; then the host will contrive to 
 talk at him in talking about Spencer. A guest ought 
 not to bear this ungenerous kind of attack. If such an 
 occasion arises, he should declare his opinions plainly 
 and with firmness, and show his determination to have 
 them respected whilst he is there, whatever may be said 
 against them in his absence. If he cannot obtain this 
 degree of courtesy, which is his right, let him quit the 
 house and satisfy his hunger at some inn. The inn- 
 keeper will ask for a little money, but he demands no 
 mental submission. 
 
 It sometimes happens that the nationality of a foreign
 
 vii.] THE RIGHTS OF THE GUEST. 99 
 
 guest is not respected as it ought to be. I remember 
 an example of this, which is moderate enough to serve as 
 a kind of type, some attacks upon nationality being much 
 more direct and outrageous. An English lady said at 
 her own table that she would not allow her daughter to 
 be partially educated in a French school, " because she 
 would have to associate with French girls, which, you 
 know, is undesirable." Amongst the guests was a 
 French lady, and the observation was loud enough for 
 everybody to hear it. I say nothing of the injustice of 
 the imputation. It was, indeed, most unjust, but that 
 is not the point. The point is, that a foreigner ought 
 not to hear attacks upon his native land, even when 
 they are perfectly well founded. 
 
 The host has a sort of judicial function in this way. 
 The guest has a right to look to him for protection on 
 certain occasions, and he is likely to be profoundly 
 grateful when it is given with tact and skill, because the 
 host can say things for him that he cannot even hint at 
 for himself. Suppose the case of a young man who is 
 treated with easy and rather contemptuous familiarity by 
 another guest simply on account of his youth. He is 
 nettled by the offence, but as it is more in manner than 
 in words he cannot fix upon anything to answer. The 
 host perceives his annoyance, and kindly gives him some 
 degree of importance by alluding to some superiority of 
 his, and by treating him in a manner very different from 
 that which had vexed him. 
 
 A witty host is the most powerful ally against an 
 aggressor. I remember dining in a very well-known 
 house in Paris, where a celebrated Frenchman repeated 
 the absurd old French calumny against English ladies,
 
 TOO HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 that they all drink. I was going to resent this seriously, 
 when a clever Frenchwoman (who knew England well) 
 perceived the danger, and answered the man herself with 
 great decision and ability. I then watched for the first 
 opportunity of making him ridiculous, and seized upon 
 a very delightful one that he unwittingly offered. Our 
 host at once understood that my attack was in revenge 
 for an aggression that had been in bad taste, and he 
 supported me with a wit and pertinacity that produced 
 general merriment at the enemy's expense. Now in that 
 case I should say that the host was filling one of the 
 most important and most difficult functions of a host 
 
 This Essay has hitherto been written almost entirely 
 on the guest's side of the question, so that we have still 
 briefly to consider the limitations to his rights. 
 
 He has no right to impose any serious inconvenience 
 upon his host. He has no right to disturb the ordinary 
 arrangements of the house, or to inflict any serious 
 pecuniary cost, or to occupy the host's time to the pre- 
 judice of his usual pursuits. He has no right to intrude 
 upon the privacy of his host. 
 
 A guest has no right to place the host in such a 
 dilemma that he must either commit a rudeness or put 
 up with an imposition. The very courtesy of an enter- 
 tainer places him at the mercy of a pushing and un- 
 scrupulous guest, and it is only when the provocation 
 has reached such a point as to have become perfectly 
 intolerable, that a host will do anything so painful to 
 himself as to abandon his hospitable character and make 
 the guest understand that he must go. 
 
 It may be said that difficulties of this kind never 
 occur in civilised society. No doubt they are rare, but
 
 vii.] THE RIGHTS OF THE GUEST. 101 
 
 they happen just sufficiently often to make it necessary 
 to be prepared for them. Suppose the case of a guest 
 who exceeds his invitatioa He has been invited for 
 two nights, plainly and definitely, but \ he stays a third, 
 fourth, fifth, and seems as if he would stay for ever. 
 There are men of that kind in the world, and it is one 
 of their arts to disarm their victims by pleasantries, so 
 that it is not easy to be firm with them. The lady of 
 the house gives a gentle hint, the master follows with 
 broader hints, but the intruder is quite impervious to 
 any but the very plainest language. At last . the host 
 has to say : " Your train leaves at such an hour, and the 
 carriage will be ready to take you to the station half an 
 hour earlier." This, at any rate, is intelligible, and yet 
 I have known one of those clinging limpets whom even 
 this proceeding failed to dislodge. At the approach of 
 the appointed hour he was nowhere to be found ! He 
 had gone to hide himself in a wood, with no companion 
 but his watch, and by its help he took care to return 
 when it was too late. That is sometimes one of the 
 great uses of a watch. 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVTO?TTy OF CALIFORNIA 
 SANTA -BAEBAJBA
 
 ESSAY VIII. 
 
 THE DEATH OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 A SAD subject, but worth analysis, for if friendship is of 
 any value to us whilst it is alive, is it not worth while to 
 inquire if there are any means of keeping it alive ? 
 
 The word "death" is correctly employed here, for 
 nobody has discovered the means by which a dead 
 friendship can be resuscitated. To hope for that would 
 be vain indeed, and idle the waste of thought in such a 
 bootless quest. 
 
 Shall we mourn over this death without hope, this 
 blank annihilation, this finis of intercourse once so 
 sweet, this dreary and ultimate conclusion ? 
 
 The death of a friendship is not the death of a 
 person, we do not mourn for the absence of some 
 beloved person from the world. It is simply the 
 termination of a certain degree and kind of intercourse, 
 not of necessity the termination of all intercourse. We 
 may be grieved that the change has come, we may be 
 remorseful if it has come through a fault of our own, 
 but if it is due simply to natural causes, there is small 
 place for any reasonable sorrow. 
 
 Friendship is a certain rapport between two minds 
 during one or more phases of their existence, and the 
 perfection of it is quite as dependent upon what is not
 
 ESSAY vin.] THE DEATH OF FRIENDSHIP. 103 
 
 in the two minds as upon their positive acquirements 
 and possessions. Hence the extreme facility with which 
 schoolboys form friendships which, for the time, are real, 
 true, and delightful. School friendships are formed so 
 easily, because boys in the same class know the same 
 things, and it rarely happens that in addition to what 
 they have in common, either one party or the other has 
 any knowledge of importance that is not in common. 
 
 Later in life the pair of friends, who were once com- 
 rades, go into different professions that fill the mind 
 with special professional ideas and induce different 
 habits of thought. Each will be conscious when they 
 meet that there is a great range of ideas in the other's 
 mind from which he is excluded, and each will have a 
 difficulty in keeping within the smaller range of ideas 
 that they have now in common, so that they will no 
 longer be able to let their whole minds play together as 
 they used to do, and they will probably feel more at ease 
 with mere acquaintances who have what is now their 
 knowledge, what are now their mental habits, than with 
 the friend of their boyhood who is without them. 
 
 This is strongly felt by men who go through a large 
 experience at a distance from their early home, and then 
 return for a while to the old place and old associates, 
 and find that it is only a part of themselves that is 
 acceptable. New growths of self have taken place in 
 distant regions, by travel, by study, by intercourse with 
 mankind, and these new growths, though they may be 
 more valuable than any others, are of no practical use, 
 of no social availableness in the little circle that has 
 remained in the old ways. 
 
 Then there are changes of temper that result from
 
 104 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 the fixing of the character by time. We think we 
 remain the same, but that is one of our many illusions. 
 We change, and we do not always change in the same 
 way. One man becomes mellowed by advancing years, 
 but another is hardened by them ; one man's temper 
 gains in sweetness and serenity as his intellect gains in 
 light, another becomes dogmatic, peremptory, and bitter. 
 Even when the change is the same for both, it may be 
 unfavourable to their intercourse. Two merry young 
 hearts may enjoy each other's company,' when they would 
 find each other dull and flat if the sparkle of the early 
 effervescence were all spent. 
 
 I have not yet touched upon change of opinion as a 
 cause of the death of friendship, but it is one of the 
 most common causes. It would be a calumny on the 
 intelligence of the better part of mankind to say that 
 they always desire to hear repeated exactly what they 
 say themselves, though that is really the desire of the un- 
 intelligent, but the cleverest people like to hear new and 
 additional reasons in support of the opinions they hold 
 already, and they do not like to hear reasons, hitherto 
 unsuspected, that go to the support of opinions differ- 
 ent from their own. Therefore, a slow divergence of 
 opinion may carry two friends farther and farther apart, 
 by narrowing the subjects of their intercourse, or a 
 sudden intellectual revolution in one of them may effect 
 an immediate and irreparable breach. 
 
 "If the character is formed," says Stuart Mill, "and 
 the mind made up on the few cardinal points of human 
 opinion, agreement of conviction and feeling on these 
 has been felt at all times to be an essential requisite of 
 anything worthy the name of friendship in a really
 
 VHI.] THE DEATH OF FRIENDSHIP. 105 
 
 earnest mind." I do not quote this in the belief that 
 it is absolutely true, but it expresses a general sentiment. 
 We can only be guided by our own experience in these 
 matters. Mine has been that friendship is possible with 
 those whom I respect, however widely they differ from 
 me, and not possible with those whom I am unable to 
 respect, even when on the great matters of opinion their 
 views are identical with my own. 
 
 It is certain, however, that the change of opinion itself 
 has a tendency to separate men, even though the differ- 
 ence would not have made friendship impossible if it had 
 existed from the first. Instances of this are often found 
 in biographies, especially in religious biographies, because 
 religious people are more " pained " and " wounded " by 
 difference of opinion than others. We read in such 
 books of the profound distress with which the hero 
 found himself separated from his early friends by his 
 new conviction on this or that point of theology. Poli- 
 tical divergence produces the same effect in a minor 
 degree, and with more of irritation than distress. Even 
 divergence of opinion on artistic subjects is enough to 
 produce coolness. Artists and men of letters become 
 estranged from each other by modifications of their 
 critical doctrines. 
 
 Differences of prosperity do not prevent the formation 
 of friendship if they have existed previously and can be 
 taken as established facts, but if they widen afterwards 
 they have a tendency to diminish it. They do so by 
 altering the views of one of the parties about ways of 
 living and about the multitude of things involving ques- 
 tions of expense. If the enriched man lives on a scale 
 corresponding to his newly-acquired wealth, he may be
 
 io6 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 regarded by the other as pretentious beyond his station, 
 whilst if he keeps to his old style he may be thought 
 parsimonious. From delicacy he will cease to talk to 
 the other about his money matters, which he spoke 
 of with frankness when he was not so rich. If he has 
 social ambition he will form new alliances with richer 
 men, and the old friend may regard these with a little 
 unconscious jealousy. 
 
 It has been observed that young artists often have a 
 great esteem for the work of one of their number so long 
 as its qualities are not recognised and rewarded by the 
 public, but that so soon as the clever young man wins 
 the natural meed of industry and ability his early friend- 
 ships die. They were often the result of a generous 
 indignation against public injustice, so when that injustice 
 came to an end the kindness that was a protest against 
 it ceased at the same time. In jealous natures it would 
 no doubt be replaced by the conviction that public favour 
 had rewarded merit far beyond its deserts. 
 
 In the political life of democracies we see men 
 enthusiastically supported and really admired with sin- 
 cerity so long as they remain in opposition, and their 
 friends indulge the most favourable anticipations about 
 what they would do if they came to power, but when 
 they accept office they soon lose many of these friends, 
 who are quite sure to be disappointed with the small 
 degree in which their excessive hopes have been realised. 
 There is no country where this is seen more frequently 
 than in France, where ministers are often criticised with 
 the most unrelenting and uncharitable acerbity by the 
 men and newspapers that helped to raise them. 
 
 Changes of physical constitution may be the death
 
 viii.] THE DEA TH OF FRIENDSHIP. 107 
 
 of friendship in this way. A friendship may be founded 
 upon some sport that one of the parties becomes unable 
 to follow. After that the two men cease to meet on the 
 particularly pleasant occasions that every sport affords 
 for its real votaries, and they only meet on common 
 occasions, which are not the same, because there is not 
 the same jovial and hearty temper. In like manner a 
 friendship may be weakened if one of the parties gives 
 up some indulgence that both used to enjoy together. 
 Many a friendship has been cemented by the habit of 
 smoking, and weakened afterwards when one friend gave 
 up the habit declined the cigars that the other offered, 
 and either did not accompany him to the smoking-room 
 or sat there in open and vexatious nonconformity. 
 
 It is well known, so well known, indeed, as scarcely 
 to require mention here, that one of the most frequent 
 and powerful causes of the death of bachelor friendships 
 is marriage. One of the two friends takes a wife, and 
 the friendship is at once in peril. The maintenance of 
 it depends upon the lady's taste and temper. If not 
 quite approved by her it will languish for a little while, 
 and then die, in spite of all painful and visible efforts on 
 the husband's part to compensate, by extra attention, 
 for the coolness of his wife. I have visited a continental 
 city where it is always understood that all bachelor friend- 
 ships are broken off by marriage. This rule has at least 
 the advantage of settling the question unequivocally. 
 
 Simple neglect is probably the most common of all 
 causes deadly to friendship neglect arising either from 
 real indifference, from constitutional indolence, or from 
 excessive devotion to business. Friendly feelings must 
 be either of extraordinary sincerity or else strengthened
 
 io8 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 by some extraneous motive of self-interest to surmount 
 petty inconveniences. The very slightest difficulty in 
 maintaining intercourse is sufficient in most cases to 
 ensure its total cessation in a short time. Your house 
 is somewhat difficult of access, it is on a hillside, or at a 
 little distance from a railway station ; only the most sin- 
 cere friends will be at the trouble to find you unless 
 your rank is so high that it is a glory to visit you. 
 
 Poor friends often keep up intercourse with rich ones 
 by sheer force of determination long after it ought to 
 have been allowed to die its own natural death. When 
 they do this without having the courage to require some 
 approach to reciprocity they sink into the condition of 
 mere clients, whom the patron may indeed treat with 
 apparent kindness, but whom he regards with real 
 indifference, taking no trouble whatever to maintain the 
 old connection between them. 
 
 Equality of rank and fortune is not at all necessary 
 to friendship, but a certain other kind of equality is. A 
 real friendship can never be maintained unless there is 
 an equal readiness on both sides to be at some pains 
 and trouble for its maintenance ; so if you perceive that 
 a person whom you once supposed to be your friend 
 will not put himself to any trouble on your account, the 
 only course consistent with your dignity is to take 
 exactly the same amount of pains to make yourself 
 agreeable to him. After you have done this for a little 
 time you will soon know if the friendship is really dead, 
 for he is sure to perceive your neglect if he does not 
 perceive his own, and he will either renew the intercourse 
 with some empressement or else cease from it altogether. 
 
 In early life the right rule is to accept kindness
 
 vui.] THE DEATH OF FRIENDSHIP. 109 
 
 gratefully from one's elders, and not to be sensitive 
 about omissions, because such omissions are then often 
 consistent with the most real and affectionate regard ; 
 but as a man advances towards middle age it is right 
 for him to be somewhat careful of his dignity, and to 
 require from friends, whatever may be their station, a 
 certain general reciprocity. This should always be 
 understood in rather a large sense, and not exacted in 
 trifles. If he perceives that there is no reciprocity he 
 cannot do better than drop an acquaintance that is but 
 the phantom and simulacrum of friendship's living reality. 
 It is as natural that many friendships should die 
 and be replaced by others as that our old selves 
 should be replaced by our present selves. The fact 
 seems melancholy when first perceived, but is afterwards 
 accepted as inevitable. There is, however, a death of 
 friendship which is so truly sad and sorrowful as to cast 
 its gloomy shadow on all the years that remain to us. 
 It is when we ourselves, by some unhappy fault of temper 
 that might have been easily avoided, have wounded the 
 kind breast of our friend, and killed the gentle sentiment 
 that was dwelling happily within. The only way to be 
 quite sure of avoiding this great and irretrievable calamity 
 is to remember how very delicate friendly sentiments 
 are, and how easy it is to destroy them by an incon- 
 siderate or an ungentle word.
 
 ESSAY IX. 
 
 THE FLUX OF WEALTH. 
 
 WE become richer or poorer ; we seldom remain exactly 
 as we were. If we have property it increases or dimin- 
 ishes in value ; if our income is fixed the value of 
 money alters, and if it increased proportionally to the 
 depreciation of money our position would still be rela- 
 tively altered by changes in the fortunes of others. We 
 marry and have children ; then our wealth becomes less 
 our own after every birth. We win some honour or 
 professional advancement that seems a gain ; but in- 
 creased expenditure is the consequence, and we are 
 poorer than we were before. Amidst all these fluctua- 
 tions of wealth human intercourse either continues under 
 altered conditions, or else it is broken off, because they 
 are no longer favourable to its maintenance. I propose 
 to consider, very briefly, how these altered conditions 
 operate. 
 
 We have to separate, in the first place, intercourse 
 between individuals from intercourse between families. 
 The distinction is of the utmost importance, because the 
 two are not under the same law. 
 
 Two men, of whom one is extremely rich and the 
 other almost penniless, have no difficulty in associating 
 together on terms agreeable to both when they possess
 
 ESSAY ix.] THE FLUX OF WEALTH. in 
 
 intellectual interests in common, or even when there is 
 nothing more than an attraction of idiosyncrasy ; but 
 these conditions only subsist between one individual and 
 another, they are not likely to subsist between two 
 families. Intercourse between individuals depends' on 
 something in intellect and culture that enables them to 
 understand each other, and upon something in character 
 that makes them love or respect each other. Intercourse 
 between families depends chiefly on neighbourhood and 
 similarity in style of living. 
 
 This is the reason why bachelors have so much easier 
 access to society than men with wives and families. 
 The bachelor is received for himself, for his genius, in- 
 formation, manners ; but if he is married the question is, 
 " What sort of people are they ?" This, being interpreted, 
 means " What style do they live in ?" " How many ser- 
 vants do they keep?" 
 
 Whatever may be the variety of opinions concern- 
 ing the doctrines of the Church of Rome, there is but 
 one concerning her astuteness. There can be no doubt 
 that she is the most influential association of men that 
 has ever existed ; and she has decided for celibacy, that 
 the priest might stand on his merits and on the power of 
 the Church, and be respected and admitted everywhere 
 in spite of notorious poverty. 
 
 Mignet, the historian, was a most intimate and constant 
 friend of Thiers. Mignet, though rich in reality, as he 
 knew how to live contentedly on moderate means, was 
 poor in comparison with his friend. This inequality did 
 not affect their friendship in the least, for both were great 
 workers, well qualified to understand each other, though 
 Thiers lived in a grand house and Mignet in a barely-
 
 U2 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 furnished lodging high up in a house that did not belong 
 
 to him. 
 
 Mignet was a bachelor, and they were both childless 
 men ; but imagine them with large families. One family 
 would have been bred in the greatest luxury, the other 
 in austere simplicity. Children are keenly alive to these 
 distinctions ; and even if there had been neither pride 
 in the rich house nor envy in the poorer one, the contrast 
 would have been constantly felt. The historical studies 
 that the fathers had in common would probably not have 
 interested their descendants, and unless there had been 
 some other powerful bond of sympathy the two families 
 would have lived in different worlds. The rich family 
 would have had rich friends, the poorer family would 
 have attached itself to other families with whom it could 
 have exchanged hospitality on more equal terms. This 
 would have happened even in Paris, a city where there 
 is a remarkable absence of contempt for poverty, a city 
 where the slightest reason for distinction will admit any 
 well-bred man into society in spite of narrow means, and 
 ensure him immunity from disdain. All the more cer- 
 tainly would it happen in places where money is the 
 only regulation of rank, the only acknowledged claim to 
 consideration. 
 
 I once knew an English merchant who was reputed 
 to be wealthy, and who, like a true Englishman as he 
 was, inhabited one of those great houses that are so 
 elaborately contrived for the exercise of hospitality. He 
 had a kind and friendly heart, and lived surrounded by 
 people who often did him the favour to drink his ex- 
 cellent wines and sleep in his roomy bedchambers. 
 On his death it turned out that he had never been quite
 
 ix.] THE FLUX OF WEALTH. 113 
 
 so rich as he appeared, and that during his last decade 
 his fortune had rapidly dwindled. Being much interested 
 in everything that may confirm or invalidate those views 
 of human nature that are current in ancient and modern 
 literature, I asked his son how those who were formerly 
 such frequent guests at the great house had behaved to 
 the impoverished family. "They simply avoided us," 
 he said, " and some of them, whem they met me, would 
 cut me openly in the street." 
 
 It may be said with perfect truth that this was a good 
 riddance. It is certain that it was so ; it is undeniable 
 that the deliverance from a horde of false friends is worth 
 a considerable sum per head of them, and that in itself 
 was only a subject of congratulation ; but their behaviour 
 was hard to bear because it was the evidence of a fall. 
 We like deference as a proof that we have what others 
 respect, quite independently of any real affection on 
 their part ; nay, we even enjoy the forced deference of 
 those who hate us, well knowing that they would behave 
 very differently if they dared. Besides this, it is not 
 certain that an impoverished family will find truer friends 
 amongst the poor than it did formerly amongst the rich. 
 The relation may be the same as it was before, and only 
 the incomes of the parties altered. 
 
 What concerns our present subject is simply that 
 changes of pecuniary situation have always a strong 
 tendency to throw people amongst other associates, and 
 as these changes are continually occurring, the result is 
 that families very rarely preserve the same acquaintances 
 for more than a single generation. And now comes the 
 momentous issue. The influence of our associates is so 
 difficult to resist, in fact so completely irresistible in the 
 
 I
 
 ii4 HUMAN INTERCOURSE, [ESSAY 
 
 long run, that people belong far less to the class they are 
 descended from than to the class in which they live. 
 The younger son of some perfectly aristocratic family 
 marries rather imprudently, and is impoverished by family 
 expenses, his son marries imprudently again and goes 
 into another class. The children of that second mar- 
 riage will' probably not have a trace of the peculiarly 
 aristocratic civilisation. They will have neither the 
 manners, nor the ideas, nor the unexpressed instincts 
 of the real aristocracy from which they sprang. In 
 place of them they will have the ideas of the lower 
 middle class, and be in habits and manners just as 
 completely of that class as if their fprefathers had always 
 belonged to it. 
 
 I have in view two instances of this which are especi- 
 ally interesting to me because they exemplify it in opposite 
 ways. In one of these cases the man was virtuous and 
 religious, but, though his ancestry was aristocratic, his 
 virtues and his religion were exactly those of the English 
 middle class. He was a good, Bible-reading, Sabbath- 
 observing, theatre-avoiding evangelical, inclined to think 
 that dancing was rather sinful, and in all those subtle 
 points of difference that distinguish the middle class 
 Englishman from the aristocratic Englishman he followed 
 the middle class, not seeming to have any unconscious 
 reminiscence in his blood of an ancestry with a freer 
 and lordlier life. He cared neither for the sports, nor 
 the studies, nor the social intercourse of the aristocracy. 
 His time was divided, as that of the typical good middle 
 class Englishman generally is, between business and 
 religion, except when he read his newspaper. By a 
 combination of industry and good fortune he recovered
 
 ix.] THE FLUX OF WEALTH. 115 
 
 wealth, and might have rejoined the aristocracy to which 
 he belonged by right of descent, but middle class habits 
 were too strong, and he remained contentedly to the 
 close of life both in that class and of it. 
 
 The other example I am thinking of is that of a man 
 still better descended, who followed a profession which, 
 though it offers a good field for energy and talent, is 
 seldom pursued by gentlemen. He acquired the habits 
 and ideas of an intelligent but dissipated working man, 
 his vices were exactly those of such a man, and so was 
 his particular kind of religious scepticism. I need not 
 go further into detail. Suppose the character of a very 
 clever but vicious and irreligious workman, such as may 
 be found in great numbers in the large English towns, and 
 you have the accurate portrait of this particular declasse. 
 
 In mentioning these two cases I am anxious to avoid 
 misinterpretation. I have no particular respect for one 
 class more than another, and am especially disposed to 
 indulgence for the faults of those who bear the stress of 
 the labour of the world ; but I see that there are classes, 
 and that the fluctuations of fortune, more than any other 
 cause, bring people within the range of influence exer- 
 cised by the habits of classes, and form them in the 
 mould, so that their virtues and vices afterwards, besides 
 their smaller qualities and defects, belong to the class 
 they live in and not to the class they may be descended 
 from. In other words, men are more strongly influenced 
 by human intercourse than by heredity. 
 
 The most remarkable effect of the fluctuation of 
 wealth is the extreme rapidity with which the prosperous 
 family gains refinement of manners, whilst the impover- 
 ished family loses it. This change seems to be more
 
 1 1 6 HUMAN INTERCO URSE. [ESSAY 
 
 rapid in our own age and country than it has ever been 
 before. Nothing is more interesting than to watch this 
 double process, and nothing in social studies is more 
 curious than the multiplicity of the minute causes that 
 bring it about. Every abridgment of ceremony has a 
 tendency to lower refinement by introducing that sans- 
 gene which is fatal to good manners. Ceremony is only 
 compatible with leisure. It is abridged by haste ; haste 
 is the result of poverty, and so it comes to pass that 
 the loss of fortune induces people to give up one little 
 observance after another, for economy of time, till at 
 last there are none remaining. There is the excellent 
 habit of dressing for the evening meal. The mere cost 
 of it is almost imperceptible, except that it causes a small 
 additional expenditure in clean linen, but although the 
 pecuniary tax is slight, there is a tax on time which is 
 not compatible with hurry and irregularity, so it is only 
 people of some leisure who maintain it. Now consider 
 the subtle influence on manners of the maintenance or 
 abandonment of this custom. Where it is kept up, 
 gentlemen and ladies meet in a drawing-room before 
 dinner, prepared by their toilet for the disciplined inter- 
 course of well-regulated social life. They are like officers 
 in uniform, or clergymen in canonicals, they wear a 
 dress that is not without its obligations. It is not the 
 luxury of it that does this, for the dress is always plain 
 for men and often simple for ladies ; but the mere fact 
 of taking the trouble to dress is an act of deference to 
 civilisation, and disposes the mind to other observances. 
 It has the further advantage of separating us from the 
 occupations of the day and marking a new point of 
 departure for the gentler life of the evening. As people
 
 ix.] THE FLUX OF WEALTH. 117 
 
 become poorer they give up dressing, except when they 
 have a party, and then they feel ill at ease from the 
 consciousness of a white tie. You have only to go a 
 little farther in this direction to arrive at the people who 
 do not feel any inclination to wash their hands before 
 dinner, even when they visibly need it. Finally, there 
 are houses where the master will sit down to table in 
 his shirt-sleeves, and without anything round his neck. 
 People who live in this way have no social intercourse 
 whatever of a slightly ceremonious kind, and therefore 
 miss all the discipline in manners that rich people go 
 through every day. The higher society is a school of 
 manners that the poor have not leisure to attend. 
 
 The downward course of an impoverished family is 
 strongly aided by an element in many natures that the 
 discipline of high life either subdues or eliminates. 
 There are always people, especially in the male sex, who 
 feel ill at ease under ceremonial restraints of any kind, 
 and who find the release from them an ineffably delight- 
 ful emancipation. Such people hate dressing for dinner, 
 hate the forms of politeness, hate gloves and visiting- 
 cards, and all that such things remind them of. To be 
 rid of these things, once for all, to be able to sit and 
 smoke a pipe in an old gray coat, seems to them far 
 greater and more substantial happiness than to drink 
 claret in a dining-room, napkin on knee. Once out of 
 society, such men have no desire to enter it again, and 
 after a very short exclusion from it, they belong to a 
 lower class from taste quite as much as from circum- 
 stances. All those who have a tendency towards the 
 philosophy of Diogenes (and they .are more numerous 
 than we suppose) are of this manner of thinking. Some-
 
 n8 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 times they have a taste for serious intellectual pursuits 
 which makes the nothings of society seem frivolous, and 
 also consoles their pride for an apparent decheance. 
 
 If it were possible to get rid of the burdensome 
 superfluities of high life, most of which are useless 
 encumbrances, and live simply without any loss of 
 refinement, I should say that these philosophers would 
 have reason on their side. The complicated apparatus 
 of wealthy life is not in itself desirable. To convert the 
 simple act of satisfying hunger into the tedious cere- 
 monial of a state dinner, may be a satisfaction of pride, 
 but it is assuredly not an increase of pleasure. To 
 receive as guests people whom we do not care for in 
 the least (which is constantly done by rich people to 
 maintain their position) offers less of what is agreeable 
 in human intercourse than a chat with a real friend 
 under a shed of thatch. Nevertheless, to be totally 
 excluded from the life of the wealthy is to miss a discip- 
 line in manners that nothing ever replaces, and this is 
 the real loss. The cultivation of taste which results 
 from leisure, forms, in course of time, amongst rich 
 people, a public opinion that disciplines every member 
 of an aristocratic society far more severely than the more 
 careless opinion of the hurried classes ever disciplines 
 them. To know the value of such discipline we have 
 only to observe societies from which it is absent. We 
 have many opportunities for this in travelling, and one 
 occurred to me last year that I will describe as an 
 example. I was boating with two young friends on a 
 French river, and we spent a Sunday in a decent river- 
 side inn, where we had dejeuner in a corner of the public 
 room. Several men of the neighbourhood, probably
 
 rx.] THE FLUX OF WEALTH. 119 
 
 farmers and small proprietors, sat in another corner 
 playing cards. They had a very decent appearance ; 
 they were fine healthy-looking men, quite the contrary 
 of a degraded class, and they were only amusing them- 
 selves temperately on a Sunday morning. Well, from 
 the beginning of their game to the end of it (that is, 
 during the whole time of our meal), they did nothing 
 but shout, yell, shriek, and swear at each other loudly 
 enough to be heard across the broad river. They were 
 not angry in the least, but it was their habit to make a 
 noise and to use oaths and foul language continually. 
 We, at our table, could not hear each other's voices, but 
 this did not occur to them. They had no notion that 
 their noisy kind of intercourse could be unpleasant to 
 anybody, because delicacy of sense, fineness of nerve, 
 had not been developed in their class of society. After- 
 wards I asked them for some information, which they 
 gave with a real anxiety to make themselves of use. 
 Some rich people came to the inn with a pretty carriage, 
 and I amused myself by noting the difference. Their 
 manners were perfectly quiet: Why are rich people 
 quiet and poorer ones noisy ? Because the refinements 
 of wealthy life, its peace and tranquillity, its leisure, 
 its facilities for separation in different rooms, produce 
 delicacy of nerve with the perception that noise is dis- 
 agreeable ; and out of this delicacy, when it is general 
 amongst a whole class, springs a strong determination 
 so to discipline the members of the class that they 
 shall not make themselves disagreeable to the majority. 
 Hence lovers of good manners have a preference for 
 the richer classes, quite apart from a love of physical 
 luxury or a snobbish desire to be associated with people
 
 120 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY ix. 
 
 of rank. For the same reason a lover of good manners 
 dreads poverty or semi-poverty for his children, because 
 even a moderate degree of poverty (not to speak of the 
 acute forms of it) may compel them to associate with 
 the undisciplined. What gentleman would like his son 
 to live habitually with the card-players I have described ?
 
 ESSAY X. 
 
 DIFFERENCES OF RANK AND WEALTH. 
 
 THE most remarkable peculiarity about the desire to 
 establish distinctions of rank is not that there should 
 be definite gradations amongst people who have titles, 
 but that when the desire is strong in a nation, public 
 opinion should go far beyond heralds, and parchments, 
 and gazettes, and establish the most minute gradations 
 amongst people who have nothing honorific about them. 
 When once the rule is settled by a table of precedence 
 that an earl is greater than a baron, we simply acquiesce 
 in the arrangement, as we are ready to believe that a 
 mandarin with a yellow jacket is a much-to-be-honoured 
 sort of mandarin, but what is the power that strikes 
 the nice balance of social advantages in favour of Mr. 
 Smith, as compared with Mr. Jones, when neither one 
 nor the other has any title or ancestry, or anything 
 whatever to boast of? Amongst the many gifts that are 
 to be admired in the fair sex this seems one of the most 
 mysterious, that ladies can so decidedly fix the exact 
 social position of every human being. Men soon find 
 themselves bewildered by conflicting considerations, but 
 a woman goes to the point at once, and settles in the 
 most definite manner that Smith is certainly the superior 
 of Jones.
 
 122 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 This may bring upon me the imputation of being a 
 democrat and a leveller. No, I rather like a well-defined 
 social distinction when it has reality. Real distinctions 
 keep society picturesque and interesting ; what I fail 
 to appreciate so completely are the fictitious little dis- 
 tinctions that have no basis in reality, and appear to be 
 instituted merely for the sake of establishing differences 
 that do not naturally exist. It seems to be an unfor- 
 tunate tendency that seeks unapparent differences, and 
 it may have a bad effect on character, by forcing each 
 man back upon the consideration of his own claims that 
 it would be better for him to forget. 
 
 I once dined at a country-house in Scotland, when 
 the host asked one of the guests this question, "Are you 
 a landowner ? " in order to determine his precedence. 
 It did so happen that the guest owned a few small 
 farms, so he answered "Yes," but it struck me that the 
 distinction between a man who had a moderate sum 
 invested in land, and one who had twice as much in 
 other investments, was not clearly in favour of the first. 
 Could not the other buy land any day if he liked ? He 
 who hath gold hath land, potentially. If precedence is 
 to be regulated by so material a consideration as wealth, 
 let it be done fairly and plainly. The best and simplest 
 plan would be to embroider the amount of each gentle- 
 man's capital in gold thread on the breast of his dress- 
 coat. The "metal would be appropriate, the embroidery 
 would be decorative, and the practice would offer 
 unequalled encouragement to thrift. 
 
 Again, I have always understood in the most confused 
 manner the distinction, so clear to many, between those 
 who are in trade and those who are not. I think I see
 
 x.] DIFFERENCES OF RANK & WEALTH. 123 
 
 the only real objection to trade, with the help of M. 
 Renan, who has stated it very clearly, but my difficulty 
 is to discover who are tradesmen, and still more, who 
 are not tradesmen. Here is M, Kenan's account of 
 the matter. 
 
 " Our ideal can only be realised with a Government 
 that gives some eclat to those who are connected with 
 it, and which creates distinctions outside of wealth. We 
 feel an antipathy to a society in which the merit of a 
 man and his superiority to another can only be revealed 
 under the form of industry and commerce, not that 
 trade and industry are not honest in our eyes, but 
 because we see clearly that the best things (such as the 
 functions of the priest, the magistrate, the savant, the 
 artist, and the serious man of letters) are the inverse of 
 the industrial and commercial spirit, the first duty of 
 those who follow them being not to try to enrich them- 
 selves, and never to take into consideration the venal 
 value of what they do." 
 
 This, I understand, provided that the priest, magis- 
 trate, savant, artist, and serious man of letters, are faith- 
 ful to this " first duty," provided that they " never take 
 into consideration the venal value of what they do." 
 But there are tradesmen in the highest professions. All 
 that can be said against trade is that its object is profit. 
 Then it follows that every profession followed for profit 
 has in it what is objectionable in trade, and that the 
 professions are not noble in themselves, but only if they 
 are followed in a disinterested spirit. I should say, 
 then, that any attempt to fix the degree of nobleness of 
 persons by the supposed nobleness of their occupations 
 must be founded upon an unreal distinction. A venal
 
 124 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 clergyman who does not believe the dogmas that he 
 defends for his endowment ; a venal barrister, ready to 
 prostitute his talents and his tongue for a large income, 
 seem to me to have in them far more of what is objec- 
 tionable in trade, than a country-bookseller who keeps a 
 little shop and sells note-paper and sealing-wax over the 
 counter; yet it is assumed that their occupations are 
 noble occupations and that his business is not noble, 
 though I can see nothing whatever in it of which any 
 gentleman need be in the slightest degree ashamed. 
 
 Again, there seem to be most unreal distinctions of 
 respectability in the trades themselves. The wine-trade 
 has always been considered a gentlemanly business, but 
 why is it more respectable to sell wine and spirits than 
 to sell bread, or cheese, or beef? Are not articles of 
 food more useful to the community than alcoholic drinks, 
 and less likely to contribute to the general sum of evil ? 
 As for the honesty of the dealers, no doubt there are 
 honest wine-merchants, but what thing that is sold for 
 money has been more frequently adulterated, or more 
 mendaciously labelled, or more unscrupulously charged 
 for, than the produce of European vintages? 1 
 
 1 That valiant enemy of false pretensions, Mr. Punch, has often 
 done good service in throwing ridicule on unreal distinctions. In 
 "Punch's Almanac" for 1882 I find the following exquisite 
 conversation beneath one of George Du Maurier's inimitable draw- 
 ings : 
 
 Grigsby, " Do you know the Joneses ?" 
 
 Mrs. Brown. " No, we er don't care to know Business 
 people, as a rule, although my husband's in business ; but then 
 he's in the Coffee business and they're all GENTLEMEN in the Coffee 
 business, you know ! " 
 
 Grigsby (who always suits himself to his company). "Really
 
 x.] DIFFERENCES OF RANK & WEALTH. 125 
 
 Another wonderful unreality is the following. People 
 desire the profits of trade, but are unwilling to lose caste 
 by engaging in it openly. In order to fill their pockets 
 and preserve their rank at the same time, they engage in 
 business anonymously, either as members of some firm 
 in which their names do not appear or else as share- 
 holders in great trading enterprises. In both these cases 
 the investor of capital becomes just as really and truly a 
 tradesman as if he kept a shop, but if you were to tell 
 him that he was a tradesman he would probably resent 
 the imputation. 
 
 It is remarkable that the people who most despise 
 commerce are the very people who bow down most readily 
 before the accomplished results of commerce, for, as they 
 have an exaggerated sense of social distinctions, they are 
 great adorers of wealth for the distinction that it confers. 
 By their worship of wealth they acknowledge it to be 
 most desirable, but then they worship rank also, and this 
 other cultus goes with the sentiment of contempt for 
 humble and plodding industry in all its forms. 
 
 The contempt for trade is inconsistent in another way. 
 A man may be excluded from " good society " because 
 he is in trade, and his grandson may be admitted because 
 the grandfather was in trade, that is, through a fortune 
 of commercial origin. The present Prime Minister 
 (Gladstone), and the Speaker of the House of Commons 
 (Mr. Arthur Peel), and many other men of high position 
 in both Houses, may owe their fame to their own distin- 
 guished abilities, but they owe the leisure and opportunity 
 
 now ! Why, that's more than can be said of the Army, the Navy, 
 the Church, the Bar, or even the House of Lords ! I don't wonder 
 at your being rather exclusive /"
 
 126 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 for cultivating and displaying those abilities to the wits 
 and industry of tradesmen removed from them only by 
 one or two generations. 
 
 Is there not a strange inconsistency in adoring wealth 
 as it is adored, and despising the particular kind of skill 
 and ability by which it is usually acquired? For, if 
 there be anything honourable about wealth, it must 
 surely be as evidence of the intelligence and industry 
 that are necessary for the conquest of poverty. On the 
 contrary, a narrowly exclusive society despises the virtue 
 that is most creditable to the nouveati riche his industry 
 whilst it worships his wealth as soon as the preserva- 
 tion of it is compatible with idleness. 
 
 There is a great deal of unreal distinction in the 
 matter of ancestry. Those who observe closely are well 
 aware that many undoubted and lineal descendants of 
 the oldest families are in humble social positions, simply 
 for want of money to make a display, whilst others usurp 
 their coats of arms, and claim a descent that they cannot 
 really prove. The whole subject is, therefore, one of the 
 most unsatisfactory that can be, and all that remains to 
 the real members of old families, who have not wealth 
 enough to hold a place in the expensive modern aristo- 
 cracy, is to remember secretly the history of their 
 ancestors, if they are romantic and poetical enough to 
 retain the old-fashioned sentiment of birth, and to forget 
 it if they look only to the present and the practical. 
 There is, indeed, so little of the romantic sentiment left 
 in the country, that even amongst the descendants of 
 old families themselves, very few are able to blazon their 
 own armorial bearings, or even know what the verb " to 
 blazon " means.
 
 x.] DIFFERENCES OF RANK & WEALTH. 127 
 
 Amidst so great a confusion the simplest way would 
 be not to think about rank at all, and to take human 
 nature as it comes without reference to it ; but however 
 the ancient barriers of rank may be broken down it is 
 only to erect new ones. English feeling has a deep 
 satisfaction in contemplating rank and wealth combined. 
 It is that which it likes the combination. When wealth 
 is gone, it thinks that a man should lock up his pedigree 
 in his desk and forget that he has ancestors ; so it has 
 been said that an English gentleman in losing wealth 
 loses his caste with it, whilst a French or Italian gentle- 
 man may keep his caste, except in the most abject 
 poverty. On the other hand, when an Englishman has 
 a vast fortune, it is thought right to give him a title also, 
 that the desirable combination may be created afresh. 
 Nothing is so striking in England, considering that it is 
 an old country, as the newness of most of the great 
 families. The aristocracy is like London, that has the 
 reputation of being a very ancient city, yet the houses 
 are of recent date. An aristocracy may be stronger and 
 in better repair because of its newness ; it may also be 
 more likely to make a display of aristocratic superiorities, 
 and expect deference to be paid to them, than an easy- 
 going old aristocracy would be. 
 
 What are the superiorities, and what is the nature of 
 the deference ? 
 
 The superiority given by title depends on the intensity 
 of title-worship amongst the public. In England that 
 religion is in a very healthy and flourishing state, so that 
 titles are very valuable there ; in France the sense of a 
 social hierarchy is so much weakened that titles are of 
 infinitely less value. False ones are assumed and borne
 
 128 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 with impunity on account of the general indifference, 
 whilst true and authentic titles are often dropped as an 
 encumbrance. The blundering ignorance of the French 
 about our titles, which so astonishes Englishmen, is due 
 to a carelessness about the whole subject that no 
 inhabitant of the British islands can imagine. 1 In those 
 islands title is of very great importance, because the 
 people have such a strong consciousness of its existence. 
 In England, if there is a lord in the room everybody is 
 aware of it. 
 
 Superiority of family, without title, is merely local; it is 
 not understood far from the ancestral home. Superiority 
 of title is national, it is imperfectly appreciated in foreign 
 countries. But superiority of wealth has the immense 
 
 1 I am often amused by the indignant feelings of English 
 journalists on this matter. Some French newspaper calls an 
 Englishman a lord when he is not a lord, and our journalists are 
 amazed at the incorrigible ignorance of the French. If Englishmen 
 cared as little about titles they would be equally ignorant, and two 
 or three other things are to be said in defence of the French 
 journalist that English critics never take into account. They sup- 
 pose that because Gladstone is commonly called Mr., a Frenchman 
 ought to know that he cannot be a lord. That does not follow. 
 In France a man may be called Monsieur and be a baron at the 
 same time. A Frenchman may answer : "If Gladstone is not a 
 lord why do you call him one ? English almanacs not only say 
 that Gladstone is a lord, but that he is the very First Lord of the 
 Treasury. Again, why am I not to speak of Sir Chamberlain ? I 
 have seen a printed letter to him beginning with ' Sir,' which is 
 plain evidence that your ' Sir ' is the equivalent of our Monsieur." 
 A Frenchman is surely not to be severely blamed if he is not aware 
 that the First Lord of the Treasury is not a lord at all, and that a 
 man who is called a " Sir" inside every letter addressed to him has 
 no right to that title on the envelope.
 
 x.] DIFFERENCES OF RANK &> WEALTH. 129 
 
 advantage over these that it is respected everywhere, 
 and can display itself everywhere with the utmost osten- 
 tation under pretext of custom and pleasure. It com- 
 mands the homage of foolish and frivolous people by 
 possibilities of vain display, and at the same time it 
 appears desirable to the wise because it makes the 
 gathering of experience easy and human intercourse 
 convenient. 
 
 The rich man has access to an immense range of 
 varied situations, and if he has energy to profit by this 
 facility, and put himself in those situations where he 
 may learn the most, he may become far more experienced 
 at thirty -five than a poor man can be at seventy. A 
 poor man has a taste for boating, so he builds a little 
 boat with his own hands, and paints it green and white, 
 with its name, the " Cock-Robin," in yellow. Meanwhile 
 his good wife, in spite of all the work she has to do, has 
 a kindly indulgence for her poor Tom's hobby, thinks 
 he deserves a little amusement, and stitches the sail for 
 him in the evenings. He sails five or six miles up and 
 down the river. Sir Thomas Brassey has exactly the 
 same tastes ; he builds the " Sunbeam," and, whilst the 
 " Cock-Robin " has been doing its little trips, the " Sun- 
 beam" has gone round the world ; and, instead of stitching 
 the sails, the kind wife has accompanied the mariner and 
 written the story of his voyage. If after that you talk 
 with the owners of the two vessels, you may be interested 
 for a few minutes deeply interested and touched; if 
 you have the divine gift of sympathy with the poor 
 man's account of his doings, but his experience is small 
 and soon told, whilst the owner of the " Sunbeam " has 
 traversed all the oceans, and could tell you a thousand 
 
 K
 
 130 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. ESSAY 
 
 things. So it naturally follows in most cases, though 
 the rule has exceptions, that rich men are more interest- 
 ing people to know than poor men of equal ability. 
 
 I remember being forcibly reminded of the narrow 
 experience of the poor on one of those occasions that 
 often happen to those who live in the country, and know 
 their poorer neighbours. A friend of mine, with his 
 children, had come to stay with me, and there was a 
 poor woman, living in a very out-of-the-way hamlet on a 
 hill, who had made me promise that I would take my 
 friend and his children to see her, because she had 
 known their mother, who was dead, and had felt for her 
 one of those strong and constant affections that often 
 dwell in humble and faithful hearts. We have a great 
 respect for this poor woman, who is in all ways a 
 thoroughly dutiful person, and she has borne severe 
 trials with great patience. Well, she was delighted to 
 see my friend and his children, delighted to see how 
 well they looked, how much they had grown, and so on ; 
 and then she spoke of her own little ones, and showed 
 us the books they were learning in, and described their 
 dispositions, and said that her husband was in full work, 
 and went every day to the schist mine, and was much 
 steadier than he used to be, and made her much happier. 
 After that she began again, saying exactly the same 
 things all over again, and she said them a third time, 
 and a fourth time. When we had left we noticed this 
 repetition, and we agreed that the poor woman, instead 
 of being deficient in intelligence, was naturally above the 
 average, but that the extreme narrowness of her experi- 
 ence, the total want of variety in her life, made it impos- 
 sible for her mind to get out of that little domestic
 
 x.] DIFFERENCES OF RANK & WEALTH. 131 
 
 groove. She had about half a dozen ideas, and she 
 lived in them, as a person in a small house lives in a 
 very few rooms. 
 
 Now, however much esteem, respect, and affection 
 you may have for a person of that kind, you will find 
 it impossible to enjoy such society, because conversation 
 has no aliment. This is the one great reason why culti- 
 vated people seem to avoid the poor, even when they do 
 not despise them in the least. 
 
 The greater experience of the rich is united to an 
 incomparably greater power of pleasant reception, because 
 in their homes conversation is not interfered with by the 
 multitude of petty domestic difficulties and inconveni- 
 ences. I go to spend the day with a very poor friend, 
 and this is what is likely to happen. He and I can 
 only talk without interruption when we are out of the 
 house. Inside it his children break in upon us con- 
 stantly. His wife finds me in the way and wishes I had 
 not come, because she has not been able to provide 
 things exactly as she desired. At dinner her mind is 
 not in the conversation ; she is really occupied with 
 petty household cares. I, on my part, have the uncom- 
 fortable feeling that I am creating inconvenience, and it 
 requires incessant attention to soothe the watchful sensi- 
 tiveness of a hostess who is so painfully alive to the defi- 
 ciencies of her small establishment. If I have a robust 
 appetite it is well, but woe to me if my appetite is small, 
 and I must overeat to prove that the cookery is good ! 
 If I accept a bed the sacrifice of a room will cause 
 crowding elsewhere, besides which I shall be a nuisance 
 in the early morning hours, when nothing in the menage 
 is fit for the public eye. Whilst creating all this incon-
 
 132 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 venience to others I suffer the great one of being stopped 
 in my usual pursuits. If I want a few quiet hours for 
 reading and writing there is only one way, I must go 
 privately to some hotel and hire a sitting-room for 
 myself. 
 
 Now consider the difference when I go to visit a rich 
 friend ! The first delightful feeling is that I do not 
 occasion the very slightest inconvenience. His arrange- 
 ments for the reception of guests are permanent and 
 perfect. My arrival will scarcely cost his wife a thought ; 
 she has simply given orders in the morning for a room 
 to be -got ready and a cover to be laid at table. Her 
 mind is free to think about any subject that suggests 
 itself. Her conversation, from long practice, is as easy 
 as the style of a good writer. All causes of interruption 
 are carefully kept in the background. The household 
 details are attended to by a regiment of domestics under 
 their own officers. The children are in rooms of their 
 own with their governesses and servants, and we see just 
 enough of them to be agreeable. If I desire privacy, 
 nothing is more easily obtained. On the slightest hint 
 a room is placed at my disposal. I remember one house 
 where that room used to be a splendid library, full of 
 the books which at that time I most wanted to consult, 
 and the only interruption in the mornings was the noise- 
 less entrance of the dear lady of the house, always at 
 eleven o'clock precisely, with a glass of wine and a 
 biscuit on a little silver tray. It is not the material 
 luxury of rich men's houses that a wise man would desire, 
 but he must thoroughly appreciate their convenience and 
 the varied food for the mind that they afford the books, 
 the pictures, the curiosities. In one there is a museum
 
 x.] DIFFERENCES OF RANK &- WEALTH. 133 
 
 of antiquities that a large town might envy ; in another 
 a collection of drawings; in a third a magnificent 
 armoury. In one private house in Paris 1 there used 
 to be fourteen noble saloons containing the arts of two 
 hundred years. You go to stay in ten rich houses and 
 find them all different : you enjoy the difference, and in 
 a certain sense you possess the different things. The 
 houses of the poor are all alike, or if they differ it is not 
 by variety of artistic or intellectual interest. By the 
 habit of staying in each other's houses the rich multiply 
 their riches to infinity. In a certain way of their own 
 (it is not exactly the way of the early Christians) they 
 have their goods in common. 
 
 There are, no doubt, many guests in the houses of 
 the rich who care little for the people they visit but 
 much for the variety and accommodation guests who 
 visit the place rather than the owner, guests who enjoy 
 the cookery, the wines, the shooting, and who would go 
 to the house if the owner were changed, exactly as they 
 continue to patronise some pleasantly situated and well 
 managed hotel after a change of masters. I hardly 
 know how to describe these people in a word, but it is 
 easy to characterise their entertainers. They are unpaid 
 innkeepers. 
 
 There are also people apparently hospitable who care 
 little for the persons they invite so very little, indeed, 
 that we do not easily discover what motive they have 
 for inviting them. The answer may be that they dislike 
 solitude so much that any guest is acceptable, or else 
 that they want admirers for the beautiful arrangements 
 and furniture of their houses ; for what is the use of 
 1 That of M. Leopold Double.
 
 134 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 having beautiful things if there is nobody to appreciate 
 them? Hosts of this class are amateur exhibitors, or 
 they are like amateur actors who want an audience, and 
 who will invite people to come and listen, not because 
 they care for the people but because it is discouraging 
 to play to empty benches. 
 
 These two classes of guests and hosts cannot exist 
 without riches. The desire to be entertained ceases 
 at once when it is known that the entertainment will 
 be of a poor quality, and the desire to exhibit the 
 internal arrangements of our houses ceases when we 
 are too poor to do justice to the refinement of our 
 taste. 
 
 The story of the rich man who had many friends 
 and saw them fall away from him when he became poor, 
 which, under various forms, reappears in every age, and is 
 common to all literatures, is explained by these consider- 
 ations. Bucklaw does not find Lord Ravenswood a 
 valuable gratuitous innkeeper, and Ravenswood is not 
 anxious to exhibit to Bucklaw the housekeeping at 
 Wolf's Crag. 
 
 But quite outside of parasite guests and exhibiting 
 entertainers, there still remains the undeniable fact that 
 if you like a rich man and a poor one equally well, you 
 will prefer the rich man's hospitality for its greater con- 
 venience. Nay, more, you will rightly and excusably 
 prefer the rich man's hospitality, even if you like the 
 poor man better, but find his household arrangements 
 disagreeable, his wife fagged, worn, irritable, and ungra- 
 cious ; his children ill bred, obtrusive, and dirty ; him- 
 self unable to talk about anything rational on account 
 of family interruptions, and scarcely his own better
 
 x.] DIFFERENCES OF RANK & WEALTH. . 135 
 
 and higher self at all in the midst of his domestic 
 plagues. 1 
 
 There is no nation in the world that has so acute a 
 sense of the value, almost the necessity, of wealth for 
 human intercourse as the English nation. Whilst in 
 other countries people think " Wealth is peace of mind, 
 wealth is convenience, wealth is la vie elegante;" in 
 England they silently accept the maxim, "A large in- 
 come is a necessary of life," and they class each other 
 according to the scale of their establishments, looking 
 up with unfeigned reverence to those who have many 
 servants, many horses, and gigantic houses where a great 
 hospitality is dispensed. An ordinary Englishman thinks 
 he has failed in life, and his friends are of the same 
 opinion, if he does not arrive at the ability to imitate 
 this style and state, at least in a minor degree. I have 
 given the best reasons why it is desired ; I understand 
 and appreciate them, but at the same time I think it 
 deeply to be deplored that an expenditure far beyond 
 what can be met by the physical or intellectual labour 
 of ordinary workers should be thought necessary in order 
 that people may meet and talk in comfort. The big 
 English house is a machine that runs with unrivalled 
 smoothness, but it masters its master, it possesses its 
 nominal possessor. George Borrow had the deepest 
 
 1 I need hardly say that this is not intended as a description of 
 poor men's hospitality generally, but only of the effects of poverty 
 on hospitality in certain cases. The point of the contrast lies in 
 the difference between this uncomfortable hospitality, which a 
 lover of pleasant human intercourse avoids, with the easy and 
 agreeable hospitality that the very same people would probably 
 have offered if they had possessed the conveniences of wealth.
 
 136 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 sense of the Englishman's slavery to his big well-ordered 
 dwelling, and saw in it the cause of unnumbered 
 anxieties, often ending in heart-disease, paralysis, bank- 
 ruptcy, and in minor cases sacrificing all chance of 
 leisure and quiet happiness. Many a landowner has 
 crippled himself by erecting a great house on his estate, 
 one of those huge tasteless buildings that express nothing 
 but pompous pride. What wisdom there is in the ex- 
 cellent old French adage, "A petite terre, petite maison "/ 
 
 The reader may remember Herbert Spencer's idea, 
 that the display of wealth is intended to subjugate. 
 Royal palaces are made very vast and magnificent to 
 subjugate those who approach the Sovereign, and all 
 rich and powerful people use the same means for the 
 same purpose, though in minor degrees. This leads us 
 to the price that has to be paid for intercourse with 
 persons of great rank and wealth. May we not suspect 
 that there is a heavy price of some kind, since many of 
 the best and noblest minds in the world either avoid it 
 altogether or else accept it cautiously and only with a 
 very few rich men whom they esteem independently of 
 their riches ? 
 
 The answer is that wealth and rank expect deference, 
 not so much humble and slavish manners as that 
 intellectual deference which a thinker can never willingly 
 give. The higher the rank of the personage the more 
 it is considered ill bred to contradict him, or even to 
 have an opinion of your own in his presence. This, to 
 a thinker, is unendurable. He does not see that be- 
 cause a person is rich and noble his views on everything 
 must be the best and soundest views. 
 
 You, my dear Aristophilus, who, by your pleasing
 
 x.] DIFFERENCES OF RANK fr WEALTH. 137 
 
 manners, are so well fitted for the very best society, could 
 give interesting answers to the following questions : 
 Have you never found it advisable to keep silence when 
 your wealthy host was saying things against which you 
 inwardly protested ? Have you not sometimes gone a 
 step farther, and given a kind of assent to some opinion 
 that was not your own? Have you not, by practice, 
 attained the power of giving a still stronger and heartier 
 assent to what seemed doubtful propositions ? 
 
 There is one form of this assent which is deeply 
 damaging to character. Some great person, a great 
 lady perhaps, unjustly condemns, in your presence, a 
 public man for whom you have a sincere respect. In- 
 stead of boldly defending him you remain silent and 
 acquiescent. You are afraid to offend, afraid to lose 
 favour, afraid that if you spoke openly you would not 
 be invited to the great house any more. 
 
 Sometimes not a single individual but a class is at- 
 tacked at once. A great lady is reported to have said 
 that she " had a deep objection to French literature in 
 all its branches." Observe that this expression of opinion 
 contains a severe censure on all French authors and on 
 all readers of French literature. Would you have ventured 
 to say a word in their defence ? Would you have dared 
 to hint, for example, that a serious mind might be none 
 the worse for some acquaintance with Montesquieu and 
 De Tocqueville ? No, sir, you would have bowed your 
 head and put on a shocked expression of countenance. 
 
 In this way, little by little, by successive abandon- 
 ments of what we think, and abdications of what we 
 know, we may arrive at a state of habitual and inane 
 concession that softens every fibre of the mind.
 
 ESSAY XL 
 
 THE OBSTACLE OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 THE greatest impediment to free intercourse between 
 nations is neither distance, nor the differences of mental 
 habits, nor the opposition of national interests ; it is 
 simply the imperfect manner in which languages are 
 usually acquired, and the lazy contentment of mankind 
 with a low degree of attainment in a foreign tongue when 
 a much higher degree of attainment would be necessary 
 to any efficient interchange of ideas. 
 
 It seems probable that much of the future happiness 
 of humanity will depend upon a determination to learn 
 foreign languages more thoroughly. International ill- 
 will is the parent of innumerable evils. From the intel- 
 lectual point of view it is a great evil, because it narrows 
 our range of ideas and deprives us of light from foreign 
 thinkers. From the commercial point of view it is an 
 evil, because it leads a nation to deny itself conveniences 
 in order to avoid the dreaded result of doing good to 
 another country. From the political point of view it is 
 an enormous evil, because it leads nations to make war 
 upon each other, and to inflict and endure all the horrors, 
 the miseries, the impoverishment of war, rather than make 
 some little concession on one side or on both sides that 
 would have been made with little difficulty if the spirit
 
 ESSAY XL] THE OBSTACLE OF LANGUAGE. 139 
 
 of the two countries had been more friendly. May we 
 not believe that a more general spirit of friendliness 
 would result from more personal intercourse, and that 
 this would be the consequence of more thorough lin- 
 guistic acquirement ? 
 
 It has always seemed to me an inexpressible mis- 
 fortune to the French that they should not be better 
 acquainted with English literature, and this not simply 
 from the literary point of view, but because on so many 
 questions that interest active minds in France it would 
 be such an advantage to those minds to be able to see 
 how those questions have appeared to men bred in a 
 different and a calmer atmosphere. If the French read 
 English easily they might often avoid (without ceasing 
 to be national) many of those errors that result from 
 seeing things only from a single point of view. I know 
 a few intelligent Frenchmen who do read our most 
 thoughtful writers in the original, and I can see what a 
 gain this enlarged experience has been to them. On 
 the other hand it is certain that good French literature 
 may have an excellent effect on the literary training of 
 an Englishman. The careful study of that clear, concise, 
 and moderate French writing, which is the most perfect 
 flower of the cultivated national mind, has been most 
 beneficial to some English writers by making them less 
 clumsy, less tedious, less verbose. 
 
 Of commercial affairs it would be presumptuous in 
 me to say much, but no one disputes that international 
 commerce is a benefit, and that it would not be possible 
 without a class of men who are acquainted with foreign 
 languages. On this class of men, be they merchants or 
 corresponding clerks, the commercial intercourse between
 
 i4o HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 nations must depend. I find it stated by foreign trades- 
 men that if they were better acquainted with the English 
 language much trade that now escapes them might be 
 made to pass through their hands. I have myself often 
 observed, on a small scale, that transactions of an inter- 
 national character have taken place because one of 
 the parties happened to know the language of the 
 other, when they would certainly not have taken place if 
 it had been necessary to make them through "an agent 
 or an interpreter. 
 
 With regard to peace and war, can it be doubted 
 that the main reason for our peaceful relations with the 
 United States lies in the fact of our common language ? 
 We may have newspaper quarrels, but the newspapers 
 themselves help to make every question understood. 
 It is far harder to gain acceptance for English ideas in 
 France, yet even our relations with France are practically 
 more peaceful than of old, and though there is intense 
 jealousy between the two countries, they understand 
 each other better, so that differences which would cer- 
 tainly have produced bloodshed in the days of Pitt cause 
 nothing worse than inkshed in the days of Gladstone. 
 This happy result may be attributed in great part to the 
 English habit of learning French, and going to Paris or 
 to the South of France. We need not expect any really 
 cordial understanding between the two countries, though 
 it would be an incalculable benefit to both. That is 
 too much to be hoped for, their jealousy on both sides 
 is too irritable, and too often inflamed afresh by new 
 incidents, for neither of them can stir a foot without 
 putting the other out of temper, but we may hope that, 
 through the quietly and constantly exerted influence of
 
 XL] THE OBSTACLE OF LANGUAGE. 141 
 
 those who know both languages, war may be often, 
 though perhaps not always, avoided. 
 
 Unfortunately an imperfect knowledge of a foreign 
 language is of little use, as it does not give any real free- 
 dom of intercourse. Foreigners do not open their minds 
 to one who blunders about their meaning ; they consider 
 him to be a sort of child, and address to him "easy 
 things to understand." Their confidence is only to be 
 won by a demonstration of something like equality in 
 intelligence, and nobody can give proof of this unless he 
 has the means of making his thoughts intelligible, and 
 even of assuming, when the occasion presents itself, a 
 somewhat bold and authoritative tone. People of mature 
 and superior intellect, but imperfect linguistic acquire- 
 ments, are liable to be treated with a kind of condescend- 
 ing indulgence when out of their own country, as if they 
 were as young in years and as feeble in power of thought 
 as they are in their knowledge of foreign languages. 
 
 The extreme rarity of that degree of attainment in a 
 foreign language, which deserves to be called mastery, is 
 well known to the very few who are competent to judge. 
 At a meeting of French professors Lord Houghton said 
 that the wife of a French ambassador had told him that 
 she knew only three Englishmen who could speak French. 
 One of these was Sir Alexander Cockburn, another the 
 Duke of Bedford, and we may presume the third to 
 have been Lord Houghton himself. Amongst men of 
 letters Lord Houghton only knew one, Henry Reeve, 
 the editor of the Edinburgh Review and translator of 
 the works of De Tocqueville. He mentioned Lord 
 Arthur Russell as an example of accomplishment, but he 
 is " quasi French by I' esprit, education, and marriage. "
 
 H2 HUMAN INTERCOURSE, [ESSAY 
 
 On reading the report of Lord Houghton's speech I 
 asked a cultivated Parisian lady (who knows English 
 remarkably well, and has often been in England) what 
 her own experience had been. After a little hesitation 
 she said it had been exactly that of the French ambas- 
 sadress. She also had met with three Englishmen who 
 spoke French, and she named them. I suggested 
 several others, and amongst them some very learned 
 scholars, merely to hear what she would say, but her 
 answer was that their inadequate power of expression 
 compelled them to talk far below the level of their 
 abilities, so that when they spoke French nobody would 
 suppose them to be clever men. She also affirmed that 
 they did not catch the shades of French expression, so 
 that in speaking French to them one was never sure of 
 being quite accurately understood. 
 
 I myself have known many French people who have 
 studied English more or less, including several who read 
 English authors with praiseworthy industry, but I have 
 only met with one or two who can be said to have mas- 
 tered the language. I am told that M. Beljame, the 
 learned professor of English literature at the Sorbonne, 
 has a wonderful mastery of our tongue. Many French 
 professors of English have considerable historical and 
 grammatical knowledge of it, but that is not practical 
 mastery. In general the knowledge of English attained 
 by French people (not without more labour than the 
 result would show) is so poor and insufficient as to be 
 almost useless. 
 
 I remember an accidental circumstance that put into 
 my hands some curious materials for judging of the 
 attainments of a former generation. A Belgian lady, for
 
 XL] THE OBSTACLE OF LANGUAGE. 143 
 
 a reason that has no concern with our present subject, 
 lent me for perusal an important packet of letters in the 
 French language, written by English ladies of great social 
 distinction about the date of Waterloo. They showed 
 a rough familiarity with French, but no knowledge of its 
 finer shades, and they abounded in glaring errors. The 
 effect of this correspondence on my mind was that the 
 writers had certainly used (or abused) the language, but 
 that they had never condescended to learn it. 
 
 These and other experiences have led me to divide 
 progress in languages into several stages, which I place 
 at the reader's disposal, in the belief that they may be 
 convenient to him as they have been convenient to me. 
 
 The first stage in learning a language is when every 
 sentence is a puzzle, and exercises the mind like a 
 charade or a conundrum. There are people to whom 
 this kind of exercise is a sport. They enjoy the puzzle 
 for its own sake, and without any reference to the literary 
 value of the sentence or its preciousness as an utterance 
 of wisdom. Such people are much better adapted to 
 the early stage of linguistic acquirement than those who 
 like reading and dislike enigmas. 
 
 The excessive slowness with which one works in this 
 early stage is a cause of irritation when the student 
 interests himself in the thoughts or the narrative, because 
 what comes into his mind in a given time is so small a 
 matter that it seems not worth while to go on working 
 for such a little intellectual income. Therefore in this 
 early stage it is a positive disadvantage to have eager 
 literary desires. 
 
 In the second stage the student can push along with 
 the help of a translation and a dictionary, but this is not
 
 144 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 reading, it is only aided construing. It is disagreeable 
 to a reader, though it may be endured by one who is 
 indifferent to reading. This may be made clear by 
 reference to other pursuits. A man who loves rowing, 
 and who knows what rowing is, does not like to pull a 
 slow and heavy boat, such as an ordinary Scottish High- 
 lander pulls with perfect contentment. So a man who 
 loves reading and knows what reading is, does not like 
 the heavy work of laborious translation. This explains 
 the fact which is often so unintelligible to parents, that 
 boys who are extremely fond of reading often dislike 
 their classical studies. Grammar, prosody, philology, so 
 far as they are the subjects of conscious attention (which 
 they are with all pedagogues), are the rivals of literature, 
 and so it happens that pedagogy is unfavourable to 
 literary art. It is only when the sciences of dissection 
 are forgotten that we can enjoy the arts of poetry and 
 prose. 
 
 If, then, the first stage of language-learning requires 
 rather a taste for solving puzzles than a taste for litera- 
 ture, so I should say that the second stage requires rather 
 a turn for grammatical and philological considerations 
 than an interest in the ideas or an appreciation of the 
 style of great authors. The most favourable state of 
 mind for progress in this stage is that of a philologist, 
 and if a man has literary tastes in great strength and 
 philological tastes in a minor degree, he will do well, in 
 this stage, to encourage the philologist in himself, and 
 keep his love of literature in abeyance. 
 
 In the third stage the vocabulary has become rich 
 enough to make references to the dictionary less frequent, 
 and the student can read with some degree of literary
 
 XL] THE OBSTACLE OF LANGUAGE. 145 
 
 enjoyment. There is, however, this remaining obstacle, 
 that even when the reader knows the words and can 
 construe well, the foreign manner of saying things still 
 appears unnatural. I have made many inquiries con- 
 cerning this stage of acquirement and find it to be very 
 common. Men of fair scholarship in Latin tell me that 
 the Roman way of writing does not seem to be really a 
 natural way. I find that even those Latin works which 
 were most familiar to me in youth, such as the Odes of 
 Horace for example, seem unnatural still though I may 
 know the meaning of every word, and I do not believe 
 that any amount of labour would ever rid me of this 
 feeling. This is a great obstacle, and not the less that 
 it is of such a subtle and intangible nature. 1 
 
 In the fourth stage the mode of expression seems 
 natural and the words are perfectly known, but the 
 sense of the paragraph is not apparent at a glance. 
 There is the feeling of a slight obstacle, of something 
 that has to be overcome, and there is a remarkable 
 counter-feeling which always comes after the paragraph 
 is mastered. The reader then wonders that such an 
 obviously intelligible page can have offered any opposi- 
 tion whatever. What surprises us is that this fourth 
 stage can last so long as it does. It seems as if it would 
 be so easily passed, and yet, in fact, it is for most persons 
 impassable. 
 
 The fifth stage is that of perfection in reading. It is 
 not reached by everybody even in the native language 
 itself. The reader who has attained it sees the contents 
 of a page and catches their meaning at a glance, even 
 before he has had time to read the sentences. 
 1 Italian, to me, seems Latin made natural. 
 L
 
 146 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 This condition of extreme lucidity in a language 
 comes, when it comes at all, long after the mere acquisi- 
 tion of it. I have said that it does not always come 
 even in the native tongue. Some educated people take 
 a much longer time than others to make themselves 
 acquainted with the contents of a newspaper. A clever 
 newspaper reader sees in one minute if there is anything 
 of importance. He knows what articles and telegrams 
 are worth reading before he separates the words. 
 
 These five stages refer only to reading, because 
 educated people learn to read first and to speak after- 
 wards. Uneducated people learn foreign languages by 
 ear in a most confused and blundering way. I need 
 not add that they never master them, as only the edu- 
 cated ever master their native tongue. It is unnecessary 
 to go through the stages of progress in conversation, as 
 they are in a great degree dependent upon reading, 
 though they lag behind it ; but I will say briefly that 
 the greatest of all difficulties in using foreign languages 
 is to become really insensible to the absurdities that they 
 contain. All languages, I believe, abound in absurd 
 expressions, and a foreigner with his inconveniently fresh 
 perceptions can hardly avoid being tickled by them. 
 He cannot use the language seriously without having 
 first become unconscious of these things, and it is inex- 
 pressibly difficult to become unconscious of something 
 that has once provoked us to laughter. Again, it is 
 most difficult to arrive at that stage when foreign ex- 
 pressions of politeness strike us no more and no less 
 than they strike the native, or, in other words, it is most 
 difficult for us to attach to them the exact value which 
 they have in the country where they prevail. French
 
 XL] THE OBSTACLE OF LANGUAGE. 147 
 
 forms seem absurdly ceremonious to Englishmen; in 
 reality they are only convenient, but the difficulty for an 
 Englishman is to feel that they are convenient. There 
 are in every foreign tongue two classes of absurdities 
 the real inherent absurdities to which the natives are 
 blinded by habit, though they are seen at once to be 
 comical when attention is directed to them ; and the ex- 
 pressions that are not absurd in themselves, but only 
 seem so to us because they are not like our own. 
 
 The difficulty of becoming insensible to these things 
 must be especially great for humorous people, who are 
 constantly on the look-out for subjects of odd remarks. 
 I have a dear friend who is gifted with a delightful 
 genius for humour, and he knows a little French. All 
 that he has acquired of that language is used by him 
 habitually as material for fun, and, as he is quite incap- 
 able of regarding the language as anything but a funny 
 way of talking, he cannot make any progress in it. If 
 he were asked to read prayers in French the idea would 
 seem to him incongruous, a mingling of frivolous with 
 sacred things. Another friend is serious in French 
 because he knows it well, and therefore has become 
 unconscious of its real or apparent absurdities, but when 
 he is in a merry mood he talks Italian, with which he is 
 much less intimately acquainted, so that it still seems 
 droll and amusing. 
 
 Many readers will be already familiar with the idea 
 of a universal language, which has often been the subject 
 of speculation in recent times, and has even been dis- 
 cussed in a sort of informal congress connected with one 
 of the universal exhibitions. Nobody now looks forward 
 to anything so unlikely, or so undesirable, as the abandon-
 
 148 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 ment of all the languages in the world except one. 
 What is considered practicable is the selection of one 
 language as the recognised international medium, and 
 the teaching of that language everywhere in addition to 
 the mother tongue, so that no two educated men could 
 ever meet without possessing the means of communica- 
 tion. To a certain degree we have this already in 
 French, but French is not known so generally, or so 
 perfectly, as to make it answer the purpose. It is pro- 
 posed to adopt modern Greek, which has several great 
 advantages. The first is that the old education has 
 familiarised us sufficiently with ancient Greek to take 
 away the first sense of strangeness in the same language 
 under its modern form. The second is that everything 
 about modern arts and sciences, and political life, and 
 trade, can be said easily in the Greek of the present day, 
 whilst it has its own peculiar interest for scholars. The 
 third reason is of great practical importance. Greece is 
 a small state, and therefore does not awaken those keen 
 international jealousies that would be inevitably aroused 
 by proposing the language of a powerful state to be 
 learned, without reciprocity, by the youth of the other 
 powerful states. It may be some time before the 
 governments of great nations agree to promote the study 
 of modern Greek, or any other living language, amongst 
 their peoples, but if all who feel the immense desirable- 
 ness of a common language for international intercourse 
 would agree to prepare the way for its adoption, the time 
 might not be very far distant when statesmen would 
 begin to consider the question within the horizon of the 
 practical. Let us try to imagine the difference between 
 the present Babel-confusion of tongues, which makes it
 
 xi.] THE OBSTACLE OF LANGUAGE. 149 
 
 a mere chance whether we shall be able to communicate 
 with a foreigner or not, and the sudden facility that 
 would result from the possession of a common medium 
 of intercourse ! If it were once agreed by a union of 
 nations (of which the present Postal Union may be the 
 forerunner) that the learning of the universal language 
 should be encouraged, that language would be learned 
 with a zest and eagerness of which our present languid 
 linguistic attempts give but a faint idea. There would 
 be such powerful reasons for learning it ! All those 
 studies that interest men in different nations would lead 
 to intercommunication in the common tongue. Many 
 books would be written in it, to be circulated everywhere, 
 without being enfeebled and falsified by translation. 
 International commerce would be transacted by its 
 means. Travelling would be enormously facilitated ; 
 there would be such a gain to human intercourse by 
 language that it might be preferred in many cases to 
 the old-fashioned international intercourse by means of 
 bayonets and cannon balls.
 
 ESSAY XII. 
 
 THE OBSTACLE OF RELIGION. 
 
 HUMAN intercourse on equal terras is difficult or impos- 
 sible for those who do not belong to that religion which 
 is dominant in the country where they live. The 
 tendency has always been either to exclude such persons 
 from human intercourse altogether (a fate so hard to 
 bear during a whole lifetime that they have often com- 
 promised the matter by outward conformity), or else to 
 maintain some degree of intercourse with them in placing 
 them at a social disadvantage. In barbarous times, 
 such persons, when obstinate, are removed by taking 
 away their lives ; or if somewhat less obstinate, they are 
 effectually deterred from the profession of heretical 
 opinions by threats of the most pitiless punishments. 
 In semi-barbarous times they are paralysed, so far as 
 public action is concerned, by political disabilities ex- 
 pressly created for their inconvenience. In times which 
 pride themselves on having completely emerged from 
 barbarism, political disabilities are almost entirely re- 
 moved, but certain class exclusions still persist, by which 
 it is arranged (whilst avoiding all appearance of persecu- 
 tion) that, although heretics are no longer banished 
 from their native land, they may be excluded from their 
 native class, and either deprived of human intercourse
 
 ESSAY xii.] THE OBSTACLE OF RELIGION. 151 
 
 altogether, or left to seek it in classes inferior to their 
 own. 
 
 The religious obstacle differs from all other obstacles 
 in one remarkable characteristic. It is maintained only 
 against honest and truth-speaking persons. Exemption 
 from its operation has always been, and is still, uniformly 
 pronounced in favour of all heretics who will consent to 
 lie. The honourable unbeliever has always been treated 
 harshly; the unbeliever who had no sense of honour 
 has been freely permitted in every age to make the best 
 use of his abilities for his own social advancement. 
 For him the religious obstacle is simply non-existent. 
 He has exactly the same chances of preferment as the 
 most orthodox Christian. In Pagan times, when public 
 religious functions were a part of the rank of great lay- 
 men, unbelief in the gods of Olympus did not hinder 
 them from seeking and exercising those functions. 
 Since the establishment of Christianity as a state religion, 
 the most stringently-framed oaths have never prevented 
 an unscrupulous infidel from attaining any position that 
 lay within reach of his wits and his opportunities. He 
 has sat in the most orthodox Parliaments, he has been 
 admitted to cabinet councils, he has worn royal crowns, 
 he has even received the mitre, the Cardinal's hat, and 
 the Papal tiara. We can never sufficiently admire the 
 beautiful order of society by which heretic-plus-liar is so 
 graciously admitted everywhere, and heretic-plus-honest- 
 man is so cautiously and ingeniously kept out. It is, 
 indeed, even more advantageous to the dishonest unbe- 
 liever than at first sight appears, for not only does it 
 open to him all positions accessible to the orthodox, 
 but it even gives him a noteworthy advantage over
 
 1 5 2 HUM A N INTERCO URSE. [ESSAY 
 
 honest orthodoxy itself, by training him daily and hourly 
 in dissimulation. To be kept constantly in the habit of 
 dissimulation on one subject is an excellent discipline 
 in the most serviceable of social arts. An atheist who 
 reads prayers with a pious intonation, and is exemplary 
 in his attendance at church, and who never betrays his 
 real opinions by an unguarded word or look, though 
 always preserving the appearance of the simplest can- 
 dour, the most perfect openness, is, we may be sure, a 
 much more formidable person to contend with in the 
 affairs of this world than an honest Christian who has 
 never had occasion to train himself in habitual impos- 
 ture. Yet good Christians willingly admit these dan- 
 gerous, unscrupulous rivals, and timidly exclude those 
 truthful heretics who are only honest simple people like 
 themselves. 
 
 After religious liberty has been nominally established 
 in a country by its lawgivers, its enemies do not consider 
 themselves defeated, but try to recover, through the 
 unwritten law of social customs and observances, the 
 ground they have lost in formal legislation. Hence we 
 are never sure that religious liberty will exist within the 
 confines of a class, even when it is loudly proclaimed in 
 a nation as one of the most glorious conquests of the 
 age. It is often enjoyed very imperfectly, or at a great 
 cost of social and even pecuniary sacrifice. In its 
 perfection it is the liberty to profess openly, and in 
 their full force, those opinions on religious subjects 
 which a man holds in his own conscience, and without 
 incurring any kind of punishment or privation on account 
 of them, legal or social. For example, a really sincere 
 member of the Church of England enjoys perfect reli-
 
 xii.] THE OBSTACLE OF RELIGION. 153 
 
 gious liberty in England. 1 He can openly say what he 
 thinks, openly take part in religious services that his 
 conscience approves, and without incurring the slightest 
 legal or social penalty for so doing. He meets with no 
 hindrance, no obstacle placed in the path of his worldly 
 life on account of his religious views. True liberty is 
 not that which is attainable at some cost, some sacrifice, 
 but that which we can enjoy without being made to 
 suffer for it in any way. It is always enjoyed to the 
 full by every one whose sincere convictions are heartily 
 on the side of authority. Sincere Roman Catholics 
 enjoyed perfect religious liberty in Spain under Fer- 
 dinand and Isabella, and in England under Mary Tudor. 
 Even a Trappist who loves the rule of his order enjoys 
 the best kind of liberty within the walls of his monastery. 
 He is not allowed to neglect the prescribed services and 
 other obligations, but as he feels no desire to neglect 
 them he is a free agent, as free as if he dwelt in the 
 
 1 So far as the State and society generally are concerned, but 
 there are private situations in which even a member of the State 
 Church does not enjoy perfect religious liberty. Suppose the case 
 (I am describing a real case) of a lady left a widow and in poverty. 
 Her relations are wealthy Dissenters. They offer to provide for 
 her handsomely if she will renounce the Church of England and 
 join their own sect. Does she enjoy religious liberty ? The answer 
 depends upon the question whether she is able to earn her own 
 living or not. If she is, she can secure religious freedom by 
 incessant labour ; if she is unable to earn her living she will have 
 no religious freedom, although she belongs, in conscience, to the 
 most powerful religion in the State. In the case I am thinking 
 6f, the lady had the honourable courage to open a little shop, and 
 so remained a member of the Church of England ; but her freedom 
 was bought by labour, and was therefore not the same thing as the 
 best freedom, which is unembittered by sacrifice.
 
 154 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 Abbaye de Theleme of Rabelais, with its one rule, Fay 
 ce que vouldras. We may go farther, and say that 
 not only are people whose convictions are on the 
 side of authority perfectly free agents, but, like suc- 
 cessful artists, they are rewarded for doing what they 
 themselves prefer. They are always rewarded by the 
 approval of their superiors, and very frequently by oppor- 
 tunities for social advancement that are denied to 
 those who think differently from persons in authority. 
 
 There are cases in which liberty is less complete than 
 this, yet is still spoken of as liberty. A man is free to 
 be a Dissenter in England and a Protestant in France. 
 By this we mean that he will incur no legal disqualifica- 
 tion for his opinions; but does he incur no social penalty? 
 The common answer to this question is that the penalty 
 is so slight that there is nothing to complain of. This 
 depends upon the particular situation of the Dissenter, 
 because the penalty is applied very differently in different 
 cases, and may vary between an unperceived hindrance 
 to an undeveloped ambition and an insurmountable 
 obstacle to an eager and aspiring one. To understand 
 this thoroughly, let us ask whether there are any positions 
 in which a member of the Church of England would 
 incur a penalty for leaving it. Are there any positions 
 that are socially considered to be incompatible with the 
 religious profession of a Dissenter ? 
 
 It will be generally admitted that royal personages 
 do not enjoy any religious liberty at all. A royal 
 personage must profess the State religion of his country, 
 and it is so well understood that this is obligatory and 
 has nothing to do with the convictions of the conscience, 
 that such persons are hardly expected to have any con-
 
 xii.] THE OBSTACLE OF RELIGION. 155 
 
 science in the matter. They take up a religion as part 
 of their situation in the world A princess may abjure 
 her faith for that of an Imperial lover, and if he dies 
 before marriage she may abjure her adopted faith, and 
 if she is asked again in marriage she may abjure the 
 religion of her girlhood a second time without exciting 
 comment, because it is well understood that her private 
 convictions may remain undisturbed by such changes, 
 and that she submits to them as a necessity for which 
 she has no personal responsibility. 1 And, whilst princes 
 are compelled to take up the religion which best suits 
 their worldly interests, they are not allowed simply to 
 bear the name of the State Church, but must also con- 
 form to its services with diligent regularity. In many 
 cases they probably have no objection to this, as they 
 may be really conscientious members of the State 
 Church, or they may accept it in a general way as an 
 expression of duty towards God (without going into 
 dogmatic details), or they may be ready and willing to 
 conform to it for political reasons as the best means of 
 conciliating public opinion ; but, however this may be, 
 all human fellowship, so far as religion is concerned, 
 must, for them, be founded on deference to the State 
 religion and a conciliatory attitude towards its ministers. 
 The Court circulars of different countries register the 
 
 1 The phrase adopted by Court journalists in speaking of such 
 a conversion is "the princess has received instruction in the religion 
 which she will adopt on her marriage," or words to that effect, just 
 as if different and mutually hostile religions were not more contra- 
 dictory of each other than sciences, and as if a person could pass 
 from one religion to another with no more twisting and wrenching 
 of previous beliefs than he would incur in passing from botany to 
 geology.
 
 156 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 successive acts of outward conformity by which the 
 prince acknowledges the power of the national priest- 
 hood, and it would be impossible for him to suspend 
 these acts of conformity for any reason except illness. 
 The daily account of the life of a French sovereign 
 during the hunting season used to be " His Majesty 
 heard Mass; His Majesty went out to hunt." Louis 
 XVIII. had to hear Mass like his ancestors, but after 
 the long High Mass which he was compelled to listen 
 to on Sundays, and which he found extremely wearisome, 
 he enjoyed a compensation and a consolation in talking 
 impiously to his courtiers, and was maliciously pleased 
 in shocking pious people and in forcing them to laugh 
 against their conscience, as by courtly duty bound, at 
 the blasphemous royal jests. This is one of the great 
 evils of a compulsory conformity. It drives the victim 
 into a reaction against the religion that tyrannises over 
 him and makes him anti-religious, when, without pressure, 
 he would have been simply and inoffensively n0n-re\igious. 
 To understand the pressure that weighs upon royal 
 personages in this respect, we have only to remember 
 that there is not a sovereign in the whole world who 
 could venture to say openly that he was a conscientious 
 Unitarian, and would attend a Unitarian place of worship. 
 If a King of England held Unitarian opinions and was 
 at the same time scrupulously honest, he would have no 
 resource but abdication, for not only is the king a 
 member of the Anglican Church, but he is its living head. 
 The sacerdotal position of the Emperor of Russia is still 
 more marked, and he can no more avoid taking part in the 
 fatiguing ceremonies of the orthodox Greek religion than 
 he can avoid sitting on horseback and reviewing troops.
 
 xii.] THE OBSTACLE OF RELIGION. 157 
 
 The religious slavery of princes is, however, exclusively 
 in ceremonial acts and verbal professions. With regard 
 to the moral side of religion, with regard to every religious 
 doctrine that is practically favourable to good conduct, 
 exalted personages have always enjoyed an astonishing 
 amount of liberty. They are not free to hold themselves 
 aloof from public ceremonies, but they are free to give 
 themselves up to every kind of private self-indulgence, 
 including flagrant sexual immoralities, which are readily 
 forgiven them by a loyal priesthood and an admiring 
 populace, if only they show an affable condescension in 
 their manners. Surely morality is a part of Christianity, 
 surely it is as unchristian an act to commit adultery as 
 to walk out during service-time on Sunday morning, yet 
 adultery is far more readily forgiven in a prince, and far 
 easier for him, than the merely negative religious sin 
 of abstinence from church-going. Amongst the great 
 criminal sovereigns of the world, the Tudors, Bourbons, 
 Bonapartes, there has never been any neglect of cere- 
 monies, but they have treated the entire moral code of 
 Christianity as if it were not binding on persons of their 
 degree. 
 
 Every hardship is softened, at least in some measure, 
 by a compensation, and when in modern times a man is 
 so situated that he has no outward religious liberty it is 
 perfectly understood that his conformity is official, like 
 that of a soldier who is ordered to give the host a 
 military . salute without regard for his private opinion 
 about transubstantiation. This being understood, the 
 religious slavery of a royal personage is far from being 
 the hardest of such slaveries. The hardest cases are 
 those in which there is every appearance of liberty,
 
 158 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 whilst some subtle secret force compels the slave to acts 
 that have the appearance of the most voluntary submis- 
 sion. There are many positions of this kind in the 
 world. They abound in countries where the right of 
 private judgment is loudly proclaimed where a man is 
 told that he may act in religious matters quite freely 
 according to the dictates of his conscience, whilst he 
 well knows, at the same time, that unless his conscience 
 happens to be in unison with the opinions of the 
 majority, he will incur some kind of disability, some 
 social paralysis, for having obeyed it. 
 
 The rule concerning the ceremonial part of religion 
 appears to be that a man's liberty is in inverse propor- 
 tion to his rank. A royal personage has none ; he must 
 conform to the State Church. An English nobleman 
 has two churches to choose from ; he may belong to the 
 Church of England or the Church of Rome. A simple 
 private gentleman, a man of good family and moderate 
 independent fortune, living in a country where the laws 
 are so liberal as they are in England, and where on the 
 whole there is so little bitterness of religious hatred, 
 might be supposed to enjoy perfect religious liberty, but 
 he finds in a practical way that it is scarcely possible for 
 him to do otherwise than the nobility. He has the 
 choice between Anglicanism and Romanism because, 
 though untitled, he is still a member of the aristocracy. 
 
 As we go down lower in the social scale, to the 
 middle classes, and particularly to the lower middle 
 classes, we find a broader liberty, because in these 
 classes the principle is admitted that a man may be a 
 good Christian beyond the pale of the State Churches. 
 The liberty here is real, so far as it goes, for although
 
 xii.] THE OBSTACLE OF RELIGION. 159 
 
 these persons are not obliged by their own class opinion 
 to be members of a State Church, as the aristocracy are, 
 they are not compelled, on the other hand, to be Dis- 
 senters. They may be good Churchmen if they like, 
 and still be middle class Englishmen, or they may be 
 good Methodists, Baptists, Independents, and still be 
 respectable middle class Englishmen. This permits a 
 considerable degree of freedom, yet it is still by no 
 means unlimited freedom. The middle class English- 
 man allows dissent, but he does not encourage honesty 
 in unbelief. 
 
 There is, however, a class in English society in which, 
 for some time past, religious liberty has been as nearly 
 as possible absolute, I mean the working population in 
 the large towns. A working man may belong to the 
 Church of England or to any one of the dissenting 
 communities; or if he does not believe in Christianity he 
 may say so and abstain from religious hypocrisy of all 
 kinds. Whatever his opinions, he will not be regarded 
 very coldly on account of them by persons of his own 
 class, nor prevented from marrying, nor hindered from 
 pursuing his trade. 
 
 We find, therefore, that amongst the various classes 
 of society, from the highest to the humblest, religious 
 liberty increases as we go lower. The royal family is 
 bound to conform to whatever may be the dominant 
 religion for the time being ; the nobility and gentry have 
 the choice between the present dominant faith and its 
 predecessor ; the middle class has, in addition, the 
 liberty of dissent ; the lower class has the liberty not 
 only of dissent, but also of abstinence and negation. 
 And in each case the increase of liberty is real ; it is not
 
 160 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 that illusory kind of extension which loses in one direc- 
 tion the freedom that it wins in another. All the 
 churches are open to the plebeian secularist if he should 
 ever wish to enter them. 
 
 We have said that religious liberty increases as we go 
 lower in the social scale. Let us consider now how it is 
 affected by locality. The rule may be stated at once. 
 Religious liberty diminishes with the number of inhabitants 
 in a place. 
 
 However humble may be the position of the dweller 
 in a small village at a distance from a town, he must 
 attend the dominant church because no other will be 
 represented in the place. He may be in heart a 
 Dissenter, but his dissent has no opportunity of express- 
 ing itself by a different form of worship. The laws of 
 his country may be as liberal as you please ; their 
 liberality is of no practical service in such a case as this, 
 because religious profession requires public worship, and 
 an isolated family cannot institute a cult. 
 
 If, indeed, there were the liberty of abstinence, the 
 evil would not be so great. The liberty of rejection is 
 a great and valuable liberty. If a particular kind of 
 food is unsuited to my constitution and only that kind 
 of food is offered me, the permission to fast is the safe- 
 guard of my health and comfort. The loss of this 
 negative liberty is terrible in convivial customs, when 
 the victim is compelled to drink against his will. 
 
 The Dissenter in the country can be forced to conform 
 by his employer or by public opinion acting indirectly. 
 The master may avoid saying " I expect you to go to 
 Church," but he may say, " I expect you to attend a 
 place of worship," which attains precisely the same end
 
 xii.] THE OBSTACLE OF RELIGION. 161 
 
 with an appearance of greater liberality. Public opinion 
 may be really liberal enough to tolerate many different 
 forms of religion, but if it does not tolerate abstinence 
 from public services, the Dissenter has to conform to the 
 dominant worship in places where there is no other. In 
 England it may seem that there is not very much hard- 
 ship in this, as the Church is not extreme in doctrine 
 and is remarkably tolerant of variety; yet, even in 
 England, a conscientious Unitarian might feel some 
 difficulty about creeds and prayers which were never 
 intended for him. There are, however, harder cases 
 than those of a Dissenter forced to conform to the 
 Church of England. The Church of Rome is far more 
 extreme and authoritative, far more sternly repressive 
 of human reason ; yet, there are thousands of rural 
 places on the continent where religious toleration is 
 supposed to exist, and where, nevertheless, the inhabit- 
 ants are compelled to hear mass to avoid the imputation 
 of absolute irreligion. A man like Wesley or Bunyan 
 would, in such a position, have to choose between 
 apparent Romanism and apparent Atheism, if indeed 
 the village opinion did not take good care that he should 
 have no choice in the matter. 
 
 It may be said that people should live in places 
 where their own form of worship is publicly practised. 
 No doubt many do so. I remember an Englishman 
 belonging to a Roman Catholic family who would not 
 spend a Sunday in an out-of-the-way place in Scotland 
 because he could not hear mass. Such a person, having 
 the means to choose his place of residence, and a faith 
 so strong that religious considerations always came first 
 with him, would compel everything to give way to the 
 
 M
 
 162 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 necessity for having mass every Sunday, but this is a 
 very exceptional case. Ordinary people are the victims 
 of circumstances and not their masters. 
 
 If a villager has little religious freedom he does not 
 greatly enlarge it when he becomes a soldier. He has 
 the choice between the Church of England and the 
 Church of Rome. In some countries, even this very 
 moderate degree of liberty is denied. Within the 
 present century Roman Catholic soldiers were compelled 
 to attend Protestant services in Prussia. The truth is 
 that the genuine military spirit is strongly opposed to 
 individual opinion in matters of religion. Its ideal is 
 that every detail in a soldier's existence should be settled 
 by the military authorities, his religious belief amongst 
 the rest. 
 
 What may be truly said about military authority in 
 religious matters is that, as the force employed is 
 perfectly well known as it is perfectly well known that 
 soldiers take part in religious services under compulsion 
 there is no hypocrisy in their case, especially where 
 the conscription exists, and therefore but slight moral 
 hardship. Certainly the greatest hardship of all is to be 
 compelled to perform acts of conformity with all the 
 appearance of free choice. The tradesman who must 
 go to mass to have customers, is in a harder position 
 than the soldier. For this reason it is better for the 
 moral health of a nation when there is to be compulsion 
 of some kind, that it should be boldly and openly 
 tyrannical, that its work should be done in the face of 
 day, that it should be outspoken, uncompromising, 
 complete. To tyranny of that kind a man may give 
 way without any loss of self-respect, he yields to force
 
 xii.] THE OBSTACLE OF RELIGION. 163 
 
 majeure ; but to that viler and meaner kind of tyranny 
 which keeps a man in constant alarm about the means 
 of earning his living, about the maintenance of some 
 wretched little peddling position in society, he yields 
 with a sense of far deeper humiliation, with a feeling of 
 contempt for the social power that uses such miserable 
 means, and of contempt for himself also.
 
 ESSAY XIII. 
 
 PRIESTS AND WOMEN. 
 
 PART I. SYMPATHY. 
 
 WOMEN hate the inexorable. They like a condition of 
 things in which nothing is so surely fixed but that the 
 rule may be broken in their favour, or the hard decision 
 reversed. They like concession for concession's sake, 
 even when the matter is of slight importance. A woman 
 will ask a favour from a person in authority when a man 
 will shrink from the attempt, and if the woman gains 
 her point by entreaty she will have a keen and peculiar 
 feminine satisfaction in having successfully exercised 
 what she feels to be her own especial power, to which 
 the strong rough creature, man, may often be made to 
 yield. A woman will go forth on the most hopeless 
 errands of intercession and persuasion, and, in spite of 
 the most adverse circumstances, will not unfrequently 
 succeed. Scott made admirable use of this feminine 
 tendency in the Heart of Mid-Lothian ; Jeannie Deans, 
 with a woman's feelings and perseverance, had a woman's 
 reliance on her own persuasive powers, and the result 
 proved that she was right. All things in a woman com- 
 bine to make her mighty in persuasion. Her very weak- 
 ness aids her, she can assume a pitiful, child-like tender-
 
 ESSAY xiii.] PRIESTS AND WOMEN. 165 
 
 ness. Her ignorance aids her, as she seems never to 
 know that a decision can be fixed and final ; then she 
 has tears, and besides these pathetic influences she has 
 generally some magnetism of sex, some charm or attrac- 
 tion, at least, in voice or manner, and sometimes she 
 has that marvellous, that all but irresistible gift of beauty 
 which has ruled and ruined the masters of the world. 
 
 Having constantly used these powers of persuasion 
 with the strongest being on this planet, and used them 
 Avith such wonderful success that it is even now doubtful 
 whether the occult feminine government is not mightier 
 than the open masculine government, whilst it is not a 
 matter of doubt at all, but of assured fact, that society 
 is ruled by queens and ladies, and not by kings and 
 lords ; with all these evidences of their influence in this 
 world, it is intelligible that women should willingly listen 
 to those who tell them that they have similar influence 
 over supernatural powers, and, through them, on the 
 destinies of the universe. Far less willingly would they 
 listen to some hard scientific teacher who should say, 
 " No, you have no influence beyond this planet, and 
 that which you exercise upon its surface is limited by 
 the force that you are able to set in motion. The 
 Empress Euge'nie had no supernatural influence through 
 the Virgin Mary, but she had great and dangerous natural 
 influence through her husband, and it may be true, what 
 is asserted, that she caused in this way a disastrous war." 
 An exclusively originating Intelligence, acting at the 
 beginning of evolution a setter-in-motion of a prodigi- 
 ous self-acting machinery of cause producing effect, and 
 effects in their turn becoming a new complexity of causes 
 an Intelligence that we cannot persuade because we
 
 1 66 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 are born millions of years too late for the first impulse 
 that started all things this may be the god of the future, 
 but it will be a distant future before the world of women 
 will acknowledge him. 
 
 There is another element in the feminine nature 
 that urges women in the same direction. They have a 
 constant sense of dependence in a degree hardly ever 
 experienced by men except in debilitating illness, and 
 as this sense of dependence is continual with them and 
 only occasional with us, it becomes, from habit, insepar- 
 able from their mental action, whereas even in sickness 
 a man looks forward to the time when he will act again 
 freely for himself. Men choose a course of action, women 
 choose an adviser. They feel themseives unable to con- 
 tinue the long conflict without help, and, in spite of their 
 great patience and courage, they are easily saddened by 
 solitude, and in their distress of mind they feel an imperi- 
 ous need for support and consolation. " Our valours 
 are our best gods " is a purely masculine sentiment, and 
 to a woman such self-reliance seems scarcely distinguish- 
 able from impiety. The feminine counterpart of that 
 would be, " In our weakness we seek refuge in Thy 
 strength, O Lord 1" 
 
 A woman is not satisfied with merely getting a small 
 share in a vast bounty for the general good ; she is kind 
 and affectionate herself; she is personally attentive to 
 the wants of children and animals, and cares for each of 
 them separately ; and she desires to be cared for in the 
 same way. The philosopher does not give her any 
 assurance of this whatever ; but the priest, on the con- 
 trary, gives it in the most positive form. It is not merely 
 one of the doctrines of religion, but the central doctrine,
 
 xiii.] PRIESTS AND WOMEN. 167 
 
 the motive for all religious exercises, that God cares for 
 every one of us individually, that he knows Jane Smith 
 by name, and what she is earning a week, and how much 
 of it she devotes to keeping her poor paralysed old 
 mother. The philosopher says, " If you are prudent 
 and skilful in your conformity to the laws of life you 
 will probably secure that amount of mental and physical 
 satisfaction which is attainable by a person of your organ- 
 isation." There is nothing in this about personal in- 
 terest or affection ; it is a bare statement of natural cause 
 and consequence. The priest holds a very different 
 language ; the use of the one word love gives warmth 
 and colour to his discourse. The priest says, " If you 
 love God with all your soul and with all your strength, He 
 will love and cherish you in return, and be your own true 
 and tender Father. He will watch over every detail and 
 every minute of your existence, guard you from all real 
 evil, and at last, when this earthly pilgrimage shall be 
 over, He will welcome you in His eternal kingdom." 
 But this is not all. God may still seem at too unap- 
 proachable a distance. The priest then says that means 
 have been divinely appointed to bridge over that vast 
 abyss. "The Father has given us the Son, and Christ 
 has instituted the Church, and the Church has appointed 
 me as her representative in this place me, to whom you 
 may come always for guidance and consolation that will 
 never be refused you." 
 
 This is the language for which the ears of a woman thirst 
 as parched flowers thirst for the summer rain. Instead 
 of a great blank universe, with fixed laws interesting to 
 savants but not to her, she is told of love and affection 
 that she thoroughly understands. She is told of an
 
 1 68 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 affectionate Creator, of His beloved and loving Son, of 
 the tender care of the maternal Church that He instituted, 
 and finally all this chain of affectionate interest ends 
 close to her in a living link a man with soft engaging 
 manners, with kind and gentle voice, who takes her 
 hand, talks to her about all that she really cares for, and 
 overflows with the readiest sympathy for all her anxieties. 
 This man is so different from common men, so very 
 much better and purer, and, above all, so much more 
 accessible, communicative, and consolatory ! He seems 
 to have had so much spiritual experience, to know so 
 well what trouble and sorrow are, to sympathise so com- 
 pletely with the troubles and sorrows of a woman ! With 
 him the burden of life is ten times easier to bear, without 
 his precious fellowship that burden would be heavy 
 indeed ! 
 
 It may be objected to this that the clergy do not 
 entirely teach a religion of love, that, in fact, they curse 
 as well as bless, and foretell eternal punishment for the 
 majority. All this, it may be thought, must be as pain- 
 ful to the feelings of women as Divine kindness and 
 human felicity must be agreeable to them. Whoever 
 made this objection would show that he had not quite 
 understood the feminine nature. It is at the same time 
 kinder and tenderer than the masculine nature, and 
 more absolute in vindictiveness. Women do not gen- 
 erally like the infliction of pain that they believe to be 
 undeserved; 1 they are not generally advocates for vivi- 
 section, but as their feelings of indignation against evil- 
 
 1 The word ' f generally " is inserted here because women do, 
 apparently, sometimes enjoy the infliction of undeserved pain on 
 other creatures. They grace bull-fights with their presence, and
 
 xiii.] PRIESTS AND WOMEN. 169 
 
 doers are very easily aroused, and as they are very easily 
 persuaded that severe punishments are just, they have 
 often heartily assented to them even when most horrible. 
 In these cases their satisfaction, though it seems to us 
 ferocious, may arise from feeling themselves God's willing 
 allies against the wicked. When heretics were burnt in 
 Spain the great ladies gazed calmly from their windows 
 and balconies on the grotesque procession of miserable 
 morituri, with flames daubed on their tabards, so soon 
 to be exchanged for the fiery reality. With the influence 
 that women possess they could have stopped those 
 horrors, but they countenanced them, and yet there is 
 no reason to believe that they were not gentle, tender, 
 affectionate. The most relentless persecutor who ever 
 sat on the throne of England was a woman. Nor is it 
 only in ages of fierce and cruel persecution that women 
 readily believe God to be on the side of the oppressor. 
 Other ages succeed in which human injustice is not so 
 bold and bloodthirsty, not so candid and honest, but 
 more stealthily pursues its end by hampering and para- 
 lysing the victim that it dares not openly destroy. It 
 places a thousand little obstacles in his way, the well- 
 calculated effect of which is to keep him alive in impo- 
 tent insignificance. In those ages of weaker malevolence 
 the heretic is quietly, but carefully, excluded from the 
 best educational and social advantages, from public 
 office, from political power. Wherever he turns, what- 
 ever he desires to do, he feels the presence of a mysteri- 
 ous invisible force that quietly pushes him aside or keeps 
 
 will see horses disembowelled with apparent satisfaction. It may 
 be doubted, too, whether the Empress of Austria has any compas- 
 sion for the sufferings of a fox.
 
 i?o HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 him in shadow. Well, in this milder, more coldly cruel 
 form of wrong vast numbers of the gentlest and most 
 amiable women have always been ready to acquiesce. 1 
 
 I willingly pass from this part of the subject, but it 
 was impossible not to make one sad reference to it, for 
 of all the sorrowful things in the history of the world 
 I see none more sorrowful than this that the enormous 
 influence of women should not have been more on the 
 side of justice. It is perhaps too much to expect that 
 they should have placed themselves in advance of their 
 age, but they have been innocent abettors and per- 
 petuators of the worst abuses, and all from their prone- 
 ness to support any authority, however corrupt, if only 
 it can succeed in confounding itself with goodness. 
 
 1 I have purposely omitted from the text another cause for 
 feminine indifference to the work of persecutors, but it may be 
 mentioned incidentally. At certain times those women whose 
 influence on persons in authority might have been effectively 
 employed in favour of the oppressed were too frivolous, or even too 
 licentious, for their thoughts to turn themselves to any such serious 
 matter. This was the case in England under Charles II. The 
 contrast between the occupations of such women as these and the 
 sufferings of an earnest man has been aptly presented by Macaulay. 
 
 " The ribaldry of Etherege and Wycherley was, in the presence 
 and under the special sanction of the head of the Church, publicly 
 recited by female lips in female ears, while the author of the 
 Pilgrim's Progress languished in a dungeon for the crime of pro- 
 claiming the gospel to the poor." 
 
 This is deplorable enough, but on the whole I do not think that 
 the frivolity of light-minded women has been so harmful to noble 
 causes as the readiness with which serious women place their 
 immense influence at the service of constituted authorities, however 
 wrongfully those authorities may act. Ecclesiastical authorities 
 especially may quietly count upon this kind of support, and they 
 always do so.
 
 xin.] PRIESTS AND WOMEN. 171 
 
 As the representatives of a Deity who tenderly cares 
 for every one of His creatures, the clergy themselves are 
 bound to cultivate ajl their own powers and gifts of 
 sympathy. The best of them do this with the important 
 result that after some years spent in the exercise of their 
 profession they become really and unaffectedly more 
 sympathetic than laymen generally are. The power of 
 sympathy is a great power everywhere, but it is so par- 
 ticularly in those countries where the laity are not much 
 in the habit of cultivating the sympathetic feelings, and 
 timidly shrink from the expression of them even when 
 they exist. I remember going with a French gentleman 
 to visit a lady who had very recently lost her father, and 
 my friend made her a little speech in which he said no 
 more than what he felt, but he said it so elegantly, so 
 delicately, so appropriately, and in such feeling terms, 
 that I envied him the talent of expressing condolence in 
 that way. I never knew an English layman who could 
 have got through such an expression of feeling, but I 
 have known English clergymen who could have done 
 it. Here is a very great and real superiority over us, 
 and especially with women, because women are ex- 
 quisitely alive to everything in which the feelings are 
 concerned, and we often seem to them dead in feeling 
 when we are only awkward, and dumb by reason of our 
 awkwardness. 
 
 I think it probable that most readers of this page will 
 find, on consulting their own recollections, that they 
 have received warmer and kinder expressions of sympathy 
 from clerical friends than from laymen. It is certainly 
 so in my own case. On looking back to the expressions 
 of sympathy that have been addressed to me on mourn-
 
 172 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 ful occasions, and of rejoicing on happy ones, I find that 
 the clearest and most ample and hearty utterances of 
 these feelings have generally come either from clergymen 
 of the Church of England or priests of the Church of 
 Rome. 
 
 The power of sympathy in clergymen is greatly 
 increased by their easy access to all classes of society. 
 They are received everywhere on terms which may be 
 correctly defined as easily respectful, for their sacred 
 character gives them a status of their own which is 
 neither raised by association with rich people nor 
 degraded by friendliness with the poor, or with that 
 lower middle class which, of all classes, is the most 
 perilous to the social position of a layman. They 
 enter into the joys and sorrows of the most different 
 orders of parishioners, and in this way, if there is 
 any natural gift of sympathy in the mind of a clergy- 
 man, it is likely to be developed and brought to per- 
 fection. 
 
 Partly by arrangements consciously devised by eccle- 
 siastical authorities, and partly by the natural force of 
 circumstances, the work of the Church is so ordered 
 that her representatives are sure to be present on the 
 most important occasions in human life. This gives 
 them some influence over men, but that which they 
 gain by it over women is immeasurably greater, because 
 the minds of women are far more closely and exclusively 
 bound up in domestic interests and events. 
 
 Of these the most visibly important is marriage. 
 Here the priest has his assured place and conspicuous 
 function, and the wonderful thing is that this function 
 seems to survive the religious beliefs on which it was
 
 xiii.] PRIESTS AND WOMEN. 173 
 
 originally founded. It seems to me not impossible that 
 a Church might still survive for an indefinite length of 
 time in the midst of surrounding scepticism simply for 
 the purpose of performing marriage and funeral rites. 
 The strength of the clerical position with regard to mar- 
 riage is so great, even on the Continent, that, although 
 a woman may have scarcely a shred of faith in the 
 doctrines of the Church, it is almost certain that she will 
 desire the services of a priest, and not feel herself to be 
 really married without them. Although the civil cere- 
 mony may be the only one recognised by the law, the 
 woman openly despises it, and reserves all her feelings 
 and emotions for the pompous ceremony at the church. 
 On such occasions women laugh at the law, and will 
 even sometimes declare that the law itself is not legal. 
 I once happened to say that civil marriage was obligatory 
 in France, but only legal in England, on which an 
 English lady attacked me vehemently, and stoutly 
 denied that civil marriage was legal in England at all. 
 I asked if she had never heard of marriages in a 
 Registrar's office. " Yes, I have," she answered, with a 
 shocked expression of countenance, " but they are not 
 legal. The Church of England does not recognise 
 them, and that is the legal Church." 
 
 As soon as a child is born the mother begins to think 
 about its baptism, and at a time of life when the infant 
 is treated by laymen as a little being whose importance 
 lies entirely in the future the clergyman gives it con- 
 sequence in the present by admitting it, with solemn 
 ceremony, to membership in the Church of Christ. It 
 is not possible to imagine anything more likely to gratify 
 the feelings of a mother than this early admission of her
 
 174 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 unconscious offspring to the privileges of a great religious 
 community. Before this great initiation it was alone in 
 the world, loved only by her, and with all its prospects 
 darkened by original sin, now it is purified, blessed, 
 admitted into the fellowship of the holy and the wise. 
 A certain relationship of a peculiar kind is henceforth 
 established between priest and infant. In after years he 
 prepares it for confirmation, another ceremony touching to 
 the heart of a mother when she sees her son gravely taking 
 upon himself the responsibilities of a thinking being. 
 The marriage of a son or daughter renews in the 
 mother all those feelings towards the friendly consecrat- 
 ing power of the church which were excited at her own 
 marriage. 
 
 Then come those anxious occasions when the malady 
 of one member of the family casts a shadow on the 
 happiness of all. In these cases any clergyman who 
 unites natural kindness of heart with the peculiar train- 
 ing and experience of his profession can offer consolation 
 incomparably better than a layman ; he is more accus- 
 tomed to it, more authorised. A friendly physician is a 
 great help and a great stay so long as the disease is not 
 alarming, but when he begins to look very grave (the reader 
 knows that look) and says that recovery is not probable, 
 by which physicians mean that death is certain and 
 imminent, the clergyman says there is hope still, and 
 speaks of a life beyond the grave in which human exist- 
 ence will be delivered from the evils that afflict it here. 
 When death has come, the priest treats the dead body 
 with respect and the survivors with sympathy, and when 
 it is laid in the ground he is there to the last moment 
 with the majesty of an ancient and touching form of
 
 xiii.] PRIESTS AND WOMEN. 175 
 
 words already pronounced over the graves of millions 
 who have gone to their everlasting rest. 1 
 
 1 Since this essay was written I have met with the following 
 passage in her Majesty's diary, which so accurately describes the 
 consolatory influence of clergymen, and the natural desire of women 
 for the consolation given by them, that I cannot refrain from quot- 
 ing it. The Queen is speaking of her last interview with Dr. 
 Norman Macleod : 
 
 " He dwelt then, as always, on the love and goodness of God, 
 and on his conviction that God would give us, in another life, the 
 means to perfect ourselves and to improve gradually. No one ever 
 felt so convinced, and so anxious as he to convince others, that 
 God was a loving Father who wished all to come to Him ; and to 
 preach of a living personal Saviour, One who loved us as a brother 
 and a friend, to whom all could and should come with trust and 
 confidence. No one ever raised and strengthened one's faith more 
 than Dr. Macleod. His own faith was so strong, his heart so large, 
 that all high and low, weak and strong, the erring and the good 
 could alike find sympathy , help, and consolation from him" 
 
 ''How I loved to talk to him, to ask his advice, to speak to him 
 of my sorrows and anxieties. " 
 
 A little further on in the same diary her Majesty speaks of Dr. 
 Macleod's beneficial influence upon another lady. 
 
 " He had likewise a marvellous power of winning people of all 
 kinds, and of sympathising with the highest and with the humblest, 
 and of soothing and comforting the sick, the dying, the afflicted, 
 the erring, and the doubting. A friend of mine told me that if she 
 were in great trouble, or sorrow, or anxiety, Dr. Norman Macleod 
 was the person she would wish to go to." 
 
 The two points to be noted in these extracts are, first, the faith 
 in a loving God who cares for each of His creatures individually 
 (not acting only by general laws) ; and secondly, the way in which 
 the woman goes to the clergyman (whether in formal confession or 
 confidential conversation) to hear consolatory doctrine from his lips 
 in application to her own personal needs. The faith and the tend- 
 ency are both so natural in women that they could only cease in 
 consequence of the general and most improbable acceptance by
 
 1 76 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 PART II. ART. 
 
 I have not yet by any means exhausted the advan- 
 tages of the priestly position in its influence upon women. 
 If the reader will reflect upon the feminine nature as he 
 has known it, especially in women of the best kind, he 
 will at once admit that not only are women more readily 
 moved by the expression of sympathy than men, and 
 more grateful for it, but they are also more alive to 
 poetical and artistic influences. In our sex the aesthetic 
 instinct is occasionally present in great strength, but more 
 frequently it is altogether absent ; in the female sex it 
 seldom reaches much creative force, but it is almost invari- 
 ably present in minor degrees. Almost all women take 
 an interest in furniture and dress ; most of them in the 
 comfortable classes have some knowledge of music; 
 drawing has been learned as an accomplishment more 
 frequently by girls than by boys. The clergy have a 
 strong hold upon the feminine nature by its aesthetic 
 side. All the external details of public worship are 
 profoundly interesting to women. When there is any 
 splendour in ritual, the details of vestments and altar 
 decorations are a constant occupation for their thoughts, 
 and they frequently bestow infinite labour and pains to 
 produce beautiful things with their own hands to be used 
 in the service of the Church. In cases where the service 
 itself is too austere and plain to afford much scope for 
 this affectionate industry the slightest pretext is seized 
 
 women of the scientific doctrine that the Eternal Energy is invariably 
 regular in its operations, and inexorable, and that the priest has no 
 clearer knowledge of its inscrutable nature than the layman.
 
 xiii.] PRIESTS AND WOMEN. 177 
 
 upon with avidity. See how eagerly ladies will decorate 
 a church at Christmas, and how they will work to get up 
 an ecclesiastical bazaar ! Even in that Church which 
 most encourages or permits aesthetic industry, the zeal of 
 ladies sometimes goes beyond the desires of the clergy, 
 and has to be more or less decidedly repressed. We 
 all can see from the outside how fond women generally 
 are of flowers, though I believe it is impossible for us to 
 realise all that flowers are to them, as there are no inani- 
 mate objects that men love with such affectionate and 
 even tender solicitude. However, we see that women 
 surround themselves with flowers, in gardens, in con- 
 servatories, and in their rooms ; we see that they wear 
 artificial flowers in their dress, and that they paint flowers 
 in water-colour and on china. Now observe how the 
 Church of Rome and the Ritualists in England show 
 sympathy with this feminine taste ! Innumerable millions 
 of flowers are employed annually in the churches on the 
 continent ; they are also used in England, though in 
 less lavish profusion, and a sermon on flowers is preached 
 annually in London, when every pew is full of them. 
 
 It is well known that women take an unfailing interest 
 in dress. The attention they give to it is close, constant, 
 and systematic, like an orderly man's attention to order. 
 Women are easily affected by official costumes, and they 
 read what great people have worn at levees and drawing- 
 rooms. The clergy possess, in ecclesiastical vestments, 
 a very powerful help to their influence. That many of 
 them are clearly aware of this is proved by their boldness 
 and perseverance in resuming ornamental vestments, and 
 (as might be expected) that Church which has the most 
 influence over women is at the same time the one 
 
 N
 
 178 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 whose vestments are most gorgeous and most elaborate. 
 Splendour, however, is not required to make a costume 
 impressive. It is enough that it be strikingly peculiar, 
 even in simplicity, like the white robe of the Dominican 
 friars. 
 
 Costume naturally leads our minds to architecture. 
 I am not the first to remark that a house is only a cloak 
 of a larger size. The gradation is insensible from a 
 coat to a cathedral ; first, the soldier's heavy cloak, which 
 enabled the Prussians to dispense with the little tent, 
 then the tent, hut, cottage, house, church, cathedral, 
 heavier and larger as we ascend the scale. " He has 
 clothed himself with his church," says Michelet of the 
 priest ; "he has wrapped himself in this glorious mantle, 
 and in it he stands in triumphant state. The crowd 
 comes, sees, admires. Assuredly, if we judge the man 
 by his covering, he who clothes himself with a Notre 
 Dame de Paris or with a Cologne Cathedral is, to all 
 appearance, the giant of the spiritual world. What a 
 dwelling such an edifice is, and how vast the inhabitant 
 must be ! All proportions change, the eye is deceived, 
 and deceives itself again. Sublime lights, powerful 
 shadows, all help the illusion. The man who in the 
 street looked like a village schoolmaster is a prophet in 
 this place. He is transfigured by these magnificent sur- 
 roundings, his heaviness becomes power and majesty, 
 his voice has formidable echoes. Women and children 
 are overawed." 
 
 To a mind that does not analyse but simply receives 
 impressions, magnificent architecture is a convincing 
 proof that the words of the preacher are true. It appears 
 inconceivable that such substantial glories, so many
 
 xin.] PRIESTS AND WOMEN. 179 
 
 thousands of tons of masonry, such forests of timber, 
 such acres of lead and glass, all united in one harmonious 
 work, on which men lavished wealth and toil for genera- 
 tions it appears inconceivable that such a monument 
 can perpetuate an error or a dream. The echoing vaults 
 bear witness. Responses come from storied window and 
 multitudinous imagery. When the old cosmogony is 
 proclaimed to be true in York Minster, the scientists 
 sink into insignificance in their modern ordinary rooms ; 
 when the acolyte rings his bell in Rouen Cathedral, and 
 the Host is lifted up, and the crowd kneels in silent 
 adoration on the pavement, who is to deny the Real 
 Presence? Does not every massive pillar stand there 
 to affirm sturdily that it is true, and do not the towers 
 outside announce it to field and river, and to the very 
 winds of heaven ? 
 
 The musical culture of women finds its own special 
 interest in the vocal and instrumental parts of the church 
 service. Women have a direct influence on this part of 
 the ritual, and sometimes take an active share in it. Of 
 all the arts, music is the most closely connected with 
 religion, and it is the only one that the blessed are 
 believed to practise in a future state. A suggestion that 
 angels might paint or carve is so unaccustomed that it 
 seems incongruous, yet the objection to these arts cannot 
 be that they employ matter, since both poets and painters 
 give musical instruments to the angels 
 
 " And angels meeting us shall sing 
 To their citherns and citoles." 
 
 Worship naturally becomes musical as it passes from 
 the prayer that asks for benefits to the expression of
 
 i8o HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 joyful praise, and though the austerity of extreme Pro- 
 testantism has excluded instruments, and encouraged 
 reading instead of chanting, I am not aware that it has 
 ever gone so far as to forbid the singing of hymns. 
 
 I have not yet touched upon pulpit eloquence as one 
 of the means by which the clergy gain a great ascendency 
 over women. The truth is, that the pulpit is quite the 
 most advantageous of all places for any one who has the 
 gift of public speaking. He is placed there far more 
 favourably than a member of Parliament in his place in 
 the House, where he is subject to constant and contempt- 
 uous interruptions from hearers lounging with their hats 
 on. The chief advantage is that no one present is 
 allowed either to interrupt or to reply, and this is one 
 reason why some men will not go to church ; as they say, 
 " We may hear our principles misrepresented, and not be 
 permitted to defend them." A Bishop, in my hearing, 
 touched upon this very point. "People say," he remarked, 
 " that a preacher is much at his ease because no one is 
 allowed to answer him, but I invite discussion. If any 
 one here present has doubts about the soundness of my 
 reasoning, I invite him to come to me at the Episcopal 
 Palace, and we will argue the question together in my 
 study." This sounded unusually liberal, but how the 
 advantages were still on the side of the Bishop ! His 
 attack on heresy was public. It was uttered with long- 
 practised professional eloquence, it was backed by a 
 lofty social position, aided by a peculiar and dignified 
 costume, and mightily aided also by the architecture of 
 a magnificent cathedral. The doubter was invited to 
 answer, but not on equal terms. The attack was public, 
 the answer was to be private, and the heretic was to meet
 
 xni.] PRfESTS AND WOMEN. 181 
 
 the Bishop in the Episcopal Palace, where, again, the 
 power of rank and surroundings would be all in the 
 prelate's favour. 
 
 Not only are clergymen privileged speakers in being 
 as secure from present contradiction as a sovereign on 
 the throne, but they have the grandest of all imaginable 
 subjects. In a word, they have the subject of Dante 
 they speak to us del Inferno, del Purgatorw, del Paradise. 
 If they have any gift of genius, any power of imagination, 
 such a subject becomes a tremendous engine in their 
 hands. Imagine the difference between a preacher 
 solemnly warning his hearers that the consequences of 
 inattention may be everlasting torment, and a politician 
 warning the Government that inattention may lead to a 
 deficit ! The truth is, that however terrible may be the 
 earthly consequences of imprudence and of sin, they 
 sink into complete insignificance before the menaces of 
 the Church ; nor is there, on the other hand, any worldly 
 success that can be proposed as a motive comparable to 
 the permanent happiness of Paradise. The good and 
 the bad things of this world have alike the fatal defect, 
 as subjects for eloquence, that they equally end in death, 
 and as death is near to all of us we see the end to both. 
 The secular preacher is like a man who predicts a more 
 or less comfortable journey which comes to the same 
 end in any case. A philosophic hearer is not very 
 greatly elated by the promise of comforts so soon to be 
 taken away, nor is he overwhelmed by the threat of evils 
 that can but be temporary. Hence, in all matters 
 belonging to this world only, the tone of quiet advice is 
 the reasonable and appropriate tone, and it is that of the 
 doctor and lawyer; but in matters of such tremendous
 
 182 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 import as eternal happiness and misery, the utmost 
 energy of eloquence can never be too great for the 
 occasion ; so that if a preacher can threaten like peals of 
 thunder, and appal like flashes of lightning, he may use 
 such terrible gifts without any disproportionate excess. 
 On the other hand, if he has any charm of language, any 
 brilliancy of imagination, there is nothing to prevent him 
 from alluring his hearers to the paths of virtue by the 
 most lavish and seductive promises. In short, his 
 opportunities in both directions are of such a nature that 
 exaggeration is impossible, and all his power, all his 
 charm, are as free to do their utmost as an ocean wave 
 in a tempest or the nightingale in the summer woods. 
 
 I cannot quit the subject of clerical oratory without 
 noticing one of its marked characteristics. The priest 
 is not in a position of disinterested impartiality like a 
 man of science, who is ready to renounce any doctrine 
 when he finds evidence against it. The priest is an 
 advocate, whose life-long pleading must be in favour of 
 the Church as he finds her, and in opposition to her 
 adversaries. To attack adversaries is therefore one of 
 the recognised duties of his profession, and if he is not 
 a man of uncommon fairness, if he has not an inborn 
 love of justice which is rare in human nature, he will not 
 only attack his adversaries but misrepresent them. There 
 is even a worse danger than simple misrepresentation. 
 A priest may possibly be a man of. a coarse temper, and 
 if he is so he will employ the weapons of outrage and 
 vituperation, knowing that he can do so with impunity. 
 One would imagine that these methods must inevitably 
 repel and displease women, but there is a very peculiar 
 reason why they seldom have this effect. A highly-
 
 xiii.] PRIESTS AND WOMEN. 183 
 
 principled woman is usually so extremely eager to be on 
 the side of what is right that suspension of judgment is 
 most difficult for her. Any condemnation uttered by a 
 person she is accustomed to. trust has her approval on 
 the instant. She cannot endure to wait until the crime 
 is proved, but her feelings of indignation are at once 
 aroused against the supposed criminal on the ground 
 that there must be clear distinctions between right and 
 wrong. The priest, for her, is the good man the man 
 on the side of God and virtue, and those whom he con- 
 demns are the bad men the men on the side of the 
 devil and vice. This being so, he may deal with such 
 men as roughly as he pleases. Nor have these men the 
 faintest chance of setting themselves right in her opinion. 
 She quietly closes the avenues of her mind against them ; 
 she declines to read their books ; she will not listen to 
 their arguments. Even if one of them is a near relation, 
 whose opinions inflict upon her what she calls "the 
 deepest distress of mind," she will positively prefer to go 
 on suffering such distress until she dies, rather than 
 allow him to remove it by a candid exposition of his 
 views. She prefers the hostile misrepresentation that 
 makes her miserable to an authentic account of the 
 matter that would relieve her anguish. 
 
 PART III. ASSOCIATION. 
 
 The association of clergymen with ladies in works of 
 charity affords continual opportunities for the exercise of 
 clerical influence over women. A partnership in good 
 works is set up which establishes interesting and cordial 
 relations, and when the lady has accomplished some
 
 1 84 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 charitable purpose she remembers for long afterwards 
 the clergyman without whose active assistance her pro- 
 ject might have fallen to the ground. She sees in the 
 clergyman a reflection of her own goodness, and she 
 feels grateful to him for lending his masculine sense and 
 larger experience to the realisation of her ideas. There 
 are other cases of a different nature in which the self- 
 esteem of the lady is deeply gratified when she is selected 
 by the clergyman as being more capable of devoted effort 
 in a sacred cause than women of inferior piety and 
 strength of mind. This kind of clerical selection is 
 believed to be very influential in furthering clerical 
 marriages. The lady is told that she will serve the high- 
 est of all causes by lending a willing ear to her admirer. 
 Every reader will remember how thoroughly this idea is 
 worked out in Jane Eyre, where St. John urges Jane to 
 marry him on the plain ground that she would be a 
 valuable fellow -worker with a missionary. Charlotte 
 Bronte was, indeed, so strongly impressed with this 
 aspect of clerical influence that she injured the best and 
 strongest of her novels by an almost wearisome develop- 
 ment of that episode. 
 
 Clerical influence is immensely aided by the posses- 
 sion of leisure. Without underrating the self-devotion 
 of hard-working clergymen (which is all the more honour- 
 able to them that they might take life more easily if they 
 chose), we see a wide distinction, in point of industry, 
 between the average clergyman and the average solicitor, 
 for example. The clergyman has leisure to pay calls, to 
 accept many invitations, and to talk in full detail about the 
 interests that he has in common with his female friends. 
 The solicitor is kept to his office by strictly professional
 
 xiii.] PRIESTS AND WOMEN. 185 
 
 work, requiring very close application and allowing no 
 liberty of mind. 
 
 Much might be said about the effect of clerical leisure 
 on clerical manners. Without leisure, it is difficult to 
 have such quiet and pleasant manners as the clergy 
 generally have. Very busy men generally seem pre- 
 occupied with some idea of their own which is not what 
 you are talking about, but a leisurely man will give 
 hospitality to your thought. A busy man wants to get 
 away, and fidgets you ; a man of leisure dwells with you, 
 for the time, completely. Ladies are exquisitely sensitive 
 to these differences, and besides, they are generally them- 
 selves persons of leisure. Over -worked people often 
 confound leisure with indolence, which is a great mistake. 
 Leisure is highly favourable to intelligence and good 
 manners ; indolence is stupid from its dislike to mental 
 effort, and ill bred from the habit of inattention. 
 
 The feeling of women towards custom draws them 
 strongly to the clergy, because a priesthood is the 
 instinctive upholder of ancient customs and ceremonies, 
 and steadily maintains external decorum. Women are 
 naturally more attracted by custom than we are. A few 
 men have an affectionate regard for the sanctities of 
 usage, but most men only submit to them from an idea 
 that they are generally helpful to the " maintenance of 
 order," and if women could be supposed absent from a 
 nation for a time, it is probable that external observances 
 of all kinds would be greatly relaxed. Women do not 
 merely submit passively to custom ; they uphold it 
 actively and energetically, with a degree of faith in the 
 perfect reasonableness of it which gives them great 
 decision in its defence. It seems to them the ultimate
 
 1 86 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 reason, from which there is no appeal. Now, in the life 
 of every organised Church there is much to gratify this 
 instinct, especially in those which have been long estab- 
 lished. The recurrence of holy seasons, the customary 
 repetition of certain forms of words, the observance at 
 stated intervals of the same ceremonies, the adherence 
 to certain prescribed decencies or splendours of dress, 
 the reservation of sacred days on which labour is sus- 
 pended, give to the religious life a charm of customari- 
 ness which is deeply gratifying to good, order-loving 
 women. It is said that every poet has something 
 feminine in his nature, and it is certainly observable that 
 poets, like women, are tenderly affected by the recurrence 
 of holy seasons, and the observance of fixed religious 
 rites. I will only allude to Keble's Christian Year, 
 because in this instance it might be objected that the 
 poet was secondary to the Christian, but the reader will 
 find instances of the same sentiment in Tennyson, as, 
 for example, in the profoundly affecting allusions to the 
 return of Christmas in In Memoriam. I could not name 
 another occupation so closely and visibly bound up with 
 custom as the clerical profession, but for the sake of con- 
 trast I may mention one or two others that are com- 
 pletely disconnected from it. The profession of painting 
 is an example, and so is that of literature. An artist, a 
 writer, has simply nothing whatever to do with custom, 
 except as a private man. He may be an excellent and 
 a famous workman without knowing Sunday from week- 
 day or Easter from Lent. A man of science is equally 
 unconnected with traditional observances. 
 
 It may be a question whether a celibate or a married 
 clergy has the greater influence over women.
 
 xin.] PRIESTS AND WOMEN. 187 
 
 There are two sides to this question. The Church 
 of Rome is, from the worldly point of view, the most 
 astute body of men who have ever leagued themselves 
 together in a corporation, and that Church has decided 
 for celibacy, rejecting thereby all the advantages to be 
 derived from rich marriages and good connections. In 
 a celibate church the priest has a position of secure 
 dignity and independence. It is known from the first 
 that he will not marry, so there is no idle and damaging 
 gossip about his supposed aspirations after fortune, or 
 tender feelings towards beauty. Women can treat him 
 with greater confidence than if he were a possible suitor, 
 and then can confess to him, which is felt to be difficult 
 with a married or a marriageable clergy. By being 
 decidedly celibate, the clergy avoid the possible loss of 
 dignity which might result from allying themselves with 
 families in a low social position. They are simply 
 priests, and escape all other classification. A married 
 man is, as it were, made responsible for the decent 
 appearance, the good manners, and the proper conduct 
 of three different sets of people. There is the family he 
 springs from, there is his wife's family, and lastly, there 
 is the family in his own house. Any one of these may 
 drag a man down socially with almost irresistible force. 
 The celibate priest is only affected by the family he 
 springs from, and is generally at a distance from that. 
 He escapes the invasion of his house by a wife's rela- 
 tions, who might possibly be vulgar, and, above all, he 
 escapes the permanent degradation of a coarse and ill- 
 dressed family of his own. No doubt, from the Christian 
 point of view, poverty is as honourable as wealth, but 
 from the worldly point of view its visible imperfections
 
 1 88 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 are mean, despicable, and even ridiculous. In the early 
 days of English Protestants, the liberty to marry was 
 ruinous to the social position of the clergy. They 
 generally espoused servant-girls, or " a lady's-maid whose 
 character had been blown upon, and who was therefore 
 forced to give up all hope of catching the steward." 1 
 Queen Elizabeth issued " special orders that no clergy- 
 man should presume to marry a servant-girl without the 
 consent of the master or mistress." " One of the lessons 
 most earnestly inculcated on every girl of honourable 
 family was to give no encouragement to a lover in 
 orders, and if any young lady forgot this precept, she 
 was almost as much disgraced as by an illicit amour." 
 The cause of these low marriages was simply poverty, 
 and it is needless to add that they increased the evil. 
 " As children multiplied and grew, the household of the 
 priest became more and more beggarly. Holes appeared 
 more and more plainly in the thatch of his parsonage 
 and in his single cassock. His boys followed the plough 
 and his girls went out to service." 
 
 When clergymen can maintain appearances they gain 
 one advantage from marriage which increases their influ- 
 ence with women. The clergyman's wife is almost 
 herself in holy orders, and his daughter often takes an 
 equally keen interest in ecclesiastical matters. These 
 " clergy women," as they have been called, are valuable 
 allies through whom much may be done that cannot be 
 effected directly. This is the only advantage on the 
 side of marriage, and it is but relative, for a celibate 
 clergy has also its female allies who are scarcely less 
 
 1 These quotations (I need hardly say) are from Macaulay's 
 History, chapter iii.
 
 xiii.] PRIESTS AND WOMEN. 189 
 
 devoted, and in the Church of Rome there are great 
 organised associations of women entirely under the 
 control of ecclesiastics. Again, there is a lay element 
 in a clergyman's family, which brings the world into his 
 own house, to the detriment of its religious character. 
 The sons of the clergy are often anything but clerical in 
 feeling. They are often strongly laic, and even sceptical, 
 by a natural reaction from ecclesiasticism. On the 
 whole, therefore, it seems certain that an unmarried 
 clergy more easily maintains both its own dignity and 
 the distinction between itself and the laity. 
 
 Auricular confession is so well known as a means of 
 influencing women that I need scarcely do more than 
 mention it, but there is one characteristic of it which is 
 little understood by Protestants. They fancy (judging 
 from Protestant feelings of antagonism) that confession 
 must be felt as a tyranny. A Roman Catholic woman 
 does not feel it to be an infliction that the Church 
 imposes, but a relief that she affords. Women are not 
 naturally silent sufferers. They like to talk about their 
 anxieties and interests, especially to a patient and sym- 
 pathetic listener of the other sex, who will give them 
 valuable advice. There is reason to believe that a good 
 deal of informal confession is done by Protestant ladies; 
 in the Church of Rome it is more systematic and leads 
 to a formal absolution. The subject which the speaker 
 has to talk about is that most interesting of all subjects 
 self. In any other place than a confessional to talk 
 about self at any length is an error, in the confessional 
 it is a virtue. The truth is, that pious Roman Catholic 
 women find happiness in the confessional and try the 
 patience of the priests by minute accounts of trifling or
 
 i go HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 imaginary sins. No doubt confession places an immense 
 power in the hands of the Church, but at an incalculable 
 cost of patience. It is not felt to weigh unfairly on the 
 laity, because the priest who to-day has forgiven your 
 faults, will to-morrow kneel in penitence and ask forgive- 
 ness for his own. I do not see in the confessional so 
 much an oppressive institution as a convenience for both 
 parties. The woman gets what she wants, an oppor- 
 tunity of talking confidentially about herself; and the 
 priest gets what he wants, an opportunity of learning the 
 secrets of the household. 
 
 Nothing has so powerfully awakened the jealousy of 
 laymen as this institution of the confessional. The 
 reasons have been so fully treated by Michelet and others, 
 and are in fact so obvious, that I need not repeat them. 
 
 The dislike for priests that is felt by many conti- 
 nental laymen is increased by a cause that helps to win 
 the confidence of women. " Observe," the laymen say, 
 " with what art the priest dresses so as to make women 
 feel that he is without sex, in order that they may confess 
 to him more willingly. He removes every trace of hair 
 from his face, his dress is half feminine, he hides his legs 
 in petticoats, his shoulders under a tippet, and in the 
 higher ranks he wears jewellery, and silk, and lace. A 
 woman would never confess to a man dressed as we are, 
 so the wolf puts on sheep's clothing." 
 
 Where confession is not the rule the layman's jealousy 
 is less acrid and pungent in its expression, but it often 
 manifests itself in milder forms. The pen that so clearly 
 delineated the Rev. Charles Honeyman was impelled by 
 a layman's natural and pardonable jealousy. A feeling 
 of this kind is often strong in laymen of mature years.
 
 xiii.] PRIESTS AND WOMEN. 191 
 
 They will say to you in confidence " Here is a man 
 about the age of one of my sons, who knows no more 
 concerning the mysteries of life and death than I do, 
 who gets what he thinks he knows out of a book which is 
 as accessible to .me as it is to him, and yet who assumes 
 a superiority over me which would only be justifiable if I 
 were ignorant and he enlightened. He calls me one of 
 his sheep. I am not a sheep relatively to him. I am 
 at least his equal in knowledge, and greatly his superior 
 in experience. Nobody but a parson would venture to 
 compare me to an animal (such a stupid animal too !) 
 and himself to that animal's master. His one real and 
 effective superiority is that he has all the women on his 
 side." 
 
 You poor, doubting, hesitating layman, not half so 
 convinced as the ladies of your family, who and what 
 are you in the presence of a man who comes clothed 
 with the authority of the Church ? If you simply repeat 
 what he says you are a mere echo, a feeble repetition of 
 a great original, like the copy of a famous picture. If 
 you try to take refuge in philosophic indifference, in 
 silent patience, you will be blamed for moral and religious 
 inertia. If you venture to oppose and discuss you will 
 be the bad man against the good man, and as sure of 
 condemnation as a murderer when the judge is putting on 
 the black cap. There is no resource for you but one, 
 and that does not offer a very cheering or hopeful pro- 
 spect. By the exercise of angelic patience, and of all 
 the other virtues that have been preached by good men 
 from Socrates downwards, you may in twenty or thirty 
 years acquire some credit for a sort of inferior goodness 
 of your own a pinchbeck goodness, better than nothing,
 
 192 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY xm. 
 
 but not in any way comparable to the pure golden good- 
 ness of the priest ; and when you come to die, the best 
 that can be hoped for your disembodied soul will be 
 mercy, clemency, indulgence not approbation, welcome, 
 or reward.
 
 ESSAY XIV. 
 
 WHY WE ARE APPARENTLY BECOMING LESS 
 RELIGIOUS. 
 
 IT has happened to me on more than one occasion to 
 have to examine papers left by ladies belonging to the 
 last generation who had lived in the manner most 
 esteemed and respected by the general opinion of their 
 time, and who might, without much risk "of error, be 
 taken for almost perfect models of English gentlewomen 
 as they existed before the present scientific age. The 
 papers left by these ladies consisted either of memoranda 
 of their private thoughts or of thoughts by others which 
 seemed to have had an especial interest for them. I 
 found that all these papers arranged themselves naturally 
 and inevitably under two heads ; either they concerned 
 family interests and affections or they were distinctly 
 religious in character, like the religious meditations we 
 find in books of devotion. 
 
 There may be nothing extraordinary in this. Thou- 
 sands of other ladies may have left religious memoranda, 
 but consider what a preponderance of religious ideas is 
 implied when written thoughts are entirely confined to 
 them ! The ladies in question lived in the first half of 
 the nineteenth century, a period of great intellectual fer- 
 ment, of the most important political and social changes, 
 
 o
 
 194 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 and of wonderful material progress; but they did not 
 seem to have taken any real interest in these movements. 
 The Bible and the commentaries of the clergy satisfied 
 not only their spiritual but also their intellectual needs. 
 They seem to have desired no knowledge of the uni- 
 verse, or of the probable origin and future of the human 
 race, which the Bible did not supply. They seem to 
 have cared for no example of human character and con- 
 duct other than the scriptural examples. 
 
 This restfulness in Biblical history and philosophy, 
 this substitution of the Bible for the world as a subject 
 of study and contemplation, this absence of desire to 
 penetrate the secrets of the world itself, this want of 
 aspiration after any ideal more recent than the earlier 
 ages of Christianity, permitted a much more constant 
 and uninterrupted dwelling with what are considered to 
 be religious ideas than is possible to any active and 
 inquiring mind of the present day. Let it be supposed, 
 for example, that a person to whom the Bible was every- 
 thing desired information about the origin of the globe, 
 and of life upon it ; he would refer to the book of Genesis 
 as the only authority, and this reference would have the 
 character of a religious act, and he would get credit for 
 piety on account of it ; whilst a modern scientific student 
 would refer to some great modern paleontologist, and 
 his reference would not have the character of a religious 
 act, nor bring him any credit for piety, yet the prompting 
 curiosity, the desire to know about the remote past, 
 would be exactly the same in both cases. And I think 
 it may be easily shown that if the modern scientific 
 student appears to be less religious than others think he 
 ought to be, it is often because he possesses and uses
 
 xiv.] APPARENTLY LESS RELIGIOUS. 195 
 
 more abundant sources of information than those which 
 were accessible to the ancient Jews. It is not his fault 
 if knowledge has increased, he cannot be blamed if he 
 goes where information is most copious and most exact, 
 yet his preference for such information gives an un- 
 sanctified aspect to his studies. The study of the most 
 ancient knowledge wears a religious aspect, but the study 
 of modern knowledge appears to be non-religious. 
 
 Again, when we come to the cultivation of the 
 idealising faculties, of the faculties which do not seek 
 information merely, but some kind of perfection, we find 
 that the very complexity of modern life and the diversity 
 of the ideal pleasures and perfections that we modern 
 men desire have a constant tendency to take us outside 
 of strictly religious ideals. As long as the writings 
 which are held to be sacred supply all that our idealis- 
 ing faculties need, so long will our imaginative powers 
 exercise themselves in what is considered to be a reli- 
 gious manner, and we shall get credit for piety ; but 
 when our minds imagine what the sacred writers could 
 not or did not conceive, and when we seek help for our 
 imaginative faculty in profane writers, we appear to be 
 less religious. So it is with the desire to study and 
 imitate high examples of conduct and character. There 
 is no nobler or more fruitful instinct in man than a desire 
 like this, which is possible only to those who are at once 
 humble and aspiring. An ancient Jew who had this 
 noble instinct could satisfy it by reading the sacred books 
 of the Hebrews, and so his aspiration appeared to be 
 wholly religious. It is not so with an active-minded 
 young Englishman of the present day. He cannot find 
 the most inspiriting models amongst the ancient Hebrews,
 
 196 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 for the reason that their life was altogether so much 
 simpler and more primitive than ours. They had 
 nothing that can seriously be called science, they had not 
 any organised industry, they had little art and hardly 
 any secular literature, so that in these directions they 
 offer us no examples to follow. Our great inspiriting 
 examples in these directions are to be found either in 
 the Renaissance or in recent times, and therefore in 
 profane biography. From this it follows that an active 
 modern mind seems to study and follow non-religious 
 examples, and so to differ widely, 'and for the worse, 
 from the simpler minds of old time, who were satisfied 
 with the examples they found in their Bibles. This 
 appearance is misleading ; it is merely on the surface, for 
 if we go deeper and do not let ourselves be deceived by 
 the words " sacred " and "profane," we shall find that 
 when a simple mind chooses a model from a primitive 
 people, and a cultivated one chooses a model from an 
 advanced people, and from the most advanced class in 
 it, they are both really doing the same thing, namely, 
 seeking ideal help of the kind which is best for each. 
 Both of them are pursuing the same object, a mental 
 discipline and elevation which may be comprised under 
 the general term virtue, the only difference being that 
 one is studying examples of virtue in the history of the 
 ancient Jews, whilst the other finds examples of virtue 
 more to his own special purpose in the lives of energetic 
 Englishmen, Frenchmen, or Germans. 
 
 A hundred such examples might be mentioned, for 
 every occupation worth following has its own saints and 
 heroes, but I will confine myself to two. The first 
 shall be a French gentleman of the eighteenth century,
 
 xiv.] APPARENTLY LESS RELIGIOUS. 197 
 
 to whom life offered in the richest profusion everything 
 that can tempt a man to what is considered an excusable 
 and even a respectable form of idleness. He had an 
 independent fortune, excellent health, a good social 
 position, and easy access to the most lively, the most 
 entertaining, the most amiable society that ever was, 
 namely, that of the intelligent French nobility before 
 the Revolution. There is no merit in renouncing what 
 we do not enjoy, but he enjoyed all pleasant things, and 
 yet renounced them for a higher and a harder life. At 
 the age of thirty-two he retired to the country, made a 
 rule of early rising and kept it, sallied forth from his house 
 every morning at five, went and shut himself up in an 
 old tower with a piece of bread and a glass of water for 
 his breakfast, worked altogether eleven or twelve hours 
 a day in two sittings, and went to bed at nine. This 
 for eight months in the year, regularly, the remaining 
 four being employed in scientific and administrative 
 work at the Jardin des Plantes. He went on working 
 in this way for forty years, and in the whole course of 
 that time never let pass an ill-considered page or an ill- 
 constructed sentence, but always did his best, and tried 
 to make himself able to do better. 
 
 Such was the great life of Buffon ; and in our own time 
 another great life has come to its close, inferior to that of 
 Buffon only in this, that as it did not begin in luxury the 
 first renunciation was not so difficult to make. Yet, how- 
 ever austere his beginnings, it is not a light or easy thing 
 for a man to become the greatest intellectual worker of 
 his time, so that one of his days (including eight hours of 
 steady nocturnal labour) was equivalent to two or more of 
 our days. No man of his time in Europe had so vast a
 
 198 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 knowledge of literature and science in combination, yet 
 this knowledge was accompanied by perfect modesty and 
 by a complete indifference to vulgar distinctions and 
 vain successes. For many years he was the butt of 
 coarse and malignant misrepresentation on the part of 
 enemies who easily made him odious to a shallow society, 
 but he bore it with perfect dignity, and retained unim- 
 paired the tolerance and charity of his nature. His way 
 of living was plain and frugal ; he even contented himself 
 with narrow dwellings, though the want of space must 
 have occasioned frequent inconvenience to a man of his 
 pursuits. He scrupulously fulfilled his domestic duties, 
 and made use of his medical education in ministering 
 gratuitously to the poor. Such was his courage that, 
 when already advanced in life, he undertook a gigantic 
 task, requiring twenty years of incessant labour; and 
 such were his industry and perseverance that he brought 
 it to a splendidly successful issue. At length, after a 
 long life of duty and patience, after bearing calumny 
 and ridicule, he was called to endure another kind of 
 suffering, that of incessant physical pain. This he bore 
 with perfect fortitude, retaining to the last his mental 
 serenity, his interest in learning, and a high-minded 
 patriotic thoughtfulness for his country and its future, 
 finding means in the midst of suffering to dictate long 
 letters to his fellow-citizens on political subjects, which, 
 in their calm wisdom, stood in the strongest possible 
 contrast to the violent party-writing of the hour. 
 
 Such was the great life of Littre ; and now con- 
 sider whether he who studies lives like these, and wins 
 virtue from their austere example, does not occupy his 
 thoughts with what would have been considered religious
 
 xiv.] APPARENTLY LESS RELIGIOUS. 199 
 
 aspirations if these two men, instead of being Frenchmen 
 of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, had happened 
 to be ancient Jews. If it had been possible for so 
 primitive a nation as the Jewish to produce men of such 
 steady industry and so large a culture, we should have read 
 the story of their lives in the Jewish sacred books, and then 
 it would have been a part of the popular religion to study 
 them, whereas now the study of such biography is held to 
 be non-religious, if not (at least in the case of Littre") 
 positively irreligious. Yet surely when we think of the 
 virtues which made these lives so fruitful, our minds are 
 occupied in a kind of religious thought, for are we not 
 thinking of temperance, self-discipline, diligence, persever- 
 ance, patience, charity, courage, hope ? Were not these 
 men distinguished by their aspiration after higher per- 
 fection, by a constant desire to use their talents well, 
 and by a vigilant care in the employment of their time ? 
 And are not these virtues and these aspirations held to 
 be parts of a civilised man's religion, and the best parts ? 
 The necessity for an intellectual expansion beyond 
 the limits of the Bible was felt very strongly at the time 
 of the Renaissance, and found ample satisfaction in the 
 study of the Greek and Latin classics. There are many 
 reasons why women appear to be more religious than 
 men, and one of them is because women study only one 
 collection of ancient writings, whilst men have been 
 accustomed to study three, consequently that which 
 women study (if such a word is applicable to devotional 
 uncritical reading) occupies their minds far more exclu- 
 sively than it occupies the mind of a classical scholar. 
 But, though the intellectual energies of men were for a 
 time satisfied with classical literature, they came at length
 
 200 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 to look outside of that as their fathers had looked outside 
 of the Bible. Classical literature was itself a kind of 
 religion, having its own sacred books ; and it had also its 
 heretics the students of nature who found nature more 
 interesting than the opinions of the Greeks and Romans. 
 Then came the second great expansion of the human 
 mind, in the midst of which we ourselves are living. 
 The Renaissance opened for it a world of mental activity 
 which had the inappreciable intellectual advantage of 
 lying well outside of the popular beliefs and ideas, so 
 that cultivated men found in it an escape from the 
 pressure of the uneducated ; but the new scientific ex- 
 pansion offers us a region governed by laws of a kind 
 peculiar to itself, which protect those who conform to 
 them against every assailant. It is a region in which 
 authority is unknown, for, however illustrious any great 
 man may appear in it, every statement that he makes is 
 subject to verification. Here the knowledge of ancient 
 writers is continually superseded by the better and more 
 accurate knowledge of their successors, so that whereas 
 in religion and learning the most ancient writings are 
 the most esteemed, in science it is often the most recent, 
 and even these have no authority which may not be 
 called in question freely by any student. The new 
 scientific culture is thus encouraging a habit of mind 
 different from old habits, and which in our time has 
 caused such a degree of separation that the most im- 
 portant and the most interesting of all topics are those 
 upon which we scarcely dare to venture for fear of being 
 misunderstood. 
 
 If I had to condense in a short space the various 
 reasons why we are apparently becoming less religious,
 
 xiv.] APPARENTLY LESS RELIGIOUS. 201 
 
 I should say that it is because knowledge and feeling, 
 embodied or expressed in the sciences and arts, are now 
 too fully and too variously developed to remain within 
 the limits of what is considered sacred knowledge or 
 religious emotion. It was possible for them to remain 
 well within those limits in ancient times, and it is still 
 possible for a mind of very limited activity and range to 
 dwell almost entirely in what was known or felt at the 
 time of Christ, but this is not possible for an energetic 
 and inquiring mind, and the consequence is that the 
 energetic mind will seem to the other, by contrast, to be 
 negligent of holy things, and too much occupied with 
 purely secular interests and concerns. A great mis- 
 understanding arises from this, which has often had a 
 lamentable effect on intercourse between relations and 
 friends. Pious ladies, to whom theological writings 
 appear to contain almost everything that it is desirable 
 to know, often look with secret misgiving or suspicion on 
 young men of vigorous intellect who cannot rest satisfied 
 with the old knowledge, and what such ladies vaguely 
 hear of the speculations of the famous scientific leaders 
 inspires them with profound alarm. They think that 
 we are becoming less religious because theological writ- 
 ings do not occupy the same space in our time and 
 thoughts as they do in theirs ; whereas, if such a matter 
 could be put to any kind of positive test, it would prob- 
 ably be found that we know more, even of their own 
 theology, than they do, and that, instead of being indif- 
 ferent to the great problems of the universe, we have 
 given to such problems an amount of careful thought 
 far surpassing, in mental effort, their own simple acqui- 
 escence. The opinions of a thoughtful and studious
 
 202 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY xiv. 
 
 man in the present day have never been lightly come 
 by, and if he is supposed to be less religious than his 
 father or his grandfather, it may be that his religion is 
 different from theirs, without being either less earnest 
 or less enlightened. There is, however, one point of 
 immense importance on which I believe that we really 
 are becoming less religious, indeed on that point we 
 seem to be rapidly abandoning the religious principle 
 altogether, but the subject is of too much consequence to 
 be treated at the end of an essay.
 
 ESSAY XV. 
 
 HOW WE ARE REALLY BECOMING LESS 
 RELIGIOUS. 
 
 THE reader may remember how, after the long and un- 
 successful siege of Syracuse, the Athenian general Nikias, 
 seeing his discouraged troops ill with the fever from the 
 marshes, determined to raise the siege, and that, when 
 his soldiers were preparing to retreat and striking their 
 tents for the march, there occurred an eclipse of the 
 moon. Nikias, in his anxiety to know what the gods 
 meant by this with reference to him and his army, at 
 once consulted a soothsayer, who told him that he would 
 incur the Divine anger if he did not remain where he 
 was for three times nine days. He remained, doing 
 nothing, allowing his troops to perish and his ships to 
 be shut up by a line of the enemies' vessels chained 
 together across the entrance of the port At length the 
 three times nine days came to an end, and what was 
 left of the Athenian army had to get out of a situation 
 that had become infinitely more difficult during its 
 inaction. The ships tried to get out in vain ; the army 
 was able to retreat by land but only to be harassed by 
 the enemy, and finally placed in such distress that it was 
 compelled to surrender. Most of the remnant died 
 miserably in the old quarries of Syracuse.
 
 204 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 The conduct of Nikias throughout these evehts was 
 in the highest degree religious. He was fully convinced 
 that the gods concerned themselves about him and his 
 doings, that they were watching over him, and that the 
 eclipse was a communication from them not to be 
 neglected without a breach of religious duty. He, 
 therefore, in the spirit of the most perfect religious faith, 
 which we are compelled to admire for its sincerity and 
 thoroughness, shut his eyes resolutely to all the visible 
 facts of a situation more disastrous every day, and 
 attended only to the invisible action of the invisible gods, 
 of which nothing could be really known by him. For 
 twenty-seven days he went on quietly sacrificing his 
 soldiers to his faith, and only moved at last when he 
 believed that the gods allowed it. 
 
 In contrast with this let us ask what we think of an 
 eclipse ourselves, and how far any religious emotion, 
 determinant of action or of inaction, is connected with the 
 phenomenon in our experience ? We know, in the first 
 place, that eclipses belong to the natural order, and we 
 do not feel either grateful to the supernatural powers or 
 ungrateful with regard to them. Even the idea that 
 eclipses demonstrate the power of God is hardly likely 
 to occur to us, for we constantly see terrestrial objects 
 eclipsed by cast shadows, and the mere falling of a 
 shadow is to us only the natural interruption of light 
 by the intervention of any opaque object In the true 
 theory of eclipses there is absolutely no ground whatever 
 for religious emotion, and accordingly the phenomenon 
 is now entirely disconnected from religious ideas. The 
 consequence is that where the Athenian general had a 
 strong motive for religious emotion, a motive so strong
 
 xv.] REALLY LESS RELIGIOUS. 205 
 
 that he sacrificed his army to the supposed will of 
 Heaven, a modern general in the same situation would 
 feel no emotion and make no sacrifice. 
 
 If this process stopped at eclipses the result would be 
 of little importance, as eclipses of the celestial bodies are 
 not frequently visible, and to lose the opportunity of 
 emotion which they present is not a very sensible loss. 
 But so far is the process from stopping at eclipses, that 
 exactly the same process is going on with regard to thou- 
 sands of other phenomena which are one by one, yet 
 with increasing rapidity, ceasing to be regarded as special 
 manifestations of Divine will, and beginning to be regarded 
 as a part of that order of nature with which, to quote 
 Professor Huxley's significant language, " nothing inter- 
 feres." Every one of these transferences from super- 
 natural government to natural order deprives the religious 
 sentiment of one special cause or motive for its own 
 peculiar kind of emotion, so that we are becoming less 
 and less accustomed to such emotion (as the opportunities 
 for it become less frequent) and more and more accus- 
 tomed to accept events and phenomena of all kinds as 
 in that order of nature " with which nothing interferes." 
 
 This single mental conception of the unfailing regular- 
 ity of nature is doing more in our time to affect the 
 religious condition of thoughtful people than could be 
 effected by many less comprehensive conceptions. 
 
 It has often been said, not untruly, that merely 
 negative arguments have little permanent influence over 
 the opinions of men, and that institutions which have 
 been temporarily overthrown by negation will shortly be 
 set up again, and flourish in their old vigour, unless 
 something positive can be found to supply their place.
 
 206 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 But here is a doctrine of a most positive kind. " The 
 order of nature is invariably according to regular 
 sequences." It is a doctrine which cannot be proved, 
 for we cannot follow all the changes which have ever 
 taken place in the universe, but, although incapable of 
 demonstration, it may be accepted until something happens 
 to disprove it, and it is accepted, with the most absolute 
 faith, by a constantly increasing number of adherents. 
 
 To show how this doctrine acts in diminishing religious 
 emotion by taking away the opportunity for it, let me 
 narrate an incident which really occurred on a French 
 line of railway in the winter of 1882. The line, on 
 which I had travelled a few days before, passes between 
 a river and a hill. The river has a rocky bed and is 
 torrential in winter ; the hill is densely covered with a 
 pine forest coming down to the side of the line. The 
 year 1882 had been the rainiest known in France for 
 two centuries, and the roots of the trees on the edge of 
 this pine forest had been much loosened by the rain. 
 In consequence of this, two large pine-trees fell across 
 the railway early one morning, and soon afterwards a 
 train approached the spot by the dim light of early dawn. 
 There was a curve just before the engine reached the 
 trees, and it had come rapidly for several miles down a 
 decline. The driver reversed his steam, the engine and 
 tender leaped over the trees, and then went over the 
 embankment to a place within six feet of the rapid river. 
 The carriages remained on the line but were much 
 broken. Nobody was killed ; nobody was seriously 
 injured. The remarkable escape of the passengers was 
 accounted for as follows by the religious people in the 
 neighbourhood. There happened to be a priest in the
 
 xv.] REALLY LESS RELIGIOUS. 207 
 
 train, and at the time when the shock took place he 
 made what is called " a pious ejaculation." This, it was 
 said, had saved the lives of the passengers. In the ages 
 of faith this explanation would have been received with- 
 out question, but the notion of natural sequences Pro- 
 fessor Huxley's " order with which nothing interferes " 
 had obtained such firm hold on the minds of the towns- 
 men generally, that they said the priest was trying to 
 make ecclesiastical capital out of an occurrence easily 
 explicable by natural causes. They saw nothing super- 
 natural either in the production of the accident or its 
 comparative harmlessness. The trickling of much water 
 had denuded the roots of the trees, which fell because 
 they could not stand with insufficient roothold ; the 
 lives of the passengers were saved because they did not 
 happen to be in the most shattered carriage, and the 
 men on the engine escaped because they fell on soft 
 ground, made softer still by the rain. It was probable, 
 too, they said, that if any beneficent supernatural inter- 
 ference had taken place it would have maintained the 
 trees in an erect position, by preventive miracle, and so 
 spared the slight injuries which really were inflicted, and 
 which, though treated very lightly by others because there 
 were neither deaths nor amputations, still caused suffer- 
 ing to those who had to bear them. 
 
 Now if we go a little farther into the effects of this 
 accident on the minds of the people who shared in it, or 
 whose friends had been imperilled by it, we shall see 
 very plainly the effect of the modern belief in the regular- 
 ity of natural sequences. Those who believed in super- 
 natural intervention would offer thanksgivings when they 
 got home, and probably go through some special religious
 
 208 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 thanksgiving services for many days afterwards ; those 
 who believed in the regularity of natural sequences would 
 simply feel glad to have escaped, without any especial 
 sense of gratitude to supernatural powers. So much for 
 the effect as far as thanksgiving is concerned, but there 
 is another side of the matter at least equally important 
 from the religious point of view that of prayer. The 
 believers in supernatural interference would probably, in 
 all their future railway journeys, pray to be supernaturally 
 protected in case of accident as they had been in 1882 ; 
 but the believers in the regularity of natural sequences 
 would only hope that no trees had fallen across the line, 
 and feel more than usually anxious after long seasons of 
 rainy weather. Can there be a doubt that the priest's 
 opinion, that he had won safety by a pious ejaculation, 
 was highly favourable to his religious activity afterwards, 
 whilst the opinion of the believers in " the natural order 
 with which nothing interferes " was unfavourable both to 
 prayer and thanksgiving in connection with railway 
 travelling ? 
 
 Examples of this kind might easily be multiplied, for 
 there is hardly any enterprise that men undertake, how- 
 ever apparently unimportant, which cannot be regarded 
 both from the points of view of naturalism and super- 
 naturalism, and in every case the naturalist manner 
 of regarding the enterprise leads men to study the 
 probable influence of natural causes, whilst the super- 
 naturalist opinion leads them to propitiate supernatural 
 powers. Now, although some new sense may come to 
 be attached to the word " religion " in future ages, so 
 that it may come to mean scientific thoroughness, 
 intellectual ingenuousness, or some other virtue that may
 
 xv.] REALLY LESS RELIGIOUS. 209 
 
 be possessed by a pure naturalist, the word has always 
 been understood, down to the present time, to imply a 
 constant dependence upon the supernatural, and when I 
 say that we are becoming less religious, I mean that 
 from our increasing tendency to refer everything to 
 natural causes, the notion of the supernatural is much 
 less frequently present in our minds than it was in the 
 minds of our forefathers. Even the clergy themselves 
 seem to be following the laity towards the belief in 
 natural law, at least so far as matter is concerned. The 
 Bishop of Melbourne in 1882 declined to order prayers 
 for rain, and gave his reason honestly, which was that 
 material phenomena were under the control of natural 
 law, and would not be changed in answer to prayer. 
 The bishop added that prayer should be confined to 
 spiritual blessings. Without disputing the soundness of 
 this opinion, we cannot help perceiving that if it were 
 generally received it would put an end to one half of the 
 religious activity of the human race, for half the prayers 
 and half the thanksgivings addressed to the supernatural 
 powers are for material benefits only. It is possible 
 that, in the future, religious people will cease to pray for 
 health, but take practical precautions to preserve it ; that 
 they will cease to pray for prosperity, but study the 
 natural laws which govern the wealth of nations ; that 
 they will no longer pray for the national fleets and 
 armies, but see that they are well supplied and intelli- 
 gently commanded. All this and much more is possible, 
 but when it comes to pass the world will be less religious 
 than it was when men believed that every pestilence, 
 every famine, every defeat, was a chastisement specially, 
 directly, and intentionally inflicted by an angry Deity.
 
 210 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 Even now, what an immense step has been made in this 
 direction ! In the fearful description of the pestilence 
 at Florence, given with so much detail by Boccaccio, he 
 speaks of Fira di Dio a punire la iniquith degli uomini 
 con quella pestilenza, and he specially implies that those 
 who sought to avoid the plague by going to healthier 
 places in the country, deceived themselves in supposing 
 that the wrath of God would not follow them whitherso- 
 ever they went. That is the old belief expressing itself 
 in prayers and humiliations. it is still recognised 
 officially. If the plague could occur in a town, on the 
 whole so well cared for as modern London, the language 
 of Boccaccio would still be used in the official public 
 prayers ; but the active-minded practical citizens would 
 be thinking how to destroy the germs, how to purify air 
 and water. An instance of this divergence occurred 
 after the Egyptian war of 1882. The Archbishop of 
 York, after the battle of Tel-el-Kebir, ordered thanks- 
 givings to be offered in the churches, on the ground that 
 God was in Sir Garnet Wolseley's camp, and fought with 
 him against the Egyptians, which was a survival of the 
 antique idea that national deities fought with the national 
 armies. On this a member of Parliament, Mr. George 
 Palmer, said to his constituents in a public meeting at 
 Reading, "At the same time I cannot agree with the 
 prayers that have been made in churches. Though I 
 respect the consciences of other men, I must say that it 
 was not by Divine interference but from the stuff of which 
 our army was made and our great ironclads that victory 
 was achieved." I do not quote this opinion for any 
 originality in itself, as there have always been men who 
 held that victory was a necessary result of superior
 
 xv.] RE ALL Y L ESS RELIGIO US. 2 1 1 
 
 military efficiency, but I quote it as a valuable test of 
 the change in general opinion. It is possible that such 
 views may have been expressed in private in all ages of 
 the world, but I doubt if in any age preceding ours a 
 public man, at the very time when he was cultivating 
 the good graces of his electors, would have refused to 
 the national Deity a special share in a military triumph. 
 To an audience imbued with the old conception of 
 incessant supernatural interferences, the doctrine that a 
 victory was a natural result would have sounded impious, 
 and such an audience, if any one had ventured to say 
 what Mr. Palmer said, would have received him with a 
 burst of indignation. But Mr. Palmer knew the tend- 
 encies of the present age, and was quite correct in think- 
 ing that he might safely express his views. His hearers 
 were not indignant, they were not even grave and silent 
 as Englishmen are when they simply disapprove, but 
 they listened willingly and marked their approbation by 
 laughter and cheers. Even a clergyman may hold Mr. 
 Palmer's opinion. Soon after his speech at Reading 
 the Rev. H. R. Haweis said the same thing in the 
 pulpit. " Few people," he said, " really doubt that we 
 have conquered the Egyptians, not because we were in 
 the right and they were in the wrong, but because we 
 had the heaviest hand." The preacher went on to 
 say that the idea of God fighting on one side more 
 than another in particular battles seemed to him to 
 be a Pagan or at most a Jewish one. How different 
 was the old sentiment as expressed by Macaulay in 
 the stirring ballad of "Ivry!" "We of the religion" 
 had no doubt about the Divine interference in the 
 battle,
 
 212 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 " For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the 
 
 slave, 
 
 And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the valour of the brave ; 
 Then glory to his holy name from whom all glories are, 
 And glory to our Sovereign Lord, King Henry of Navarre ! " 
 
 The way in which the great mental movement of our 
 age towards a more complete recognition of natural 
 order is affecting human intercourse may be denned in 
 a few words. If the movement were at an equal rate of 
 advance for all civilised people they would be perfectly 
 agreed amongst themselves at any one point of time, as 
 it would be settled which events were natural in their 
 origin and which were due to the interposition of Divine 
 or diabolical agency. Living people would differ in 
 opinion from their predecessors, but they would not 
 differ from each other. The change, however, though 
 visible and important, is not by any means uniform, so 
 that a guest sitting at dinner may have on his right hand 
 a lady who sees supernatural interferences in many things, 
 and on his left a student of science who is firmly con- 
 vinced that there are no supernatural interferences in 
 the present, and that there never have been any in the 
 past. Private opinion, out of which public opinion 
 slowly and gradually forms itself, is in our time in a 
 state of complete anarchy, because two opposite doctrines 
 are held loosely, and one or the other is taken up as 
 it happens to seem appropriate. The interpositions of 
 Providence are recognised or rejected according to 
 political or personal bias. The French Imperialists saw 
 the Divine vengeance in the death of Gambetta, whilst 
 in their view the death of Napoleon III. was the natural 
 termination of his disease, and that of the Prince Imperial
 
 xv.] REALLY LESS RELIGIOUS. 213 
 
 a simple accident due to the carelessness of his English 
 companions. Personal bias shows itself in the belief, 
 often held by men occupying positions of importance, 
 that they are necessary, at least for a time, to fulfil 
 the intentions of Providence. Napoleon III. said in a 
 moment of emotion, " So long as I am needed I am 
 invulnerable, but when my hour comes I shall be broken 
 like glass !" Even in private life a man will sometimes 
 think, " I am so necessary to my wife and family that 
 Providence will not remove me," though every newspaper 
 reports the deaths of fathers who leave their families 
 destitute. Sometimes men believe that Providence takes 
 the same view of their enterprises that they themselves 
 take, and when a great enterprise is drawing near to its 
 termination they feel assured that supernatural power 
 will protect them till it is quite concluded, but they 
 believe that the enterprises of other men are exposed to 
 all the natural risks. When Mr. Gifford Palgrave was 
 wrecked in the sea of Oman he was for some time in an 
 open boat, and thus describes his situation : " All de- 
 pended on the steerage and on the balance and support 
 afforded by the oars, and even more still on the provi- 
 dence of Him who made the deep ; nor indeed could I 
 get myself to think that He had brought me thus far to 
 let me drown just at the end of my journey, and in so 
 very unsatisfactory a way too ; for had we then gone 
 down what news of the event off Sowadah would ever 
 have reached home ? or when ? so that altogether I felt 
 confident of getting somehow or other on shore, though 
 by what means I did not exactly know." Here the 
 writer thinks of his own enterprise as deserving Divine 
 solicitude, but does not attach the same importance to
 
 214 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 the humbler enterprises of the six passengers who went 
 down with the vessel. I cannot help thinking, too, of 
 the poor passenger Ibraheem, who swam to the boat and 
 begged so piteously to be taken in, when a sailor 
 " loosened his grasp by main force and flung him back 
 into the sea, where he disappeared for ever." Neither 
 can I forget the four who imprudently plunged from the 
 boat and perished. We may well believe that these lost 
 ones would have been unable to write such a delightful 
 and instructive book as Mr. Palgrave's Travels in Arabia, 
 yet they must have had their own humble interests in 
 life, their own little objects and enterprises. 
 
 The calculation that Providence would spare a tra- 
 veller towards the close of a long journey may be mis- 
 taken, but it is pious ; it affords an opportunity for the 
 exercise of devout emotion which the scientific thinker 
 would miss. If Mr. Herbert Spencer had been placed 
 in the same situation he would, no doubt, have felt the 
 most perfect confidence that the order of nature would 
 not be disturbed, that even in such a turmoil of winds 
 and waters the laws of buoyancy and stability would be 
 observed in every motion of the boat to the millionth 
 of an inch, but he would not have considered himself 
 likely to escape death on account of the important 
 nature of his undertakings. Mr. Spencer's way of judg- 
 ing the situation as one of equal peril for himself and 
 his humble companions would have been more reasonable, 
 but at the same time he would have lost that opportunity 
 for special and personal gratitude which Mr. Palgrave 
 enjoyed when he believed himself to be supernaturally 
 protected. The curious inconsistency of the common 
 French expression, " C'est un hasard providentiel" is
 
 xv.] REALLY LESS RELIGIOUS. 215 
 
 another example of the present state of thought on the 
 question. A Frenchman is upset from a carriage, breaks 
 no bones, and stands up exclaiming, as he dusts himself, 
 " It was un hasard vraiment providentiel that I was not 
 lamed for life." It is plain that if his escape was pro- 
 vidential it could not be accidental at the same time, 
 yet in spite of the obvious inconsistency of his expression 
 there is piety in his choice of an adjective. 
 
 The distinction, as it has usually been understood 
 hitherto, between religious and non-religious explanations 
 of what happens is that the religious person believes that 
 events happen by supernatural direction (and he is only 
 thinking religiously so long as he thinks in that manner) ; 
 whilst the non-religious theory is that events happen by 
 natural sequence, and so long as a person thinks in this 
 manner his mind is acting non-religiously, whatever may 
 be his religious profession. "To study the universe as 
 it is manifested to us ; to ascertain by patient inquiry 
 the order of the manifestations ; to discover that the 
 manifestations are connected with one another after 
 regular ways in time and space, and, after repeated 
 failures, to give up as futile the attempt to understand 
 the power manifested, is condemned as irreligious. And 
 meanwhile the character of religious is claimed by those 
 who figure to themselves a Creator moved by motives 
 like their own, who conceive themselves as seeing through 
 His designs, and who even speak of Him as though he 
 laid plans to outwit the devil !" 
 
 Yes, this is a true account of the way in which the 
 words irreligious and religious have always been used, 
 and there does not appear to be any necessity for altering 
 their signification. Every event which is transferred, in
 
 216 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 human opinion, from supernatural to natural action, is 
 transferred from the domain of religion to that of science, 
 and it is because such transferences have been so fre- 
 quent in our time that we are becoming so much less 
 religious than our forefathers were. In how many things 
 is the modern man perfectly irreligious ! He is so in 
 everything that relates to applied science, to steam, tele- 
 graphy, photography, metallurgy, agriculture, manufac- 
 tures. He has not the slightest belief in spiritual 
 intervention, either for or against him, in these material 
 processes. He is beginning to be equally irreligious in 
 government. Modern politicians have been accused of 
 thinking that God cannot govern, but that is not a true 
 account of their opinion. What they really think is that 
 government is an application of science to the direction 
 of national life, in which no invisible powers will either 
 thwart a ruler in that which he does wisely, or shield him 
 from the evil consequences of his errors. 
 
 But, though we are less religious than our ancestors, 
 because we believe less in the interferences of the super- 
 natural, do we deserve censure for our way of under- 
 standing the world ? Certainly not. Was Nikias a 
 proper object of praise because the eclipse seen by him 
 at Syracuse seemed a warning from the gods, and was 
 Wolseley a proper object of blame because the comet 
 seen by him on the Egyptian plain was without a Divine 
 message? Both these opinions are quite outside of 
 merit, although the older opinion was in the highest 
 degree religious, and the later one is not religious in the 
 least. Such changes simply indicate a gradual revolution 
 in man's conception of the universe, which is the result 
 of more accurate knowledge. So why not accept the
 
 xv.] REALLY LESS RELIGIOUS. 217 
 
 fact, why not admit that we have really become less 
 religious? Possibly we have a compensation, a gain 
 equivalent to our loss. If the gods do not speak to us 
 by signs in the heavens, if the entrails of victims and the 
 flight of birds no longer tell us when to march to battle 
 and where to remain inactive in our tents, if the oracle 
 is silent at Delos and the ark lost to Jerusalem, if we are 
 pilgrims to no shrine, if we drink of no sacred fountain 
 and plunge into no holy stream, if all the special 
 sanctities once reverenced by humanity are unable any 
 longer to awaken our dead enthusiasm, have we gained 
 nothing in exchange for the many religious excitements 
 that we have lost ? Yes, we have gained a keener interest 
 in the natural order, and a knowledge of it at once more 
 accurate and more extensive, a gain that Greek and 
 Jew might well have envied us, and which a few of their 
 keener spirits most ardently desired. Our passion for 
 natural knowledge is not a devout emotion, and therefore 
 it is not religious ; but it is a noble and a fruitful passion 
 nevertheless, and by it our eyes are opened. The good 
 Saint Bernard had his own saintly qualities, but for us 
 the qualities of a De Saussure are not without their 
 worth. Saint Bernard, in the perfection of ancient piety, 
 travelling a whole day by the lake of Geneva without 
 seeing it, too much absorbed by devout meditation to 
 perceive anything terrestrial, was blinded by his piety, 
 and might with equal profit have stayed in his monastic 
 cell. De Saussure was a man of our own time. Never, 
 in his writings, do you meet with any allusion to super- 
 natural interferences (except once or twice in pity for 
 popular superstitions), but fancy De Saussure passing the 
 lake of Geneva, or any other work of nature, without
 
 218 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY xv. 
 
 seeing it ! His life was spent in the continual study of 
 the natural world, and this study was to him so vigorous 
 an exercise for the mind, and so strict a discipline, that 
 he found in it a means of moral and even of physical 
 improvement. There is no trace in his writings of what 
 is called devout emotion, but the bright light of intelligent 
 admiration illumines every page ; and when he came to 
 die, if he could not look back, like Saint Bernard, upon 
 what is especially supposed to be a religious life, he 
 could look back upon many years wisely and well spent 
 in the study of that nature of which Saint Bernard 
 scarcely knew more than the mule that carried him.
 
 ESSAY XVI. 
 
 ON AN UNRECOGNISED FORM OF UNTRUTH. 
 
 IN the art of painting there are two opposite ways of 
 dealing with natural colour. It may be intensified or it 
 may be translated by tints of inferior chromatic force. 
 In either case the picture may be perfectly harmonious, 
 provided only that the same principle of interpretation 
 be consistently followed throughout. 
 
 The first time that I became acquainted with the first 
 of these two methods of interpretation was in my youth, 
 when I met with a Scottish painter who has since become 
 eminent in his art. He was painting studies from nature, 
 and I noticed that whenever, in the natural object, there 
 was a trace of dull gold, as in some lichen, he made it 
 a brighter gold, and whenever there was a little rusty 
 red he made it a more vivid red. So it was with every 
 other tint. His eye seemed to become excited by every 
 hue, and he translated it by one of greater intensity and 
 power. 
 
 Now that is a kind of exaggeration which is very 
 commonly recognised as a departure from the sober 
 truth. People complain that the sky is too blue, the 
 fields too green, and so on. 
 
 Afterwards I saw French painters at work, and I 
 noticed that they (in those days) interpreted natural
 
 220 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 colour by an intentional lowering of the chromatic force. 
 When they had to deal with the splendours of autumnal 
 woods against a blue sky they interpreted the azure by 
 a blue-gray and the flaming gold by a dull russet. They 
 even refused themselves the more quiet brightness of an 
 ordinary wheat -field, and translated the yellow of the 
 wheat by a earthy brown. 
 
 Unlike falsehood by exaggeration, this other kind of 
 falsehood (by diminution) is very seldom recognised as 
 a departure from the truth. Such colouring as this 
 French colouring excited but few protests, and indeed 
 was often praised for being " modest " and " subdued." 
 
 Both systems are equally permissible in the fine arts, 
 if consistently followed, because in art the unity and 
 harmony of the work are of greater importance than the 
 exact imitation of nature. It is not as an art-critic that 
 I should have any fault to find with a well -understood 
 and thoroughly consistent conventionalism in the inter- 
 pretation of nature, but the two kinds of falsity we have 
 noticed are constantly found in action outside of the 
 fine arts, and yet only one of them is recognised in its 
 true character, the other being esteemed as a proof of 
 modesty and moderation. 
 
 The general opinion in our own country condemns 
 falsehood by exaggeration, but it does not blame false- 
 hood by diminution. Over-statement is regarded as a 
 vice and under-statement as a sort of modest virtue, 
 whilst in fact they are both untruthful exactly in the 
 degree of their departure from perfect accuracy. 
 
 If a man states his income as being larger than it 
 really is, if he adopts a degree of ostentation which 
 (though he may be able to pay for it) conveys the
 
 xvi. J UNRECOGNISED UNTRUTH. 221 
 
 idea of more ample means than he really possesses, and 
 if we find out afterwards what his income actually is, 
 we condemn him as an untruthful person, but lying by 
 diminution with reference to money matters is looked 
 upon simply as modesty. 
 
 ' I remember a most respectable English family who 
 had this modesty in perfection. It was their great 
 pleasure to represent themselves as being much less 
 rich than they really were. Whenever they heard of 
 anybody with moderate or even narrow means they pre- 
 tended to think that he had quite an ample income. If 
 you mentioned a man with a family struggling on a 
 pittance, they would say he was " very comfortably pro- 
 vided for;" and if you spoke of another whose expenses 
 were the ordinary expenses of gentlemen, they wondered 
 by what inventions of extravagance he could get through 
 so much money. They themselves pretended to spend 
 much less than they really spent, and they always affected 
 astonishment when they heard how much it cost other 
 people to live exactly in their own way. They considered 
 that this was modesty, but was it not just as untruthful 
 as the commoner vice of assuming a style more showy 
 than the means warrant ? 
 
 In France and Italy the departure from the truth is 
 almost invariably in the direction of over -statement, 
 unless the speaker has some distinct purpose to serve 
 by adopting the opposite method, as when he desires to 
 depreciate the importance of an enemy. In England 
 people habitually under-state, and the remarkable thing 
 is that they believe themselves to be strictly truthful in 
 doing so. The word " lying " is too harsh a term to be 
 applied either to the English or the continental habit in
 
 222 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 this matter, but it is quite fair to say that both of them 
 miss the truth, one in falling short of it, the other in 
 going beyond it. 
 
 An English family has seen the Alps for the first 
 time. A young lady says Switzerland is " nice," a young 
 gentleman has decided that it is "jolly." This is what 
 the habit of under-statement may bring us down to 
 absolute inadequacy. The Alps are not "nice" and 
 they are not "jolly;" far more powerful adjectives are 
 only the precise truth in this instance. The Alps are 
 stupendous, overwhelming, magnificent, sublime. A 
 Frenchman in similar circumstances will be embarrassed, 
 not by any timidity about using a sufficiently forcible 
 expression, but because he is eager to exaggerate, and 
 one scarcely knows how to exaggerate the tremendous 
 grandeur of the finest Alpine scenery. He will have 
 recourse to eloquent phraseology, to loudness of voice, 
 and finally, when he feels that these are still inadequate, 
 he will employ energetic gesture. I met a Frenchman who 
 tried to make me comprehend how many English people 
 there were at Cannes in winter. " II y en a des 
 Anglais il y en a" then he hesitated whilst seeking 
 for an adequate expression. At last, throwing out both 
 his arms, he cried, " // y en a plus qden Angleterre /" 
 
 The English love of under-statement is even more 
 visible in moral than in material things. If an English- 
 man has to describe any person or action that is par- 
 ticularly admirable on moral grounds, he will generally 
 renounce the attempt to be true, and substitute for the 
 high and inspiring truth some quiet little conventional 
 expression that will deliver him from what he most 
 dreads the appearance of any noble enthusiasm. It
 
 xvi.] UNRECOGNISED UNTRUTH. 223 
 
 does not occur to him that this inadequacy, this insuffi- 
 ciency of expression, is one of the forms of untruth ; that 
 to describe noble and admirable conduct in common- 
 place and non-appreciative language is to pay tribute of 
 a kind especially acceptable to the father of lies. If 
 we suppose the existence of a modern Mephistopheles 
 watching the people of our own time and pleased with 
 every kind of moral evil, we may readily imagine how 
 gratified he must be to observe the moral indifference 
 which uses exactly the same terms for ordinary and heroic 
 virtue, which never rises with the occasion, and which 
 always seems to take it for granted that there are neither 
 noble natures nor high purposes in the world. The dead 
 mediocrity of common talk, too timid and too indolent 
 for any expression equivalent either to the glory of ex- 
 ternal nature or the intellectual and moral grandeur of 
 great and excellent men, has driven many of our best 
 minds from conversation into literature, because in 
 literature it is not thought extraordinary for a man to 
 express himself with a degree of force and clearness 
 equivalent to the energy of his feelings, the accuracy of 
 his knowledge, and the importance of his subject. The 
 habit of using inadequate expression in conversation has 
 led to the strange result that if an Englishman has any 
 power of thought, any living interest in the great prob- 
 lems of human destiny, you will know hardly anything 
 of the real action of his mind unless he becomes an 
 author. He dares not express any high feelings in con- 
 versation because he dreads what Stuart Mill called the 
 " sneering depreciation " of them, and if such feelings are 
 strong enough in him to make expression an imperative 
 want, he has to utter them on paper. By a strange
 
 224 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 result of conventionalism a man is admired for using 
 language of the utmost clearness and force in literature, 
 whilst if he talked as vigorously as he wrote (except, 
 perhaps, in extreme privacy and even secrecy with one 
 or two confidential companions) he would be looked 
 upon as scarcely civilised. This may be one of the 
 reasons why English literature, including the periodical, 
 is so abundant in quantity and so full of energy. It is 
 a mental outlet, a derivatif. 
 
 The kind of untruthfulness which may be called tin- 
 truthfulness by inadequacy causes many strong and earnest 
 minds to keep aloof from general society which seems to 
 them insipid. They find frank and clear expression in 
 books, they find it even in newspapers and reviews, but 
 they do not find it in social intercourse. This deficiency 
 drives many of the more intelligent of our countrymen 
 into the strange and perfectly unnatural position of re- 
 ceiving ideas almost exclusively through the medium of 
 print, and of communicating them only by writing. I 
 remember an Englishman of great learning and ability 
 who lived almost entirely in that manner. He received 
 his ideas through books and the learned journals, and 
 whenever any thought occurred to him he wrote it 
 immediately on a slip of paper. In society he was ex- 
 tremely absent, and when he spoke it was in an apologetic 
 and timidly suggestive manner, as if he were always afraid 
 that what he had to say might not be interesting to the 
 hearer, or might even appear objectionable, and as if he 
 were quite ready to withdraw it. He was far too anxious 
 to be well behaved ever to venture on any forcible ex- 
 pression of opinion or to utter any noble sentiment, and 
 yet his convictions on all important subjects were very
 
 xvi.] UNRECOGNISED UNTRUTH. 225 
 
 serious, and had been arrived at after deep thought, and 
 he was capable of real elevation of mind. His writings 
 are the strongest possible contrast to his oral expres- 
 sion of himself. They are bold in opinion, very clear 
 and decided in statement, and full of well-ascertained 
 knowledge.
 
 ESSAY XVII. 
 
 ON A REMARKABLE ENGLISH PECULIARITY. 
 
 IN De Tocqueville's admirable book on Democracy in 
 America there is an interesting chapter on the behaviour 
 of Englishmen to each other when they meet in a foreign 
 country. 
 
 " Two Englishmen meet by chance at the antipodes ; 
 they are surrounded by foreigners whose language and 
 mode of life are hardly known to them. 
 
 " These two men begin by studying each other very 
 curiously, and with a kind of secret uneasiness ; they 
 then turn away, or, if they meet, they are careful to speak 
 only with a constrained and absent air, and to say things 
 of little importance. 
 
 " And yet they know nothing of each other ; they 
 have never met, and suppose each other to be perfectly 
 honourable. Why, then, do they take such pains to 
 avoid intercourse?" 
 
 De Tocqueville was a very close observer, and I 
 hardly know a single instance in which his faculty of 
 observation shows itself in greater perfection. In his 
 terse style of writing every word tells, and even in my 
 translation, unavoidably inferior to the original, you 
 actually see the two Englishmen and the minute details 
 of their behaviour.
 
 ESSAY xvii.] AN ENGLISH PECULIARITY. 227 
 
 Let me now introduce the reader to a little scene at 
 a foreign table d'hote, as described with great skill and 
 truth by a well-known English novelist, Miss Betham- 
 Edwards. 
 
 "The time, September; the scene, a table, d'hote 
 dinner in a much -frequented French town. For the 
 most part nothing can be more prosaic than these daily 
 assemblies of English tourists bound for Switzerland and 
 the south, and a slight sprinkling of foreigners, the two 
 elements seldom or never blending ; a visitant from 
 another planet might, indeed, suppose that between 
 English- and French-speaking people lay such a gulf as 
 divides the blond New Englander from the swarth 
 African, so icy the distance, so unbroken the reserve. 
 Nor is there anything like cordiality between the English 
 themselves. Our imaginary visitant from Jupiter would 
 here find matter for wonder also, and would ask himself 
 the reason of this freezing reticence among the English 
 fellowship. What deadly feud of blood, caste, or religion 
 could thus keep them apart ? Whilst the little knot of 
 Gallic travellers at the farther end of the table straight- 
 way fall into friendliest talk, the long rows of Britons of 
 both sexes and all ages speak only in subdued voices, 
 and to the members of their own family." 
 
 Next, let me give an account of a personal experience 
 in a Parisian hotel. It was a little unpretending estab- 
 lishment that I liked for its quiet and for the honest 
 cookery. There was a table d'hote^ frequented by a few 
 French people, generally from the provinces, and once 
 there came some English visitors who had found out the 
 merits of the little place. It happened that I had been 
 on the continent a long time without revisiting England,
 
 228 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 so when my fellow-countrymen arrived I had foolish 
 feelings of pleasure on finding myself amongst them, and 
 spoke to them in our common English tongue. The 
 effect of this bold experiment was extremely curious, and 
 to me, at the time, almost inexplicable, as I had forgotten 
 that chapter by De Tocqueville. The new-comers were 
 two or three young men and one in middle life. The 
 young men seemed to be reserved more from timidity 
 than pride. They were quite startled and frightened 
 when spoken to, and made answer with grave brevity, 
 as if apprehensive of committing themselves to some 
 compromising statement With an audacity acquired by 
 habits of intercourse with foreigners I spoke to the older 
 Englishman. His way of putting me down would have 
 been a charming study for a novelist. His manner 
 resembled nothing so much as that of a dignified English 
 Minister Mr. Gladstone, for example when he is 
 questioned in the House by some young and presump- 
 tuous member of the Opposition. A few brief words 
 were vouchsafed to me, accompanied by an expression 
 of countenance which, if not positively stern, was inten- 
 tionally divested of everything like interest or sympathy. 
 It then began to dawn upon me that perhaps this English- 
 man was conscious of some august social superiority, 
 that he might even know a lord, and I thought, " If he 
 does really know a lord, we are very likely to hear his 
 lordship's name." My expectation was not fulfilled to 
 the letter, but it was quite fulfilled in spirit, for in talking 
 to a Frenchman (for me to hear) our Englishman shortly 
 boasted that he knew an English duchess, giving her 
 name and place of abode. " One day when I was at 
 House, I said to the Duchess of ," and he
 
 xvii.] AN ENGLISH PECULIARITY. 229 
 
 repeated what he had said to Her Grace, but it would 
 have no interest for the reader, as it probably had none 
 for the great lady herself. Shade of Thackeray, why 
 wast thou not there to add a paragraph to the Book of 
 Snobs 1 
 
 The next day came another Englishman of about 
 fifty, who distinguished himself in another way. He 
 did not know a duchess, or, if he did, we were not 
 informed of his good fortune, but he assumed a wonder- 
 ful air of superiority to his temporary surroundings that 
 filled me, I must say, with the deepest respect and awe. 
 The impression he desired to produce was that he had 
 never before been in so poor a little place, and that our 
 society was far beneath what he was accustomed to. 
 He criticised things disdainfully, and when I ventured 
 to speak to him he condescended, it is true, to enter 
 into conversation, but in a manner that seemed to say, 
 " Who and what are you, that you dare to speak to a 
 gentleman like me, who am, as you must perceive, a 
 person of wealth and consideration?" 
 
 This account of our English visitors is certainly not 
 exaggerated by any excessive sensitiveness on my part. 
 Paris is not the Desert, and one who has known it for 
 thirty years is not dependent for society on a chance 
 arrival from beyond the sea. For me, these Englishmen 
 were but actors in a play, and perhaps they afforded me 
 more amusement with their own peculiar manners than 
 if they had been pleasant and amiable. One result, 
 however, was inevitable. I had been full of kindly 
 feeling towards my fellow-countrymen when they came, 
 but this soon gave place to indifference, and their 
 departure was rather a relief. When they had left
 
 2 3 o HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 Paris,' there arrived a rich French widow from the south 
 with her son and a priest, who seemed to be tutor and 
 chaplain. The three lived at our table d'/wte, and we 
 found them most agreeable, always ready to take their 
 share in conversation, and although far too well-bred to 
 commit the slightest infraction of the best French social 
 usages, either through ignorance or carelessness, they 
 were at the same time perfectly open and easy in their 
 manners. They set up no pretensions, they gave them- 
 selves no airs, and when they returned to their own 
 southern sunshine we felt their departure as a loss. 
 
 The foreign idea of social intercourse under such 
 conditions (that is, of intercourse between strangers who 
 are thrown together accidentally) is simply that it is 
 better to pass an hour agreeably than in dreary isolation. 
 People may not have much to say that is of any pro- 
 found interest, but they enjoy the free play of the mind, 
 and it sometimes happens, in touching on all sorts of 
 subjects, that unexpected lights are thrown upon them. 
 Some of the most interesting- conversations I have ever 
 heard have taken place at foreign tables d'hote, between 
 people who had probably never met before and who 
 would separate for ever in a week. If by accident they 
 meet again, such acquaintances recognise each other by 
 a bow, but there is none of that intrusiveness which the 
 Englishman so greatly dreads. 
 
 Besides these transient acquaintanceships which, 
 however brief, are by no means without their value to 
 one's experience and culture, the foreign way of under- 
 standing a table d'hote includes the daily and habitual 
 meeting of regular subscribers, a meeting looked forward 
 to with pleasure as a break in the labours of the day, or
 
 xvii.] AN ENGLISH PECULIARITY. 231 
 
 a mental refreshment when they are over. Nothing 
 affords such relief from the pressure of work as a free 
 and animated conversation on other subjects. Of this 
 more permanent kind of table d'hote, Mr. Lewes gave a 
 lively description in his biography of Goethe. 
 
 " The English student, clerk, or bachelor, who dines 
 at an eating-house, chop-house, or hotel, goes there 
 simply to get his dinner, and perhaps look at the Times. 
 Of the other diners he knows nothing, cares little. It is 
 rare that a word is interchanged between him and his 
 neighbour. Quite otherwise in Germany. There the 
 same society is generally to be found at the same table. 
 The table d'hote is composed of a circle of habitues, 
 varied by occasional visitors who in time become, per- 
 haps, members of the circle. Even with strangers con- 
 versation is freely interchanged, and in a little while 
 friendships are formed over these dinner-tables, accord- 
 ing as natural tastes and likings assimilate, which, 
 extending beyond the mere hour of dinner, are carried 
 into the current of life. Germans do not rise so hastily 
 from the table as we, for time with them is not so 
 precious ; life is not so crowded ; time can be found for 
 quiet after-dinner talk. The cigars and coffee which 
 appear before the cloth is removed keep the company 
 together; and in that state of suffused comfort which 
 quiet digestion creates, they hear without anger the 
 opinions of antagonists." 
 
 In this account of German habits we see the repast 
 made use of as an opportunity for human intercourse, 
 which the Englishman avoids except with persons 
 already known to him or known to a private host The 
 reader has noticed the line I have italicised, " Even with
 
 232 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 strangers conversation is freely interchanged." The 
 consequence is that the stranger does not feel himself to 
 be isolated, and if he is not an Englishman he does not 
 take offence at being treated like an intelligent human 
 being, but readily accepts the welcome that is offered to 
 him. 
 
 The English peculiarity in this respect does not, how- 
 ever, consist so much in avoiding intercourse with 
 foreigners as in shunning other English people. It is 
 true that in the description of a table d'hote by Miss 
 Betham-Edwards, the English and foreign elements are 
 represented as separated by an icy distance, and the 
 description is strikingly accurate ; but this shyness and 
 timidity as regards foreigners may be sufficiently ac- 
 counted for by want of skill and ease in speaking their 
 language. Most English people of education know a 
 little French and German, but few speak those languages 
 freely, fluently, and correctly. When it does happen 
 that an Englishman has mastered a foreign tongue, he 
 will generally talk more readily and unreservedly with a 
 foreigner than with one of his own countrymen. This 
 is the notable thing, that if English people do not really 
 dislike and distrust one another, if there is not really "a 
 deadly feud of blood, caste, or religion " to separate 
 them, they expose themselves to the accusation of John 
 Stuart Mill, that " everybody acts as if everybody else 
 was either an enemy or a bore." 
 
 This English avoidance of English people is so re- 
 markable and exceptional a characteristic that it could 
 not but greatly interest and exercise so observant a mind 
 as that of De Tocqueville. We have seen how accu- 
 rately he noticed it ; how exactly the conduct of shy
 
 xvii.] AN ENGLISH PECULIARITY. 233 
 
 Englishmen had fixed itself in his memory. Let us now 
 see how he accounted for it. 
 
 Is it a mark of aristocracy ? Is it because our race 
 is more aristocratic than other races ? 
 
 De Tocqueville's theory was, that it is not the mark 
 of an aristocratic society, because, in a society classed 
 by birth, although people of different castes hold little 
 communication with each other, they talk easily when 
 they meet, without either fearing or desiring social fusion. 
 " Their intercourse is not founded on equality, but it is 
 free from constraint." 
 
 This view of the subject is confirmed by all that I 
 know, through personal tradition, of the really aristo- 
 cratic time in France that preceded the Revolution. The 
 old-fashioned facility and directness of communication 
 between ranks that were separated by wide social dis- 
 tances would surprise and almost scandalise a modern 
 aspirant to false aristocracy, who has assumed the de 
 and makes up in morgue what is wanting to him in 
 antiquity of descent. I believe, too, that when England 
 was a far more aristocratic country than it is at present, 
 manners were less distant and not so cold and suspicious. 
 
 If the blame is not to be laid on the spirit of aristo- 
 cracy, what is the real cause of the indisputable fact that 
 an Englishman avoids an Englishman ? De Tocqueville 
 believed that the cause was to be found in the uncer- 
 tainty of a transition state from aristocratic to plutocratic 
 ideas ; that there is still the notion of a strict classifica- 
 tion, and yet that this classification is no longer deter- 
 mined by blood but by money, which has taken its 
 place, so that although the ranks exist still, as if the 
 country were really aristocratic, it is not easy to see
 
 234 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 clearly, and at the first glance, who occupies them. 
 Hence there is a " guerre sourde " between all the citizens. 
 Some try by a thousand artifices to edge their way in 
 reality or apparently amongst those above them ; others 
 fight without ceasing to repel the usurpers of their rights, 
 or rather the same person does both, and whilst he 
 struggles to introduce himself into the upper region he 
 perpetually endeavours to put down aspirants who are 
 still beneath him. 
 
 " The pride of aristocracy," said De Tocqueville, 
 " being still very great with the English, and the limits 
 of aristocracy having become doubtful, every one fears 
 that he may be surprised at any moment into undesirable 
 familiarity. Not being able to judge at first sight of the 
 social position of those they meet, the English prudently 
 avoid contact. They fear, in rendering little services, to 
 form in spite of themselves an ill-assorted friendship ; 
 they dread receiving attention from others, and they 
 withdraw themselves from the indiscreet gratitude of an 
 unknown fellow-countryman as carefully as they would 
 avoid his hatred." 
 
 This, no doubt, is the true explanation, but something 
 may be added to it. An Englishman dreads acquaint- 
 ances from the apprehension that they may end by 
 coming to his house; a Frenchman is perfectly at his 
 ease on that point by reason of the greater discretion of 
 French habits.- It is perfectly understood in France 
 that you may meet a man at a cafe for years, and talk to 
 him with the utmost freedom, and yet he will not come 
 near your private residence unless you ask him ; and 
 when he meets you in the street he will not stop you, 
 but will simply lift his hat a customary salutation from
 
 xvii.] AN ENGLISH PECULIARITY. 235 
 
 all who know your name, which does not compromise 
 you in any way. It might perhaps be an exaggeration 
 to say that in France there is absolutely no struggling 
 after a higher social position by means of acquaintances, 
 but there is certainly very little of it. The great majority 
 of French people live in the most serene indifference as 
 regards those who are a little above them socially. 
 They hardly even know their titles, and when they do 
 know them they do not care about them in the least. 1 
 
 It may not be surprising that the conduct of Ameri- 
 cans should differ from that of Englishmen, as Americans 
 have no titles, but if they have not titles they have vast 
 inequalities of wealth, and Englishmen can be repellent 
 without titles. Yet in spite of pecuniary differences 
 between Americans, and notwithstanding the English 
 blood in their veins, they do not avoid one another. 
 "If they meet by accident," says De Tocqueville, "they 
 neither seek nor avoid one another ; their way of meet- 
 ing is natural, frank, and open ; it is evident that they 
 hope or fear scarcely anything from each other, and that 
 
 1 The difference of interest as regards people of rank may be 
 seen by a comparison of French and English newspapers. In an 
 English paper, even on the Liberal side, you constantly meet with 
 little paragraphs informing you that one titled person has gone to 
 stay with another titled person, that some old titled lady is in 
 poor health, or some young one going to be married, or that some 
 gentleman of title has gone out in his yacht, or entertained friends 
 to shoot grouse, the reason being that English people like to hear 
 about persons of title, however insignificant the news may be in 
 itself. If paragraphs of the same kind were inserted in any serious 
 French newspaper the subscribers would wonder how they got 
 there, and what possible interest for the public there could be in 
 the movements of mediocrities, who had nothing but titles to dis- 
 tinguish them.
 
 236 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 they neither try to exhibit nor to conceal the station 
 they occupy. If their manner is often cold and serious, 
 it is never either haughty or stiff, and when they do not 
 speak it is because they are not in the humour for con- 
 versation, and not because they believe it their interest 
 to be silent. In a foreign country two Americans are 
 friends at once, simply because they are Americans. 
 They are separated by no prejudice, and their common 
 country draws them together. In the case of two 
 Englishmen the same blood is not enough, there must 
 be also-identity of rank." 
 
 The English habit strikes foreigners by contrast, and 
 it strikes Englishmen in the same way when they have 
 lived much in foreign countries. Charles Lever had 
 lived abroad, and was evidently as much struck by this 
 as De Tocqueville himself. Many readers will remember 
 his brilliant story " That Boy of Norcott's," and how the 
 young hero, after finding himself delightfully at ease with 
 a society of noble Hungarians, at the Schloss Hunyadi, is 
 suddenly chilled and alarmed by the intelligence that an 
 English lord is expected. " When they shall see," he 
 says, " how my titled countryman will treat me, the 
 distance at which he will hold me, and the measured 
 firmness with which he will repel not my familiarities, 
 for I should not dare them, but simply the ease of my 
 manner the foreigners will be driven to regard me as 
 some ignoble upstart who has no pretension whatever to 
 be amongst them." 
 
 Lever also noted that a foreigner would have had a 
 better chance of civil treatment than an Englishman. 
 " In my father's house I had often had occasion to 
 remark that while Englishmen freely admitted the
 
 xvii.] AN ENGLISH PECULIARITY. 237 
 
 advances of a foreigner and accepted his acquaintance 
 with a courteous readiness, with each other they main- 
 tained a cold and studied reserve, as though no difference 
 of place or circumstance was to obliterate that insular 
 code which defines class, and limits each man to the 
 exact rank he belongs to." 
 
 These readings and experiences, and many others too 
 long to quote or narrate, have led me to the conclusion 
 that it is scarcely possible to attempt any other manner 
 with English people than that which the very peculiar 
 and exceptional state of national feeling appears to 
 authorise. The reason is that in the present state of 
 feeling the innovator is almost sure to be misunderstood. 
 He may be perfectly contented with his own social 
 position, his mind may be utterly devoid of any desire 
 to raise himself in society, the extent of his present wishes 
 may be to wile away the tedium of a journey or a repast 
 with a little intelligent conversation, yet if he breaks down 
 the barrier of English reserve he is likely to be taken for 
 a pushing and intrusive person who is eager to lift him- 
 self in the world. Every friendly expression on his part, 
 even in a look or the tone of his voice " simply the 
 ease of his manner," may be repelled as an impertinence. 
 In the face of such a probable misinterpretation one feels 
 that it is hardly possible to be too distant or too cold. 
 When two men meet it is the colder and more reserved 
 man who always has the advantage. He is the rock ; 
 the other is the wave that comes against the rock and 
 falls shattered at its foot. 
 
 It would be wrong to conclude this Essay without 
 a word of reference to the exceptional Englishman who 
 can pass an hour intelligently with a stranger, and is not
 
 238 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY xvn. 
 
 constantly preoccupied with the idea that the stranger 
 is plotting how to make some ulterior use of him. Such 
 Englishmen are usually men of ripe experience, who have 
 travelled much and seen much of the world, so that they 
 have lost our insular distrust. I have met with a few of 
 them they are not very numerous and I wish that I 
 could meet the same fellow-countrymen by some happy 
 accident again. There is nothing stranger in life than 
 those very short friendships that are formed in an hour 
 between two people born to understand each other and 
 cut short for ever the next day, or the next week, by an 
 inevitable separation. 1 
 
 1 Since this Essay was written I have come upon a passage 
 quoted from Henry Knyghton by Augustin Thierry in his His- 
 tory of the Norman Conquest. 
 
 "It is not to be wondered at if the difference of nationality (be- 
 tween the Norman and Saxon races) produces a difference of con- 
 ditions, or that there should result from it an excessive distrust of 
 natural love ; and that the separateness of blood should produce a 
 broken confidence in mutual trust and affection." 
 
 Now, the question suggests itself, whether the reason why 
 Englishman shuns Englishman to-day may not be traceable, ulti- 
 mately, to the state of feeling described by Knyghton as a result of 
 the Norman Conquest. We must remember that the avoidance of 
 English by English is quite peculiar to us ; no other race exhibits 
 the same peculiarity. It is therefore probably due to some very 
 exceptional fact in English history. The Norman Conquest was 
 exactly the exceptional fact we are in search of. The results of it 
 may be traceable as follows : 
 
 1. Norman and Saxon shun each other. 
 
 2. Norman has become aristocrat. 
 
 3. Would-be aristocrat (present representative of Norman) shuns 
 may-be plebeian (present representative of Saxon).
 
 ESSAY XVIII. 
 
 OF GENTEEL IGNORANCE. 
 
 ALL virtue has its negative as well as its positive side, 
 and every ideal includes not having as well as having. 
 Gentility, for those who aspire to it and value it, is an 
 ideal condition of humanity, a superior state which is 
 maintained by selection amongst the things that life 
 offers to a man who has the power to choose. He is 
 judged by his selection. The genteel person selects in 
 his own way, not only amongst things that can be seen 
 and handled, such as the material adjuncts of a high 
 state of civilisation, but also amongst the things of the 
 mind, including all the. varieties of knowledge. 
 
 That a selection of this kind should be one of the 
 marks of gentility is in itself no more than a natural con- 
 sequence of the idealising process as we see it continu- 
 ally exercised in the fine arts. Every work of fine art is 
 a result of selection. The artist does not give us the 
 natural truth as it is, but he purposely omits very much 
 of it, and alters that which he recognises. The genteel 
 person is himself a work of art, and, as such, contains 
 only partial truth. 
 
 This is the central fact about gentility, that it is a 
 narrow ideal, impoverishing the mind by the rejection of 
 truth as much as it adorns it by elegance, and it is for
 
 240 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 this reason that gentility is disliked and refused by all 
 powerful and inquiring intellects. They look upon it as 
 a mental condition with which they have nothing to do, 
 and they pursue their labours without the slightest defer- 
 ence or condescension to it. They may, however, profit- 
 ably study it as one of the states of human life, and a 
 state towards which a certain portion of humanity, aided 
 by wealth, appears to tend inevitably. 
 
 The misfortune of the genteel mind is that it is carried 
 by its own idealism so far away from the truth of nature 
 that it becomes divorced from fact and unable to see the 
 movement of the actual world, so that genteel people, 
 with their narrow and erroneous ideas, are sure to find 
 themselves thrust aside by men of robust intelligence, 
 who are not genteel, but who have a stronger grip upon 
 reality. There is, consequently, a pathetic element in 
 gentility, with its fallacious hopes, its certain disappoint- 
 ments, so easily foreseen by all whom it has not 
 blinded, and its immense, its amazing, its ever invincible 
 ignorance. 
 
 There is not a country in Europe more favourable 
 than France for the study of the genteel condition of 
 mind. There you have it in its perfection in the class 
 qui ria rien appris et rien oubli'e, and in the numerous 
 aspirants to social position who desire to mix themselves 
 and become confounded with that class. It has been in 
 the highest degree fashionable, since the establishment 
 of the Republic, to be ignorant of the real course of 
 events. In spite of overwhelming evidence to the con- 
 trary, genteel people either really believed or universally 
 professed to believe during the lifetime of the Count de 
 Chambord, that his restoration was not only probable
 
 xvin.] OF GENTEEL IGNORANCE. 241 
 
 but imminent. No belief could have been more desti- 
 tute of foundation in fact, and if genteel people had not 
 been compelled by gentility to shut their eyes against 
 what was obvious to everybody else, they might have 
 ascertained the truth with the utmost facility. The 
 truth was simply this, that the country was going away 
 farther and farther from Divine right every day, and from 
 every sort of real monarchy, or one-man-government, and 
 was becoming more and more attached to representative 
 institutions and an elective system everywhere, and what 
 made this truth glaringly evident was not only the steadily 
 increasing number of republican elections, but the 
 repeated return to power of the very ministers whom the 
 party of Divine right most bitterly execrated. The 
 same class of genteel French people affected to believe 
 that the end of the temporal power of the Papacy by 
 the foundation of the Italian kingdom was but a tempo- 
 rary crisis, probably of short duration, though the process 
 which had brought the Papacy to nothing as a temporal 
 sovereignty had been slow, gradual, and natural the pro- 
 gressive enfeeblement of a theocracy unable to defend 
 itself against its own subjects, and dependent on foreign 
 soldiers for every hour of its artificial survival. Such is 
 genteel ignorance in political matters. It is a polite 
 shutting of the eyes against all facts and tendencies that 
 are disagreeable to people of fashion. It is unpleasant 
 to people of fashion to be told that the France of the 
 future is more likely to be governed by men of business 
 than by kings and cardinals, it is disagreeable to them 
 to hear that the Pope is not to do what he likes with the 
 Roman people, and so, to please them, we are to pretend 
 that we do not understand the course of recent history 
 
 R
 
 242 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 which is obvious to everybody who thinks. The course 
 of events has always proved the blindness of the genteel 
 world, its incapacity to understand the present and fore- 
 cast the future, yet still it goes on in the old way, shutting 
 its eyes resolutely against surrounding facts and making 
 predictions that are sure to be falsified by the event. 
 Such a state of mind is unintelligent to the last degree, 
 but then it is genteel, and there is always, in every 
 country, a large class of persons who would rather be 
 gentlemanly than wise. 
 
 In religion genteel ignorance is not less remarkable 
 than in politics. Here the mark of gentility is to ignore 
 the unfashionable churches, and generally to under- 
 estimate all those forces of opinion that are not on the 
 side of the particular form of orthodoxy which is professed 
 by the upper class. In France it is one of the marks 
 of high breeding not to know anything about Protestant- 
 ism. The, fact that there are such people as Protestants 
 is admitted, and it is believed that some of them are 
 decent and respectable people in their line of life, who 
 may follow an erroneous religion with an assiduity praise- 
 worthy in itself, but the nature of their opinions is not 
 known, and it is thought better not to inquire into them. 
 In England the gentry know hardly anything about 
 Dissenters. As to the organisation of dissenting com- 
 munities, nobody ever hears of any of them having 
 bishops, and so it is supposed that they must have some 
 sort of democratic system. Genteel knowledge of dis- 
 senting faith and practice is confined to a very few points 
 that Unitarians do not believe in the Trinity, that 
 Baptists have some unusual practice about baptism, and 
 that Methodists are fond of singing hymns. This is all,
 
 xviii.] OF GENTEEL IGNORANCE. 243 
 
 and more than enough, as it is inconceivable that an aris- 
 tocratic person can have anything to do with dissent, 
 unless he wants the Nonconformist vote in politics. If 
 Dissenters are to be spoken of at all, it should be in a 
 condescending tone, as good people in their way, who 
 may be decent members of the middle and lower classes, 
 of some use in withstanding the tide of infidelity. 
 
 I remember a lady who condemned some eminent 
 man as an atheist, on which I ventured to object that 
 he was a deist only. "It is exactly the same thing," 
 she replied. Being at that time young and argumenta- 
 tive, I maintained that there existed a distinction, that a 
 deist believed in God and an atheist had not that belief. 
 "That is of no consequence," she rejoined; "what 
 concerns us is that we should know as little as possible 
 about such people." When this dialogue took place the 
 lady seemed to me unreasonable and unjust, but now I 
 perceive that she was genteel. She desired to keep her 
 soul pure from the knowledge which gentility did not 
 recognise, she wanted to know nothing about the shades 
 and colours of heresy. 
 
 There is a delightful touch of determined ignorance 
 in the answer of the Russian prelates to Mr. William 
 Palmer, who went to Russia in 1840 with a view to 
 bring about a recognition of Anglicanism by oriental 
 orthodoxy. In substance, according to Cardinal New- 
 man, it amounted to this, " We know of no true Church 
 besides our own. We are the only Church in the 
 world. The Latins are heretics, or all but heretics ; you 
 are worse, we do not even know your name." It would 
 be difficult to excel this last touch ; it is the perfection 
 of uncontaminated orthodoxy, of the pure Russian reli-
 
 244 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 gious comme il faut. We, the holy, the undefiled, the 
 separate from heretics and from those lost ones, worse 
 than heretics, into whose aberrations we never inquire, 
 " we do not even know your name." 
 
 Of all examples of genteel ignorance there are none 
 more frequent than the ignorance of those necessities 
 which are occasioned by a limited income. I am not, 
 at present, alluding to downright poverty. It is genteel 
 to be aware that the poor exist ; it is genteel, even, to 
 have poor people of one's own to pet and patronise ; and 
 it is pleasant to be kind to such poor people when they 
 receive our kindness in a properly submissive spirit, with 
 a due sense of the immense distance between us, and 
 read the tracts we give them, and listen respectfully to 
 our advice. It is genteel to have to do with poor people 
 in this way, and even to know something about them ; 
 the real genteel ignorance consists in not recognising the 
 existence of those impediments that are familiar to people 
 of limited means. " I cannot understand," said an 
 English lady, " why people complain about the difficulties 
 of housekeeping. Such difficulties may almost always 
 be included under one head insufficiency of servants ; 
 people have only to take more servants and the diffi- 
 culties disappear." Of course the cost of maintaining 
 a troop of domestics is too trifling to be taken into con- 
 sideration. A French lady, in my hearing, asked what 
 fortune had such a family. The answer was simple and 
 decided, they had no fortune at all. " No fortune at 
 all ! then how can' they possibly live ? How can people 
 live who have no fortune ?" This lady's genteel ignor- 
 ance was enlightened by the explanation that when there 
 is no fortune in a family it is generally supported by the
 
 xvni.] OF GENTEEL IGNORANCE. 245 
 
 labour of one or more of its members. " I cannot under- 
 stand," said a rich Englishman to one of my friends, 
 " why men are so imprudent as to allow themselves to 
 sink into money embarrassments. There is a simple rule 
 that I follow myself and that I have always found a great 
 safeguard it is, never to let one's balance at the banker's fall 
 below five thousand pounds. By strictly adhering to this rule 
 one is always sure to be able to meet any unexpected and 
 immediate necessity." Why, indeed, do we not all follow 
 a rule so evidently wise ? It may be especially recom- 
 mended to struggling professional men with large families. 
 If only they can be persuaded to act upon it they will 
 find it an unspeakable relief from anxiety, and the present 
 volume will not have been penned in vain. 
 
 Genteel ignorance of pecuniary difficulties is con,- 
 spicuous in the case of amusements. It is supposed, if 
 you are inclined to amuse yourself in a certain limited 
 way, that you are stupid for not doing it on a much 
 more expensive scale. Charles Lever wrote a charming 
 paper for one of the early numbers of the Cornhill 
 Magazine, in which he gave an account of the dangers 
 and difficulties he had encountered in riding and boating, 
 simply because he had set limits to his expenditure on 
 those pastimes, an economy that seemed unaccountably 
 foolish to his genteel acquaintances. " Lever will ride 
 such screws ! Why won't he give a proper price for a 
 horse? It's the stupidest thing in the world to be 
 under-horsed ; and bad economy besides." These re- 
 marks, Lever said, were not sarcasms on his skill or 
 sneers at his horsemanship, but they were far worse, 
 they were harsh judgments on himself expressed in a 
 manner that made reply impossible. So with his boat-
 
 246 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 ing. Lever had a passion for boating, for that real 
 boating which is perfectly distinct from yachting and 
 incomparably less costly, but richer acquaintances insisted 
 on the superior advantages of the more expensive amuse- 
 ment " These cockle-shells, sir, must go over ; they 
 have no bearings, they lee over and there you are you 
 fill and go down. Have a good decked boat I should 
 say five-and-thirty or forty tons ; get a clever skipper and 
 a lively crew." Is not this exactly like the lady who 
 thought people stupid for not having an adequate 
 establishment of servants ? 
 
 Another form of genteel ignorance consists in being 
 so completely blinded by conventionalism as not to be 
 able to perceive the essential identity of two modes of 
 Ijfe or habits of action when one of them happens to be 
 in what is called "good form," whilst the other is not 
 accepted by polite society. My own tastes and pursuits 
 have often led me to do things for the sake of study or 
 pleasure which in reality differ but very slightly from 
 what genteel people often do ; yet, at the same time, this 
 slight difference is sufficient to prevent them from seeing 
 any resemblance whatever between my practice and 
 theirs. When a young man, I found a wooden hut ex- 
 tremely convenient for painting from nature, and when 
 at a distance from other lodging I slept in it. This was 
 unfashionable, and genteel people expressed much wonder 
 at it, being especially surprised that I could be so im- 
 prudent as to risk health by sleeping in a little wooden 
 house. Conventionalism made them perfectly ignorant 
 of the fact that they occasionally slept in little wooden 
 houses themselves. A railway carriage is simply a 
 wooden hut on wheels, generally very ill-ventilated, and
 
 XYIII.] OF GENTEEL IGNORANCE. 247 
 
 presenting the alternative of foul air or a strong draught, 
 with vibration that makes sleep difficult to some and to 
 others absolutely impossible. I have passed many nights 
 in those public wooden huts on wheels, but have never 
 slept in them so pleasantly as in my own private one. 1 
 Genteel people also use wooden dwellings that float on 
 water. A yacht's cabin is nothing but a hut of a peculiar 
 shape with its own special inconveniences. On land a 
 hut will remain steady, at sea it inclines in every direc- 
 tion and is tossed about like Gulliver's large box. An 
 Italian nobleman who liked travel, but had no taste for 
 dirty southern inns, had four vans that formed a square 
 at night with a little courtyard in the middle that was 
 covered with canvas, and served as a spacious dining- 
 room. The arrangement was excellent, but he was 
 considered hopelessly eccentric, yet how slight was the 
 difference between his vans and a train of saloon carriages 
 for the railway ! He simply had saloon carriages that 
 were adapted for common roads. 
 
 It is difficult to see what advantage there can be in 
 genteel ignorance to compensate for its evident disad- 
 vantages. Not to be acquainted with unfashionable 
 opinions, not to be able to imagine unfashionable neces- 
 sities, not to be able to perceive the real likeness between 
 fashionable and unfashionable modes of life on account 
 of some external and superficial difference, is like living 
 in a house with closed shutters. Surely a man, or a 
 woman either, might have as good manners and be as 
 highly civilised in all respects with accurate notions of 
 
 1 It so happens that I am writing this Essay in a rough wooden 
 hut of my own, which is in reality a most comfortable little building, 
 though "stuffy luxury" is rigorously excluded.
 
 248 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 things as with a head full of illusions. To understand 
 the world as it really is, to see the direction in which 
 humanity is travelling, ought to be the purpose of every 
 strong and healthy intellect, even though such knowledge 
 may take it out of gentility altogether. 
 
 The effect of genteel ignorance on human intercourse 
 is such a deduction from the interest of it that men of 
 ability often avoid genteel society altogether, and either 
 devote themselves to solitary labours, cheered principally 
 by the companionship of books, or else keep to intimate 
 friends of their own order. In continental countries 
 the public drinking places are often frequented by men 
 of culture, not because they want to drink, but because 
 they can talk freely about what they think and what they 
 know without being paralysed by the determined ignor- 
 ance of the genteel. In England, no doubt, there is 
 more information, and yet Stuart Mill said that " general 
 society as now carried on in England is so insipid an 
 affair, even to the persons who make it what it is, that 
 it is kept up for any reason rather than the pleasure it 
 affords. All serious discussion on matters in which 
 opinions differ being considered ill bred, and the national 
 deficiency in liveliness and sociability having prevented 
 the cultivation of the art of talking agreeably on trifles, 
 the sole attraction of what is called society to those who 
 are not at the top of the tree is the hope of being aided 
 to climb a little higher. To a person of any but a very 
 common order in thought or feeling, such society, unless 
 he has personal objects to serve by it, must be supremely 
 unattractive ; and most people in the present day of any 
 really high class of intellect make their contact with it 
 so slight and at such long intervals as to be almost con-
 
 xvni.] OF GENTEEL IGNORANCE. 249 
 
 sidered as retiring from it altogether." The loss here is 
 distinctly to the genteel persons themselves. They may 
 not feel it, they may be completely insensible of it, but 
 by making society insipid they eliminate from it the very 
 men who might have been its most valuable elements, 
 and who, whether working in solitude or living with a 
 few congenial spirits, are really the salt of the earth.
 
 ESSAY XIX. 
 
 PATRIOTIC IGNORANCE. 
 
 PATRIOTIC ignorance is maintained by the satisfaction 
 that we feel in ignoring what is favourable to another 
 nation. It is a voluntary closing of the mind against 
 the disagreeable truth that another nation may be on 
 certain points equal to our own, or even, though inferior, 
 in some degree comparable to our own. 
 
 The effect of patriotic ignorance as concerning human 
 intercourse is to place any one who knows the exact 
 truth in the unpleasant dilemma of having either to 
 correct mistakes which are strongly preferred to truth, 
 or else to give assent to them against his sense of justice. 
 International intercourse is made almost impossible by 
 patriotic ignorance, except amongst a few highly cultivated 
 persons who are superior to it. Nothing is more difficult 
 than to speak about one's own country with foreigners 
 who are perpetually putting forward the errors which 
 they have imbibed all their lives, and to which they cling 
 with such tenacity that it seems as if those errors were, 
 in some mysterious way, essential to their mental com- 
 fort and well-being. If, on the other hand, we have any 
 really intimate knowledge of a foreign country, gained 
 by long residence in it and studious observation of the 
 inhabitants, then we find a corresponding difficulty in
 
 ESSAY xix.] PA TRIO TIC IGNORA NCR. 2 5 1 
 
 talking reasonably about it and them with our own 
 countrymen, because they, too, have their patriotic ignor- 
 ance which they prize and value as foreigners value 
 theirs. 
 
 At the risk of turning this Essay into a string of 
 anecdotes, I intend to give a few examples of patriotic 
 ignorance, in order to show to what an astonishing degree 
 of perfection it may attain. When we fully understand 
 this we shall also understand how those who possess 
 such a treasure should be anxious for its preservation. 
 Their anxiety is the more reasonable that in these days 
 there is a difficulty in keeping things when they are 
 easily injured by light. 
 
 A French lady who possessed this treasure in its per- 
 fection, gave, in my hearing, as a reason why French 
 people seldom visited England, that there were no works 
 of art there, no collections, no architecture, nothing to 
 gratify the artistic sense or the intelligence, and that it 
 was only people specially interested in trade and manu- 
 factures who went to England, as the country had nothing 
 to show but factories and industrial products. On hear- 
 ing this statement there suddenly passed before my 
 mind's eye a rapid vision of the great works of architec- 
 ture, sculpture, and painting that I had 'seen in England, 
 and a confused recollection of many minor examples of 
 these arts not quite unworthy of a studious man's atten- 
 tion. It is impossible to contradict a lady, and any 
 statement of the simple truth would, in this instance, 
 have been a direct and crushing contradiction. I 
 ventured on a faint remonstrance, but without effect, and 
 my fair enemy triumphed. There were no works of art 
 in England. Thus she settled the question.
 
 252 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 This little incident led me to take note of French 
 ideas about England with reference to patriotic ignor- 
 ance, and I discovered that there existed a very general 
 belief that there was no intellectual light of any kind in 
 England. Paris was the light of the world, and only so 
 far as Parisian rays might penetrate the mental fog of the 
 British islands was there a chance of its becoming even 
 faintly luminous. It was settled that the speciality of 
 England was trade and manufacture, that we were all of 
 us either merchants or cotton-spinners, and I discovered 
 that we had no learned societies, no British Museum, no 
 Royal Academy of Arts. 
 
 An English painter who, for many years, had exhibited 
 on the line of the Royal Academy, happened to be 
 mentioned in my presence and in that of a French artist. 
 I was asked by some French people who knew him per- 
 sonally whether the English painter had a good profes- 
 sional standing. I answered that he had a fair though 
 not a brilliant reputation ; meanwhile the French artist 
 showed signs of uneasiness, and at length exploded with 
 a vigorous protest against the inadmissible idea that a 
 painter could be anything whatever who was not known 
 at the French Salon. "// rfest pas connu au Salon de 
 Paris, done, il riexiste pas il n'existe pas. Les reputa- 
 tions dans les beaux-arts se font au Salon de Paris et pas 
 ailleurs." This Frenchman had no conception whatever 
 of the simple fact that artistic reputations are made in 
 every capital of the civilised world. That was a truth 
 which his patriotism could not tolerate for a moment. 
 
 A French gentleman expressed his surprise that I did 
 not have my books translated into French, " because," 
 said he, "no literary reputation can be considered
 
 xix.] PATRIOTIC IGNORANCE. 253 
 
 established until it has received the consecration of 
 Parisian approval." To his unfeigned astonishment I 
 answered that London and not Paris was the capital city 
 of English literature, and that English authors had not 
 yet fallen so low as to care for the opinion of critics 
 ignorant of their language. 
 
 I then asked myself why this intense French patriotic 
 ignorance should continue so persistently, and the 
 answer appeared to be that there was something pro- 
 foundly agreeable to French patriotic sentiment in the 
 belief that England had no place in the artistic and 
 intellectual world. Until quite recently the very exist- 
 ence of an English school of painting was denied by all 
 patriotic Frenchmen, and English art was rigorously 
 excluded from the Louvre. 1 Even now a French writer 
 upon art can scarcely mention English painting without 
 treating it de haut en has, as if his Gallic nationality gave 
 him a natural right to treat uncivilised islanders with 
 lofty disdain or condescending patronage. 
 
 My next example has no reference to literature or the 
 fine arts. A young French gentleman of superior educa- 
 tion and manners, and with the instincts of a sportsman, 
 said in my hearing, "There is no game in England." 
 His tone was that of a man who utters a truth universally 
 acknowledged. 
 
 It might be a matter of little consequence as touch- 
 ing our national pride, whether there was game in 
 England or not. I have no doubt that some philosophers 
 would consider, and perhaps with reason, that the non- 
 
 1 At present it is most inadequately represented by a few unim- 
 portant gifts. The donors have desired to break the rule of exclu- 
 sion, and have succeeded so far, but that is all.
 
 254 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 existence of game, where it can only be maintained by an 
 army of keepers and a penal code of its own, would be 
 the sign of an advancing social state, but my young 
 Frenchman was not much of a philosopher, and no 
 doubt he considered the non-existence of game in 
 England a mark of inferiority to France. There is 
 something in the masculine mind, inherited perhaps 
 from ancestors who lived by the chase, which makes it 
 look upon an abundance of wild things that can be shot 
 at, or run after with horses and dogs, as a reason for the 
 greatest pride and glorification. On reflection it will 
 be found that there is more in the matter than at first 
 sight appears. As there is no game in England, of 
 course there are no sportsmen in that country. The 
 absence of game means the absence of shooters and 
 huntsmen, and consequently an inferiority in manly 
 exercises to the French, thousands of whom take shoot- 
 ing licences and enjoy the invigorating excitement of the 
 chase. For this reason it is agreeable to French 
 patriotic sentiment to be perfectly certain that there is 
 no game in England. When I inquired what reason 
 my young friend had for holding his conviction on the 
 subject, he told me that in a country like England, so 
 full of trade and manufactures, there could not be any 
 room for game. 
 
 One of the most popular of French songs is that 
 charming one by Pierre Dupont in praise of his vine. 
 Every Frenchman who knows anything knows that song, 
 and believes that he also knows the tune. The conse- 
 quence is that when one of them begins to sing it his 
 companions join in the refrain or chorus, which is as 
 follows :
 
 xix.] PATRIOTIC IGNORANCE. 255 
 
 Bans Franfais, quand je vois nion verre 
 Plein de ce vin couleur de feu 
 Je songe en remerciant Dieu 
 Qu'ils V ont pas dans PAngleterre! 
 
 The singers repeat quits rien ont pas, and besides this 
 the whole of the last line is repeated with triumphant 
 emphasis. 
 
 We need not feel hurt by this little outburst of patriotism. 
 There is no real hatred of England at the bottom of it, 
 only a little "malice" of a harmless kind, and the song 
 is sometimes sung good-humouredly in the presence of 
 Englishmen. It is, however, really connected with 
 patriotic ignorance. The common French belief is 
 that as vines are not grown in England we have no wine 
 in our cellars, so that English people hardly know the 
 taste of wine, and this belief is too pleasing to the French 
 mind to be readily abandoned by those who hold it. 
 They feel that it enhances the delightfulness of every 
 glass they drink. The case is precisely the same with 
 fruit. The French enjoy plenty of excellent fruit, and 
 they enjoy it all the more heartily from a firm conviction 
 that there is no fruit of any kind in England. " Pas un 
 fruit" said a countryman of Pierre Dupont in writing 
 about our unfavoured island, "pas un fruit ne murit dans 
 ce pays" What, not even a gooseberry? Were the 
 plums, pears, strawberries, apples, apricots that we con- 
 sumed in omnivorous boyhood every one of them unripe ? 
 It is lamentable to think how miserably the English live. 
 They have no game, no wine, no fruit (it appears to be 
 doubtful, too, whether they have any vegetables), and 
 they dwell in a perpetual fog where sunshine is totally 
 unknown. It is believed, also, that there is no land-
 
 256 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 scape beauty in England nothing but a green field with a 
 hedge, and then another green field with another hedge, till 
 you come to the bare chalk cliffs and the dreary northern 
 sea. The English have no Devonshire, no valley of the 
 Severn, no country of the Lakes. The Thames is a foul 
 ditch, without a trace of natural beauty anywhere. 1 
 
 It would be easy to give many more examples of the 
 patriotism of our neighbours, but perhaps for the sake 
 of variety it may be desirable to turn the glass in the 
 opposite direction and see what English patriotism has 
 to say about France. We shall find the same principle 
 at work, the same determination to believe that the foreign 
 country is totally destitute of many things on which we 
 greatly pride ourselves. I do not know that there is any 
 reason to be proud of having mountains, as they are ex- 
 cessively inconvenient objects that greatly impede agri- 
 culture and communication ; however, in some parts of 
 Great Britain it is considered, somehow, a glory for a 
 nation to have mountains, and there used to be a firm 
 belief that French landscape was almost destitute of 
 mountainous grandeur. There were the Highlands of 
 Scotland, but who had ever heard of the Highlands of 
 France? Was not France a wearisome tame country 
 that unfortunately had to be traversed before one could 
 get to Switzerland and Italy ? Nobody seemed to have 
 any conception that France was rich in mountain scenery 
 of the very grandest kind. Switzerland was understood 
 
 1 These, of course, are only examples of vulgar patriotic ignor- 
 ance. A few Frenchmen who have really seen what is best in 
 English landscape are delighted with it, but the common impression 
 about England is that it is an ugly country covered with usines, 
 and on which the sun never shines.
 
 xix.] PATRIOTIC IGNORANCE. 257 
 
 to be the place for mountains, and there was a settled 
 but erroneous conviction that Mont Blanc was situated 
 in that country. As for the Grand-Pelvoux, the Pointe 
 des Ecrtns, the Mont O/an, the Pic d'Arsine^ and the 
 Trois Ellions, nobody had ever heard of them. If you 
 had told any average Scotchman that the most famous 
 Bens would be lost and nameless in the mountainous 
 departments of France, the news would have greatly 
 surprised him. He would have been astonished to hear 
 that the area of mountainous France exceeded the area 
 of Scotland, and that the height of its loftiest summits 
 attained three times the elevation of Ben Nevis. 
 
 It may be excusable to feel proud of mountains, as they 
 are noble objects in spite of their inconvenience, but it 
 seems less reasonable to be patriotic about hedges, which 
 make us pay dearly for any beauty they may possess by 
 hiding the perspective of the land. A hedge six feet 
 high easily masks as many miles of distance. However, 
 there is a pride in English hedges, accompanied by a 
 belief that there are no such things in France. The 
 truth is that regions of large extent are divided by hedges 
 in France as they are in England. Another belief is that 
 there is little or no wood in France, though wood is the 
 principal fuel, and vast forests are reserved for its supply. 
 I have heard an Englishman proudly congratulating him- 
 self, in the spirit of Dupont's song, on the supposed fact 
 that the French had neither coal nor iron, and yet I have 
 visited a vast establishment at the Creuzot, where ten thou- 
 sand workmen are continually employed in making engines, 
 bridges, armour-plates, and other things from iron found 
 close at hand, by the help of coal fetched from a very 
 little distance. I have read in an English newspaper 
 
 s
 
 258 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 that there were no singing-birds in France, and by way of 
 commentary a hundred little French songsters kept up a 
 merry din that would have gladdened the soul of Chaucer. 
 It happened, too, to be the time of the year for nightin- 
 gales, which filled the woods with their music in the 
 moonlight. 
 
 Patriotic ignorance often gets hold of some partial 
 truth unfavourable to another country, and then applies 
 it in such an absolute manner that it is truth no longer. 
 It is quite true, for example, that athletic exercises are 
 not so much cultivated in France nor held in such high 
 esteem as they are in England, but it is not true that all 
 young Frenchmen are inactive. They are often both 
 good swimmers and good pedestrians, and though they 
 do not play cricket many of them take a practical 
 interest in gymnastics, and are skilful on the bar and the 
 traphe. The French learn military drill in their boyhood, 
 and in early manhood they are inured to fatigue in the 
 army, besiues which great numbers of them learn fencing 
 on their own account, that they may hold their own in a 
 duel. Patriotic ignorance likes to shut its eyes to all 
 inconvenient facts of this kind and to dwell on what is 
 unfavourable. A man may like a glass of absinthe in a 
 cafe and still be as energetic as if he drank port wine at 
 home. I know an old French officer who never misses 
 his daily visit to the cafe, and so might serve as a text 
 for moralising, but at the same time he walks twenty 
 kilometres every day. Patriotic ignorance has its oppor- 
 tunity in every difference of habit. What can be appa- 
 rently more indolent, for an hour or two after dejeuner, 
 than a prosperous man of business in Paris ? Very pos- 
 sibly he may be caught playing cards or dominoes in
 
 xix.] PATRIOTIC IGNORANCE. 259 
 
 the middle of the day, and severely blamed by a foreign 
 censor. The difference between him and his equal in 
 London is simply in the arrangement of time. The 
 Frenchman has been at his work early, and divides his 
 day into two parts with hours of idleness between them. 
 Many examples of those numerous international 
 criticisms that originate in patriotic ignorance are con- 
 nected with the employment of words that are appa- 
 rently common to different nations, yet vary in their sig- 
 nification. One that has given rise to frequent patriotic 
 criticisms is the French word univers. French writers 
 often say of some famous author, such as Victor Hugo, 
 "Sa renommee remplit 1'univers;" or of some great 
 warrior like Napoleon, " II inquieta 1'univers." English 
 critics take up these expressions and then say, " Behold 
 how bombastic these French writers are with their absurd 
 exaggerations, as if Victor Hugo and Napoleon astonished 
 the universe, as if they were ever heard of beyond our 
 own little planet ! " Such criticism only displays patriotic 
 ignorance of a foreign language. The French expression 
 is perfectly correct, and not in the least exaggerated. 
 Napoleon did not disquiet the universe, but he disquieted 
 F univers. Victor Hugo is not known beyond the terres- 
 trial globe, but he is known, by name at least, through- 
 out 1'univers. The persistent ignorance of English 
 writers on this point would be inexplicable if it were not 
 patriotic, if it did not afford an opportunity for deriding 
 the vanity of foreigners. It is the more remarkable that 
 the deriders themselves constantly use the word in the 
 same restricted sense as an adjective or an adverb. I 
 open Mr. Stanford's atlas and find that it is called " The 
 London Atlas of Universal Geography," though it does
 
 260 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 not contain a single map of any planet but our own, not 
 even one Of the visible hemisphere of the moon, which 
 might easily have been given. I take a newspaper, and 
 I find that the late President of the Royal Society died 
 universally respected, though he was known only to the 
 cultivated inhabitants of a single planet. Such is the 
 power of patriotic ignorance that it is able to prevent 
 men from understanding a foreign word when they them- 
 selves employ a nearly related word in identically the 
 same sense. 1 
 
 The word univers reminds me of universities, and 
 they recall a striking example of patriotic ignorance in 
 my own countrymen. I wonder how many Englishmen 
 there are who know anything about the University of 
 France. I never expect an Englishman to know any- 
 thing about it, and what is more I am always prepared 
 to find him impervious to any information on the subject. 
 As the organisation of the University of France differs 
 essentially from that of English universities, each of which 
 is localised in one place and can be seen in its entirety 
 from the top of a tower, the Englishman hears with con- 
 temptuous inattention any attempt to make him under- 
 stand an institution without a parallel in his own country. 
 Besides this, the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge 
 are venerable and wealthy institutions, visibly beautiful, 
 whilst the University of France is of comparatively recent 
 
 1 The French word univers has three or four distinct senses. It 
 may mean all that exists, or it may mean the solar system, or it may 
 mean the earth's surface in whole or in part. Voltaire said that 
 Columbus, by simply looking at a map of our univers, had guessed 
 that there must be another, that is the western hemisphere. Paris 
 est la phis belle ville de V univers means simply that Paris is the most 
 beautiful city in the world.
 
 xix.] PATRIOTIC IGNORANCE. 261 
 
 origin, and, though large sums are expended in its service, 
 the result does not strike the eye because the expenditure 
 is distributed over the country. I remember having 
 occasion to mention the Academy of Lyons to a learned 
 doctor of Oxford who was travelling in France, and I 
 found that he had never heard of the Academy of Lyons, 
 and knew nothing about the organisation of the national 
 university of which that academy forms a part. From a 
 French point of view this is quite as remarkable an 
 example of patriotic ignorance as if some foreigner had 
 never heard of the diocese of York, or the episcopal 
 organisation of the Church of England. Every French- 
 man who has any education at all knows the functions 
 of academies in the university, and which of the principal 
 cities are the seats of those learned bodies. 
 
 As Englishmen ignore the University of France, they 
 naturally at the same time ignore the degrees that it 
 confers. They never know what a Licencie is, they have 
 no conception of the agrtgation, or of the severe ordeal 
 of competitive examination through which an Agrege must 
 have passed. Therefore, if a Frenchman has attained 
 either of these grades, his title is unintelligible to an 
 Englishman. 
 
 There is, no doubt, great ignorance in France on the 
 subject of the English universities, but it is neither in 
 the same degree nor of the same kind. I should hardly 
 call French ignorance of the classes at Oxford patriotic 
 ignorance, because it does not proceed from the belief 
 that a foreign university is unworthy of a Frenchman's 
 attention. I should call French ignorance of the Royal 
 Academy, for example, genuine patriotic ignorance, 
 because it proceeds from a conviction that English art
 
 262 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 is unworthy of notice, and that the French Salon is the 
 only exhibition that can interest an enlightened lover of 
 art. That is the essence of patriotism in ignorance to 
 be ignorant of what is done in another nation, because 
 we believe our own to be first and the rest nowhere, and 
 so the English ignorance of the University of France 
 is genuine patriotic ignorance. It is caused by the 
 existence of Oxford and Cambridge, as the French 
 ignorance of the Royal Academy is caused by the 
 French Salon. 
 
 Patriotic ignorance is one of the most serious impedi- 
 ments to conversation between people of different 
 nationality, because occasions are continually arising 
 when the national sentiments of the one are hurt by the 
 ignorance of the other. But we may also wound the 
 feelings of a foreigner by assuming a more complete 
 degree of ignorance on his part than that which is really 
 his. This is sometimes done by English people towards 
 Americans, when English people forget that their 
 national literature is the common possession of the two 
 countries. A story is told by Mr. Grant White of an 
 English lady who informed him that a novel (which she 
 advised him to read) had been written about Kenilworth, 
 by Sir Walter Scott, and he expected her to recommend 
 a perusal of the works of William Shakespeare. Having 
 lived much abroad I am myself occasionally the grateful 
 recipient of valuable information from English friends. 
 For example, I remember an Englishman who kindly 
 and quite seriously informed me that Eton College was 
 a public school where many sons of the English aristo- 
 cracy were educated. 
 
 There is a very serious side to patriotic ignorance in
 
 xix.] PATRIOTIC IGNORANCE. 263 
 
 relation to war. There can be no doubt that many of 
 the most foolish, costly, and disastrous wars ever under- 
 taken, were either directly due to patriotic ignorance or 
 made possible only by the existence of such ignorance 
 in the nation that afterwards suffered by them. The 
 way in which patriotic ignorance directly tends to pro- 
 duce war is readily intelligible. A nation sees its own 
 soldiers, its own cannons, its own ships, and becomes so 
 proud of them as to remain contentedly and even wilfully 
 ignorant of the military strength and efficiency of its 
 neighbours. The war of 1870-71, so disastrous to 
 France, was the direct result of patriotic ignorance. 
 The country and even the Empercr himself were 
 patriotically ignorant of their own inferior military con- 
 dition and of the superior Prussian organisation. One 
 or two isolated voices were raised in warning, but it was 
 considered patriotic not to listen to them. The war 
 between Turkey and Russia, which cost Turkey Bulgaria 
 and all but expelled her from Europe, might easily have 
 been avoided by the Sultan, but he was placed in a false 
 position by the patriotic ignorance of his own subjects, 
 who believed him to be faj more powerful than he really 
 was, and who would have probably dethroned or murdered 
 him if he had acted rationally, that is to say, in accord- 
 ance with the degree of strength that he possessed. In 
 almost every instance that I am able to remember, the 
 nations that have undertaken imprudent and easily 
 avoidable wars have done so because they were blinded 
 by patriotic ignorance, and therefore either impelled 
 their rulers into a foolish course against their better 
 knowledge, or else were themselves easily led into peril 
 by the temerity of a rash master who would risk the
 
 264 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 well-being of all his subjects that he might attain some 
 personal and private end. The French have been 
 cured of their most dangerous patriotic ignorance 
 that concerning the military strength of the country 
 by the war of 1870, but the cure was of a costly 
 nature. 
 
 Patriotism has been so commonly associated with a 
 wilful closing of the eyes against unpleasant facts, that 
 those who prefer truth to illusion are often considered 
 unpatriotic. Yet, surely ignorance has not the immense 
 advantage over knowledge of having all patriotism on 
 her side. There is a far higher and better patriotism 
 than that of ignorance, there is a love of country that 
 shows itself in anxiety for its best welfare, and does not 
 remain satisfied with the vain delusion of a fancied 
 superiority in everything. It is the interest of England 
 as a nation to be accurately informed about all that 
 concerns her position in the world, and it is impossible 
 for her to receive this information if a stupid national 
 vanity is always ready to take offence when it is offered. 
 It is desirable for England to know exactly in what 
 degree she is a military power, and also how she stands 
 with reference to the naval armaments of other nations, 
 not as they existed in the days of Nelson but as they 
 will exist next year. It is the interest of England to 
 know by what tenure she holds India, just as in the 
 reign of George the Third it would have been very 
 much the interest of England to know accurately both 
 the rights of the American colonists and their strength. 
 I cannot imagine any circumstances that might make 
 ignorance more desirable for a free people than know- 
 ledge. With enslaved peoples the case is different :
 
 xix.] PA TRIOTIC IGNORANCE. 265 
 
 the less they know, the greater, perhaps, are their 
 chances of enjoying the dull kind of somnolent happi- 
 ness which alone is attainable by them, but this is a 
 kind of happiness that no citizen of a free country would 
 desire.
 
 ESSAY XX. 
 
 CONFUSIONS. 
 
 SURELY the analytical faculty must be very rare, or we 
 should not so commonly find people confounding to- 
 gether things essentially distinct. Any one who possesses 
 that faculty naturally, and has followed some occupation 
 which strengthens it, must be continually amused if he 
 has a humorous turn, or irritated if he is irascible, by 
 the astounding mental confusions in which men con- 
 tentedly pass their lives. To be just, this account ought to 
 include both sexes, for women indulge in confusions even 
 more frequently than men, and are less disposed to separate 
 things when they have once been jumbled together. 
 
 A confusion of ideas in politics which is not un- 
 common amongst the enemies of all change is to believe 
 that whoever desires the reform of some law wants to do 
 something that is not legal, and has a rebellious sub- 
 versive spirit. Yet the reformer is not a rebel ; it is 
 indeed the peculiar distinction of his position not to be 
 a rebel, for there has never been a real reformer (as 
 distinguished from a revolutionist) who wished to do 
 anything illegal. He desires, certainly, to do something 
 which is not legal just at present, but he does not wish 
 to do it so long as it remains in the condition of illegality. 
 He wishes first to make it legal by obtaining legislative
 
 ESSAY xx.] CONFUSIONS. 267 
 
 sanction for his proposal, and then to do it when it shall 
 have become as legal as anything else, and when all the 
 most 'conservative people in the kingdom will be strenuous 
 in its defence as " part and parcel of the law of the land." 
 Another confusion in political matters which has 
 always been extremely common is that between private 
 and public liberty. Suppose that a law were enacted to 
 the effect that each British subject without exception 
 should go to Mass every Sunday morning on pain of 
 death, and should take the Roman Catholic Sacrament 
 of Holy Communion, involving auricular confession, at 
 Easter ; such a law would not be an infringement of the 
 sensible liberty of Roman Catholics, because they -do 
 these things already. Then they might say, " People 
 talk of the tyranny of the law, yet the law is not tyran- 
 nical at all ; we enjoy perfect liberty in England, and it 
 is most unreasonable to say that we do not." The 
 Protestant part of the community would exclaim that 
 such a law was an intolerable infringement of liberty, 
 and would rush to arms to get rid of it. This is the 
 distinction between private and public liberty. There is 
 private liberty when some men are not interfered with in 
 the ordinary habits of their existence ; and there has 
 always been much of such private liberty under the 
 worst of despotisms ; but there is not public liberty until 
 every man in the country may live according to his own 
 habits, so long as he does not interfere with the rights of 
 others. Here is a distinction plain enough to be evident 
 to a very commonplace understanding, yet the admirers 
 of tyrants are often successful in producing a confusion 
 between the two things, and in persuading people that 
 there was " ample liberty " under some foreign despot
 
 268 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 because they themselves, when they visited the country 
 that lay prostrate under his irresistible power, were 
 allowed to eat good dinners, and drive about unmolested, 
 and amuse themselves by day and by night according to 
 every suggestion of their fancy. 
 
 Many confusions have been intentionally maintained 
 by political enemies in order to cast odium on their 
 adversaries, so that it becomes of great importance to a 
 political cause that it should not bear a name with two 
 meanings, or to which it may be possible to give another 
 meaning than that which was originally intended. The 
 word " Radical " is an instance of this. According to 
 the enemies of radicalism it has always meant a political 
 principle that strikes at the root of the constitution, but 
 it was not that meaning of the word which induced the 
 first Radicals to commit the imprudence of adopting it. 
 The term referred to agriculture rather than tree-felling, 
 the original idea being to uproot abuses as a gardener 
 pulls weeds up by the roots. I distinctly remember my 
 first boyish notion of the Radicals. I saw them in a 
 sort of sylvan picture, violent savage men armed with 
 sharp axes and hewing away at the foot of a majestic 
 oak that stood for the glory of England. Since then I 
 have become acquainted with another instance of the 
 unfortunate adoption of a word which may be plausibly 
 perverted from its meaning. The French republican 
 motto is Liberte, Egalite, Fraternity and to this day 
 there is hardly an English newspaper that does not from 
 time to time sneer at the French Republicans for aspir- 
 ing to equality, as if equality were not impossible in the 
 nature of things, and as if, supposing an unnatural 
 equality to be established to-day, the operation of natural
 
 xx.] CONFUSIONS. 269 
 
 causes would not bring about inequality to-morrow. We 
 are told that some men would be stronger, or cleverer, 
 or more industrious, than others, and earn more and 
 make themselves leaders ; that children of the same 
 parents, starting in life with the same fortunes, never 
 remain in precisely the same positions ; and much more 
 to the same purpose. All this trite and familiar reason- 
 ing is without application here. The word Egalite 
 in the motto means something which can be attained, 
 and which, though it did not exist in France before the 
 Revolution, is now almost a perfect reality there it 
 means equality before the law, it means that there 
 shall not be privileged classes exempt from paying 
 taxes, and favoured with such scandalous partiality 
 that all posts of importance in the government, the 
 army, the magistracy, and the church are habitually 
 reserved for them. If it meant absolute equality, no 
 Republican could aim at wealth, which is the creation of 
 inequality in his own favour; neither would any Re- 
 publican labour for intellectual reputation or accept 
 honours. There would not even be a Republican in the 
 gymnastic societies where every member strives to 
 become stronger and more agile than his fellows, and 
 knows that, whether in his favour or against him, the 
 most striking inequalities will be manifested in every 
 public contest. There would be no Republicans in the 
 University, for has it not a hierarchy with the most marked 
 gradations of title and differences of consideration and 
 authority ? Yet the University is so full of Republicans 
 that it is scarcely too much to say that it is entirely 
 composed of them. I am aware that there are dreamers 
 in the working classes, both in France and elsewhere,
 
 270 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 who look forward to a social state when all men will 
 work for the same wages, when the Meissonier of the day 
 will be paid like a sign-painter, and the sign-painter like 
 a white-washer, and all three perform each other's tasks 
 by turns for equality of agreeableness in the work ; but 
 these dreams are only possible in extreme ignorance, and 
 lie quite outside of any theories to be seriously considered. 
 
 Religious intolerance, when quite sincere and not 
 mixed up with social contempt or political hatred, is 
 founded upon a remarkable confusion of ideas which is 
 this. The persecutor assumes that the heretic know- 
 ingly and maliciously resists the will of God in rejecting 
 the theology which he knows that God desires him to 
 receive. This is a confusion between the mental states 
 of the believer and the unbeliever, and it does not 
 accurately describe either, for the believer of course 
 accepts the doctrine, and the unbeliever does not reject 
 it as coming from God, but precisely because he is con- 
 vinced that it has a purely human origin. 
 
 " Are you a Puseyite ? " was a question put to a lady 
 in my hearing, and she at once answered " Certainly 
 not, I should be ashamed of being a Puseyite." Here 
 was a confusion between her present mental state and 
 her supposed possible mental state as a Puseyite, for it 
 is impossible to be a real Puseyite and at the same time 
 to think of one's belief with an inward sense of shame. 
 A believer always thinks that his belief is simply the 
 truth, and nobody feels ashamed of believing what is 
 true. Even concealment of a belief does not imply 
 shame, and those who have been compelled, in self- 
 defence, to hide their real opinions, have been ashamed, 
 if at all, of hiding and not of having them.
 
 xx.] CONFUSIONS. 271 
 
 A confusion common to all who do not think, and 
 avoided only with the greatest difficulty by those who 
 do, is that between their own knowledge and the know- 
 ledge possessed by another person who has different 
 tastes, different receptive powers, and other opportunities. 
 They cannot imagine that the world does not appear the 
 same to him that it appears to them. They do not really 
 believe that he can feel quite differently from themselves, 
 and still be in every respect as sound in mind and as 
 intelligent as they are. The incapacity to imagine a 
 different mental condition is strikingly manifested in 
 what we call the Philistine mind, and is one of its 
 strongest characteristics. The true Philistine thinks that 
 every form of culture which opens out a world that is 
 closed against himself leaves the votary exactly where he 
 was before. "I cannot imagine why you live in Italy," 
 said a Philistine to an acquaintance ; " nothing could 
 induce me to live in Italy." He did not take into 
 account the difference of gifts and culture, but supposed 
 the person he addressed to have just his own mental 
 condition, the only one that he was able to conceive, 
 whereas in fact, that person was so endowed and so 
 educated as to enjoy Italy in the supreme degree. He 
 spoke the purest Italian with perfect ease, he had a con- 
 siderable knowledge of Italian literature and antiquities, 
 his love of natural beauty amounted to an insatiable 
 passion, and from his youth he had delighted in archi- 
 tecture and painting. Of these gifts, tastes, and acquire- 
 ments the Philistine was simply destitute. For him 
 Italy could have had no meaning. Where the other 
 found unfailing interest he would have suffered from un- 
 relieved ennui, and would have been continually looking
 
 272 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 back, with the intolerable longing of nostalgia, to the 
 occupations of his English home. In the same spirit a 
 French bourgeois once complained in my hearing that too 
 much space was given to foreign affairs in the newspapers, 
 "car, vous comprenez, cela n'interesse pas." This was 
 simply an attribution of his personal apathy to every- 
 body else. Certainly, as a nation, the French take less 
 interest in foreign affairs than we do, but they do take 
 some interest, and the degree of it is exactly reflected by 
 the importance given to foreign affairs in their journals, 
 always greatest in the best of them. An Englishman 
 said, also in my hearing, that to have a library was a 
 mistake, as a library was of no use ; he admitted that a 
 few books might be useful if the owner read them 
 through. Here, again, is the attribution of one person's 
 experience to all cases. This man had never himself 
 felt the need of a library, and did not know how to use 
 one. He could not realise the fact that a few books 
 only allow you to read, whilst a library allows you to 
 pursue a study. He could not at all imagine what the 
 word "library" means to a scholar that it means the 
 not being stopped at every turn for want of light, the 
 not being exposed to scornful correction by tnen of 
 inferior ability and inferior industry whose only superi- 
 ority is the great and terrible one of living within a cab- 
 fare of the British Museum. I remember reading an 
 account of the establishment of a Greek professorship in 
 a provincial town, and it was wisely proposed, by one who 
 understood the difficulties of a scholar remote from the 
 great libraries, that provision should be made for the 
 accumulation of books for the use of the future occu- 
 pants of the chair, but the trustees (honest men of busi-
 
 xx.] CONFUSIONS. 273 
 
 ness who had no idea of a scholar's wants and necessities) 
 said that each professor must provide his own library, 
 just as road commissioners advertise that a surveyor 
 must have his own horse. 
 
 One of the most serious reasons why it is imprudent 
 to associate with people whose opinions you do not wish 
 to be made responsible for is that others will confound 
 you with them. There is an old Latin proverb, and also 
 a French one, to the effect that if a man knows what 
 your friends are, he knows what you are yourself. 
 These proverbs are not true, but they well express the 
 popular confusion between having something in common 
 and having everything in common. If you are on 
 friendly terms with clergymen, it is inferred that you 
 have a clerical mind, when the reason may be that you 
 are a scholar living in the country and can find no 
 scholarship in your neighbourhood except in the parson- 
 age houses. You associate with foreigners and are sup- 
 posed to be unpatriotic, when in truth you are as patriotic 
 as any rational and well-informed creature can be, but 
 have a faculty for languages that you like to exercise in 
 conversation. This kind of confusion takes no account 
 of the indisputable fact that men constantly associate 
 together on the ground of a single pursuit that they have 
 in common, often a mere amusement, or because, in 
 spite of every imaginable difference, they are drawn 
 together by one of those mysterious natural affinities 
 which are so obscure in their origin and action that no 
 human intelligence can explain them. 
 
 Not only are a man's tastes liable to be confounded 
 with those of his personal acquaintances, but he may find 
 some trade attributed to him, by a perfectly irrational 
 
 T
 
 274 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 association of ideas, because it happens to be prevalent 
 in the country where he lives. I have known instances 
 of men supposed to have been in the cotton trade simply 
 because they had lived in Lancashire, and of others 
 supposed to be in the mineral oil trade for no other reason 
 than because they had lived in a part of France where 
 mineral oil is found. 
 
 Professional men are usually very much alive to the 
 danger of confusion as affecting their success in life. If 
 you are known to do two things, a confusion gets estab- 
 lished between the two, and you are no longer classed 
 with that ease and decision which the world finds to be 
 convenient. It therefore becomes a part of worldly 
 wisdom to keep one of the occupations in obscurity, and 
 if that is not altogether possible, then to profess as loudly 
 and as frequently as you can that it is entirely secondary 
 and only a refreshment after more serious toils. Many 
 years ago a well-known surgeon published a set of 
 etchings, and the merit of them was so dangerously con- 
 spicuous, so superior, in fact, to the average of profes- 
 sional work, that he felt constrained to keep those too 
 clever children in their places by a quotation from 
 
 Horace 
 
 " O laborum 
 Dulce lenimen ! " 
 
 To present oneself to the world always in one char- 
 acter is a great help to success, and maintains the 
 stability of a position. The kings in the story-books 
 and on playing cards who have always their crowns on 
 their heads and sceptres in their hands, appear to enjoy 
 a decided advantage over modern royalty which dresses 
 like other people and enters into common interests and
 
 xx.] CONFUSIONS. 275 
 
 pursuits. Literary men admire the prudent self-control 
 of our literary sovereign, Tennyson, who by his rigorous 
 abstinence from prose takes care never to appear in 
 public without his singing robes and his crown of laurel. 
 Had he carelessly and familiarly employed the commoner 
 vehicle of expression there would have been a confusion 
 of two Tennysons in the popular idea, whilst at present 
 his name is as exclusively associated with the exquisite 
 music of his verse as that of Mozart with another kind 
 of melody. 
 
 The great evil of confusions, as they affect conversa- 
 tion, is that they constantly place a man of accurate 
 mental habits in such trying situations that, unless he 
 exercises the most watchful self-control, he is sure to 
 commit the sin of contradiction. We have all of us met 
 with the lady who does not think it necessary to distin- 
 guish between one person and another, who will tell a 
 story of some adventure as having happened to A when 
 in reality it happened to B, who will attribute sayings 
 and opinions to C when they properly belong to D, and 
 deliberately maintain that it is of no consequence what- 
 ever when some suffering lover of accuracy undertakes 
 to set her right. It is in vain to argue that there really 
 does exist, in the order of the universe, a distinction 
 between one person and another, though both belong to 
 the human race, and that organisms are generally 
 isolated though there has been an exception in the 
 case of the Siamese twins. The death of the wonderful 
 swimmer who attempted to descend the rapids of Niagara 
 afforded an excellent opportunity for confounders. In 
 France they all confounded him with Captain Boyton 
 who swam with an apparatus, and when poor Webb was
 
 276 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 sucked under the whirlpool they said, "You see that, 
 after all, his inflated dress was of no avail !" Fame of a 
 higher kind does not escape from similar confusions. 
 On the death of George Eliot French readers of English 
 novels lamented that they would have nothing more from 
 the pen that wrote John Halifax, and a cultivated French- 
 man expressed his regret for the author of Adam Bede 
 and Uncle Tom's Cabin. 1 
 
 Men who have trained themselves in habits of accurate 
 observation often have a difficulty in realising the con- 
 fused mental condition of those who simply receive im- 
 pressions without comparison and classification. A fine 
 field for confused tourists is architecture. They go to 
 France and Italy, they talk about what they have seen, 
 and leave you in bewilderment until you make the dis- 
 covery that they have substituted one building for another, 
 or, better still, mixed two different edifices inextricably 
 together. Foreigners of this class are quite unable to 
 establish any distinction between the Houses of Parlia- 
 ment and Westminster Abbey because both have towers, 
 and they are not clear about the difference between the 
 British Museum and the National Gallery, because there 
 are columns in the fronts of both. 2 English tourists will 
 
 1 A French critic recently observed that his countrymen knew 
 little of the tragedy of Macbeth except the familiar line "To be or 
 not to be, that is the question !" 
 
 2 I never make a statement of this kind without remembering 
 instances, even when it does not seem worth while to mention them 
 particularly. It is not of much use to quote what one has heard in 
 conversation, but here are two instances in print. Reclus, the 
 French geographer, in La Terr eh, Vol d'Oiseau, gives a woodcut of 
 the Houses of Parliament and calls it " L'Abbaye de Westminster." 
 The same error has even occurred in a French art periodical.
 
 xx.] CONFUSIONS. 277 
 
 stay some time in Paris and afterwards not be able to 
 distinguish between photographs of the Louvre and the 
 Hotel de Ville. We need not be surprised that people 
 who have never studied architecture at all should not be 
 sure whether St. Paul's is a Gothic building or not, but 
 the wonder is that they seem to retain no impressions 
 received merely by the eye. One would think that the 
 eye alone, without knowledge, would be enough to 
 establish a distinction between one building and another 
 altogether different from it ; yet it is not so. 
 
 I cannot close this chapter without some allusion to 
 a crafty employment of words only too well understood 
 already by those who influence the popular mind. There 
 is such a natural tendency to confusion in all ordinary 
 human beings that if you repeatedly present to them two 
 totally distinct things at the same time, they will, before 
 long, associate them so closely as to consider them in- 
 separable by their very nature. This is the reason why 
 all those branches of education that train the mind in 
 analysis are so valuable. To be able to distinguish 
 between accidental connections of things or characteris- 
 tics and necessary connections is one of the best powers 
 that education bestows upon us. By far the greater 
 number of erroneous popular notions are due simply to 
 the inability to make this distinction which belongs to 
 all undisciplined minds. Calumnies, that have great 
 influence over such minds, must lose their power as the 
 habit of analysis enables people to separate ideas which 
 the uncultivated mingle together. 
 
 Insufficient analysis leads to a very common sort of 
 confusion between the defectiveness of a part only and a 
 defect pervading the whole. An invention (as often
 
 278 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 happens) does not visibly succeed on the first trial, and 
 then the whole of the common public will at once 
 declare the invention to be bad, when, in reality, it may 
 be a good invention with a local defect, easily remedi- 
 able. Suppose that a yacht misses stays, the common 
 sort of criticism would be to say that she was a bad boat, 
 when, in fact, her hull and everything else might be 
 thoroughly well made, and the defect be due only to a 
 miscalculation in the placing of her canvas. I have 
 myself seen a small steel boat sink at her anchorage, and 
 a crowd laugh at her as badly contrived, when her only 
 defect was the unobserved starting of a rivet. The boat 
 was fished up, the rivet replaced, and she leaked and 
 sank no more. When Stephenson's locomotive did not 
 go because its wheels slid on the rails, the vulgar spec- 
 tators were delighted with the supposed failure of a bene- 
 factor of the human species, and set up a noise of 
 jubilant derision. The invention, they had decided, was 
 of no good, and they sang their own foolish gaudeamus 
 igitur. Stephenson at once perceived that the only 
 defect was want of weight, and he immediately proceeded 
 to remedy it by loading the machine with ballast. So 
 it is in thousands of cases. The common mind, un- 
 trained in analysis, condemns the whole as a failure, 
 when the defect lies in some small part which the 
 specialist, trained in analysis, seeks for and discovers. 
 
 I have not touched upon the confusions due to the 
 decline of the intellectual powers. In that case the 
 reason is to be sought for in the condition of the brain, 
 and there is, I believe, no remedy. In healthy people, 
 enjoying the complete vigour of their faculties, confusions 
 are simply the result of carelessness and indolence, and
 
 xx.] CONFUSIONS. 279 
 
 are proper subjects for sarcasm. With senile confusions 
 the case is very different. To treat them with hard, 
 sharp, decided correction, as is so often done by people 
 of vigorous intellect, is a most cruel abuse of power. 
 Yet it is difficult to say what ought to be done when an 
 old person falls into manifest errors of this kind. Simple 
 acquiescence is in this case a pardonable abandonment 
 of truth, but there are situations in which it is not pos- 
 sible. Then you find yourself compelled to show where 
 the confusion lies. You do it as gently as may be, but 
 you fail to convince, and awaken that tenacious, unyield- 
 ing opposition which is a characteristic of decline in its 
 earlier stages. All that can be said is, that when once it 
 has become evident that confusions are not careless but 
 senile, they ought to be passed over if possible, and if 
 not, then treated with the very utmost delicacy and 
 gentleness.
 
 ESSAY XXI. 
 
 THE NOBLE BOHEMIANISM. 
 
 AMONGST the common injustices of the world there have 
 been few more complete than its reprobation of the state 
 of mind and manner of life that have been called 
 Bohemianism, and so closely is that reprobation attached 
 to the word that I would gladly have substituted some 
 other term for the better Bohemianism had the English 
 language provided me with one. It may, however, be a 
 gain to justice itself that we should be compelled to use 
 the same expression, qualified only by an adjective, for 
 two states of existence that are the good and the bad 
 conditions of the same, as it will tend to make us more 
 charitable to those whom we must always blame, and 
 yet may blame with a more or less perfect understanding 
 of the causes that led them into error. 
 
 The lower forms of Bohemianism are associated with 
 several kinds of vice, and are therefore justly disliked 
 by people who know the value of a well-regulated life, 
 and, when at the worst, regarded by them with feelings 
 of positive abhorrence. The vices connected with these 
 forms of Bohemianism are idleness, irregularity, extrava- 
 gance, drunkenness, and immorality ; and besides these 
 vices the worst Bohemianism is associated with many 
 repulsive faults that may not be exactly vices, and yet
 
 ESSAY xxi.] THE NOBLE BOHEMIANISM. 281 
 
 are almost as much disliked by decent people. These faults 
 are slovenliness, dirt, a degree of carelessness in matters 
 of business, often scarcely to be distinguished from dis- 
 honesty, and habitual neglect of the decorous observances 
 that are inseparable from a high state of civilisation. 
 
 After such an account of the worst Bohemianism, in 
 which, as the reader perceives, I have extenuated nothing, 
 it may seem almost an act of temerity to advance the 
 theory that this is only the bad side of a state of mind 
 and feeling that has its good and perfectly respectable 
 side also. If this seems difficult to believe, the reader 
 has only to consider how certain other instincts of 
 humanity have also their good and bad developments. 
 The religious and the sexual instincts, in their best 
 action, are on the side of national and domestic order, 
 but in their worst action they produce sanguinary 
 quarrels, ferocious persecutions, and the excesses of the 
 most degrading sensuality. It is therefore by no means 
 a new theory that a human instinct may have a happy 
 or an unfortunate development, and it is not a reason 
 for rejecting Bohemianism, without unprejudiced examina- 
 tion, that the worst forms of it are associated with evil. 
 
 Again, before going to the raison d'etre of Bohemian- 
 ism, let me point to one consideration of great importance 
 to us if we desire to think quite justly. It is, and has 
 always been, a characteristic of Bohemianism to be ex- 
 tremely careless of appearances, and to live outside the 
 shelter of hypocrisy ; so its vices are far more visible than 
 the same vices when practised by men of the world, and 
 incomparably more offensive to persons with a strong 
 sense of what is called " propriety." At the time when 
 the worst form of Bohemianism was more common than
 
 282 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 it is now, its most serious vices were also the vices of 
 the best society. If the Bohemian drank to excess, so 
 did the nobility and gentry; if the Bohemian had a 
 mistress, so had the most exalted personages. The 
 Bohemian was not so much blamed for being a sepulchre 
 as for being an ill -kept sepulchre, and not a whited 
 sepulchre like the rest. It was far more his slovenliness 
 and poverty than his graver vices that made him offen- 
 sive to a corrupt society with fine clothes and ceremonious 
 manners. 
 
 Bohemianism and Philistinism are the terms by which, 
 for want of better, we designate two opposite ways of 
 estimating wealth and culture. There are two categories 
 of advantages in wealth, the intellectual and the material. 
 The intellectual advantages are leisure to think and read, 
 travel, and intelligent conversation. The material advan- 
 tages are large and comfortable houses, tables well served 
 and abundant, good coats, clean linen, fine dresses and 
 diamonds, horses, carriages, servants, hot-houses, wine- 
 cellars, shootings. Evidently the most perfect condition 
 of wealth would unite both classes of advantages, but this 
 is not always, or often, possible, and it so happens that 
 in most situations a choice has to be made between them. 
 The Bohemian is the man who with small means desires 
 and contrives to obtain the intellectual advantages of 
 wealth, which he considers to be leisure to think and 
 read, travel, and intelligent conversation. The Philistine 
 is the man who, whether his means are small or large, 
 devotes himself wholly to the attainment of the other 
 set of advantages a large house, good food and wine, 
 clothes, horses, and servants. 
 
 The Philistine gratifies his passion for comfort to a
 
 xxr.] THE NOBLE BOHEMIANISM. 283 
 
 wonderful extent, and thousands of ingenious people 
 are incessantly labouring to make his existence more 
 comfortable still, so that the one great inconvenience he 
 is threatened with is the super-multiplication of conveni- 
 ences. Now there is a certain noble Bohemianism which 
 perceives that the Philistine life is not really so rich as 
 it appears, that it has only some of the advantages which 
 ought to belong to riches, and these not quite the best 
 advantages ; and this noble Bohemianism makes the 
 best advantages its first aim, being contented with such 
 a small measure of riches as, when ingeniously and skil- 
 fully employed, may secure them. 
 
 A highly-developed material luxury, such as that which 
 fills our modern universal exhibitions and is the great 
 pride of our age, has in itself so much the appearance of 
 absolute civilisation that any proposal to do without it 
 may seem like a return to savagery, and Bohemianism 
 is exposed to the accusation of discouraging arts and 
 manufactures. There is a physical side to Bohemianism 
 to be considered later, and there may, indeed, be some 
 connection between Bohemianism and the life of a red 
 Indian who roams in his woods and contents himself 
 with a low standard of physical well-being. The fair 
 statement of the case between Bohemianism and the 
 civilisation of arts and manufactures is as follows : The 
 intelligent Bohemian does not despise them ; on the 
 contrary, when he can afford it, he encourages them 
 and often surrounds himself with beautiful things, but 
 he will not barter his mental liberty in exchange for 
 them, as the Philistine does so readily. If the Bohemian 
 simply prefers sordid idleness to the comfort which is 
 the reward of industry, he has no part in the higher
 
 284 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 Bohemianism, but combines the Philistine fault of intel- 
 lectual apathy with the Bohemian fault of standing aloof 
 from industrial civilisation. If a man abstains from 
 furthering the industrial civilisation of his country he is 
 only excusable if he pursues some object of at least equal 
 importance. Intellectual civilisation really is such an 
 object, and the noble Bohemianism is excusable for 
 serving it rather than that other civilisation of arts and 
 manufactures which has such numerous servants of its 
 own. If the Bohemian does not redeem his negligence 
 of material things by superior intellectual brightness he 
 is half a Philistine, he is destitute of what is best in 
 Bohemianism (I had nearly written of all that is worth 
 having in it), and his contempt for material perfection 
 has no longer any charm, because it is not the sacrifice 
 of a lower merit to a higher, but the blank absence of 
 the lower merit not compensated or condoned by the 
 presence of anything nobler or better. 
 
 Bohemianism and Philistinism are alike in combining 
 self-indulgence with asceticism, but they are ascetic or 
 self-indulgent in opposite directions. Bohemianism in- 
 cludes a certain self-indulgence, on the intellectual side, 
 in the pleasures of thought and observation and in the 
 exercise of the imaginative faculties, combining this with 
 a certain degree of asceticism on the physical side, not 
 a severe religious asceticism, but a disposition, like that of 
 a thorough soldier or traveller, to do without luxury and 
 comfort and take the absence of them gaily when they 
 are not to be had. The self-indulgence of Philistinism 
 is in bodily comfort, of which it has never enough ; its 
 asceticism consists in denying itself leisure to read and 
 think, and opportunities for observation.
 
 xxi.] THE NOBLE BOHEMIANISM. 285 
 
 The best way of describing the two principles will be 
 to give an account of two human lives that exemplified 
 them. These shall not be described from imagination 
 but from accurate memory, and I will not have recourse 
 to the easy artifice of selecting an unfavourable example 
 of the class with which I happen to have a minor degree 
 of personal sympathy. My Philistine shall be one whom 
 I sincerely loved and heartily respected. He was an 
 admirable example of everything that is best and most 
 worthy in the Philistine civilisation, and I believe that 
 nobody who ever came into contact with him, or had 
 dealings with him, received any other impression than 
 this, that he had a natural right to the perfect respect 
 which surrounded him. The younger son of a poor 
 gentleman, he began life with narrow means and followed 
 a profession in a small provincial town. By close atten- 
 tion and industry he saved a considerable sum of money, 
 which he lost entirely through the dishonesty of a trusted 
 but untrustworthy acquaintance. He had other mishaps, 
 which but little disturbed his serenity, and he patiently 
 amassed enough to make himself independent In every 
 relation of life he was not only above reproach, he was 
 much more than that : he was a model of what men ought 
 to be, yet seldom are, in their conduct towards others. 
 He was kind to every one, generous to those who needed 
 his generosity, and, though strict with himself, tolerant 
 towards aberrations that must have seemed to him 
 strangely unreasonable. He had great natural dignity, 
 and was a gentleman in all his ways, with an old-fashioned 
 grace and courtesy. He had no vanity ; there may have 
 been some pride as an ingredient in his character, but if 
 so it was of a kind that could hurt nobody, for he was
 
 286 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 as simple and straightforward in his intercourse with the 
 poor as he was at ease with the rich. 
 
 After this description (which is so far from being over- 
 charged that I have omitted, for the sake of brevity, 
 many admirable characteristics) the reader may ask in 
 what could possibly consist the Philistinism of a nature 
 that had attained such excellence. The answer is that 
 it consisted in the perfect willingness with which he 
 remained outside of every intellectual movement, and in 
 the restriction of his mental activity to riches and religion. 
 He used to say that "a man must be contentedly ignorant 
 of many things," and he lived in this contented ignorance. 
 He knew nothing of the subjects that awaken the pas- 
 sionate interest of intellectual men. He knew no lan- 
 guage but his own, bought no books, knew nothing about 
 the fine arts, never travelled, and remained satisfied with 
 the life of his little provincial town. Totally ignorant of 
 all foreign literatures, ancient or modern, he was at the 
 same time so slightly acquainted with that of his own 
 country that he had not read, and scarcely even knew 
 by name, the most famous authors of his own generation. 
 His little bookcase was filled almost exclusively with 
 evangelical sermons and commentaries. This is Philis- 
 tinism on the intellectual side, the mental inertness that 
 remains " contentedly ignorant " of almost everything 
 that a superior intellect cares for. But, besides this, 
 there is also a Philistinism on the physical side, a physical 
 inertness, and in this, too, my friend was a real Philistine. 
 In spite of great natural strength, he remained inexpert 
 in all manly exercises, and so had not enjoyed life on 
 that side as he might have done, and as the Bohemian 
 generally contrives to do. He belonged to that class of
 
 xxi.] THE NOBLE BOHEMIANISM. 287 
 
 men who, as soon as they reach middle age, are scarcely 
 more active than the chairs they sit upon, the men who 
 would fall from a horse if it were lively, upset a boat if 
 it were light, and be drowned if they fell into the water. 
 Such men can walk a little on a road, or they can sit in 
 a carriage and be dragged about by horses. By this 
 physical inertia my friend was deprived of one set of 
 impressions, as he was deprived by his intellectual inertia 
 of another. He could not enjoy that close intimacy with 
 nature which a Bohemian generally finds to be an import- 
 ant part of existence. 
 
 I wonder if it ever occurred to him to reflect, in the 
 tedious hours of too tranquil age, how much of what is 
 best in the world had been simply missed by him, how 
 he had missed all the variety and interest of travel, the 
 charm of intellectual society, the influences of genius, 
 and even the physical excitements of healthy out -door 
 amusements. When I think what a magnificent world 
 it is that we inhabit, how much natural beauty there is 
 in it, how much admirable human work in literature and 
 the fine arts, how many living men and women there are 
 in each generation whose acquaintance a wise man would 
 travel far to seek and value infinitely when he had found 
 it, I cannot avoid the conclusion that my friend might 
 have lived as he did in a planet far less richly endowed 
 than ours, and that after a long life he went out of the 
 world without having really known it. 
 
 I have said that the intelligent Bohemian is generally 
 a man of small or moderate means, whose object is to 
 enjoy the best advantages (not the most visible) of riches. 
 In his view these advantages are leisure, travel, reading, 
 and conversation. His estimate is different from that
 
 288 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 of the Philistine who sets his heart on the lower advan- 
 tages of riches, sacrificing leisure, travel, reading, and 
 conversation, in order to have a larger house and more 
 servants. But how, without riches, is the Bohemian to 
 secure the advantages that he desires, for they also belong 
 to riches ? There lies the difficulty, and the Bohemian's 
 way of overcoming it constitutes the romance of his ex- 
 istence. In absolute destitution the intelligent Bohemian 
 life is not possible. A little money is necessary for it, 
 and the art and craft of Bohemianism is to get for that 
 small amount of money such an amount of leisure, read- 
 ing, travel, and good conversation as may suffice to make 
 life interesting. The way in which an old-fashioned 
 Bohemian usually set about it was this : He treated 
 material comfort and outward appearances as matters of 
 no consequence, accepting them when they came in his 
 way, but enduring the privation of them gaily. He 
 learned the art of living on a little. 
 
 Je suis pauvre, tres pauvre, et vis pourtant fort bien 
 C'est parce que je vis comme les gens de rien. 1 
 
 He spent the little that he had, first for what was 
 really necessary, and next for what really gave him 
 pleasure, but he spent hardly anything in deference to 
 the usages of society. In this way he got what he 
 wanted. His books were second-hand and ill bound, 
 but he had books and read them; his clothes were shabby, 
 yet still they kept him warm ; he travelled in all sorts of 
 cheap ways and frequently on foot ; he lived a good deal 
 in some unfashionable quarters in a capital city, and saw 
 much of art, nature, and humanity. 
 
 1 Rodolphe, in VHonneur et r Argent.
 
 xxi.] THE NOBLE BOHEMIANISM. 289 
 
 To exemplify the true theory of Bohemianism let me 
 describe from memory two rooms, one of them inhabited 
 by an English lady, not at all Bohemian, the other by a 
 German of the coarser sex who was essentially and 
 thoroughly Bohemian. The lady's room was not a 
 drawing-room, being a reasonable sort of sitting-room 
 without any exasperating inutilities, but it was extremely, 
 excessively comfortable. Half hidden amongst its 
 material comforts might be found a little rosewood book- 
 case containing a number of pretty volumes in purple 
 morocco that were seldom, if ever, opened. My German 
 Bohemian was a steady reader in six languages, and if 
 he had seen such a room as that he would probably 
 have criticised it as follows. He would have said, " It 
 is rich in superfluities but has not what is necessary. 
 The carpet is superfluous, plain boards are quite com- 
 fortable enough. One or two cheap chairs and tables 
 might replace this costly furniture. That pretty rose- 
 wood bookcase holds the smallest number of books at 
 the greatest cost, and is therefore contrary to true 
 economy; give me, rather, a sufficiency of long deal 
 shelves all innocent of paint. What is the use of fine 
 bindings and gilt edges ? This little library is miserably 
 poor. It is all in one language, and does not represent 
 even English literature adequately; there are a few 
 novels, books of poems and travels, but I find neither 
 science nor philosophy. Such a room as that, with all 
 its comfort, would seem to me like a prison. My mind 
 needs wider pastures." I remember his own room, a 
 place to make a rich Englishman shudder. One climbed 
 up to it by a stone corkscrew-stair, half-ruinous, in an 
 old mediaeval house. It was a large room with a bed in 
 
 u
 
 290 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 one corner, and it was wholly destitute of anything re- 
 sembling a carpet or a curtain. The remaining furniture 
 consisted of two or three rush-bottomed chairs, one large 
 cheap lounging-chair, and two large plain tables. There 
 were plenty of shelves (common deal, unpainted), and on 
 them an immense litter of books in different languages, 
 most of them in paper covers, and bought second-hand, 
 but in readable editions. In the way of material luxury 
 there was a pot of tobacco, and if a friend dropped in 
 for an evening a jug of ale would make its appearance. 
 My Bohemian was shabby in his dress, and unfashion- 
 able, but he had seen more, read more, and passed more 
 hours in intelligent conversation than many who con- 
 sidered themselves his superiors. The entire material 
 side of life had been systematically neglected, in his 
 case, in order that the intellectual side might flourish. 
 It is hardly necessary to observe that any attempt at 
 luxury or visible comfort, any conformity to fashion, 
 would have been incompatible, on small means, with the 
 intellectual existence that this German scholar enjoyed. 
 
 Long ago I knew an English Bohemian who had a 
 small income that came to him very irregularly. He 
 had begun life in a profession, but had quitted it that he 
 might travel and see the world, which he did in the 
 oddest, most original fashion, often enduring privation, 
 but never ceasing to enjoy life deeply in his own way, 
 and to accumulate a mass of observations which would 
 have been quite invaluable to an author. In him the 
 two activities, physical and mental, were alike so ener- 
 getic that they might have led to great results had they 
 been consistently directed to some private or public end, 
 but unfortunately he remained satisfied with the existence
 
 xxi.] THE NOBLE BOHEMIANISM. 291 
 
 of an observant wanderer who has no purpose beyond 
 the healthy exercise of his faculties. In usefulness to 
 others he was not to be compared with my good and 
 admirable Philistine, but in the art of getting for himself 
 what is best in the world he was by far the more accom- 
 plished of the two. He fully enjoyed both the physical 
 and the intellectual life; he could live almost like a 
 red Indian, and yet at the same time carry in his mind 
 the most recent results of European thought and science. 
 His distinguishing characteristic was a heroic contempt 
 for comfort, in which he rather resembled a soldier in 
 war-time than any self-indulgent civilian. He would 
 sleep anywhere, in his boat under a sail, in a hayloft, 
 under a hedge if belated, and he would go for days 
 together without any regular meal. He dressed roughly, 
 and his clothes became old before he renewed them. He 
 kept no servant, and lived in cheap lodgings in towns, 
 or hired one or two empty rooms and adorned them 
 with a little portable furniture. In the country he con- 
 trived to make very economical arrangements in farm- 
 houses by which he was fed and lodged quite as well as 
 he ever cared to be. It would be difficult to excel him 
 in simple manliness, in the quiet courage that accepts a 
 disagreeable situation or faces a dangerous one ; and he 
 had the manliness of the mind as well as that of the 
 body ; he estimated the world for what it is worth, and 
 cared nothing for its transient fashions either in appear- 
 ances or opinion. I am sorry that he was a useless 
 member of society if, indeed, such an eccentric is to be 
 called a member of society at all but if uselessness is 
 blamable he shares the blame, or ought in justice to 
 share it, with *a multitude of most respectable gentlemen
 
 292 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 and ladies who receive nothing but approbation from 
 the world. 
 
 Except this fault of uselessness there was nothing to 
 blame in this man's manner of life, but his want of pur- 
 pose and discipline made his fine qualities seem almost 
 without -value. And now comes the question whether 
 the fine qualities of the useless Bohemian may not be of 
 some value in a life of a higher kind. I think it is 
 evident that they may, for if the Bohemian can cheer- 
 fully sacrifice luxury for some mental gain he has made 
 a great step in the direction of the higher life, and only 
 requires a purpose and a discipline to attain it. Common 
 men are completely enslaved by their love of comfort, 
 and whoever has emancipated himself from this thraldom 
 has gained the first and most necessary victory. The 
 use that he will make of it depends upon himself. If 
 he has high purposes his Bohemianism will be ennobled 
 by them and will become a most precious element in 
 his character ; and if his purposes are not of the highest, 
 the Bohemian element may still be very valuable if 
 accompanied by self- discipline. Napoleon cannot be 
 said to have had high purposes, but his Bohemianism 
 was admirable. A man who, having attained success, 
 with boundless riches at his disposal, could quit the 
 luxury of his palaces and sleep anywhere, in any poor 
 farmhouse, or under the stars by the fire of a bivouac, and 
 be satisfied with poor meals at the most irregular hours, 
 showed that, however he may have estimated luxury, he 
 was at least entirely independent of it. The model 
 monarch in this respect was Charles XII. of Sweden, 
 who studied his own personal comfort as little as ' if 
 he had been a private soldier. Some royal commanders
 
 xxi.] THE NOBLE BOHEMIANISM. 293 
 
 have carried luxury into war itself, but not to their 
 advantage. When Napoleon III. went in his carriage 
 to meet his fate at Sedan the roads were so encumbered 
 by waggons belonging to the Imperial household as to 
 impede the movements of the troops. 
 
 There is often an element of Bohemianism where we 
 should least expect to find it. There is something of it 
 in our English aristocracy, though it is not called Bohe- 
 mianism here because it is not accompanied by poverty, 
 but the spirit that sacrifices luxury to rough travelling is, 
 so far, the true Bohemian spirit. In the aristocracy, 
 however, such sacrifices are only temporary, and a rough 
 life accepted for a few weeks or months gives the charm 
 of a restored freshness to luxury on returning to it. The 
 class in which the higher Bohemianism has most steadily 
 flourished is the artistic and literary class, and here it is 
 visible and recognisable because there is often poverty 
 enough to compel the choice between the objects of the 
 intelligent Bohemian and those of ordinary men. The 
 early life of Goldsmith, for example, was that of a genuine 
 Bohemian. He had scarcely any money, and yet he 
 contrived to get for himself what the intelligent Bohemian 
 always desires, namely, leisure to read and think, travel, 
 and interesting conversation. When penniless and un- 
 known he lounged about the world thinking and observing; 
 he travelled in Holland, France, Switzerland, and Italy, 
 not as people do in railway carriages but in leisurely 
 intercourse with the inhabitants. Notwithstanding his 
 poverty he was received by the learned in different 
 European cities, and, notably, heard Voltaire and Diderot 
 talk till three o'clock in the morning. So long as he 
 remained faithful to the true principles of Bohemianism
 
 294 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 he was happy in his own strange and eccentric way, and 
 all the anxieties, all the slavery of his later years were 
 due to his apostasy from those principles. He no longer 
 estimated leisure at its true value when he allowed him- 
 self to be placed in such a situation that he was compelled 
 to toil like a slave in order to clear off work that had 
 been already paid for, such advances having been ren- 
 dered necessary by expenditure on Philistine luxuries. 
 He no longer enjoyed humble travel, but on his later 
 tour in France with Mrs. Horneck and her two beautiful 
 daughters, instead of enjoying the country in his own 
 old simple innocent way he allowed his mind to be 
 poisoned with Philistine ideas, and constantly complained 
 of the want of physical comfort, though he lived far more 
 expensively than in his youth. The new apartments, 
 taken on the success of the Good-natured Man, con- 
 sisted, says Irving, "of three rooms, which he furnished 
 with mahogany sofas, card -tables, and bookcases; with 
 curtains, mirrors, and Wilton carpets." At the same 
 time he went even beyond the precept of Polonius, 
 for his garments were costlier than his purse could 
 buy, and his entertainments were so extravagant as to 
 give pain to his acquaintances. All this is a desertion 
 of real Bohemian principles. Goldsmith ought to have 
 protected his own leisure, which, from the Bohemian 
 point of view, was incomparably more precious to himself 
 than Wilton carpets and coats " of Tyrian bloom." 
 
 Corot, the French landscape-painter, was a model of 
 consistent Bohemianism of the best kind. When his 
 father said, "You shall have 80 a year, your plate 
 at my table, and be a painter ; or you shall have ^4000 
 to start with if you will be a shop-keeper," his choice
 
 xxi.] THE NOBLE BOHEMIANISM. 295 
 
 was made at once. He remained always faithful to true 
 Bohemian principles, fully understanding the value of 
 leisure, and protecting his artistic independence by the 
 extreme simplicity of his living. He never gave way 
 to the modern rage for luxuries, but in his latter years, 
 when enriched by tardy professional success and here- 
 ditary fortune, he employed his money in acts of fra- 
 ternal generosity to enable others to lead the intelligent 
 Bohemian life. 
 
 Wordsworth had in him a very strong element of 
 Bohemianism. His long pedestrian rambles, his interest 
 in humble life and familiar intercourse with the poor, 
 his passion for wild nature, and preference of natural 
 beauty to fine society, his simple and economical habits, 
 are enough to reveal the tendency. His "plain living 
 and high thinking " is a thoroughly Bohemian idea, in 
 striking opposition to the Philistine passion for rich 
 living and low thinking. There is a story that he was 
 seen at a breakfast-table to cut open a new volume with 
 a greasy butter-knife. To every lover of books this 
 must seem horribly barbarous, yet at the same time it 
 was Bohemian, in that Wordsworth valued the thought 
 only and cared nothing for the material condition of 
 the volume. I have observed a like indifference to the 
 material condition of books in other Bohemians who 
 took the most lively interest in their contents. I have 
 also seen " bibliophiles " who had beautiful libraries in 
 excellent preservation, and who loved to fondle fine 
 copies of books that they never read. That is Philistine, 
 it is the preference of material perfection to intellectual 
 values. 
 
 The reader is, I hope, fully persuaded by this time
 
 296 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 that the higher Bohemianism is compatible with every 
 quality that deserves respect, and that it is not of 
 necessity connected with any fault or failing. I may 
 therefore mention as an example of it one of the purest 
 and best characters whom it was ever my happiness to 
 know. There was a strong element of noble Bohemian- 
 ism in Samuel Palmer, the landscape-painter. " From 
 time to time," according to his son, " he forsook his easel, 
 and travelled far away from London smoke to cull the 
 beauties of some favourite country side. His painting 
 apparatus was complete, but singularly simple, his dress 
 and other bodily requirements simpler still ; so he could 
 walk from village to hamlet easily carrying all he wanted, 
 and utterly indifferent to luxury. With a good constitu- 
 tion it mattered little to him how humble were his 
 quarters or how remote from so-called civilisation. ' In 
 exploring wild country,' he writes, ' I have been for a 
 fortnight together, uncertain each day whether I should 
 get a bed under cover at night, and about midsummer I 
 have repeatedly been walking all night to watch the 
 mystic phenomena of the silent hours.' He enjoyed to 
 the full this rough but not uncomfortable mode of travel- 
 ling, and was better pleased to take his place, after a 
 hard day's work, in some old chimney corner joining 
 on equal terms the village gossip than to mope in the 
 dull grandeur of a private room." 
 
 Here are two of my Bohemian elements, the love of 
 travel and the love of conversation. As for the other 
 element, the love of leisure to think and read, it is not 
 visible in this extract (though the kind of travel described 
 is leisurely), but it was always present in the man. 
 During the quiet solitary progress by day and night there
 
 xxi.] THE NOBLE BOHEMIANISM. 297 
 
 were ample opportunities for thinking, and as for read- 
 ing we know that Palmer never stirred without a favourite 
 author in his pocket, most frequently Milton or Virgil. 
 To complete the Bohemian we only require one other 
 characteristic, contentment with a simple material exist- 
 ence, and we are told that " the painting apparatus was 
 singularly simple, the dress and other bodily requirements 
 simpler still." So here we have the intelligent Bohemian 
 in his perfection. 
 
 All this is the exact opposite of Philistine " common 
 sense." A Philistine would not have exposed himself, 
 voluntarily, to the certainty of poor accommodation. A 
 Philistine would not have remained out all night "to 
 watch the mystic phenomena of the silent hours." In 
 the absence of a railway he would have hired a carriage 
 and got through the wild country rapidly to arrive at a 
 good dinner. Lastly, a Philistine would not have carried 
 either Milton or Virgil in his pocket, he would have had 
 a newspaper. 
 
 Some practical experience of the higher Bohemianism 
 is a valuable part of education. It enables us to estimate 
 things at their true worth, and to extract happiness from 
 situations in which the Philistine is both dull and 
 miserable. A true Bohemian, of the best kind, knows 
 the value of mere shelter, of food enough to satisfy 
 hunger, of plain clothes that will keep him sufficiently 
 warm, and in the things of the mind he values the liberty 
 to use his own faculties as a kind of happiness in itself. 
 His philosophy leads him to take an interest in talking 
 with human beings of all sorts and conditions, and 
 in different countries. He does not despise the poor, 
 for, whether poor or rich in his own person, he under-
 
 298 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY xxi. 
 
 stands simplicity of life, and if the poor man lives in a 
 small cottage, he too has probably been lodged less 
 spaciously still in some small hut or tent. He has lived 
 often, in rough travel, as the poor live every day. I 
 maintain that such tastes and experiences are valuable 
 both in prosperity and in adversity. If we are prosperous, 
 they enhance our appreciation of the things around us, 
 and yet at the same time make us really know that they 
 are not indispensable, as so many believe them to be ; if 
 we fall into adversity, they prepare us to accept lightly 
 and cheerfully what would be depressing privations to 
 others. I know a painter who in consequence of some 
 change in the public taste fell into adversity at a time 
 when he had every reason to hope for increased success. 
 Very fortunately for him, he had been a Bohemian in 
 early life, a respectable Bohemian be it understood, and 
 a great traveller, so that he could easily dispense with 
 luxuries. " To be still permitted to follow art is enough," 
 he said, so he reduced his expenses to the very lowest 
 scale consistent with that pursuit, and lived as he had 
 done before in the old Bohemian times. He made his 
 old clothes last on, he slung a hammock in a very simple 
 painting-room, and cooked his own dinner on the stove. 
 With the canvas on his easel and a few books on a 
 shelf he found that if existence was no longer luxurious 
 it had not yet ceased to be interesting.
 
 ESSAY XXII. 
 
 OF COURTESY IN EPISTOLARY COMMUNICATION. 
 
 THE universal] principle of courtesy is that the courteous 
 person manifests a disposition to sacrifice something in 
 favour of the person whom he desires to honour, the 
 opposite principle shows itself in a disposition to regard 
 our own convenience as paramount over every other 
 consideration. 
 
 Courtesy lives by a multitude of little sacrifices, not 
 by sacrifices of sufficient importance to impose any 
 burdensome sense of obligation. These little sacrifices 
 may be both of time and money, but more of time, and 
 the money sacrifice should be just perceptible, never 
 ostentatious. 
 
 The tendency of a hurried age, in which men under- 
 take more work or more pleasure (hardest work of all !) 
 than they are able properly to accomplish, is to abridge 
 all forms of courtesy because they take time, and to 
 replace them by forms, if any forms survive, which cost 
 as little time as possible. This wounds and injures 
 courtesy itself in its most vital part, for the essence of it 
 is the willingness to incur that very sacrifice which modern 
 hurry avoids. 
 
 The first courtesy in epistolary communication is the 
 mere writing of the letter. Except in cases where the
 
 300 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 letter itself is an offence or an intrusion, the mere making 
 of it is an act of courtesy towards the receiver. The 
 writer sacrifices his time and a trifle of money in order 
 that the receiver may have some kind of news. 
 
 It has ever been the custom to commence a letter 
 with some expression of respect, affection, or goodwill. 
 This is graceful in itself, and reasonable, being nothing 
 more than the salutation with which a man enters the 
 house of his friend, or his more ceremonious act of 
 deference in entering that of a stranger or a superior. 
 In times and seasons where courtesy has not given way 
 to hurry, or a selfish dread of unnecessary exertion, the 
 opening form is maintained with a certain amplitude, 
 and the substance of the letter is not reached in the first 
 lines, which gently induce the reader to proceed. After- 
 wards these forms are felt to involve an inconvenient 
 sacrifice of time and are ruthlessly docked. 
 
 In justice to modern poverty in forms it is fair to take 
 into consideration the simple truth, so easily overlooked, 
 that we have to write thirty letters where our ancestors 
 wrote one, but the principle of sacrifice in courtesy always 
 remains essentially the same ; and if of our more precious 
 and more occupied time we consecrate a smaller portion 
 to forms, it is still essential that there should be no 
 appearance of a desire to escape from the kind of obli- 
 gation which we acknowledge. 
 
 The most essentially modern element of courtesy in 
 letter-writing is the promptitude of our replies. This 
 promptitude was not only unknown to our remote ances- 
 tors, but even to our immediate predecessors. They 
 would postpone answering a letter for days or weeks, in 
 the pure spirit of procrastination, when they already
 
 xxii.] EPISTOLARY COMMUNICATION. 301 
 
 possessed all the materials necessary for the answer. Such 
 a habit would try our patience very severely, but our 
 fathers seem to have considered it a part of their dignity 
 to move slowly in correspondence. This temper even 
 yet survives in official correspondence between Sovereigns, 
 who still notify to each other their domestic events long 
 after the publication of them in the newspapers. 
 
 A prompt answer equally serves the purpose of the 
 sender and the receiver. It is a great economy of time 
 to answer promptly, because the receiver of the letter is 
 so much gratified by the promptitude itself that he 
 readily pardons brevity in consideration of it. An 
 extremely short but prompt letter, that would look curt 
 without its promptitude, is more polite than a much 
 longer one written a few days later. 
 
 Prompt correspondents save all the time that others 
 waste in excuses. I remember an author and editor 
 whose system imposed upon him the tax of perpetual 
 apologising. He always postponed writing until the 
 delay had put his correspondent out of temper, so that 
 when at last he did write, which somehow happened 
 ultimately, the first page was entirely occupied with 
 apologies for his delay, as he felt that the necessity had 
 arisen for soothing the ruffled feelings of his friend. It 
 never occurred to him that the same amount of pen 
 work which these apologies cost him, would, if given 
 earlier, have sufficed for a complete answer. A letter- 
 writer of this sort must naturally be a bad man of busi- 
 ness, and this gentleman was so, though he had excellent 
 qualities of another order. 
 
 I remember receiving a most extraordinary answer 
 from a correspondent of this stamp. I wrote to him
 
 302 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 about a matter which was causing me some anxiety, and 
 did not receive an answer for several weeks. At last 
 the reply came, with the strange excuse that as he knew 
 I had guests in my house he had delayed writing from a 
 belief that I should not be able to attend to anything 
 until after their departure. If such were always the 
 effect of entertaining friends, what incalculable perturba- 
 tion would be caused by hospitality in all private and 
 public affairs ! 
 
 The reader may, perhaps, have met with a collection 
 of letters called the Plumpton Correspondence^ which was 
 published by the Camden Society in 1839. I have 
 always been interested in this for family reasons, and also 
 because the manuscript volume was found in the neigh- 
 bourhood where I lived in youth ;* but it does not require 
 any blood connection with the now extinct house of 
 Plumpton of Plumpton to take an interest in a collection 
 of letters which gives so clear an insight into the episto- 
 lary customs of England in the fifteenth and sixteenth 
 centuries. The first peculiarity that strikes the modern 
 reader is the extreme care of almost all the writers, even 
 when near relations, to avoid a curt and dry style, desti- 
 tute of the ambages which were in those days esteemed 
 an essential part of politeness. The only exception is a 
 plain straightforward gentleman, William Gascoyne, who 
 heads his letters, "To my Uncle Plumpton be these 
 delivered," or "To my Uncle Plumpton this letter be 
 delivered in hast." He begins, " Uncle Plumpton, I 
 recommend me unto you," and finishes, " Your nephew," 
 simply, or still more laconically " Your." Such plainness 
 is strikingly rare. The rule was, to be deliberately per- 
 1 In the library at Towncley Hall in Lancashire.
 
 xxn.] EPISTOLARY COMMUNICATION. 303 
 
 feet in all epistolary observances, however near the 
 relationship. Not that the forms used were hard forms, 
 entirely fixed by usage and devoid of personal feeling 
 and individuality. They appear to have been more 
 flexible and living than our own, as they were more 
 frequently varied according to the taste and sentiment of 
 the writers. Sometimes, of course, they were perfunctory, 
 but often they have an original and very graceful turn. 
 One letter, which I will quote at length, contains curi- 
 ous evidence of the courtesy and discourtesy of those 
 days. The forms used in the letter itself are perfect, 
 but the writer complains that other letters have not been 
 answered. 
 
 In the reign of Henry VII. Sir Robert Plumpton had 
 a daughter, Dorothy, who was in the household of Lady 
 Darcy (probably as a sort of maid of honour to her lady- 
 ship), but was not quite pleased with her position and 
 wanted to go home to Plumpton. She had written to 
 her father several times but had received no answer, 
 so she now writes again to him in these terms. The 
 date of the letter is not fully given, as the year is want- 
 ing, but her parents were married in 1477 and her father 
 died in 1523, at the age of seventy, after a life of strange 
 vicissitudes. The reader will observe two leading char- 
 acteristics in this letter, that it is as courteous as if the 
 writer were not related to the receiver, and as affectionate 
 as if no forms had been observed. As was the custom 
 in those days, the young lady gives her parents their 
 titles of worldly honour, but she always adds to them 
 the most affectionate filial expressions.
 
 304 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 " To the right worshipftdl and my most entyerly beloved, 
 good, kind father, Sir Robart Plompton, knyght, 
 lying at Plompton in Yorkshire, be thes delivered in 
 hast. 
 
 " Ryght worshipfull father, in the most humble manner 
 that I can I recommend me to you, and to my lady my 
 mother, and to all my brethren and sistren, whom I 
 besech almyghtie God to mayntayne and preserve in 
 prosperus health and encrese of worship, entyerly re- 
 quiering you of your daly blessing ; letting you wyt that 
 I send to you mesuage, be Wryghame of Knarsbrugh, of 
 my mynd, and how that he should desire you in my 
 name to send for me to come home to you, and as yet 
 I had no answere agane, the which desire my lady hath 
 gotten knowledg. Wherefore, she is to me more better 
 lady then ever she was before, insomuch that she hath 
 promysed me hir good ladyship as long as ever she shall 
 lyve ; and if she or ye can fynd athing meyter for me 
 in this parties or any other, she will helpe to promoote 
 me to the uttermost of her puyssaunce. Wherefore, I 
 humbly besech you to be so good and kind father unto 
 me as to let me know your pleasure, how that ye will 
 have me ordred, as shortly as it shall like you. And 
 wryt to my lady, thanking hir good ladyship of hir so 
 loving and tender kyndnesse shewed unto me, beseching 
 hir ladyship of good contynewance thereof. And there- 
 fore I besech you to send a servant of yours to my lady 
 and to me, and show now by your fatherly kyndnesse 
 that I am your child; for I have sent you dyverse 
 messuages and wryttings, and I had never answere 
 againe. Wherefore yt is thought in this parties, by those
 
 xxii.] EPISTOLARY COMMUNICATION. 305 
 
 persones that list better to say ill than good, that ye have 
 litle favor unto me ; the which error ye may now quench 
 yf yt will like you to be so good and kynd father unto 
 me. Also I besech you to send me a fine hatt and 
 some good cloth to make me some kevercheffes. And 
 thus I besech Jesu to have you in his blessed keeping 
 to his pleasure, and your harts desire and comforth. 
 Wryten at the Hirste, the xviii day of Maye, 
 " By your loving daughter, 
 
 " DORYTHE PLOMPTON." 
 
 It may be worth while, for the sake of contrast, and 
 that we may the better perceive the lost fragrance of the 
 antique courtesy, to put the substance of this letter into 
 the style of the present day. A modern young lady 
 would probably write as follows : 
 
 HIRST, May 1 8. 
 
 DEAR PAPA Lady Darcy has found out that I want 
 to leave her, but she has kindly promised to do what she 
 can to find something else for me. I wish you would 
 say what you think, and it would be as well, perhaps, if 
 you would be so good as to drop a line to her ladyship 
 to thank her. I have written to you several times but 
 got no answer, so people here say that you don't care very 
 much for me. Would you please send me a handsome 
 bonnet and some handkerchiefs ? Best love to mamma 
 and all at home. Your affectionate daughter, 
 
 DOROTHY PLUMPTON. 
 
 This, I think, is not an unfair specimen of a modern 
 letter. 1 The expressions of worship, of humble respect, 
 
 1 In Prosper Merimee's Correspondence he gives the following as 
 the authentic text of the letter in which Lady Florence Paget an- 
 
 X
 
 306 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 have disappeared, and, so far it may be thought that 
 there is improvement, yet that respect was not incom- 
 patible with tender feeling ; on the contrary, it was 
 closely associated with it, and expressions of sentiment 
 have lost strength and vitality along with expressions of 
 respect. Tenderness may be sometimes shown in modern 
 letters, but it is rare, and when it occurs it is generally 
 accompanied by a degree of familiarity which our ances- 
 tors would have considered in bad taste. Dorothy 
 Plumpton's own letter is far richer in the expression of 
 tender feeling than any modern letter of the courteous 
 and ceremonious kind, or than any of those pale and 
 commonplace communications from which deep respect 
 and strong affection are almost equally excluded. Please 
 observe, moreover, that the young lady had reason to 
 be dissatisfied with her father for his neglect, which does 
 not in the least diminish the filial courtesy of her style, 
 but she chides him in the sweetest fashion " Show now 
 by your fatherly kindness that I am your child.'" Could 
 anything be prettier than that, though the reproach con- 
 tained in it is really one of some severity ? 
 
 Dorothy's father, Sir Robert, puts the following super- 
 scription on a letter to his wife, "To my entyrely and 
 right hartily beloved wife, Dame Agnes Plumpton, be 
 this Letter delivered." He begins his letter thus, " My 
 deare hart, in my most hartily wyse, I recommend mee 
 unto you ; " and he ends tenderly " By your owne lover, 
 Robert Plumpton, Kt." She, on the contrary, though 
 
 nounced her elopement with the last Marquis of Hastings to her 
 father. 
 
 " Dear Pa, as I knew you would never consent to my marriage 
 with Lord Hastings, I was wedded to him to-day. I remain 
 yours, etc."
 
 xxi r.] EPISTOLAR Y COM MU NIC A TION. 307 
 
 a faithful and brave wife, doing her best for her husband 
 in a time of great trial, and enjoying his full confidence, 
 begins her letters "Right worshipful Sir," and ends 
 simply "By your wife, Dame Agnes Plumpton." She 
 is so much absorbed by business that her expressions of 
 feeling are rare and brief. " Sir, I am in good health, 
 and all your children prays for your daly blessing. And 
 all your servants is in good health and prays diligently 
 for your good speed in your matters." 
 
 The generally courteous tone of the letters of those 
 days may be judged of by the following example. The 
 reader will observe how small a space is occupied with 
 the substance of the letter in comparison with the ex- 
 pressions of pure courtesy, and how simply and hand- 
 somely regret for the trespass is expressed. 
 
 " To his worshipful Cosin, Sir Robart Plompton^ Kt. 
 
 "Right reverend and worshipful Cosin, I commend 
 me unto you as hertyly as I can, evermore desiring to 
 heare of your welfare, the which I besech Jesu to con- 
 tinew to his pleasure, and your herts desire. Cosin, 
 please you witt that I am enformed, that a poor man 
 somtyme belonging to mee, called Umfrey Bell, hath 
 trespased to a servant of youres, which I am sory for. 
 Wherefore, Cosin, I desire and hartily pray you to take 
 upp the matter into your own hands for my sake, and 
 rewle him as it please you ; and therin you wil do, as 
 I may do that may be plesur to you, and my contry, 
 the which I shalbe redy too, by the grace of God, who 
 preserve you. 
 
 " By your own kynsman, 
 
 " ROBART WARCOPP, of Warcoppe."
 
 308 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 The reader has no doubt by this time enough of 
 these old letters, which are not likely to possess much 
 charm for him unless, like the present writer, he is 
 rather of an antiquarian turn. 1 
 
 The quotations are enough to show some of the 
 forms used in correspondence by our forefathers, forms 
 that were right in their own day, when the state of society 
 was more ceremonious and deferential, but no one would 
 propose to revive them. We may, however, still value 
 and cultivate the beautifully courteous spirit that our 
 ancestors possessed and express it in our own modern 
 ways. 
 
 I have already observed that the essentially modern 
 form of courtesy is the rapidity of our replies. This, at 
 least, is a virtue that we can resolutely cultivate and 
 maintain. In some countries it is pushed so far that 
 telegrams are very frequently sent when there is no need 
 to employ the telegraph. The Arabs of Algeria' are ex- 
 tremely fond of telegraphing for its own sake ; the notion 
 of its rapidity pleases and amuses them, they like to wield 
 a power so wonderful. It is said that the Americans 
 constantly employ the telegraph on very trivial occa- 
 sions, and the habit is increasing in England and France. 
 The secret desire of the present age is to find a plausible 
 excuse for excessive brevity in correspondence, and this 
 
 1 For those who take an interest in such matters I may say that 
 the last representative of the Plumptons died in France unmarried 
 in 1749, and Plumpton Hall was barbarously pulled down by its 
 purchaser, an ancestor of the present Earls of Harewood. The 
 history of the family is very interesting, and the more so to me that 
 it twice intermarried with my own. Dorothy Plumpton was a 
 niece of the first Sir Stephen Hamerton.
 
 xxii.] EPISTOLARY COMMUNICATION. 309 
 
 is supplied by the comparative costliness of telegraphing. 
 It is a comfort that it allows you to send a single word. 
 I have heard of a letter from a son to a father consisting 
 of the Latin word Ibo, and of a still briefer one from the 
 father to the son confined entirely to the imperative / 
 These miracles of brevity are only possible in letters 
 between the most intimate friends or relations, but in 
 telegraphy they are common. 
 
 It is very difficult for courtesy to survive this modern 
 passion for brevity, and we see it more and more openly 
 cast aside. All the long phrases of politeness have been 
 abandoned in English correspondence for a generation, 
 except in formal letters to official or very dignified 
 personages, and the little that remains is reduced to a 
 mere shred of courteous or affectionate expression. We 
 have not, it is true, the detestable habit of abridging 
 words as our ancestors often did, but we cut our phrases 
 short, and sometimes even words of courtesy are abridged 
 in an unbecoming manner. Men will write D r - Sir for 
 Dear Sir. If I am dear enough to these correspondents 
 for their sentiments of affection to be worth uttering at 
 all, why should they be so chary of expressing them that 
 they omit two letters from the very word which is 
 intended to affect my feelings ? 
 
 "If I be dear, if I be dear," 
 
 as the poet says, why should my correspondent begrudge 
 me the four letters of so brief an adjective ? 
 
 The long French and Italian forms of ceremony at 
 the close of letters are felt to be burdensome in the 
 present day and are gradually giving place to briefer 
 ones, but it is the very length of them, and the time and
 
 310 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 trouble they cost to write, that make them so courteous, 
 and no brief form can ever be an effective substitute in 
 that respect. 
 
 I was once placed in the rather embarrassing position 
 of having suddenly to send telegrams in my own name, 
 containing a request, to two high foreign authorities in a 
 corps where punctilious ceremony is very strictly observed. 
 My solution of the difficulty was to write two full cere- 
 monious letters with all the formal expressions unabridged, 
 and then have these letters telegraphed in extenso. This 
 was the only possible solution, as an ordinary telegram 
 would have been entirely out of the question. It being 
 rather expensive to telegraph a very formal letter, the 
 cost added to the appearance of deference, so I had the 
 curious but very real advantage on my side that I made 
 a telegram seem even more deferential than a letter. 
 
 The convenience of the letter-writer is consulted in 
 inverse ratio to the appearances of courtesy. In the 
 matter of sealing, for example, that seems so slight and 
 indifferent a concern, a question of ceremony and 
 courtesy is involved. The old-fashioned custom of a 
 large seal with the sender's arms or cipher added to the 
 importance of the contents both by strictly guarding the 
 privacy of the communication and by the dignified 
 assertion of the writer's rank. Besides this, the time 
 that it costs to take a proper impression of a seal shows 
 the absence of hurry and the disposition to sacrifice 
 which are a part of all noble courtesy ; whilst the act of 
 rapidly licking the gum on the inside of an envelope and 
 then giving it a thump with your fist to make it stick 
 is neither dignified nor elegant. There were certain 
 beautiful associations with the act of sealing. There was
 
 xxn.] EPISTOLARY COMMUNICATION. 311 
 
 the taper that had to be lighted and that had its own 
 little candlestick of chased or gilded silver, or delicately 
 painted porcelain; there was the polished and graven stone 
 of the seal, itself more or less precious, and enhanced in 
 value by an art of high antiquity and noble associations, 
 and this graven signet -stone was set in massive gold. 
 The act of sealing was deliberate, to secure a fair impres- 
 sion, and as the wax caught flame and melted it dis- 
 engaged a delicate perfume. These little things may be 
 laughed at by a generation of practical men of business 
 who know the value of every second, but they had their 
 importance, and have it still, amongst those who possess 
 any delicacy of perception. 1 The reader will remember 
 the sealing of Nelson's letter to the Crown Prince of 
 Denmark during the battle of Copenhagen. " A wafer 
 was given him," says Southey, " but he ordered a candle 
 to be brought from the cockpit, and sealed the letter 
 with wax, affixing a larger seal than he ordinarily used. 
 ' This,' said he, ' is no time to appear hurried and 
 
 1 Sir Walter Scott had sympathy enough with the courtesy of 
 old time to note its minutiae very closely. 
 
 " After inspecting the cavalry, Sir Everard again conducted his 
 nephew to the library, where he produced a letter, carefully folded, 
 surrounded by a little stripe offlox-silk, according to ancient form, and 
 sealed with an accurate impression of the Waverley coat-of-anns. 
 It was addressed, with great formality, ' To Cosmo Comyne Brad- 
 wardine, Esq. , of Bradwardine, at his principal mansion of Tully- 
 Veolan, in Perthshire, North Britain. These by the hands of 
 Captain Edward Waverley, nephew of Sir Everard Waverley, of 
 Waverley- Honour, Bart." Waverley, chap. vi. 
 
 I had not this passage in mind when writing the text of this 
 essay, but the reader will notice how closely it confirms what I have 
 said about deliberation and care to secure a fair impression of the 
 seal.
 
 312 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 informal.' " The story is usually told as a striking 
 example of Nelson's coolness in a time of intense excite- 
 ment, but it might be told with equal effect as a proof 
 of his knowledge of mankind and of the trifles which 
 have a powerful effect on human intercourse. The pre- 
 ference of wax to a wafer, and especially the deliberate 
 choice of a larger seal as more ceremonious and import- 
 ant, are clear evidence of diplomatic skill. No doubt, 
 too, the impression of Nelson's arms was very careful 
 and clear. 
 
 In writing to French Ministers of State it is a tradi- 
 tional custom to employ a certain paper called " papier 
 ministre," which is very much larger than that sent to 
 ordinary mortals. Paper is by no means a matter of 
 indifference. It is the material costume under which 
 we present ourselves to persons removed from us by 
 distance, and as a man pays a call in handsome clothes 
 as a sign of respect to others, and also of self-respect, so 
 he sends a piece of handsome paper to be the bearer of 
 his salutation. Besides, a letter is in itself a gift, though 
 a small one, and however trifling a gift may be it must 
 never be shabby. The English understand this art of 
 choosing good-looking letter-paper, and are remarkable 
 for using it of a thickness rare in other nations. French 
 love of elegance has led to charming inventions of tint 
 and texture, particularly in delicate gray tints, and these 
 papers are now often decorated with embossed initials 
 or heraldic devices on a large scale, but that is carrying 
 prettiness too far. The common American habit of 
 writing letters on ruled paper is not to be recommended, 
 as the ruling reminds us of copy-books and account- 
 books, and has a mechanical appearance that greatly
 
 xxii.] EPISTOLARY COMMUNICATION. 313 
 
 detracts from what ought to be the purely personal air 
 of an autograph. 
 
 Modern love of despatch has led to the invention of 
 the post-card, which, from our present point of view, that 
 of courtesy, deserves unhesitating condemnation. To 
 use a post-card is as much as to say to your correspond- 
 ent, " In order to save for myself a very little money 
 and a very little time, I will expose the subject of our 
 correspondence to the eyes of any clerk, postman, or 
 servant, who feels the slightest curiosity about it, and I 
 take this small piece of card, of which I am allowed to 
 use one side only, in order to relieve myself from the obli- 
 gation, and spare myself the trouble, of writing a letter." 
 To make the convenience absolutely perfect, it is cus- 
 tomary in England to omit the opening and concluding 
 salutations on post-cards, so that they are the neplus ultra, 
 I will not say of positive rudeness, but of that negative 
 rudeness which is not exactly the opposite of courtesy 
 but its absence. Here again, however, comes the 
 modern principle that promptitude and frequency of 
 communication may be accepted as a compensation for 
 the sacrifice of formality. It may be argued, and with 
 reason, that when a man of our own day sends a post- 
 card his ancestors would have been still more laconic, 
 for they would have sent nothing at all, and that there 
 are a thousand circumstances in which a post-card may 
 be written when it is not possible to write a letter. A 
 husband on his travels has a supply of such cards in a 
 pocket-book. With these, and his pencil, he writes a 
 line once or twice a day in train or steamboat, or at 
 table between two dishes, or on the windy platform of a 
 railway station, or in the street when he sees a letter-box.
 
 3H HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 He sends fifty such communications where his father 
 would have written three letters, and his grandfather one 
 slowly composed and slowly travelling epistle. 
 
 Many modern correspondents appreciate the con- 
 venience of the post-card, but their conscience, as that 
 of well-bred people, cannot get over the fault of its pub- 
 licity. For these the stationers have devised several 
 different substitutes. There is the French plan of what 
 is called " Un Mot a la Poste," a piece of paper with a 
 single fold, gummed round the other three edges, and 
 perforated like postage - stamps for the facility of the 
 opener. 1 There is the miniature sheet of paper that 
 you have not to fold, and there is the card that you 
 enclose in an envelope, and that prepares the reader for 
 a very brief communication. Here, again, is a very 
 curious illustration of the sacrificial nature of courtesy. 
 A card is sent ; why a card ? Why not a piece of paper 
 of the same size which would hold as many words? 
 The answer is that a card is handsomer and more costly, 
 and from its stiffness a little easier to take out of the 
 envelope, and pleasanter to hold whilst reading, so that 
 a small sacrifice is made to the pleasure and convenience 
 of the receiver, which is the essence of courtesy in letter- 
 writing. All this brief correspondence is the offspring 
 of the electric telegraph. Our forefathers were not used 
 
 1 A very odd but very real objection to the employment of 
 these missives is that the receiver does not always know how to 
 open them, and may burn them unread. I remember sending a 
 short letter in this shape from France to an English lady. She 
 destroyed my letter without opening it, and I got for answer that 
 "if it was a French custom to send blank post-cards she did not 
 know what could be the signification of it." Such was the result 
 of a well-meant attempt to avoid the non-courteous post-card !
 
 xxii.] EPISTOLAR Y COMMUNICA TION. 3 1 5 
 
 to it, and would have regarded it as an offence. Even 
 at the present date (1884) it is not quite safe to write in 
 our brief modern way to persons who came to maturity 
 before the electric telegraph was in use. 
 
 There is a wide distinction between brevity and hurry ; 
 in fact, brevity, if of the intelligent kind, is the best pre- 
 servative against hurry. Some men write short letters, 
 but are very careful to observe all the forms, and they 
 have the great advantage that the apparent importance 
 of the formal expressions is enhanced by the shortness 
 of the letter itself. This is the case in Robert Warcopp's 
 letter to Sir Robert Plumpton. 
 
 When hurry really exists, and it is impossible to avoid 
 the appearance of it, as when a letter cannot be brief, 
 yet must be written at utmost speed, the proper course 
 is to apologise for hurry at the beginning and not at the 
 end of the letter. The reader is then propitiated at 
 once and excuses the slovenly penmanship and style. 
 
 It is remarkable that legibility of handwriting should 
 never have been considered as among the essentials of 
 courtesy in correspondence. It is obviously for the 
 convenience of the reader that a letter should be easily 
 read, but here another consideration intervenes. To 
 write very legibly is the accomplishment of clerks and 
 writing-masters who are usually poor men, and, as such, 
 do not hold a high social position. Aristocratic pride 
 has always had it for a principle to disdain, for itself, 
 the accomplishments of professional men, and therefore 
 a careless scrawl is more aristocratic than a clean hand- 
 writing, if the scrawl is of a fashionable kind. Perhaps 
 the historic origin of this feeling may be the scorn of 
 the ignorant mediaeval baron for writing of all kinds as
 
 316 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 beneath the attention of a warrior. In a cultured age 
 there may be a reason of a higher order. It may be 
 supposed that attention to mechanical excellence is 
 incompatible with the action of the intellect, and people 
 are curiously ready to imagine incompatibilities where 
 they do not really exist. As a matter of fact, some men 
 of eminent intellectual gifts write with as exquisite a 
 clearness in the formation of their letters as in the eluci- 
 dation of their ideas. It is easily forgotten, too, that 
 the same person may use different kinds of handwriting, 
 according to circumstances, like the gentleman whose 
 best hand some people could read, whose middling 
 hand the writer himself could read, and whose worst 
 neither he nor any other human being could decipher. 
 Legouve, in his exquisite way, tells a charming story of 
 how he astonished a little girl by excelling her in cali- 
 graphy. His scribble is all but illegible, and she was 
 laughing at it one day when he boldly challenged her to 
 a trial Both sat down and formed their letters with 
 great patience, as in a writing class, and it turned out to 
 the girl's amazement that the scribbling Academician had 
 by far the more copperplate-like hand of the two. He 
 then explained that his bad writing was simply the result 
 of speed. Frenchmen provokingly reserve their very 
 worst and most illegible writing for the signature. You 
 are able to read the letter but not the signature, and if 
 there is not some other means of ascertaining the writer's 
 name you are utterly at fault. 
 
 The old habit of crossing letters, now happily aban- 
 doned, was a direct breach of real, though not of what 
 in former days were conventional, good manners. To 
 cross a letter is as much as to say "In order to spare
 
 xxn.] EPISTOLAR Y CO MM UN 1C A TION. 3 1 7 
 
 myself the cost of another sheet of paper or an extra 
 stamp, I am quite willing to inflict upon you, my reader, 
 the trouble of disengaging one set of lines from another." 
 Very economical people in the past generation saved 
 an occasional penny in another way at the cost of the 
 reader's eyes. They diluted their ink with water, till the 
 recipient of the letter cried, " Prithee, why so pale?" 
 
 The modern type-writing machine has the advantage 
 of making all words equally legible, but the receiver of 
 the printed letter is likely to feel on opening it a slight 
 yet perceptible shock of the kind always caused by a 
 want of consideration. The letter so printed is un- 
 doubtedly easier to read than all but the very clearest 
 manuscript, and so far it may be considered a politeness 
 to use the instrument ; but unluckily it is impersonal, so 
 that the performer on the instrument seems far removed 
 from the receiver of the letter and not in that direct 
 communication with him which would be apparent in 
 an autograph. The effect on the mind is almost like 
 that of a printed circular, or at least of a letter which 
 has been dictated to a shorthand writer. 
 
 The dictation of letters is allowable in business, 
 because men of business have to use the utmost attain- 
 able despatch, and (like the use of the lead pencil) it is 
 permitted to invalids, but with these exceptions it is 
 sure to produce a feeling of distance almost resembling 
 discourtesy. In the first place, a dictated letter is not 
 strictly private, its contents being already known to the 
 amanuensis; and besides this it is felt that the reason for 
 dictating letters is the composer's convenience, which he 
 ought not to consult so obviously. If he dictates to a 
 shorthand writer he is evidently chary of his valuable
 
 3i8 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 time, whereas courtesy always at least seems willing to 
 sacrifice time to others. These remarks, I repeat, have 
 no reference to business correspondence which has its 
 own code of good manners. 
 
 The most irritating letters to receive are those which 
 under a great show of courtesy with many phrases, and 
 many kind inquiries about your health and that of your 
 household, and even with some news adapted to your 
 taste, contain some short sentence which betrays the 
 fact'that the whole letter was written with a manifestly 
 selfish purpose. The proper answer to such letters is a 
 brief business answer to the one essential sentence that 
 revealed the writer's object, not taking any notice what- 
 ever of the froth of courteous verbiage. 
 
 Is it a part of necessary good breeding to answer 
 letters at all ? Are we really, in the nature of things, 
 under the obligation to take a piece of paper and write 
 phrases and sentences thereupon because it has pleased 
 somebody at a distance to spend his time in that 
 manner ? 
 
 This requires consideration ; there can be no general 
 rule. It seems to me that people commit the error of 
 transferring the subject from the region of oral conver- 
 sation to the region of written intercourse. If a man 
 asked me the way in the street it would be rudeness on 
 my part not to answer him, because the answer is easily 
 given and costs no appreciable time, but in written 
 correspondence the case is essentially different. I am 
 burdened with work; every hour, every minute of my 
 day is apportioned to some definite duty or necessary 
 rest, and three strangers make use of the post to ask me 
 questions. To answer them I must make references ;
 
 xxii.] EPISTOLARY COMMUNICATION. 319 
 
 however brief the letters may be they will take time 
 altogether the three will consume an hour. Have these 
 correspondents any right to expect me to work an hour 
 for them? Would a cabman drive them about the 
 streets of London during an hour for nothing ? Would 
 a waterman pull them an hour on the Thames for 
 nothing? Would a shoe-black brush their boots and 
 trousers an hour for nothing ? And why am I to serve 
 these men gratuitously and be called an ill-bred dis- 
 courteous person if I tacitly decline to be their servant ? 
 We owe sacrifices occasional sacrifices of this kind to 
 friends and relations, and we can afford them to a few, 
 but we are under no obligation to answer everybody. 
 Those whom we do answer may be thankful for a word 
 on a post-card in Gladstone's brief but sufficient fashion. 
 I am very much of the opinion of Rudolphe in Ponsard's 
 LHonneur et T Argent. A friend asks him what he does 
 about letters : 
 
 Rudolphe. Je les mets 
 
 Soigneusement en poche et ne reponds jamais. 
 
 Premier Ami. Oh ! vous raillez. 
 
 Rudolphe. Non pas. Je ne puis pas admettre 
 Qu'un importun m' oblige a repondre a sa lettre, 
 Et, parcequ'il lui plait de noircir du papier 
 Me condamne moi-meme a ce facheux metier.
 
 ESSAY XXIII. 
 
 LETTERS OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 IF the art of writing had been unknown till now, and if 
 the invention of it were suddenly to burst upon the 
 world as did that of the telephone, one of the things 
 most generally said in praise of it would be this. It 
 would be said "What a gain to friendship now that 
 friends can communicate in spite of separation by the 
 very widest distances ! " 
 
 Yet we have possessed this means of communication, 
 the fullest and best of all, from remote antiquity, and we 
 scarcely make any use of it certainly not any use at all 
 responding to its capabilities, and as time goes on, in- 
 stead of developing those capabilities by practice in the 
 art of friendly correspondence, we allow them to diminish 
 by disuse. 
 
 The lowering of cost for the transport of letters, instead 
 of making friendly correspondents numerous, has made 
 them few. The cheap postage-stamp has increased 
 business correspondence prodigiously, but it has had a 
 very different effect on that of friendship. Great num- 
 bers of men whose business correspondence is heavy 
 scarcely write letters of friendship at all Their minds 
 produce the business letter as by a second nature, and 
 are otherwise sterile.
 
 ESSAY xxni.] LETTERS OF FRIENDSHIP. 321 
 
 As for the facilities afforded by steam communication 
 with distant countries, they seem to be of little use to 
 friendship, since a moderate distance soon puts a stop 
 to friendly communication. Except in cases of strong 
 affection the Straits of Dover are an effectual though 
 imaginary bar to intercourse of this kind, not to speak 
 of the great oceans. 
 
 The impediment created by a narrow sea is, as I have 
 said, imaginary, but we may speculate on the reasons for 
 it, and my own reflections have ended in the somewhat 
 strange conclusion that it must have something to do 
 with sea -sickness. It must be that people dislike the 
 idea of writing a letter that will have to cross a narrow 
 channel of salt-water, because they vaguely and dimly 
 dread the motion of the vessel. Nobody would con- 
 sciously avow to himself such a sympathy with a missive 
 exempt from all human ills, but the feeling may be un- 
 consciously present. How else are we to account for 
 the remarkable fact that salt-water breaks friendly com- 
 munication by letter ? If you go to live anywhere out 
 of your native island your most intimate friends cease to 
 give any news of themselves. They do not even send 
 printed announcements of the marriages and deaths in 
 their families. This does not imply any cessation of 
 friendly feeling on their part. If you appeared in Eng- 
 land again they would welcome you with the utmost 
 kindness and hospitality, but they do not like to post 
 anything that will have to cross the sea. The news- 
 vendors have not the same delicate imaginative sympathy 
 with the possible sufferings of rag-pulp, so you get your 
 English journals and find therein, by pure accident, the 
 marriage of one intimate old friend and the death of 
 
 y
 
 322 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 another. You excuse the married man because he is too 
 much intoxicated with happiness to be responsible for 
 any omission, and you excuse the dead man because he 
 cannot send letters from another world. Still you think 
 that somebody not preoccupied by bridal joys or im- 
 peded by the last paralysis might have sent you a line 
 directly, were it only a printed card. 
 
 Not only do the writers of letters feel a difficulty in 
 sending their manuscript across the sea, but people 
 appear to have a sense of difficulty in correspondence 
 proportionate to the distance the letter will have to 
 traverse. One would infer that they really experience, 
 by the power of imagination, a feeling of fatigue in send- 
 ing a letter on a long journey. If this is not so, how 
 are we to account for the fact that the rarity of letters 
 from friends increases in exact proportion to our remote- 
 ness from them ? A simple person without correspond- 
 ence would naturally imagine that it would be resorted 
 to as a solace for separation, and that the greater the 
 distance the more the separated friends would desire to 
 be drawn together occasionally by its means, but in 
 practice this rarely happens. People will communicate 
 by letter across a space of a hundred miles when they 
 will not across a thousand. 
 
 The very smallest impediments are of importance 
 when the desire for intercourse is languid. The cost of 
 postage to colonies and to countries within the Postal 
 Union is trifling, but still it is heavier than the cost of 
 internal postage, and it may be unconsciously felt as an 
 impediment. Another slight impediment is that the 
 answer to a letter sent to a great distance cannot arrive 
 next day, so that he who writes in hope of an answer
 
 xxiii.] LETTERS OF FRIENDSHIP. 323 
 
 is like a trader who cannot expect an immediate return 
 for an investment. 
 
 To prevent friendships from dying out entirely through 
 distance, the French have a custom which seems, but is 
 not, an empty form. On or about New Year's Day they 
 send cards to all friends and many acquaintances, how- 
 ever far away. The useful effects of this custom are the 
 following : 
 
 1. It acquaints you with the fact that your friend is 
 still alive pleasing information if you care to see him 
 again. 
 
 2. It shows you that he has not forgotten you. 
 
 3. It gives you his present address. 
 
 4. In case of marriage you receive his wife's card 
 along with his own, and if he is dead you receive no 
 card at all, which is at least a negative intimation. 1 
 
 This custom has also an effect upon written corre- 
 spondence, as the printed card affords the opportunity 
 of writing a letter, when, without the address, the letter 
 might not be written. When the address is well known 
 the card often suggests the idea of writing. 
 
 When warm friends send visiting-cards they often add 
 a few words of manuscript on the card itself, expressing 
 friendly sentiments and giving a scrap of brief but 
 welcome news. 
 
 Here is a suggestion to a generation that thinks 
 friendly letter -writing irksome. With a view to the 
 sparing of time and trouble, which is the great object of 
 modern life (sparing, that is, in order to waste in other 
 ways), cards might be printed as forms of invitation are, 
 
 1 Besides which, in the case of a French friend, you are sure to 
 have notice of such events by printed lettres de faire part.
 
 324 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 leaving only a few blanks to be filled up ; or there might 
 be a public signal-book in which the phrases most likely 
 to be useful might be represented by numbers. 
 
 The abandonment of letter-writing between friends is 
 the more to be regretted that, unless our friends are 
 public persons, we receive no news of them indirectly ; 
 therefore, when we leave their neighbourhood, the 
 separation is of that complete kind which resembles 
 temporary death. "No word comes from the dead," 
 and no word comes from those silent friends. It is a 
 melancholy thought in leaving a friend of this kind, 
 when you shake hands at the station and still hear the 
 sound of his voice, that in a few minutes he will be dead 
 to you for months or years. The separation from a 
 corresponding friend is shorn of half its sorrows. You 
 know that he will write, and when he writes it requires 
 little imagination to hear his voice again. 
 
 To write, however, is not all. For correspondence 
 to reach its highest value both friends must have the 
 natural gift of friendly letter-writing, which may be defined 
 as the power of talking on paper in such a manner as to 
 represent their own minds with perfect fidelity in their 
 friendly aspect. 
 
 This power is not common. A man may be a 
 charming companion, full of humour and gaiety, a well 
 of knowledge, an excellent talker, yet his correspondence 
 may not reveal the possession of these gifts. Some men 
 are so constituted that as soon as they take a pen their 
 faculties freeze. I remember a case of the same con- 
 gelation in another art. A certain painter had exuberant 
 humour and mimicry with a marked talent for strong 
 effects in talk ; in short he had the gifts of an actor, and,
 
 xxni.] LETTERS OF FRIENDSHIP. 325 
 
 as Pius VII. called Napoleon L, he was both commediante 
 and tragediante. Any one who knew him, and did not 
 know his paintings, would have supposed at once that 
 a man so gifted must have painted the most animated 
 works, but it so happened (from some cause in the 
 deepest mysteries of his nature) that whenever he took 
 up a brush or a pencil his humour, his tragic power, and 
 his love of telling effects all suddenly left him, and he 
 was as timid, slow, sober, and generally ineffectual in his 
 painting as he was full of fire and energy in talk. So it 
 is in writing. That which ought to be the pouring forth 
 of a man's nature often liberates only a part of his nature, 
 and perhaps that part which has least to do with friend- 
 ship. Your friend delights you by his ease and affec- 
 tionate charm of manner, by the happiness of his expres- 
 sions, by his wit, by the extent of his information, all 
 these being qualities that social intercourse brings out 
 in him as colours are revealed by light. The same man, 
 in dull solitude at his desk, may write a letter from which 
 every one of these qualities may be totally absent, and 
 instead of them he may offer you a piece of perfunctory 
 duty -writing which, as you see quite plainly, he only 
 wanted to get done with, and in which you do not find 
 a trace of your friend's real character. Such correspond- 
 ence as that is worth having only so far as it informs you 
 of your friend's existence and of his health. 
 
 Another and a very different way in which a man 
 may represent himself unfairly in correspondence, so that 
 his letters are not his real self, is when he finds that he 
 has some particular talent as a writer and unconsciously 
 cultivates that talent when he holds a pen, whereas his 
 real self has many other qualities that remain unrepre-
 
 326 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 sented. In this way humour may become the dominant 
 quality in the letters of a correspondent whose conversa- 
 tion is not dominantly humorous. 
 
 Habits of business sometimes produce the effect that 
 the confirmed business correspondent will write to his 
 friend willingly and promptly on any matter of business, 
 and will give him excellent advice, and be glad of the 
 opportunity of rendering him a service, but he will shrink 
 from the unaccustomed effort of writing any other kind 
 of letter. 
 
 There is a strong temptation to blame silent friends 
 and praise good correspondents, but we do not reflect 
 that letter -writing is a task to some and a pleasure to 
 others, and that if people may sometimes be justly blamed 
 for shirking a corvee they can never deserve praise for 
 indulging in an amusement. There is a particular reason 
 why, when friendly letter-writing is a task, it is more will- 
 ingly put off than many other tasks that appear far heavier 
 and harder. It is either a real pleasure or a feigned 
 pleasure, and feigned pleasures are the most wearisome 
 things in life, far more wearisome than acknowledged 
 work. For in work you have a plain thing to do and 
 you see the end of it, and there is no need for ambages 
 at the beginning or for a graceful retiring at the close ; 
 but a feigned pleasure has its own observances that must 
 be gone through whether one has any heart for them or 
 not. The groom who cleans a rich man's stable, and 
 whistles at his work, is happier than the guest at a state 
 dinner who is trying to look other than what he is, a 
 wearied victim of feigned and formal pleasure with a set 
 false smile upon his face. In writing a business letter 
 you have nothing to affect, but a letter of friendship,
 
 xxin.] LETTERS OF FRIENDSHIP. 327 
 
 unless you have the real inspiration for it, is a narrative 
 of things you have no true impulse to narrate, and the 
 expression of feelings which (even if they be in some 
 degree existent) you do not earnestly desire to utter. 
 
 The sentiment of friendship is in general rather a 
 quiet feeling of regard than any lively enthusiasm. It 
 may be counted upon for what it is a disposition to 
 receive the friend with a welcome or to render him an 
 occasional service, but there is not, commonly, enough 
 of it to be a perennial warm fountain of literary inspira- 
 tion. Therefore the worst mistake in dealing with a 
 friend is to reproach him for not having been cordial 
 and communicative enough. Sometimes this reproach 
 is made, especially by women, and the immediate effect 
 of it is to close whatever communicativeness there may 
 be. If the friend wrote little before being reproached, 
 he will write less after. 
 
 The true inspiration of the friendly letter is the per- 
 fect faith that all the concerns of the writer will interest 
 his friend. If James, who is separated by distance from 
 John, thinks that John will not care about what James 
 has been doing, hoping, suffering, the fount of friendly 
 correspondence is frozen at its source. James ought to 
 believe that John loves him enough to care about every 
 little thing that can affect his happiness, even to the 
 sickness of his old horse or the accident that happened 
 to his dog when the scullery-maid threw scalding water 
 out of the kitchen window ; then there will be no lack, 
 and James will babble on innocently through many a 
 page, and never have to think. 
 
 The believer in friendship, he who has the true un- 
 doubting faith, writes with perfect carelessness about
 
 328 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 great things and small, avoiding neither serious interests, 
 as a wary man would, nor trivial ones that might be 
 passed over by a writer avaricious of his time. William 
 of Orange, in his letters to Bentinck, appears to have 
 been the model of friendly correspondents, and he was 
 so because his letters reflected not a part only of his 
 thinking and living, but the whole of it, as if nothing 
 that concerned him could possibly be without interest 
 for the man he loved. Familiar as it must be to many 
 readers, I cannot but quote a passage from Macaulay. 
 
 " The descendants of Bentinck still preserve many 
 letters written by William to their master, and it is not 
 too much to say that no person who has not studied 
 those letters can form a correct notion of the Prince's char- 
 acter. He whom even his admirers generally accounted 
 the most frigid and distant of men here forgets all dis- 
 tinctions of rank, and pours out all his thoughts with 
 the ingenuousness of a schoolboy. He imparts without 
 reserve secrets of the highest moment. He explains 
 with perfect simplicity vast designs affecting all the 
 governments of Europe. Mingled with his communi- 
 cations on such subjects are other communications of 
 a very different but perhaps not of a less interesting 
 kind. All his adventures, all his personal feelings, his 
 long runs after enormous stags, his carousals on St. 
 Hubert's Day, the growth of his plantations, the failure 
 of his melons, the state of his stud, his wish to procure 
 an easy pad -nag for his wife, his vexation at learning 
 that one of his household, after ruining a girl of good 
 family, refused to marry her, his fits of sea-sickness, his 
 coughs, his headaches, his devotional moods, his grati- 
 tude for the Divine protection after a great escape, his
 
 xxiir.] LETTERS OF FRIENDSHIP. 329 
 
 struggles to submit himself to the divine will after a 
 disaster, are described with an amiable garrulity hardly 
 to have been expected from the most discreetly sedate 
 statesman of his age. Still more remarkable is the 
 careless effusion of his tenderness, and the brotherly 
 interest which he takes in his friend's domestic felicity." 
 
 Friendly letters easily run over from sheet to sheet 
 till they become ample and voluminous. I received a 
 welcome epistle of twenty pages recently, and have seen 
 another from a young man to his comrade which exceeded 
 fifty ; but the grandest letter that I ever heard of was 
 from Gustave Dore to a very old lady whom he liked. 
 He was travelling in Switzerland, and sent her a letter 
 eighty pages long, full of lively pen -sketches for her 
 entertainment. Artists often insert sketches in their 
 letters a graceful habit, as it adds to their interest and 
 value. 
 
 The talent for scribbling friendly letters implies some 
 rough literary power, but may coexist with other literary 
 powers of a totally different kind, and, as it seems, in 
 perfect independence of them. There is no apparent 
 connection between the genius in Childe Harold, Man- 
 fred, Cain, and the talent of a lively letter -writer, yet 
 Byron was the best careless letter-writer in English whose 
 correspondence has been published and preserved He 
 said " dreadful is the exertion of letter- writing," but by 
 this he must have meant the first overcoming of indo- 
 lence to begin the letter, for when once in motion his 
 pen travelled with consummate naturalness and ease, 
 and the exertion is not to be perceived. The length 
 and subject of his communications were indeterminate. 
 He scribbled on and on, every passing mood being
 
 330 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 reflected and fixed for ever in his letters, which com- 
 plete our knowledge of him by showing us the action 
 of his mind in ordinary times as vividly as the poems 
 display its power in moments of highest exaltation. We 
 follow his mental phases from minute to minute. He 
 is not really in one state and pretending to be in another 
 for form's sake, so you have all his moods, and the letters 
 are alive. The transitions are quick as thought. He 
 darts from one topic to another with the freedom and 
 agility of a bird, dwelling on each just long enough to 
 satisfy his present need, but not an instant longer, and 
 this without any reference to the original subject or 
 motive of the letter. He is one of those perfect corre- 
 spondents qui causent avec la flume. Men, women, and 
 things, comic and tragic adventures, magnificent scenery, 
 historical cities, all that his mind spontaneously notices 
 in the world, are touched upon briefly yet with consum- 
 mate power. Though the sentences were written in the 
 most careless haste and often in the strangest situations, 
 many a paragraph is so dense in its substance, so full of 
 matter, that one could not abridge it without loss. But 
 the supreme merit of Byron's letters is that they record 
 his own sensations with such fidelity. What do I, the 
 receiver of a letter, care for second-hand opinions about 
 anything? I can hear the fashionable opinions from 
 echoes innumerable. What I do want is a bit of my 
 friend himself, of his own peculiar idiosyncrasy, and if 
 I get that it matters nothing that his feelings and opinions 
 should be different from mine, nay, the more they differ 
 from mine the more freshness and amusement they 
 bring me. All Byron's correspondents might be sure 
 of getting a bit of the real Byron. He never describes
 
 xxiii.] LETTERS OF FRIENDSHIP. 331 
 
 anything without conveying the exact effect upon himself. 
 Writing to his publisher from Rome in 1817, he gives 
 in a single paragraph a powerful description of the execu- 
 tion of three robbers by the guillotine (rather too terrible 
 to quote), and at the end of it comes the personal effect. 
 " The pain seems little, and yet the effect to the specta- 
 tor and the preparation to the criminal are very striking 
 and chilling. The first turned me quite hot and thirsty, 
 and made me shake so that I could hardly hold the 
 opera-glass (I was close, but was determined to see as one 
 should see everything once, with attention) ; the second 
 and third (which shows how dreadfully soon things grow 
 indifferent), I am ashamed to say, had no effect on me 
 as a horror, though I would have saved them if I could." 
 
 How accurately this experience is described with no 
 affectation of impassible courage (he trembles at first 
 like a woman) or of becoming emotion afterwards, the 
 instant that the real emotion ceased ! Only some pity 
 remains " I would have saved them if I could." 
 
 The bits of frank criticism thrown into his letters, 
 often quite by chance, were not the least interesting 
 elements in Byron's correspondence. Here is an 
 example, about a book that had been sent him : 
 
 "Modern Greece good for nothing; written by 
 some one who has never been there, and, not being able 
 to manage the Spenser stanza, has invented a thing of 
 his own, consisting of two elegiac stanzas, an heroic line 
 and an Alexandrine, twisted on a string. Besides, why 
 modern ? You may say modern Greeks, but surely Greece 
 itself is rather more ancient than ever it was." 
 
 The carelessness of Byron in letter-writing, his total 
 indifference to proportion and form, his inattention to
 
 332 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 the beginning, middle, and end of a letter, considered as 
 a literary composition, are not to be counted for faults, 
 as they would be in writings of any pretension. A 
 friendly letter is, by its nature, a thing without preten- 
 sion. The one merit of it which compensates for every 
 defect is to carry the living writer into the reader's 
 presence, such as he really is, not such as by study and 
 art he might make himself out to be. Byron was ener- 
 getic, impetuous, impulsive, quickly observant, disorderly, 
 generous, open-hearted, vain. All these qualities and 
 defects are as conspicuous in his correspondence as they 
 were in his mode of life. There have been better letter- 
 writers as to literary art to which he gave no thought 
 and the literary merits that his letters possess (their 
 clearness, their force of narrative and description, their 
 conciseness) are not the results of study, but the char- 
 acteristics of a vigorous mind. 
 
 The absolutely best friendly letter- writer known to 
 me is Victor Jacquemont. He, too, wrote according to 
 the inspiration of the moment, but it was so abundant 
 that it carried him on like a steadily-flowing tide. His 
 letters are wonderfully sustained, yet they are not com- 
 posed, they are as artless as Byron's, but much more full 
 and regular. Many scribblers have facility, a flux of 
 words, but who has Jacquemont's weight of matter along 
 with it? The development of his extraordinary epistolary 
 talent was due to another talent deprived of adequate 
 exercise by circumstances. Jacquemont was by nature 
 a brilliant, charming, amiable talker, and the circum- 
 stances were various situations in which this talker was 
 deprived of an audience, being often in long wanderings, 
 surrounded by dull or ignorant people. Ideas accumu-
 
 xxm.] LETTERS OF FRIENDSHIP. 333 
 
 lated in his mind till the accumulation became difficult 
 to bear, and he relieved himself by talking on paper to 
 friends at a distance, but intentionally only to one friend 
 at a time. He tried to forget that his letters were passed 
 round a circle of readers, and the idea that they would 
 be printed never once occurred to him. 
 
 " En ecrivant aujourd'hui aux uns et aux autres, j'ai 
 cherche' a oublier ce que tu me dis de 1'echange que chacun 
 fait des lettres qu'il regoit de moi. Cette pense'e m'aurait 
 retenu la plume, ou du moins, ne Faurait pas laissee couler 
 assez nonchalamment sur le papier pour en noircir, en un 
 jour, cinquante-huit feuilles, comme je 1'ai fait. . . . Je 
 sais et faime beaucoup causer a deux ; a trois, <?est autre 
 chose ; il en est de mme pour ecrire. Pour parler comme 
 je pense et sans blague, /'/ me faut la persuasion queje ne 
 serai hi que de celui a qui fecris" 
 
 To read these letters, in the four volumes of them 
 which have been happily preserved, is to live with 
 the courageous observer from day to day, to share 
 pleasures enjoyed with the freshness of sensation that 
 belongs to youth and strength, and privations borne with 
 the cheerfulness of a truly heroic spirit. 
 
 This essay would run to an inordinate length if I even 
 mentioned the best of the many letter -writers who are 
 known to us, and it is generally by some adventitious 
 circumstance that they have ever been known at all A 
 man wins fame in something quite outside of letter- 
 writing, and then his letters are collected and given to 
 the world, but perfectly obscure people may have been 
 equal or superior to him as correspondents. Occasion- 
 ally the letters of some obscure person are rescued from 
 oblivion. Madame de Remusat passed quietly through
 
 334 HUMAN INTERCOURSE, [ESSAY 
 
 life, and is now in a blaze of posthumous fame. Her 
 son decided upon the publication of her letters, and then 
 it became at once apparent that this lady had extra- 
 ordinary gifts of the observing and recording order, so 
 that her testimony, as an eye-witness of rare intelligence, 
 must affect all future estimates of the conqueror of 
 Austerlitz. There may be at this moment, there prob- 
 ably are, persons to whom the world attributes no literary 
 talent, yet who are cleverly preserving the very best 
 materials of history in careless letters to their friends. 
 
 It seems an indiscretion to read private letters, even 
 when they are in print, but it is an indiscretion we can- 
 not help committing. What can be more private than 
 a letter from a man to his wife on purely family matters? 
 Surely it is wrong to read such letters, but who could 
 repent having read that exquisite one from Tasso's father, 
 Bernardo Tasso, written to his wife about the education 
 of their children during an involuntary separation ? It 
 shows to what a degree a sheet of paper may be made 
 the vehicle of a tender affection. In the first page he 
 tries, and, lover-like, tries again and again, to find words 
 that will draw them together in spite of distance. "Not 
 merely often," he says, "but continually our thoughts 
 must meet upon the road." He expresses the fullest 
 confidence that her feelings for him are as strong and 
 true as his own for her, and that the weariness of separa- 
 tion is painful alike for both, only he fears that she will 
 be less able to bear the pain, not because she is wanting 
 in prudence but by reason of her abounding love. At 
 length the tender kindness of his expressions culminates 
 in one passionate outburst, "poi cK io amo voi in quello 
 estremo grado che si possa quiar cosa mortale."
 
 xxiii.] LETTERS OF FRIENDSHIP. 335 
 
 It would be difficult to find a stronger contrast than 
 that between Bernardo Tasso's warmth and the tranquil 
 coolness of Montaigne who just says enough to save 
 appearances in that one conjugal epistle of his which 
 has come down to us. He begins by quoting a sceptical 
 modern view of marriage, and then briefly disclaims it for 
 himself, but does not say exactly what his own senti- 
 ments may be, not having much ardour of affection to 
 express, and honestly avoiding any feigned declarations. 
 
 " Ma Femme vous entendez bien que ce n'est pas le 
 tour d'vn galand homme, aux reigles de ce temps icy, 
 de vous courtiser & caresser encore. Car ils disent 
 qu'vn habil homme peut bien prendre femme : mais que 
 de 1'espouser c'est k faire a vn sot. Laissons les dire : 
 ie me tiens de ma part \ la simple fagon du vieil aage, 
 aussi en porte-ie tantost le poil. Et de vray la mouuel- 
 lete couste si cher insqu'a ceste heure k ce pauure estat 
 (& si ie ne sgay si nous en sommes a la derniere 
 enchere) qu'en tout & par tout i'en quitte le party. 
 Viuons ma femme, vous & moy, a la vieille Franchise." 
 
 If friendship is maintained by correspondence it is 
 also liable to be imperilled by it. Not unfrequently 
 have men parted on the most amiable terms, looking 
 forward to a happy meeting, and not foreseeing the evil 
 effects of letters. Something will be written by one of 
 them, not quite acceptable to the other, who will either 
 remonstrate and cause a rupture in that way, or take his 
 trouble silently and allow friendship to die miserably of 
 her wound. Much experience is needed before we 
 entirely realise the danger of friendly intercourse on 
 paper. It is ten times more difficult to maintain a 
 friendship by letter than by personal intercourse, not for
 
 336 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY xxm. 
 
 the obvious reason that letter-writing requires an effort, 
 but because as soon as there is the slightest divergence 
 of views or difference in conduct, the expression of it or 
 the account of it in writing cannot be modified by kind- 
 ness in the eye or gentleness in the tone of voice. My 
 friend may say almost anything to me in his private 
 room, because whatever passes his lips will come with 
 tones that prove him to be still my friend, but if he 
 wrote down exactly the same words and a postman 
 handed me the written paper, they might seem hard, 
 unkind, and even hostile. It is strange how slow we 
 are to discover this in practice. We are accustomed to 
 speak with great freedom to intimate friends, and it is 
 only after painful mishaps that we completely realise the 
 truth that it is perilous to permit ourselves the same 
 liberty with the pen. As soon as we do realise it we see 
 the extreme folly of those who timidly avoid the oral 
 expression of friendly censure, and afterwards write it all 
 out in black ink and send it in a missive to the victim 
 when he has gone away. He receives the letter, feels it 
 to be a cold cruelty, and takes refuge from the vexations 
 of friendship in the toils of business, thanking Heaven 
 that in the region of plain facts there is small place for 
 sentiment
 
 ESSAY XXIV. 
 
 LETTERS OF BUSINESS. 
 
 THE possibilities of intercourse by correspondence are 
 usually under-estimated. 
 
 That there are great natural differences of talent for 
 letter-writing is certainly true, but it is equally true that 
 there are great natural differences of talent for oral 
 explanation, yet although we constantly hear people say 
 that this or that matter of business cannot be treated by 
 correspondence we never hear them say that it cannot 
 be treated by personal interviews. The value of the 
 personal interview is often as much over-estimated as 
 that of letters is depreciated, for if some men do best 
 with the tongue others are more effective with the pen. 
 
 It is presumed that there is nothing in correspondence 
 to set against the advantages of pouring forth many 
 words without effort, and of carrying on an argument 
 rapidly, but the truth is that correspondence has peculiar 
 advantages of its own. A hearer seldom grasps another 
 person's argument until it has been repeated several 
 times, and if the argument is of a very complex nature 
 the chances are that he will not carry away all its points 
 even then. A letter is a document which a person of 
 slow abilities can study at his leisure, until he has 
 mastered it, so that an elaborate piece of reasoning may 
 
 z
 
 338 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 be set forth in a letter with a fair chance that such a 
 person will ultimately understand it. He will read the 
 letter three or four times on the day of its arrival, then 
 he will still feel that something may have escaped him, 
 and he will read it again next day. He will keep it and 
 refer to it afterwards to refresh his memory. He can 
 do nothing of all this with what you say to him orally. 
 His only resource in that case is to write down a 
 memorandum of the conversation on your departure, in 
 which he will probably make serious omissions or mis- 
 takes. Your letter is a memorandum of a far more 
 direct and authentic kind. 
 
 Appointments are sometimes made in order to settle 
 a matter of business by talking, and after the parties 
 have met and talked for a long time one says to the 
 other, " I will write to you in a day or two," and the 
 other instantly agrees with the proposal, from a feeling 
 that the matter can be settled more clearly by letter than 
 by oral communication. 
 
 In these cases it may happen that the talking has 
 cleared the way for the letter that it has removed 
 subjects of doubt, hesitation, or dispute, and left only a 
 few points on which the parties are very nearly agreed. 
 
 There are, however, other cases, which have some- 
 times come under my own observation, in which men 
 meet by appointment to settle a matter and then seem 
 afraid to cope with it, and talk about indifferent subjects 
 with a half-conscious intention of postponing the difficult 
 one till there is no longer time to deal with it on that 
 day. They then say, when they separate, "We will 
 settle that matter by correspondence," as if they could 
 not have done so just as easily without giving themselves
 
 xxiv.] LETTERS OF BUSINESS. 339 
 
 the trouble of meeting. In such cases as these the 
 reason for avoiding the difficult subject is either timidity 
 or indolence. Either the parties do not like to face 
 each other in an opposition that may become a verbal 
 combat, or else they have not decision and industry 
 enough to do a hard day's work together, so they pro- 
 crastinate that they may spread the work over a larger 
 space of time. 
 
 The timidity that shrinks from a personal encounter 
 is sometimes the cause of hostile letter-writing about 
 matters of business even when personal interviews are 
 most easy. There are instances of disputes by letter 
 between people who live in the same town, in the same 
 street, and even in the same house, and who might 
 quarrel with their tongues if they were not afraid, but 
 fear drives them to fight from a certain distance, as it 
 requires less personal courage to fire a cannon at an 
 enemy a league away than to face his naked sword. 
 
 Timidity leads people to write letters and to avoid 
 them. Some timorous people feel bolder with a pen ; 
 others, on the contrary, are extremely afraid of commit- 
 ting anything to paper, either because written words re- 
 main and may be referred to afterwards, or because they 
 may be read by eyes they were never intended for, or else 
 because the letter -writer feels doubtful about his own 
 powers in composition, grammar, or spelling. 
 
 Of these reasons against doing business by letter the 
 second is really serious. You write about your most 
 strictly private affairs, and unless the receiver of the 
 letter is a rigidly careful and orderly" person, it may be 
 read by his clerks or servants. You may afterwards 
 visit the recipient and find the letter lying about on a
 
 340 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 disorderly desk, or stuck on a hook suspended from a 
 wall, or thrust into a lockless drawer, and as the letter 
 is no longer your property, and you have not the resource 
 of destroying it, you will keenly appreciate the wisdom 
 of those who avoid letter-writing when they can. 
 
 The other cause of timidity, the apprehension that 
 some fault may be committed, some sin against literary 
 taste or grammatical rule, has a powerful effect as a 
 deterrent from even necessary business correspondence. 
 The fear which a half-educated person feels that he will 
 commit faults causes a degree of hesitation which is 
 enough of itself to produce them, and besides this cause 
 of error there is the want of practice, also caused by 
 timidity, for persons who dread letter-writing practise it 
 as little as possible. 
 
 The awkwardness of uneducated letter-writers is a 
 most serious cause of anxiety to people who are com- 
 pelled to entrust the care of things to uneducated de- 
 pendants at a distance. Such care-takers, instead of 
 keeping you regularly informed of the state of affairs as 
 an intelligent correspondent would, write rarely, and they 
 have such difficulty in imagining the necessary ignorance 
 of one who is not on the spot that the information they 
 give you is provokingly incomplete on some most im- 
 portant points. 
 
 An uneducated agent will write to you and tell you, 
 for example, that damage has occurred to something of 
 yours, say a house, a carriage, or a yacht, but he will not 
 tell you its exact nature or extent, and he will leave you 
 in a state of anxious conjecture. If you question him 
 by letter he will probably miss what is most essential in 
 your questions, so that you will have great difficulty in
 
 xxiv.] LETTERS OF BUSINESS. 341 
 
 getting at the exact truth. After much trouble you will 
 perhaps have to take the train and go to see the extent 
 of damage "for yourself, though it might have been 
 described to you quite accurately in a short letter by an 
 intelligent man of business. 
 
 Nothing is more wonderful than the mistakes in 
 following written directions that can be committed by 
 uneducated men. With clear directions in the most 
 legible characters before their eyes they will quietly go 
 and do something entirely different, and appear un- 
 feignedly surprised when you show them the written 
 directions afterwards. In these cases it is probable that 
 they have unconsciously substituted a notion of their 
 own for your idea, which is the common process of what 
 the uneducated consider to be understanding things. 
 
 The extreme facility with which this is done may be 
 illustrated by an example. The well-known French 
 savant and inventor, Ruolz, whose name is famous in 
 connection with electro-plating, turned his attention to 
 paper for roofing, and as he perceived the defects of the 
 common bituminous papers invented another in which no 
 bitumen was employed. This he advertised constantly 
 and extensively as the " Carton non bitume Ruolz," con- 
 sequently every one calls it the " Carton bitum Ruolz." 
 The reason here is that the notion of papers for roofs 
 was already so associated in the French mind with bitu- 
 men, that it was absolutely impossible to effect the dis- 
 junction of the two ideas. 
 
 Instances have occurred to everybody in which the 
 consequence of warning a workman that he is not to do 
 some particular thing is that he goes and does it, when 
 if nothing ha'd been said on the subject he might, per-
 
 342 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 chance, have avoided it. Here are two good instances 
 of this, but I have met with many others. I remember 
 ordering a binder to bind some volumes with red edges, 
 specially stipulating that he was not to use aniline red. 
 He therefore carefully stained the edges with aniline. I 
 also remember writing to a painter that he was to stain 
 some new fittings of a boat with a transparent glaze of 
 raw sienna, and afterwards varnish them, and that he 
 was to be careful not to use opaque paint anywhere. I 
 was at a great distance from the boat and could not 
 superintend the work. In due time I visited the boat 
 and discovered that a foul tint of opaque paint had been 
 employed everywhere on the new fittings, without any 
 glaze or varnish whatever, in spite of the fact that old 
 fittings, partially retained, were still there with mellow 
 transparent stain and varnish in the closest juxtaposition 
 with the hideous thick new daubing. 
 
 It is the evil of mediocrity in fortune to have fre- 
 quently to trust to uneducated agents. Rich men can 
 employ able representatives, and in this way they can 
 inform themselves accurately of what occurs to their 
 belongings at a distance. Without riches, however, we 
 may sometimes have a friend on the spot who will see 
 to things for us, which is one of the kindest offices of 
 friendship. The most efficient friend is one who will 
 not only look to matters of detail but will take the trouble 
 to inform you accurately about them, and for this he 
 must be a man of leisure. Such a friend often spares 
 one a railway journey by a few clear lines of report or 
 explanation. Judging from personal experience I should 
 say that retired lawyers and retired military officers were 
 admirably adapted to render this great service efficiently,
 
 xxiv.] LETTERS OF BUSINESS. 343 
 
 and I should suppose that a man who had retired from 
 busy commercial life would be scarcely less useful, but I 
 should not hope for precision in one who had always 
 been unoccupied, nor should I expect many details 
 from one who was much occupied still. The first would 
 lack training and experience ; the second would lack 
 leisure. 
 
 The talent for accuracy in affairs may be distinct from 
 literary talent and education, and though we have been 
 considering the difficulty of corresponding on matters of 
 business with the uneducated, we must not too hastily 
 infer that because a man is inaccurate in spelling, and 
 inelegant in phraseology, he may not be an agreeable 
 and efficient business correspondent. There was a time 
 when all the greatest men of business in England were 
 uncertain spellers. Clear expression and completeness 
 of statement are more valuable than any other qualities 
 in a business correspondent. I sometimes have to 
 correspond with a tradesman in Paris who rose from an 
 humble origin and scarcely produces what a school- 
 master would consider a passable letter, yet his letters 
 are models in essential qualities, as he always removes 
 by plain statements or questions every possibility of a 
 mistake, and if there is any want of absolute precision in 
 my orders he is sure to find out the deficiency, and to 
 call my attention to it sharply. 
 
 The habit of not acknowledging orders is one of the 
 worst negative vices in business correspondence. It is 
 most inconveniently common in France, but happily 
 much rarer in England. Where this vice prevails you 
 cannot tell whether the person you wish to employ has 
 read your order or not, and if you suppose him to have
 
 344 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 read it, you have no reason to feel sure that he has 
 understood it, or will execute it in time. 
 
 It is a great gain to the writer of letters to be able to 
 make them brief and clear at the same time, but as there 
 is obscurity in a labyrinth of many words so there may 
 be another kind of obscurity from their paucity that 
 kind which Horace alluded to with reference to poetry 
 
 ' ' Brevis esse laboro 
 Obscurus fto" 
 
 Sometimes one additional word would spare the reader 
 a doubt or a misunderstanding. This is likely to become 
 more and more the dominant fault of correspondence as 
 it imitates the brevity of the telegram. 
 
 Observe the interesting use of the word laboro by 
 Horace. You may, in fact, labour to be brief, although 
 the result is an appearance of less labour than if you 
 had written at ease. It may take more time to write a 
 very short letter than one of twice the length, the only 
 gain in this case being to the receiver. 
 
 Letters of business often appear to be written in the 
 most rapid and careless haste; the writing is almost 
 illegible from its speed, the composition slovenly, the 
 letter brief. And yet such a letter may have cost hours of 
 deliberate reflection before one word of it was committed 
 to paper. It is the rapid registering of a slowly matured 
 decision. 
 
 It is a well-known principle of modern business 
 correspondence that if a letter refers only to one subject 
 it is more likely to receive attention than if it deals with 
 several ; therefore if you have several different orders or 
 directions to give it is bad policy to write them all at
 
 xxiv.] LETTERS OF BUSINESS. 345 
 
 once, unless you are absolutely compelled to do so 
 because they are all equally pressing. Even if there is 
 the same degree of urgency for all, yet a practical im- 
 possibility that all should be executed at the same time, 
 it is still the best policy to give your orders successively 
 and not more quickly than they can be executed. The 
 only danger of this is that the receiver of the orders 
 may think at first that they are small matters in which 
 postponement signifies little, as they can be executed at 
 any time. To prevent this he should be strongly warned 
 at first that the order will be rapidly followed by several 
 others. If there is not the same degree of urgency for 
 all, the best way is to make a private register of the 
 different matters in the order of their urgency, and then 
 to write several short notes, at intervals, one about each 
 thing. 
 
 People have such a marvellous power of misunder- 
 standing even the very plainest directions that a business 
 letter never can be made too clear. It will, indeed, 
 frequently happen that language itself is not clear enough 
 for the purposes of explanation without the help of 
 drawing, and drawing may not be clear to one who has 
 not been educated to understand it, which compels you 
 to have recourse to modelling. In these cases the task 
 of the letter-writer is greatly simplified, as he has nothing 
 to do but foresee and prevent any misunderstanding of 
 the drawing or model. 
 
 Every material thing constructed by mankind may 
 be explained by the three kinds of mechanical drawing 
 plan, section, and elevation but the difficulty is that 
 so many people are unable to understand plans and 
 sections ; they only understand elevations, and not always
 
 346 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 even these. The special incapacity to understand plans 
 and sections is common in every rank of society, and it 
 is not uncommon even in the practical trades. All 
 letter-writing that refers to material construction would 
 be immensely simplified if, by a general rule in popular 
 and other education, every future man and woman in 
 the country were taught enough about mechanical draw- 
 ing to be able at least to read it. 
 
 It is delightful to correspond about construction with 
 any trained architect or engineer, because to such a 
 correspondent you can explain everything briefly, with 
 the perfect certainty of being accurately understood. It 
 is terrible toil to have to explain construction by letter 
 to a man who does not understand mechanical drawing ; 
 and when you have given great labour to your explana- 
 tion, it is the merest chance whether he will catch your 
 meaning or not. The evil does not stop at mechanical 
 drawing. Not only do uneducated people misunderstand 
 a mechanical plan or section, but they are quite as liable 
 to misunderstand a perspective drawing, as the great 
 architect and draughtsman Viollet-le-Duc charmingly 
 exemplified by the work of an intelligent child. A little 
 boy had drawn a cat as he had seen it in front with its 
 tail standing up, and this front view was stupidly mis- 
 understood by a mature bourgeois who thought the animal 
 was a biped (as the hind-legs were hidden), and believed 
 the erect tail to be some unknown object sticking out of 
 the nondescript creature's head. If you draw a board 
 in perspective (other than isometrical) a workman is quite 
 likely to think that one end of it is to be narrower than 
 the other. 
 
 Business correspondence in foreign languages is a
 
 xxiv.] LETTERS OF BUSINESS. 347 
 
 very simple matter when it deals only with plain facts, 
 and it does not require any very extensive knowledge of 
 the foreign tongue to write a common order ; but if any 
 delicate or complicated matter has to be explained, or if 
 touchy sensitiveness in the foreigner has to be soothed 
 by management and tact, then a thorough knowledge of 
 the shades of expression is required, and this is extremely 
 rare. The statement of bare facts, or the utterance of 
 simple wants, is indeed only a part of business corre- 
 spondence, for men of business, though they are not 
 supposed to display sentiment in affairs, are in reality 
 just as much human beings as other men, and conse- 
 quently they have feelings which are to be considered. 
 A correspondent who is able to write a foreign language 
 with delicacy and tact will often attain his object when 
 one with a ruder and more imperfect knowledge of the 
 language would meet with certain failure, though he 
 asked for exactly the same thing. 
 
 It is surely possible to be civil and even polite in 
 business correspondence without using the deplorable 
 commercial slang which exists, I believe, in every 
 modern language. The proof that such abstinence is 
 possible is that some of the most efficient and most 
 active men of business never have recourse to it at all. 
 This commercial slang consists in the substitution of con- 
 ventional terms originally intended to be more courteous 
 than plain English, French, etc., but which, in fact, from 
 their mechanical use, become wholly destitute of that 
 best politeness which is personal, and does not depend 
 upon set phrases that can be copied out of a tradesman's 
 model letter -writer. Anybody but a tradesman calls 
 your letter a letter ; why should an English tradesman
 
 348 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 call it " your favour " and a French one " votre 
 honoree"? A gentleman writing in the month of May 
 speaks of April, May, and June, when a tradesman care- 
 fully avoids the names of the months, and calls them 
 ultimo, courant, and proximo, whilst instead of saying 
 "by" or "according to," like other Englishmen, he says 
 per. This style was touched upon by Scott in Provost 
 Crosbie's letter to Alexander Fairford. " Dear Sir 
 Your respected favour of 25th ultimo per favour of Mr. 
 Darsie Latimer, reached me in safety." This is thought 
 to be a finished commercial style. One sometimes 
 meets with the most astonishing and complicated speci- 
 mens of it, which the authors are evidently proud of as 
 proofs of their high commercial training. I regret not 
 to have kept some fine examples of these, as their per- 
 fections are far beyond all imitation. This is not sur- 
 prising when we reflect that the very worst commercial 
 style is the result of a striving by many minds, during 
 several generations, after a preposterous ideal. 
 
 Tradesmen deserve credit for understanding the one 
 element of courtesy in letter-writing which has been 
 neglected by gentlemen. They value legible hand- 
 writing, and they print clear names and addresses on 
 their letter-paper, by which they spare much trouble. 
 
 Before closing this chapter let me say something 
 about the reading of business letters as well as the writing 
 of them. It is, perhaps, a harder duty to read such 
 letters with the necessary degree of attention than to 
 compose them, for the author has his head charged with 
 the subject, and writing the letter is a relief to him, but 
 to the receiver the matter is new, and however lucid 
 may be the exposition it always requires some degree of
 
 xxiv.] LETTERS OF BUSINESS, 349 
 
 real attention on his part. How are you, being at a 
 distance, to get an indolent man to bestow that neces- 
 sary attention ? He feels secure from a personal visit, 
 and indulges his indolence by neglecting your concerns, 
 even when they are also his own. Long ago I heard 
 an English Archdeacon tell the following story about his 
 Bishop. The prelate was one of that numerous class of 
 men who loathe the sight of a business letter, and he 
 had indulged his indolence in that respect to such a 
 degree that, little by little, he had arrived at the fatal 
 stage where one leaves letters unopened for days or 
 weeks. At one particular time the Archdeacon was 
 aware of a great arrear of unopened letters, and impressed 
 his lordship with the necessity for taking some note of 
 their contents. Yielding to a stronger will, the Bishop 
 began to read, and one of the first communications was 
 from a wealthy man who offered a large sum for church 
 purposes (I think for building), but if the offer was not 
 accepted within a certain lapse of time he declared his 
 intention of making it to that which a Bishop loveth 
 not a dissenting community. The prelate had opened 
 the letter too late, and he lost the money. I believe 
 that the Archdeacon's vexation at the loss was more 
 than counterbalanced by gratification that his hierarch- 
 ical superior had received such a lesson for his neglect. 
 Yet he did but imitate Napoleon, of whom Emerson 
 says, " He directed Bourrienne to leave all letters un- 
 opened for three weeks, and then observed with satisfac- 
 tion how large a part of the correspondence had disposed 
 of itself and no longer required an answer." This is a 
 very unsafe system to adopt, as the case of the Bishop 
 proves. Things may "dispose of themselves" in the
 
 35o HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 wrong way, like wine in a leaky cask, which, instead of 
 putting itself carefully into a sound cask, goes trickling 
 into the earth. 
 
 The indolence of some men in reading and answering 
 letters of business would be incredible if they did not 
 give clear evidence of it. The most remarkable example 
 that ever came under my notice is the following. A 
 French artist, not by any means in a condition of super- 
 fluous prosperity, exhibited a picture at the Salon. He 
 waited in Paris till after the opening of the exhibition 
 and then went down into the country. On the day of 
 his departure he received letters from two different col- 
 lectors expressing a desire to purchase his work, and 
 asking its price. Any real man of business would have 
 seized upon such an opportunity at once. He would 
 have answered both letters, stayed in town, and contrived 
 to set the two amateurs bidding against each other. 
 The artist in question was one of those unaccountable 
 mortals who would rather sacrifice all their chances of 
 life than indite a letter of business, so he left both 
 inquiries unanswered, saying that if the men had really 
 wanted the picture they would have called to see him. 
 He never sold it, and some time afterwards was obliged 
 to give up his profession, quite as much from the lack of 
 promptitude in affairs as from any artistic deficiency. 
 
 Sometimes letters of business are read, but read so care- 
 lessly that it would be better if they were thrown unopened 
 into the fire. I have seen some astounding instances of 
 this, and, what is most remarkable, of repeated and in- 
 corrigible carelessness in the same person or firm, com- 
 pelling one to the conclusion that in corresponding with 
 that person or that firm the clearest language, the plainest
 
 xxiv.] LETTERS OF BUSINESS. 351 
 
 writing, and the most legible numerals, are all equally 
 without effect. I am thinking particularly of one case, 
 intimately known to me in all its details, in which a 
 business correspondence of some duration was finally 
 abandoned, after infinite annoyance, for the simple reason 
 that it was impossible to get the members of the firm, 
 or their representatives, to attend to written orders with 
 any degree of accuracy. Even whilst writing this very 
 essay I have given an order with regard to which I 
 foresaw a probable error. Knowing by experience that 
 a probable error is almost certain if steps are not taken 
 energetically to prevent it, I requested that this error 
 might not be committed, and to attract more attention 
 to my request I wrote the paragraph containing it in 
 red ink a very unusual precaution. The foreseen error 
 was accurately committed.
 
 ESSAY XXV. 
 
 ANONYMOUS LETTERS. 
 
 PROBABLY few of my mature readers have attained middle 
 age without receiving a number of anonymous letters. 
 Such letters are not always offensive, sometimes they 
 are amusing, sometimes considerate and kind, yet there 
 is in all cases a feeling of annoyance on receiving them, 
 because the writer has made himself inaccessible to a 
 reply. It is as if a man in a mask whispered a word in 
 your ear and then vanished suddenly in a crowd. You 
 wish to answer a calumny or acknowledge a kindness, 
 and you may talk to the winds and streams. 
 
 Anonymous letters of the worst kind have a certain 
 value to the student of human nature, because they afford 
 him glimpses of the evil spirit that disguises itself under 
 the fair seemings of society. You believe with childlike 
 simplicity and innocence that, as you have never done 
 any intentional injury to a human being, you cannot 
 have a human enemy, and you make the startling dis- 
 covery that somewhere in the world, perhaps even amongst 
 the smiling people you meet at dances and dinners, there 
 are creatures who will have recourse to the foulest slanders 
 if thereby they may hope to do you an injury. What 
 can you have done to excite such bitter animosity? 
 You may both have done much and neglected much.
 
 ESSAY xxv.] ANONYMOUS LETTERS. 353 
 
 You may have had some superiority of body, mind, or 
 fortune ; you may have neglected to soothe some jealous 
 vanity by the flattery it craved with a tormenting hunger. 
 
 The simple fact that you seem happier than Envy 
 thinks you ought to be is of itself enough to excite a 
 strong desire to diminish your offensive happiness or put 
 an end to it entirely. That is the reason why people 
 who are going to be married receive anonymous letters. 
 If they are not really happy they have every appearance 
 of being happy, which is not less intolerable. The 
 anonymous letter-writer seeks to put a stop to such a 
 state of things. He might go to one of the parties and 
 slander the other openly, but it would require courage 
 to do that directly to his face. A letter might be written, 
 but if name and address were given there would come 
 an inconvenient demand for proofs. One course remains, 
 offering that immunity from consequences which is sooth- 
 ing to the nerves of a coward. The envious or jealous 
 man can throw his vitriol in the dark and slip away 
 unperceived he can write an anonymous letter. 
 
 Has the reader ever really tried to picture to himself 
 the state of that man or woman's mind (for women write 
 these things also) who can sit down, take a sheet of paper, 
 make a rough draft of an anonymous letter, copy it out 
 in a very legible yet carefully-disguised hand, and make 
 arrangements for having it posted at a distance from the 
 place where it was written ? Such things are constantly 
 done. At this minute there are a certain number of 
 men and women in the world who are vile enough to 
 do all that simply in order to spoil the happiness of 
 some person whom they regard with " envy, hatred, 
 malice, and all uncharitableness." I see in my mind's 
 
 2 A
 
 354 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 eye the gentleman the man having all the apparent 
 delicacy and refinement of a gentleman who is writing a 
 letter intended to blast the character of an acquaintance. 
 Perhaps he meets that acquaintance in society, and shakes 
 hands with him, and pretends to take an interest in his 
 health. Meanwhile he secretly reflects upon the parti- 
 cular sort of calumny that will have the greatest degree 
 of verisimilitude. Everything depends upon his talent 
 in devising the most credible sort of calumny not the 
 calumny most likely to meet general credence, but that 
 which is most likely to be believed by the person to 
 whom it is addressed, and most likely to do injury when 
 believed. The anonymous calumniator has the immense 
 advantage on his side that most people are prone to 
 believe evil, and that good people are unfortunately the 
 most prone, as they hate evil so intensely that even the 
 very phantom of it arouses their anger, and they too 
 frequently do not stop to inquire whether it is a phantom 
 or a reality. The clever culumniator is careful not to 
 go too far ; he will advance something that might be or 
 that might have been ; he does not love le vrai, but he 
 is a careful student of le vraisemblable. He will assume 
 an appearance of reluctance, he will drop hints more 
 terrible than assertions, because they are vague, mysteri- 
 ous, disquieting. When he thinks he has done enough 
 he stops in time ; he has inoculated the drop of poison, 
 and can wait till it takes effect. 
 
 It must be rather an anxious time for the anonymous 
 letter-writer when he has sent off his missive. In the 
 nature of things he cannot receive an answer, and it is 
 not easy for him to ascertain very soon what has been 
 the result of his enterprise. If he has been trying to
 
 xxv.] ANONYMOUS LETTERS. 355 
 
 prevent a marriage he does not know immediately if the 
 engagement is broken off, and if it is not broken off he 
 has to wait till the wedding-day before he is quite sure 
 of his own failure, and to suffer meanwhile from hope 
 deferred and constantly-increasing apprehension. If the 
 rupture occurs he has a moment of Satanic joy, but it 
 may be due to some other cause than the success of his 
 own calumny, so that he is never quite sure of having 
 himself attained his object. 
 
 It is believed that most people who are engaged to 
 be married receive anonymous letters recommending 
 them to break off the match. Not only are such letters 
 addressed to the betrothed couple themselves, but also 
 to their relations. If there is not a doubt that the state- 
 ments in such letters are purely calumnious, the right 
 course is to destroy them immediately and never allude 
 to them afterwards ; but if there is the faintest shadow of 
 a doubt if there is the vaguest feeling that there may 
 be some ground for the attack then the only course is 
 to send the letter to the person accused, and to say that 
 this is done in order to afford him an opportunity for 
 answering the anonymous assailant. I remember a case 
 in which this was done with the best results. A profes- 
 sional man without fortune was going to marry a young 
 heiress ; I do not mean a great heiress, but one whose 
 fortune might be a temptation. Her family received the 
 usual anonymous letters, and in one of them it was stated 
 that the aspirant's father, who had been long dead, had 
 dishonoured himself by base conduct with regard to a 
 public trust in a certain town where he occupied a post 
 of great responsibility towards the municipal authorities. 
 The letter was shown to the son, and he was asked if
 
 356 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 he knew anything of the matter, and if he could do any- 
 thing to clear away the imputation. Then came the 
 difficulty that the alleged betrayal of trust was stated to 
 have occurred twenty years before, and that the Mayor 
 was dead, and probably most of the common councillors 
 also. What was to be done ? It is not easy to disprove 
 a calumny, and the onus of proof ought always to be 
 thrown upon the calumniator, but this calumniator was 
 anonymous and intangible, so the son of the victim was 
 requested to repel the charge. By a very unusual and 
 most fortunate accident, his father had received on 
 quitting the town in question a letter from the Mayor of 
 a most exceptional character, in which he spoke with 
 warm and grateful appreciation of services rendered and 
 of the happy relations of trust and confidence that had 
 subsisted between himself and the slandered man down 
 to the very termination of their intercourse. This letter, 
 again by a most lucky accident, had been preserved by 
 the widow, and by means of it one dead man defended 
 the memory of another. It removed the greatest 
 obstacle to the marriage ; but another anonymous writer, 
 or the same in another handwriting, now alleged that the 
 slandered man had died of a disease likely to be inherited 
 by his posterity. Here, again, luck was on the side of 
 the defence, as the physician who had attended him was 
 still alive, so that this second invention was as easily dis- 
 posed of as the first. The marriage took place ; it has 
 been more than usually happy, and the children are 
 pictures of health. 
 
 The trouble to which anonymous letter -writers put 
 themselves to attain their ends must sometimes be very 
 great. I remember a case in which some of these people
 
 xxv.] ANONYMOUS LETTERS. 357 
 
 must have contrived by means of spies or agents to pro- 
 cure a private address in a foreign country, and must 
 have been at great pains also to ascertain certain facts in 
 England which were carefully mingled with the lies in the 
 calumnious letter. The nameless writer was evidently 
 well informed, possibly he or she may have been a "friend" 
 of the intended victim. In this case no attention was 
 paid to the attack, which did not delay the marriage by a 
 single hour. Long afterwards the married pair happened 
 to be talking about anonymous letters, and it then 
 appeared that each side had received several of these 
 missives, coarsely or ingeniously concocted, but had 
 given them no more attention than they deserved. 
 
 An anonymous letter is sometimes written in col- 
 laboration by two persons of different degrees of ability. 
 When this is done one of the slanderers generally supplies 
 the basis of fact necessary to give an appearance of know- 
 ledge, and the other supplies or improves the imaginative 
 part of the common performance and its literary style. 
 Sometimes one of the two may be detected by the nature 
 of the references to fact, or by the supposed writer's 
 personal interest in bringing about a certain result. 
 
 It is very difficult at the first glance entirely to resist 
 the effect of a clever anonymous letter, and perhaps it is 
 only men of clear strong sense and long experience 
 who at once overcome the first shock. In a very short 
 time, however, the phantom evil grows thin and dis- 
 appears, and the motive of the writer is guessed at or 
 discerned. 
 
 The following brief anonymous letter, or one closely 
 resembling it (I quote from memory), was once received 
 by an English gentleman on his travels.
 
 358 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 " DEAR SIR I congratulate you on the fact that you 
 will be a grandfather in about two months. I mention 
 this as you may like to purchase baby-linen for your 
 grandchild during your absence. I am, Sir, yours 
 sincerely, A WELL-WISHER." 
 
 The receiver had a family of grown-up children of 
 whom not one was married. The letter gave him a 
 slight but perceptible degree of disquietude which he 
 put aside to the best of his ability. In a few days came 
 a signed letter from one of his female servants confess- 
 ing that she was about to become a mother, and claiming 
 his protection as the grandfather of the child. It then 
 became evident that the anonymous letter had been 
 written by the girl's lover, who was a tolerably educated 
 man whilst she was uneducated, and that the pair had 
 entered into this little plot to obtain money. The 
 matter ended by the dismissal of the girl, who then 
 made threats until she was placed in the hands of the 
 police. Other circumstances were recollected proving 
 her to be a remarkably audacious liar and of a slanderous 
 disposition. 
 
 The torture that an anonymous letter may inflict 
 depends far more on the nature of the person who 
 receives it than on the circumstances it relates. A 
 jealous and suspicious nature, not opened by much 
 experience or knowledge of the world, is the predestined 
 victim of the anonymous torturer. Such a nature jumps 
 at evil report like a fish at an artificial fly, and feels the 
 anguish of it immediately. By a law that seems really 
 cruel such natures seize with most avidity on those very 
 slanders that cause them the most pain.
 
 xxv.] ANONYMOUS LET7"ERS. 359 
 
 A kind of anonymous letter of which we have heard 
 much in the present disturbed state of European society 
 is the letter containing threats of physical injury. It 
 informs you that you will be " done for " or " disabled " 
 in a short time, and exhorts you in the meanwhile to 
 prepare for your awful doom. The object of these 
 letters is to deprive the receiver of all feeling of security 
 or comfort in existence. His consolation is that a real 
 intending murderer would probably be thinking too 
 much of his own perilous enterprise to indulge in corre- 
 spondence about it, and we do not perceive that the 
 attacks on public men are at all proportionate in number 
 to the menaces addressed to them. 
 
 As there are malevolent anonymous letters intended 
 to inflict the most wearing anxiety, so there are benevo- 
 lent ones written to save our souls. Some theologically- 
 minded person, often of the female sex, is alarmed for 
 our spiritual state because she fears that we have doubts 
 about the supernatural, and so she sends us books that 
 only make us wonder at the mental condition for which 
 such literature can be suitable. I remember one of my 
 female anonymous correspondents who took it for 
 granted that I was like a ship drifting about without 
 compass or rudder (a great mistake on her part), and so 
 she offered me the safe and spacious haven of Sweden- 
 borgianism ! Others will tell you of the " great pain " 
 with which they have read this or that passage of your 
 writings, to which an author may always reply that as 
 there is no Act of Parliament compelling British subjects 
 to read his books the sufferers have only to let them 
 alone in order to spare themselves the dolorous sensations 
 they complain of.
 
 360 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 Some kind anonymous correspondents write to con- 
 sole us for offensive criticism by maintaining the truth 
 of our assertions as supported by their own experience. 
 I remember that when the novel of Wenderholme was 
 published, and naturally attacked for its dreadful por- 
 traiture of the drinking habits of a past generation, a 
 lady wrote to me anonymously from a locality of the 
 kind described bearing mournful witness to the veracity 
 of the description. 1 In this case the employment of 
 the anonymous form was justified by two considerations. 
 There was no offensive intention, and the lady had to 
 speak of her own relations whose names she desired to 
 conceal. Authors frequently receive letters of gently 
 expressed criticism or remonstrance from readers who 
 do not give their names. The only objection to these 
 communications, which are often interesting, is that it 
 is rather teasing and vexatious to be deprived of the 
 opportunity for answering them. The reader may like 
 to see one of these gentle anonymous letters. An 
 unmarried lady of mature age (for there appears to be 
 no reason to doubt the veracity with which she gives a 
 slight account of herself) has been reading one of my 
 books and thinks me not quite just to a most respect- 
 able and by no means insignificant class in English 
 society. .She therefore takes me to task not at all 
 unkindly. 
 
 1 I need hardly say that there has been immense improvement 
 in this respect, and that such descriptions have no application to 
 the Lancashire of to-day ; indeed, they were never true, in that 
 extreme degree, of Lancashire generally, but only of certain small 
 localities which were at one time like spots of local disease on a 
 generally vigorous body.
 
 xxv.] ANONYMOUS LETTERS. 361 
 
 " DEAR SIR I have often wished to thank you for the 
 intense pleasure your books have given me, especially 
 the Painter's Camp in the Highlands, the word-pictures 
 of which reproduced the enjoyment, intense even to 
 pain, of the Scottish scenery. 
 
 " I have only now become acquainted with your 
 Intellectual Life, which has also given me great pleasure, 
 though of another kind. Its general fairness and candour 
 induce me to protest against your judgment of a class 
 of women whom I am sure you underrate from not 
 having a sufficient acquaintance with their capabilities. 
 
 " ' Women who are not impelled by some masculine influ- 
 ence are not superior, either in knowledge or in discipline 
 of the mind, at the age of fifty to what they were at twenty- 
 five? . . . ' The best illustration of this is a sisterhood 
 of three or four rich old maids? . . . ' You will observe 
 that they invariably remain, as to their education, where 
 they were left by their teachers many years before. . . . 
 Even in what most interests them theology, they repeat 
 but do not extend their information? 
 
 " My circle of acquaintance is small, nevertheless I 
 know many women between twenty-five and forty whose 
 culture is always steadily progressing; who keep up 
 an acquaintance with literature for its own sake, and 
 not 'impelled' thereto 'by masculine influence ;' who, 
 though without creative power, yet have such capability 
 of reception that they can appreciate the best authors of 
 the day ; whose theology is not quite the fossil you repre- 
 sent it, though I confess it is for but a small number of 
 my acquaintance that I can claim the power of judicially 
 estimating the various schools of theology. 
 
 " Without being specialists, the more thoughtful of our
 
 362 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 class have such an acquaintance with current literature 
 that they are able to enter into the progress of the great 
 questions of the day, and may even estimate the more 
 fairly a Gladstone or a Disraeli for being spectators 
 instead of actors in politics. 
 
 " I have spoken of my own acquaintances, but they 
 are such as may be met with in any middle-class society. 
 For myself, I look back to the painful bewilderment of 
 twenty -five and contrast it with satisfaction with the 
 brighter perceptions of forty, finding out ' a little more, 
 and yet a little more, of the eternal order of the uni- 
 verse.' One reason for your underrating us may be 
 that our receptive powers only are in constant use, and 
 we have little power of expression. I dislike anonymous 
 letters as a rule, but as I write as the representative of a 
 class, I beg to sign myself, Yours gratefully, 
 
 " ONE OF THREE OR FOUR RICH OLD MAIDS. 
 
 "November 13, 1883." 
 
 Letters of this kind give no pain to the receiver, 
 except when they compel him to an unsatisfactory kind 
 of self-examination. In the present case I make the 
 best amends by giving publicity and permanence to this 
 clearly -expressed criticism. Something may be said, 
 too, in defence of the passages incriminated. Let me 
 attempt it in the form of a letter which may possibly fall 
 under the eye of the Rich Old Maid. 
 
 DEAR MADAM Your letter has duly reached me, and 
 produced feelings of compunction. Have I indeed been 
 guilty of injustice towards a class so deserving of respect 
 and consideration as the. Rich Old Maids of England ?
 
 xxv.] ANONYMOUS LETTERS. 363 
 
 It has always seemed to me one of the privileges of my 
 native country that such a class should flourish there so 
 much more amply and luxuriantly than in other lands. 
 Married women are absorbed in the cares and anxieties 
 of their own households, but the sympathies of old maids 
 spread themselves over a wider area. Balzac hated them, 
 and described them as having souls overflowing with 
 gall ; but Balzac was a Frenchman, and if he was just to 
 the rare old maids of his native country (which I cannot 
 believe) he knew nothing of the more numerous old 
 maids of Great Britain. I am not in Balzac's position. 
 Dear friends of mine, and dearer relations, have belonged 
 to that kindly sisterhood. 
 
 The answer to your objection is simple. The Intel- 
 lectual Life was not published in 1883 but in 1873. It 
 was written some time before, and the materials had been 
 gradually accumulating in the author's mind several years 
 before it was written. Consequently your criticism is of 
 a much later date than the work you criticise, and as you 
 are forty in 1883 you were a young maid in the times I 
 was thinking of when writing. It is certainly true that 
 many women of the now past generation, particularly 
 those who lived in celibacy, had a remarkable power of 
 remaining intellectually in the same place. This power 
 is retained by some of the present generation, but it is 
 becoming rarer every day because the intellectual move- 
 ment is so strong that it is drawing a constantly-increasing 
 number of women along with it ; indeed this movement 
 is so accelerated as to give rise to a new anxiety, and make 
 us look back with a wistful regret. We are now beginning 
 to perceive that a certain excellent old type of English- 
 women whom we remember with the greatest affection
 
 364 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY xxv. 
 
 and respect will soon belong as entirely to the past as if 
 they had lived in the days of Queen Elizabeth. From 
 the intellectual point of view their lives were hardly worth 
 living, but we are beginning to ask ourselves whether 
 their ignorance (I use the plain term) and their prejudices 
 (the plain term again) were not essential parts of a whole 
 that commanded our respect. Their simplicity of mind 
 may have been a reason why they had so much simplicity 
 of purpose in well-doing. Their strength of prejudice 
 may have aided them to keep with perfect steadfastness 
 on the side of moral and social order. Their intellectual 
 restfulness in a few clear settled ideas left a degree of 
 freedom to their energy in common duties that may 
 not always be possible amidst the bewildering theories 
 of an unsettled and speculative age. Faithfully yours, 
 THE AUTHOR OF The Intellectual Life.
 
 ESSAY XXVI. 
 
 AMUSEMENTS. 
 
 ONE of the most unexpected discoveries that we make 
 on entering the reflective stage of existence is that 
 amusements are social obligations. 
 
 The next discovery of this kind is that the higher the 
 rank of the person the more obligatory and the more 
 numerous do his so-called " amusements " become, till 
 finally we reach the princely life which seems to consist 
 almost exclusively of these observances. 
 
 Why should it ever be considered obligatory upon a 
 man to amuse himself in some way settled by others ? 
 There appear to be two principal reasons for this. The 
 first is, that when amusements are practised by many 
 persons in common it appears unsociable and ungracious 
 to abstain. Even if the amusement is not interesting 
 in itself, it is thought that the society it leads us into 
 ought to be a sufficient reason for following it. 
 
 The second reason is that, like all things which are 
 repeated by many people together, amusements soon 
 become fixed customs, and have all the weight and 
 authority of customs, so that people dare not abstain 
 from observing them for fear of social penalties. 
 
 If the amusements are expensive they become not 
 only a sign of wealth but an actual demonstration and
 
 366 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 display of it, and as nothing in the world is so much 
 respected as wealth, or so efficient a help to social posi- 
 tion, and as the expenditure which is visible produces 
 far more effect upon the mind than that which is not 
 seen, it follows that all costly amusements are useful for 
 self-assertion in the world, and become even a means of 
 maintaining the political importance of great families. 
 
 On the other hand, not to be accustomed to expen- 
 sive amusements implies that one has lived amongst 
 people of narrow means, so that most of those who have 
 social ambition are eager to seize upon every opportunity 
 for enlarging their experience of expensive amusements 
 in order that they may talk about them afterwards, and 
 so affirm their position as members of the upper class. 
 
 The dread of appearing unsociable, of seeming rebelli- 
 ous against custom, or inexperienced in the habits of the 
 rich, are reasons quite strong enough for the maintenance 
 of customary amusements even when there is very little 
 real enjoyment of them for their own sake. 
 
 But, in fact, there are always some people who practise 
 these amusements for the sake of the pleasure they give, 
 and as these people are likely to excel the others in 
 vivacity, activity, and skill, as they have more entrain and 
 gaiety, and talk more willingly and heartily about the 
 sports they love, so they naturally come to lead opinion 
 upon the subject and to give it an appearance of earnest- 
 ness and warmth that is beyond its real condition. 
 Hence the tone of conversation about amusements, 
 though it may accurately represent the sentiments of those 
 who enjoy them, does not represent all opinion fairly. 
 The opposite side of the question found a witty exponent 
 in Sir George Cornewall Lewis, when he uttered that
 
 xxvi.] AMUSEMENTS. 367 
 
 immortal saying by which his name will endure when the 
 recollection of his political services has passed away 
 " How tolerable life would be were it not for its plea- 
 sures !" There you have the feeling of the thousands 
 who submit and conform, but who would have much to 
 say if it were in good taste to say anything against 
 pleasures that are offered to us in hospitality. 
 
 Amusements themselves become work when under- 
 taken for an ulterior purpose such as the maintenance of 
 political influence. A great man goes through a certain 
 regular series of dinners, balls, games, shooting and 
 hunting parties, races, wedding-breakfasts, visits to great 
 houses, excursions on land and water, and all these 
 things have the outward appearance of amusement, but 
 may, in reality, be labours that the great man undertakes 
 for some purpose entirely outside of the frivolous things 
 themselves. A Prime Minister scarcely goes beyond 
 political dinners, but what an endless series of engage- 
 ments are undertaken by a Prince of Wales ! Such 
 things are an obligation for him, and when the obligation 
 is accepted with unfailing patience and good temper, the 
 Prince is not only working, but working with a certain 
 elegance and grace of art, often involving that prettiest 
 kind of self-sacrifice which hides itself under an appear- 
 ance of enjoyment. Nobody supposes that the social 
 amusements so regularly gone through by the eldest son 
 of Queen Victoria can be, in all cases, very entertaining 
 to him ; we suppose them to be accepted as forms of 
 human intercourse that bring him into personal relations 
 with his future subjects. The difference between this 
 Prince and King Louis II. of Bavaria is perhaps the 
 most striking contrast in modern royal existences. Prince
 
 368 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 Albert Edward is accessible to everybody, and shares 
 the common pleasures of his countrymen ; the Bavarian 
 sovereign is never so happy as when in one of his 
 romantic and magnificent residences, surrounded by the 
 sublimity of nature and the embellishments of art, he 
 sits alone and dreams as he listens to the strains of 
 exquisite music. Has he not erected his splendid castle 
 on a rock, like the builder of "The Palace of Art"? 
 
 " A huge crag-platform, smooth as burnish'd brass 
 
 I chose. The ranged ramparts bright 
 From level meadow-bases of deep grass 
 Suddenly scaled the light. 
 
 Thereon I built it firm. Of ledge or shelf 
 The rock rose clear, or winding stair. 
 
 My soul would live alone unto herself 
 In her high palace there." 
 
 The life of the King of Bavaria, sublimely serene in 
 its independence, is a long series of tranquil omissions. 
 There may be a wedding-feast in one of his palaces, but 
 such an occurrence only seems to him the best of all 
 reasons why he should be in another. He escapes from 
 the pleasures and interests of daily life, making himself 
 an earthly paradise of architecture, music, and gardens, 
 and lost in his long dream, assuredly one of the most 
 poetical figures in the biographies of kings, and one of 
 the most interesting, but how remote from men ! This 
 remoteness is due, in great part, to a sincerity of disposi- 
 tion which declines amusements that do not amuse, and 
 desires only those real pleasures which are in perfect 
 harmony with one's own nature and constitution. We 
 like the sociability, the ready human sympathy, of the 
 Prince of Wales ; we think that in his position it is well
 
 xxvr.] AMUSEMENTS. 369 
 
 for him to be able to keep all that endless series of 
 
 engagements, but has not King Louis some claim upon 
 our indulgence even in his eccentricity? He has refused 
 the weary round of false amusements and made his choice 
 of ideal pleasure. If he condescended to excuse himself, 
 his Apologia pro vit& sua might take a form somewhat 
 resembling this. He might say, " I was born to a great 
 fortune and only ask leave to enjoy it in my own way. 
 The world's amusements are an infliction that I consider 
 myself at liberty to avoid. I love musical or silent soli- 
 tude, and the enchantments of a fair garden and a lofty 
 dwelling amidst the glorious Bavarian mountains. Let 
 the noisy world go its way with its bitter wranglings, its 
 dishonest politics, its sanguinary wars ! I set up no 
 tyranny. I leave my subjects to enjoy their brief human 
 existence in their own fashion, and they let me dream 
 my dream." 
 
 These are not the world's ways nor the world's view. 
 The world considers it essential to the character of a 
 prince that he should be at least apparently happy in 
 those pleasures which are enjoyed in society, that he 
 should seem to enjoy them along with others to show 
 his fellow-feeling with common men, and not sit by him- 
 self, like King Louis in his theatre, when Tannhauser is 
 performed for the royal ears alone. 
 
 Of the many precious immunities that belong to 
 humble station there are none more valuable than the 
 freedom from false amusements. A poor man is under 
 one obligation, he must work, but his work itself is a 
 blessed deliverance from a thousand other obligations. 
 He is not obliged to shoot, and hunt, and dance, against 
 his will, he is not obliged to affect interest and pleasure 
 
 2 B
 
 370 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 in games that only weary him, he has not to receive tire- 
 some strangers in long ceremonious repasts when he 
 would rather have a simple short dinner with his wife. 
 Beranger sang the happiness of beggars with his sympa- 
 thetic humorous philosophy, but in all seriousness it 
 might be maintained that the poor are happier than they 
 know. They get their easy unrestrained human inter- 
 course by chance meetings, and greetings, and gossipings, 
 and they are spared all the acting, all the feigning, that 
 is connected with the routine of imposed enjoyments. 
 
 Avowed work, even when uncongenial, is far less 
 trying to patience than feigned pleasure. You dislike 
 accounts and you dislike balls, but though your dislike 
 may be nearly equal in both cases you will assuredly find 
 that the time hangs less heavily when you are resolutely 
 grappling with the details of your account -books than 
 when you are only wishing that the dancers would go to 
 bed. The reason is that any hard work, whatever it is, 
 has the qualities of a mental tonic, whereas unenjoyed 
 pleasures have an opposite effect, and even though work 
 may be uncongenial you see a sort of result, whilst a false 
 pleasure leaves no result but the extreme fatigue that 
 attends it a kind of fatigue quite exceptional in its 
 nature, and the most disagreeable that is known to man. 
 
 The dislike for false amusements is often misunder- 
 stood to be a puritanical intolerance of all amusement. 
 It is in this as in all things that are passionately enjoyed 
 the false thing is most disliked by those who best 
 appreciate the true. 
 
 What may be called the truth or falsehood of amuse- 
 ments is not in the amusements themselves, but in the 
 relation between one human idiosyncrasy and them.
 
 xxvi.] AMUSEMENTS. 371 
 
 Every idiosyncrasy has its own strong mysterious affinities, 
 generally distinguishable in childhood, always clearly dis- 
 tinguishable in youth. We are like a lute or a violin, 
 the tuned strings vibrate in answer to certain notes but 
 not in answer to others. 
 
 To convert amusements into social customs or obliga- 
 tions, to make it a man's duty to shoot birds or ride 
 after foxes because it is agreeable to others to discharge 
 guns and gallop across fields, is an infringement of 
 individual liberty which is less excusable in the case of 
 amusements than it is in more serious things. For in 
 serious things, in politics and religion, there is always the 
 plausible argument that the repression of the individual 
 conscience is good for the unity of the State ; whereas 
 amusements are supposed to exist for the recreation of 
 those who practise them, and when they are not enjoyed 
 they are not amusements but something else. There is 
 no single English word that exactly expresses what they 
 are, but there is a French one, the word corvee, which 
 means forced labour, labour under dictation, all the 
 more unpleasant in these cases that it must assume the 
 appearance of enjoyment. 1 
 
 Surely there is nothing in which the independence of 
 the individual ought to be so absolute, so unquestioned, 
 as in amusements. What right have I, because a thing 
 is a pleasant pastime to me, to compel my friend or my 
 son to do that thing when it is a corvee to him ? No 
 man can possibly amuse himself in obedience to a word of 
 command, the most he can do is to submit, to try to appear 
 amused, wishing all the time that the weary task was over. 
 
 1 Littre derives corvte from the Low-Latin corrogata, from the 
 Latin cum and rogare.
 
 372 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 To mark the contrast clearly I will describe some 
 amusements from the opposite points of view of those 
 who enjoy them naturally, and those to whom they 
 would be indifferent if they were not imposed, and hate- 
 ful if they were. 
 
 Shooting is delightful to genuine sportsmen in many 
 ways. It renews in them the sensations of the vigorous 
 youth of humanity, of the tribes that lived by the chase. 
 It brings them into contact with nature, gives a zest and 
 interest to hard pedestrian exercise, makes the sports- 
 men minutely acquainted with the country, and leads to 
 innumerable observations of the habits of wild animals 
 that have the interest without the formal pretensions of 
 a science. Shooting is a delightful exercise of skill, 
 requiring admirable promptitude and perfect nerve, so 
 that any success in it is gratifying to self-esteem. Sir 
 Samuel Baker is always proud of being such a good 
 marksman, and frankly shows his satisfaction. " I had 
 fired three beautifully correct shots with No. i o bullets, 
 and seven drachms of powder in each charge; these 
 were so nearly together that they occupied a space in 
 her forehead of about three inches." He does not aim 
 at an animal in a general way, but always at a particular 
 and penetrable spot, recording each hit, and the special 
 bullet used. Of course he loves his guns. These 
 modern instruments are delightful toys on account of 
 the highly developed art employed in their construction, 
 so that they would be charming things to possess, and 
 handle, and admire, even if they were never used, whilst 
 the use of them gives a terrible power to man. See a 
 good marksman when he takes a favourite weapon in 
 his hand ! More redoubtable than Roland with the
 
 xxvi.] AMUSEMENTS. 373 
 
 sword Durindal, he is comparable rather to Apollo with 
 the silver bow, or even to Olympian Zeus himself grasp- 
 ing his thunders. Listen to him when he speaks of his 
 weapon ! If he thinks you have the free-masonry of the 
 chase, and can understand him, he talks like a poet and 
 lover. Baker never fails to tell us what weapon he used 
 on each occasion, and how beautifully it performed, and 
 due honour and advertisement are kindly given to the 
 maker, out of gratitude. 
 
 " I accordingly took my trusty little Fletcher double 
 rifle No. 24, and running knee-deep into the water to 
 obtain a close shot I fired exactly between the eyes near 
 the crown of the head. At the reports of the little 
 Fletcher the hippo disappeared." 
 
 Then he adds an affectionate foot-note about the gun, 
 praising it for going with him for five years, as if it had 
 had a choice about the matter, and could have offered 
 its services to another master. He believes it to be 
 alive, like a dog. 
 
 " This excellent and handy rifle was made by Thomas 
 Fletcher, of Gloucester, and accompanied me like a faith- 
 ful dog throughout my journey of nearly five years to 
 the Albert Nyanza, and returned with me to England as 
 good as new." 
 
 In the list of Baker's rifles appears his bow of Ulysses, 
 his Child of a Cannon, familiarly called the Baby, throw- 
 ing a half-pound explosive shell, a lovely little pet of a 
 weapon with a recoil that broke an Arab's collar-bone, 
 and was not without some slight effect even upon that 
 mighty hunter, its master. 
 
 " Bang went the Baby ; round I spun like a weather- 
 cock with the blood flowing from my nose, as the recoil
 
 374 HUMAN INTERCOURSE, [ESSAY 
 
 had driven the top of the hammer deep into the bridge. 
 My Baby not only screamed but kicked viciously. 
 However I knew the elephant would be bagged, as the 
 half-pound shell had been aimed directly behind the 
 shoulder." 
 
 We have the most minute descriptions of the effects 
 of these projectiles in the head of a hippopotamus and 
 the body of an elephant. " I was quite satisfied with 
 my explosive shells," says the enthusiastic sportsman, 
 and the great beasts appear to have been satisfied too. 
 
 Now let me attempt to describe the feelings of a 
 man not born with the natural instinct of a sportsman. 
 We need not suppose him to be either a weakling or a 
 coward. There are strong and brave men who can 
 exercise their strength and prove their courage without 
 willingly inflicting wounds or death upon any creature. 
 To some such men a gun is simply an encumbrance, to 
 wait for game is a wearisome trial of patience, to follow 
 it is aimless wandering, to slaughter it is to do the work 
 of a butcher or a poulterer, to wound it is to incur a 
 degree of remorse that is entirely destructive of enjoy- 
 ment. The fact that somewhere on mountain or in 
 forest poor creatures are lying with festering flesh or 
 shattered bones to die slowly in pain and hunger, and 
 the terrible thirst of the wounded, and all for the pleasure 
 of a gentleman such a fact as that, when clearly realised, 
 is not to be got over by anything less powerful than the 
 genuine instinct of the sportsman who. is himself one of 
 Nature's own born destroyers, as panthers and falcons 
 are. The feeling of one who has not the sporting in- 
 stinct has been well expressed as follows by Mr. Lewis 
 Morris, in "A Cynic's Day-dream."
 
 xxvr.] AMUSEMENTS, 375 
 
 Scant pleasure should I think to gain 
 From endless scenes of death and pain ; 
 'Twould little profit me to slay 
 A thousand innocents a day ; 
 I should not much delight to tear 
 With wolfish dogs the shrieking hare ; 
 With horse and hound to track to death 
 A helpless wretch that gasps for breath j 
 To make the fair bird check its wing, 
 And drop, a dying, shapeless thing ; 
 To leave the joy of all the wood 
 A mangled heap of fur and blood, 
 Or else escaping, but in vain, 
 To pine, a shattered wretch, in pain ; 
 Teeming, perhaps, or doomed to see 
 Its young brood starve in misery. 
 
 Hunting may be classed with shooting and passed 
 over, as the instinct is the same for both, with this differ- 
 ence only that the huntsman has a natural passion for 
 horsemanship that may be wanting to the pedestrian 
 marksman. An amusement entirely apart from every 
 other, and requiring a special instinct, is that of sailing. 
 
 If you have the nautical passion it was born with you, 
 and no reasoning can get it out of you. Every sheet of 
 navigable water draws you with a marvellous attraction, 
 fills you with an indescribable longing. Miles away 
 from anything that can be sailed upon, you cannot feel 
 a breeze upon your cheek without wishing to be in a 
 sailing-boat to catch it in a spread of canvas. A ripple 
 on a duck-pond torments you with a teasing reminder of 
 larger surfaces, and if you had no other field for naviga- 
 tion you would want to be on that duck-pond in a tub. 
 " I would rather have a plank and a handkerchief for a 
 sail," said Charles Lever, " than resign myself to give up
 
 376 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 boating." You have pleasure merely in being afloat, 
 even without motion, and all the degrees of motion under 
 sail have their own peculiar charm for you, from an 
 insensible gliding through glassy waters to a fight against 
 opposite winds and raging seas. You have a thorough, 
 intimate, and affectionate knowledge of all the details of 
 your ship. The constant succession of little tasks and 
 duties is an unfailing interest, a delightful occupation. 
 You enjoy the manual labour, and acquire some skill 
 not only as a sailor but as ship's carpenter and painter. 
 You take all accidents and disappointments cheerfully, 
 and bear even hardship with a merry heart. Nautical ex- 
 ercise, though on the humble scale of the modest amateur, 
 has preserved or improved your health and activity, and 
 brought you nearer to Nature by teaching you the habits 
 of the winds and waters and by displaying to you an 
 endless variety of scenes, always with some fresh interest, 
 and often of enchanting beauty. 
 
 Now let us suppose that you are simple enough to 
 think that what pleases you, who have the instinct, will 
 gratify another who is destitute of it. If you have power 
 enough to make him accompany you, he will pass through 
 the following experiences. 
 
 Try to realise the fact that to him the sailing-boat is 
 only a means of locomotion, and that he will refer to his 
 watch and compare it with other means of locomotion 
 already known to him, not having the slightest affection- 
 ate prejudice in its favour or gentle tolerance of its 
 defects. If you could always have a steady fair wind 
 he would enjoy the boat as much as a coach or a very 
 slow railway train, but he will chafe at every delay. 
 None of the details that delight you can have the slight-
 
 xxvi.] AMUSEMENTS. 377 
 
 est interest, for him. The sails, and particularly the 
 cordage, seem to him an irritating complication which, 
 he thinks, might be simplified, and he will not give any 
 mental effort to master them. He cares nothing about 
 those qualities of sails and hull which have been the 
 subject of such profound scientific investigation, such 
 long and passionate controversy. You cannot speak of 
 anything on board without employing technical terms 
 which, however necessary, however unavoidable, will 
 seem to him a foolish and useless affectation by which 
 an amateur tries to give himself nautical airs. If you 
 say " the mainsheet " he thinks you might have said 
 more rationally and concisely " the cord by which you 
 pull towards you that long pole which is under the 
 biggest of the sails," and if you say "the starboard 
 quarter," he thinks you ought to have said, in simple 
 English, " that part of the vessel's side that is towards 
 the back end of it and to your right hand when you are 
 standing with your face looking forwards." If you 
 happen to be becalmed he suffers from an infinite ennui. 
 If you have to beat to windward he is indifferent to the 
 wonderful art and vexed with you because, as his host, 
 you have not had the politeness and the forethought to 
 provide a favourable breeze. If you are a yachtsman of 
 limited means and your guest has to take a small share 
 in working the vessel, he will not perform it with any 
 cheerful alacrity, but consider it unfit for a gentleman. 
 If this goes on for long it is likely that there will be 
 irritation on both sides, snappish expressions, and a 
 quarrel. Who is in fault? Both are excusable in the 
 false situation that has been created, but it ought not to 
 have been created at all You ought not to have invited
 
 378 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 a man without nautical instincts, or he ought not to have 
 accepted the invitation. He was a charming companion 
 on land, and that misled you both. Meet him on land 
 again, receive him hospitably at your house. I would 
 say "forgive him!" if there were anything to forgive, 
 but it is not any fault of his or any merit of yours if, by 
 the irrevocable fate of congenital idiosyncrasy, the amuse- 
 ment that you were destined to seek and enjoy is the 
 corvee that he was destined to avoid. 
 
 I find no language strong enough to condemn the 
 selfishness of those who, in order that they may enjoy 
 what is a pleasure to themselves, deliberately and know- 
 ingly inflict a corvee upon others. This objection does 
 not apply to paid service, for that is the result of a con- 
 tract. Servants constantly endure the tedium of waiting 
 and attendance, but it is their form of work, and they 
 have freely undertaken it. Work of that kind is not a 
 corvee, it is not forced labour. Real corvees are inflicted 
 by heads of families on dependent relations, or by patrons 
 on humble friends who are under some obligation to 
 them, and so bound to them as to be defenceless. The 
 father or patron wants, let us say, his nightly game at 
 whist ; he must and will have it, if he cannot get it he 
 feels that the machine of the universe is out of gear. 
 He singles out three people who do not want to play, 
 perhaps takes for his partner one who thoroughly dislikes 
 the game, but who has learned something of it in obedi- 
 ence to his orders. They sit down to their board of 
 green cloth. The time passes wearily for the principal 
 victim, who is thinking of something else and makes 
 mistakes. The patron loses his temper, speaks with 
 increasing acerbity, and finally either flies into a passion
 
 xxvi.] AMUSEMENTS. 379 
 
 and storms (the old-fashioned way), or else adopts, with 
 grim self-control, a tone of insulting contempt towards 
 his victim that is even more difficult to endure. And 
 this is the reward for having been unselfish and obliging, 
 these are the thanks for having sacrificed a happy evening ! 
 
 If this is often done by individuals armed with some 
 kind of power and authority, it is done still more fre- 
 quently by majorities. The tyranny of majorities begins 
 in our school-days, and the principal happiness of man- 
 hood is in some measure to escape from it. Many a 
 man in after-life remembers with bitterness the weary 
 hours he had to spend for the gratification of others in 
 games that he disliked. The present writer has a vivid 
 recollection of what, to him, was the infinite dulness of 
 cricket. He was not by any means an inactive boy, 
 but it so happened that cricket never had the slightest 
 interest for him, and to this day he cannot pass a cricket- 
 ground without a feeling of strong antipathy to its level 
 surface of green, and of thankfulness that he is no longer 
 compelled to go through the irksome old corvee of his 
 youth. One of the many charms, to his taste, of a rocky 
 mountain-side in the Highlands is that cricket is impos- 
 sible there. At the same time he quite believes and 
 admits everything that is so enthusiastically claimed for 
 cricket by those who have a natural affinity for the game. 
 
 There are not only sports and pastimes, but there is 
 the long reverberating echo of every sport in endless 
 conversations. Here it may be remarked that the lovers 
 of a particular amusement, when they happen to be a 
 majority, possess a terrible power of inflicting ennui upon 
 others, and they often exercise it without mercy. Five 
 men are dining together, and three are fox- hunters.
 
 380 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY 
 
 Evidently they ought to keep fox-hunting to themselves 
 in consideration for the other two, but this requires an 
 almost superhuman self-discipline and politeness, so there 
 is a risk that the minority may have to submit in silence 
 to an inexhaustible series of details about horses and 
 foxes and dogs. Indeed you are never safe from this 
 kind of conversation, even when you have numbers on 
 your side. Sporting talk may be inflicted by a minority 
 when that minority is incapable of any other conversation 
 and strong in its own incapacity. Here is a case in point 
 that was narrated to me by one of the three convives. 
 The host was a country gentleman of great intellectual 
 attainments, one guest was a famous Londoner, and the 
 other was a sporting squire who had been invited as a 
 neighbour. Fox-hunting was the only subject of -talk, 
 because the squire was garrulous and unable to converse 
 about any other topic. 
 
 Ladies are often pitiable sufferers from this kind of 
 conversation. Sometimes they have the instinct of mas- 
 culine sport themselves, and then the subject has an 
 interest for them ; but an intelligent woman may find 
 herself in a wearisome position when she would rather 
 avoid the subject of slaughter, and all the men around 
 her talk of nothing but killing and wounding. 
 
 It is natural that men should talk much about their 
 amusements, because the mere recollection of a true 
 amusement (that for which we have an affinity) is in 
 itself a renewal of it in imagination, and an immense 
 refreshment to the mind. In the midst of a gloomy 
 English winter the yachtsman talks of summer seas, and 
 whilst he is talking he watches, mentally, his well-set 
 sails, and hears the wash of the Mediterranean wave.
 
 xxvi.] AMUSEMENTS. 381 
 
 There are three pleasures in a true amusement, first 
 anticipation, full of hope, which is 
 
 "A feast for promised triumph yet to come," 
 often the best banquet of all. Then comes the actual 
 fruition, usually dashed with disappointments that |a true 
 lover of the sport accepts in the most cheerful spirit. 
 Lastly, we go through it all over again, either with the 
 friends who have shared our adventures or at least with 
 those who could have enjoyed them had they been there, 
 and who (for vanity often claims her own delights) know 
 enough about the matter to appreciate our own admirable 
 skill and courage. 
 
 In concluding this Essay I desire to warn young 
 readers against a very common mistake. It is very 
 generally believed that literature and the fine arts can be 
 happily practised as amusements. I believe this to be 
 an error due to the vulgar notion that artists and literary 
 people do not work but only display talent, as if any- 
 body could display talent without toil. Literary and 
 artistic pursuits are in fact studies and not amusements. 
 Too arduous to have the refreshing quality of recreation, 
 they put too severe a strain upon the faculties, they are 
 too troublesome in their processes, and too unsatisfactory 
 in their results, unless a natural gift has been developed 
 by earnest] and long-continued labour. It does indeed 
 occasionally happen that an artist who has acquired skill 
 by persistent study will amuse himself by exercising it 
 in sport A painter may make idle sketches as Byron 
 sometimes broke out into careless rhymes, or as a scholar 
 will playfully compose doggerel in Greek, but these 
 gambols of accomplished men are not to be confounded 
 with the painful efforts of amateurs who fancy that they
 
 382 HUMAN INTERCOURSE. [ESSAY xxvi. 
 
 are going to dance in the Palace of Art and shortly dis- 
 cover that the muse who presides there is not a smiling 
 hostess but a severe and exigent schoolmistress. An 
 able French painter, Louis Leloir, wrote thus to a friend 
 about another art that he felt tempted to practise. 
 " Etching tempts me much. I am making experiments 
 and hope to show you something soon. Unhappily life 
 is too short ; we do a little of everything and then per- 
 ceive that each branch of art would of itself consume 
 the life of a man, to practise it very imperfectly after 
 all. . . . We get angry with ourselves and struggle, but 
 too late. It was at the beginning that we ought to have 
 put on blinkers to hide from ourselves everything that 
 is not art." 
 
 If we mean to amuse ourselves let us avoid the pain- 
 ful wrestling against insuperable difficulties, and the 
 humiliation of imperfect results. Let us shun all osten- 
 tation, either of wealth or talent, and take our pleasures 
 happily like poor children, or like the idle angler who 
 stands in his old clothes by the purling stream and 
 watches the bobbing of his float, or the glancing of the 
 fly that his guileful industry has made.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 jEsTHETic instinct, the, in woman, 175 
 
 Albany, Prince Leopold, Duke of, and 
 the intercourse of refinement, 2 
 
 Alexis, cruelty of Peter the Great to, 
 89 ; death of, 89 
 
 Ambition, of the rich, 23 
 
 Americans, natural understanding be- 
 tween, 235 ; compared with the Eng- 
 lish, 236 
 
 Amusement, desire for, in the wealthy, 
 23 ; social obligation of, 365 ; Sir 
 George Cornewall Lewis on, 367 ; of 
 H.R.H. the Prince of Wales and of 
 Louis II. of Bavaria, 367 
 
 Analysis, value of, 277 
 
 Ancestry, the unreal distinction of, 126 ; 
 and wealth, 127 ; difference in Eng- 
 lish and French ideas of, 127 
 
 Anonymous letters, 352 ; instance of, 
 358 ; on religion, 359 ; critical, to the 
 author, 361, and reply to, 362 
 
 Arabs, Algerian, and the telegraph, 308 
 
 Architecture, impressiveness of gran- 
 deur.in, 178 ; confusion as to, 276 and 
 note 
 
 Aristocracy, the, of France, 15 ; effect 
 of low association on, 113, 114, 115 ; 
 the modern element in English, 127 
 pride of, a bar to sociability, 234 
 ignorance of religious sects in, 242 
 ignorance as to income, 244 
 
 Armorial bearings, ignorance as to, 126 
 
 Art, Paris as a centre of, 6 ; abandon- 
 ment of, in favour of vulgar society, 
 25 ; friendships unsettled by differ- 
 ence of opinion on, 105 ; the clergy 
 
 and, 176; English, instance of ignor- 
 ance of, 251, 252 
 
 Artists, severance of early friendship 
 among, 106 
 
 Associates, influence of, 113 
 
 Association, of women and the clergy 
 183 
 
 Atavism, a bar to paternal and filial 
 intercourse, 81 
 
 B 
 
 BACHELOR, the, his access to society, 1 1 1 
 Baker, Sir Samuel, love of sport in, 373 
 Baptism, the importance of, 173 
 Bedford, the Duke of, his mastery of 
 
 the French language, 141 
 Beljame, M., Professor of English 
 
 Literature at Sorbonne, 142 
 Bentinck, and William of Orange, 328 
 Bernard, Saint, devotion of, to medita- 
 tion, 217 
 
 Betham-Edwards, Miss, quoted, 227 
 Bible, the, and the influence of science, 
 
 194, 200 
 
 Blake, quoted, 27 
 Boating, Charles Lever's love of, 375 ; 
 
 difficulties of companionship in, 376 
 Boccaccio, and Divine wrath, 210 
 Bohemianism, 280 ; compared with 
 Philistinism, 282, 288 ; surroundings 
 of, 289 ; of Napoleon and Charles 
 XII. of Sweden, 292 ; of Goldsmith's 
 early life, 293 ; in Wordsworth, 295 ; 
 in Samuel Palmer, 296 ; instance of, 
 in adversity, 298 
 
 Borrow, George, impression of English 
 homes on, 135
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Bright, John, an instance of brotherly 
 affection, 62 
 
 Bronte, Charlotte, and clerical influ- 
 ence, 184 
 
 Buffon, habits and life of, 197 
 
 Business, letters of, 337 ; importance 
 of accuracy in, 343 ; necessity of 
 clearness in, 345 ; commercial slang 
 >n. 347 
 
 Byron, Lord, 26 ; and Lady Byron, 44 ; 
 influence of the Countess Guiccioli 
 on, 45 ; as a letter-writer, 329 
 
 CELIBACY, in the Church of Rome, HI, 
 
 187 
 Ceremony, advantages of, 116; evil of 
 
 excess of, 118 
 Chambord, Count de, belief in the 
 
 restoration of, 240 
 
 Chance intercourse, instances of, 19, 21 
 Charles XII. of Sweden, indifference 
 
 to comfort in the field, 292 
 Children, effect of "nagging" upon, 70 
 Christian Year, the, alluded to, 186 
 Church, influence of the customs of, 186 
 Church of Rome, the, and celibacy, HI, 
 
 187 
 Church Ritual, attraction of, to women, 
 
 176 
 
 Church, the Russian, 243 
 Classical literature, study of in the 
 
 Renaissance, 199, 200 
 Claude, influence of, on Turner, 10 
 Clergy, the, Queen Elizabeth and the 
 
 marriage of, 188 ; state of the early 
 
 Protestant, 188 
 
 " Clergywomen," value of, 188 
 Clerical influence, power of, 183 
 Cockburn, Sir Alexander, perfection of, 
 
 in the French language, 141 
 Comfort, the desire for, 23 
 Commerce, M. Renan on, 123 
 " Common sense " not in harmony with 
 
 high intellect, 52 
 Companionship, instances of, in Goethe 
 
 and the Baroness von Stein and 
 
 Christiane Vulpius, 47 ; in John 
 
 Stuart Mill and Mrs. Taylor, 48 
 
 Complexity, of human nature, a bar to 
 laws of intercourse, 2 
 
 Compulsory conformity, Louis XVIII. 
 an instance of, 156 
 
 Confession, benefit of, to women, 189 ; 
 the power of, to the Church, 190 ; 
 objection of laymen to, 190 
 
 Conformity to religion, Louis XVIII., 
 an instance of compulsory, 156 
 
 Confusion, of ideas, 266 ; of the ignorant 
 as to tastes, 273 ; avoidance of in pro- 
 fessional men, 274 ; literary, 276 ; in 
 architecture, 276 
 
 Contempt, paternal, instances of, 90 
 
 Convention, n 
 
 Conversation, timidity in, to be avoided, 
 137 ; want of tact in, 137 ; truth and 
 untruth in, 222 ; cause of timidity in, 
 223 ; indifference of sportsmen to 
 taste of others in, 380 
 
 Correspondence, 320 ; French custom 
 of, 323 ; suggestions for brief, 323 ; 
 the variance of nature and, 324 ; of 
 William of Orange and Bentinck, 
 328 ; perfection of Byron in, 329 ; of 
 Jacquemont, 332 ; a cause of sever- 
 ance of friendship, 335 ; business, 
 337 ; accuracy and clearness neces- 
 sary in, 344 ; Napoleon's experiment 
 with regard to, 349 
 
 Corvee, 371 ; in families, 378 ; at school, 
 
 379 
 
 Courtesy, epistolary, 299 ; promptness 
 in replies necessary to, 300 ; instances 
 of, 302, 304 ; past and present, com- 
 pared, 305, 307 ; Scott quoted, 310, 
 note 
 
 Cricket, dislike to, 379 
 
 Cromwell, Oliver, 89 
 
 Richard, 89 
 
 D 
 
 DEMOCRATS, bitterness at success 
 
 among, 106 
 Denmark, Crown Prince of, Nelson's 
 
 letter to, mentioned, 311 
 De Saussure, his delight in nature, 
 
 218 
 De Tocqueville on the English people,
 
 INDEX. 
 
 385 
 
 226, 233 ; on the reserve in the Eng- 
 lish character, 234 
 
 Dickens, 17, 19 
 
 Diderot mentioned in connection with 
 Goldsmith, 293 
 
 Diogenes, tendency to the philosophy 
 of, 117 
 
 Dissenter, the, position of, 154; instance 
 of the difficulties of, 160 
 
 Dobell, Sidney, exclusion of from Chel- 
 tenham society, 16 
 
 Dominican friars, attractiveness of their 
 dress, 178 
 
 Dore, Gustave, an instance of letter- 
 writing by, 329 
 
 Double, M. Leopold, the house of, 133 
 
 Drawing as a female accomplishment, 
 176 
 
 Dress, influence of, 116 ; effect of dis- 
 regard to, 117 ; the interest of women 
 in, 176, 177 
 
 E 
 
 ECLIPSE, result of, on the faith of 
 
 Nikias, 203 
 Education, James Mill's success in, 75 ; 
 
 difficulties attending, 77 ; patriotic 
 
 ignorance of, 260 
 Egalite, definition of, 269 
 Eliot, George, 19 ; and Lewes, 41, 50 
 Elizabeth, Queen, her orders as to the 
 
 marriage of the clergy, 188 
 Emperor of Germany, habit of, at public 
 
 banquets, 96 
 
 England, sociability of, in the past, 233 
 English, the, De Tocqueville, and, 226 ; 
 
 Miss Betham - Edwards' picture of, 
 
 227 ; manners of, abroad, 227 ; com- 
 parison of, with the French, 230; 
 
 cause of reserve in, 234 
 English art, excluded from the Louvre, 
 
 253- 
 English literature, ignorance of the 
 
 French as to, 139 
 
 English titles, foreign indifference to, 1 28 
 Epistolary courtesy, 299, 304, 305, 307, 
 
 310, 312 
 Exclusion, instance of, in Sidney Dobell, 
 
 16 
 
 Experience, of the poor and the rich, 130 
 Eugenie, the Empress, 165] 
 
 FAMILIES, causes of severance in, 58 
 
 Father and son, past and present re- 
 lationship of, 72 ; difficulties of com- 
 panionship, 81, 85 ; Peter the Great 
 and Alexis, 88 ; the true relationship 
 between, 91 
 
 Fine arts, the divergence of taste in, 
 4 ; study necessary to success in, 
 381 
 
 Flowers, the delight of women in, 177 
 
 France, exclusiveness of the aristo- 
 cracy of, 15 
 
 Fraternal affection, instances of, 62 
 
 Fraternal indifference, instance of, 61 
 
 Fraternite, 268 
 
 French, the, excellence of, in art, 5 ; 
 ideal of "good form," 12 ; exclusive- 
 ness of the aristocracy, 15 ; a contrast 
 in the manners of, 119 ; and English 
 titles, 128, note 128 ; ignorance of 
 English literature in, 139 ; instance 
 of the charm of, 230 ; patriotic ignor- 
 ance of, regarding England, 255 
 
 Friendship, and relationship, 69 ; in- 
 stance of English, 113 ; the death 
 and various causes of, 102, 103 ; 
 John Stuart Mill on, 104 ; change of 
 opinion, the cause of severance of, 
 105 ; effect of prosperity on, 105 ; 
 weakened by physical changes ; 106 ; 
 ended through marriage, 107 ; sever- 
 ance of by correspondence, 335 
 
 GAMBETTA, Imperialists' view of his 
 
 death, 212 
 
 Generosity, instances of misplaced, 64 
 Gentility, 239 ; and religious ignorance, 
 
 242 ; inconsistency of, 246 ; avoidance 
 
 of, by men of culture, 248 
 Germans, the, quiet sociability of, 231 
 Germany, the Emperor of, at public 
 
 dinners, 96 
 Gladstone, Mr., probable estimate of, 
 
 2 C
 
 386 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 by French aristocracy, 15 ; an in- 
 stance of indebtedness to trade, 125 ; 
 319 
 
 Godwin, Mary, and Shelley, 43 
 Goethe, separation of, and the Baroness 
 von Stein, 47 ; love for Christiane 
 Vulpius, 48; 51 
 Goldsmith, a true Bohemian, 293 ; his 
 
 later life, 294 
 
 " Good form," French ideal of, 12 
 Greek, as a universal language, 148 
 Guest, the, rights of, 92 ; the relation- 
 ship of the host and, 93 ; opinions of, 
 to be respected, 98 ; duties of, to- 
 wards the host, 100 ; indifference of, 
 to his host, 133 
 
 Guiccioli, Countess, and Lord Byron, 
 45 
 
 H 
 
 HABITS, French and English, com- 
 pared in regard to friendship, 234 
 Haidee, an instance of passionate love, 
 
 35 
 
 Hamerton, Sir Stephen, 308, note 
 
 Hamerton's Intellectual Life, anony- 
 mous criticism of, 361 ; Painter's 
 Camp in the Highlands, 361 
 
 Haweis, Rev. H. R., on prayer and 
 victory in battle, 211 
 
 Homer, knowledge of the lower classes 
 in, 19 
 
 Hospitality, the true principle of, 93 ; 
 absence of true, 97 ; for the sake of 
 society only, 133 ; of the rich prefer- 
 able, 134 
 
 Host, the, and the guest, 92 ; absence 
 of tact in, 94 ; difficulties of, 96 ; 
 negligence in, 96 ; as protector of 
 the younger guests, 99 ; advantages 
 of wit in, 99 ; duties of the guest 
 toward, 100 ; love of admiration in, 
 
 134 
 
 Hostess, the, thoughtlessness in conver- 
 sation of, to be avoided, 99 
 
 Houghton, Lord, and the mastery of 
 the French language, 141 
 
 Human intercourse, absence of fixed 
 laws as to, i 
 
 Humorists, Lowell an example of, 17 
 
 Humour, of the vulgar, 16 ; in connec- 
 tion with foreign languages, 147 
 
 Huxley, Professor, on the order of 
 Nature, 205 
 
 IDEAS, of intercourse, 2, 3 ; change in, 
 the cause of severance of friendship, 
 103 ; confusion of, in politics, 266 
 
 Ignorance, genteel, 239 ; of politics, 
 241 ; in religion, 242 ; as to income, 
 244 ; patriotic, 250 
 
 Imperialists, and the deaths of Gam- 
 betta and Napoleon III., 212 
 
 Income,limited,difficulties attending, 245 
 
 Incompatibility, natural pleasure in de- 
 tecting, i ; the bar to intercourse, 8 ; 
 discovery of, after marriage, 44 
 
 Inconsistency, in judging acquired 
 wealth, 126 
 
 Independant, meaning of, 12 
 
 Independence, two kinds of, 9 ; mental, 
 completeness of, in London, 13 ; false, 
 
 63 
 
 Industry, M. Renan on, 123 
 
 Intellectual sympathy, not to be gener- 
 ally expected, 68 
 
 Intellectuality, and middle class "com- 
 mon sense," 52 
 
 Intercourse, absence of fixed laws con- 
 cerning, i ; complexity of human 
 nature in relation to, 2 ; popular 
 ideas of, 2 ; likeness and unlikeness 
 in connection with, 6 ; difficulties of, 
 in connection with the Fine Arts, 4 ; 
 of nationalities, 5 ; suggestion as to a 
 general law of, 7 ; instance of, 7 ; and 
 incompatibility, 8 ; and sympathy, 8 ; 
 instances of chance, 19, 21 ; instance 
 of the evil of lower, 24 ; equality in 
 wealth not necessary to, no; intellect 
 and culture in relation to, in ; of 
 Mignet and Thiers, in ; difficulties 
 of, between poor and rich, 131 ; and 
 religion, 150 ; written, 299 ; business, 
 
 338 
 
 Intercourse, religious, doctrine an oppo- 
 sition to, 3 
 
 International differences, evils of, 138 ; 
 usefulness of newspapers in, 140
 
 INDEX. 
 
 387 
 
 Investors, objection of, to be classed as 
 
 tradesmen, 125 
 Ivry, Macaulay's religious faith in, 211 
 
 JACQUEMONT, Victor, as a letter-writer, 
 
 332 
 
 Jane Eyre, referred to, 184 
 Jealousy, injudicious talkers the cause 
 
 of, 60 ; of youth, 60 
 Jews, the, religious study of, 193 
 Juliet, an instance of passionate love, 
 
 35 
 
 K 
 
 KEBLE'S Christian Year, referred to, 
 
 186 
 
 Knowledge, advantages of modern, 217 
 Knyghton, Henry, quoted, 238, note 
 
 LANDOWNER, the social position of, in 
 Scotland, 122 
 
 Language, the obstacles of, 138 ; know- 
 ledge of, necessary to the advance of 
 commerce, 140 ; stages in the study 
 of, 143 ; evil of imperfect study of, 
 146 ; absurdities in, 146 ; foreign, a 
 source of humour, 146 ; a universal, 
 146 
 
 Language, the French, rarity of English 
 masters of, 141 
 
 Laws of intercourse, absence of, i ; 
 complexity an obstacle to, 2 
 
 Legouve^ M., 72 ; and religious dissen- 
 sion in families, 86 ; 316 
 
 Leloir, Louis, on singleness in study, 
 382 
 
 Leopold, Prince, Duke of Albany, an 
 instance of generous refinement, 2 
 
 Letters, of friendship, 320 ; of business, 
 333 
 
 Letters anony nous, 352 ; instance of, 
 358 ; on religion, 359 
 
 Letter -writing, 300; immediate reply 
 necessary, 300 ; instances of the evil 
 of delay in, 301 ; modes of address, 
 302, 305, note ; Legouvd mentioned in 
 
 connection with, 316 ; reasons for 
 avoiding, 339 ; anonymous, 352 
 
 Lever, Charles, insight of, into English 
 character, 236 ; 245 
 
 Lewes, and George Eliot, 41 
 
 Lewis, Sir George Cornewall, on plea- 
 sure, 367 
 
 " Liberte, Egalite, Fraternity" de- 
 finition of, 268 
 
 Liberty, religious, 152 ; definition of, 267 
 
 Library, the, wealth of, to the scholar, 
 273 
 
 Likeness and Unlikeness, in relation to 
 companionship, 6 
 
 Literary confusions, instances of, 276 
 and note 
 
 Literature, advantages of variety in, 
 25 ; necessity of study of, 381 
 
 Literature, classical, study of, 199, 200 
 
 Literature, English, ad vantage of study 
 of, 139 ; ignorance of, in France, 252 
 
 Literature, French, study of, necessary, 
 139 
 
 Littre, his persistent devotion to study 
 and work, 197 
 
 London, marked mental independence 
 of, 13 
 
 Louis II., King of Bavaria, contrasted 
 with H.R.H. the Prince of Wales, 
 
 367 ; 369 
 
 Louis XVIII., an instance of compul- 
 sory conformity to religion, 156 
 
 Louvre, the, absence of English art in, 
 253 
 
 Love, the true object of, 29 ; capricious- 
 ness of, 31 ; the poets and, 32 ; and 
 marriage, 32 ; variety of, 33 ; the 
 misery of misplaced, 36 ; the power 
 of, 38 ; the aim of woman, 167 
 
 Lowell, as a humorist, 17 
 
 Lucy Ashton, an instance of passionate 
 love, 35 
 
 M 
 
 MACAULAY quoted, 170, note, 188 
 Macaulay's Ivry, religious faith in, 211 
 Macleod, Dr. Norman, 175, note 
 Mariage de convenaace, 54 
 Marriage, evils of unsuitable, 36 ; time 
 of, in different classes of society, 37
 
 388 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 companionship in, 40; incompati- 
 bility in, 44; result of, on bachelor 
 friendships, 107 ; as a bar to society, 
 in; position of the priest in regard to, 
 172 ; difficulties connected with, 187 
 Melbourne, the Bishop of, and the 
 
 direction of prayer, 209 
 Me'rime'e's Correspondence, 305, note 
 Mignet, his friendship with Thiers, 
 
 in 
 
 Military law, and religion, 162 
 Mill, James, his success in education, 
 
 75 
 
 Mill, John Stuart, 17 ; quoted, 24 ; and 
 Mrs. Taylor, an instance of true 
 companionship, 48 ; on friendship, 
 104 ; on English society, 248 
 
 Money, fluctuation of, no 
 
 Montaigne, 54 ; as a letter-writer, 335 
 
 Morality, indifference to the laws of, 
 
 iS7 
 Morris' (Lewis) A Cynic's Day-dream, 
 
 quoted, 375 
 Mozart, 275 
 Music, the female taste for, 176 
 
 N 
 
 " NAGGING," effect of, on children, 70 
 Nationality, to be respected, 99 
 Natural causes, supernatural in connec- 
 tion with, 206, 209 
 Natural taste, contrasted, 271 
 Napoleon I., Bohemianism of, 293 ; 
 experiment of, with correspondence, 
 
 349 
 
 Napoleon III., the Imperialists and the 
 death of, 212 ; pomp of, in the battle- 
 field, 293 
 
 Nelson, letter to the Crown Prince of 
 Denmark, 311 
 
 Newspapers, usefulness of, in inter- 
 national questions, 140 ; French and 
 English, compared, 235, note 
 
 Nikias, a religious faith in, 204 ; 216 
 
 o 
 
 ORATORY, of the Pulpit and Parliament 
 compared, 181 
 
 Original, meaning of, 12 
 
 Orthodoxy, of the Russian Church, 243 
 
 PAGET, Lady Florence, letter from 
 quoted, 306, note 
 
 Painter's Camp in tJie Highlands, 
 Hamerton, 361 
 
 Painting, natural colour in, 219 
 
 Palgrave, Gifford, Arabia, quoted, 213 
 
 Palmer, George, M.P., on prayer and 
 victory in battle, 210 
 
 Palmer, Samuel, Bohemian element in, 
 296 
 
 Paris, as an artistic centre, 6 ; the 
 society of, and poverty, 112 
 
 Parliamentary oratory, compared with 
 pulpit oratory, 181 
 
 Paternal contempt, instances of, 90 
 
 Paternal dislike, instanced in Peter the 
 Great and Alexis, 89 ; in Sir Timothy 
 and the poet Shelley, 89 
 
 Patriotic ignorance, narrowness of, 250 ; 
 instance of, regarding Art, 251 ; in 
 Paris, of English Literature, 253 ; of 
 the French regarding England, 255 ; 
 as to habits, 258 ; of foreign expres- 
 sions, 259 ; of learning, 260 ; of mili- 
 tary strength, 263 
 
 Patriotic pride, of country, 256 
 
 Peel, Mr. Arthur, his indebtedness to 
 trade, 125 
 
 Peter the Great, contrast between, and 
 his son Alexis, 88 
 
 Philistinism, and Bohemianism com- 
 pared, 282, 285 
 
 Physical change, friendships weakened 
 by, 106 
 
 Physical exercise, estimate by youth of 
 the exertions of men, 80 
 
 Plumpton, Dorothy, letter from, to her 
 father, 303 
 
 Plumpton, Sir Robert, letter to, 303 
 
 Plumpton Correspondence, the, 302, 
 303, 304, 306 
 
 Politeness, foreign, 146 
 
 Political adherence, in families, 86 
 
 Poor, the, as educators, 19 
 
 Politics, confusion of ideas in, 266
 
 INDEX. 
 
 389 
 
 Ponsard's L'Honneur ft f Argent, 
 
 quoted, 319 
 
 Popular ideas, as to intercourse, 2, 3 
 Poverty, not a bar to Parisian society, 
 , ii2 ; and English friendship, 113 ; 
 
 destructive to refinement, 115 
 Prayer, and natural causes, the Bishop 
 
 of Melbourne on, 209 ; for victory in 
 
 battle, 210, 211 
 Priest, the, influence of, on women, 166, 
 
 168 ; power of sympathy in, 171 ; in 
 
 church, 178, 180 ; the layman's objec- 
 tion to, 190 
 Prince Imperial, the, Imperialists' view 
 
 of the death of, 212 
 Princesses, position of, in regard to 
 
 religious faith, 155 
 Professional training, ideas connected 
 
 with, 84 
 
 Prosperity, effect of, on friendship, 105 
 Protestant clergy, misery of the early, 
 
 1 88 
 Public men, unknown characteristics 
 
 Of, 2 
 
 Pulpit, the, advantage of, to the priest, 
 
 1 80 
 Punch, on trade distinctions, 124 
 
 RADICAL, true meaning of, 268 
 
 Railway system, the, as an instance of 
 check to originality, 10 
 
 Rank, the ambition of the rich, 23 ; and 
 wealth, 121 
 
 Reading, value of, 25 
 
 Reeve, Henry, editor of the Edinburgh 
 Review, perfection of, in the French 
 language, 141 
 
 Refinement, a cause of isolation in cer- 
 tain families, 65 ; wealth an aid to, 
 115 ; ceremony of, 116 ; of the wealthy 
 a natural attraction, 119 
 
 Reform, distinct from rebellion, 266 
 
 Relations and friends, comparisons be- 
 tween, 69 
 
 Religion, an obstacle to intercourse, 
 150 ; position of royalty in regard to, 
 154 ; position of English nobility in 
 regard to, 158 ; women and the influ- 
 
 ence of, 166 ; apparent decline in 
 193 ; of women of the last century, 193 
 
 Religious ceremony, compulsory with 
 royalty, 158 
 
 Religious faith, result of, in Nikias, 
 203; instanced in Ivry, 211 ; personal 
 bias of, 212 
 
 Religious intercourse, difficulties con- 
 nected with, 3 
 
 Religious liberty, 152 ; instances of, 153 ; 
 denied to royalty, 158 ; allowed to the 
 lower classes, 158 ; in comparison 
 with population, 160 
 
 Religious sects, ignorance of the aristo- 
 cracy concerning, 242 
 
 Religious worship, the influence of, 179 
 
 Remusat, Madame de, letters of, 333 
 
 Renaissance, the, 196, 199 
 
 Renan, M., on industry and commerce, 
 123 
 
 Restraint, feeling of, in visiting the 
 poor, 131 
 
 Revolt of Islam, 43 
 
 Rich, the, rank the ambition of, 23 ; the 
 charm of visiting, 132 ; their views 
 not necessarily correct, 136 
 
 Ritual of the Church, attraction of, to 
 women, 176 
 
 Roman Catholics,religious liberty of, 153 
 
 Rome, the Church of, the effect of 
 celibacy in, in, 187 
 
 Royalty, position of, in regard to reli- 
 gion, 154 
 
 Ruolz, M., 341 
 
 Russell, Lord Arthur, 141 
 
 Russia, Emperor of, sacerdotal position 
 of, 156 
 
 Russian Church, the, orthodoxy of, 243 
 
 SARCASM, ill effect of, on the young, 61 
 Schoolmaster, the, authority and posi- 
 tion of, 75 
 
 Schuyler's Peter the Great, quoted, 88 
 Science and the Bible, 194 ; effect of 
 
 the spread of, 200 
 
 Scott, indebtedness of, to the poor, 19 
 Shakespeare, knowledge of the poor 
 in, 19
 
 390 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Shelley, study and originality of, 10 ; 
 30 ; quoted, 39 ; and Harriett West- 
 brook, 42 ; and Mary Godwin, 42 ; 
 50 ; absence of sympathy between, 
 and Sir Timothy Shelley, 89 
 
 Shelley, Sir Timothy, his treatment of 
 the poet, 89 
 
 Shrewdness, in the poor as to external 
 matters, 19 
 
 Social position, sacrifices for the sake 
 of, 56 ; tact of women in discover- 
 ing, 121 ; estimated on property in 
 land, 122 
 
 Society, in provincial towns, 14 ; the 
 bachelor in, in ; marriage and, in ; 
 of Paris, 112 
 
 Society, vulgar, offensiveness of, 3 
 
 Solitude, 17 ; absolute, 18 
 
 Spencer, Herbert, 98 ; on the display 
 of wealth, 136 ; 214 
 
 Sport, in England, a French idea of, 
 253 ; Sir Samuel Baker's love of, 372 
 
 Stein, Baroness von, and Goethe, 47 
 
 Stephenson, and his first critics, 278 
 
 Study, Buffon and Littre' instances of 
 persistent, 197 ; necessity of, for 
 success in the Fine Arts, 382 
 
 Supernatural, the, in relation to the 
 natural, 215 
 
 Supernatural belief, instance of, in 
 connection with an accident, 206 
 
 Sympathy, and intercourse, 8 ; intel- 
 lectual, want of, to be understood, 
 68 ; in the priest, 171 
 
 Syracuse, Nikias and the siege of, 203 
 
 TALK, the evil effect of injudicious, on 
 
 the young, 60 
 Tasso, Bernardo, as a letter writer, 
 
 334 ; compared with Montaigne, 335 
 Taste, dissimilarity of, the cause of 
 
 family estrangement, 59 ; kindred, in 
 
 rich and poor, 129 
 Taylor, Mrs., and John Stuart Mill, an 
 
 instance of perfect companionship, 
 
 48 
 Telegraph, the, pleasure and use of, 
 
 308, 310 
 
 Tennyson, Lord, originality of, 10 ; an 
 instance of singleness of purpose, 275 
 
 Tennyson's In Memoriam referred to, 
 186 
 
 The Intellectual Life, Hamerton, criti- 
 cism of, 361 
 
 Thiers, the friendship of Mignetand, in 
 
 Timidity, in conversation, to be avoided, 
 
 !37 
 Trade, difficulties in defining, 122 ; 
 
 Punch on distinctions in, 124 
 Tradesmen, investors classed as, 125 
 Truth and untruth, 219 ; in art, 219 ; 
 
 in conversation, 222 
 Turner, in connection with Claude, 10 
 
 u 
 
 UNIVERS, note, 260 
 Universal language, Greek as a, 148 
 Unlikeness, in relation to companion- 
 ship, 6 
 
 V 
 
 VESTMENTS, Church, attraction of, to 
 
 women, 177 
 Viollet-le-Duc, 346 
 Visiting, the poor and rich compared, 
 
 1311 J 32 
 
 Voltaire, mentioned in connection with 
 
 Goldsmith, 293 
 
 Vulgar society, to be avoided, 3 
 Vulpius, Christiane, and Goethe, 47 
 
 w 
 
 WALES, H.R.H. the Prince of, and 
 social amusements, 367 ; contrasted 
 with Louis II. of Bavaria, 367 
 
 Wealth, the flux of, no ; an aid to re- 
 finement, 115 ; advantage of, over 
 rank, 129 ; display of, intended to 
 subjugate, 136 
 
 Wealth and rank, differences of, 121 ; 
 inconsistency in judging between, 126 
 
 Westbrook, Harriett, Rossetti's descrip- 
 tion of, 42 and note; 43 ; 90 
 
 Wolseley, Lord, 216 
 
 Women, perception of social position 
 in, 121 ; and priests, 164 ; persuasive
 
 INDEX. 
 
 powers of, 164 ; dependence of, 166 ; 
 influence of religion on, 166 ; love, 
 the chief desire of, 167 ; firmness of, 
 under conviction of evil, 169 ; in- 
 terest of, in church ceremonial, 173 ; 
 interest in dress, 176 ; the attraction 
 of church ritual for women, 176 ; 
 power of custom over, 185 ; confes- 
 sion beneficial to, 189 ; devotional 
 tendency of, 193 ; and scientific teach- 
 ing, 200 
 
 Wordsworth, 19 ; quoted, 27 ; Bohemian 
 
 tendency in, 295 
 Working man, the freedom of, in regard 
 
 to religious belief, 159 
 William of Orange, correspondence 
 
 of, with Bentinck, 328. 
 
 YORK, the Archbishop of, and thanks- 
 giving for victory, 211 
 
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 RICHARD HOLMES. 
 
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 HENRY JAMES. 
 
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 THEODOR KNESING. 
 
 RICHARD JSFFERIES. 
 
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 Miss KINGSLEY. 
 
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