PR /\,At?9ffc7 ^Viqla PR4790.H17l57""'™""^'-"'"^ Monimentairemains in prose and verse of 3 1924 013 482 728 654 Hibbert (James) [f resionj. Moniment Jjf BemaiDS in prose and verse. 1849-1902, J 8vo, doth, 2s 6d Privately printed,_L^ TO MY COMPANION IN LIFE, THESE PAGES. The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013482728 MONIMENTA: REMAINS IN PROSE AND VERSE OF JAMES HIBBERT. 1849—1902. f)civateli2 |>cinte&. AI,L RIGHTS RESERVED. PART I.— VERSE. PART II.— PROSE. PART III.— MISCELLANEA. [arranged in chronological order.] PART IV.— LETTERS TO AMIELLE. PREFACE. As it seems likely that I shall have descen- dants for some generations, I think that they may some time wish to know what kind of man their progenitor was, having regard to the Chief Architectural Work I leave behind in my native town of Preston.* These " Remains," extending over fifty years of my life, will, in a measure, show it. What are called " Confessions " have been avoided : no one is any the better for such. I here place on record my personal friendships with Garth Wilkinson and Watkiss Lloyd. Of the makers of books of my own time, I owe most to Carlyle. JAMES HIBBERT. Christmas Eve, igoi. * The scheme I devised of the Harris Free Public Library and Museum, as respects the forma- tion of the Reference Library, and, in part, of the Museum, was left by me incomplete, and fell afterwards into common hands. Hanc fors imperat. MONIMENTA, PART I. OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. 1849-50. 1. Spring it cometh merrily, The wind gaily blows, And birds are singing cheerily A-top the budding boughs. But yonder stands a pale-faced lad, Grave and sickly looketh he, — Standeth withering while the round Of Nature breathes so gladly. — Ah me ! It seemeth sad, Amid this Birth, Death's on yon lad. II. Fragment. .... And oh! What thoughts and feelings his who living thus Devotes his life to its own proper use! Glowing in purity, his purpose grand Irradiates a flame in all who stand Around him ; — who, holding in his breast That peace of mind which nought can from him wrest. Calm and serene, as day by day rolls by. Looks so on death, as if that hour were nigh. 12 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. III. The shades of night now o'er me creep, And I am lone, In musing thought reclining on A church-yard stone. My soul is soothed among the graves. Where, in their bed Of deep repose and lasting calm. Low lie the dead. And oft to this church-yard at e'en My spirit hies, For here, this lettered stone beneath. My father lies. A twelve-month 'tis since here he left This very day, — O father, to thy ashes, I A tribute pay! And when death's grasp shall me o'ertake, I'll gladly die, So may I meet thy form among The souls on high. All worldly shapes to me are dim. And nought I crave ; And now methinks I'll lay me down Upon his grave. IV. I WANDER at night By a faery stream, Where the ghostly moonlight Doth ripple and gleam. OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. 1 3 And the bands of my soul Enwoven by day, Unswathe and unroll, As she lifts up a lay, That to all doth respond In creation so still, From the darkness beyond The blue star o'er the hill. And silence unveils Her mysterious mien. While I barken the tales Of the Spirits unseen. V. And so she now doth cast away The heart that once was dear. And other dreams enchain the thoughts Whose memories of me were. O trust not in a woman's smile. Or eyes that now beam bright! The meteor oft a moment shines. And then is lost in night. But while I live no one again Shall pierce my bosom's core, For sterner thoughts shall now be mine. And I will love no more. 14 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. 1851-52. VI. As o'er her graceful form mine eye doth float, And cannot choose but gaze and linger long, The luscious air around wafts down my throat As though from fairy land it came along. And with mine arm around her in the dance, She presses closely to my beating heart. While I am gazing in delirious trance Upon the sweet curve of her lips apart. I could have kissed thee, Maiden ! loosed thy zone. And twined my quivering fingers in thine hair. Whose long luxurious waves were darkly thrown O'er heaving shoulders, how divinely fair! In lands afar perchance I oft shall trace Thy lineaments, Beloved ! on memory's days, Regretting, O my sweet! that on thy face I might not alway and for ever gaze. VII. Fragment. . . . Our boyhood's o'er ; and the severer trials That years do bring, my Friend, have marked thee ; Thy face, with furrows lined, doth evidence Far fiercer battles than I myself have fronted. But be not down-cast ; with toughened spirit rise, And stand erect whate'er befall thee : Arm thyself continually ; — and, should it be Our faces look not on each other more in mortal guise. Doubt not that we shall meet again. OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. 15 VIII. Away with this dreary land, And give me the clime of the East, The clime of the Sun where the broadening noon Is a warm and a sensuous feast. That rouses the ether of life. That quickens the blood and brings forth The Arabian heaven that never was given The cold-blooded son of the North. Away to the Eastern climes, To the land of the scented showers, Where the pelican dreams in the cooling streams, And hides him under the bowers. A palace of love I will build. Embosomed by loftiest trees. Where the sycamores slake their leaves in the lake, And murmur replies to the breeze. IX. O THAT it were mine to dream this weary life away! Reclining by some fountain, gazing idly while the spray Were lisping charmed silvery tales within the ear of noon, . And bounding in the rays of an eternal summer sun. Where gorgeous flowers perfume the air luxuriously lying, Lulled by strains of music and by troops of fairies sighing, 1 6 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. Curtained all around me by unclouded Eastern skies, . And breathing air as lustrous as the light of lovers' eyes. Peopling this my paradise from fancy's gayest bowers, Where dark-eyed houris dance whose hair adown them floats in showers, Forms that ne'er Hellenic art in palmiest eras knew, Warmer and more glowing far than Tiziano drew. O that I were dreaming then this weary life away! Dreaming in the realms of my imagination gay. With circling houris sweeping round and warbling in mine ear. Thy youth, O Mortal, is Immortal, Mortal, rest thee here ! X. Sweet and dear, sweet and dear, Are thy tones to me ; Through the portals of mine ear Comes their lullabie ; The night wind murmurs through the trees. Nodding their leaves to thee. Sing away, sing away, While I list to thee! A voice that wells from the glassy lake Not clearer sounds to me ; The orb of day is far away. And the moon beams plaintively. OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. i; Sing to me, O sing to me Through all the deep night long! Thy voice, upon the soft wind borne. Echoes the hills among ; Floating along, faintly and strong, Now here, now there — Ding-dong ! XL Why should I live? Were it not better far Since in the future is no star For me to die? Why should I live To sell .each hour of time To souls that but the gold-chink's rhyme Can hear or feel? Why should I live To be of these the slave? Existing but this side the grave To earn my bread. Why should I live? No joy on earth I see. Friends have I none, nor loves — from me All stand aloof. Why should I live Veiled wisdoms to unfold? Alas! Full soon shall I be old. And nothing known. O then!— Why live To run this feverish race? Death past, I see as face to face. And know as known. B 1 8 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. XII. As some lone traveller that doth tread for aye, Through day and twilight dim, across a way Beset with many a pitfall and delay, To an horizon he can scarce descry. Stops to complain it seemeth not more nigh. But, like the shapes that haunt the morning gray. Seems ever gliding footlessly away As 'tis advanced upon : — So I When Night across Day's face her robe doth fling. And o'er me bends her forehead, Argus-eyed, Do lend mine ear to what my soul doth sing : — Suns set and years roll by: The muddy tide Of adverse things I breast, Alas! in vain — Unrest ! Unrest ! — Rest can I not attain ! 1853-55. XIII. Scarred by continual combat with the crowd ; Compelled into fulfilling the behest Of common life ; hearing laughter loud Ringing attendance on the obscene jest, Which, like a snake that crawleth o'er the earth. Crawls over me, and leaves a noisome slime. That cannot be effaced by after -time, I almost wish that I had never birth ; For, the heroic flames that should have vent. So scorch me with their pent-up fires, that e'er My manhood dawns, I would my life were spent:- But, Amielle, while my lips impress thine hair. So sweet a vision do my closed eyes see. That I would live for ever, loving Thee ! OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. 1 9 XIV. Whom the gods love, die young ! — So be it, stop the oars, Youth on the prow ; For, though but manhood's years surmount my brow, Hope me has fled, or else, with silent step. Cares not to babble to me on our way : From out the brooding morn comes creeping day. Monotonous and slow ; and wanes, till night Steals in with shadows and unleavened gloom. Across the twilight of my lonely room, Where thought and I oft mark the taper's flight. And liken my desires to its life-wasting light. I cannot run the race With men who never lift themselves from earth ; For them, Ambition folds the wing — What worth Were it mid such to gain distinctive place? And, round the coming years, no visions twine Of gentle wife to lay her cheek to mine. Or smiling children clustering round my knee ; For, in unpassioned hour, I would not launch A life from mine out on this troublous sea Of human kind, for fear of fatal chance, That, stung by wish for action, it should be Complaining ever of un-souled activity. And so, being dead to life, I hail as harbinger that sleep shall soon Come whispering in mine ear a lute-like tune. That never more shall morn its sorrow bring ; But, carolling like birds, my thoughts shall wing For ever skyward, fresh as singing showers Of sun-borne fountains upon odorous flowers. 20 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. XV. Sweetest spirits hover o'er thee, Watch and ward, from year to year, Circling waves of music from thee. Heard by only lover's ear — O thou Maiden ! free and fearless, Shimmering light from golden hair. Stepping firmly o'er the arches Bridging life from here to There. XVI. To sit by the fire and smoke a short pipe. When alone, all alone at his leisure, Be-slippered and gowned, in collar turn-down, I ween is a bachelor's pleasure. He hath no wife to fret out his life. And let it bring joy or bring sorrow, With his feet on the hob, he hath not a throb, Nor a thought for the coming to-morrow. But he puffeth away from his short smutty clay. The while on the clear night air. The clocks all about the long hours give out, He listens, and he doesn't care. But to bed he doth go when his fire gets low. And he thinks, with so little at stake. Come weal or come woe, he would care not a straw. If he never again were to wake. OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. 21 XVII. The Song of the Soldier before Sebastopol. Drink, boys ! Their blood, boys, Shall not be shed in vain, Let our last breath avenge the death Of all our comrades slain. They talk at home of peace with foes, Who, when the fight was o'er. Sought out the fallen Britishman, His clotted wounds to gore. For peace with Russians, cowards, fiends. At Dovvning Street they vote ; — You're frozen there, revenge is here. Upsurging in the throat. But no, my Men ! My blood-roused Men ! Our gor^d brothers cry, From kindred riven, to us, to heaven. For vengeance ere they die. So drink, boys ! their blood, boys. Shall not be shed in vain, Let our last breath avenge the death Of comrades foully slain. Far from them children, mothers, wives. With tears on faces wan. But, by those tears ! approaches, nears Another Inkermann. So drink, boys ! their blood, boys. Shall not be shed in vain. Let our last breath avenge the death Of comrades foully slain. 22 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. XVIII. Why do I dwell apart, companionless ? Men move along in crowds, and gaily utter Stimulant flatteries in each other's ear ; The gloss of each man's life is what is gained Of estimation from his fellows. But I, Poor lonely wretch! nor give nor take, and ever My life flows sullen as a tideless river, Unto an unknown sea that floweth never. XIX. Money-making, pleasure seeking. Life an ignorance and a lie ; — All the world is gone a-fooling. Why not I? XX. Vive l'amour! An aimless life! A fly i' the spider web of trade — Here's Vive l'amour ! Days of laborious sloth ! Hands thrumming busy, with the head and heart Far, far away ! Or hushed by force; Repressed five fathom deep in mud abodes, Upraising sudden to the earth and stars Immortal cries ! OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. 23 Morns sick at coming days Of irksome toil ; Nights spent in maddened tears At useless days! Save books, no friends ! Alone to seek in all impoverished hours The hidden light! No fair-haired girl With calm and azure eyes ; No carmine lips, Portals of purest soul ! A death in life! — Yet give me ruddiest wine : E'en in such soul-less depths I drink to men — Vive I'amour ! 1856-57. XXI. MARGARET ANNE HIBBERT, loquitur, ON HER LAST Birthday, January 27TH, 1856. Obiit. March qth, 1856. Mtat. 19 YEARS. As the waves of time are heaving Swift to shore. Rearward this my birthday leaving Evermore, Janus-like, before, behind me. Stretch mine eyes. While before, remote and dimly. Shapes arise — Angel shapes in misty whiteness. Beckoning me ! 24 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. XXII. She sleeps an earthly sleep, The last that ere Shall o'er her mortal senses creep : For her no morrow shall its dawn unfold, And nevermore her life shall we behold : Soft let us breathe, for fear that we should seem To sway the motion of her sweet death-dream — Her sun goes down while yet is but day, But o'er her meek soul light ariseth from the Eternal ray. XXIII. Ere I do yield myself, oblivious of the world, To sleep, who me with drowsy eyelids seeks to woo, Let me mine intellectual armoury undo. Against whose proof so many slings are hurled ; So shall I then my soul recipient make Of thy sweet influence, Eros, thine alone. Which o'er my reason holdeth loftiest throne: — Now let me slumber swift, and I shall see In dreams the face of her who loves — Not Me ! XXIV. Dark-haired Maiden! dark-eyed Maiden! Darting glances all love-laden. He who gains thee gains Elysium; What on earth could be more glorious Than imprinting kisses furious On those ruby lips luxurious ? OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. 25 Life to me were fair and flowery, Thee possessed, a heavenly dowry. Luscious, orient, glowing houri ! 1857. XXV. ALICE HIBBERT, loquitur in morte, Obiit. May 9TH, 1857. jEtat. 28 YEARS. " Wrapt in the burial sheets. Close in the coffin doth my body lie, And friends around are weeping bitterly. "Yet do I live; This airier life affords me keener sense Of that gross world whereof I have deliverance. "Pure as the mountain breeze Is the fair region of my soul's confine, And I am well." 1859. XXVI, In Memoriam. JOHN ADDISON, Judge of the County Court of Preston. Obiit. July 1.4TH, 1859. While as we wander in life's motley halls, With sense regardless of the unholy hum, And slow, sad hearts, whose grief, in silence dumb, Mourns him whose presence ne'er again shall come; Yet let us pause, and think how memory calls Not all in vain as witness of our love ; And, like as journeying down some minster aisle. 26 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. Mid organ notes re-echoing from above, That pause at broken intervals, awhile A voice cries — "Peace ! The good man never dies"- We'll comfort take in this, to reconcile The drooping heart, and bid our souls uprise : Anon perchance his spirit here may stray In silence midst us through the live-long day. 1861. XXVII. PROLOGUE. Spoken at the Amateur Dramatic Performance in AID OF THE Preston Rifles Volunteer Fund, February, i86i. Of you, kind audience, ere the curtain rise. And we unveil our faults before your eyes. Indulgence first we ask ; for in such suits As we shall soon appear, we're raw recruits, Undrilled, unpractised in the mode and form, Through which the Actor takes the town by storm: When, therefore, on the stage our play appears. Let all your faces smile away our fears. Not for our pleasure, but the public good. And safety of the Realm, we here are stood ; Bold in our cause, defiant of all sneers. That none but trucklers launch at Volunteers, We come at duty's call, to brave the fire, We fear the most of all, the Critic's ire ; Who, though he bend his brow in rugged frown, Knows all the while we keep the taxes down ; OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. 2/ Let him bethink, in editorial den, We'll stand a shot, who tremble at his pen — (Bell rings.) Hark ! that's the prompter's bell, the play suc- ceeds. And now the curtain rises on our deeds : 'Tis not alone by war we seek renown. Or deathless song, to hand our triumphs down ; If your applause to-night our efforts gain, We'll boast of having made a good campaign. XXVIII. PROLOGUE. Spoken at the Amateur Dramatic Performance in AID OF THE Preston Rifles Volunteer Fund, November, i86i. Mine errand, ladies fair, and good friends all Who here to-night assemble at our call. Responding to the urgent need for aid Of that good cause in which we are arrayed. Is first to proffer here the warmest thanks Of all who render service in our ranks. And while we to our patrons homage pay, Shall we unmindful be of one away? Who never — to his glory be it told — By servile arts the public voice cajoled, — The rare old English squire, whom, from the spheres. His grandsire hails through just a hundred years. Of both it shall be said they nobly filled The civic chair of our time-honoured Guild ; Long, in our annals, may their ancient name, Through centuries yet to come record their fame. 28 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. No high-flown actors we, who e'er aspire To strike the chords of Shakespere's mighty lyre, Portray ambition in great Cawdor's Thane, Or wear the garb of philosophic Dane ; Too high are parts like these for us to play, That none but genius' self should dare essay ; Content are we to woo the comic Muse, Thalia gay, who sure will ne'er refuse To grant the suits, we have not failed to press, Deserving — if they don't command — success. From you, before whose presence we shall stand. We fain would hope to have no reprimand. But rather praise, for daring to appear In face of such an audience as is here ; It is no joke ; — we do assure the critic. Who may e'en now be conning a philippic, W'hatever he may think, in point of fact, 'Tis easier far to criticise than act : — Enough : We ask beforehand pardon for the sins We may commit — and now the Play begins. XXIX. SKIPTON CASTLE. " Build me a portal to o'erlook the burgh ; And carve aloft upon its highest cope The motto of our House ; proclaiming far And wide through all the region of the land, Where dwells the rumour of our ancient name, A sign that its authority and rule ..Prevails and shall endure from this time forth." So spake Anne Clifford, proudest of her race, — OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. 29 And straightway rose the pile encrowned now- With letters sharp and clear against the sky: Desonnais. Alas, for human foresight ! Time rolls relentless on in measured round, And strands full many a purpose on his shores : Fled are the Cliffords their ancestral pile ; A cicerone shows you what remains. While locomotives whistle past the walls, And cattle-drovers haggle in the streets. 1862. XXX. PROLOGUE. Spoken at the Amateur Dramatic Performance in AID OF THE Lancashire Cotton Famine Fund, May, 1862. Yet once again, most gracious friends, we crave Indulgence while the public frown we brave : Of vain display unconscious, pr applause, We simply seek to aid a righteous cause. Not ours to-night the royal theme to plead. Defence of hearth and home in Britain's need, Which ne'er hath failed to rouse the patriot fire, Or generous heart, or liberal hand inspire. And if we oft have sought, nor sought in vain, Your help to keep our shores from foreign stain, O may we not, emboldened by our task. With more than common zeal your aid now ask? Go forth into the street ; with patience mark The myriad souls that pace from morn till dark. 30 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. From door to door in all unwearying moan, Beseeching help, perchance where help is none ! While on our paths the hungry children wait. And glare with ravenous eyes in ragged state. Or come with me, where, screened from public gaze, Mute Poverty presides o'er darksome days ; Behold him ! poor but proud, in moody state, Reflecting grimly by the fireless grate — Creation's noblest work, an honest man. The battle left to fight as best he can ! See how his wife, who fain would soothe his fears. Must check the sob, and hide her gathering tears ; While children roam about with frightened tread. And search the accustomed shelves in vain for bread ! And if the picture be not thus o'er-drawn, Shall not Compassion then descend her throne, And with her sweetness move us all to prove That human life shall ne'er want human love? Nor while in plenty are our tables spread Shall faultless poverty go by unfed? Till happier times, when Commerce, with her train Of peaceful navies, sweeps the prosperous main. And calls on Industry again to rise. From out the torpor that now o'er her lies. To-night, let it be ours to ease the smart, A task in which we all can take a part. As audience you — and actors we — 'tis plain Our Pleasure serves as minister to Pain. OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. 3 1 XXXI. THE CALIPH AND THE DERVISE. (Verbum Sat.) While here in Lancashire abides the stress Of wintry season and of sharp distress, A story I would tell — an ancient fable — With such unvarnished skill as I am able, A dervise came to Bagdad when the Crown Sat on the mighty forehead of Haroun, — A prince whose sway was feared by every Khan, From ancient Nile to distant Khorassan ; In whom the people owned so firm a trust That he was named Al Raschid, or The Just: And who so held his court that, in a word, None came or went but might be daily heard. The dervise prostrate bowed, then raised his head. And to the monarch spake, and thus he said : — " O Caliph ! in the Prophet's name ! to whom Across the Syrian desert, have I come. From mournful groves of palm, where Tadmor lies. Distraught by women's wail and children's cries ; They and the Scheiks who once were first in war. Struck down by famine and an hungered are ; Their stores consumed of corn, and wine, and oil. Their flocks a prey to murrain, and a spoil, — Whence shall this people in their need be fed, If not by thee, O King?" The dervise said, — " To thee they cry, ere yet their strength be spent. In this great vengeance that the Lord hath sent : Allah's decree is just, though it be sore ; We crave thine aid till Allah's wrath be o'er." 32 OCCASIONAL RECORDS. IN VERSE., The Caliph mused. " How say'st thou, then," he said, "Does Allah justly pour on Tadmor's head His heavenly wrath?" "Yea, so," was the reply. "Then," quoth the Caliph, "to what end should I Transgress the fiat of the Will Most High? Whatever ill befall, it is most fit , . To reach some good transcendent : So 'tis Writ." The dervise answered, — " Far as thy renown Hath stretched o'er land and sea, most sage Haroun, For learning taught in schools of Magian lore, But little hast thou conned the Sacred store: Know, then, it consorts with divine decree That men should learn divinest Charity! Should feel that holier life is understood Alone in deeds of gracious brotherhood : Feed, then, the hungry, that thou may'st perceive How nobler far to give than to receive ; And so thy mind shall rend the veil, arid see The secret purpose of hard Fate's decree." Then, turning to Giafar, his good Vizier, Than whom ne'er Eastern King possessed the peer, — " Go," said the Caliph, " send the hungry food ; 'Tis Allah's will that we should all do good." Moral : If any doubt how good should come from bad. Forget you not the Caliph of Bagdad. xxxn. YORK. Lapt in the languor of delicious dream, I nightly, with half-closed and slumberous eye. Recall the hours that sped too swiftly by. Her sweet surrender and caress supreme ; OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. 33 And, on the shifting tablets of my brain, The record of that time I oft engrain, Evoke the scenes I never more may see, Save through the misty aisles of memory; And then, O my dear love, my other life! If such a mind as mine be reckoned worth Deliverance free of solitude and strife. Which oft have been my portion here on earth. It is my hope that I have found a shrine My footsteps may approach with Love divine. XXXIII. DIES ILLA. As one who, roaming o'er a desert plain. Espies a lone sea-shell, by wandering tides Forgot in far-off ages, while the waves Sweep other shores, — forlorn there in the sand, And wasting weary days beneath the sun, — Holds to his ear the relic, which gives voice. In plaintive tone and languishing desire, For moist sea-beach, cool grot, and ebb and flow ; And, as he listens, hears, afaint, afar, The seas of other days come rolling back. Remote within the caverns of his thought — So I, at sight of this forgotten page. Writ in the fiery heats of fervent youth. Renew my memories of the buried past — The sin and shame I thought for ever dead. The futile aspirations for the good, the true. The pride by which the fallen angel fell, 34 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. The mingled schemings, envies, hates, and scorns, The daring passion that o'erlept the law : — Great God ! How shall I look upon that day, When every thought and deed is gathered up. And holden in the hollow of Thine Hand! XXXIV. WORCESTER CATHEDRAL. The Grave in the Cloister. " How slow the cold creeps up my wasted limbs ! I die — Is that the priest? 'Tis well. Good brother, reach to my lips a patient ear: — I may not here confess my mortal sin, Alas ! too great for man to give me shrift ; 'Twas done in secret, and shall so remain Till the last trump recall my life again ; But I would not through after years forego The blessed prayer which haply may release This wretched soul from purgatorial pain ; So lay me dead before the cloister door, Where constant footfalls meekly pass to pray Within the holy minster day by day ; And that compassion may recall a tear For me who die lost to all heavenly hope, Let there be graven on the simple stone. To lie o'er all my deeds and what I was. No date to tell the day of birth or death. No long inscription of ancestral line, Nor name, nor word, nor token, save this sign — ' MISERRIMUS ! ' " OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. 35 1863. XXXV. LINCOLN CATHEDRAL. Christmas Afternoon. Not cloister gray, nor old cathedral gloom, Where the ribbed roofs their sinewy arms thrust out. And clasping hands o'erhead in endless rout, The dim and silent spaces thus entomb ; While, quickening into magic life around, The myriad arches leap with cunning bound. And goblins grin from many a nook profound, To start Imagination in her soul, Or scare away Philosophy's parole ; But let serener fane to me invite Devoutness unappalled by dread affright — This breezy air, and sky from pole to pole, Shall chase the Dantesque pallor off my cheek. And leave me calm to face the Power I seek. XXXVI. She comes not with the moon at lengthening hour On these warm July nights ; Nor shall the advancing seasons e'er endower Me with her gay delights: Alas! that envious time should thus despoil The fairest expectation of its bloom. Now slowly withering in ungenial soil. And worn away toward the edge of doom : — O never shall we walk the meadows green. Or make a pathway through the waving grass, Or climb the hill to view the long serene, Where summer shadows swiftly play and pass ; 36 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. Again in antique chambers never lie, Where olden lord and ladye oft have lain, While Dian stays her course with curious eye, And gleams bewildered through the mullioned pane; And ne'er again at cock-crow of the morn Shall slanting suns our fitful slumbers break, Awhile I turn with passion newly born, And fold her in my arms for dear love's sake — Lost, lost to me for ever now she seems. Nor more the hours are charged again to bring her. But ghostly footfalls come and go in dreams, And in the corridors are heard to linger. 1864. XXXVII. BY THE AVON AT WARWICK. April smiles at Winter's ruth. Till his eyes brim o'er in showers ; Lads and lasses, wandering sooth. In the sweet spring-time of flowers ; Virgin fancies, snowdrop white, Come full soon to primrose yellow ; Maidens yield, with shy delight, Kisses to the destined fellow ; Lambs are frisking in the meads, Larks toward the sun are soaring. Rain-drops hang in crystal beads On the boughs where' birds are pouring Madrigals that might remove Space between me and my Love — O could I behold her charms, Rapt within my bounding arms ! OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. 37 1866. XXXVIII. TO A LADY WHO SENT ME A VALENTINE BEGINNING WITH " I PRITHKE GIVE ME BACK MY HEART." Then in good part take back thy heart, Since it can not be mine, Some other swain its dream enchain And be thy Valentine! But should I make to Great Salt Lake, Like Mr. Hepworth Dixon, Where men may wive a score and thrive, Nor care if some be vixen, — O then I would your mind were good On Free Love terms to woo, It might be so, for aught I know. That you'd be Number Two ! 1869. XXXIX. BIRTHD.W VERSE: With the Gift of a Jewel Box. Trinkets gay and Jewels rare Hold I for Louisa's wear, Safe concealed from every eye, Till she show their braverie. But not gem nor diamond fine. From Golconda's richest mine. Nor yet pearl of purest air. With my Mistress may compare. 38 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. She more precious far than they, Maid of twenty-one to-day ; Happy mortal should he be, Who his treasure finds in Thee ! 1870. XL. WAST-WATER. Black was its face with depth ; the fitful winds That fain would kiss its suUenness away, Withdrew rebuffed ; and straight I was aware. Of phantom mouths that rose above with sobs Exhaled and sank again. Such vision mine. As at day's close I came, sudden at end Of a silent, sombrous wood, upon my quest. The gloomy Mere. The arid Screes, whose steeps Rise sheer above, whereon no herbage grows. Nor foot can stand, reverberate the noise Of luckless stones that plunge and seek their doom : Yon lonely oarsman, like a spectre, dips, And cleaves a trackless way. O'er level moss. Morass, and long dank grass, the mountain cones. Like giant warders, at the head, do keep The passes of the land from human foot, Forbidden under peril, where abides Some dreaded Genius hateful of our race. The lurid radiance of the setting sun Unwelcome gleams on these uplifted peaks. Whose sides are dusk, and whose ravines are dark. Never saw I A natural aspect so menacing and stern : OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. 39 It surely hides some untold horror. .... — I know it now : It is that ominous and forbidding tract Through which Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came! 1872. XLI. EVENING PRAYER. When gathering darkness wraps me round, With slumber be mine eyelids bound, Awhile the archangels nightly keep Their star-lit watch through heaven's blue deep. And may the guardian angels tread A nightly vigil round my bed ; And, with their overshadowing wings, Preserve my soul from evil things. That I, refreshed with sleep, may wake, My daily task prepared to take. Or with the wings of morning rise To seek Thy Face beyond the skies. XLII. ROLAND HIBBERT. Born Easter DaYj March 31ST, 1872. Died April 3RD, 1873. Day of Death. Day and night, and night and day In succession pass away ; Nought of earth may rest or stay — Shall we meet again, my Roland? 40 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. On some other happier day, In some happier world away, This to God we ever pray That we meet again, my Roland ! Day of Burial. Child wert thou of joyous mien, Sunbeams in thy smiles were seen. Let no shadows come between Me and thee, my Roland ! Bless the memory of thy face ! May it shine on all my race. And lead us to the Lord of Grace, When we die, my Roland ! 1876. XLIII. TO LUCIFER IN HELL. How art thou fallen from Heaven, O Son of the Morning ! Brightest of those, the elect of the Spirits of God ; Nearest the seven, whose flambeaux of flame are for ever Burning as lamps in the thunders before the Supreme. Frets not thy soul at remembrance of all the past glories, Thy pride and thy splendour of station among the great peers? Frowns not thy brow o'er the r^nks of the lost thou commandest, Thou ! once the captain of all of the heavenly host? OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. 4 1 Wilt thou not bow then thy spirit before the Eternal ? Plead in the cause of the lost whom thou leddest astray ? Array once again thy rebellious battalions before Him, Pardon, and peace, and beneficence still to implore? Then might all Heaven resound with a loud accla- mation, Borne on the wings of the wind to all the far worlds. And Earth put on robes of rejoicing to hear the glad tidings. And cry — "The great pardon is given, and Hell is no more." 1885. XLIV. LOUISA MARGARET HIBBERT (SiSSIE). Born Feb. 26th, 1867. Died September i2TH, 1885. Around her days were gentleness and grace, With every virtue to adorn her race ; These now are memories, yrapt in tears Of joy and grief through all the after years : — Ere nineteen summers had fulfilled their course. The Maid the body left, to seek the source Of that diviner life, where chosen bands Of ministering angels work high heaven's commands. 42 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. 1885. XLV. JAMES ST. MATTHEW HIBBERT. Born September 2ist, 1865. Died Oct. 30TH, 1885. He goes home early to his native place, And fronts the immortals with unsullied face ; Nor ever now shall weariness the prime Of later days subdue in after time ; His spirit, strengthened for the destined ends, Shall meet companionship, as here, of friends. 1887. XLVI. JANE ROSALIND HIBBERT (Rosie). Born June 17TH, 1873. Died July ist, 1887. The new life hath she entered, she views the land unknown, To us whose eyes would follow whither she the Child hath flown. Where, morning after morning, over some trans- cendent shore She beholds the new Creation, and wonders ever- more. 1889. xLvn. DURING ILLNESS. October, 1889. Be no laments for me When I am dead ; But rather silent requiem feast Instead. OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. 43 Drink my best wine, Thoughtful, heart-whole. And waft unspoken prayer to ward My soul. Which shall have power to reach Me in that place, Wherever I may hap to be In space. Where time doth not illude, Nor distance bar Thought's instant flash to kindred thought Afar. 1894. XLVIII. HENRY HIBBERT (Harry). Born February 8th, 1875. Died June 4TH, 1894. What fate, what time, or what event remain, May God be with us till we meet again ! About a week before his death, I heard him crooning some tune as if to himself. " Harry," I said to him, " you have been singing." " Did you hear me?" he replied. "Yes, what were you sing- ing ? " I asked. He said — " God be with you till we meet again ! " 44 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN VERSE. 1900. XLIX. JOHN RUSKIN. Born Feb. 8th, 1819. Died January zoth, 1900. Joined hath he the immortals, Where we may not trace, But within their portals He hath found his place. JANUARY Srd, 1902. A SIBYLLINE LEAF. MARGARET JOSEPHINE HIBBERT. Born November iith, 1901. She'll be fair and debonair ; She'll be blithe and bonny ; All too soon will come the tune Shall lure the Sweetheart from ye. PART II. OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 1850. Human minds are bounded by the Infinite : We stand upon the shores of an ocean, whose waters roll, No-wither. Time passes away, and sees much forgotten, but in me the memory of my father still lives. If Spirits may not wander bodily, I, at least, think they come and go among us unseen. Young, just entering on the world, I have thought upon Life, its destiny, and ways. Whatever the future may betide, for fortune or misfortune, a little wealth or penury ; or whether I am to see my brighter hopes fade before the coming years, I cannot tell. But I know, if what I now feel live in me alway, that whether my future be light or dark, when Death comes, he shall not find me unawares. LETTER TO THE REV. JAMES SPENCE, on the subject of the first of his discourses in Cannon Street Chapel, Preston, upon the Supreme Authority of the Bible. As yet, Sir, I am not satisfied with your theory of the Superiority of Religion, as revealed in the Scriptures, to what is termed " Natural Religion." Both I take to be revelations ; and, when I con- sider them in juxtaposition, I am forced to exclaim D so OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. — "Is not a revelation incident to the nature of Man, more immediate, more direct, and more forcible than any other mode we can imagine? Does it not afford the least ground for quibbling ? " That there is such a revelation cannot well be denied. Last Sunday night, you advanced as an argument to the contrary, that the various faculties of man are lifeless unless in contact with an external world. Admitting it, I do not see its bearing on your argument. We deduce that independently of the Scriptures. The manner, too, in which you assert this superiority of the Scriptures, proves, as it seems to me, quite the reverse. How is it, then, that men sit in judgment upon that, which, you say, is so far above them ? If they are capable of rejecting or receiving these Ancient Writings as a God-given record and revelation, then this fact, I repeat, argues for that which contemplates, not that which is contemplated. But, you say, — " Where can this Natural Revela- tion be seen in the New Zealander, the Kaffir, and the South Sea Islander ? " Sir, my answer is, — It is seen but rarely here, or anywhere. That man may have once possessed it is feasible : that generally he, more or less, has it not, is evident. But this theory, you may say, is in accordance with the Scriptural history of the Fall. Well, and if I am to believe that history, it is because of its apparent truth. There seems to me a palpable difference in man- kind, a dual difference, — the Leaders and the Led. The latter are invariably subject to the former, and believe mainly what is told to them they must believe. Take, for instance, your own congregation, who have mostly no eyes but yours to see this OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. SI matter upon which we are at issue. Let them, on the other hand, be attacked by some logical, sinewy Infidel, and they will be found unable to offer any defence. Do not for a moment think me an infidel, I am far from it. I wonder at the man, not ignorant, who dares to be such. But I wander from the point at issue. Emerson says : — " I am lord of the earth and main, Of Caesar's hand, of Plato's brain. Of lord Christ's heart, and Shakespeare's strain," — that is, whatever CJEsar has done, Plato thought, Christ exemplified, or Shakespeare sung — unless it find a correspondence in my nature, I cannot receive. Hence, " I am lord, &c." But, though I do admit the importance of the Scriptures compared with other books ; compared with all other systems of Morality and Philosophy ; while I conceive them to hold a unique place; while there is that in them I have not found any- where else — I speak chiefly in reference to Christ — I must notwithstanding hold to what I have before said : That Man has in himself a Revela- tion to which all others must bend. P.S. — I know what you have said regarding anonymous communications, and should feel glad if I could append my name to this, but to all manner of publicity on this topic, how- ever confined, I have a repugnancet 52 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 1853. Theory of Human Life. The purpose of life is not happiness, but labour. The end of labour is self-culture, the attainment of the utmost that is possible to every man : In the accomplishment of which, he best performs his duty, not only to himself, but to his kind. For the true man, there is qo rest but in labour. And his first business is to find out his particular vocation ; and its degree in rank. The vocation of the Scholar is the highest ; for it is his to labour for wisdom. There can be no wisdom without virtue ; and the highest example is Christ. To attain wisdom, it seems necessary to live much apart from men. For, otherwise, the majority being heathen and unchristian, corruption follows. But, of himself, Man is corrupt. From within and without, it seems impossible to ward off evil influences. It is ordained that Man should undergo Evil. But this life is transitional, and evil is but the pathway to good. Nevertheless, with evil, purity of life is impossible. The art of life is to mould circumstances to the law of the individual. OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. S3 The highest Philosophy is undefinable — a belief in the Unseen. There is no certainty in speculation ; the best we can do is To Labour and to Wait. 1854. Jan. 3RD, Midnight. Gloom and darkness ! For twelve months the continual craving for something unknown and un- attainable ! Disgust, contempt, silent sarcasm, scorn of the world and its moves ! Only a kindly eye at pro- scribed names. With Books alone can I be said to live : and they tend to isolate me more and more. Is it for me, then, to toil, slave like a fool, a machine — while the sun goes up and down, that I may wrest three or four dark airless hours from Nature and Fate to feed myself withal? And to thrust wkaf down my throat? — Unrest, Fever, and insatiate Craving. What is to be done? At entrance on my 22nd year I see no outlook. Without and within the Enemy ; one helping the other. Without, the control of half-knaves and whole fools ; Within, weakness and bitter com- plaining. Enough ! 54 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 1856. LACRIM^ RE RUM. March lotk. — Yesterday Margaret Anne died : to-morrow she is to be buried. I shall never more look upon her face again. She was beautiful, and she had a soul that was beautiful. I may never speak to her again. She never wholly knew me ; never knew how much I loved her ; and now will never know. That my heart was often on my tongue ; that I yearned to bare my soul to her ; and to listen to hers in return. But now she may never know. Oh, Margaret Anne, Margaret Anne! in tears I call to you. I have no assurance that I shall evermore behold you. Nature plays us fast and loose, and experiences are writ on water. In vain we mortals seek to retain a grasp on Time : — Time flings us off. We labour day by day to perpetuate ourselves, by Thought, by Art in its manifold forms : but we go hence, and leave what we have performed stranded on the shoals of time. We essay to express ourselves, to mark our impress on the world, for future ages to come and question what we leave and find it dumb. I sometimes think, Margaret Anne, that Nature acts towards us like a Mephistopheles. We have been started by a Power more than Nature, but Nature seems to have us in possession, and moves us like puppets for scornful amusement. Yes, with our deep-rooted loves and enduring feelings ; with that in us which would almost burst our bodily trammels ! I am glad, Margaret Anne, that you did not live to become a world-ling. Though grief chokes me as I write, it were better that you died unsullied in virgin freshness. God knows, if I had not some OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE, 55 small hope to make my own life here of some use to me, I would gladly be as you are — dead. Of the life which is to come I am uncertain. But this I know, and I strive daily to attain what my spirit can really call Life. The let and hindrance of others, and the circumstances in which I find myself, are what I have to surmount and obviate. If I fail in the end, if I struggle through a course of years in vain, and die at length an old man in bondage as I am now, at least this consolation will be left, that my whole life will have been a manful and stubborn fight to place myself in my natural and proper relationship to men and things. Errors of judgment we all must expect ; for these I shall only be, in part, responsible. Pity me, Margaret Anne ! O pity me ! when I do that which I know to be of grossness and evil. Perchance you may be able to watch me : — look then with averted eye upon my misdeeds. Suffer them not to come between me and your love. I do not profess consistency ; my life is not all of a-piece ; and my temperament and my moods carry me hither and thither, sometimes into that which is fearful to reflect upon after. My nature is like an untamed Bucephalus, and I am not Alexander. Chafed and fretted by attempted restraints, the steed rears and plunges off — I know not whither. But even in my wildest excesses, Margaret Anne, I love what is lovely ; and my spirit leaps towards all that is noble. Pity me, then, and love me ; and when you can, be proud that we are of the same blood ! There are rare moments when I am worthy this. You have not altogether left this Earth, nor has 56 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. my father. While I live, he lives, and so do you : In my thoughts, my deeds, my memories. Who shall say that you are no more to be seen? Am I not here? Perhaps you and he are now together. Perhaps I may join you soon. And there is he, too, of the auburn hair, John Bolton ; imaging, in beautiful colours and forms, the objects of his inner vision. Shall I not see him, too? Good-night, Margaret Anne, Good-night ! To-morrow we shall lay you in the grave. The verses which I wrote on your last birthday, and a small band of my own hair, shall go with you. They shall be buried with you, nigh to your hand, so that you will not be alone. Always you will have me with you ; and I shall come and stand upon your grave ; and think how serene and quiet you are ; you and that fragment of me which will be buried with you. Tremble not in the strange land where you now are ; have a brave heart, and all is well. You have died womanly : you have looked Death firmly in the face, ere he laid his fell hand upon you. If you can, ward off from me all evil spirits, and purify me. Visit me often, and sway me with holy and mysterious influences. Once again, Margaret Anne, Good-night ! When I call upon your name, it seems as if it brought you nearer ; as if it prevailed with you to listen to me. And I will call upon it often. Once again, and yet again, Margaret Anne, Margaret Anne, Good-night! Margaret Anne ! OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 57 March \2th. — " Weep not for her ; she is an Angel now And treads the sapphire floors of Paradise." Yesterday we buried her. After the Service for the Dead, we bore her from the church on our own shoulders to the grave. It is a nice grave, dry and deep. I never looked upon her after death : I can thus recall her to my mind's eye as it loves to see her, in the beauty and movement of life. This seems a fitting time to set down some short record of her : — now while memories crowd upwards. What sort of a nature was hers, and how it affected me, I will try to set down. The early recollections I have of her begin chiefly at her tenth year. Before that time, I have heard my mother say that she was an odd child, timorous and imaginative. Occasionally she walked in her sleep. She was always slim in figure, and pale-faced. Serious, too, was always her countenance in repose. A peculiarity of her childhood may be noted : she was always loth to go to bed. She began to read ; and throughout her life had a voracious relish for exciting stories, poems — any- thing with a dash of the marvellous and strange. One day I dropped upon a miscellaneous diary of hers, containing copied poetry and original matter in prose, the high-flown fancies of which I turned into a source of much fun to me, and vexation to her. She must have been then about twelve years old. On another day I found her in tears, and upon inquiring the cause, — she had been reading a poem on " The Death of Ponsonby." Suppose her, then, now at eighteen years of age — young and beautiful — most beautiful in ex- S8 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. pression. Tall and graceful as a willow : carrying a peculiar apprehension of her loveliness wherever she went. Poetry in her very walk and motions ; magnetism in her touch, electricity in her glance. And a noble soul. Give her an opportunity of transcending the common ways of life, and she leaped forward to meet it. She could not live merely in the ordinary fashion ; her nature was always seeking aliment in the heroic. Self-renunciation was embraced by her with fervour. Mild, shy, and retiring : altogether most un- demonstrable. She felt that she could not be understood, and hence she yielded, but only apparently, to the influence of others. Nevertheless, when roused to determined opposition — a young pantheress. In the midst of all this, disease was upon her. About two years before her death, she was confined to her room for a fortnight of heart-complaint. She got apparently well, but was subject ever after to periodical illness of the same kind. I was then not living in Preston. On Jan. 27th, 1854, I remember writing home from Shropshire, — "To-day is Margaret Anne's birthday. I am getting tea. Tell her that I have just drunk her health in a full cup, with all the honours, standing." At length, from repetition of the same attacks upon her, I began to feel alarmed, and apprehensions of a fatal termination crossed me. Jan. 27th, 1855, I was in Manchester, and bought her a birthday gift, — a brooch. She was again ill in the spring of that year. Summer brought her about again, and in the autumn she and my sister Mary Hannah visited me. How beautiful and full of luxu.riant health she looked ! I thought her safe, and felt a pride in looking at her. I liked OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 59 to hear people admire and praise her, and to pretend that I saw no reason for it. She stayed with me six days. I took her to the theatre, to a concert, to a lecture on the Crimean War by Thomas Cooper, and to Belle Vue Gardens to see the fireworks. On the Sunday we attended service at the Cathedral, where the fine singing delighted her. If I could have seen beyond the next five months, how I should have been horrified ! One evening during this time I would read to her. What fatality was it that I should have selected the melancholy poems of Edgar Allan Poe and " The Fall of the House of Usher ? " What demon was in it that I should make her for the first time acquainted with these ominous stories and poems ! I read these, I believe, with some effect, for at that period I had a morbid attraction to them. One little redeeming connection with this reading was that she herself asked me to read "Annabel Lee." I knew afterwards that all I read sank into her, for not three weeks before her death, she asked me to read to her — "but not those weird and unearthly tales, Jim," she said, wistfully. Well, she had returned home, and I had a letter from her. She had been at a pic-nic, and had got cold coming back in the night air. She asked me to send her a copy of the verses in " The House of Usher" entitled " The Haunted Palace^ What colouring these lines may have given her closing days, I can but guess. Again, in November of the same year, she was seriously ill. The thought of her possible death reverted to me, to be dismissed : I would not have it. One night I awoke from a dream. I had dreamt 6o OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. she was dying before me — No hope ! I took the dream as an omen of what was coming, and lay awake in bed, weeping bitterly. " Oh ! I have waked at midnight and have wept, To know she was not." On the 4th of December, I returned to Preston. In January, 1856, Dr. Stavert, a leading physician of the town, was called in. He said that there was no hope, and prognosticated the form which the disease would very soon take. One day about this time, I called to see her, and she talked to me of this visit. She spoke gaily of it, as if, though aware her chance of life was gone, complaint and tears were useless. She grew worse. In the early part of February, an acquaintance of her's died, who was about her own age. This was told her in my presence, with the usual doleful comments. " Why," said I, " make such a coil about death ? It must come to all of us, some time ; and life is a thousand times more serious an affair than death." I looked towards Margaret Anne as I said it. She shook her head, in dissent. That day she was dispirited. By the middle of February she was unable to leave her bed, worsening rapidly. When I called, people of our own family and others were with her, and I could never find opportunity to talk to her as I would have wished. To be face to face with death is momentous, and I had a desire to learn from her own lips how she felt and looked towards it. I wished to inspirit her. She died without knowing this. During the last weeks, her mind wandered. She talked to us unconnectedly, but as if in summing up trains of thought. The expression of her eyes OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 6 1 became more intense. She would turn them on me, whep gazing sorrowfully upon her, and look Despair, Renunciation, Submission, and Farewell! I would smile, to change the current of her thoughts, and then she would smile ! The last time I saw her she gave one of those looks and smiles. A fortnight previous to her death, she was so ill that I thought that any minute might be her last. I watched by her bedside, and occasionally raised her, putting my arm round her, and laying her head upon my shoulder. "You will soon be better : you will soon be at rest ! " I kept murmuring. "Yes," she said, "yes." I think she knew my meaning, — that the end was come. But she again rallied. Often she would ask such questions as — " Is it right ? " " Do you forgive me ? " without any apparent relevance. I chanced to ask her what I could give her. — "Give me the Truth," was her answer." " I cannot, Margaret Anne," I rejoined, "you will have to get it for yourself" " What, in this state ! " she exclaimed. I looked upon her, for the last time, two days before her death. Some hours before her decease, I was in the room beneath, but did not go up to see her. Why, I can hardly say, unless to escape some feelings of pain. I h^d now given up the expectation of speaking seriously to her, and gazing upon her brought about that desire. Perhaps it was for this reason that, near midnight, just three hours before she died, I stopped at the door, and hesitated going in. 1 learned afterwards that she had asked for me. The following morning, I awoke in the darkness, wondering how she was faring, and fell again to sleep. Laying awake in bed some hours after, I heard footfalls in my sister's room adjacent. I 62 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. listened. My room door was opened ; I saw my sister's face, and heard her say " Margaret Anne's dead." I dressed, and went to my mother's house. We talked about the burial, and of her grave in the cemetery. We chose one, sheltered and quiet. I had commenced some verses on the occasion of her last birthday. These it had been my intention to give to her as a last birthday gift. But I refrained. I now concluded to place them with her in the tomb. An hour before we set off to bury her, my sister Martha placed this fragment of verse {^ide Part I.) in the coffin, in her hand, with this superscription — " Such part of me as is here I give to my Sister, Margaret Anne, In eternal memory." James Hibbert, March lotk, 1856. After the service in the chapel, we bore her on our own shoulders to the grave. The coffin was lowered — " Dust to dust " — all was over ; and there she lay, twenty feet deep in the ground. So ends in quiet her last pilgrimage. I kept firm to a resolve not to look upon her after death. Now can I recall and see her, not as dead, but in the fulness, and the pride, and the beauty of life — " sole sitting by the shores of Old Romance." She smiles, now. I see her — her alabaster forehead, the brown hair clustering round it. And she moves ! She speaks ! For she is not dead, nor sleeps. Finis. Margaret Anne! March \\tk, 9.30 evening. OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 63 1857. May gth. — My Sister Alice died this morning (vide Part I.) As I looked upon her face some hours after — her face so calm, so immobile, so pas- sionless, and past all change for joy or sorrow — I questioned whether indeed the spirit that yesterday animated her had so soon left her body. I said — Is it that the spirit is as quiescent and immobile as the body? Are both dead? Has life returned to the mysterious and unknowable sources of its origin? — gone whence it came? Or do spirit and body await, in breathless slumber, the trumpet of the Archangel to call them into new and everlast- ing life? It may be so, for who can imagine the spirit bodiless, textureless? — "The under-earth inhabitants, are they But mingled millions decomposed to clay. Or have they their own language? — and a sense Of breathless being, darkened and intense As midnight in her solitude? Or do they silently for ever dwell Each in his incommunicable cell?" To die with a trustful fearlessness is heroic. Alice arranged the details of her funeral, — who was to make the coffin, and how she was to be robed in death. Alice. Au Revoir ! John Foster's Essay "On the Aversion of Men of Taste to Evangelical Religion." My second perusal of this, after a lapse, I should think, of six years. It moves me, certainly — causes me to think of the probability of Christ being God ; and of His 64 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. character being the sole model of humanity. For if Christ be God, then is the admiration and emu- lation of great men of ancient and modern times idolatrous. A receptive mind is apt to be biassed by Foster's earnest presentation. If Christ be the only model, are there now, or have there ever been, any Christians? Is He but a partial exemplification of humanity? Allowing His to be the highest and purest life on record, are we forbidden thoughts and passions without His precedent? Is the human spirit individual, or is it not? Is there variety in its unity? These are questions which have to be answered. 1858. KiNGSLEY'S "Two YEARS AGO." Kingsley's bye-thought seems to be to shake one's belief in Emerson and Goethe, — Pantheists. He is a fine Champion of the old faith in the Per- sonality of God. His beliefs are positive. He enjoys nothing better than to transfix the negative philosophy. Mysticism does not go down with him. He has but a smile for oracular sayings. He would like young men to have more physical training. The healthy body helps the healthy mind. Beneath his bonhomie, there is a manly religiousness and moral earnestness. His novels — odd compounds of the past and present — have an affinity to the mental currents of the time. The remoter personages point a present moral. Witness " Hypatia!' In " West- ward Ho !" he draws his model man. In these days, he wants the manliness, the romantic valour, the rare polish of a Walter Raleigh. Elsley Vavasour is OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 65 a type common enough. Poets and ideal men are but Elsley Vavasours with certain faculties super- added. Pictorial force is shown in the titles of his chapters : — " L'homme incompris" " Beelze- bub's Banquet" His ambitious descriptive flights are slightly spasmodic : imitated, to a certain extent, from Ruskin. The construction of the story is open to fault. Throughout the second volume the action flags. After all, has not Carlyle said already what Kingsley would enforce? The influence of Carlyle permeates all earnest minds. Sterling was right — " That no man of our time has been and done like him." Letter to John Addison, Esquire, Feb., 1858, ON "Gothic Architecture, Secular and Domestic," by Geo. Gilbert Scott. Dear Sir, — Much obliged, I return to you Mr. Scott's work, the perusal of which has given me much pleasure. I did not feel surprised at its general tone and tendency, for it seems to me that I have met the same views advanced before, by others as well as by the author. I remark that he does not forget, like Mr. Ruskin, what we owe to the genius of Pugin. But the meanness of our vernacular architecture I am inclined to ascribe, — not primarily to Style, as Mr. Scott does, but to cheapness of building ; and where this cause does not co-exist with the said meanness, another may be found in the incom- 66 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. petence of those who have designed it. Everything in Art depends, not upon Style, but upon the individuality of the artist. So much nobility and elevation of thought as he possesses, so much, when uncontrolled, will he impart to his work. An ignoble mind will never produce noble architecture, though backed by all the books of the "Five Orders" and " Grammars of Ornament " extant. I am not of Mr. Scott's opinion that Gothic Architecture is the only genuine exponent of our Civilization. Gothic Architecture — real, not sham Gothic — is too honest for that. The Style most in unison with It is the Renaissance — the style or styles commonly known as Italian. In this our pride, vain-gloriousness, pomp of show, and — I may be bold to say — our hypocrisy find meet expression. It may be set down as an axiom that the exterior of a truthful building is often indicative, and never at variance, with the plan and purpose of the interior. How often regardless of this are the Renaissance structures, I need not say. But it is hard to tell exactly what Mr. Scott means by " the Gothic Style " ; his exposition of its applications being so latitudinarian, so inclusive of all that is excellent in every style. Let your plan be exactly representative of your requirements. ; do away with all make-believe and sham ; build solidly and well ; and, for decoration, you have, besides Nature and your own invention, the valuable store-house of the past. Such I conceive to be an epitome of Mr. Scott's book ; and yet I can fancy a Building in accordance with it, which some people would call Classic. However this may be, I myself should wish for nothing better than to design and build a house in Mr. Scott's "Gothic Style," confident that the OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 6y effect would be at once novel, appropriate, and exhilarating. Apologising for the length of this, — so very much longer than I had ever intended, I am, Dear Sir, Respectfully yours, James Hibbert. 1859. A man may live too much for himself, but, in so doing, a penalty reaches him in the shapes of unrest, incessant craving, and dissatisfaction. To do good for others, to assist them, to afford them a share in the benefits vouchsafed to us, is the best of all medicines to a mind diseased. It is only by ex- perience that we find this out. But, after all, — and in this we may see the beneficence of God — the mistakes which a man makes throughout life are precisely the means by which he secures to himself the only reliable truth. No man can foretell what is best for himself, until he has experienced all modes of subjective life. A firmly-grounded Belief is not so much the ex- hibition of the intellect, as of intellect working upon what is given in Experience. How many have to unlearn in later years much that the merely intellectual mind has taught us. There is a higher spiritual operation than that of the intellect, — the result of which is Belief The faith of the Saints was of this nature — the faith of Paul. For such faith men in all times imperilled their lives; con- vinced that if there was Truth, this was it. The test of a merely intellectual theory_ of life is to put the theory into practice, and to note the results upon the whole mental and spiritual constitution. 68 occasional records in prose. Epitome of Buckle's " History of Civilization in England." According to our Author, the cause of differences of Character in various nations proceeds, not from any mental differences, but from differences of climate, food, soil, and the general aspects of Nature. Wealth is the earliest and most important result of favourable climate, food, and soil. Before there can be any knowledge, there must be wealth. Wealth brings leisure, and without leisure know- ledge cannot be compassed. Wealth is created by the natural fertility of the soil, cultivated by regular and unceasing labour. The energy and regularity of labour entirely depend upon climate. Where intense heat or intense cold prevails, labour is not regular. As illustration of the influences of climate and soil upon national character, the Mongolian and Tartarian hordes inhabiting Northern Asia are always kept in poverty by the ungenial nature of the soil, and, as long as they remain there, never emerge, from an uncivilized state. And it is a fact that these same hordes have, at different periods, founded great monarchies in China, in India, and in Persia, and have attained a civilization in no wise inferior to that of the most flourishing of the ancient kingdoms. Of the primary cause of civili- zation, the fertility of the soil is that which in the ancient world exercised most influence. But in Europe, climate has been the more powerful agent, as being favourable to energy and continuity of labour. The only progress which is really effective depends, not upon the fertility of the soil, but upon the energy of man. For the powers of Nature are limited and stationary, but those of Man are un- limited. No bounds can be fixed to the progress OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 69 of the intellect. Hence the influence of climate, as favouring energy and continuity of labour, is of more importance to man's ultimate progress than is the beneficent and partly spontaneous produc- tiveness of the soil. Warm climates, where the soil is fruitful, are most favourable to growth of population. Where food is plentiful, propagation of the human race is stimulated. The rate of wages, in hot countries, is always lower than in cold countries ; for, the population of the former being in excess relative to the latter, the labour market in hot countries is overstocked. For instance, in Ireland, where food, — the potato — was abundant ; the same acre of ground, sown with potatoes, yielding twice as much food as when sown with wheat — the increase of population, some years ago, was three per cent., while at the same time, in England, it was only one-and-a-half per cent. The people of ancient Egypt multiplied rapidly because, while" the soil yielded bounteous supplies, the hot climate lowered their wants. (Query — Why is not Egypt, then, prosperous now?) The building of such stupendous and useless structures as the Pyramids are an index of the abundance and low value of labour. All Religions, Forms of Literature, Works of Art, and other manifestations of the Intellect, Mr. Buckle attributes to the "General Aspects of Nature" — natural scenery and natural phenomena. The difference in these, he assumes, is the cause of the difference in the mental characteristics of nature. For instance, where, adjoining the Tropics, the aspects of Nature are grand, terrible, and dan- gerous, the result is Superstition as to Religion. But where the natural phenomena are mild, the 70 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. imagination is curbed, the understanding em- boldened, and Man becomes confident in the security of his position. The author's fundamental propositions on this head are,— First, that there are certain natural phenomena which act upon the human mind by exciting the imagination : Second, That such phenomena are most frequent out of Europe than in it. He gives a comparison between India and Greece upon this head : — India and Central America. Religion. — Imaginative, Superstitious, Idolatrous, Monstrous, Debasing, Terrible. Greece. — Imaginative, Familiar. The history of the human mind can only, there- fore, be understood by connecting with it the his- tory and aspects of the Material Universe. Concerning the Moral and Intellectual Nature of Man : — Every recognised maxim in Morals has been known thousands of years; and these maxims are the same in every nation. There is not a single moral principle now known to Europeans which was not likewise known to the ancients. To assert that Christianity communicated moral truths pre- viously unknown argues either gross ignorance or wilful fraud. The " Institutes of Menu " are replete with moral truths. But the Intellectual capacity, unlike the Moral, is ever widening and advancing. Metaphysical systems are ever rising, and scientific investigations are ever arriving at new results. Now, as Civilization is the product of the moral and intellectual agencies, it must be advanced and effected chiefly by the latter. For the former agencies being stationary, in all periods of time OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 7 1 the same, it follows that the latter constitute the real motive power. The products of the Intellect are also more per- manent in results than those of Morals. Our good deeds die with us ; are incapable of transmission. The deeper we penetrate, the more clearly we see the superiority of intellectual acquisitions over moral feeling. It was Cuvier who said — "The Good we do to men, excellent though it may be, is always transitory : but the truths we leave them, are Eternal." Amiens Cathedral. June, 1862. The size, height, amplitude, and depth of the portals, with their processions of figures, the soaring vaults, the canopied tombs and storied carvings, executed with so touching a naivete — here are dis- played incidents of human life, spiritual and non- spiritual, above the world and of the world, a re- cognition of its loftiest and tenderest thought, rising high into celestial regions, side by side with presentments of the condition, mental and physical, of the lowliest peasant, the outward life and cos- tume of the mediaeval time, its quaintness, its simpleness, its earnestness, the ever-linking of the present with the future, of the life of the world with the life to come, in aspiration, in hope, and in warning — the rainbow of promise and the writing on the wall — all this is not merely decorative Art, carved out of the carver's brain, but a religious poetry, uttered, not in words, but in the work of men's hands. 72 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. A Trance. 1870. On a day I accompanied a choirmaster and his boys on a summer excursion into the country. We entered a valley, Pendle Hill in the distance. The boys were shouting and gambolling at play, when, suddenly, without any previous thought, I became remotely conscious of reminiscence, and, for how few moments I know not, fell into a Trance. I lost all sense of the landscape and my actual sur- roundings ; of the presence and the shouts of the boys, of the proximity and talk of the choirmaster at my side — Time was not : I was resolved into another state of being ; in a world void and form- less. The sense of personality was almost extinct. I had become elemental, suspended, decomposed ; . a part of the illimitable ; without motion, as though I were not. Consciousness was withdrawn into eternity : I had returned to a state of inde- termination, in which everything was effaced ; with- out lineament, plan, light, or any shade — only darkness visible. The condition was neither pain- ful, nor sad ; — nothing but a negative perception of the infinite. Brimham Rocks : Yorkshire. 1875. You remember, Amielle — upon our visit to that preternatural assemblage of contorted rocks, the strange and diabolic shapes of which bore the impress of demoniac agency, giving rise to un- wonted reflections — that we sat for some time, silent, upon a ledge, gazing over the long and wide OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 73 landscape stretching out below and far beyond us. During that brief interval, I was taken for a moment in the spirit, rapt in immediate expectation of the earth Vesture changing, and revealing a new Vision. You spoke, and the spell was broken. Barden Moor : Yorkshire. 1878. On this far upland, alone , with Nature, remote from sight, sound, or trace of his own kind, strange and sudden visitation of spirit, unsought, is borne in at rare moments upon a man's mind ; and he becomes Conscious that, infinitesimal as he there stands amid the surrounding play of phenomena, he is a part, not alone of the World-Drama of the countless generations of humanity, but of the wider and freer life of the immeasurable Universe. Art Museums. 1884. To form a Museum of Art is not altogether a simple matter. The first consideration is as to its uses and objects ; above all, the educational, in the higher sense, which, in most cases, is the chief object. It is to teach something, the importance of which is felt, and the knowledge of which does not exist amongst us, except in the vaguest sense. There is no more common fallacy than the notion that this knowledge is of easy attainment. People, in general, go to an Art-Gallery pre- possessed as to their ability and right to pronounce as to the 74 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. relative value of the works before them. A man who has a collection of pictures or drawings of re- pute by well-known modern artists, never doubts that he sees and understands in his Turners and Linnells, his Coxes and Dewints, all that there is in them, no matter whether his observation of Nature has been close, patient, and long ; or the sight of the eye and the insight of the mind has been sedulously cultivated. For the highest value of the Turnerian art, for example, that new aspect of the external world, of Nature, of creative thought, which it unfolds, is unsuspected and in- visible to the untaught eye. The distinctive value of Art consists in this, that it is a language embodying those ideas of the finest races which could be expressed and recorded in no other way. And those ways are multiform and diverse. Poetry and Music have each its peculiar vehicle and method. Greek Sculpture reveals the Greek spirit as nothing else could. Out of it all subsequent ideas of the human form as a type of ideal beauty, are derived ; so that now no nude figure picture is painted, no statue modelled, which does not trace back to it. For the Greeks are the first who presented the human form as pure beauty, and ideal humanity. So of Greek Architecture, so of Italian Painting. All these great arts are languages. They are lan- guages which we have barely begun to speak, hardly begun to understand ; not understanding them, we cannot rightly understand modern art, which has its root in the ancient, nor those numerous subordinate decorative arts growing out of them, and appropriated by different nations to express their national spirit or ideals of grace. Only through educational Museums can this teach- OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 75 ing be given. Even were the specimens reposited in such Museums confined to a carefully selected Collection of Casts from the Antique, with a few of the best works of the modern schools, as repre- senting Sculpture ; together with models to scale of the best works of architectural art ; these, with such publications as those of the Arundel Society, combined with a well-selected Art Library, would, in the hands of a few competent directors, work marked results in a single generation. At present, few know how far from easy it is to acquire a knowledge of Art, using the word in its widest sense, as including all the plastic varieties of it. To know merely Greek Sculpture and Greek Fictile Art is a liberal education. REFLECTIONS AND DETACHED THOUGHTS. 1884. Questions of religion, of philosophy, of politics — these are subjects, which, from early, youth, I have examined and reflected upon. The conclusions I have rested in are not meant to be imposed on others. They are but the results of an intelligence conscious of circumscription. The governing motive in the formation of a popular Museum of Art should not so much be instruction in history and archaeology, as in the elevation and purification of the public taste. 76 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. I have always recognised the force of Hume's criticism in respect of miracles — That it is much more likely the Testimony should be wrong, than that the Miracle should have happened. Granted, in a general way, but when I am asked to assent to the corollary — Therefore no Miracle can ever have happened, I cannot go so far. Because, when I look into myself, and regard also the world in which I am placed, and the Universe around me, I see much more of the wondrous, much more to marvel at, than in the operations of the miraculous. The Natural, in comparison, seems great ; the Mi- raculous, little. The Laws of Nature, which we know only in and through their operation, have neither the appearance nor the character of fixity. Several of them have not always been precisely what they are now. Science itself admits that the condition of the world and of the universe imme- diately within our range has been different from what it now is. What is the nature of that occult force which moves the deeds and shapes the destinies of empires, nations, individuals? Is it a complex, or is it a simple? Is it at unity with itself? If to make, as some pretend, a religion of art is, not only inadequate, but impossible ; nevertheless without art, religion is incomplete. OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. TJ 1886-1888. Instead pf amusing and pleasing by his work- manship, the great artist's endeavour is always to teach and to elevate by the grandeur of ideas. Laws of Nature, indeed ! Laws govern ! Laws are not OF, but FOR Nature, my scientific friend ! Even as Moses delivered the Ten Commandments FOR Man, not of or proceeding in any way, FROM Man. Gladstone's article on Tennyson's completion of " Locksley Hall " {Nineteenth Century, Jan. 1 886), has, if I discern aright, this, as its secret and probably unconscious motive,— a propitiation of the poet, lest he should, like Tacitus, arraign him before posterity. Physical decay slowly despoils us of the Master- pieces of Painting. Of tht productions of the Greeks in this art we know little, and that little exists chiefly in their Ceramic Art. In vain is all our care for the preservation of such works by secluding them. In all times, men's work is made for Use ; to be seen, not to be hidden, or shrouded from vision. God takes comparatively little account of individual work, except such as serves the advancement of the race. Diogenes in his tub was rather brutal, but he showed the rare example of wanting nothing from anybody, not even from Alexander. If men more 78 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. habitually repressed the servitude of their faculties to their baser desires of personal emolument -and position, a great advance would take place in the Social system. In truth, the requisite thing for an individual is always, under every form and con- dition, to be a Man. Over such a one, the great devil himself is powerless, and may be defied. On the other hand, to forge bonds for the sake of social position, either for one's-self or one's children, is a madness that moves friends to sar- donic laughter and angels to sigh. The distinctions of social life are almost always sought too much. Whatever conduces to restore more equality of condition, improves the character all round, and that is the best thing. To live, as so many may do if they would choose, in the assurance that their labour will not be lost, and that, sooner or later, those who follow on may be a little the better for their having lived — in this is assured a future exist- ence even here, an existence in the hearts and minds of those who shall live after us. Who will at last bring us a Christianity such as Christ Himself would teach? asked Lessing. The religion of Christ and the Christian religion are two different things. The religion of Christ is that which He Himself, as a man, recognised and prac- tised, and which every man may share, in part, with Him. The Christian religion makes Him an object of worship. It is evident that the religion of Christ, as set forth by the Evangelists, is different from the Christian religion: It is set forth by them in the plainest words ; on the other hand, religion is so ambiguous, that sectarianism abounds, and multiplies exceedingly. OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 79 Stephen Colonna, the friend of Petrarch, was a hero worthy of antiquity. When overtaken by his pursuers, and questioned as to who he was, — " I am Stephen Colonna," he answered, " a citizen of Rome": And when, in the last extremity of battle, an enemy cried out to hira, — " Where now is your fortress, Colonna ? " — " Here," he replied, laying his hand upon his heart. Revelation cuts the metaphysical Gordian knot by postulating the question. Revelation, of one kind or other, has been always existent. It was never absent to the Jews, or to the Eastern nations, neither to the Greeks nor the Western world. It is clearly perceptible even now with us. What are Carlyle and Ruskin but its voices ? Nay, is there not a scintilla of it in the able-editor of the daily newspaper ? Consider this, O Tomkins ! as well as thine own patent Parr's life-pill reve- lation, brought out for show in thy Sunday worship, laid up during week-days of thy calling, and be wise! When we regard the inevitable lot of humanity, its cares, its sorrows, its sufferings, — those who endeavour to mitigate its sterner conditions, by bringing Joy to the race of man, may be assured of the utility of their self-appointed task. What Joy? it may be asked. Not the joys of the body, though these, too, are good, and meant to be used ; but those joys which are the desires and consola- tions of the soul, and to which Literature and Art are the chief Ministers. 80 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 1892-1895. Credo, — In a supernatural ordinance inherent in the Universe, and, consequently, in this planet as a part thereof. All things the visible garment and instrument of the Eternal Power. Mankind endued with Freedom, organically conditioned, and, there- fore, restricted. Thus Evil co-exists with Good. Qucere : — Evil a means of instruction, and a path- way to the higher Good. Without Evil, no con- sciousness of Good. The humanities of Literature and Art are not several, but co-ordinate. In the days which are at hand, when so much is about to be cast again into the crucible, it cannot be too strongly inculcated that the office of both alike is to awaken the cap- tive soul, in durance of her mortal body, to the reminiscence of her divine state and origin. Emerson's apothegm, — "Conduct is Fate," is but a half-truth. Character is that which brings Conduct to pass. But Character is not everything. The Soul underlies Character, and it is only the Soul which stands, — the Eternal Substance. St. Paul says, — "We trust that we have a good conscience" — a very necessary reservation. How frequently do we observe the approval of a good conscience accompanied by acts more than ques- tionable ! OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 8 1 1896. Dean Church {Life and Letters) has the fol- lowing very pregnant observations: "The fact of what is meant by original sin is as mysterious and inexplicable as the origin of evil, but it is obviously as much a fact. There is a fault and vice in the race, which, given time, de- velopes into actual sin ; as our physical constitution, given at birth, does into sickness and physical death." .... "Without being a sceptic or an agnostic, one may feel that there are questions in the world which never will be answered on this side the grave, per- haps not on the other. It was the saying of an old Greek, in the very dawn of thought, that men would meet with many surprises when they were dead." .... "Books are not satisfactory — at least I have always found it so. It seems to me that there is nothing equal to letting the Psalms fall on one's ears, till at last a verse seems to start into meaning, which it is sure to do in the end. And the Collects are inexhaustible." .... .... "The change I should say that old age makes in respect to death is a distinct and remark- able one It is like the move to something new and unknown not an abstract thought, but a real move; and at last it gets to be the only reality that one has in view, and a reality of a dif- ferent kind to anything else, because no question of possibility can arise as to the fact of it." " ' All passes with the passing of the days. All but great Death — Death the one thing that is. Which passes not with passing of the days.'" The Incarnation, Birth, Life, Miraculous Power, F 82 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. Death, Resurrection, and Ascension — all hang to- gether in a chain. The scientific mind says that nothing" is proved, and is beyond possibility of proof. But the Fact remains, without a doubt, that the advent of Jesus in humanity has influenced the whole world for nigh two thousand years, nor has the influence waned — "That one Face, far from vanish, rather grows, Or decomposes but to re-compose." History itself bears mighty witness that from all time, in every age, in every land, Redeemers of humanity arise, in discrete degrees, constant, un- failing. But the Divine Redeemer, the final sub- duer of all things to Himself, both in the world of Nature and Spirit, — who shall He be, if not the Christ? The Latitudinarians of the Restoration allowed a great freedom, both in philosophy and divinity. They considered religion "as a seed of deiform nature," and the Christian religion "as a doctrine sent from God, both to elevate and to sweeten human nature." They loved the constitution of the Church, and the liturgy; but they did not think particular forms were essential to a National Church. The feeling of sinfulness arises from the con- sciousness of imperfection. OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 83 The later Gospel of the second Century, ascribed to John, commences with a metaphysical theosophic declaration. Jesus is the God Incarnate, who made the world — an immense development from the Jesus of the three preceding Gospels. Compare the de- spairing cry upon the Cross in Matthew and Mark — " My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me ? " with the last words in Luke — "Father, into Thy hands I commend My spirit ! " and in John, the . dramatic expression of the fulfilment of the Divine Sacrifice — " It is finished " ; according to the inter- pretation of which, Jesus knew His whole life be- forehand, and does not pray the Father to preserve Him from His destiny. The fourth Gospel does not contain a single apocalyptic discourse concern- ing the nearly approaching of the end of the world, and of the second coming in power and glory. The only proximate reference to this expected event is in the last chapter, verses 20-23, which seem anachronistic to what has been previously narrated. According to the whole of John, Jesus Himself is God, which is not asserted in the three other Gospels. This Gospel has become the funda- mental Gospel of Christianity in the dogmas of the Church. The early Fathers and the Athanasian Creed rest upon it. It has given us the Middle Ages, its Cathedrals and religious houses. What the fortunes of the propagation of Christianity would have been had it not been organised, as it thus became, under ecclesiastical institutions, it would be difficult to say. Perhaps it would have decayed ; its very errors may have saved the Christian religion ; for so it is that the summum bonum in humanity has lived to this day. When one reviews the religious speculations and confu- sions of the Christian world in the first three cen- §4 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. turies, the conclusion is obvious that a central authority was necessary to save the Christian Churches from anarchy. I have met in my time, and have conversed with, three old ladies of distinction, who greatly in- terested me. In 1892, at Bath, during a ten days' stay at the Pump Hotel, Lady Smith, wife of Dr. Smith of the Dictionaries, a charming and brilliant woman with the remains of former beauty, who singularly took to me during our sojourn: At Hawarden Castle, in 1895, Mrs. Catherine Glad- stone, wife of the politician, with whose lovableness I was captivated after a ten minutes' talk with her: In 1896, Mrs. Catherine Jacson, widow of Charles Roger Jacson, whose nobility of countenance, force of expression, and intellectual range impressed me much. 1897. That there is a divine movement upon earth I am persuaded, but, that the especial men who, for the smallest of wages, or even of none, are per- petually sent down to their graves disappointed at the results of the efforts which they have made, and still more so at the loss, through adverse in- fluences, of efforts which they might have made — that such men should come to be so invariably thwarted, is a fact which occasions reflections which are not assuring as to the future of affairs upon this particular planet. OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 85 Moral aspirations are unconformable with or- dinary human conditions. They are in sharp an- tagonism with common-sense. Those who attempt their reconciliation come to grief. Common-sense requires from the statesman that, when the nation whose affairs he administers is smitten on one cheek, it should instantly return the blow, and, whether for commercial interests, i.e., monied in- terests, or for supremacy with a view to monied interests, it should, for the maintenance of these, pour out its blood like water. Thus the Christian theological profession is one thing, and the practice of the so-called Christian nations is another. Com- mon-sense demands that these nations should live a canting lie, otherwise such of them as might in simplicity follow the New Testament would in- evitably fall under the attacks of the others, who, exercising the very opposite qualities, would secure that preponderance which is the foundation of what is thought to be national prosperity. Adhe- rence to the highest moral ideal is worldly" ruin. " The disasters which may be in store for Eng- land," says a writer of these days, " will result, not from her dishonesty, but from the well-meant en- deavours of her statesmen to practice a higher political morality than is current among other nations. It is not lofty enough to appear insane, the world has not yet said of them that much goodness has made them mad, but it is sufficiently opposed to common-sense to appear intensely feeble, sufficiently impulsive to seem flagrantly in- consistent, and, in fact, inconsistent enough to look distinctly hypocritical. If the conscience of the nation and its rulers were so quickened as to make their political practice consistent with their religious profession, they would certainly seem mad, and 86 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. their end might be as tragic as that of their hero who died at Khartoum." So common-sense in England elects to live by the force of greed, rather than to perish by the rottenness of cant. So in Germany, Bismarck has created an empire based upon the national arrogance and cupidity. How far, ultimately, the interests of humanity have been advanced, whether by England or Germany, remains to be seen. Fine ethics, however, are of no avail, when the social system is opposed to their practical application. At the present hour — "We drift Fast by the flying, fleeting banks of life Towards the inevitable seas .... All the world Seems faint with pain .... the illimitable sigh Breathed upward to the throne of the deaf skies — A cry of hollow cheeked and hungry men Burning away life's fire for little ends .... Such is the shore we float from; for the shore, The brighter shore, we reach — I only know That it is night, mere night, Unbroken, unillumined, unexplored." (Bowen.) No man soever who comes into the world can be said to be only himself He is linked in ada- mantine chain with a far past, and to a far future. History, as the manifestation of a rational will if sufficient power, is full of difficult interpretation n\T whprp. and anv when. any where and any when. OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. ?>7 Disillusion : Resignation. Waiting — expectant — I find this utterance of R. L. Stevenson's very applicable — "In this falling aside, in this quietude and de- sertion of other men, there is no inharmonious prelude to the last quietude and desertion of the grave; in this dulness of the senses there is a gentle preparation for the final insensibility of death It is not so much, indeed, death that approaches, as life that withdraws and withers up from round about him. He has outlived his own usefulness, and almost his own enjoyment; and if there is to be no recovery, if never again will he be young and strong and passionate, if the actual present shall be to him always like a thing read in a book or re- membered out of a far-away past; if, in fact, this be veritably night-fall, he will not wish greatly for a continuance of a twilight that only strains or dis- appoints the eyes, but steadfastly await the perfect darkness." A man's influence can only be appreciated when we understand the hostilities which he arouses. The indictment brought against him by enemies, the misconceptions he incurs, the opposition he excites, even the stupidities he evokes — these also are a fragment of his achievement, and an indica- tion of his peculiar power. Take the Christian doctrine of the Incarnation of the God-head : Interpret it spiritually, and how much is gained ; how many intellectual difficulties attending it disappear! Apply it as a promise, or 88 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. as a hope, for the future of the human race generally ; — a hope that the race is not destined to continue for ever as hitherto, a moral failure ; but that in each of us there is the possibility of a Christ. A. J. Balfour's book — " The Foundations of Belief" seems to imply this : — Having indicated the doubtfulness of the foundations of all belief or faith, it is not unreasonable to accept the faiths and even the dogmas of Christendom as practically the best that are open to us. As Emerson very finely puts it — "Neither miracle, nor magic, not any religious tradition, not the im- mortality of the private soul, is incredible, after we have experienced an insight, a thought." ROMEO AND JULIET. A Glance at the Underlying Import OF THE Play. Divested of minor accessories, the Play stands thus ; The purpose is that the houses of Capulet and Montague shall now reap the consequences of their long feud ; — consequences which Fate sud- denly cumulates upon their heads. The entire action of the piece is confined to only five days. Says the Prince in the last scene — OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 89 " Capulet ! Montague ! See what a scourge is laid upon your hate." Friar Laurence, aware of all the interwoven in- cidents that have happened, recognisijig the failure of the means which he had taken to bring the complications to a better issue, perceiving and acknowledging, in the apparent accidents which have caused the catastrophe, the over-ruling hand of Fate, exclaims : — "A greater Power than we can contradict Hath thwarted our intents." Note how Fate deals with the chief agonists in the family feud. Mercutio, on the one side, is slain by Tybalt, on the other ; Tybalt, immediately after, slain by Romeo : Romeo banished. Two in- significant characters, apparently of no account in the action of the play, bring about the final catastrophe in the Tomb of the Capulets. Paris loses his life for coming into the mere pass of affairs. One of the characters referred to, a certain Friar John, only appears on the scene for a few minutes to tell Friar Laurence of his failure to deliver the letter to Romeo at Mantua ; — the other, Balthazar, Romeo's servant, posting in over-zealous haste from Verona to inform Romeo of Juliet's death, without a single word with or instruction from Friar Laurence, who, in his part- ing words with Romeo prior to the flight to Mantua, had said, — "Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man. And he shall signify from time to time Every good hap to you that chances here," — instead of doing which, he sends Friar John, and the final and fatal results seemingly are occasioned by this slight circumstance. But only seemingly. 90 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. As Watkiss Lloyd remarks in his essay on this Play, — " Men at sometimes are masters of their fate ! but still not always, and neither Shakespeare nor nature disallows an influence to the stars as well as to ourselves." It is to be observed, that nothing is more fre- quently priesented or implied by Shakespeare, alike in the Sonnets as in the Plays, than a recognition of the unknown and unseen forces in human affairs which the Greeks called The Fates. Of the smallest particle of dust there is no ending; neither can it be said that it had any beginning. If we can affirm this of Matter, can we deny it to Spirit? To say that matter and spirit are identical, or of one and the same ele- ment, does not get rid of the fact of Indestructi- bility. Only on the hypothesis of a Pre-existence or of a Fall from a prior estate can a conscientious man arraign himself and pass sentence. Whence else can he get his dissatisfaction with the earthly body in which he is enmeshed — whence his higher judgment against the accompanying and accordant Spirit of that body? The record is sparse of men who have had a sort of contempt of themselves ; but I suspect that many have had it who have refrained from expressing it. OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 9I The difficulties attendant upon any man pursuing his own career are well set forth by Goethe — " So wondrous, Pylades, is human nature, And its sacred ties involved and complicate, That none may hope to keep his inmost spirit Pure, nor walk without perplexity through life : With circumspection to pursue his path Is the immediate duty of a man ; For seldom can he rightly estimate Or his past conduct or his present deeds." Alike in the Universe as in the Mind of man, is the only reliable revelation to be found ; — not in historic books, with their fallible record, but in, to use Jean Paul's phrase, "the ever-continuing." Immortality of the soul is demonstrable only in connection with its pre-existence. Soul in man is eternal — a part of the being of God Himself. Plato and Wordsworth agree in this. If there exists Personality now, — as what thinker can doubt — may it not endure for ever? Nothing of creation can cease to exist : the form changes, the essence remains. It was characteristic of Carlyle to utter these words — 92 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. "Immortality itself, with all its infinitudes of splendour, if there were to be no meeting again, would be worth nothing or even less to us." Carlyle to Motley: Motley's Letters, 1889. Tact. Men regard more their present than their future lot, and arrange their conduct accord- ingly. This they call tact; a quality conspicuously absent among the greatest in humanity. It is only when the Ego of Personality is finally confirmed and fixed, that it begins to screen itself from the scrutiny of others. Personality is not self-evolved : It comes from Eternity ; yea, rather, it is a revelation of Person- ality in the Eternal Power. Schiller's speculation that the Fall was a great stride in the history of the human race is warranted if we conceive it to have been of divine ordinance. In the simple power and propensity to do evil, and to refrain from it, — there is grandeur. Neither Rabelais, nor his English counterpart. Swift, could have indulged in their obscenity and uncleanness, without personal disposition and liking towards it. OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 93 Evil, or what we call Evil, and Good, or what we call Good, is equally ordained. The value of the Books of the Bible consists in this ; they reveal to us a Power in the Universe which is constant in its cognisance of human affairs, and intervenes in them. For one thing, we come into the world to learn dissatisfaction with it, and with ourselves. The constitution of Nature is as imperfect as the constitution of Man. Human life is a bed of thorns, strewn occasion- ally with roses. Neither Socrates, nor even Shakespeare, the broadest intelligence which has ever appeared in humanity, attains beyond the human order. The Christ of the Gospels alone stands above the human category. In His absolute and unadulterate morality — its love, its nobleness, its sublimity — He is beside and above human nature: It is the rever- ence which this inspires that makes Him Lord and Saviour. 94 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. If there be no providential ordinance in human affairs, accidents, sudden, lamentable, and unfore- seen, can cause no surprise : The difficulty is to account for such catastrophies under a providential order. The Mosaic law is Thou shalt not ; the Christian law, Thou shalt. Let it be admitted, if you like, that the Gospel miracles never happened. Let it be further ad- mitted that the Gospels are a legend. Then, ask yourself, — Is there anything better fitted than this legend to effect the betterment of humanity? The New Life — the Life after Death — that, I partly perceive, may be also a life of effort and attainment towards a completer Personality. Fate is the outcome and effect of concurrent causes, chiefly mundane. Men's virtues, as well as their vices and negli- gencies, are oft contributors of fatal and disastrous results. How we human beings fancy ourselves ! OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 95 Many men, in the vale of years, become disillu- sioned of others ; a few, only, are disillusioned of themselves. The motions of the spirit, whether arising from external observation, or from the words and thoughts of other minds, present and past, or from supernal influence dimly felt, pre-suppose and warrant a counter-action : — the metaphysical aids may be reacted upon by us, as we acted upon by them. We are born into this world with mental limita- tions ; hence is it that self-deceptions so easily overcome us. Fine thoughts are like wandering spirits seeking habitation ; they come, and if you do not instantly house them, pass on. The movements of the Mind and Spirit are neither regular, constant, nor equal at all times : All our best thoughts come to us, more or less, in flashes of light. Judaism is much ; Christianity, which includes it, incomparably more. The Scriptures are the greatest 96 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. monuments in humanity ; but they are not every- thing. The riddle of the Earth has not yet been solved, nor will be, here. To know the Correspondences and the Cor- relations of things were to read the Book of the Universe. In Shakespeare's Plays, everything is shown to lead up to the Inevitable. Whatsoever the degree or capacity of Grace with which we are born, the difificulty in the life of the world is to preserve it, and not to lose it. Shakespeare, — there is abundant reason for think- ing, — was a man of omnivorous reading as 'well as observation of the different sorts and conditions of men, and of natural phenomena ; but it was all put into his own crucible, and assayed. Character is composed of defects and virtues ; but it is of our defects that we are the more fond. What if the myriad thoughts and embodied acts OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 97 — both good and bad — of Mankind were correlated to, and, in some degree, the cause of all the lower forms and natures of the animal world, and even of the distracted motions of the elements ? 1898. Per asfera, ad ardua, as I reckon. Resigned my Aldermanship of the Borough of Preston, in the early part of this year, after an honest and strenuous service of some twenty-eight years, destructive in the main of the local professional practice which I had laboriously achieved, — feeling myself, during all that period, somewhat a Ghost moving amidst a company of very questionable Simulacra. One should ever be careful to regard the moni- tions of his own ghost, or familiar spirit : He may, it is true, be led thereby to earthly ruin, but be justified nevertheless. It is well for a man in the vale of years that the desire to do should die down, and that he should simply content himself to be. Do not some men, in a spiritual sense, become partly disembodied in their later years ; withdrawn from the world, losing the aims, desires, and am- bitions of their prime? G 98 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. Love, between the sexes, is the seeking on both sides of the counterpart requisite for the fuller completion of being : And so, the passion of love for another is a subtle form of Self-love. It is to be noted that, despite the influences of Christianity for nigh two thousand years, the Western peoples remain the most greedy and ac- quisitive in the world. Swedenborg's "Earths in the Universe, and their Inhabitants," considered merely as a romance of speculation, has a rational basis. Each of the nations of the world seems to have its distinct tutelary Genius. It may be the rivalry and antagonism of such hidden Powers that are the origins of national differences and wars. The influences reside less in the region of party politics, than in the racial instinct at large. Whenever this is roused into full action, an astonishing energy is displayed. The doctrine of the Trinity in theology has a parallelism in the human being — an innermost part, which is invisible, The Father; an external part, visible in human form. The Son; and a proceed- ing, The Holy Ghost. OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 99 The most moving influence in all literature is the record of the four Evangelists. Given a human being, i.e., a particular organisa- tion of spirit and body with faculties inherent, into agreement or collision with like human beings, singly or in number, and accompanied with an especial environment and collocation of external circumstance — what happens thereafter cannot be regarded as accidental, but inevitable. The real being of all things and of ourselves is eternal. John of Barneveld, in his extremities, fell back in despair of human intervention, upon the Lord God Almighty. His fate reminds one of Carlyle's utterance in old age — ' He does nothing.' We are not so much in the dark as to Shake- speare's own views and beliefs as is commonly assumed. The expressions of the various characters in his Plays reflect, more or less, his own private speculations and thoughts, to a greater degree, even than the Sonnets. One cannot read history without a recurring lOO OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. wonder that Wars of Religion, of all wars the most desolating, should have happened under Divine Ordinance. Note, however, their ulterior results, for example, in the present position of Spain, once the arbiter of the world, the great criminal against humanity some three hundred years ago — a nation now altogether a negligeable quantity in the European comity. That a contemptible being, like Philip II., should have been born to such power and influence as he exercised, and was permitted to exercise, is a part of the mystery that accom- panies all human affairs. That the best qualities of the human race are god-like, there is no gainsaying; but these qualities are constantly submerged in the vast tides of the baser elements. The saying is often quoted by ordinary people, 'that no man is necessary.' What they really mean is that no man is necessary to them. It is an experience which is not common to become dead to other people in one's own life- time : There is a certain relish attending it. The greed of the powerful European nations, if not controlled, will end in disaster to all of them. OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 1 01 In later life, one reads more for the acquisition of ideas than of facts. When one comes to reflect, that, with all the uncertainties attendant upon their compilation, the narratives of the four Gospels have had such an abiding influence upon the European world extend- ing over so many centuries, and still, it may be correctly said, maintaining that influence, alike with select as with ordinary minds, there is warrant for belief in the Ideas of Jesus Christ as the only future transforming power in humanity. The Journalism of these days takes small account of Aristotle's examination of Democracy, or of the warnings conveyed by Thucydides and .^Eschylus. That the interests of the masses have been too much disregarded by the rich every student of History knows. But when Aristotle shows us how democracy is liable to sacrifice the welfare of the whole to suit the desires of a part, viz., the common people, it is regarded but as an assumption. But the fact is that he was reasoning from facts under his own immediate observation. Athens, in his time, had reached as complete a political experience of the results of democracy as any country in modern Europe. Greece fell utterly under it, and has never since revived. The whole popular side of politics was played out there twenty centuries ago, while we, after a thousand years of landed oli- garchy, and a century of mercantile oligarchy, are but beginning to see the results of democracy. Carlyle, to his lasting credit be it said, prophesied I02 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. them in these latter days, and was disregarded. De Tocqueville has predicted the Nemesis of Universal Suffrage in the United States, which we are begin- ning to see. The Harris Museum at Preston is the monu- ment of a recorded purpose which the Fates have not permitted me to fully complete. Am I sur- prised at this? Not I. What I wonder at is, that they have permitted me to do so much. Better men than myself, and more highly endowed, have experienced worse at their hands. What moral shall we draw from this, but Resignation? We come into the world to play our several parts in the drama, and must rest content with having played them. The Stage Manager alone knows the play- Manufacturers and shop-keepers imagine that a little common-sense is all that is necessary to manage the complex affairs of a Town. But if any man thought that a little common-sense, with- out experience and specific knowledge, was enough to enable a man to manage a factory, or even a draper's shop, he would be called a fool. The Scientific and Technical Education afoot in England is, I fear, a delusion. While I admit a very limited real benefit in passing large numbers of young men and young women through such examinations as are in vogue, I hold that such OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 103 superficial culture is not a substitute for the train- ing of Experts which is supported on the Con- tinent. Here, the public money is being frittered away on popular teaching. Adam Smith argues in the " Wealth of Nations " that society is so constituted that each man best promotes the interests of all by attending to his own ; and, in the " Moral Sentiments" that sympathy induces us to approve such conduct as tends to this result. Henry Smith (1826- 1883), the mathematician, reached the conviction that the properties of the physical Elements are so connected by mathematical relations, as to be discoverable by reason in antici- pation of experience. So live, that, at least, you may believe in your- self. The Soul is virgin, untouchable ; passive, self- contained; takes no part in what we do, but warns. Personality resides in the Spirit. The Body is the instrument of the Spirit, but has its own affec- tions. I04 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. OTHELLO. The short space of time occupied by the tragedy of Othello has been but little remarked. Act I. is devoted to the evening of the marriage, and the departure on the same night to Cyprus. Act II. — The arrival at Cyprus — "a se'nights' speed," and disgrace of Cassio the same night. Act III. — Intercession of Cassio with Desde- mona on the following morning: — Rise and rapid progress of Othello's jealousy : — The stealing of the handkerchief, and the giving it to Cassio. [In this and the succeeding Acts the difficulties as to time occur.] Act IV. — Evening of the same day : — Plot to murder Cassio the same night. [The dramatist oblivious somewhat as to time.] Act V. — Attempt that night on the life of Cassio : Murder of Desdemona ; and the end of the Play. [Mr. Singer observes that "the reckon- ing of time all through the drama follows the laws of poetry, and laughs at the chronologist," and several passages obscurely bear this out. Vide also Dr. Johnson and Toilet] We learn distinctively what Good is, through an intimate acquaintance with our proclivities to Evil. The world of Sense itself transcends the bounds of Sense. It is difficult to set any absolute bounds to the OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. lOS powers given to and contained in such a Being as the Christ of the Gospels. Man's spiritual nature is distinct from his animal nature ; nay, is even at enmity with it. He be- longs to two different orders of existence or being. I can foresee no end to the muddled course of human affairs from generation to generation. If Greek Architecture is not to pass away, it seems necessary that, in every age, some one who has perceived its surpassing excellence should renew the world's acquaintance with it, — should once more revive its spirit and present its forms, in the endeavour after new combinations, for the instruction and delight of mankind. The reign of Democracy appears to be approach- ing an active and powerful era, with the United States and the British Empire as its chief pro- tagonists. Carlyle was a giant amongst his contemporaries, as Michael Angelo amongst his. So also Bismarck. The nature of Napoleon Bonaparte was Satanic. Io6 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. Contrasting the theogony of the Plays of Shake- speare with that of the Books of the Old and the New Testament, we see, in the latter, the imme- diate, direct influence and power of the One God : in the former, the action is through delegated inferior powers, some of them good, some hostile. In this the Dramatist has affinities to Greek theogony. The Greek poets, Menander, Pindar, .(Eschylus, Sophocles, and equally the philosophers, Solon, Anaxagoras, Socrates, Plato, were, in a real sense, all actually inspired ; and the same may be also said of Shakespeare, Milton, and Wordsworth. The difference between Wordsworth and Tenny- son as gnomic poets is this : Tennyson propounds his thoughts, his hopes, his beliefs, tentatively. Wordsworth is positive, and declares undoubtingly, as with the voice of the Hebrew prophet. It will come .to be acknowledged that, amongst the poets of the nineteenth century, Wordsworth is upon the loftiest and most assured heights. Unless upon the theory that Shakespeare was in the habit of using the Characters in his Plays as vehicles of his deepest thoughts, how should he have put into the mouth of Lorenzo in the " Merchant of Venice," the splendid passage (Act v., Scene /.) — OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. I07 " How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank ! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears ; soft stillness, and the night. Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica : Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patlnes of bright gold ; There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st. But in his motion like an angel sings. Still quiring to the young-eyed Cherubim : Such harmony is in immortal souls; But, whil'st this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it." Not a day passes but each man adds a stone, however small, to the structure of his personal Character. His acts, good, bad, indifferent, he leaves behind him in the world ; and, with Death, takes away with him his Character alone. It is personality, the Ego, which observes what is going on outside of me, and notes what takes place inside of me. As to the immortality of personal existence, no man is the judge of another's case ; he can only speak with some assurance of himself. The Higher Criticism of scholarship neither adds to nor detracts from the real value of the Books of the Bible. Take them simply, with an open and receptive mind, for what they are, and not what they are said to be, and they gain in beauty, I08 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. significance, and grandeur. The further word as to the rank, character, and function of these Books has yet to be uttered. Could we be, all of us, like the Jesus of the Gospels, humanity might be so transformed in virtue and power as to make even the winds and the seas obey us. There are two men in contemporary English literature whose absolute sincerity in word and deed is unquestionable — Carlyle and Ruskin. This day {Christmas Eve, 1898), I complete my sixty-sixth year. Fate and Metaphysical Aid have, on the whole, not been unbeneficent to me, alike in what has been granted, what withheld, and what inflicted. My Apprenticeship to this life has been somewhat long, and I await my Wanderjahre here- after, in a new body, framed to accord with the Soul's desires. "For Soul is Form, and doth the Body make." It seems to me that the Mystery of God is being withdrawn further than ever from the search- ableness of men. OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. 109 1899. Goethe's belief was simple and self-assured ; — That Deity and Nature had formed in his Person- ality an indestructible substance. There is no Faith, how ever firmly rooted, but has its moments and occasions of trial and mis- trust. If you would survey the world of humanity, you will not find a more comprehensive view than is presented in Shakespeare's Plays : If your inquiries are directed to the origin and destination of Man, there is more to be derived from the Scriptures than from any other source. Nature, in her dealings, plays human beings strange pranks ; but the elect, even while ac- knowledging her dominion, are conscious of being above her. To the Eternal eye, everything that happens seems to be indifferent. The longer one lives, the more mysterious do the ways of God in respect of this world seem. no OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. The same differences which we behold in the quality of the lower animals we behold also in mankind. The real biography of a man is in what he has experienced, suffered, and endured. I know no autobiography, in these respects, so essentially re- corded as in the long series of portraits by Rem- brandt, of himself, from early manhood to the closing year of his life. They form an entirely faithful and veracious presentment of the dealings of Fate with him, with their effect upon him. And the portrayal in this form, as distinguished from a literary one, has the advantage of being absolutely free from all doubtfulness as to the record. There never has been given to the world such an auto- biography before Rembrandt's time or since, as in these memorable portraits. {Winter Exhibition, Royal Academy, 1899.) All questions of physical science finally end in the metaphysical mystery of spirit. Neither in Nature nor in Man is there proof of Omniscience or Omnipotence. One can only dis- cern the workings of a Power which is inscrutable. Fate is Circumstance plus the individual character. Circumstance is the uncertain and varying element; OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. Ill Character the certain and unvarying. The inter- mixture of the two elements accounts for every- thing that happens to the individual. "The Arabians were essentially sceptics, and resigned subjects to the inevitable and the inex- plicable ; there was an irony, open or covert, in their philosophy, their terminology, their transcen- dental mysticism, which showed how really little they believed they knew.'' [Dean Church : Bacon. Cf. Fitzgerald's Omari\ A taste for Solitude, for retired life ; an aversion to publicity, indifference to business, meditative habits, — in fine, a spirit of detachment: — thus stands it with me now. Architecture is not an imitation from Nature like Painting and Sculpture, but follows the secret pro- cesses of Nature in the conformity of means to ends, and in the adaptation of every part of the whole to its especial purpose. But this applies only to the parts of which it is composed. The greatest examples of Architecture have sprung into existence, after many mental throes of conception, like Athena out of the head of Zeus. Mind and matter are inextricable. There is no 112 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. evidence of Mind without Matter : no appearance of Matter without Mind. I shall depart from this world without fear, but with an immense curiosity. In Memoriam, Died Oct. i8th, in his 88th year, James John Garth Wilkinson, Born June 3RD, 1812. Thoughts and feelings towards him at this time lie too deep for words of mine. A great and a noble nature, on a spiritual plane far higher than any of his literary contemporaries, — not even remotely understood of most of them. Emerson, who seems to have had some discern- ment of him, after a personal interview likened the movement of his mind to that of a long Atlantic roll. Fools accounted his life madness, and his end to be without honour : How is he numbered with the children of God, and his lot is among the saints 1 Who, having been chastened, are greatly re- warded : for God proved them, and found them worthy for Himself. The righteous live for evermore, their reward also is with the Lord, and the care of them is with the Most High: OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. II 3 For righteousness is immortal ; and his name shall not be forgotten in time, and his work shall be had in remembrance : Kind to man, stedfast, sure, free from care, over- seeing all things, and going through all under- standing, pure and most subtil spirit : Taught by Wisdom, that maketh all things new, in all ages entering into holy souls ; she maketh them seers and prophets, and friends of God : Wherefore he took her to live with him, knowing that she would be a counsellor of good things, and a comfort in cares and grief: By her means he hath obtained immortality, and left behind him an everlasting memorial to those that come after him : Forasmuch as he knew his Maker that inspired into him an active soul, and breathed in a living spirit. It is Thy Word, O Lord, which healeth all things for the creatures who serve Thee, and pre- serveth them that put their trust in Thee. A burning pillar of fire, as a guide to the un- known journey when our souls depart : Everlasting God, who hast ordained and consti- tuted the services of Angels and men in a wonder- ful order, — mercifully grant, that as Thy holy Angels alway do Thee service in heaven, so by Thy appointment they may succour and defend us on earth. And now unto God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, be ascribed all majesty, might, power,, and dominion, henceforth and for ever: And the peace of God, which passeth all under- 114 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. Standing, keep our hearts and minds in the know- ledge and love of God, and of His Son, Jesus Christ our Lord : And the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Gljost, be amongst us, and remain with us always : The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Ghost, be with us all evermore. Amen. October zoth, 1899. The natures of children do not altogether depend upon their fathers and mothers. There is an occult influence in the coming to birth. December 2/^th. — My sixty-eighth birthday. What upon my mind is, that, at my next entrance into life, the Fates may place me in a lower Form, to use the school-boy phrase. They stand on no ceremony, either in this world or any other. What matter, so I be self-contained. 1900. A comparison of one's contemporaries : — How hopeful at the bottom was Carlyle of the Future Life. How sure and certain in his hope was Tenny- son. How absolute in it was Browning OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. IIS How doubtful Matthew Arnold and Clough. How more than doubtful, FitzGerald. If I were asked to name the greatest Man of the nineteenth century, I should say — John Ruskin: and if I were likewise asked to name the most energic and far-flashing Intellect, I should say, — Thomas Carlyle. That these two Sons of Man should have been born in this Island is not with- out some significance. How strong and abiding is one's sense of Eternity : So — "Choose well; your choice here Is brief, and yet endless." The main thing in life is to preserve, in every circumstance, integrity of being. The strongest in- fluences against it are not unseldom to be found in one's own house. I no longer seek thoughts; I await them to seek me. You cannot account for the spiritual being of Jesus of Nazareth as resulting from the ordinary processes of Nature: nor even for the intelligence Il6 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. of a Shakespeare. In such rare productions are occult influences, of whose mode of operation we are entirely ignorant. Contrast the authenticity of the Books of the Bible with what has come down to us, not only of the Ancient Writers, but even with the text of a comparatively recent author, such as Shake- speare. Porson's remark on this head is very forcible — "There are more sure marks of authen- ticity in the Bible than in any other book what- ever." Had Bentley's design and proposals for a recension of the original versions of the New Testament, which he thought that he could succeed in tracing back to one source, been carried out, theology would have been greatly enriched. But what would probably have been the masterpiece of our best Greek scholar was not executed. So decreed the Fates. Even if the Jesus of the Gospels never existed, the conception and portrayal of such a Being is a gain to humanity beyond all estimate. If one believes in a divine government of the Universe, then there is nothing which is not pos- sible in humanity. 1901. As there are in the lower animals different orders and degrees, so also are there the same sort OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. I17 of differences in the human kind. The mental and moral collisions between these latter not seldom are injurious, and sometimes are disastrous to the higher natures. There are more difficulties attendant upon the theory of diversified Powers in the universe, than upon that of a single Power with whose operations and intentions we are but dimly acquainted. In fine, my Belief rests in the Ego and its own experiences and teachings. Historical demands upon it grow weaker and weaker. Life is like a game of chess with an unseen player, who is perfectly fair, but overlooks no mistakes. It would almost seem that the Divine Power took care for men only with His left hand. The amount of folly and crime permitted through all ages under any Providential scheme is appalling. When I look back upon the whole course and current of my life and career from early boyhood, I ask myself, — What is it Worth? The only answer is. Experience. But is the experience worth Il8 OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. anything now? That is another question. As to the Hereafter, that is an unsolved, and to all appearance, an insoluble problem. And have you really, upon a review of your own past on earth, considered what sort of station, or what part of any future life you are worthy of being placed in? Answer me. Spiritually, mentally, morally, physically, Man, together with the earthly cosmos, is painfully im- perfect. Is it in order to endue him with the passion for perfection, which no otherwise could come ? — "I sent my Soul through the Invisible, Some letter of that After-life to spell : And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered, ' I myself am Heaven and Hell.' " The expectation of the Jews was for an earthly Messiah, not a heavenly one — a sort of Napoleon Buonaparte. The Fates often prove to us their prescience in denying our desires. The influence of Jesus of Nazareth in His own time was extraordinary, but more extraordinary OCCASIONAL RECORDS IN PROSE. II9 still is the influence which He has exercised upon the higher forms of humanity for nigh two thousand years. There must be some divine purpose in this. Romanism, Germanism, Anglicanism, the Non- conformist Churches, will all die out. The worship of the future is the divinity in Man. Christmas Eve, 1901. — This day I enter upon my 70th year. Lord! Let me know mine end and the number of my days, that I may be certified how long I have to live. PART III. MISCELLANEA. 1856-97. [arranged in chronological order.] CONTENTS. 1. Lamoign's Wife .... 129 II. A Communication to the Harris Trustees, through the Chairman of the Free Library Committee, on the subject of the "Report of a Scheme for the Foundation of a Free Public Library and Museum in Association with the Harris Trustees." 171 III. A Plea in behalf of Maintaining the AvENHAM Institution in Preston for Science and Art Teaching, and for THE Advancement of Technical Edu cation 17s IV. Mayoral Address, delivered at the Distribution of Prizes in the Guild- hall at Preston, to the St. Paul's Science and Art Classes, Dec. 9TH, Session 1880 195 V. Mayoral Address, Preston Grammar School, Prize Day, 1880 . . .209 VI. Address to the Council of the Borough of Preston on the An- nouncement of the Newsham Be- quest, Dec. 27TH, 1883 . . .219 126 Contents of Part III. PAGE VII. Speech to the Council of the Borough OF Preston, Sept. 3RD, 1884, against THE immediate CONSTRUCTION OF A 40-ACRE Dock, under the Parlia- mentary Powers of the Bill of the Ribble Scheme of 1883, with A Postscript 228 VIIL Summary and Conclusion of a Pam- phlet ON the Ribble Scheme, upon the further Parliamentary Powers sought in pursuance thereof under THE Bill of 1888, and in Exposure OF THE Mis-statements upon which THE Bill of 1883 was obtained . 237 IX. Remarks in a Speech to the Council OF the Borough of Preston, Jan. 26TH, 1893, on the Method of Formation of the Harris Refer- ence Library and Museum . . 243 X. Remarks in a Speech to the Council of the Borough of Preston, March 30TH, 189.3, IN SUPPORT of immediate measures for the Opening of the Harris Free Public Library and Museum 249 XL Speech at the Ceremonial Opening, Oct. 2 6th, 1893, of the Harris Free Public Library and Museum. . . 253 Contents of Part III. 127 XII. Speech to the Council of the Borough OF Preston, Nov. 30TH, 1893, on the Motion to Appoint a Literary and Art Director for the Formation of the Harris Reference Library and Art Museum 261 XIII. Address, Jan. ist, 1894, on the Open- ing OF the Lending Library in the Harris Free Public Library and Museum 267 XIV. An Open Letter on the Question of THE Nude in Art, June i8th, 1894 . 275 XV. An Open Letter on the Arrangement OF THE Classical Museum of Casts AND on THE PROCEDURE OF FORMING THE Reference Library of the Harris Museum, Oct. 26TH, 1895 . 281 XVI. Speech to the Council of the Borough OF Preston, June 27TH, 1896, on the Report of certain Pictures PURCHASED BY THE FrEE LiBRARY Committee for the Art Gallery of THE Harris Museum . . . .287 XVII. Some Public Reflections on the Commemoration, 1897, of the Sixty Years' Reign of Her Majesty Queen Victoria 293 XVIII. An Open Letter on the Selection of the Pictures previously referred to for the Harris Art Gallery . 303 128 Contents of Part III. PAGE XIX. The Allusions — arranged in chro- nological ORDER — THROUGHOUT THE SERIES OF Shakespeare's Plays, to "Fate and Metaphysical Aid" {.Macbeth — Lady Macbeth, Act I., Scene 5) IN Human Affairs, exhibited in parallel PASSAGES {cf. Part II. passim) . -307 I. LAMOIGN'S WIFE. LAMOIGN'S WIFE. " Believe thou, O my Soul, Life is a vision shadowy of truth ; And vice, and anguish, and the wormy grave. Shapes of a dream." I. You have often asked me, Amielle, to relate to you more fully that episode in Julian Morton's career which I have not unfrequently disclosed in our private talk. With some hesitation I attempt it, for, penetrated as I am with the influence of an ever-acting fate- fulness in human affairs, and close as are the trammels of custom upon the thoughtful spirits ..of every age, impeding, as these hindrances invari- ably do, a free correspondence between the inner and the outer life, it is somewhat difficult alike to discern as to exhibit, in the links of individual circumstance, that continuous chain which binds fast the nature of things. Nevertheless, necessity is there, if but dimly seen, as leading to a responsive course of action. In such cases we seem to exercise but little volition. The forces of life are gathered together, and their motion is mainly spontaneous and un- reflective. In early years I became acquainted with Julian Morton. A devotion to the same profession had thrown us often together, and we became intimate as friends. But, even though we had stood in this relationship for some years, he was seldom un- 132 MISCELLANEA. reserved. Frequently had I to notice an antipathy on his part to bestowals of confidence, and I never sought to know more than he would willingly disclose. This habit of closeness extended even into the sphere of our studies. I remember that he once told me, by way of excuse, that he was impatient of contradiction, and disliked argument. " What is the good of it ? " he said. " You never convince a man by argument, if he has really formed his own opinion. And this is right. We are not straws to be blown about by every wind. The opinions of an individual are the result of his life and nature ; of his experience of the world, and of men and of books. As well expect to change character and past life, as opinion." I have seen him at times, after gaily rattling into general conversation with a lively abandon that well became him, affording pleasure to his hearers more by his manner than anything else — his eyes sparkling and his face animated — suddenly relapse into silence and immobility. Accustomed to him as I was, I could often specifically account for this. He was extraordinarily sensitive. Even a chance expression would disturb him. Sometimes I have been led to think that he had the faculty that discerns the real relation and essential import of the thousand trivialities of the day's existence — a faculty of genius. But why do I essay to describe him? Let me relate, as briefly as I can, that single chain of events in which we were joint actors. II. In the autumn of the year 185 1 Julian Morton informed me that he was about to prosecute his MISCELLANEA. 1 33 further studies under M. Pierre Lamoign, a French sculptor of some reputation, who resided in one of the suburban districts around London, and had his studio in town. " I should be sorry," said he, " to lose you ; can you not arrange to go with me ? I will write to M. Lamoign. He has no other pupils. Besides," continued he, "if it is with you as with me, an immediate step such as I propose is needful for us both. For my own part, I am dull and inert ; my energies need a stimulus. I have too much acquaintance with myself, and have a longing to come in contact with minds above me. In London I shall have this. With M. Lamoign I have already commenced an ac- quaintance. He is of repute, and has brilliant attainments in our art. He loves it with a passionate enthusiasm, with an enthusiasm I should like to feel myself. Come," said he, "we have been idle, but my spirits are stirring. Let us be up, and play our parts" — and he strode along the room declaiming — " Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights, and live laborious days;" — and he stopped with his face towards me. I know not what prompted, but uplifting my finger moni- torily, I continued the lines — " But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears. And slits the thin-spun life." " Who talks of death ? " was his reply. " I am full of suppressed life. I want opportunity to expend it. Death ! Heavens, I have not yet begun to live ! " ■ It was thus, at such times, that the depths of 134 MISCELLANEA. Morton's nature were disclosed. Deliberate confi- dence, as I have remarked, he was loth to give. But in states of sudden mental excitement, he was unloosed, and lavishly surrendered himself. Quite aware was he of this. Repeatedly he had ex- pressed to me the uneasiness which he afterwards felt. " I don't call myself communicative," he would say, "and yet have I oftentimes occasion for regret at having said too much. I am even con- scious, while so speaking, that I shall regret it. Once, and once only, have I repented me of silence. You knew my friend John Wilton. He was ill, ill to death, and I was watching and attend- ing him through the night. His years were past forty, mine but eighteen. Ah ! never again shall I have the calm and sober friendship that was between us. My dying friend began to speak of his past life. He spoke of his youth, and of the mistakes he had made, and particularly of a fatal one of twenty years ago, for which he was then lying on his death-bed — when the question crossed me. Shall I tell him of myself? I mused ; I considered that what I wished to say was not solely mine. Yet, I reflected, he is dying ; he will carry my story to the grave. But how if he survives this attack ; he has survived others, apparently as dangerous. The question, then, resolved itself thus. I tell him this in expectation of his death. Should he not die, I shall regret having told him. Finally, I summoned up in favour of silence. He died a few days after," HI. Morton's desire that I should accompany him to London agreed very well with my own inch- MISCELLANEA. I3S nations. Upon our arrival, we sought the studio of M. Lamoign. Arrived there, we were ushered into an ante-chamber, plentifully scattered with choice casts of the antique, and of some original works of the modern school. Several of the latter struck me as remarkable for freshness of idea and treatment. The expression of calm and changeless repose, characteristic of Hellenic Art, was here absent. These were full of motion while looking at them, one would have had no surprise at a change of attitude. On pointing out this to my companion — " Ah ! " said he, " Lamoign will be pleased at your appreciation of his peculiar manner. Those models which you are admiring are his own work." While he was descanting further upon them, the inner door was opened, and an individual appeared, habited in a blouse, with modelling tools in his hands. "Ah, Mr. Morton," said he, with a slightly foreign accent, " how do I see you ? " He shook hands cordially with Julian, who then turned and introduced me to his notice. He bowed formally, and, giving me his hand, hoped that I should progress well with my studies. I could not but notice a palpable difference in his demeanour towards me as contrasted with that to Morton. Though we were of the same age, he spoke to Morton more on a footing of equality than to me. Why so, was not obvious. The three of us left the studio together, to proceed to M. Lamoign's to dinner. While we were journeying by rail towards his residence, which, he stated, was about five miles from town, I had a better opportunity of more closely examin- ing his physiognomy. He appeared about twenty years older than either of us, probably between forty and fifty years of age. The expression of 136 MISCELLANEA. his face in repose was fixed and firm. It is not always that people wear their own faces. In social life, especially, how many a mask is worn, and how contemptibly inane is it to him who is keen enough to perceive it ! If one could see the ex- pression at times of his own mask, how he would shrink ! Even those who have the wish to be honest, who desire to put away all disguise, not unseldom find themselves wearing, all too con- sciously — and what thoughtful man has not ex- perienced the degradation of it? — a mask of their own. We left the train at a suburban locality dotted with detached villas. Opening a gate in front of of his house, and crossing a lawn, M. Lamoign rang the bell. Upon entering, he ushered us into a small room, and after a short interval, bade a maid-servant to show Morton and myself into a dressing-room. " I never told you anything about Madame Lamoign" — said Morton, as he stoo.d before a dressing-glass with his back towards me, brushing his hair, — " that I have seen her ? " No, he had not, — why did he ask? " Oh ! " replied he, " I was merely going to say that I became acquainted with her during my previous visits to town." After a pause, he remarked — " there is something attrac- tive about her ; by no means an ordinary woman, if I have any discrimination. I think you will be impressed with her." — " Indeed ! " was my rejoinder. A tap was heard at the door. Morton opened it— "Oh! is it you, M. Lamoign?" Our host replied that if we were ready, he would accompany us down-stairs. I followed him ; Morton after me. He preceded us into a room, at the further end of which was a lady, reading, who arose on our MISCELLANEA. 1 37 entrance, and was introduced as Madame Lamoign. As I bowed and offered my hand, I observed her glancing over my shoulder with an animated expression. I knew that there was only Morton behind me, and moved aside. She was very sprightly in conversation, with an air and manner quite new to me. I found myself silently gazing upon her with an interest which I had never before experienced. What was this feeling? I asked myself She was above the middle size, and in the first flush of fully developed womanhood. Her large dark eyes, and dark hair, oval face, and brunette complexion, led me to conjecture she was of Spanish race. I took but little part in the conversation that arose ; my sensations were too pleasurable to allow of abatement or interruption in doing so. Nevertheless, I was occasionally addressed by Madame Lamoign, and, in the course of my replies, could look into the depths of her glowing eyes. But it was of little avail that I endeavoured to take a part in the conversation, I was too far overcome with delicious sensations — yes, I was in love, in love at first sight. I suppose that I must have borne myself some- what absently at dinner — Madame Lamoign, the full-lighted room, Morton's mercurial laugh — he was in one of his gay humours — Lamoign's deep and grave tone of voice — seemed to whirl through my consciousness. Music was proposed. We arose and went up to the drawing room, where Madame Lamoign seated herself at the pianoforte, and Lamoign produced a violin. Morton took lazily a chair close to Madame, while I drew up to a table in the middle of the room, and seated myself so as to command 138 MISCELLANEA. a side-view of her face. Lamoign and Madame played together the moon-light Sonata of Bee- thoven, after which she executed a fantasia of Chopin's. " Ah ! poor Chopin," said she, turning towards Morton. At intervals, I had observed her repeated glances at Morton, while he was seated, his hand on his temple, listening to the music. When he did happen to be looking towards her, she smiled. It annoyed me. Morton himself had some skill as a musician. "Would he favour us?" asked Madame Lamoign. He nodded assent, and took up a guitar that was lying near him. After a little preluding — " Shall I sing?" he asked her. Again that responsive smile. He began — " O that it were mine to dream this weary life away, Reclining by some fountain gazing idly while the spray Were lisping charmed silvery tales within the ear of noon. And bounding in the rays of an eternal summer sun. Where gorgeous flowers perfume the air luxuriously lying, Lulled by strains of music, and by troops of fairies sighing. Curtained all around me by unclouded eastern skies. And breathing air as lustrous as the light of lovers' eyes. Peopling this my paradise from fancy's gayest bowers. Where dark-eyed houris dance whose hair adown them floats in showers ; Forms that ne'er Hellenic art in palmiest eras knew. Warmer and more glowing far than Titiano drew. O that I were dreaming then this weary life away. Dreaming in the realms of my imagination gay, MISCELLANEA. 139 With sunny houris sweeping round and warbling in mine ear, Thy Youth, O Mortal! is immortal, Mortal, rest thee here. " I never heard that before," broke in M. Lamoign, as the singer concluded. "No," said Morton, waving his hand towards me, "the words are my friend's,^ and the words made the music." Lamoign began to speak of the French poets, Beranger, Hugo, Lamartine, Chateaubriand. " I have no high opinion of our own poets," said Morton. "The younger ones are immature. Tennyson and Matthew Arnold are the only classics, now that Landor is silent. Browning is abnormal, but his dramatic vein is remarkable. The scene between Sebald and Ottima in 'Pippa Passes' is Shake- spearian." Madame Lamoign interrupted Morton's dog- matic pronunciations by asking what he thought of Musset and George Sand. He looked at her, laughed lightly, and shrugged his shoulders. She looked very archly at him in return. We rose to go. I had sufficiently recovered self- possession to reflect upon the last few hours and their impression upon me. Revolving this over, on our way back to town, I fell into a reverie. An intense longing towards Madame Lamoign filled me with an uneasy pleasure. I recalled her every look, tone of voice, and gesture, I dwelt ecstatically upon her every lineament and feature — what tran- scendent fulness of being the love of such a woman gave me; and to be beloved by her in return! — Morton broke in upon me suddenly — "Well, Master Speechless, what do you think of Eugenie La- moign " ? I started as if I had been stung. Muttering in reply that I was tired, and wished HO MISCELLANEA.. I were in bed, his question grated painfully upon me. How came he to know her name, Eugenie? Why should he name her so familiarly? And then I recalled her frequent glances towards him, and her smile when his eye met hers. I was jealous of Morton, jealous. I passed a restless night. Tossing to and fro on my pillows, in vain did I essay to drive off the feeling with which I was infected. How could I expect a reciprocal feeling between Madame La- moign and myself, and if I were reasonable, I ought not to wish it. Was she not already married ? At break of day I had determined upon quitting London for a brief period, to wean myself of my fever. I left a note for Morton, stating that in the hurry of preparation, I had left behind some private affairs requiring attention, and that I should shortly return. IV. A fortnight had elapsed ere I was again in London. Now I set myself diligently to work at my studies, hoping that in their prosecution I should find an interest sufficient to overcome the remains of that passion which I thought was well nigh suppressed, and which had been the cause of my temporary absence from M. Lamoign's studio. Morton I found to be busy, modelling away with a brisk energy, and apparently much interested in his work. As I retrace my connection with his career, I find this to be the only period at which he appeared satisfied with the conditions and the habits MISCELLANEA. 141 of his hourly life. We had visitors occasionally, men of intelligence, friends and patrons of La- moign, with whom we could exchange ideas. Our master in the art was not himself very talkative ; he was too much engaged, I apprehend, in ex- cogitating his art-ideas, and too intent upon the work he was engaged upon, to gossip with Morton and myself. Sometimes we would appeal to him for an elicitation of opinion, which he would give with gravity. To Morton's notions upon Art he seemed to listen with marked attention. He would return to the subject of conversation after lapses of time, during which it appeared as if he had either been revolving some remark of Morton's or pur- suing a train of thought suggested by it. One day, as Morton and myself were silently at work, M. Lamoign having gone out — I was, I remember, outlining the Mercury and Pandora of Flaxman, — we were suddenly surprised^at least I was — by the entrance into the studio of Madame, his wife. I had not seen her since the evening which I could not forget. Morton did the honours attending her reception, and laughed and chatted gaily with her. At first, I scarcely dared to look in her direction. When, at length, I raised my eyes during a pause in the conversation, it was to perceive the fact that Morton and she were ex- changing ardent glances. Was there anything in that? Yes, such looks were only exchanged where some barriers had been removed. How magnifi- cent she looked ! I felt my passion to be again reviving ; but to be fore-warned was to be fore- armed ; I would quell it ere it should master me. When she rose to go, Morton said that he would accompany her. While he retired to another room to re-habilitate himself, she said to 142 MISCELLANEA. me that M. Lamoign was leaving town on the following morning for a few days, and she would be glad if Mr. Morton and myself would come up in the evening. I spoke my acknowledgments as Morton re-appeared. Somewhat moodily I applied myself to work after they had gone out, conjecturing what extent of intimacy really subsisted between them. I felt vexed, vexed that she should look upon him with greater favour than upon myself. I was as young, and, for aught I could see, as good-looking, as he: — could I not supplant him ? The entrance of M. Lamoign interrupted my thoughts : " Where is Morton ? " he asked " Gone out with Madame Lamoign." " H'm, has she been here?" I looked him full in the face as I answered him, to see whether I could detect any suspicion : — no, his face wore its usual expression of gravity. He looked over the drawing on which Morton had been engaged. "This is fine," he observed, " Morton may be famous some day, if he will but work. 'Tis a great pity that such qualities as he possesses should be so often lost. Absorption in mere thinking is a mistake. Actual work, thought realised, externalised, clears the brain of cobwebs which thought accumulates. Besides, mere think- ing makes us imperious and too full of ourselves ; we get conceited, and apt to mistake what we feel capable of doing as unnecessary to be done. Then comes vexation with those around us for not con- ceding what we consider to be our due rank. Let us work, monsieur, if only to blunt the edge of our natural conceit. Laborare est orare." Morton returned alone. To M. Lamoign he MISCELLANEA. 143 merely observed that he had just been taking a walk with Madame, and, seating himself in a chair, seized hold of a book within his reach. Some- thing, I could see, had occurred to move him. His pale face was flushed, and his eyes were restless. I observed the nervousness of his hand upon the page of the book he had opened, but which he was not reading. M. Lamoign broke the silence with remarking that he should not be with us the next morning. He was going from home, but should be back in a day or two. I looked towards Morton, expecting that he would mention the invitation of Madame to himself and me, but he spoke net. Giving me a private look and nod, he rose from his seat, and bidding Lamoign good-day, we went out together. "Come along," said Morton, "let us dine together." As we went along I inquired why he had not mentioned to Lamoign that we were to spend to-morrow evening with Madame. Parrying my question with "Pooh! there was no need," we entered Verrey's. He began to drink more wine than he was wont, and afterwards became somewhat excited in his talk. He proposed a theatre. After having sat in the pit of the Princess's about an hour — " Let us go elsewhere," he said, " I want a laugh." On our way towards the Strand, we encountered a trio of acquaintances, with whom we lounged down Regent Street, and in the end adjourned to billiards. Morton's gaiety, I could easily perceive, was forced ; and, as I felt somewhat jaded, I left him in the midst of a dispute about a foul stroke, and went on to my rooms. It .was afternoon of the following day before he made an appearance at the studio. With some 144 MISCELLANEA. ill-nature, I remarked to him that he had bestowed more than usual care upon his dress. In this par- ticular he was always somewhat scrupulous, but to-day he had taken pains to adorn himself, as I told him. He shrugged his shoulders in reply, but said nothing. The more I thought, the more I entertained a definite notion that there was something beyond an ordinary intimacy between these two. Curiosity, jealousy — for my own passion for her was not by any means overcome — together with an interest in the development and outcome of what I ventured to regard as an intrigue, resolved me upon using my observation to the utmost. I inquired of Morton if he had been to La- moign's house during the time I was away from London. "O yes! frequently," was the reply. "I have stayed there all night once or twice." V. We were received by Madame Lamoign. There was no sign of either of the two domestic servants being in the house. Madame casually remarked during supper that they had gone to town, to the play, and it would be the small hours ere they returned, as they might come back by a late train after having supped somewhere. She indeed looked superb while she entertained us. Her low dress disclosed her alabaster neck and bust, than which her husband never modelled a more beautiful form. The dress she wore was of light blue silk, trimmed with cerise. When she moved, my senses caught the perfumes wafted MISCELLANEA. I4S from the folds of her voluminous skirts. She was divine. Aphrodite herself could not have been more lovely to the eyes of the War-god. During the early part of the evening I com- pletely forgot the watchfulness I had intended, so intoxicated was I with passionate admiration. She contributed to effect this by bestowing equality of attention upon us. Towards the close of our stay, conversation drooped, and we rose to return. On taking leave — all my attention now thoroughly aroused — I noticed a look of peculiar import — I could not tell of what — pass between Madame and Julian. A cab was awaiting us at the door, into which we both sprang, and were driven homewards. Nothing of consequence was mentioned between us, as we nestled in opposite corners of the vehicle. We had hardly been twenty minutes on our journey, when Morton pulled the check-string — " I shall get out and walk home," said he, " 'tis a fine starlit night, and a solitary walk will be congenial to me just now." I was moody, and did not reply to him. He opened the door as the cab stopped, and stepping out, bade me " Good-night." " Good-night," I answered. The cab had carried me on towards town for some short time, when I began to reflect why Morton had left me. He did not want me to accompany him — that was evident. A thought crossed me : — Had he returned to Madame Lamoign? I stopped the further progress of the cab — " Which way had the gentleman gone who had just left me ? " I inquired of the driver. 146 MISCELLANEA. " He was standing still as I drove on " — was the reply. I reflected ; — several incidents connected them- selves tending to support my supposition that he was returning, and I began to feel ablaze. I paid the cabman, telling him to drive on, and without any definite intention, found myself re- tracing the road. I had walked a very short distance, when a cab — not that which I had dismissed — overtook me. I hailed it, and found it had no fare. Taking posses- sion of the vacant interior, I directed the driver to go on till I should require him to stop. " Now," thought I, " I shall overtake Morton in a few minutes, if he has really turned back, and I shall avoid the awkwardness of meeting him." As the cab rumbled onward, I kept a sharp look-out upon the road. The moon was out, and I could easily see any person whom we might. pass. Suddenly I was startled at hearing a voice cry out—" Hillo ! " It was his,— Morton's. Shrinking intuitively out of the range of his vision — for he had advanced within a few yards of where I sat — I heard him questioning the driver as to whether his vehicle was empty. He was answered in the negative, and to my great relief, the cab was driven on. We were only less than half a mile from M. Lamoign's residence when Morton was left behind. I stopped within fifty yards of it, and paying the driver, he went on. I walked quickly the short intervening distance. A dwarf-wall flanked each side of the gate, from which a path wound round a circular parterre till the portico was reached, from which it diverged laterally both ways, and went round the end walls of the house. MISCELLANEA. 147 I vaulted over the dwarf-wall quickly, for fear the gate should make a noise, and espying a thick shrubbery, concealed myself in its shadow. Gazing at the house, I observed that the ground floor room on the right of the entrance — the window of which was almost opposite to me — was lighted up. The shutters were not closed, and the only barrier to a sight of the interior, even from where I had secluded myself, was the Ve- netian blind. Was it imagination, or did I indeed see a hand, whose shape I thought I recognised, in the act of drawing the blind inwards, in order to look out? I crept stealthily to the window, and peered through the interstices. Madame Lamoign was in the room, standing, listening, expectant. She had disrobed herself of her evening dress ; her long dark hair was unbound and hung down her loins. She wore a delicately-dyed robe of cashmere, loosely girdled at the waist, the swansdown trim- ming of which gradually opened wide around her neck and bust, the carnations of which literally glowed by contrast. Her feet were bare in open- work slippers. I heard steps approaching and again concealed myself Morton walked straight to the window I have mentioned, rattled on the glass lightly with his fingers, and disappeared through the opened door. As the door closed I stole again to the window. There in the room she was, languorous flames darting from her eyes as she held her arms ex- tended towards Morton, while he met her in a close embrace. I felt that I should go mad ; yet still I gazed, fascinated. I saw her bend backwards her neck. 148 MISCELLANEA. and upturn her impassioned eyes to his. I saw him bend his head to that up-turned, and, oh ! how inviting face, and press his lips upon hers. I saw their luxurious and unrestrained dalliance upon the couch, and felt my veins scorching with the fires of baffled love and jealousy. I could have torn Morton to pieces. How long I watched them, I know not. My heart was sick within me, my brain was in a whirl. I think I must have become partially unconscious, for of aught further I have no distinct remembrance. VI. I was away from London again. By removal from contact with those who had so agitated me, I hoped to forget somewhat of that which had happened, and to resume my accustomed habits of contemplation and thought. That no reserve existed between Julian Morton and Madame Lamoign, that their intimacy had passed that boundary beyond which there is no revocation, I could not doubt. What was to be the upshot of it all? Personal feeling had begun to give place to this last thought, and I felt a vague sense of impending catastrophe, whose sphere, I congratulated myself, I was now avoiding with all my power. With all my power, for it required the full exercise of it to keep such an inquisitorial mind as my own from further observing the development and consummation of one of those private dramas MISCELLANEA. 149 which are every day being enacted about us, but to which it is happier for us that we are not always admitted as audience. The sculptor had married his wife while she was in her first youth, probably before her senses had become awakened to the physical passion, so im- perious in its demands when aroused. Tis true that I myself had ardently longed after her through day and night, and that this longing had literally devoured me, and preyed upon me in- wardly like a consuming fire. Conceive this, if you can, of a young man in his virginity. Well aware, as I have since become, that such passions are in their nature a kind of fever or disease incidental to the more youthful period of life, though I had experienced their potency, the powers of reflection were undestroyed, and I knew, while under their dominion, of the fatal dangers which lay in wait upon them. And so I had partly resolved to sever my con- nection with the Lamoigns, when an incident hap- pened which over-set that determination. One morning I received a letter, bearing the London post-mark, which, upon opening, I found to be from the sculptor. He briefly alluded to my last departure, hinting that it was not in accord- ance with those intentions expressed by me to him relative to the prosecution of my studies. Art was a jealous mistress, and exacted unceasing devotion — that, however, was not the cause of his writing. Julian Morton, ever since I had dis- appeared from the studio, had been very erratic ; seldom in the studio, and when there, not working: always restless, and often moody. Was he ill, — that I knew of — or subject to fits — as the writer termed them, — of this kind? He was somewhat ISO MISCELLANEA. uneasy respecting him, and as the latter often talked about me, and had expressed wishes for my return, M. Lamoign, knowing our mutual friend- ship, thought that were I to do so, Morton would become more settled, or would, at least, be within the eye of one who had known him for a longer period than the writer had. VII. Here, then, I found for myself an excuse for again presenting myself upon the scene. I am not aware but I derived some gratification in being compelled, as it were, to a step which, without the interposition of M. Lamoign and its cause, I should not have taken. One afternoon, therefore, found me in London, on my way to the accustomed place. As I turned the corner of a street which brought me in view of the studio, my eyes fell upon a knot of persons collected before the entrance. Hastening on, and mixing with the heterogeneous throng which was commenting upon the event that had been the cause of the assemblage, I gathered that a young gentleman had just been carried partly insensible into the studio, a few minutes before my ap- pearance. He had been knocked down, in the act of rescuing a child from the danger of being run over. The child had been saved, but the shaft of the vehicle had struck the side of the preserver. Entering, I found M. Lamoign bent over the apparently inanimate body of Julian Morton. I stood, gazing upon the immovable and apparently MISCELLANEA. I S 1 lifeless face, regardless of any other presence, thinking of the circumstances under which 1 had last seen him. Yes, of that hour when I had seen his lips pressed to those of Eugenie Lamoign. Hateful thought! My reverie was broken by the voice of the sculptor. "You have arrived unpropitiously," said he. A surgeon came in at this juncture, and set about administering remedies, which had the effect of partially restoring consciousness to the sufferer. " What is to be done ? " said M. Lamoign ; " where shall we take him ? " " He will require careful attendance," said the doctor. " Can he be taken to my house ? " — was the sculptor's suggestion. A consultation thereupon ensued between us, during which we weighed the probabilities of Morton's being taken sufficient care of at his lodgings. Ultimately it was decided to have him immediately removed in an ambulance to the resi- dence of M. Lamoign, where every requisite atten- tion could not fail to be paid to him. The surgeon engaged to follow on with myself by train. When we arrived at the end of our journey, we found Morton laid upon a bed. Madame was not at home when he had been brought in, but came soon after. Her husband explained to her the nature of the accident. She came to the bedside, and bent anxiously over the sufferer. While she was so doing, he slowly opened his eyes, with a mingled expression upon his countenance, followed by a very grave look. His eyes wandered round the room, till they settled upon the figure of M. Lamoign. 152 MISCELLANEA. " I am unworthy of all this care," he then slowly uttered, closing his eyes. After administering opiates, and making an ex- amination, the doctor pronounced that there was no serious internal injury, and re-assuring us, he left. It was now evening. The gloom of approach- ing darkness was upon us. Morton was apparently asleep, breathing disturbedly, and muttering to himself indistinctly, under the influence, as I con- jectured, of the medicine administered to him, while Lamoign and myself were keeping watch near him. Madame came at short intervals into the room. It grew late, and Monsieur requested Madame and myself to retire for the night, while he himself would remain to watch over the invalid. I pro- posed to watch in his stead, or to keep him company, but he would not assent. Bidding him good-night, Madame and I left them together. The countenance of the lady as I gave her my hand before retiring to the apart- ment assigned to me, wore an uncertain and troubled aspect. I did not get to sleep for some time. Ruminat- ing over the events and persons surrounding me, superinduced that weary excitement of the brain which prevents slumber. I must have been dozing, or dreaming in a state of semi-consciousness, when I heard a deep cry, as of intense anguish. I was up in an instant. Hurrying on my clothes, I descended to the room where the sick man lay. The door was wide open, and through it I saw Lamoign, — his features convulsed — stand- ing with upraised clenched fist over Morton. Never MISCELLANEA. I S3 shall I forget the rage, the pain, and the wild expression of the sculptor's countenance. His usually immobile face was ferocious. Low mutter- ings from Morton fell upon my ears. In less time than I have taken in the narration, I was grasping the sculptor's uplifted arm. " Mad- man," I said, "what would you do?" He dropped his head upon his breast ; his arm fell listless. He then covered his face with his hands. His whole frame shook and rocked con- vulsively. Then, and not till then, did I listen to the low mutterings which issued from the lips of the slumberer. God in heaven ! Did I hear aright ? He was revealing, in broken and incoherent speech, the full extent of his intimacy with the .wife of him who was listening, and shuddering as he listened. The insensible speaker left nothing to merely suspect or infer — the reality became apparent to the wronged husband in all its horror. I knew not what to do. I stood spell-bound. Turning my eyes upon Lamoign, who, with his face in his hands, was swaying himself to and fro, I heard Morton proceed with his revelation. " Eugdnie ! Eugenie I do not misunderstand me ! I do not avoid you because I love you not, but that I Jove you too much. I cannot resist you. To see you is to yield myself again into your arms, lost to all honour and friendship." Thus, and more, uttered he, while Lamoign sprang up from his seat, glaring fiercely. " I cannot kill him in his sleep," said he, between his teeth, " but he will awake, and then " " But stay, we will have another listener." Here he rushed from the room. The sleeper 1 54 MISCELLANEA. was still uttering and recapitulating his revela- tions. I dare not awaken him, for fear of the wronged husband, who re-appeared with his wife held forcibly by the wrist. A few minutes sufficed to apprise her of that which had come to pass. After hearing what the unconscious revealer was yet saying, she uttered a low cry. Her husband quitted his hold upon her, and placed himself in the doorway. She moaned as the revelations con- tinued, and finally placed both hands upon her ears. The servants began to hover about. Lamoign seized his wife and took her into her own room, and shut the door. A thought occurred to me. Quick as lightning I rushed to the closed door of the chamber into which the sculptor had taken his wife — a room immediately opposite, in the door of which I perceived that the key had remained, for some reason, outside, — and turned the lock upon the pair. I got the servants to fetch a brougham from the Hotel which was close to. I roused Morton, and, after charging them, as they valued their lives, not to unlock the door for at least a full hour — with the help of the driver placed the not yet fully conscious Morton in it, and off we hastened to town. When we arrived at Morton's lodgings, no one was at home, so I sent back the brougham and calling a cab, drove to an Hotel, with the owner of which I had some personal acquaintance. On arriving there, I got Morton undressed and into bed. The physician who came to see him, said that it was a case of brain fever. MISCELLANEA. ISS VIII. Some weeks elapsed before Julian Morton arose from his sick bed, unconscious of what had occurred. He was still very weak, and his system very much reduced. I had kept almost constantly by him during his illness, since we had left, or rather fled from the house of M. Lamoign. I had not mentioned the circumstance of that flight to him. One day he asked me — " How are the Lamoigns getting on ? " " I do not know." "How long is it since M. Lamoign called here?" " He has not called here." " Indeed ! and Madame — she has been ? " (in- quiringly!) "No, she has not." " Strange ! " murmured the invalid, — " How long have I been ill?" "Several weeks." "And you mean to say that during that time neither Monsieur nor Madame Lamoign have been here to inquire after me?" Here he slightly raised his voice. " Such is the fact," was my reply. He looked at me in silence for a little while, and very attentively. Two red spots gathered upon his cheeks. " Come ! " he said, with a sudden burst, " what are you concealing from me? Tell me all you are holding back; it concerns me." "Quick," he added, as I made no haste to answer, "your silence is choking me." I perceived that nothing could be gained by continuing to keep him in ignorance of that which, in some degree, he felt. So from beginning to end I told him of what had happened from the time of my last arrival in London till our hasty depar- ture from Lamoign's house. I S6 MISCELLANEA. He sank back in bed, overwhelmed with con- flicting feelings as I recounted his unconscious con- fession to the ears of him who had thus acquired the knowledge of his own dishonour. "Would to God!" he said, "Lamoign had killed me as I lay." And when I told him that Madame had been forced to listen to the evidences of her complicity from his own lips, he cried out upon me to leave him. IX. Morton spoke to me at these times of himself and Madame Lamoign. " At first," he said, " I was greatly struck with her — her personal appearance, I mean. As I saw her oftener — without being wholly aware of it — I contrived to have interviews with her. Then I began to be conscious of a magnetic attraction between us. I was drawn to her, and she to me. When with her, I seemed to breathe a rarer atmo- sphere. I felt and perceived, both sensually and intellectually, in a new manner. I became more sensitive to chords of music, and nature herself seemed transfigured. " I believe in intuitions. Throughout my life, these have never deceived me. When I meet any one, man or woman, from the first I know in- stinctively the character of my relationship to either. I have proved this over and over again. With some personal acquaintances whom I have .MISCELLANEA. 1 57 had the opportunity of long studying, I have been induced to set aside my original impressions, and to substitute, in place of these, deductions derived from experience. Whenever these latter disagreed with the former — not unfrequently the case, — in the long run I have had to revert to my first impres- sions. " In the early part of our acquaintance, when Madame Lamoign and I sat together alone, if, at any time, our hands happened to touch each other's, or any part of our bodies came into con- tact, immediately our eyes were sure to meet with an indescribable expression of pleasure. " I was inexperienced in the meaning of these symptoms — this was the first time that I had ever felt the passion of love. "It is somewhat of an excuse for me that I was not then aware of what the indulgence of such feelings was an inevitable precursor. Not so with Madame, whose eagerness to reciprocate the early familiarities, which, with considerable trepidation, I ventured upon, was such that I was somewhat ashamed at my own faintness. "Do not misunderstand me. She was not un- womanly, or immodest, but there was a voluptuous daring about her vivid responses that revealed an ardent nature to which my own was but as water unto wine. "What novice, such as I was, could have resisted her? Intoxicated with the caresses she began to bestow upon me, I yielded myself to desire, and, for the first time in my life, the gates of an earthly paradise swung open before me. But I was eventually to experience that sexual inclination can exist without the consecration of love, while I felt the more intensely that love. IS8 MISCELLANEA. and love alone, was sole companion with mutual desire transfigured and glorified.* "At first the indulgence of our mutual passion, instead of allaying, served only to increase it. Conscience, however, at length began to stir. Disguise it as I would, palliate it as I did, justify it as I tried to do, the immorality of being in daily intercourse with her husband, and receiving from him the many proofs of his kindness and attention, became more and more hateful to me. "1 could have borne to have fled along with Madame : this would have been undisguised, and the wrong to him have there ended. In fine, only two courses were open to me — flight with her ; or I must quit London, and see her no more. "If I elected the former course, I could not but foresee that our mutual passion would not last for ever, and what was to succeed it? Could a nature like Madame Lamoign's subsist in the calm and slow currents of life? I thought not. In fact, she had little perception of those aims and aspirations which were the underlying motives * In a small Paris pocket-book of Morton's, which sub- sequently I came upon, I found the following passage, which I give as it was written :^ " Quand nous se rencontrames de temps en temps, sa passion etait telle, qu'elle m'attendra, sa forme Paphienne en tout pour les embrassemens, et comme nos ardeurs mutuelles de plus en plus s'accroltaient — ses paroles des caresses, ses baisers anoureux, ses levres ouvertes, ses yeux avides, sa langue s'elanjant, . . . . sa frame toute tremblante encore et encore avec ravissement, comme un bon vaisseau quand frappe par les vagues imperieuses — alors, en respirant entre nos embrassemens ardentes, je craindrais quelquefois que d^lices tant violentes pourraient arriver aux fins violentes." MISCELLANEA. 1 59 of my existence. She was purely sensuous, at least I judged so, and could minister only to what was correspondent in me. What would then follow ? Mutual satiety, and then mutual in- difference. " I should, nevertheless, have been quite pre- pared to take this step, had I been assured of Madame Lamoign's assent. "But I had some reasons for doubting her willingness. On the other hand, if I decided to leave her, and to break off my connection with her husband, I should feel it to be a stain upon my conscience to leave him altogether in igno- rance. This feeling I could not in any wise shake off. "Such was my dilemma. To adopt either course would, I apprehended, be detrimental to my career. Either way would wreck me. " I perceived that I had made a fatal mistake, which could not be rectified. Better had I fled ere I yielded to her seductive charms. Such natures as Madame Lamoign's and my own must regulate themselves in obedience to the world's conventions, or be prepared for a life of perpetual trouble. None of us may swallow formulas with impunity, not even a Mirabeau. "Accident," he said, "has brought about that which I could not resolve upon. Now listen, and do faithfully what I tell you. Seek out Lamoign. He is apparently ignorant of our whereabouts, or we should have heard from him. When you see him, he will place you in communication with his friend, to arrange a meeting. You must agree to whatever is proposed. He shall have full atone- ment : I shall not return his fire." Expostulation was useless on my part. "Well," l6o MISCELLANEA. I said, " I will have no hand in the affair." " In that case," he replied coolly, " I shall apply to some one else who will not be informed of my intention." There was silence between us. I was thinking that, after all, seeing his determination, it would be better for Julian Morton that I, rather than anyone else, should undertake to bring about the meeting between Lamoign and himself, when he broke in with, "Well, I know your thoughts; you will do what I request." After some further remon- strance on my part, I reluctantly assented. The first step -I took was to visit Morton's lodgings. There I ascertained that repeated in- quiries had been made for him by a strange gentleman. At my own rooms I found that the same inquiries had been made. Inevitably, Lamoign must now consider Morton unable to face out the consequence he had evoked. Therefore, on behalf of Morton, I began to be desirous that he should be cleared of this impu- tation. At the same time I hoped that I should be able to prevent their hostile meeting from proving a fatal one. I then sought M. Lamoign. His studio was closed. Upon inquiry I learned that he had not been there for some weeks. Wondering at this, I determined to go to the hotel near Lamoign's residence, where I had obtained the carriage to convey Morton away from the reach of the infuriated artist. There I would write a note to him, requesting an interview. Arrived at the hotel, I hastily penned a short note, sealing and directing it to M. Lamoign. I then rang the bell, and asked for a messenger. When he came, I put the missive into his hand, with instructions for its delivery. MISCELLANEA. l6l "Begging your pardon, Sir," said the messenger, " but the gentleman doesn't live there now." " Doesn't live there ! Why, where does he live ? " "Don't know. Sir," was the reply, "but I'll ask master." The landlord's account was that the sculptor had broken up his establishment, and departed. Where he had gone, he did not know. I hastened back to town, where I had left Morton, and told him what I had learnt. Nothing would satisfy him but we must go to the house which the sculptor had left untenanted. I humoured him, and we went together. We obtained the key, and inspected each familiar room. My companion spoke little, absorbed, ap- parently, in the reminiscences stirred up within him. Of what nature these were might be guessed. We emerged from the house, and stood upon the lawn in front. I pointed out to him the shrubbery where I had concealed myself to watch him on that night which verified my suspicions of the liaison between him and the wife of the sculptor — for I had already confessed to him my espial, and the cause of it. I asked him if he had any idea of the sculptor's whereabouts. He could not guess, said he, unless it were at Paris. "And Madame?" I inquired. He shook his head "I have a conviction," he uttered, "that I shall soon meet M. Lamoign face to face." l62 MISCELLANEA. XI. " Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, Stains the white radiance of eternity. Until death tramples it to fragments." We were in Paris. Why we came there must be set down to Morton alone. During the few weeks that had elasped since the events recited, he had been overcome with ceaseless gloom. He had foregone all interest in his work. Books interested him not, he would take them up and lay them down again with gestures of inexpressible weari- ness ; and no arguments I urged against the folly, the weakness of allowing his morbid reflections to overmaster him, were of any avail. I had tried society and amusements to lighten his burden, but to no purpose. We would drop into the theatres of an evening, whence he would emerge with lassitude increased. He never mentioned Madame Lamoign, and seldom referred to the sculptor except to upbraid himself. "Have I not blasted his career?" he ejaculated, " changed for ever the current of his life ? Through me, who knows what he is enduring at this very moment? Men like him and myself do not take these affairs as many do. To our ordered way of life, they are a revolution — a catastrophe. I am tired of all this. I shall have no peace until I have met Lamoign. Nemesis wills that I should seek him, and I submit ; be my atonement what she shall ordain. Let us go to Paris." And so, in the month of November, 1851, we came to be in that city. We obtained an apart- ment in the Rue de la P6pini^re. Throughout the day it was our chief employment to loiter along the Boulevards, frequenting the cafes and such places of resort, where, if M. Lamoign were in MISCELLANEA. 1 63 Paris, it was most likely we might get sight of him. I puzzled myself many a time over the result of a sudden rencontre between the sculptor and my friend, and kept a sharp look-out to prevent it. We had not been long in Paris before we observed that some unusual event was imminent. At the cafes, men looked furtively round, and whis- pered to each other. As neither Morton nor myself had any acquaintances in Paris, we could make little out from these signs. By-and-bye we heard rumours of imeutes and barricades. We were told that singular and quite unusual military manoeuvres had been taking place day by day. At early hours of the mornings soldiers were marched from their barracks at beat of drum, and proceeded in large bodies to the Champ de Mars. At first these movements had alarmed the citizens that the hour of the rumoured coup d'itat had come, but when the demonstrations were repeated without any act of violence, their apprehensions were lulled. On the morning of the ist of December we went out together, in order to learn, if we could, something definite of what was vaguely impending. Morton was unusually lively, he seemed to have quite regained his old flow of animal spirits. Before we set forth we had been talking as to the course we should ourselves take in the event of a general rising. We had both determined to join the republican party. He seemed eager to seize upon the chance of exchanging his sensations, and was excited as a war-horse that scents the battle. For myself, though I had not the same motive and the cue for action that he had, I felt de- cidedly an inclination for adventure into the coming struggle. Youth loves excitement, for ex- 164 MISCELLANEA. citement's sake. Movement is necessary to health. Besides, apart from the sullen suspicion with which I looked upon the career and conduct of the French President, Louis Napoleon, I regarded him as a gamester, who was capable of any ruse to secure his tricks. We were out in the streets for some hours. It was said that the President had received at the Elys6e the officers of all the regiments then in Paris, with Magnan and St. Arnaud at their head. A sudden stroke upon the National Assembly was suspected. People were afraid of talking to each other. A man of whom we asked a question, eyed us suspiciously, and moved off without reply. On our return to our apartment somewhat late in the evening, the concierge informed us that a Sister of Charity had been inquiring for us during our absence. "Who was she?" "Sister Agn6s," was the reply. "Who was Sister Agn^s?" " Oh ! all the neighbourhood knew Sister Agnes. She was from the Convent in the Rue de la Bien- faisance close by, and for the last two months had visited the sick, and distributed alms ; and many were the deeds of goodness and charity of Sister Agn6s." "Perhaps she only wants a donation from us," I remarked to Morton. On the following morning of Tuesday, the 2nd of December, the Parisians awoke to find on all the walls and street corners placards decreeing, under the President's own fiat, the dissolution of the National Assembly, and proclaiming martial law. Many of those who had been foremost in oppo- MISCELLANEA. 1 65 sition to the machinations of the President, we were told had been seized and put into prison. Those who were at liberty had tried to assemble during the day at the Legislative Palace, but were prevented from entering its doors by drunken soldiers with fixed bayonets. A great number of the deputies were seized and marched off under arrest. A larger number of them had contrived to meet, and amid much confusion had voted the deposition of Louis Napoleon. When we went out the next morning, Wed- nesday, we saw signs of resistance. But large bodies of troops were sweeping through the streets, and demolishing the few barricades that were raised. I returned to the Rue de la Pepini^re to write some letters, my companion expressing his inten- tion to seek for a defensible barricade. While I was writing, the concierge came in with a message that Sister Agn^s was below, and desired to see me. I requested him to show her up-stairs. Immediately after, a veiled lady, in the costume of a Sister of Charity, was shown into the room, and the door was closed upon us. I could not see the face of my visitant. I bowed formally, placed a chair for her, and remained standing, in an attitude of mute inquiry. She made neither movement nor speech. " Well, mademoiselle ? " I said, rather impatiently, hardly knowing how to address her. "Well, monsieur?" echoed she, as she raised her veil. I started at the well-remembered voice. Her countenance wore a chastened look, reminding me of a certain etherealised portrait of Romney's "divine lady," Emma Harte, Lady Hamilton. l66 MISCELLANEA. " Madame Lamoign ! " I ejaculated, in my sur- prise. "Even so," was the reply. "You will tell Mr. Morton that I desire to see him to-morrow evening at seven o'clock under the portico of the Church of the Madeleine." Saying this, she iixed her eyes upon me, let down her veil, and was departed ere I could recover myself to answer a word. After a few moments of stupefaction, I rushed after her down the staircase. The concierge stopped me at the bottom, with a message that Sister Agnes had desired him to tell me not to follow her in case I should attempt it. Why was this visit? I reilected. Had she, after that which she had gone through with him, come finally to real love of him, that wonderful love of woman to man, transcending all human knowledge and understanding? How could I tell? It might be so. I stepped slowly back to the room, and was still ruminating and wondering over my brief interview with Sister Agnes, or Madame Lamoign, when Morton returned from his rambles, flushed with what he had seen and heard. He commenced at once to tell me that he had taken a fiacre shortly after I had left him. He had found the streets almost deserted. He had heard a fusillade of musketry in the Tuileries gardens, and upon inquiring what it meant, was told to drive on and ask no questions. A gen- darme told him as a secret that they were shooting the insurgents. There were barricades being made in the Faubourgs St. Antoine and St. Lazare, and he suggested that we should obtain arms in pre- paration for the coming struggle. MISCELLANEA. 1 67 "Stay a little," I answered, "and listen." I then recounted my recent visitation, with the message left for him. He was utterly astonished. At first he was silent ; then he broke out with a volley of inquiries which I was unable to answer. " How did she look ? you can tell me that, at least." I parried in reply. We were each occupied in reverie, when dark- ness came upoo us in the room. I did not like to interfere with the current of his thoughts, nor did he question me any further. By a singular coincidence, we had selected an apartment in the same quarter over which Sister Agn^s was wont to roam in the exercise of her religious functions. She must have seen us. One would almost believe that there is a Fate in circumstance, bringing us into contact at given moments with those from whom we have parted, as we think, for ever. What struck me most was this — how Madame Lamoign came to be Sister Agnfes. Had she, too, a remorseful conscience like Morton, and had she repented, and was determined upon expiation in religious exercises and deeds of charity? Was she purified of her sensual passion, nay, might not even the passion itself have purified her? And how came she to be in Paris. Had she come with her husband? for I now set it down as pretty certain that he was in Paris? — No, she must have followed : for I knew Lamoign suf- ficiently to know that he would separate himself from her. Yes, finding herself alone in the world, she had entered a convent. Such were my con- jectures. To-morrow I would make inquiries con- cerning hfer. Meantime, I asked of Morton — " Shall you go and meet Madame Lamoign to- morrow evening ? " — " Yes, assuredly," was his reply. l68 MISCELLANEA. XII. It was the morning of the 4th of December, 1851, a day yet remembered by Frenchmen with shame. Little did the Parisians dream of the wanton blood-shed to be accomplished ere the sun went down. As for my companion and myself, strangers as we were, we little could foresee what was imminent. Morton arose from bed on that morning very gloomy of countenance. With what thoughts he had passed the night might perhaps be faintly surmised. At seven o'clock in the evening Madame Lamoign would be waiting at the Madeleine for him. What would be the result of their inter- view? Shortly after mid-day, we went out upon the Boulevards. Morton remarked that he was weary of the daily search after Lamoign. Files of soldiers were patrolling along the whole length of the Boulevards, fully armed, and accompanied with artillery. The parapets on each side were thronged with peaceful spectators. At open windows on the upper floors of the houses were people gazing in wonder at what all this military parade meant. It was plain to the eye that the soldiers were under the stimulus of drink. A man cried out in a loud voice, "Vive la Re- publique ! A bas Louis Napoleon 1 " when he was seized and taken off. I was gazing after him from a door-step, when a slight scuffle took place at my elbow. Turning my head, I beheld close to me the stern features of the sculptor, Lamoign. Opposite to him was Julian Morton,, whom he had grasped by the collar. "Coward," said he, addressing Morton between his clenched teeth. " Not so, Lamoign," answered Morton, and as he MISCELLANEA. 169 spoke, I looked at him. He had drawn himself up rigidly to his full height ; his voice was proud, calm, and his whole frame collected : while con- trary to his usual habit, he uttered slowly — " I have come here to meet you." The words were scarcely out of his mouth, when the sharp report of a pistol shot was heard. Whether this was a pre-concerted signal, I could not tell ; but instantly the lines of soldiery in the centre of the roadway began to fire at the un- offending and quiet populace thronging the para- pets, and at the open windows of the houses on both sides. I had an indistinct recollection of receiving a musket-shot in my shoulder, and falling back against the door in front of which I had stationed myself; — it gave way to the weight of my body. I recollect that some one inside drew me further out of harm's way, and closed the door. Suddenly remembering Morton and Lamoign, I hastily disengaged myself from the friendly grasps, and was rushing to open the door, when I was again seized, and warned to desist at the peril of all our lives. I implored them to let me go. Morton was outside, and, at every risk, I would be near him. Till that moment I had not gauged the depth of my regard for him. I wanted either to save him, or perish with him. Still I was held fast. Deaf to all entreaties simply to open the door, and let me out, I had to give my word of honour that if they would release me, so that I could peer through the key-hole, I would be satisfied. They permitted, and I placed my eye to the lock — What did I see? Right in front, before the door, on the parapet, both shot dead, I70 MISCELLANEA. lay Julian Morton and the sculptor Lamoign, opposite each other, face upward. I remember no more, for I fainted. XIII. When I left my place of refuge on the day following, I determined to remove myself at once from the scene of carnage, and to make all haste to England. There was no doubt that the drama was ended. Julian Morton and Pierre Lamoign were both dead, and the only actors remaining of the story I have narrated were Eugenie Lamoign and myself I left Paris without attempting to see her. Julian Morton was no more. I dream o' nights, to see him and Lamoign laid dead upon the blood-stained pavement, face upward. As for Sister Agnes, who was waiting at the Church of the Madeleine to meet her dead lover, some day, when I am older, and we can both speak of these things, I shall go and see her. There are times when I think the affair between them was no mere intrigue, — that, on her part, she really intensely loved him. Febrtiary, 1856. II. COMMUNICATION TO THE HARRIS TRUSTEES, THROUGH THE CHAIR- MAN OF THE FREE LIBRARY COM- MITTEE, ON THE SUBJECT OF THE "REPORT OF A SCHEME FOR THE FOUNDATION OF A FREE PUBLIC LIBRARY AND MUSEUM IN ASSOCIA- TION WITH THE HARRIS TRUSTEES." II. A Communication to the Harris Trustees, through the chairman of the free Library Committee, on the subject of THE "Report of a Scheme for the Foundation of a Free Public Library AND Museum in Association with the Harris Trustees." September loth, 1879. Dear Gilbertson, In answer to the inquiries of Mr. J. W. Eccles, the method by which the estimated cost of the proposed Harris Free Public Library and Museum was arrived at was this : After having, as you know, made myself, by visits, more familiar with the larger Public Libraries, Museums, and Art Galleries in England, I sought out the available literature of the subject, chiefly direct- ing myself to the Principal Libraries and Museums on the Continent and the New Public Libraries in America, from which last, as to library planning, there is something to be gleaned. In embodiment of these preliminary researches, and in order to get at the required dimensions of the site, as well as to define the New Streets for the purpose of isolating the building, I made simple sketches of Floor Plans, to accommodate upon the chosen situation such an Edifice as is referred to in the Corporation proposition as submitted to the Harris Trustees. Then, as I could not well help myself from imagining or thinking out the appearance of the Structure, I made a Sketch just sufficient 174 MISCELLANEA. to retain its general conception. By means of these Sketches I was enabled to make a measured calculation of the cost, resulting in the estimate of ;£^50,000, for a Building as solid in construction as is usual to its rank, monumental in character, and in expression grave, simple, and dignified. At the same time I would venture, if I might, to express a hope that the Harris Trustees would not tie themselves down to a hard and fast limit of expenditure upon a building, that of itself, would always be the most visible, if not the most impressive. Memorial of the Founder, and of the liberality of the Trustees. Yours truly, JAMES HIBBERT. Mr. Alderman Gilbertson. III. A PLEA IN BEHALF OF MAINTAINING THE AVENHAM INSTITUTION IN PRESTON FOR SCIENCE AND ART TEACHING, AND FOR THE ADVANCE- MENT OF TECHNICAL EDUCATION. III. A Plea in behalf of Maintaining the AvENHAM Institution in Preston for Science and Art Teaching, and for the Advancement of Technical Educa- tion. When, about fifty years ago, Mechanics' Institutes were established to meet the requirements of education amongst that class of the community who earn their living by daily wages, large hopes were then entertained of their practical utility, and expectations, apparently well founded, were formed of their fulfilling the broad functions for which they were organized. Perhaps, at the time, they were somewhat in advance of the national system of education. Perhaps the middle classes in- sensibly elbowed out the " mechanic " from the institution bearing his name, and designed mainly for his especial use. Whatever the cause or causes, the present state of these institutions, wherever they have so far stood the test of time as to exist at all, is a sufficient evidence that they have scarcely answered the purposes for which they were set on foot. They have lacked some vital elements of success to make them the means of the people becoming an instructed people, in the utilitarian as well as the wider acceptation of the term. One of the elements of failure has certainly been lack of funds, and the difficulty consequently experienced of providing from the members' subscriptions all that was necessary for adequate maintenance. Their continued existence has been. 178 MISCELLANEA. largely indebted to individual generosity, and to the periodical aid of what may be termed artificial efforts. Such efforts, though justifiable in making a start, or when a particular impetus is required, cannot be said to afford a satisfactory basis of permanent working. Accordingly, the libraries of these institutions have not kept pace with the times. Their funds have never been sufficient to warrant the requisite outlay of money in new standard works, or new editions to replace the old stock. And when, subsequently, the Free Public Libraries came to be established, with assured maintenance and ample means for continued additions to the library shelves, the Mechanics' Institutions fell still further in the rear. In fact, as libraries, they were imme- diately felt, by comparison, to be inadequate, and there is evidence of their fast becoming super- seded. A return, recently published by the Library Association of the United Kingdom, shows that no less than twelve Mechanics' and other cognate Literary Institutions have been absorbed into the Free Library system at Bridgwater, Clitheroe, Coventry, Darlaston, Dundalk, North- ampton, Nottingham, Preston, Rochdale, South Shields, Tynemouth, and Worcester. What sphere of utility, then, may these institu- tions henceforth occupy with advantage to the educational movement that is spreading itself over the length and breadth of the land? A thousand pities were it if so much of the generous effort of the past that is embodied in them should be allowed to pass away and leave no sign. The more so when, upon a survey of the work that is now being performed elsewhere in keeping our artisans and middle classes abreast of those of MISCELLANEA. 179 other nations, it is seen that a distinct field of useful operation is yet open to them. Of the Mechanics' Institution at Manchester it is ofificially stated that its real strength consists at the present time in its strong position as an efficient associa- tion for the purpose of science, art, and technical teaching — carrying forward the scholastic work of the elementary and more advanced tuitional systems by means of day schools, evening classes, examinations, and competitions — working in alliance and co-operation with the Government Science and Art Department and the Society of Arts, and thus finding a reason for continued useful exist- ence. At Huddersfield a technical school has been recently established ; here, also, at the Mechanics' Institute. Nor are indications wanting of assistance from the highest quarters to these and other kindred attempts to broaden, as well as to elevate, the popular culture. During the last few years the authorities of Oxford and Cambridge Universities have exhibited the warmest interest in the educa- tional movement now going on, and have already, by their system of local examinations, done much to raise and ennoble the character of secondary education throughout the country. Cambridge has practically gone a step further than the sister university by supplying certain large towns with regular courses of lectures, attractive and interest- ing, but scientific in method ; continuous during a period of several months in the year, and followed up by class-work, and by suitable examinations. Under the general name of the University Exten- sion Scheme, courses of lectures and classes have been held under the superintendence of the Uni- versity, in Nottingham, Derby, Leicester, Lincoln, l8o MISCELLANEA. Sheffield, Chesterfield, Leeds, Halifax, Bradford, Hull, Keighley, York, Liverpool, Bolton, Birken- head, Stoke-on-Trent, Newcastle-under-Lyme, Han- ley, Burslem, and other places. The subjects of the Lectures were — Political Economy, the Consti- tutional History of England, Social History, English Literature, Logic, Astronomy, Light, Spec- trum Analysis, Geology, and Physical Geography. The courses extended over various periods, from three to six months. For the first few years these courses were highly successful, both as to the number of students and in the results of the examinations. Then the numbers fell off. The reason of this was not far to seek. At first local sympathy was readily aroused. Persons possessing means and local in- fluence willingly came forward to guarantee the sum necessary for the payment of expenses. This became discontinued ; deficits ensued, and, where it was so, the classes, being far from self-supporting, drooped, and in some places died out. For example, in the winter of 1874-5, the total number of persons in attendance at these towns was 3,500 ; and at the end of the session 984 of them presented themselves for examination, of whom 315 obtained certificates of the first class, and 570 of the second class. In the following winter the number of towns in which lectures and classes were held increased to 30, and the attend- ance rose to 7,000. No less than 1,700 students presented themselves for examination at the end of the two terms of 1876. But in the next year the figures showed a considerable diminution. Only 5,002 attended the lectures ; and the number of candidates for examination fell to 634 in the former half of the session, and to 441 at the end MISCELLANEA. l8l of the latter or Lent term. In Chester, the class of Geology was not resumed after the first session. In Bolton, the number of tickets sold in the first term of 1875 was 458, in the corresponding term of 1876 was 263, and in the spring term of 1877 had become reduced to 143. There was in this case a heavy deficit, for which the guarantors were responsible. In Leeds, the number of students who attended tlie lectures was, in the session of 1875-6, as high as 998, but in that of 1876-7 it fell to 369. In Liverpool, the total deficiency which had to be met out of the guarantee fund was ;^28 in the first session and £1^^ in the second. In Bradford the scheme broke down hopelessly after a single trial. The attempt to plant it in London has so far (1879) met with little success. A very influential committee was formed, with a view to give the experiment a favourable impetus ; but the classes are still far from self-supporting, and substantial contributions are needed for their maintenance out of the general funds of the London society. But with supplementary endowments to make up for the deficiency of revenue arising from low fees for tuition — and such fees must be very nominal if the artisan class is to be reached — a different result may rationally be expected. Still, in despite of all untowardness, these Teaching In- stitutions are arising and growing, through the exercise not only of public, but of private liberality. In Nottingham ;^io,ooo has been given by an anonymous donor for the endowment of higher education in connection with the Cambridge Scheme ; and the Corporation are erecting the lecture room, laboratory, class-rooms, and the necessary appendages, at a cost of ;£'44,ooo. At Sheffield Mr. Mark Firth has just erected, at his l82 MISCELLANEA. own expense, a suitable building for classes and lectures, costing upwards of :£^20,ooo. It is there proposed to have a Middle School, supplied from the Primary Schools, the most promising boys being selected from the latter by examination, whilst those who excel at the Middle School will have an opportunity of passing into the Firth College, which is to be affiliated to the University of Cambridge. At Hull one of the Cambridge lecturers has undertaken to reside permanently in the town, and to supervise the arrangements for guiding the students, and giving unity to their studies. In York a similar plan is being adopted. Birmingham will reap the advantages of Sir Josiah Mason's new Science College. For Bristol Uni- versity College, two Colleges at Oxford — Baliol and New — have promised to contribute ;^300 each per annum during five years out of their Corporate revenues, on condition that the claims of liberal education shall be duly recognised, and that the authorities of the University shall themselves have a share in the management of the Institu- tion. Scarcely a month passes without some evidence of the erection or progress of new buildings for the express purpose of teaching in science, art, and technics, showing the increasing desire on the part of industrial communities of all grades to possess the means of obtaining advanced instruc- tion by means of local institutions and of accredited and highly qualified professors. But in no case have these institutions flourished as self-supporting. Local guarantors cannot be expected to go on long subsidising the better education and industrial training of their townspeople by making up the deficiency of the fee fund. To raise the fees to MISCELLANEA. 1 83 self-supporting pitch endangers the success of the whole experiment. Indeed, fees on the smallest and most nominal scale will only be forthcoming for such teaching as happens to be popular, attrac- tive, and in request. These are not necessarily the subjects which it is to the highest advantage of students to learn. The higher education is seldom or never self-supporting, and even in order to provide it for the higher classes, it is found expe- dient to resort to scholarships, to exhibitions, to endowed professorships, and similar devices. It is unreasonable, therefore, to expect that those institu- tions which are fitted and are prepared to adopt improved means of popular culture should bear the whole cost of providing it. For the diffusion of this higher education throughout the country, two conditions are required — continuity in the teaching, and solid attainment on the part of the teacher. Resident professors, as at Hull and York, would seem best fitted to secure comprehensiveness in the subjects of instruction, and definiteness in the plan of a liberal education. At present the lecturers come and go, remaining just as long as the class work lasts, and no longer. They do not make a home in the midst of the communities in which the classes are formed. Hence there is no influence beyond the sphere of the lecture-room. But it is very desirable that the narrowing influence of entire absorption in commercial or industrial pursuits should be modi- fied, if not corrected, by the presence in such com- munities of a few persons who have no other duties than the promotion of learning and culture, and who might help to leaven the whole intellectual life of the place. It would be well to give induce- ments that would lead men devoted to the pursuits 1 84 MISCELLANEA. of learning to establish their homes in the centres of our industrial life. Nor, if we could bring the influences of the Universities into our provincial towns would the advantages fail to be reciprocal. Scholars by profession would find their learning more directly utilitarian by closer acquaintance with the classes whose forms of industrial activity create the material wealth of the nation. " I feel," says Dr. Percival (Head Master of Clifton College — through whose energetic efforts Bristol University College has been established), — "that it would be nothing short of a misfortune if the older Universities should, from any cause, miss the opportunity which seems now to be offered of establishing their influence in tqwn life." Then, as respects the improvements that science can effect in our various trades and handicrafts, Professor Ayrton has recently mentioned in the inaugural lecture of the current session of the " City and Guilds of London Institute for the Advancement of Technical Education " how an enormous economy can be effected, for instance, in the consumption of coal, and consequently in the cost of generating power, and in the working of metals, as well as in the expense of warming and lighting buildings, by the employment of natural sources of power, such as streams and waterfalls, conveying, through the agency of electricity, this power to the distant pjaces where it is required to be used. " It ought," says the Professor, " to be made toler- ably clear to every man that it is important for him to have a good knowledge of the fundamental principles that govern the processes employed in his own trade. For example, when it is remem- MISCELLANEA. 1 85 bered what great mechanical differences are pro- duced in iron by the admixture of even small quantities of carbon and by varying the tempera- ture of hardening and annealing, the steel manu- facturer will see at once the importance of the study of chemistry to him. When Faraday made the discovery of magneto-electricity, in 1831, many people thought it a pretty scientific experiment, but not likely to be of any practical use. Yet to what a host of practical purposes has it not been applied during the last forty years ! " A general knowledge of elementary principles is of the greatest importance to every workman, whatever be his trade. George Stephenson, a man of special genius, was so convinced, from his own experience, of the disadvantages he himself had encountered, that he strained his means in order to send his son Robert to Edinburgh Uni- versity. And why to a Scottish University? Because there education was cheap. And the result of cheap general education in Scotland has been to place men of that country in responsible positions in every quarter of the globe, just as we find a considerable portion of the more important positions in our chemical manufactories at home occupied by foreigners, solely on account of the scientific "training they have received. Dr. Lyon Playfair, some years ago, asked this question : — " Do you sincerely think that the country can continue in a career of prosperity, when she is the only leading state in Europe that is neglecting the higher education of the working classes, and of those men above them whose duty it is to super- intend their labour ? It is a truth incapable of being gainsaid, that science must be joined to practice in the advancing competition of the world, 1 86 MISCELLANEA. in order that a nation may retain the strength and energy of manhood ; for States, like individuals, fall into decrepitude and decay." Before that, France, Germany; Belgium, and above all Switzerland, had set themselves the same ques- tion, but instead of waiting, like ourselves, for time to give the inevitable response, they foresaw it, and, by fostering Technical Education, have in- creased largely their industries. The city and Canton of Zurich, having once grasped that their system of national education was defective in modern practical science, vied with each other in pro- vidiifg funds for the complete equipment and support of a Technical University. They did not, according to Mr. Scott Russell, ask themselves " What is the smallest and least costly scale on which we can begin to make good a few technical deficiencies ? " but they asked themselves that other question : " What is there in the science, the philosophy, the learning, the art, and the practical skill of modern times, which can be learned and taught, but for which there is no adequate provision already made for teaching to our people in the institutions of our land?" Not that there has been wanting, here in England, a public sense of the importance of a better training for our artisans, or a disposition on the part of a few wealthy men to assist in obtaining it. One instance of the latter will suffice. The late Mr. F. C. Cooper, of Nottingham, who died in May, 1875, left to certain trustees almost the whole of his personal estate, and all his real estate, with the object, according to the terms of his will : " That as it is desirable to promote Technical Education in arts and sciences among the working classes in Nottingham and the county of Nottingham, by MISCELLANEA. ' 1 87 establishing classes for that purpose, either in connection with or separate from the School of Art or the Mechanics' Institute in Nottingham, they will within a reasonable time after my death raise a fund or set apart out of the estate or estates .... sufficient property or money to produce a net annual income arising or to arise from the residuary personal estate and the freehold property or real estate hereby bequeathed and devised to them ; and that they will apply such property or money and the income thereof for promoting Technical Education in arts and sciences among the working classes in Nottingham, and the county of Nottingham, in such way and under such rules and regulations as they shall think fit." And the Society of Arts, convinced of the importance of making inquiry into the alleged deficiencies of English workmen, sent a large deputation of skilled artisans to the Paris Exhibi- tion of 1878, each Commissioner to investigate and report upon the exhibits illustrative of his own craft. The collected reports are now published, and contain a deal of practical reading. Nearly forty subjects are treated by as many reporters, and though in some respects our craftsmen are shown to hold the'ir own, throughout the report there runs a thread of complaint of want of means of education in England, as compared with those at hand for the French artisan. In France, the Art Schools are perceived to be made more practi- cally useful to the artisan class than is the case here. The author of the report on pottery and glass observes that in England the student who wishes to learn something to assist him in his trade as china painter or decorator is given to make a copy of some antique scroll or statue. 1 88 MISCELLANEA. And the general drift of his remarks upon our Art Schools seems to point to the desirableness of bestowing greater attention towards special art- training for special pursuits. On the subject of training apprentices, the writer of the Mechanical Engineering Report, in some sensible and well-written remarks, states : — " In England at the present time, as soon as a boy is sent to learn a trade, all mental instruction is discontinued. He conceives he has only to learn to work, and in this he is very much encouraged both at home and in the factory ; at home by the indifference of his parents, in the factory by the indifference of master and foreman. In fact, he is looked upon as a nuisance and in the way for the first year or two ; he is set to do the most trifling jobs, and discipline is often so loose that he becomes a confirmed skulking sloven, his powers of mischief being the only powers that evince development. The reason for work being done in a particular way is rarely put before him, and it is only when he has grown to almost man's estate that he begins to be regarded as of any value. The foreman, perhaps, notices what branch he shows most aptitude for — vice, bench, or lathe, and to this he is put and kept for the remaining term of his apprentice- ship. By this means, perhaps he becomes a fair turner or fitter, but rarely both. The neglect of mental training during his apprenticeship is so absolute that he is a worse scholar by far than when he left school. The habits of the most recent years of his life are not easily shaken off. Hence, even when he begins to be aware of his deficiencies he is rarely to be found attending a science school. He lives and works — it may be steadily and soberly, — but at the best like a mere machine. In many MISCELLANEA. 1 89 cases he does not know how to make the simplest calculation in relation to his work." The City Companies of London have already determined to attempt a rectification of these de- ficiencies by setting apart a sum of ;^i 5,000 a year to achieve some improvement in the technical education of English workmen. They do not propose to establish model workshops to teach each youth his trade or business, for that he can best learn in the ordinary workshop or office ; nor have they any idea of doing any portion of the work of the primary schools ; but they will instruct, by oral teaching and demonstration, the intelligent work- man in the principles which underlie his work. The agriculturist, the miner, the potter, the workers in metal, in wood, in stone, and in other trades, will receive that theoretical and higher practical instruc- tion they so much lack, and which will not only give each workman the absorbing interest in his craft, that more than any moral injunctions will keep him from undue resort to the tavern, but will make his work yield an additional value that will soon be felt both by himself and the country at large. Handicraft, upon which the national health, in the widest sense of that word, so largely de- pends, will become more dignified, and the paper cap and the fustian jacket will not necessarily need to cover an uneducated man. The better kinds of artisan work educate a man more, and have a tendency to become better paid, than those kinds of clerk's work which call for less judgment and responsibility. The best thing, therefore, that an artisan can do for his son is to bring him up to do thoroughly the work of his selected trade, and so that he may understand the mechanical, the chemical, or other scientific prin- IQO MISCELLANEA. ciples that bear upon it, and may enter into the spirit of any new improvement that may be made in it. If his son should prove to have good natural abilities, he is far more likely to improve his posi- tion in the world from the bench of an artisan than from the desk of a clerk. As industrialism advances, the relative import- ance of mental to physical labour changes. Every year mental labour becomes more important, and mere manual labour less important. With every fresh invention of machinery work is transferred from the muscles to natural forces. One pound of coal will produce a power far exceeding that of a number of human beings, and an or- dinary tide may perhaps be made to perform much of the work now done by steam. The agents of production are Nature's forces combined with man's art and knowledge ; and the wealth of a country depends upon the manner in which these two forces work together in the production of wealth. Education is thus becoming more necessary to the working man. Even in agricul- ture the management of machinery now employed in its operations requires much skill and intelli- gence, and when it gets out of order great incon- venience and loss result through the labourers not being able to set it right on the spot. Indus- trial education requires to be both general and technical, the former that a man may form intelligent opinions and views upon ordinary matters, the latter to enable him to deal most advantageously with the processes and machinery of his special trade. The Imperial, municipal, and local expenditure now going on for the purposes of School Educa- tion, Free Libraries, Museums, and Technical Insti- MISCELLANEA. I9I tutes is so much capital invested largely for making the generation more industrially efficient, and in- creasing, therefore, its power of producing material wealth. According to this view, such expenditure is sure, eventually, "to pay'' even in the narrowest sense of that phrase, just as does the feeding and breaking-in of a young horse. It is computed that about one-tenth of the total income of the country is returned in Imperial and local rates. It follows that whatever increase of material wealth comes from an extended system of education, about one- tenth of it would be contributed to these rates, representing a sum more than sufficient to repay with interest any outlay upon maintaining that system, which, indeed, is required to enable Englishmen to hold their own in competition with those who have been taught in the admirable schools that are to be found in some foreign countries. This, then, being the general case as regards the question of science, art, and technical teaching, it remains to point out that the Avenham Institution is exceedingly well adapted for such purposes. In- deed, it has the advantage of already having been usefully applied, for nearly twenty years past, to science and art teaching. What is desirable is to extend its sphere of operation into the region of technical pursuits by means of an adequate endow- ment. The locality of the building presents no grave disadvantages ; the five or ten minutes' walk from the centre of the town being nothing to a person who has the definite object in view of attending a class or lecture. And its plan or arrangement is in every way fitted for tuition. With its lecture-room, class-rooms, galleries for 192 MISCELLANEA. models and instruments used in the investigations of the experimental sciences, and its library-room — for a well-equipped educational library must neces- sarily be attached in aid of the class studies — it may be doubted whether, if a new structure were to be designed and erected as a teaching institu- tion, a better adapted edifice would be gained for the particular ends in view. Nor is it at all unlikely that such a technical establishment would receive by and by a portion of quasi state aid. In their sixth report, recently published, the Commissioners for the Exhibition of 185 1 state that they have already distributed speci- mens of manufactures to local institutions. In evidence that they are not insensible to the claims of the provinces to a share of the benefits to be derived from the resources of the property at their command, and that they are fully alive to the in- effectual provision of technical education, and to the importance of assisting establishments for in- structing those engaged in trade and manufacture in the principles of science and art on which the respective industries depend, they referred these matters to a committee consisting of the Marquis of Ripon, Earl Granville, Earl Spencer, the Earl of Carnarvon, and the Right Hon. Lyon Playfair, M.P., whose report and. recommendations have resulted in determining the Commissioners to benefit the cause of national scientific education by founding scholarships to enable the most promising students in provincial institutions to complete their studies, either in these establish- ments or in the institutions of the metropolis. The details of the scheme are not yet fully matured. While no one can attach more import- ance than the Commissioners to museums and MISCELLANEA. 193 art galleries, they are thoroughly aware that, to be of real use, these must be accompanied by educa- tional aids. They point out that the provision al- ready made by the Government for instruction in art may fairly be considered to be commensurate with the wants of the time. For science, however, they consider the provision inadequate ; and, believing it to be their duty to promote and extend its study and diffusion, they are determined to do so, as far as their means permit, by erecting a build- ing at Kensington for scientific and technical instruction, and by establishing a number of scholarships expressly to aid the development of scientific culture and technical training in the manufacturing districts of the country. Considerations such as these may not be thought altogether unworthy to occupy the minds of those who, as the Harris Trustees, have it in their power to place the town of Preston fully abreast with other communities by promoting that popular education in the applied arts and sciences which, on all hands, is acknowledged to be absolutely in- dispensable to the progress of our industries. " Amid the growing competition of the world, England can only expect to maintain her high position among manufacturing nations by a thorough training of her people in science and art." These are the concluding words of the Commissioners of the Exhibition of 1851 in their latest report, pre- viously mentioned, and to that report are attached the names of the most eminent statesmen and scholars of both political parties, and other names equally well known in the departments of art, science, and trade. December lyth, 1879. IV. MAYORAL ADDRESS DELIVERED AT THE DISTRIBUTION OF PRIZES IN THE GUILD HALL OF PRESTON, TO THE ST. PAUL'S SCIENCE AND ART CLASSES, DECEMBER 9TH, SESSION 1880. IV. Mayoral Address delivered at the Distri- bution OF Prizes in the Guild Hall of Preston, to the St. Paul's Science and Art Classes, December qth, Session 1880. It is now my duty to address to you a few words upon the business we have been about, more or less cognate to those pursuits of science and art in their elementary and more advanced stages which you, St. Paul's students, have been engaged in, and for which some of you have shown such aptitude as to have become distinguished amongst your fellow students by the gaining of prizes, cer- tificates, and other forms of honourable record. You who have gained these rewards will, I hope, cherish them, and regard them as incentives to further exertions ; and those of you who have not yet succeeded so well in your endeavours must not on that account lose heart of grace, for all things are still possible to well-directed labour, and to that quality which youth is so slow, and even averse, to acquire — patience. Buffon said of genius — " It is patience." Obser- vation shows that those who are persistent gener- ally achieve more or less success in the objects they are bent upon attaining. Scores of men of even the highest intellectual eminence have left on record their testimony to the value of simple continuity of application. Without this the most brilliant abilities are of little use. Progress of the best kind is often comparatively slow. There is a well-known saying, which experience in repeated instances has proved to be true, "that everything 198 MISCELLANEA. comes to him who knows how to wait." George Stephenson was in the habit of summing up in one word the best advice he could give to the young men who came to consult him — " Persevere." What, now, is the aim of this science and art which you are pursuing? What relation have they to your every-day life, to your future career? To what ultimate good is all this arduous expenditure of labour on your part and on the part of your teachers? These are questions to which some rational answer must be afforded, or your efforts will tend to ilag. Science, then, tells you some- thing of this wonderful world in which we live ; something, too, of its inhabitants ; and something, also, of the apparently more wonderful worlds that lie in space around us. We see those worlds in a manner, and under conditions and forms that do not apply to the observations we are enabled to take of our own planet, and we may naturally surmise whether telescopes are turned upon us, even as we turn these instruments upon our far-off neighbours. If science did no more than couch your physical and mental eye to the dimmest preception of this marvellous universe in the awful vastness of which our earth is so small an atom, you would learn perhaps its greatest and most important lesson. But, confining its foothold to our own sphere, the ramifications of science, limited even to our own world, open out wide sources of ever advancing interest and inquiry, from which you may derive both pleasure and profit. For the boundlessness of the universe strikes us no less with awe and -wonder whether the microscope discloses to us in the drop of water or the atom of dust the mysteries of life MISCELLANEA, 1 99 and animation, or when the powers of the tele- scope reveal to us the secrets of the starry spheres. And if science teaches you both to see and to know, so also does art teach you to apply that knowledge in all the diversified ways of hand-craft and mind-craft. There is not the humblest mechanical calling which does not require what science and art can teach in order to follow it as efficiently as it may be followed. In the higher departments of mechanics you cannot get on safely without that teaching. One of the most distinguished living authorities amongst us upon matters of national education, Matthew Arnold, not long ago stated, " I was lately saying to one of the first mathematicians in England, who has been a distinguished senior wrangler at Cambridge, and a practical mechanician besides, that in one department at any rate — that of mechanics and engineering — we seemed, in spite of the absence of special schools, good instruction, and the idea of science, to get on wonderfully well. 'On the contrary,' said he, 'we get on wonderfully ill. Our engineers have no real scientific instruction, and we let them learn their business at our expense by the rule of thumb ; but it is a ruinous system of blunder and plunder. A man without the requisite scientific knowledge undertakes to build a difficult bridge ; he builds three which tumble down, and so learns how to build a fourth, which stands ; but somebody pays for the three failures. In France or Switzerland he would not have been suffered to build his first bridge until he had satisfied compe- tent persons that he knew how to build it, because abroad they cannot afford our extravagance. The scientific training of the foreign engineers is, there- 200 MISCELLANEA. fore, perfectly right. Take the present cost per mile of the construction of an English railway, and the cost per mile as it was twenty years ago, and the comparison will give you a correct notion of what rule-of-thumb engineering, without special schools and without scientific instruction, has cost the country.'" Now, this puts me in mind of a story which is told of the younger Brunei, of a kind one would scarcely have expected of a man of his scientific training. He was engineer-in-chief of one of our great railway systems which required a good deal of viaduct work. His directors were informed that a bridge which he had just erected had fallen. Naturally displeased, they requested Brunei's atten- dance. Instead of being at all abashed, he entered the board room rubbing his hands with an expres- sion of great glee, and actually congratulated the directors upon the occurrence. Requested to ex- plain, he said how fortunate it was that the bridge had fallen just then, for he was on the point of commencing the construction of a hundred others precisely upon the same plan. So you see here an instance of the value of science in ordinary technical matters. You are, then, wise in having followed up your school course by entering into the science and art classes which are open to you here and elsewhere. Whatever trade you are following, such studies will render you more skilful in it, and therefore able to earn more money by it. Nor is it out of the region of probability that technical or specific education, directed to a purely industrial or money-making end, may also receive here in Preston that atten- tion and support which some other towns have MISCELLANEA. 20I already gained. The City Companies of London are now largely employing their accumulated funds in this special direction. It is stated that their examinations, local and metropolitan, during the forthcoming year for prizes and payments to teachers will reach the number of 3,000. And these are not the only advantages which the immediate future may be expected to bring you. We have already a Free Library and Museum on a small scale established in our midst, and we may now confidently look forward to seeing, before another ten years are over, such an enlargement of this popular institution as we may regard with a just pride — an institution where the best books of all ages will be free to every one, and where those of our population, — and these must always be many — who otherwise can never have an opportunity of knowing anything of the masterpieces of sculpture, or of the schools of painting, may learn to experience something of their pleasureable and elevating influences. I have now brought my remarks to a point at which I might shortly conclude. There is one other topic, however, which I would endeavour to commend to your notice. Though your studies are those of science and art, they are incomplete as an education without some acquaintance with literature in its highest and most creative forms. Only by saturating your minds and memories with the thoughts and words of the great thinkers will you be able to overcome that narrowness and hardness of mind which is so disagreeably perceptible in the men of science of our own time. How truly applicable to them is the apostrophe of Words- worth : — 202 MISCELLANEA. Philosophers, who, though the human soul Be of a thousand faculties composed. And twice ten thousand interests, do yet prize This soul, and the transcendent universe. No more than as a mirror that reflects To proud self-love her own intelligence. A far different temper you will find in the truly- great scientific explorers. Setting aside altogether the ancients and the mediaevals — though, I confess, that as far as my own limited examination has gone I can find little in modern science the roots of which, at least, are not to be found in antiquity — confining our attention wholly to modern names, how different is the predominating attitude of mind in such men as Copernicus, Galileo, and Kepler, Pascal and Horrox, Newton and Boyle, Swedenborg and Kant, Goethe and Oken, the Humboldts, the Herschels, Davy and Faraday! There appears to be a persistent attempt to unduly exalt the scientific results of our own day as compared even with that of our immediate predecessors. A new departure is loudly proclaimed, a new banner raised on high, on which is inscribed the single name of Charles Darwin. I think Mr. Darwin himself must smile at this. There is not to be detected, in his own writings, an undue appreciation of the methods and results of his own investigations, and one could well wish that his admirers were as free as he himself is from pushing inference and conclusion beyond the boundaries of science into the regions of speculation. Within the past few weeks Mr. Darwin has published the results of some very interesting experiments upon " The Movements of Plants," MISCELLANEA. 203 over which a writer in a leading journal goes into the now usual scientific ecstasies. You would gather from the article I am referring to that Mr. Darwin's discoveries were wholly of a new nature. " Plants and animals," says the reviewer, " are in his pages brought under the operation of the same great laws. . . . Plants move, they are sensitive, they have appetite, they are carnivorous " — apparently unaware that like general results are familiar to everyone conversant with the mere history of botanical research. Even as far back as the second century after Christ, Galen had declared that in vegetables there is a peculiar power of sensation, by which, although incapable of sight, they can distinguish between those particles of matter which nourish them, and those which will not, attracting the one and repelling the other. But the climax is reached when the reviewer states that Mr. Darwin " has shown, to the dis- comfiture of old notions, that unity reigns where it was imagined there was diversity and confusion." What a profundity of ignorance is here on the part of a public writer! Why the oldest, the primary quest of philosophy or science — call it by which name you like — has ever been in search of that unity. It is the alpha and omega of nearly all cosmologies or theories of the universe. Do you want an instance? There is no doubt of the remote antiquity of the Mosaic record, and it begins with an authoritative declaration of this unity — " In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth." And if there be unity in the whole, there is relative unity in every atom or part of that whole. But why should we speak of " beginning " in any exact 204 MISCELLANEA. or definite sense? The computations of time in geology are comparatively of no more account than old wives' tales. Beginning there is none : end there is none in the universe of God. I mention these points that you may learn, by means of literature, how to become cautious in accepting the dicta of speculative science. I know that literature forms no part of your syllabus. For all that you should of yourselves superadd it. And it is better that this study be in private, if you wish to attain real intercourse with the great minds of the past. Nor, on its practical side, will you find that your time will be unprofitable herein. It is not too much to say that presuming all of you were equal in any scientific or artistic attainment, the one amongst you who should happen to be well read in literature — even if it were only English literature, comprehending as it now does so much of the spirit of the ancients, and so many translations of both ancient and modern authors — would, under a written examination in science or art, distance the rest of you by reason of the more effective management and ordering of the theme. It would be a case of Eclipse first, and the rest nowhere. In drawing my remarks to a close, what I would chiefly ask you to keep in mind is, that no element of finality exists in your inquiries. The limits of knowledge are at all times expanding, and the boundaries of the known and the un- known are not rigidly or permanently fixed. Much of our ignorance lies in the domain of actual outside fact, and science may reasonably be expected to make many further incursions MISCELLANEA. 205 into this region. Continue always, then, as learners and students, and you will find your mental horizon ever widening, ever receding. Life will then come to possess a value with you that otherwise would be unattainable ; and when you come, as you may come, to ask yourselves that question which has been asked so pointedly, and is being repeated under Protean forms on many sides in the literature of this present time — " Is life worth living?" — you will be able to answer with a feeling of some satisfaction, "Yes, it is." In the atmosphere of what is called Agnosticism which is around us, and which completely enve- lopes so many of the foremost minds of the day, it will be your most important future task to discern the things that are known and knowable, from those which are unknown and unknowable. Carefully keep apart that which is proved from that which is speculative. In addressing yourselves to the highest problems of life, draw no positive conclusions until you are sure that all the elements of the problem are stated. Then, holding fast to that which you know, and know that you know, it is within the reach of those of you who have sufficient capacities of investigation, to attain those lofty eminences of thought where stand the great minds of humanity, and, once there, you are finally safe from the corrosive influences of doubt, of unbelief. I will not conceal from you the arduous journey, or the length of the road that you will have to travel. Laplace has said, "What we know is little ; what we are ignorant of, immense." You must never, therefore, dream for a moment that your education will ever be finished ; it were much better you should always think and feel as though you were only just beginning your education. That 2o6 MISCELLANEA. was the feeling of Newton when he uttered the sentiment that he was but as a child gathering a few shells on the shore of the great ocean of know- ledge. Strictly speaking, your present education is only the equipment for the higher education of your coming manhood, of that important time of life when you first become, in a measure, masters of yourselves and guides of your own con- duct. Confirm, then, your habits of diligence, of labour — for human beings are largely made up of habit — and good habits will, as you shall find, make your days sweet and profitable to yourselves, as well as useful to everybody about you. Idle- ness, indeed, is the mother of all mischief, and that ubiquitous gentleman the devil will assuredly get hold of everyone of you who allows himself to drift into idle habits of mind or body. Yours is now the seed-time of life, and if you omit to sow wheat in your minds, we, who are older, know very well who will come and sow tares. Respect your teachers, and have reverence towards those who are above you — I do not mean such as are clothed in purple and fine linen and fare sumptuously every day, but those who know more than you do, who can perform more than you can ; those in whom you are able to discern some rectitude of life, some virtue of conduct. Seek not after your inferiors, your equals, but your superiors ; learn from them, it is the only way by which you yourselves may hope to become worthy of regard. "On earth, there is nothing great but man," and when you reflect that all his varied performances in science, and art, and literature, at which we have briefly glanced, are effected through the instrument of his human faculty — an instrument MISCELLANEA. 20/ which peers into the mechanism of the earth's crust, explores its surface, and discloses some of the operative secrets of Nature herself; and, not content with that, invents and uses optical means of ranging the very floors of the far-off heavens ; and by the aid of that most absolute of the sciences, mathematics, which not only has given us, thanks to the Arabs, those common rules of arithmetic by which the operations of trade and barter are conducted throughout the civilised world, but in the higher departments of the calculus of number, and of the properties of geometrical figure, can measure out periods of time and degrees of distance that govern the movements of the celestial bodies — when you consider all this, your span of life will seem too short to traverse the wide circle of the activities of the human mind. Make, then, for this reason, good use of your present days, and as to results, leave them to the future. Whether those results produce a harvest of better worldly condition for you — more ease, more comfort, all that money can bring — these things are worth your gaining, though they are uncertain. One thing only you may be promised with certainty, that the mental riches you may here acquire will abide with you always ; not alone in this life, but, it may be rationally believed, in further lives and series of lives than this — riches that neither moth nor rust shall corrupt, and which thieves can neither break through nor steal. MAYORAL ADDRESS, PRESTON GRAMMAR SCHOOL PRIZE DAY, 1881. V. Mayoral Address, Preston Grammar School Prize Day, i88i. This is about the fortieth anniversary of the distribution of prizes, and I venture to think that I shall not occupy a few minutes of your time uninterestingly, if I make some observations on the character of the education which our grammar schools professedly give. How long ago the Grammar School of Preston was founded or established as a teaching institution for the benefit of the rising generations of this borough I do not know, but I am personally old enough to remember that important stage in its history when it was translated from the once classic purlieus of Shepherd Street, and took up its abode here in this pile of buildings, which at once are an ornament to the town and a memorial of the liberality of that enlightened band of men of whom so few, so very few, survive. An antiquary of about the time of the Second Charles, Dr. Kuerden, in a minute description of Preston, states that there was then standing near the principal church " a large and handsome school- house, for the better education of their children and bringing them up in humane learning, making them fitter for trade or other better preferment in the world." So we see that our local forefathers were as well acquainted with the benefits of a grammar school education as we are. Perhaps more so, for in these days an outcry has been raised against what some think the undue attention that is paid to the acquisition of the classical tongues, especially 212 MISCELLANEA. in our middle-class schools. No good can result from ignoring the arguments that are adduced in support of a change in this respect, coming, as these do, from such men as Lord Sherbrooke, and, to some partial extent, recognised by authorities even higher than his. So erudite and enthusiastic a scholar as Sir William Hamilton admits that " nothing has more contributed in this country to disparage the cause of classical education than the rendering it the education of all. That to many this education can be of little or no advantage is a truth too manifest to be denied. . . With us the learned languages are at once taught too extensively, and not intensively enough." And Sir William Hamilton cites with approval Professor Pillans, of Edinburgh University, who states, in his defence of classical education, that " the strongest case against the advocates for classical education is the practice that has hitherto prevailed of making it so general as to include boys of whom it is known beforehand that they are to engage in the ordinary pursuits of trade and commerce ; who are not intended to prosecute their education farther than the school, and are not therefore likely to follow out the subject of their previous studies much, or at all, beyond the period of their attendance there." " I willingly allow," says the Professor, " and have already admitted, that a youth who looks forward from the very outset to the practice of some mechanical or even purely scientiiic art, may employ his time better in acquiring manual dexterity and mathematical knowledge than in making himself imperfectly acquainted with a dead language. There must be in all large and populous towns a class of persons in tolerably easy circumstances, and whose daily business affords them considerable MISCELLANEA. 213 leisure, but who contemplate for their children nothing beyond such acquirements as shall enable them to follow out their gainful occupation, and move in the narrow circle in which they them- selves and their fathers before them have spent a quiet and inoffensive life." And it was for youth of this sort that the Prussian Government, with a sagacity and foresight characteristic of all its educational proceedings, organised and provided under William Humboldt's adminstration, in the early part of this century, public schools of three grades, and the French have wisely followed their example. Another authority of the very highest character on this subject, Bishop Thirlwall, says, " There is a question which is of considerable importance, and very deeply interesting to the rising generation, on which public opinion has undergone a change, and cannot be said to be finally settled. It is whether the share of time and attention which has hitherto been commonly devoted in our schools to the study of the Greek and Latin languages is not excessive and out of proportion to their real value Let me observe that if I fully admitted this to be the case it would not be because I think it easily possible to overrate the value of those languages either for the study of Greek and Roman antiquity, or the importance of that study as a branch of liberal education. . . When I consider how few among the vast number of boys who have spent years in the learning of Latin and Greek ever attain that degree of proficiency in either which would enable them to use it freely and securely, as a source of enjoyment or as an instrument of mental or of independent research, how many within a few years of leaving school remember nothing but 214 MISCELLANEA. the tediousness of the work, and never taste its proper fruits ; I must frankly admit that this looks very much like a case in which there has been a great expenditure of a teaching force which has been lost and annihilated. But," adds the Bishop, " I think it possible that something may be done towards the solution of this difficulty by a more careful discrimination between the various aptitudes and tendencies of different natures." Now that, I myself think, hits the very point on which the whole future of this question will have to turn. " For," says the Bishop elsewhere, " the character of a school must depend on that which it professes and offers to give, not on the number of those who receive all that it offers. A Grammar School does not lose all its character as such because all the scholars do not learn Latin and Greek, but, at the wish of their parents, are allowed to devote their time to a different course of study." I opine that it must appear to anyone, upon a little reflection, that the application of a uniform course of teaching and study to the varying orders and capacities of the youthful mind is unscientific. We are, at least, a generation behind the Germans in this practical respect, and theoretically still further in the rear of such hints, speculations, and previsions as are to be found in the latter part of Goethe's " Wilhelm Meister." It is useless, however, as respects a classical education to imagine — so natural is it that men should be inclined to soothe their vanity with the belief that what they do not themselves know is not worth knowing — that the study of antiquity can ever, without extraneous aid, secure an ade- quate cultivation. Other studies of more imme- diate profit and attraction will divert from it the MISCELLANEA. 21 5 great mass of applicable talent. Without external encouragement, therefore, to classical pursuits, there can be no classical public in a country — there can be no brotherhood of scholars to excite, to appreciate, to applaud. It has been jocosely said of the English middle class that it does not care for classical culture ; its only care is either for Business and Bethels, or for Business without the Bethels. Setting aside all sarcasm, it will be admitted that the instinct of the illiterate nature in all classes is to esteem itself as the standard, to try to confirm itself, and to try also to impose itself, with its stock of ignorances, narrownesses, shortcomings of every kind, upon all and every- thing around it. But it has no real power to sway the minds of men. Unless liberalised by an ampler culture, admitted to a wider sphere of thought, living by larger ideas, it can possess no permanent hold upon the future. And of this ampler culture our higher schools are intended to lay the proper grammar and foundation. To those youths reared in them there is the sense of being brought in contact, not only with their own country and their own immediate narrow sur- roundings, but with the dramatic life of the whole world of the past. And well is it that our public schools are the object of so much solicitude, and care, for they are the nurseries, they furnish the chief supply of those who hereafter will administer public affairs, alike in our municipalities and counties, as in our national Parliaments. It is in our public schools that the seeds are to be laid of that passion for firm order and solid govern- ment which has made nations great in the past, and which has built up the fabric of the British Empire. It is partly from the teaching implanted 2l6 MISCELLANEA. in these schools that the correctives will have to come of certain destructive tendencies existing in our age — an age, Lacordaire has said, "which is fast forgetting how to obey." Apart from the duty of each generation, to keep the lamp of learning burning brightly, for the sake of transmitting from age to age the priceless humanities of literature, philosophy, nay, religion itself — whose oldest records lie in the ancient tongues — there is abundant testimony that the liberal culture which the study of what has come down to us from Greece and Rome can give, leads to a fulness of intellectual life, to an aptitude for ideas, a breadth of basis, a sum of force, an ani- mating power, an energy of central heat for radiating further, which was the secret of the epoch of Pericles at Athens, of the best days of Rome, of the Renascence in Italy, of the Eliza- bethan age in England. If Shakespere had no more classical scholarship than any of your sixth form boys here, look how his mind was saturated, how deeply he had drunk, how extensively he availed himself of the scholarship of his con- temporaries. Read those Roman plays of his, and mark the force and firmness of his portrayal of the Roman life and character. There is, also, another department of instruction in our grammar schools which is of the highest importance. Of the value of mathematics in cultivating the qualities of precision and exactness of mind, a good deal might be said. It is the only human science which is absolute, because its principles, its axioms, are secure. For sureness, it is the criterion of all the sciences. You cannot gainsay the theorems of Euclid. There is no possibility of their being even questioned. Hence, MISCELLANEA. 21 7 in all the practical affairs of life, where everything depends upon calculations of one kind or other, the habit of exactness of mind which a mathematical training gives is of immense value. And it is a habit that is best to be induced and invigorated in the period of youth. The late Sir Arthur Helps, a man of extensive acquaintance with the official conduct of State affairs, recorded the statement that he had seen more lamentable issues arise from want of this exactness than from any other cause that had come under his notice. The opinion, also, of a foremost man of letters on the value of classical and mathematical training has recently been made known to us through the publication of the terms of his will. Of the ten bursaries founded by Thomas Carlyle at Edinburgh University, five are to be given absolutely and irrevocably for proficiency in mathematics, — Carlyle holding that proficiency therein is the strongest symptom, not only of steady application, but of a clear methodic intellect, and that it offers, " in all epochs, good promise for all manner of arts and pursuits." The other five are to be given for proficiency in " classical learning," which also "gives good promise of a mind," though he is not quite sure that it will continue to retain its present position as an instrument of culture ; hence he leaves power to the Senate to change the destination of this part of the endowment, " in case of a change of opinion on those points hereafter in the course of generations." " So," says the testator, " may a little trace of help to the young heroic soul struggling for what is highest spring from this poor arrangement and bequest." Thus may we meet, from many converging lines, a consensus of the highest opinion in favour 21 8 MISCELLANEA. of encouraging in our higher schools that system of teaching which retains the old foundations of classics and mathematics — foundations upon which, for centuries, have been reared a goodly race of scholars and liberal-minded men in each past generation, and which, I doubt not, will continue to produce them in the generations that are yet to come. VI. ADDRESS TO THE COUNCIL OF THE BOROUGH OF PRESTON ON THE ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE NEWSHAM BEQUEST, DEC. 2;th, 1883. VI. INTRODUCTION. Richard Newsham, the younger son of Richard Newsham and Margaret Hopwood, his wife, was born at Preston on the i6th day of May, 1798* His father, prosperous in the cotton trade and in banking pursuits, and four times Mayor of the Borough, left him a fortune, it has been said, of ;£5o,ooo. Richard Newsham was articled to the law, and practised that profession up to the year 1842. In the year 1829, he married the eldest daughter and co-heiress of Thomas Bowes, of Lancaster, who pre-deceased him. Early in youth he showed an inclination towards the arts. The cultivation of this taste, together with a devotion to the public service as a County and Borough Magistrate, and as an active and liberal supporter of all local schemes having for their object the advancement of education, of religion, and the amelioration of the lot of the poorer classes, occupied the whole of bis subsequent long career. He built schools at his own expense. Without bigotry, but warmly attached to the Church of England, his numerous gifts to Churches and Church work during his lifetime amounted to over ;£25,ooo. No project for the common social welfare of the townspeople of Preston was ever without his advocacy and support. Mr. Newsbam's love of the iine arts took a decided bent towards the existing school of British Painters. The men and their works became the object of his acquaintance and study. From 1820 to 1870 he never failed each year to visit the Royal Academy Exhibition, Of Architecture, he had a critical knowledge derived both from reading and observation. As a draughtsman, he was suffi* ciently accomplished to delineate his instructions to the architects he employed and the artists he commissioned in Stained Glass, a branch of art in which he took great pleasure, and to which he gave much encouragement. In this form he designed and erected in his life-time hb own Memorial, the large Stained Glass Window in the east transept of St. James's Church, Preston. In a Memorandum under his own hand, he wrote : — " I should wish this Window to be taken as Monu- mental of myself, and a variety of feelings and considerations have combined to induce me to undertake it : among them may be named, — Firstly. — It will be closely associated with the Memorials I have already placed in St. James*s Church, in token of my affection for my good Father and Mother, and for my devoted and beloved Wife. Secondly. — It will save my relatives, and friends who come after me, all thought, and trouble, and expense in such a matter — it will be done. And 222 MISCELLANEA. Thirdly. — It will take a form I like and admire, and having been designed by myself, with much care and labour (and in which I hope I may have been enabled to produce something original and striking), it will remain a lasting Testimony of my Love and Venera- tion for God's House, and of my Gratitude and Thankfulness for all His gracious dealings with me. RICHARD NEWSHAM. January, 1883." Kind, courteous, polite, with a mind bright and active to tlie very last, Mr. Newsbam died on tbe 14th day of December, 1883, bequeathing his Collection of Paintings and Drawings, and other Objects of Art, to the Municipality of his native town. EXTRACT FROM THE WILL OF MR. NEWSHAM, Dated 4TH October, 1882. *' Whereas, through a mercifully long and prosperous life, I have forrned a " small collection of Paintings and Drawings of the British School and "also of other Objects of Arts, which I should not wish to be dispersed, "and which, I trust, may be thought worthy of being kept together for " the gratification and benefit of those who may come after me, And "whereas there is a .prospect of a Fine Art Gallery and Museum being "erected in Preston, I do hereby give and bequeath to the Mayor and "Corporation of Preston and their Successors, free from legacy duty, All "the Paintings, Drawings, and Miniatures, and all the Oriental and Orna* "mental China and Bronzes, which may be in and about my dwelling-house " in Winckley Square, at the time of my decease, and also my old Silver ' Wager Cup and the Silver Gilt Cup, with Cupids and Vines Embossed, " to be held by them as the nucleus or commencement of a Fine Art "Collection in Preston, and I hope and trust that they may be preserved " and cared for, and, whenever a Gallery is provided, be suitably placed." VI. Address to the Council of the Borough OF Preston on the Announcement of the Newsham Bequest, Dec. 27TH, 1883. The touching words, Mr. Mayor, of the bequest you have communicated are characteristic of the fine personal nature of him who penned them. They enable us to realise, in some measure, as well what we have lost as what we have gained, in the death of a benefactor. While, however, it is most fit that the Council should express the public sentiment of sorrow at the loss of one who will ever bear an honoured name in our local annals — himself the son of an alderman who was four times mayor of this borough — still is the event not altogether to be regarded from the mournful point of view. For when a man has attained a length of years far beyond the usual allotted span, and nature warns him of a cessation of her accustomed rounds, the time of departure which comes to everyone can be for him no longer delayed. And when that departure is attended by everything worthy that should accompany him beside old age — rich in honour, rich in friends, rich in generous deeds — a feeling arises superior to all lament. In such a case — " He leaves behind him, freed from griefs and fears, Far worthier things than tears — " the recollection of his many virtues, with the love and admiration which these bring in their train. It is not my purpose to dwell upon a life so marked by a constant course of beneficence 224 MISCELLANEA. towards the community in which his lot was cast ; other words than mine may be considered more becoming, and this perhaps is not altogether the occasion or place — his gifts, for example, to churches and church work while he lived amounted to ;^2S,ooo, "a costly pastime," as he once, with gentle humour, said to me — but there is one gift of Mr. Newsham's, the crowning act of a career of thoughtfiilness for others, as to which, inasmuch as he in his lifetime entrusted his intention in con- fidence to myself, I hope it will not be deemed pre- sumptuous if I feel it somewhat of a duty to say a word. I refer to the testamentary bequest of his collection of Paintings, Drawings, Oriental China, and other Decorative Objects, to the townspeople of Preston. Here we have an instance-^happily not unparalleled, and we can say with gratifica- tion, that such examples have become more fre- quent in this country of late years — of a man slowly and sagaciously gathering together, through a long life, an Art Collection without stint of price ; making its formation the object of his unceasing diligence and interest ; bringing to that object the resources of a taste and judgment carefully cultivated and refined till they had attained the accuracy of instinct to discern the best, and reject the inferior ; finding at last in these artistic works the never-failing charm of his maturer and advancing years ; of all his worldly possessions the part in which his spirit found its chief and most abiding delight — that these trea- sures, his pride to gather, his happiness to enjoy, and his final care to keep together intact and unseparated, he should bequeath to the whole community, to every man, woman, and child, here and hereafter inhabitants of Preston, demands the MISCELLANEA. 22$ grateful recognition that will unfailingly arise, now and to come, in many a heart, and will pre- serve to him a memory fragrant in the future years, perpetual in friendships of all time. For true it is, that " we, alive or dead, have fellow men, if ever we have served them." As to the character of this collection of paintings and drawings, those who know it, and can judge it, will bear me out in saying that, as respects British art of the period of this century which it embraces, it is one that may be equalled, but rarely, I think, surpassed. The Linnells and the pictures and drawings by David Cox are particularly fine specimens of these two masters ; the William Hunts are numerous ; William Muller, that signal genius who died too soon for art, is fairly represented ; of individual works, there is an Etty, "By the Waters of Babylon," one of his best ; a John Lewis, " The Bey's Garden," wonderful in execution ; a Hook, " The Rescue of the Brides of Venice " — of the artist's middle period, when he was fresh from the inspiration of Italy, painted for Mr. Newsham ; a Ward, " Marie Antoinette and the Royal Family in the Temple " — a famous picture, coveted by an Emperor of France, and which has been engraved ; a Frith, of the artist's best period, the subject from Moliere ; a David Roberts, " Antwerp Cathedral," painted for Lord Northwick, but which, by good hap, came into the first possession of Mr. Newsham. Of other Academicians there are works by Webster, Poole, Maclise, Ansdell, Herbert, Gilbert, Landseer, Phillip, Cope, Leslie, Collins, Stanfield, Goodall, Egg, Creswick, as well as examples of Holman Hunt, Cattermole, Prout, Holland, O'Neill, amongst others. All these are representative names, sufficient to mark with the stamp of notability any picture gallery; 226 MISCELLANEA. but you must remember, in addition to this, that they are examples of these masters not commonly to be met with, even at the break-up of large and costly collections. They were all selected, with discrimination, by the owner ; in more cases than I have mentioned, purchased direct from the artist himself ; for Mr. Newsham, up to the very last a regularly invited patron, and for a long number of years a constant guest at the annual "private view" of the Royal Academy, and not unfrequently at -its attendant hospitality, was on terms of personal acquaintance, and in some instances of friendship, with the Royal Academicians. About twelve months ago, I ventured to suggest to Mr. Newsham how interesting, under the circumstances, would be a catalogue of his collection, if drawn up by himself, with such references as he alone could furnish, and I am glad to be able to say that such a catalogue exists, in his own handwriting, and that it contains memoranda of more than local interest to the artistic world. As to the money value of this collection — a point on which I dare say some not inconsiderable curiosity may be felt — that will become known by and by. Meanwhile, I think it proper to state that a detailed valuation of it was made by Mr. Newsham himself. Unlike many pictures and drawings for which large sums of money have been paid, the masterpieces of this bequest must necessarily, from their rarity and undoubted authenticity, increase in money value. For here are no uncertain old masters, no counterfeits of contemporary art, executed with a skill sufficient to deceive even the experienced and the wary ; not a shadow of a doubt can ever rest upon the authenticity of these originals. How fortunate, then, are we in their possession ! How greatly indebted MISCELLANEA. 227 to the giver ! By no other means than by gift could ever we have obtained a tithe of them. It is ours to prove that we are not insensible of their value, by the care that we bestow upon their arrangement and preservation ; so that those who come after us may receive these gifts in their pristine integrity, not unaccompanied by such surroundings of literature and the arts as may enhance even their intrinsic worth, and serving to show, that if we of this generation were ardent mainly in mercantile pursuits, we also felt, and shared, in some degree, the loftier passion for lieauty and for know- ledge, and set store on those things which embellish life, give present dignity to communities, and furnish, as all history teaches, their most enduring title to be held in future remembrance and good fame. VII. SPEECH TO THE COUNCIL OF THE BOROUGH OF PRESTON, SEPT. 3RD, 1884, AGAINST THE IMMEDIATE CONSTRUCTION OF A FORTY-ACRE DOCK, UNDER THE PARLIAMENTARY POWERS OF THE BILL OF THE RIBBLE SCHEME OF 1883, WITH A POST- SCRIPT. VII. Speech to the Council of the Borough of Preston, Sept. 3RD, 1884, against the Immediate Construction of a Forty-acre Dock, under the Parliamentary Powers of the Bill of the Ribble Scheme of 1883, with a Postscript. If the majority of the Council are bound, at all hazards, and at all costs, to carry into execution the scheme, I think that nothing can be said too strong against the motion. I gather that the Ribble Committee are so persuaded that the scheme will be a certain success that they may throw all caution to the winds, and have no anxiety but to get the thing done as speedily as possible. I hoped, that before the Council met that morning a supplementary estimate of those items which had to be done in furtherance of the whole scheme, and which were enunciated in Mr. Garlick's report of February 25th last, — items in addition to the tender or tenders placed before them from Mr. Walker, — would have been prepared, so that we might know, as Mr, Birley had pointed out, the whole cost of the undertaking. It was clear, that if we accepted the contract, we were pledged irrevocably to its ultimate cost (hear, hear). That being so, I cordially support Mr. Birley's motion that, before we accept Mr. Walker's tender — which I believe to be as favourable a tender as Mr. Gilbertson has described it — we should have something authoritative from Mr. Garlick, or the Ribble Committee, as to the costs of the other matters. 232 MISCELLANEA. Sir John Coode had no difficulty in giving the items we want in his estimate. He gave the separate sums that would be required for deepening and improving the present river channel, and other items, and also for the railway lines round the dock. He also added, and very properly so, ten per cent, for contingencies. We could not presume that a tender represented the whole cost of the works included in that tender. It had never been so, and I am perfectly convinced that neither Mr. Garlick, nor Mr. Gilbertson would assure us that Mr. Walker would be able to carry out the entire work at the cost he had given. What we had really before us with regard to the whole of the expenses was simply the contract of Mr. Walker, of £456,600. That, 1 believe, included the deepening of the river, but they must add to that, as Sir John Coode added, ten per cent, for contingencies, which would bring the execution of the work, as applied to Mr. Walker's contract, to about half a million sterling. What was wanted was a further statement which should be put in figures — (exclusive of the cost of purchasing the Kibble Navigation undertaking, the cost of the Parliamentary Bill, and the expenses of the deepening the channel) — a hypothetical estimate of the cost of the timber dock, graving dock, railway sidings, and other things. Then we want a separate sum put down for the land yet required to prosecute the under- taking, or information as to whether that was included with something else. Then, again, we should have to spend money for clerks of the works. We cannot expect Mr. Garlick always to be on the spot, and we should probably have to employ an assistant engineer — (Mr. Garlick : " No "). I think that we have practically got an admission from MISCELLANEA. 233 Mr. Garlick this morning that the remaining works beyond Mr. Walker's contract would not be done under half a million — (Mr. Garlick said", he remarked that hurriedly, in reply to a question). I have done my best to go with the Ribble Committee and think as they think, but I cannot. Notwithstanding what Mr. Gilbertson might say about the phrase, I quite agree with those who said, that we were starting to prosecute the work at the wrong end. Why could we not start with the unknown quantity first, because the deepening of the channel was an unknown quantity? (hear, hear). Mr. Gilbertson said they must have training walls first. But why could we not enter into a contract for the training walls that would enable us, while these were being executed, to enter upon the most important part of the undertaking, without which, none of the docks or works at this end would do an atom of good? (hear, hear). If we could make a satisfactory improvement of the river channel — for upon that, the whole essence of the scheme depends, — and if we found, that after having deepened and improved the channel, trade followed that improve- ment, what a security we should have got for proceeding with the works at this end (hear, hear). We should then have an incentive to do the work. I am well aware that the contract for the execution of the docks, and the building of the training walls, was linked together. But that was not a necessity. The stone for the training walls under Mr. Walker's contract was to be got out of the dock (Aid. Gilbertson : " Not necessarily "). If the stone for the training walls had not to be got out of the dock, it strengthened my argument, but I would assume that it had to be got from there. The stone for the training walls, however, did not form the major 234 MISCELLANEA. portion of the expenditure. I think that it would pay us better to get the stone elsewhere, although I quite see that it would cost less to get the stone from the dock, than to buy it from the quarry, and pay the cost of carriage. The first thing to be done, is for the Committee to pay attention to the navigation, — and to enter into a contract for the execution of the training walls, and the deepening of the river channel, and then they might with greater propriety ask the Council to accept a tender such as Mr. Walker's. But there was one point which had not been dealt with. There were five places, com- mencing from the bottom of Fishergate to the end of Fowis Road, where the whole sewage of the town debouched into the river. What was going to become of the town sewage ? The scheme showed a diversion of the present channel of the river, and the filling of that channel up would be where the sewage debouches into it. What is the project with regard to the town sewage ? Are you aware, Mr. Mayor ? (" No "). Are you aware what is going to be done with the town sewage, Mr. Borough Surveyor ? (" No, Sir"). Are you, Mr. Garlick? ("No"); or you, Mr. Gilbertson ? (" No "). Well, now, here we have the chairman of the Streets and Buildings Committee, who has charge of the town sewage, the chairman of the Ribble Committee, and Mr. Garlick, and none of them know what is going to be done with the town sewage. Let the Council then acquaint them- selves, because it was necessary that we should know. The Ribble Committee are going to block up the outlets ; — is there a lurking idea of taking the sewage to Freckleton ? (Aid. Gilbertson said it had been talked of as a possibility over and over again in the Council) — Are the Ribble Committee going to take charge of the Sewage? — (The Mayor: MISCELLANEA. 235 " No "). Then I think we should be told what is going to be done with it. (Aid. Gilbertson : " It will wait for the next two years.") At all events we should know something about it. I should like Mr. Birley to add a rider to his amendment, to the effect that it be an instruction to the Streets and Buildings Committee to confer with the Ribble Committee, and bring up a report as to what is going to be done with the town sewage — (The Mayor, said " that could not be done now without the permission of the Council. If the amendment became a substantive motion, the rider could be added then"). Postscript. Though we, the "hostile critics," did not succeed in carrying any of our amendments at the last Council meeting, we succeeded in something else which is perhaps more important. We have enabled the public to judge the calibre of the present leaders of the Ribble Scheme, not by our deliverances, but by their own. I sometimes ask myself the question, how long will a large proportion of the electorate of Preston be led by such? Amongst the working men of Preston there are those who can see through ostrich-like stupidity and pretence — Why do these not take command of their own organisations? In all that goes to make for public conduct, there is no intelligent handicraftsman that has not now the same facilities for forming an accurate judgment upon things as an average member of Parliament. The Free Public Library system, amongst other things, has done that for him. The Ribble scheme was generated, Boss-Tweeded, and log-rolled by a clique, who are trying hard to 236 MISCELLANEA. keep the guidance of the reins in their own hands. Ostensibly, they are willing to allow Mr. Birley and myself to sit on the coach and watch them drive ; nay, they will allow us, as parents do their boys, to touch their hands, as a make-believe, knowing well that if we attempt to vary the course, they will band together and shake us off, by a good deal more than two to one, as at the Council meeting. Nothing would gratify them more than that they should have a colourable pretext for saying that we were partners to their scheme, and must share the responsibility. I trust that I am free to say that we do not intend any such thing. From the first we have opposed this scheme as a speculative adventure that was never likely to pay, as an adventure beyond our proper pro- vince, and as one that the Corporation should never have embarked in to anything like the present extent. All that we wish now, and indeed all that we can do, is to minimise, as far as lies in our power, the financial evils which already are discerned, by independent observers, to be impending over the heads of the ratepayers. Yours, &c., JAMES HIBBERT. September "Jth, 1887. VIII. SUMMARY AND CONCLUSION OF A PAMPHLET ON THE RIBBLE SCHEME, UPON THE FURTHER PARLIA- MENTARY POWERS SOUGHT IN PURSUANCE THEREOF UNDER THE BILL OF 1888, AND IN EXPOSURE OF THE MIS-STATEMENTS UPON WHICH THE BILL OF 1883 WAS OBTAINED. VIII. Summary and Conclusion of a Pamphlet on the ribble scheme, upon the FURTHER Parliamentary Powers sought IN pursuance" thereof under the Bill OF 1888, AND IN Exposure of the Mis- statements UPON which the Bill of 1883 WAS OBTAINED. The foregoing pages of evidence before Parliament on the Kibble Bills of 1883 and 1888 may now be left to tell their own tale. They reveal, with abun- dant clearness to all who read them, that, from the very first, a scheme which was said by its promoters to be a Complete Scheme was not complete, nor ever meant to be ; that the estimates of Cost originally put forward, instead of being Maximum Estimates as was professed, did not reach even to one-half of the cost of a Complete Scheme with the proposed Gut Channel ; that the additional borrow- ing powers of ;^S 10,000 sought by the Bill of 1888 stopped short of, and did not include, the provision of a Way to the Sea ; that the Gut Channel would itself require more than ;^6oo,ooo additional to be spent on it between Lytham and the Bar, and that even then there would be no security that such Channel would be a safe and permanent one ; that the Dock works were defective, and the mode of carrying out the Works extraordinary, showing great lack of Engineering skill and experience ; that the River Diversion already completed would silt up ; that though the Corporation were warned, before entering upon the execution of the Dock Works and River Diversion, that the course they proposed 240 MISCELLANEA. to take would block up the outlets of the Town Sewage, the question of what was to become of the Sewage still remains to be dealt with ; that though the Corporation were also warned at the outset that they were beginning at the wrong end of the Scheme, we are in the present situation of having a huge and needless Dock with a River Diversion, more than three-parts finished, rendered entirely useless through the want of a Road from thence to the Sea, which it will take four years to make ; that the Corporation Committee in charge of the Bill of 1888 intended to persevere with Mr. Garlick's and Mr. Sykes's Works, and to ignore Mr. Abernethy, the independent Engineer, who, with their own consent, had been called in, and to disregard his Report and Recommendations without even the show of consideration ; that they kept back from the Town Council Mr. Walker's offers to delay the progress of his contract so as to meet the difficulty of the financial position of the Corporation ; that, themselves knowing privately of Mr. Walker's offers, they permitted Mr. Sykes, without contradiction, to say to the Committee of the House of Commons that Mr. Walker would claim damages enormous if he were stopped in the execution of his contract ; — the whole story presents such a demonstration of recklessness of statement and conduct, and of incompetence, far beyond what was conceivable, on the part of those individual Members of the Town Council and certain paid officials who, in company, are almost altogether responsible for the present deplorable position, that it is to be hoped that one consequence at least will follow from the unpre- cedented censure of the House of Commons' Com- mittee and this exposure, that they, at all events, MISCELLANEA. 24I will be directed to cease to have the further command of the business they have so grossly mismanaged. And, in fine, there is a duty which now devolves upon the Ratepayers at large whose interests are bound up in the future of this Ribble Undertaking, to assist those who are willing to put their shoulders to the wheel to lift it out of the slough into which it has fallen, by the election of Representatives in the Council Chamber not so fatuously blind as those by whose majority of votes a comparatively small knot of Aldermen and Councillors have been unfortunately allowed to have everything their own way. The Council Chamber has of late years become an AugEean stable which needs cleansing. It behoves the working classes to look to this, and to well consider the ultimate results, in the reaction upon themselves, which the impoverishment of the town will bring in its train, by the burden of Rates which the resources of the Borough will not bear without heavy strain. Let them choose, in preference, Representatives who will deal with the Ribble Undertaking and its problems in a far different manner than those who have constructed, to begin with,- a huge Dock and River Diversion, " trusting to Providence," according to Mr. Abernethy, "to provide a channel from Lytham to the Sea," and who will treat both the Council and the public with more candour and straightforward- ness, and show more ability than has hitherto characterised all the Corporate transactions con- nected with the River Ribble. IX. REMARKS IN A SPEECH TO THE COUN- CIL OF THE BOROUGH OF PRESTOxN, JAN. 26th, 1893, ON THE METHOD OF FORMATION OF THE HARRIS REFER- ENCE LIBRARY AND MUSEUM. IX. Remarks in a Speech to the Council of the Borough of Preston, Jan. 26th, 1893, on THE Method of Formation of the Harris Reference Library and Museum. I FULLY agree "that the reference library and the objects for the museum should be selected with the utmost care," and that to exercise such selection, in any degree, " hurriedly ! " is greatly to be deprecated and avoided. As a matter of fact, I have, casually, and more than once, on their request, shown to the Harris Building Committee how, according to my knowledge and judgment, they ought to go scientifically about the formation of the reference library, and I obviously surprised several of them with the prospect of the work which was before them. The methods I indicated, however, as I told them, would have to be accepted and carried into execution if the reference library is to be a homogeneous organism, equally as monumental as the building, and not a mere hetero- geneous collection of books. To form the " lines " or ground plan of a reference library, which, at the outset, 5.ay, of 20,000 volumes, has to comprehend, in a general way, what is the best and the most select in all the various depart- ments and divisions of literature, in the best and the latest editions, is a far, a very far, more arduous task than if the problem were to cover generally the same area with 120,000 volumes. The merest man of business can see at once that the smaller the number of books that you have to lay down your ground plan with, as the foundation on which to 246 MISCELLANEA. build future additions, the more critical care will you be obliged to exercise upon the selection of each individual work. Then, further, as regards the museum objects, in art especially, the same rule applies. Nothing but the best, nothing but that on which the centuries, past and present, have set their seal, should have a place. We should show to those, and they are many, should bring to those who can never hope to see the world-famous works in their originals, what was the art of these men of whom they read and hear so much ; of Pheidias and his successors, of Michael Angelo and his compeers. The great Apostle of culture in these later days has declared that he found it necessary every day of his life to read a fine piece of verse, or see a fine picture, or look upon a fine work of statuary. Do not let it be forgotten, that besides some ;£^20,000 which has to be expended at the outset upon the first formation of the reference library and museum, there is an endowment fund under the scheme which will bring us in about £600 a year. That £600 a year, carefully and judiciously applied to the increase of these departments of the institution — and it cannot legally be applied to any other — ^will, I am fond to think, cause posterity to thank us. Vulgar people say, let posterity take care of itself, we owe it nothing. We, however, are the posterity of our forefathers, and they cared for us in thousands of ways. These, however, are general considerations. Coming more directly to the matter before us, I am utterly unable to see in what useful manner the Corporation, or the Free Library Committee, can assist the present Building Committee of the Harris Free Library and Museum in a work — the MISCELLANEA. 247 scientific formation of the reference library and museum — which really can only be safely entrusted to and performed by duly qualified experts, employed in a professional manner. To add or tack on the Free Library Committee as an adjunct to the Harris Building Committee would only work confusion. A committee is not necessarily made more effective by the addition of more members to it. There are eight of them already. On the contrary, we all know that whenever you want a really effective committee, it is often the wiser course to reduce the numbers instead of increasing them. Three members of the Free Library Committee are at the present moment on the Harris Building Committee. What is most wanted in the case before us is one superintending and directing mind in each domain of literature and art, to whom shall be entrusted authority to engage and employ professionally whomsoever the director may appoint to contribute towards the formation of the reference library and museum. And, apart from the employment of literary and artistic experts in the way of selection, the purchase of the books and objects selected is another and very different matter. Trade comes in here, and trade practices. The system of discounts is peculiar in the book trade, the varieties of discounts are great. Given the particular book or object you want, the pro- blem is where can you best and most economically find it. In an expenditure of .^20,ooc you may easily throw away 10 per cent, of it, if you do not mind what you are about. There are great leak- ages in extensive book-buying and museum purchases. X REMARKS IN A SPEECH TO THE COUN- CIL OF THE BOROUGH OF PRESTON, MARCH 30TH, 1893, IN SUPPORT OF IMMEDIATE MEASURES FOR THE OPENING OF THE HARRIS FREE PUBLIC LIBRARY AND MUSEUM. X. Remarks in a Speech to the Council of THE Borough of Preston, March 30TH, 1893, IN SUPPORT OF immediate MEASURES FOR THE Opening of the Harris Free Public Library and Museum. I have very little to add by way of comment upon the recommendation which I have now the pleasure to move. The proposals contained in Mr. Jacson's letter are simple and lucid ; in the main entirely consistent with the views I thought desirable to be enunciated at the last Council meeting, and so complete and satisfactory, as I understand them, that we may with more than common gladness accept them as frankly as they are offered. Indeed, if I were permitted to express my own individual sentiments,-! should be obliged to resort to the rhetoric of the dramatist : — " Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer , And all the clouds that lowered above our house. In the deep bosom of the ocean buried." For, Mr. Mayor, in whatever light the Court of Chancery may judge of these proposals, I feel fully assured that, in any event, we are within sight of the long-looked-for measurable distance of the uses of the Harris Free Public Library and Museum. Nor has the delay that has taken place, if disappointing, been without benefit to us. Largely in consequence of that delay, the two several sums originally appropriated of ;^i 5,000, each, for the formation of the reference library 252 MISCELLANEA. and museum, and the endowment fund for annual additions thereto, have become augmented by various means to ;£^20,ooo each. This we may- regard as a compensation in the history of the matter. I need say no more. I now move "that the Corporation is willing to co-operate with the Building Committee of the Harris Free Public Library and Museum in an application to the High Court of Justice for the attainment of the objects and on the lines generally described in the communication dated the gth inst, of Mr. Jacson to the Mayor, and that if from causes unforeseen the ' Free Library Suspense Account' should prove insufficient to meet the claims upon it, the consent of the Corporation may be relied upon to make up the deficiency out of such portion of the Harris Free Library and Museum funds as would be applicable under such circumstances." XI. SPEECH AT THE CEREMONIAL OPENING, OCT. 26th, 1893, OF THE HARRIS FREE PUBLIC LIBRARY AND MUSEUM. XI. Speech at the Ceremonial Opening, Oct. 26th, 1893, OF the Harris Free Public Library and Museum. I BEG to move a cordial vote of thanks to Lord Derby for the high service which he has rendered on this important occasion to the entire community of Preston. It would be presumptuous on my part, even if it were needful, which it is not, to do more than simply express the gratification which we all feel at the renewal, after so long an interval across the high seas, of our personal acquaintance with Lord and Lady Derby. Representing us, as the noble earl formerly did, in the House of Commons ; taking his title, on his elevation to the peerage, from the town where his ancestors, scarcely more than two generations ago, had a family residence — these are assurances that the long and intimate connection of the house of Stanley with the Borough of Preston will continue to be significantly exemplified in the words of their motto, " Sans changer " (applause). I would now say a few words on the scheme of the Harris Free Public Library and Museum, which, though not completed, to-day arrives at so auspicious a stage. It is eleven years since Lord Lathom — with whose presence and that of Lady Lathom we are also honoured — laid the foundation- stone of this building with high Masonic ceremonial. Twelve months then elapsed before circumstances enabled active operations to be commenced, and subsequently the completion of the work was suspended from a variety of causes, 2S6 MISCELLANEA. chiefly legal and financial, for a period of two years. It is by no means uncommon that works of importance, which are meant to be of permanent interest, are but slowly produced. Glad are we to be able to say, however, that no reasonable pecuniary means have been finally wanting from the Harris Trustees to make this building as you see it now before you, awaiting such further internal decoration — always with reserve — as here- after, it may be hoped, will not be begrudged to it by the Corporation. We sometimes hear it said that there is a tendency to expend disproportionate sums in the construction of such buildings. But everybody must admit that a library is more likely to become valuable and to grow as a collection if placed and duly cared for within fitting walls ; that works of art are enhanced in im press! veness and interest when nobly exhibited. When any one calls to mind the English Universities, it is a vision of historic edifices that immediately arises. And gifts to institutions such as this are are far more likely to accrue, both in number and in value, when the buildings which are the out- ward and visible sign of them show, in their pride of construction, the estimation in which they are held by the communities which have reared them. In the consummation of such works, extending over the period of years that I have mentioned, it seldom happens that there do not arise occasions which bring regret. The recent loss, in the death of Mr. Jacson, who was the chairman of the Building Committee of this undertaking, and so eminent in the county for administrative ability and cultivated taste, recalls the prior loss of the first chairman of the Free Library Committee, MISCELLANEA. 2^^ the late Mr. Alderman Gilbertson. He it was who, IS years ago, after the failure of previous efforts to establish a Free Library nearly 40 years back, fortunately hit upon the right moment of accomplishing the introduction of the Free Libraries Acts in this borough. From the day of their adoption in the year 1878, we have never looked behind us. The proposals then brought forward under the names of the first chairman and vice-chairman of the Free Library Committee, that the Corporation should join with the Harris Trustees in creating this institution ; the Trustees to erect the building and endow it; the Corporation to provide the site and to maintain the institution in perpetuity — such were the broad features of the scheme thus propounded, and after due con- sideration fully, and more than fully, adopted and carried into execution. Neither was this all. The adoption of these proposals brought to us the bequest from our revered townsman, the late Mr. Richard Newsham, of as choice a private collection of the masters of the British School of Painting of the middle period of this century as is seldom to be found in a provincial town like Preston. And with the natural history collection of the former Literary and Philosophical Institution, originated in the earlier part of the present century by local worthies, of whom I ought to mention the Rev. John Rudd, the Rev. John Clay, the Rev. Father Dunn, the brothers Addison, William Taylor, and John Rofe, we have the satisfaction of sustaining and carrying forward the objects which they, with their associates, had at heart. Nor, in the record of inheritances ; from our predecessor, ought we to do less than signalise the 258 MISCELLANEA. name of the good Dr. Shepherd, twice Mayor of Preston during the preceding century. The Refer- ence Library which he bequeathed to the Corporation, consisting at the present time of 9,000 volumes — some of them rich and some of them rare — with a small endowment fund for additions, will now find, in our so far realised scheme, a permanent home. It has had no less than three different habitations during my time. Further, we are in a position to transfer at once our Lending Library of 1 8,000 volumes, very carefully formed, principally during the last 14 years, to these new quarters. Such, then, are the equipments, so to speak, ready at the present moment to furnish this building in accordance with the scheme as originally pro- posed. But that does not complete the category of the means that are secured to us. We have in our possession the sum of upwards of ;£^22,ooo, handed over to us from the Harris Trust, to spend specifically upon the formation of the Harris Reference Library and the Museum. This fund, if judiciously handled, and wisely expended on a systematic basis, may have those marked results which are foreshadowed in the original scheme. So much, then, for the immediate present. What of the security for the future? For unless institutions of this sort are settled upon an endur- ing footing, they are too likely, as we have found from experience, to disappear with the withdrawal of the enthusiasm, the care, the energy of the original promoters. The future, then, is secured in this way. We have an endowment of some ;£^i 9,000 from the Harris funds, the yearly interest upon which can only be expended upon additions to the Harris Reference Library and Museum. For the annual cost of the Lending Library and MISCELLANEA. 259 Newsroom, and of working and maintaining the entire institution, the Corporation, that is, the rate- payers, have pledged themselves in perpetuity under a special Act of Parliament, to levy a borough rate not exceeding ijd. in the pound upon the rateable value. This, on the present valuation of the town, would yield about ;^2,ooo a year, and will naturally increase. I need say little more. Whatever events may be in store for this country, such achievements as have been accomplished and are about to be accomplished in this as in other towns are not the signs of an unhopeful public spirit or of a lessen- ing civilisation. And the far-off pilgrim of yet distant centuries, imagined by the historian as gazing in our isle upon the ruins of time, may seek, and still find instead "The land Where nature, freedom, art, smile hand in hand ; Her women fair, her men robust for toil. Her vigorous souls, high-cultured as her soil ; Her towns, where civic independence flings The gauntlet down to senates, courts and kings." Such, happily, are the juster auguries of the future. And, believing this, we Prestonians of these present days, availing ourselves of a most fortunate conjuncture of circumstances, have founded this Corporate institution, visible in a princely monu- ment to the Harris name, where literature, the arts, and sciences may be enshrined, forming a real and true university of instruction for our youth, a re-creation in the high sense of the word for our men and women, and a source of wealth of that kind which, we have been bold to inscribe, will ABIDE WITH THEM — ALWAYS — (applause). XII. SPEECH TO THE COUNCIL OF THE BOROUGH OF PRESTON, NOV. 30TH, 1893, ON THE MOTION TO APPOINT A LITERARY AND ART DIRECTOR FOR THE FORMATION OF THE HARRIS REFERENCE LIBRARY AND ART MUSEUM. XII. Speech to the Council of the Borough of Preston, Nov. 30TH, 1893, on the Motion TO Appoint a Literary and Art Director FOR the Formation of the Harris Reference Library and Art Museum. I move the following resolution which stands in my name: — "That it be an instruction to the Free Public Library Committee to consider as to the appointment of a literary and art director for the formation of the Harris Reference Library and Art Museum, and to make such recommendations thereon as the committee may deem proper." T shall not detain the Council at any length on the subject' of the motion. Some time ago, in view of the scheme of the Harris Free Public Library and Museum being handed over to the Corporation to complete, I dwelt with some particularity upon the means that ought to be employed in the formation of the Reference Library and the Art Museum, showing that the work could only be entrusted to and performed by duly qualified experts, and that what was primarily and most wanted was one superintending and directing mind. It was easy enough for a committee to get together a library and museum which was to be merely a collection of books and an omnium gatherum of objects. But this was not all; it was indeed a much more onerous matter. More needful, and in fact more difficult to command than even pecuniary means — such as, fortunately, they were possessed of — was the guiding intelligence, knowledge, and culture indispensable to the successful creation of 264 MISCELLANEA. such institutions (hear, hear). Not only should this intelligence be of a high and comprehensive order, but it should be exercised without break or intermission — at least until the work had been broadly accomplished. Nothing was simpler, nothing was easier, than to buy a lot of books and call it a library, or to rake together from all quarters a heap of incongruous things, and to dignify the collection with the title of an Art Museum. Anybody who liked to have a finger in the pie could do this — there were plenty of instances of it — in fact, it worked automatically. It could not, however, be too often or too strongly insisted upon that an Art Museum formed under such auspices was worse than no museum at all. If museums were to be created on this footing, they were not publicly worth either their cost or maintenance. Such class of museump became, indeed, neither more nor less than evil centres and promulgators of vulgar taste and ignorant assumption. One of the great mistakes committed in these times, and for which huge national exhibi- tions were largely responsible, was the idea that museums should necessarily take the shape of large miscellaneous gatherings. The right course was the entirely opposite one. Rigid and metho- dised selection, absolute restriction to that only which was definite and typical, was what was most needful, especially for a provincial museum. For these museums — necessarily limited as they must be in all essential respects — the art of rejection should ever be kept in view, and sedulously practised. So was it, in like manner, with the formation of the Reference Library on the scope and original intention of the scheme. The initial step there also was limitation ; a limitation, never- MISCELLANEA. 265 theless, which had the exceedingly difficult problem before it of taking all knowledge, to use the words of Lord Bacon, and, broadly speaking, every field of literature, to be essentially and summarily its province. They had upwards of .£^21,000 to expend upon the formation of the Harris Reference Library and Museum, as well as an endowment fund for the same purposes, and for no other, which would bring them in an income of between five and six hundred pounds a year in addition. How the £21,000 was to be spent and under what guidance was the immediate and urgent thing to be deter- mined ? It would occupy two, perhaps three years, or maybe more, to spend that sum wisely and economically. The late Building Committee relin- quished the formidable task, and, as they knew, had given it up. They had undertaken it. How were they going to set about it? He trusted they would not, and he believed they would not, by the course they would take, give occasion for it to be ultimately said of them that they had missed a great opportunity (hear, hear). I therefore move the resolution. XIII. ADDRESS, JAN. 1ST, 1894, ON THE OPEN- ING OF THE LENDING LIBRARY IN THE HARRIS FREE PUBLIC LIBRARY AND MUSEUM. XIII. Address, Jan. ist, 1894, on the Opening of THE Lending Library in the Harris Free Public Library and Museum. It is fifteen years ago to-day since we opened the Free Public Lending Library, with about 4,cxx) volumes, in the Town Hall, a library which we have slowly and very carefully increased to some 18,000 volumes, now housed in their permanent home. We have, yet to place here the Shepherd Reference Library and the Natural History Col- lection in Cross-street, as well as the Newsharri Bequest of Pictures and Drawings. Beyond everything else, no doubt, in importance, we have the Harris Reference Library and Art Museum yet to form. Rome was not built in a day, and as this library and museum are planned on lines that are calculated to secure its existence for many centuries yet to come, I, for one, strongly depre- cate all ignorant impatience and thought-flying hurry in that formation. You must remember that there are generations to come after us, whose wants we have to consider as well as our own desires. Every step that is taken to extend the influence of these museums and libraries — to diffuse far and wide the humanities of literature and art — carries one mine the more beneath the social abuses which have so often placed a prevailing influence over our public institutions within the grasp of vulgar minds or of blatant stump orators. The mine, too, is one that eventually will be none the less effectual for the slowness and quietness of its 270 MISCELLANEA. onward course. If the saying, " On earth there is nothing great but man ; in man there is nothing great but mind," be true, the part that has to be taken by the municipality of Preston in evolving the immeasurable influences that may reasonably be expected from the execution of the project now before us of forming the Reference Library and Museum, it is of moment to well consider. It is easier sometimes to do great things than small — this very building is an evidence of that — and people will move themselves to realise a large conception who would not lift a finger to increase the wearisome multitude of commonplace things. May I be permitted to give on this point as best I can what my memory carries of a piece of verse by Emerson, entitled " Days " ? " Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days, Muffled and dumb, like barefoot dervises, And marching singly in an endless file. Bring diadems and faggots in their hands. To each they offer gifts, after his will; Bread, kingdoms, stars, or sky that holds them all. I, in my pleached garden, watched the pomp, Forgot my morning wishes, hastily Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day Turned and departed silent. I, too late. Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn." Not, however, that it has been altogether reserved for this period of time to place fine libraries at the service- of the public. In times past of fierce party conflict — fast ripening for civil war — Cardinal Mazarin, in the year 1643, put a splendid collection of books at the command of the public of Paris. And he employed as collector, and took for adviser, a man whose name deserves to be especially remem- bered in association with free public libraries. MISCELLANEA. 271 Gabriel Naud^ — a man who, having travelled almost over the length and breadth of Europe in search of valuable and splendid books, until he had gathered together, not alone the largest, but the most superb library of that age, chiefly plumed himself, not upon the beauty, or the rarity, or the costliness of the collection, but on its free accessi- bility to all men. In his own words, " It shall be open to all the world, without excluding, a living soul, from eight o'clock in the morning until five o'clock i-n the evening From its doors shall resound that cry which has never yet been heard in the Republic of Letters — Come in, all you who desire to read ; come in freely." And though it may be said that the Mazarin Library was formed out of the gigantic fortune which the Car- dinal wrung, for himself, out of the . vitals of France, it must be remembered in his favour that he was the first man in that country to open the doors of a great library to all — without exception — who cared to come in. To sum up, in a few words, the results of the Free Libraries Acts in the Towns in which the Acts have not only been adopted, but fairly set to work, and where libraries have been permanently secured for public use, with funds for their pre- servation, increase, and well-ordering, and also for the replacement, from time to time, of such books as have become worn out : These libraries have been made thoroughly accessible, under proper regulations, to every decent inhabitant of the towns to which they belong. Their management is wholly independent of sect, party or clique in religion or politics. Their permanence has been made , in like manner independent of charitable gifts, or of fluctuating subscriptions. They are 272 MISCELLANEA. governed without noise, or an ever-beating of the drum, used without favour, maintained and im- proved without recurring appeals to public bene- volence. The community itself finds the working expenses, and taxes itself accordingly. But, whilst essentially independent of gifts, they have been liberally, even munificently, promoted by liberal-hearted men. And they are as yet but at the threshold of their public usefulness. Already they have done, and are still doing, good educational work, and the work is of a far-reaching kind. He knows little of that silent world of books, in which lie the records of the past and the seeds of the future, who doubts that by their means men do actually derive thoughts and impulses to activities for which themselves, their country, and their race are permanently the better. Thus may we see the vastly increasing influence which a widely-diffused literature is likely to have upon all the modes, shows, and forms of religious, moral, social, and political life ; and how the private well-to-do citizen can give aid in his private and personal capacity. To give, however, to the public, as is fre- quently offered, books or things that are not wanted is no act of , generosity ; nay, rather a trouble. But to bequeath a collection like Mr. Newsham's, which it was his pride to gather and his happiness to enjoy, demands the gratitude of generation after generation. Wherever free libraries and museums have been established they have largely promoted even that industrial education which fits men for their specific callings in life, as well as that wider education which reaches farther and higher : and in not a few towns the introduction of the rating principle has MISCELLANEA. 2/3 already proved itself to be — I know it was so in Mr. Newsham's case — a strong stimulant to the exercise of private liberality. For it is seen to give the best possible assurance that liberal efforts to promote the intellectual self-culture of a present generation, will continue to be productive of good to generations yet to come. These libraries so formed are entirely unconnected with class distinction. There is nothing of almsgiving in their establishment ; nothing of clap-trap oratory, or of money-seeking expedients, in their means of continued support ; nothing of exaction in their terms of accessibility. They are not the libraries and museums of the working people, or of the poor people, or of the tradespeople, or of the well- to-do people, but the libraries and museums of the town, in which eve.ry orderly man and woman has a common right. Then, again, no one can fail to see that Art is clearly making its way in the larger provincial towns. The signs are undoubtedly gratifying, for they mean that intelligence and culture are becoming more general, and that an intellectual pleasure, inconceivable to those who have it not, is being opened to classes who, no very long time ago, were strangers to the ideas and examples of art. Every endeavour should be made to establish these galleries of art in the provinces upon a sound and permanent basis. The first aim and object of those concerned with these galleries is that they should be the means of instructing, educating, and purifying the public taste. It is impossible for a working-man who reads regularly not to have even his mere curiosity excited by the frequent mention of the great masters of painting and sculpture, and 274 MISCELLANEA. by the references to their works. And this curiosity may be more than satisfied in such a museum as the Harris Museum may be made to be. And so let the question of the Harris Free Library and Museum be dealt with by all con- cerned in a higher spirit than that of small desires and aims towards ends insignificant in their scope and dimension. In the words of Lander, " As the years are running past us, let us throw something on them which they cannot shake off in the dust and hurry of the world, but must carry with them to that great year of all, whereunto the lesser of this mortal life do tend and are subservient." Note. — The obligations to Edward Edwards herein are acknowledged. XIV. AN OPEN LETTER ON THE QUESTION OF THE NUDE IN ART, JUNE i8th, 1894. XIV. An Open Letter on the Question of the Nude in Art, June i8th, 1894. Under the municipal administration of the Harris Museum which exists, it is impossible but that there should be at the present moment some discussion upon the above subject. It may be pointed out that the moral questions arising from the public exhibition of the nude in Art were virtually settled at least two thousand years ago by the Greeks, whose example has been followed and prevails at this very day in every great Academy and School in every European land. Take our own country, for instance. There is probably in London of the present day the most cultured society to be found in the whole world, the best bred, and the most refined, and it is this society of royalty, aristocracy, and of all the cultivated social classes, including the learned and artistic, which throngs the galleries annually of the Royal Academy. To see and discuss what, pray, of the art productions of the day? What but examples of the complete nude, both in painting and sculpture, illustrations of which lie on our library tables, examples such as the town of Preston is said by some not to be good enough for, not to be sufficiently cultivated for, or else, pharisaically, on the other hand, too good and too moral to endure the sight of. Consider briefly the training, especially for the young, inculcated by the nobler examples of the nude in Art. Familiarity with these examples dissociates in the long run all ideas and suggestions of impurity from the mind. 278 MISCELLANEA. The youngest tyro in the study of art will tell you this. Actually these examples work as a strong means of purification from such ideas. The influence is to cleanse and not to corrupt. Trite it may be to cite the familiar saying—" to the pure all things are pure." Those who bring other associations to the contemplation of the nude in art should not be offended at being told that the impurity or indecency which they find in these objects is not in the objects at all. It is in them- selves. It is they who bring it. It has no existence whatever outside of them. Besides, Nature and Art must be distinguished, not taken the one for the other. Art is Art, precisely because it is not Nature. With regard to the Michel Angelo subjects, and chiefly as to the objections to the " David " — this work is exhibited at the Harris Museum just as it left his hands un-Bowdlerised by later addition. It is the grandest exposition of the complete male figure which perhaps the whole world of Art has to show. It realises that para- disaical time when mankind were not ashamed of their creation, direct from the Maker's hand. Not altogether so, if vulgarised and debased by treating the work as though it were indecent. Whosoever should do this will themselves be contributors to re-inforcing and establishing those impure notions which are to be found in the lower minds of every rank in life. Objections having a like source can, and, indeed, have been, taken to certain chapters and passages of the Hebrew Scriptures, yet these have not been eliminated and suppressed. No one dares to advocate such suppression. Similarly with Chaucer and the plays of Shakespeare, with Fielding and Swift — with MISCELLANEA. 279 Pope and Sterne. All these, with other works, are in our lending library, free to everybody. Reflect who and what Michel Angelo Buona- rotti was. The sternest, the most strenuous mind which has arisen in art, the painter of the awe- inspiring subjects of the Sistine Chapel, the writer of profoundly religious sonnets, the chosen friend of one, the most renowned and accomplished of her time, authoress of the Rime Spirituali, the high-born and pious Vittoria Colonna. Titanic in everything — the very greatest sculptor and painter of the modern world, above even Leonardo and Raphael, serious and austere as Dante in literature — shall the work of such a man be subject to the limited notions of uncultured and uneducated persons, in whatever sphere of life they may chance to be found? These are the very class of persons who need that teaching which is the higher province of art to give. For if such province to elevate and to teach through the emotions be not exercised, and plastic art, whether in painting, sculpture, or architecture, remain only for the pursuit of prettiness, it might vanish from the quest of humanity, without irreparable loss. Whether a work so colossal in size, and so powerful in expression would be better exhibited elsewhere within the building, where it would less dwarf the architectural and sculptural surround- ings, is a point which deserves some attention. There is no practical difficulty involved in it. This, however, by the way. Before the statue of " David " will lie the effigy of Ilaria del Caretto, and behind it the effigy of the good Bishop Benozzo Federighi. Look at these, and if the aspect do not attune your minds to other than the baser and irreverent emotions, 28o MISCELLANEA. then, indeed, the art of Buonarotti is not for you. But that the Harris Museum should deliberately lower its standard and suit its aim to meet the meaner intelligences of the community and the depravities of the still lower orders would be a fall from its high estate indeed. JAMES HIBBERT June \%th, 1894. XV. THE CLASSICAL MUSEUM OF CASTS AND THE REFERENCE LIBRARY OF THE HARRIS MUSEUM. XV. The Classical Museum of Casts and the Re- ference Library of the Harris Museum. To the Editor of the "■Preston Herald." Sir, — I suppose that no one would aver that the Council Chamber is quite a fitting arena to raise questions of Archaeology and Art, but the arrangements of the classical casts in the Harris Museum invites notice. The present disposition and collocation of these casts is so curiously composite and unlearned that conjecture is difficult to account for a rationale of it. The whole of these plaster casts were selected by myself with the express object and purpose of a chronological arrangement to exhibit the various Schools of Ancient Sculpture from the age of Pheidias down to the times of the Roman Emperors. What has been done is something very different. The works of the periods I have referred to, extending over six centuries — Greek, Graeco-Roman, and Roman — are all intermingled without dis- tinction of period or School, or are placed sever- ally apart without any definite connection or relation. What should we say of the Geologist, the Paleontologist, or the Naturalist who so mixed his specimens? Or to come nearer, what would be thought of an art director who in a picture gallery should assort and hang indiscriminately the works of the Italian, German, Flemish, and Dutch masters 284 MISCELLANEA. with Sir Joshua Reynolds, Gainsborough, Con- stable, and Turner? Yet this is analogous to what has been done in arranging the classical sculpture galleries in the Harris Museum. But these galleries were intended to be some- thing different from a sort of classical Madame Tussaud's. Their primary object, like the Cam- bridge Museum of Classical Casts — the only model of the kind in England — is to instruct, and this largely by means of classification. It is not the mere gazer who comes and goes with the unintelligent eye and the vacant mind who is to be chiefly catered for, but students, scholars, and those who wish to become scholars. Most singular is the disposition against the walls of the casts from the British Museum of the Eastern Pediment of the Parthenon. The back of the "Theseus," for instance, is the marvel of modern sculptors. Canova said it was " simply the finest thing in the world." Whether as respects the original in the British Museum, or the casts from it elsewhere, I know no example in the European world of Art where this most famous figure of antiquity is placed, as it is in the Harris Museum, so that the back of it — " the finest thing in the world" — cannot possibly be seen. Just a word about the Harris Reference Library. So far as I gather, its formation is being pro- ceeded with without any defined plan whatever. Books are being purchased without any scheme — such, for instance, as that framed by Edward Edwards in the initial formation of the Manches- ter Reference Library. I do not understand that MISCELLANEA. 285 Mr. Sutton — the quasi-adviser of the Committee — has furnished any scheme. If he has, why is it not made known? It has been my privilege during the last month to spend an entire week in examining the Re- ference Library of St. Deiniol's at Hawarden, formed, classified, and also shelved for students by the hands of no less illustrious a person than Mr. Gladstone himself. Some such methodic and carefully classified collection of books, unequalled perhaps for a Reference Library of moderate ex- tent, there was once hope to see here. But such hope cannot reasonably be entertained from the hand-to-mouth process of purchasing that is illiterately going on. Yours, etc., JAMES HIBBERT. Preston, Oct. 26th, 1895. XVI. SPEECH TO THE COUNCIL OF THE BOROUGH OF PRESTON, JUNE 27TH, 1896, ON THE REPORT OF CERTAIN PICTURES PURCHASED BY THE FREE LIBRARY COMMITTEE FOR THE ART GALLERY OF THE HARRIS MUSEUM. XVI. Speech to the Council of the Borough of Preston, June 27TH, 1896, on the Report of certain Pictures purchased by the Free Library Committee for the Art Gallery of the Harris Museum. I AM by no means sure that the Committee in spending some ;£^i,ioo on the six pictures named have been economical, or have procured for that sum works of as much value as they might have done. To buy from the walls of an annual ex- hibition at the painters' prices is a dear way of buying. It is a matter of common knowledge to experts that even artists who have achieved a high and recognised position do not always get their own exhibition prices, much less those who have not arrived at that position, as, with one exception, is the case before us. Let the Council consider what is the capital sum for disposal in the purchase of works of art, literature, and science. Taking it at ;£^20,ooo in round figures, we may assume that one half of it — not more — should be proportionately devoted to the fine and decorative arts, leaving the remainder for the department of literature and science. The purchase of the six pictures before us amounts to .^1,100, so ten times the number of similar purchases of similar character and on similar lines to those before us — I am referring chiefly to the status of the respective artists and the prices — would exhaust the fund of ;^io,ooo. And the result would be that on these lines we should have a number of pictures which would T 290 MISCELLANEA. not greatly distinguish even an ordinary private collection. I speak from the knowledge derived from experience when I say that the dearest way of buying, pictures is from the walls of an annual exhibition at the artists' prices. The fact is, that the price of pictures in the open market is regu- lated, not by the artists, but by picture dealers in competition with each other, and I call into question the wisdom of giving ;£^25o and ;^200 and so forth for the works of men so little dis- tinguished as, with one exception, these are. When I shall show to the Council that works by British artists of a reputation that has already become historic, and that such works may be acquired for much lower prices than these by the judicious and knowing purchaser, who watches for his opportunity, the Council will better under- stand what I am driving at. In the early part of this present month there was sold at Christie's a largish picture, S3 x 33 in., by Sir Frederick Leighton, the late President of the Royal Academy, the subject being one of his favourite classical pieces, " Clytemnestra on the Walls of Argos, watching for the Signal of the Return of Agamemnon from the Siege of Troy," a work of his middle period — oftentimes an artist's best period — and painted, if I am not mistaken, in 1876. There appears to have been little competition for the picture, and a dealer succeeded in getting it for ;^74. Think of that. During the week following this, the great sale of the year at Christie's took place, of Sir Julian Goldsmid's pictures, and which, happening to be in town, I attended. The importance of this entire collection may be gathered from the sum it fetched, £6'/,ooo, chiefly by the great prices MISCELLANEA. 29 1 which the Reynolds, Gainsborough, Romney, Beechy, and Hoppner portraits realised, with the two famous Turners, along with a Constable, which fetched, in my opinion, far too high • a price. There was one of the portraits, equal to anything that was there, which, because it was unascribed, commanded only 150 guineas, while the other ascribed portraits brought more than a dozen times that price. Such are the vicissitudes of picture values. But there were other works in the Goldsmid collection by well-known and famous masters which were quite within the limits of the Free Library Committee, at prices less than what they are here giving for the works chiefly of men who have yet an equal reputation to make. A fine Copley Fielding, a largish drawing, was sold for 96 guineas ; a Louis Haghe for 50 guineas ; a Carl Haag, the most magnificent example I ever set eyes upon, 43 by 31 in., for 220 guineas; an Erskine Nicol, 1 10 guineas ; a Frederick Goodall, 95 guineas; a B. W. Leader, 120 guineas; a Vicat Cole, 185 guineas ; a Keeley Halswelle, 205 guineas ; a Colin Hunter, 160 guineas ; a grand landscape, 76 by 89 in., by Artois, foreign painter, for 90 guineas. Nearly all these were what are termed gallery pictures ; that is, of large size, more or less, and by artists of equal rank with the majority of the pictures and drawings of the Newsham bequest, and unrepresented in that collection. There was also a Sir John Gilbert sold for 41 guineas ; an Edouard Frere for 78 guineas; a Landseer for 120 guineas; a Creswick, no guineas; a David Roberts, 150 guineas. Then, again, only last Saturday at Christie's there were three quite notable pictures by 292 MISCELLANEA. Mulready, of largish size, sold for lOO guineas, 240 guineas, and 250 guineas respectively. Mul- ready is undoubtedly one of the greatest men of the English school. I think these examples of prices which I have enumerated of pictures sold, the whole of them during this very month, at Christie's, indicate a more desirable quarter than the annual exhibitions afford for the acquisition, at more moderate prices, of works by both deceased and living artists, whose names and works have become and are alike famous in the history of British Art. XVII. SOME PUBLIC REFLECTIONS ON THE COMMEMORATION, 1897, OF THE SIXTY YEARS' REIGN OF HER MAJESTY QUEEN VICTORIA. XVII. Some Public Reflections on the Commemo- ration, 1897, OF THE Sixty Years' Reign OF Her Majesty Queen Victoria. While sovereigns and statesmen sharing in tiie government of great Empires are keeping con- stant watch upon the Social Movement which disquiets Europe from end to end, exhibiting, as it does, almost everywhere an attitude adverse to all Monarchical systems, the great and splendid commemoration of the sixty years' reign of Queen Victoria over the British Empire is an em- phatic proof that the English race is not only unforgetful of its glorious past, but conscious of the mightier destinies which may have yet to come. That ideas are in the air which cannot fail to bring about some change in the existing order of European political and social systems many thoughtful observers of the present century have perceived. Along what paths such changes shall be safely effected is the problem of modern statesmen. We are living in a peculiarly fermenting epoch, the like of which has not been seen smce the first French Revolution, and the fermentation, if not so violent as then, is perhaps deeper and more widely spread. The whole civilised world, in both the eastern and western hemispheres, is seething with excitement, and pregnant with un- predicted possibilities of change; and the changes may not improbably affect the social yet more than the political relations of nations, go- vernments, and classes. 296 MISCELLANEA. Amid the darkness of the future, it can be seen that all the men of our time are impelled by an unknown force, which sometimes gently moves them, sometimes hurries them along. In every period of the world there are some few great ideas or principles at work, which, though sunk deeply and almost hidden at the very core of the spirit of the age, are yet working themselves out- wards, and impressing, in a very subtle manner, their shapes upon every feature of society. In habits and customs, laws and institutions, sciences and arts, and forms of religion, these ideas are secretly at work, until at length they emerge into light, and produce those changes that make epochs in the history of mankind. The movement of the physical sciences is espe- cially remarkable. Distance is vanishing. Elec- tricity is overcoming it. Magnetism, with its in- stant action, sets it at naught. The varied worlds, huge and small, obey its occult forces. Rays of light are making solid bodies transparent. Were not the discoveries of this century of ascer- tained knowledge and world-wide use — the actual testimony of which were resting only on some old papyrus or Hebrew palimpsest — they would be regarded as existing only in the region of legend and fable, bearing but a shadowy and indefinite relation to historic evolution. History is a true guide of life in community. It is a fundamental principle that the living are governed by the dead. Human progress, both intellectual and social, is determined, in kind and degree, by the general direction in which human- ity is moving under the impetus of yesterdays. Always and everywhere men have been moved by the whole body of their predecessors. The empire MISCELLANEA. 397 of the past is therefore one which the present can modify, but never escape. " Politics," then, " are vulgar when not liberalised by history, and his- tory fades into mere literature when it loses sight of its relation to practical politics." He who would understand history, said Quinet, must look into himself and become attentive to the movements of his own mind. When recog- nising the links of the past and the present, he perceives that old Chaldsea, Babylon, Memphis, Judaea, Greece, Rome, Carthage, the rise of Chris- tianity, Medisevalism, the Reformation, the New Birth of the Modern World — verily and indeed have produced the times in which we now live, events as they march onwards become fuller of interest and of meaning. Thence is perceived that the dissolvent forces now at work, unless encountered by statesmen who can handle them with a firm grasp, may result in a chaos which will place the direction of public affairs in the hands of a comparatively low and vulgar class of politicians, who have small respect for the heritage of the past. It is not many years since that gloomy and portentous clouds of disruption were gathering round our country, and of her foes the most dan- gerous were those of her own children. The signs pointed rather to a disgraceful and slow decay, scorned and derided by her rivals, than to the catastrophe of a mighty setting amid warfare and flame : — " The fiery chastisement of crime With noise of mingling hosts, and jar Of falling towers and shouts of war." But what we have just witnessed in the recent 298 MISCELLANEA. Commemoration is an arousing and a prepara- tion ; a casting off of those politicians who have decried the bravery which has compelled every land and sea to open a path for our valour ; and who, unmindful that this empire has been ac- quired and knit together by men knowing their duty and with the courage to do it, professed that it were better to destroy the links that bind our Colonies to us, and that Greater Britain should fall back into the Britain of the Tudor kings, with hereditary privileges of every sort curtailed. Hereditary privilege is a fertile theme of easy denunciation. That five hundred gentlemen should be legislators by right of birth, and claim to ques- tion the decisions of six hundred and iifty elected politicians, is not to be endured by certain agitators. But it so happens that the whole order of society rests on a foundation of heredi- tary privilege, extending downwards to the lowest ranks. How many members of the House of Commons sit there by their own deserts? By far the great majority — nay, almost the whole of them — would never have found their way thither but for the wealth, credit, and character of their forefathers. Are there twenty members of this House who have reached there by their own simple exertions ? The Upper House contains a larger number of men not born to the peerage than the Lower House does of men not born to competence and wealth. Reinforced as it is, in each generation, by the ablest practical adminis- trative ability which the country produces, con- stantly recruited from below, it can never be an oligarchy. In earlier times it was found requi- site to form a nobility for civilisation to be even created. What made Athens, Sparta, Rome, MISCELLANEA. 299 Venice, from small cities into great states ? The probity, valour, and wisdom of their chief citizens. Nobilities were long the armed de- fenders of the community, and in later periods by nobilities in Church and State, art was sus- tained, science was advanced, manners improved, literature nourished. We can say even more than this. By nobilities the great problem of English liberty has been wrought out, so far as it has yet been accomplished. Who organised and welded the English into a nation ? The Conqueror and his companions. Who extorted Magna Charta? Not a band of anxious peasants, but the barons. Who resisted Charles I.? It was the nobles who at the outset, took the lead. Who expelled James the Second ? The English nobility. And who began, controlled, and directed the American revolution? Washington, Jefferson, Randolph, and their colleagues, as genuine an aristocracy in the Greek sense as ever existed. Let us be just, then, to the territorial nobility of England. They form a class which has marched for ages in the first rank, and acquired in the long uncontested exercise of greatness a certain loftiness of heart, a natural confidence in its strength, which makes it the most resisting element in the frame of society. Not only is its own disposition manly, but its example serves to augment the manliness of every other class. To extirpate the influence of such an order is to enervate all classes. Nothing can completely re- place it ; it cannot be revived ; it may recover titles and estates, as in the France of to-day, but not the soul of its progenitor. If it be our wish to confer a certain elevation upon the human mind, and to teach it to regard the things of this world 300 MISCELLANEA. with generous feelings ; to inspire men with a scorn of mere temporal advantages ; to keep alive the spirit of honourable devoted ness in war and in peace ; if we hold it to be a good thing to refine the habits, to embellish the manners, to cultivate the arts, and to promote the love of poetry, beauty, and renown ; if we would con- tinue to be a people not unfitted to act with virtue and power upon all other nations ; nor unprepared for those high enterprises which, whatever be the result of them, will leave a name for ever famous in time — we shall be careful not to destroy these influences of a territorial nobility to which we owe so much of value to our State. Take also the Monarchy ; it, too, is hereditary ; it, too, offends the licence and insolence of modern Republicanism. One of the greatest of English writers has in our own time asked the question : " Is there, then, to be no monarchy in the future of this nation ; for all the world a source of light, a centre of peace ; mistress of learning and the arts ; faithful guardian of great memories — faithful servant of time-tried prin- ciples, under temptation from fond experiments and licentious desires ? " To such anxious ques- tionings, the Historic Commemoration which will for ever be remembered affords the most assuring answer. From every land across the high seas where the British race has penetrated, and its language is spoken ; from its feudatories, who have experienced the benefits of its suzerainty, and whose native chiefs and rulers — unlike the captive King of Britain, following gloomily afoot the triumphal car of a Roman Imperator — of their own free will and wish came arrayed in all their pride, and pomp, and panoply ; and along MISCELLANEA. 3OI with dignitaries from our Continental neighbours and rivals, were from all quarters of the globe gathered together in its capital city to do honour and to pay homage to Her who is the crown and apex of our constitutional system. Search through the annals of all history, whether of this or of any other nation, from the most ancient times to the present day, and you will not come across a more spontaneous or a more striking spectacle than what has been wit- nessed, not only in the Metropolis, but in every provincial city and town and many a village in these islands, where congregations of men, women, and children assembled themselves to testify their loyalty to her who, for sixty years, has reigned with such beneficent results to her people, establishing the power and prosperity of our country upon a firmer and more august basis than it has ever before known. I cannot believe that this nation, filling as it does the foremost position in the human race, can safely withdraw from it. We claim to be no more than what we are ; and it is vital, not only to our own interests, but to the interests of the world at large, that we should acknowledge the full meaning of our pre-eminence — a pre-eminence that may be as difficult to keep as it has been difficult to gain. Our real strength lies, not alone in our Armadas — though these be absolutely essential — but in equity, in modera- tion, in steadfastness of purpose, and high cour- age, ready always to venture and to dare for what we hold to be both prudent and right. As we all of us have a personal share in the inheri- tance of a great, and everlasting name among na- tions, so should be our resolve — 302 MISCELLANEA. "To keep this noble empire whole, And save the one true seed of freedom sown Betwixt a people and their ancient throne, That sober freedom out of which there springs Our loyal passion for our temperate kings ; For, saving that, ye help to save mankind. Till public wrong be crumbled into dust. And drill the raw world for the march of mind. Till crowds at length be sane, and crowns be just." XVIII. AN OPEN LETTER ON THE SELECTION OF THE PICTURES PREVIOUSLY RE- FERRED TO FOR THE HARRIS ART GALLERY. XVIII. An Open Letter on the Selection of the Pictures previously referred to for the Harris Art Gallery. To the Editor of the " Preston Herald!'' Sir, — It may be of interest to add that the critic who does the fine art business for the " Times " is in accord with the writer of the Academy notices in the " Athenaeum," to which, through your columns, I have already drawn attention. Of Mr. Clausen's amazing picture — a lasting evidence, one is sorry to have to say, of the quality of knowledge and judgment of those who purchased it for a permanent public collection — the " Times " critic says : — " It is a disappointment after the pictures of the last two years, for, though the landscape is as delicately observed as usual, and is charming in colour, the boy's figure is simply ugly — there is no other word for it. That Mr. Clausen can design with a regard not only for nature but for grace he has proved a hundred times, and he proves it again in one at least of his smaller works in the present exhibition, but whether from his veneration for the work of J. F. Millet or from some innate perversity, it seems to be never certain whether he will not spoil a picture with some figure or incident of this violent kind." Mr. Somerscales's principal work in the Aca- demy the " Times" dismisses with very great brevity : — "'Volunteers for a Boat's Crew' (917) is a good specimen of the rather limited and prosaic art of Mr. Somerscales." u 306 MISCELLANEA. We have now before us the opinions of the two leading London reviewers upon the work of the two artists above referred to. The remaining selections for the Harris Gallery have been wholly ignored by the " Athenaeum," and also — with the exception of the mere mention of Mr. Arnesby Brown's picture — by the " Times." Is it not tolerably clear that the two principal pictures are " echoes " — one of Bastien Lepage and the other of Henry Moore? — while the rest are mediocre works that in a sale-room would command little attention, and are certainly not up to the mark of a permanent public collection. And yet these are the beginnings of the Harris Art Gallery. Just a word now as to a certain testimonial which has been circulated of late in favour of Mr. Somerscales's work, and which it suits the purposes of some people to consider as out- weighing the whole reviewing world. It is not for me to dwell upon the opinion entertained of South Kensington in divers London art circles, for the sufficient reason that I am not altogether in sympathy with it, but it is a fact that the Sword of Damocles, in the shape of a Parlia- mentary Inquiry promised by the leader of the House of Commons, is hanging at the present moment over the Department. Those who are interested in the subject may with some advan- tage read in the current number of the " Maga- zine of Art" a very scathing article by the editor of such unqualified severity that I would rather merely refer to it than quote. Yours, etc., JAMES HIBBERT. Sept. i6th, 1896. XIX. THE ALLUSIONS— ARRANGED IN CHRO- NOLOGICAL ■ ORDER— THROUGHOUT THE SERIES OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS, TO ''Fate and Metaphysical Aid" {Macbeth — Lady Macbeth, Act I., Scene 5) IN HUMAN AFFAIRS, EXHIBITED IN PARALLEL PASSAGES (cf. PART II. passim). XIX. The Allusions — arranged in Chronological Order — throughout the series of Shake- speare's Plays, to "Fate and Metaphysical Aid" (Mac6e/^— Lady Macbeth, Act L, Scene 5) IN Human Affairs, exhibited in Par- allel Passages (c/. Part II. passim). Love's Labour's Lost (1591). Biron. " For every man with his affects is born ; " — Act I. Scene i. Two Gentlemen of Verona (1591). Julia. " But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth ; " — Act 2. Scene 7. Comedy of Errors (1592). Duke. " We may pity, though not pardon thee." Mgeon. " O, had the gods done so, I had not now Worthily termed them merciless to us ! " . . . Duie. " Hapless yEgeon, whom the fates have marked To bear the extremity of dire mishap ! " Act I. Scene i. Romeo and Juliet (1592). " From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life." — Prologue. Romeo. " My mind misgives. Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night's revel But He, that hath the steerage of my course. Direct my sail." Act i. Scene 4. Jiomeo. "This day's blackfate on more days doth depend; This but begins the woe, others must end." Act 3. Scene i. Jiomeo. "O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest ; And shake the yoke of unauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh." Act 5. scene 3. 3IO MISCELLANEA. Friar Lawrence. "A greater Power than we can contradict Hath thwarted our intents." — Priiue. " Capulet ! Montague ! See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love ! And I, for winking at your discords too, Have lost a brace of kinsmen : — all are punished." Act s. Scene the last. King Henry VI. First Part (1592, adapted). Bedford. " Comets, importing change of times and states, Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky ; And with them scourge the bad revolting stars, That have con.sented unto Henry's death!" . . . Exeter. " What ? shall we curse the planets of mishap. That plotted thus our glory's overthrow?" . . . Winchester. "Thebattlesof the Lord of hosts he fought." .. Bedford. " Henry the fifth ! thy ghost I invocate. Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils ! Combat with adverse planets in the heavens ! " . . Act I, Scene i. Charles (Dauphin). " Mars his true moving, even as in the So in the earth, to this day is not known." . . [heavens. Bastard {of Orleans). " Be not dismayed, for succour is A holy maid hither with me I bring, [at hand ; Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven. Ordained is to raise this tedious siege. And drive the English forth the bounds of France." . . La Pucelle. " Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs .... God's mother deigned to appear to me ; And, in a vision full of majesty. Willed me to leave my base vocation. And free my country from calamity : Her aid she promised, and assured success: . . . . . Assigned am I to be the English scourge . . With Henry's death the English circle ends." Act I. Scene s. MISCELLANEA. 3 1 1 Talbot. " But — O malignant and ill-boding stars, Now thou art come unto a feast of death . . . . . . Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son. Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon." Act 4. Scene 5. King Henry VI. Second Part {adapted 1592). King Henry. "How fares my lord? Speak,Beaufort,tothy sovereign." ■ [England's treasure, Cardinal Beaufort. "If thou be'st death, I'll give thee Enough to purchase such another island, So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain." King Henry. " Ah, what a sign it is of evil life When death's approach is seen so terrible ! " Warwick. " Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee." Cardinal. " Bring me unto my trial, when you will. Died he not in his bed? where should he die? Can I make men live, whe'r they will or no? O ! torture me no more, I will confess . . . ." King Henry. ". . . . O thou eternal Mover of the heavens Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch ! O beat away the busy meddling fiend. That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul. And from his bosom purge this black despair!" Act 3. Scene 3. King Henry VI. Third Part {adapted 1592). King Edward. " What fates impose, that men must needs abide. Act 4. scene 3. King Henry. "But Warwick, after God, thou sett'st mefree, And chiefly, therefore, I thank God and thee ; He was the Author, thou the instrument. Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite. By living low, where fortune cannot hurt me ; And that the people of this blessed land May not be punished with my thwarting stars." . . 3 1 2 MISCELLANEA. Warwick. ..." Few men rightly temper with the stars." . . King Henry. "■ - . My lord of Somerset, what youth is that, Of whom you seem to have so tender care ? " Somerset. "My liege,itisyoungHenry,Earlof Richmond" King Henry. " Come hither, England's hope : If secret powers (^/ays his hand on his head) Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts. This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss." Act 4. Scene 6. King Richard III. (1593). Qn. Margaret. " Richard yet lives, hell's black intelli- Only reserved their factor, to buy souls, [gencer: And send them thither : But at hand, at hand, Ensues his piteous and unpitied end : Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, To have him suddenly conveyed from hence." . . Duchess of York. " Take with thee my most heavy Which in the day of battle, tire thee more, [curse Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st 1 My prayers on the adverse party fight : And there the little souls of Edward's children Whisper the spirits of thine enemies. And promise them success and victory." .... King Richard. " AH unavoided is the doom of destiny." . . King Richard. " . . Be Opposite all planets of good luck To my proceeding " Act 4. scene 4. Buckingham. " Hastings and Edward's children, Rivers Holy king Henry, and thy fair son Edward, [Grey, Vaughan, and all that have miscarried By underhand corrupted foul injustice : If that your moody discontented souls Do through the clouds behold this present hour. Even for revenge mock my destruction " Richmond. " O Thou ! whose Captain I account myself. Look on my forces with a gracious eye ; MISCELLANEA. 313 Put in their hands Thy bruising irons of wrath, That they may crush down with a heavy fall The usurping helmets of our adversaries ! Make us Thy ministers of chastisement, That we may praise Thee in Thy victory ! To Thee I do commend my watchful soul, Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes; Sleeping, and waking, O, defend me still." Ghost of Prince Henry (rises). " Let me sit heavy On thy soul to-morrow ! [fo King Richard). Think how thou stabb'dst me in my prime of youth At Tewkesbury ; Despair therefore, and die ! — Be cheerful, Richmond ; for the wronged souls Of butchered princes fight in thy behalf; King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee . ." Ghost of King Henry fV.(m«)." Despair and 6\&{fo King Richard). Harry the Sixth bids thee despair and die . . . ... Be thou conqueror . . ." (to Richmond). Ghost of Clarence (rises). ..." Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow. . . (to King Richard). . . . Despair and die ! — . . . Good angels guard thy battle ! Live and flourish ! " [fo Richmond). Ghosts of Rivers, Grey, and Vaughan (rise). Rivers. " Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow . {to King Richard). ■ . . Despair and die." Grey. " Think upon Grey and let thy soul despair." (to King Richard). Vaughan. " Think upon Vaughan ! Despair and die." (to King Richard). Ghost of Hastings (rises). " Think on Lord Hastings ; and despair and die. (to King Richard). Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake. (to Richmond). Ghosts of the Two Princes (rise). " Thy nephews' SOuls bid thee despair and die. (to King Richard). Edward's u nhappy sons do bid thee flourish." {to Richmond). 314 MISCELLANEA. Ghost of Queen Anne {rises). " To-morrOW in the" battle think on me . . . . . . Despair and die ! . . . (to King Richard). Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee." {to Richmond). Ghost of Buckingham {rises). ". . • Die in terror of thy guiltiness. {^o lUng Richard). God, and good angels fight on Richmond's side." (to Richmond). King Richard {awakes out of his dream). ". . . Methought the souls of all that I had murdered Came to my tent ; and every one did threat To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard." Richmond wakes. "■ ■ . Methought their souls, whose bodies Richard murdered, Came to my tent, and cried — On ! Victory ! . . . . . . Remember this, — God, and our good cause, fight upon our side ; The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls, Like high-reared bulwarks, stand before our foes." Act 5. Scene 3. Richard II. {adapted 1593). A Captain. " 'Tis thought the King is dead; we will not The bay-trees in our country are all withered, [stay. And meteors fright the fix^d stars of heaven ; The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth. And lean-looked prophets whisper fearful change ; Rich men look sad and ruffians dance and leap, — . . . These signs foretell the death or fall of Kings." Act 2. Scene 4. Bishop of Carlisle. " Fear not, my lord, that Power which made you King, Hath power to keep you King . . ." King Richard. ". . ■ Then, if angels fight. Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right." Act 3. Scene 2. York. " The heavens are o'er your head." •MISCELLANEA. 315 BolingbroJie. " I know it, uncle, and oppose not Myself against their will . . ." J^ing Richard. " Yet know, — my master, God omnipotent. Is mustering in His clouds, on our behalf." — Act 3. Scene 4. Bishop of Carlisle. " My lord of Hereford here, whom you call King, Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's King ; And if you crown him, let me prophecy, — The blood of English shall manure the ground, And future ages groan for this foul act. . . ." ■Boiingbroke. "■ . ■ On Wednesday next, we solemnly set Our Coronation : lords, prepare yourselves." [down JMoi. " A woeful pageant have we here beheld." Bisliop of Carlisle. " The woe's to come, the children yet Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn." [unborn. Act 4. Scene i. York (Jo the Ducliess"). " As in a theatre, the eyes of men, -After a well-graced actor leaves the stage. Are idly bent on him that enters next. Thinking his prattle to be tedious ; Even so, or with, much more contempt, men's eyes Did scowl on Richard . . . . . . That had not God, for some strong purpose steeled The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted. And barbarism itself have pitied him — But heaven hath a hand in these events." — Act 5. Scene 2. Exton {after killing the King"). " For now the devil, that told me — I did well, Says, that this deed is chronicled in hell." Act 5. Scene 5. Merchant of Venice (1594). Antonio to shyiock. " This was a venture, sir {the peeling of the wands) that Jacob served for, A thing not in his power to bring to pass. But swayed and fashioned by the hand of heaven." Act I, Scene 3. 3l6 MISCELLANEA. Midsummer Night's Dream (1595). Titania (Jo oberon). ". . . The Spring, the Summer, The chiding autumn, angry winter, change Their wonted liveries ; and the mazed world. By their increase, now knows not which is which : And this same progeny of evil comes From our debate, from our dissension ; We are their parents and original." Act 2. scene 2. Demetrius. " But, my good lord, I wot not by what power, (But, by some power it is) my love to Hermia, Melted as doth the snow." Act 4. scene 1. Hippoiyta. " 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers Theseus. More strange than true . . ." [speak of." Hippoiyta. "... But all the story of the night told over, And all their minds transfigured so together, More witnesseth than fancy's images. And grows to something of great constancy." Act 5. Scene i. All's Well that Ends Well (1595). Helena. There's something hints More than my father's skill, which was the greatest Of his profession, that his good receipt Shall for my legacy, be sanctified By the luckiest stars in heaven." Act i. scene 3. Helena. " It is presumption in us, when The help of heaven we count the act of men." Act 2, Scene i. Lafeu. " I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair. And toll him : for this, I'll none of him." King. "The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafeu, to bring forth this discovery." Act s. Scene 3. Henry IV. First Part (iS97)- King Henry (Jo Prince Henry). " I know not whether God will have it so, For some displeasing service I have done, MISCELLANEA. 317 That, in His secret doom, out of my blood He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me ; But thou dost, in thy passages of life. Make me believe, — that thou art only mark'd For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven, To punish my mis-treadings." Act 3. Scene 2. Hotspur. "If that the devil and mischance look big Upon the maidenhead of our affairs." Act 4. Scene i. Second Part (1597). Prince Henry (to Poins). "Well, thus we play fools with the time, and the spirits of the wise Sit in the clouds, and mock us." Act 2. scene 2. King Henry. "O heaven! that one might read the book And see the revolution of the times." [of fate ; Act 3. Scene i. Prince John. " Heaven, and not we, hath safely fought to-day. Act 4. Scene 2. Merry Wives of Windsor (1597). Ford. "Inlove,theheavensthemselvesdoguidethestate." Act 5. Scene 4, King Henry V. (1598). Archbishop of Canterbury. " The breath no sooner left his But that his wildness, mortified in him, [father's body, Seem'd to die too : yea, at that very moment. Consideration like an angel came, And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him ; Leaving his body as a paradise. To envelope and contain celestial spirits.'' Act I. Scene i. Chorus. "(If hell and treason hold their promises)." Act z. Chorus. King Henry to Scrape. " And whatsoever Cunning fiend it That wrought upon thee so preposterously, [was. Hath got the voice in hell for excellence : And other devils, that suggest by treasons, 3l8 MISCELLANEA. Do botch and bungle up damnation With patches, colours, and with forms being fetched From glistering semblances of piety ; But he, that tempered thee, bade thee stand up. Gave thee no instance why" thou should'st do treason. Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. If that same demon, that hath gull'd thee, thus. Should with his lion gait walk the whole world, He might return to vasty Tartar back, And tell the legions — I can never win A soul so easy as that Englishman's . . ." To the Lords. ". • . Since God so graciously hath brought This dangerous treason, lurking in our way, [to light To hinder our beginnings, we doubt not now, But every rub is smoothed on our way . . ." Act 2. Scene 2. Gioster. "... I hope they will not come upon us now." King Henry. "Wearein God's hands, brother,notin theirs" Act 3. Scene 6. King Henry. "Gloucester, 'tis true, that weareingreatdan- The greater, therefore, should our courage be — [ger; Good morrow, brother Bedford. — God Almighty ! There is some soul of goodness in things evil. Would men observingly distil it out . . ." Act 4. Scene 1. King Henry. "■ ■ O God of battles ! Steel my soldiers'hearts ! Possess them not with fear ; take from them now The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers ■ Pluck their hearts from them ! Not to-day, O Lord, not to-day, think not upon the fault My father made in compassing the crown ! 1 Richard's body have interred anew ; And on it have bestowed more contrite tears. Than from it issued forced drops of blood. Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, Who twice a day their withered hands hold up Toward heaven, to pardon blood ; and I have built MISCELLANEA. 319 Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do; Though all that I can do, is nothing worth ; Since that my penitence comes after all. Imploring pardon." Act 4. sc=ne i. King Henry (after the battle). "O God! Thy arm waS here. And not to us, but to Thy arm alone Ascribe we all . . . Take it. God, For it is only Thine ! " Exeter. " 'Tis wonderful ! " . . . JCing Henry. " And be it death proclaimed through our To boast of this, or take that praise from God, [host, Which is His only." Act 4. scene a. King John (1594-8, adapted). Bastard. " Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres, Wherebeyourpowers? Shownowyourmended faiths; To push destruction, and perpetual shame Out of the weak door of our fainting land." Act 5. Scene 7. Twelfth Night; or. What You Will (1599). Duke [to Viola). " I know thy constellation is right apt For this affair." Act i. Scene 4. Olivia. " I do, I know not what : and fear to find Mine , eye too great a flatterer for my mind, Fate, show thy force : ourselves we do not owe ; What is decreed must be ; and be this so." Act I. Scene 5. Sebastian. " My Stars shine darkly over me, the malig- nancyof my fate might, perhaps, distemperyours." . . . Antonio. " The gentleness of all the gods go with thee." Act 2. Scene 1. Much Ado About Nothing (1599). Beatrice. "There was a star danced and under that I was born." Act 2. scene :. 32b MISCELLANEA. Benedick. " No. I was not bom under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms." Act s. Scene 2. Julius Caesar (i6oi). Cassius. " Men at some time are masters of their fates ; The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars. But in ourselves, that we are underlings." . . . Act z. Scene 2. Casar. "What can be avoided Whose end is purpos'd by the mighty gods? — . . . Seeing that death, a necessary end. Will come, when it will come." Act 2. Scene 2. Artemidorus. " If thou read this, O Caesar, thou may'st If not, the fates with traitors do contrive." [live ; Act 2. Scene 3. Bruim. " Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil ? Thou mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stare. Speak to me what thou art." GAost of Casar. " Thy evil spirit, Brutus." Brutus. " Why com'st thou ? " Ghost. "To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi." Brutus. " Well ; Then I shall see thee again." GAost. "Ay, at Philippi." Act 4. Scene 3. Cassius. " You know that I held Epicurus strong. And his opinion : now I change my mind. And partly credit things that do presage. Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign Two mighty eagles fell, and there they perched, Gorging and feeding from our soldiers' hands ; Who to Philippi here consorted us ; This morning are they fled away and gone, And in their steads, do ravens, crows, and kites, Fly o'er our heads, and downward look on us. As we were sickly prey, their shadows seem A canopy most fatal, under which Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost.'' MISCELLANEA. 321 Messala. " Believe not so.'' Cassius. " I but believe it partly ; For I am fresh of spirit, and resolv'd To meet all perils very constantly . . . Now, most noble Brutus, The gods to-day stand friendly ; that we may. Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age ! But, since the affairs of men rest still uncertain, Let's reason with the worst that may befall. If we do lose this battle, then is this The very last time we shall speak together What are you then determined to do?" Brutus. "Even by the rule of that philosophy By which I did blame Cato for the death Which he did give himself: — I know not how. But I do find it cowardly and vile, For fear of what might fall, so to prevent The time of life: — arming myself with patience, To stay the providence of some high powers. That govern us below." Act 5. scene i. Bnitus (about to kill himself). " So, fare you well at once ; for Brutus' tongue Hath almost ended his life's history: Night hangs upon mine eyes, my bones would rest That have but labour'd to attain this hour." Act 5. Scene 5. Hamlet (1602). Horatio. " As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood, Disasters in the sun ; and the moist star. Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands, Was sick almost to dooms-day with eclipse. And even the like precurse of fierce events, — As harbingers preceding still the fates. And prologue to the omen coming on, — . . ." 322 MISCELLANEA. Marceilus. " It faded on the crowing of the cock. Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, This bird of dawning singeth all night long: And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad ; The nights are wholesome ; then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm. So hallowed and so gracious is the time." Horatio. " So have I heard, and do in part believe it. — " Act I, Scene i. Hamlet. "So, oft it chances in particular men. That, for some vicious mole of nature in them, As, in their birth (wherein they are not guilty. Since nature cannot choose his origin)." Act i. Scene 4. Hamlet. " The spirit that I have seen May be a devil : and the devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape ; yea, and perhaps. Out of my weakness, and my melancholy, (As he is very potent with such spirits). Abuses me to damn me." Acts, scenes. Hamlet. " Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man As e'er my conversation cop'd withal." Horatio. " O, my dear lord, — " Hamlet. " Nay, do not think I flatter : For what advancement may I hope from thee. That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits. To feed and clothe thee?" . . . P/aj/ef! King. ..." This world is not for aye . . . . . . Our wills, and fates, do so contrary run, That our devices still are overthrown Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own." . . Hamlet. ..." 'Tis now the very witching time of night. When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world." Act 3. scenes. The Kin^. " In the corrupted currents of this world, Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice ; MISCELLANEA. 323 And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself Buys out the law. But 'tis not so above ; There is no shuffling, there the action lies . In his true nature ; and we ourselves compelled, Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults. To give in evidence." Act 3. Scene 3. Hamlet (to the slain Poionius). "Thou wretched, rash, intrud- ing, fool. Farewell ! I took thee for thy better ; take thy fortune : Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger. — " . . . Hamlet {enter Ghost). " Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, [figure?" . . . You heavenly guards ! What would your gracious Hamlet (to the Queen). ..." For use almost can change the stamp of nature And either curb the devil, or throw him out With wondrous potency . . . For this same lord, (pointing to Poionius). I do repent : but heaven hath pleased it so, — To punish me with this, and this with me. That I must be their scourge and minister." . . . Act 3. Scene 4. Hamlet. " Rashly, And praised be rashness for it, — Let us know Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well, When our deep plots do pall ; and that should teach There's a divinity that shapes our ends, [us, Rough-hew them how we will." Horatio. " That is most certain." Horatio. ..." How was this Sealed ? " Hamlet. " Why even in that was heaven ordinant ; I had my father's signet in my purse, Which was the model of that Danish Seal." . . . Hamlet. ..." We defy augury ; there is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come ; if it be not to come, it will 324 MISCELLANEA. be now ; if it be not now, yet it will come ; the readiness is all." . . . Laertes... ."Exchangeforgivenesswithme.nobleHamlet; Mine and my father's death come not upon thee ; Nor thine on me ! " {dies). . . . Horatio. ..." Let me speak, to the yet unknowing world. How these things came about : so shall you hear Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts ; Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters : Of deaths put on by cunning and forc'd cause; And, in this upshot, purposes mistook Fall'n on the inventor's heads." Act 5. Scene 2. Troilus and Cressida (1603). Ulysses. "The providence that's in a watchful state. Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold. Finds bottom in th' uncomprehensive deeps : " Keeps place with thought, and almost, like the gods. Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles. There is a mystery (with whom relation Durst never meddle) in the soul of state Which hath an operation more divine. Than breath, or pen, can give expression to." Act 3. Scene 3. Troilus. "Some say, the Genius so Cries, Come! to him that instantly must die." Act 4. Scene 4. Othello, the Moor of Venice (1604). Desdemona. "The heavens forbid. But that our loves and comforts should increase, Even as our days do grow!" Othello. "Amen to that, sweet powers!" Act 2. Scene i. lago. "Divinity of hell! When devils will their blackest sins put on. They do suggest at first with heavenly shows As I do now." Act 2. Scene 3. MISCELLANEA. 325 Othello. " Yet 'tis the plague of great ones ; Prerogatived are they less than the base ; 'Tis destiny unshunnable, like death ; Even then this forked plague is fated to us, When we do quicken." Act 3. scene 3. OtAel/o. — "But, O vain boast! Who can control his fate ? " Act 5. Scene 2 Measure for Measure (1604?) Duke. " Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do ; Not light them for themselves ; for if our virtues Did not go forth of us ; 'twere all alike As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touched, But to fine issues : nor nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence, But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines Herself the glory of a creditor. Both thanks and use." . . . Ang-e/e. ..." The heavens give safety to your purposes ! " Act I. Scene i. Claudia. "The words of heaven ; — on whom it will, it will ; On whom it will not, so ; yet still 'tis just." . . . Act I. Scene 3. Isabella. ..." If he had been as you, And you as he, you would have slipt like him." Act 2. Scene z. Angela. ("Since, I suppose, we are made to be no stronger Than faults may shake our frames.") Act 2. Scene 4. Macbeth (1606). The Three Witches. (Throughout the play — passim). Act 1. Scenes i and 3. Act 3. Scene 5. Act 4. Scene i, Banquo. " But 'tis Strange, And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths. Win us with honest trifles, to betray us In deeper consequences." . . . 326 MISCELLANEA. Macbeth. ..." If chance will have me King why chance may crown me, Without my stir." Act i. Scene 3. Lady Macbeth. ' "Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thy ear ; And chastise with the valour of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round, Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crowned withal. . . . . . . Come, come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here ; And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full Of direst cruelty ! make thick my blood. Stop up the access and passage to remorse ; That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts. And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief ! " Act j. Scene 5. Banquo. " Merciful powers ! Restrain in me the cursed thoughts, that nature Gives way to in repose." Act 2. Scene i. Donaibain. "What should be spoken here Where our fate, hid in an auger-hole. May rush, and seize us? Let's away." — Act 2. Scene ;;. Macbeth. • . . "And mine eternal jewel Given to the common enemy of man, To make them' kings, the seed of Banquo kings ! . Rather than so, come, fate, into the list And champion me to the utterance 1 " Act 3. Scene i. jHecate. " He shall Spurn fate, scorn death and bear His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear, And you all know, security Is mortal's chiefest enemy," Act 3. Scene s. Miscellanea. 327 Apparition. "Be bloody, bold. And resolute ; laugh to scorn the power of man, For none of woman born shall harm Macbeth" (jlescends). Macbeth. " Then Hve, Macduff; what need I fear of thee, But yet I'll make assurance double sure, And take a bond of fate : thou shalt not live." Act 4, Scene i. Malcolm. " Macbeth Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above Put on their instruments." Act 4. scene 3. King Lear (1606). Lear. " By all the operations of the orbs. From whom we do exist, and cease to be." — Act 1. Scene i, Eatimnd (the complete scepticism of " villain). 1 his IS the ex- cellent foppery of the world ! that, when we are sick in fortune (often the surfeit of our own behaviour), we make guilty of our disasters, the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we were villains by necessity; fools, by heavenly compulsion ; knaves, thieves, and treachers, by spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of plane- tary influence ; and all that we are evil in, as a divine thrusting on : an admirable evasion of whore-master man, to lay his goatish dis- position to the charge of a star ? My father compounded with my mother under the dragon's tail : and my nativity was under ursa major ; so that it follows, I am rough and lecherous. — Tut, I should have seen that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing." Act i. scene 2. 328 MISCELLANEA. Gioster. "O my follies! Then Edgar was abused. — Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him ! " Act 3. Scene 7. G.oster. " Full oft 'tis seen. Our mean secures us ; and our mere defects Prove our commodities." . . . Glosur. ..." As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods ; They kill us for their sport." . . . Gioster. ..." Heavens, deal so still ! Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man. That slaves your ordinance, that will not see Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly ; So distribution should undo excess. And each man have enough." — Act 4. scene i. Albany. "If that the heavens do not their visible spirits Send quickly down to tame these vile offences, 'Twill come. Humanity must perforce prey on itself. Like monsters of the deep." ... Act 4. scene i. A Messenger. " O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall's Slain by his servant, going to put out [dead: The other eye of Gioster." . . . Albany. • • • "This shows you are above You justicers, that these, our nether crimes So speedily can venge ! " Act 4. Scene 2. Kent. "It is the stars. The stars above us, govern our conditions ; Else one self-mate and mate could not beget Such different issues." Act 4. Scene 3. Gioster. " Let go my hand ; Here, friend, is another purse ; in it, a jewel Well worth a poor man's taking : fairies, and gods. Prosper it with thee." . . . Gioster. . . . " O you mighty gods ! This world I do renounce ; and, in your sights MISCELLANEA. 329 Shake patiently my great affliction off: If I could bear it longer, and not fall To quarrel with your great opposeless wills, My snuff and loathed part of nature, should Burn itself out." . . . Edgar. ..." Therefore, thou happy father Think that the dearest gods, who make them honours Of men's impossibilities, have preserved thee." . . . Gloster. ..." You ever gentle gods, take my breath from Let not my worser spirit tempt me again [me ; To die before you please ! " Act 4. scene e. Cordelia. " How does the King ? " Physician. " Madam, sleeps still." Cordelia. " O you kind gods. Cure this great breach in his abused nature! The untun'd and jarring senses, O, wind up. Of this child-changed father ! " Act 4. Scene 7. Edgar. " Away, old man, give me thy hand, away ; King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta'en : Give me thy hand, come on." Gloster. " No further, sir, a man may rot even here." Edgar. " What, in ill thoughts again ? Men must endure Their going hence, even as their coming here : Ripeness is all : come on." Glosier. "And that's true too." Act 5, Scene 2. Cordelia. "We are not the first. Who, with best meaning, have incurred the worst. For thee, oppressed king, am I cast down ; Myself could else out-frown false fortune's frown. — Shall we not see these daughters, and these sisters ? " Lear. " No, no, no, no ! Come, let's away to prison We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage ; When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down And ask of thee forgiveness : so we'll live And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh 33C MISCELLANEA. At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues Talk of court news ; and we'll talk with them too, — Who loses and who wins ; who's in, who's out ; — And take upon's the mystery of things. As if we were God's spies : and we'll wear out, In a wall'd prison, packs and sets of great ones. That ebb and flow by the moon." Edmmid. "Take them away." Lear. " Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, The gods themselves throw incense." Act s. Scene 3 Edmund. "But what art thou. That hast this fortune on me?" , . . Edgar. • • "I am no less in blood than thouart, Edmund; If more, the more thou hast wronged me. My name is Edgar, and thy father's son. The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to scourge us : The dark and vicious place where thee he got Cost him his eyes." Edmund. " Thou hast spoken right, 'tis true ; The wheel is come full circle ; I am here." — Albany. — " The judgment of the heavens that makes Touches us not with pity." [us tremble Act 5. Scene 3. Pericles, Prince of Tyre {adapted i6o8). Antiochus. "At whose conception . . . . . . The senate-house of planets all did sit. To knit in her their best perfections." — Pericles. — " Ye gods that made me man, and sway in That have inflam'd desire in my breast, [love. To taste the fruit of yon celestial tree. Or die in the adventure, be my helps. As I am son and servant to your will To compass such a boundless happiness!" — MISCELLANEA. 33 1 Pericles. . . . " O you powers ! Thatgiveheavencountlesseyes to view men'sacts."— Act I. Scene i. Heiicanus. " My lord, go travel for a while Till that his. rage and anger be forgot, Or Destinies do cut his thread of life." Act i. scene 2. Pericles. " Yet cease your ire, ye angry stars of heaven! Wind, rain, and thunder, remember, earthly man Is but a substance that must yield to you." Act 2. Scene i. Simonides. — " Honour we love, For who hates honour, hates the gods above." Act 2. Scene 3. Escanes. " 'Twas very strange." Heiicanus. " And yet but just, for though This king were great, his greatness was no guard To bar heaven's shaft, but sin had his reward." Act 2. Scene 4. Pericles. "Thou god of this great vast,rebuke these surges. Which wash upon heaven and hell ; and thou that Upon the winds command, bind them in brass, [hast Having called them from the deep." — Act 3. Scene i. Pericles. — "O yOU gods ! Why do you make us love your goodly gifts. And snatch them straight away ? " Act 3. scene i. Pericles. "We cannot but obey The powers above us." Act 3. scene 3. Dionyza. " You are like one, that superstitiously Doth swear to the gods, that winter kills the flies." Act 4. Scene 4. Marina. "O that the good gods Would set me free from this unhallowed place, Though they did change me to the meanest bird That flies i' the purer air ! " Act 4. scene e. Lysimachus. " O, sir, a courtesy Which, if we should deny, the most just God For every graff would send a caterpillar, And so inflict our province." — 332 MISCELLANEA. Lysimachus. . . . "Come, let US leave her, And the gods make her prosperous." — Marina. — " My name, sir, is Marina." Pericles. — " O, I am mocked. And thou by some incensed god sent hither To make the world laugh at me." — Pericles. . . . " O Helicanus, Down on thy knees, thank the holy gods, As loud as thunder threatens us : this is Marina." — Pericles. — " Tell Helicanus, my Mariana, tell him. O'er, point by point, for yet he seems to doubt, How sure you are my daughter. — But, what music?" Helicanus. " My lord, I hear none." Pericles. " Nonfe ? The music of the spheres." Act s. Scens i. Diana {appearing in a vision to Pericles asleep). " My temple stands in Ephesus ; hie thee thither. And do upon mine altar sacrifice There, when my maiden priests are met together. Before the people all, Reveal how thou at sea did'st lose thy wife : To mourn thy crosses, with thy daughters, call, And give them repetition to the life. Perform my bidding, or thou liv'st in woe : Do't, and be happy, by my silver bow. Awake and tell thy dream." Act s. Scene 2. Pericles. " No more, you gods, your present kindness. Makes my past miseries sport." — Pericles. — " Now I do long to hear how you were found ; How possibly preserved ; and whom to thank, Beside the gods, for this great miracle." Thaisa. " Lord Cerimon, my lord ; this man Through whom the gods have shown their power." — Thais. — " Lord Cerimon hath letters of good credit. Sir, that my father's dead." MISCELLANEA. 333 Pericles. " Heavens make a star of him ! " Act 5. Scene 3, Antony and Cleopatra (1608). Lepidus. " His faults in him seem as the faults of heaven. More fiery by night's blackness ; hereditary, Rather than purchased ; what he cannot change, Than what he chooses." Act i. scene 4. Menecraus. "We, ignorant of ourselves. Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers Deny us for our good." — Poitifey. ■ ■ ■ "But how the fear of us May cement their divisions, and bind up The petty difference, we yet not know. Be it as our gods will have it! It only stands Our lives upon, to use our strongest hands." Act 2. Scene i. Embarh{s. "Every time Serves for the matter that is then born in it." — Act 2. Scene 2. Antony. "Say to me. Whose fortunes shall rise higher, Caesar's, or mine?" Soothsayer, Csesar S, Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side : Thy doemon (that's thy spirit which keeps thee) is Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable. Where Caesar's is not ; but hearken, thy angel Becomes a Fear, as being over-powered; therefore Make space enough between you." Antony. "Speak this no more." Soothsayer. " To none but thee ; no more, but when to If thou dqst play with him at any game, [thee Thou art sure to lose ; and of that natural luck. He beats thee 'gainst the odds ; thy lustre thickens. When he shines by ; I say, again, thy spirit Is all afraid to govern thee near him ; But he away, 'tis noble." 334 MISCELLANEA. Antony. "Get thee gone: Say to Venlidius, I would speak with him : {exit Soothsayer). He shall to Parthia — Be it art, or hap, He hath spoken true : the very dice obey him. And, in our sports, my Better cunning faints Under his chance ; if we draw lots, he speeds ; His cocks do win the battle still of mine, When it is all to nought ; and his quails ever Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odds. I will to Egypt."^ Act 2. Scene 3. Casar (to Octavia). — " Let determined things to destiny Hold unbewailed their way . . . You are abused Beyond the mark of thought : and the high gods, To do you justice, make them ministers Of us, and those that love you." Act 3. scene e. Enobarbus. — " I see, men's judgments are A parcel of their fortunes ; and things outward Do draw the inward quality after them To suffer all alike." — Cleopatra. — "Good, my lord." Antony. " You have been a boggier ever : — But when we in our viciousness grow hard, (O misery on't !) the wise gods seal our eyes ; [us In our own filth drop our clear judgments ; make Adore our errors ; laugh at us, while we strut To our confusion." Act 3. Scene ii. Antony. — " Do not please sharp fate To grace it with your sorrows : bid that welcome Which comes to punish us, and we punish it. Seeming to bear it lightly." — Act 4. scene 12. Cesar. "O Antony ! I have followed thee to this ; — . . . That our stars, Unreconcileable, should divide One equalness to this," Act 5. scene i. MISCELLANEA. 335 Cleopatra. — " 'Tis paltry to be Csesar ; Not being fortune, he's but fortune's knave, A minister of her will." — Cleopatra. . , . " Methinks, I hear Antony call : I see him rouse himself To praise my noble act ; I hear him mock The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men To excuse their after wrath." — Act 5. scene =. CORIOLANUS (1608). Menem'us. " For the dearth. The gods, not the patricians, make it ; and Your knees to them, not arms, must help." Act I. Scene i. Patrician. " This man has marred his fortune." Menenius. "His nature is too noble for the world ; He would not flatter Neptune for his trident. Or Jove for his power to thunder. His heart's his mouth : [vent ; What his breast forges, that his tongue must And being angry, does forget that ever He heard the name of death." — Act 3. scene i. Coriolanus. — " The honoured gods Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice Supplied with worthy men ! plant love among us ! Throng our large temples with the shows of peace. And not our streets with war ! " Act 3. scene 3. Volumnia {to Sicinius and Bruttis). — " 'Twas yOU incensed Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth, [the rabble : As I can of those mysteries which heaven Will not have earth to know. — — I would the gods had nothing else to do But to confirm my curses." — Act ^. Scene 2. Coriolanus. — " O world, thy slippery turns ! Friends now fast sworn Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart, 336 MISCELLANEA. Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal, and exercise, Are still together ; who twin, as 'twere, in love Unseparable, shall within this hour, On a dissension of a doit, break out To bittered enmity : so, fellest foes, [sleep Whose passions and whose plots have broke their To take the one, the other, by some chance Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow, dear And interjoin their issues." — [friends, Act 4. Scene 4. Coriolanus (to Anfidnis). — " Make my misery serve thy turn ; so use it. That my revengeful services may prove As benefits to thee ; for I will fight Against my cankered country with the spleen Of all the under fiends." — Act 4. Scenes. Anfidius. — " I think he'll be to Rome, As is the osprey to the fish, who take it By sovreignty of nature. First, he was A noble servant to them ; but he could not Carry his honours even : whether 'twas pride. Which out of daily fortune ever taints The happy man ; whether defect of judgment. To fail in the disposing of those chances Which he was lord of; or whether nature Not to be other than one thing, not moving From the casque to the cushion, but commanding Even with the same austerity and garb [peace As he controlled the war ; but, one of these, (As he hath spices of them all — not all — For I dare so far free him), made him fear'd, So hated, and so banished : but he has a merit. To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues Lie in the interpretation of the time : And power, unto jtself most commendable. Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair MISCELLANEA. 337 To extol what it has done. One fire drives out one fire ; one nail, one nail ; Rights by rights fouler, strengths by strengths do fail." Act 4. Scene 7. Menenius. — "All this 'long of yOU." Sicinius. " The gods be good to us ! " Menenius. " No, in such case the gods will not be good unto us. When we banished him, we respected not them : and he, returning to break our necks, they respect not us." Act 5. Scene 4. Winter's Tale (i6io). Camilla (to Polixenes). — " Swear his thought over By each particular star in heaven, and By all their influences, you may as well Forbid the sea for to obey the moon. As or by oath remove, or counsel shake The fabric of his body ; whose foundation Is piled upon his faith, and will continue The standing of his body."— Act i. scene =. Hermione. — " There's some ill planet reigns, I must be patient, till the heavens look With an aspect more favourable." — Act 2. Scene !• Antigonus. — " Come on, poor babe : Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens To be thy nurses ! " Act 2. Scene 3. Hermione. — " If powers divine Behold our human actions (as they do), I doubt not then, but innocence shall make False accusation blush, and tyranny Tremble at patience." — Leontes. — " Apollo's angry ; and the heavens themselves Do strike at my injustice . . . ... I have too much belied mine own suspicion." — 338 MISCELLANEA. Paulina. . . . — " O, lords, When I have said, cry woe ! — the queen, the queen. The sweetest, dearest creature's dead : and vengeance Not dropped down yet." [for 't Lord. " The higher powers forbid ! " — Act 3. Scene 2, Mariner. " In my conscience, The heavens with that we have in hand are angry. And frown upon us." Antigonus, " Their sacred wills be done ! " — Act 3. Scene 3. Autoiycus. — " My father named me Autolycus ; who, being as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. Act 4. Scene 2. Paulina. ■ ■ ■ — " Besides, the gods Will have fulfilled their secret purposes." — Leontes [to Florizel). . . . — " The blessed gods Purge all infection from our air, whilst you Do climate here! You have a holy father, A graceful gentleman ; against whose person So sacred as it is, I have done sin : For which the heavens, taking angry note. Have left me issueless." — Paulina (to Hermione). ... — " Turn, gOod lady ; Our Perdita is found." Hermione. " You gods, look down, And from your sacred vials pour your graces Upon my daughter's head ! " Act 5. Scene 3. Cymbeline (1610). Imogen. — " Sleep hath seized me wholly. , To your protection I commend me, gods ! From fairies, and the tempters of the night. Guard me, loeseech ye ! " — Act 2. Scene 2. Imogen {to Pisanio). —" Thou art all the comfort The gods will diet me with." — . . . MISCELLANEA. 339 Pisanio. . . . "May the gods Direct you to the best ! " — Act 3. Scene 4. Arviragus. — " Let ordinance Come as the gods foresay it." — . . . Belarius. . ■ . — " Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st In these two princely boys . . . 'Tis wonderful That an invisible instinct should frame them To royalty unlearned ; honour untaught ; Civility not seen from other : valour, That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop As if it had been sowed ! yet still it's strange, What Cloten's being here to us portends ; Or what his death will bring us." — Lucius {fa Fidek). — " Be cheerful, wipe thine eyes : Some falls are means the happier to arise." — Act 4. Scene 2. Pisanio. — " The heavens still must work, . . Fortune brings in some boats, that are not steer'd ! " Act 4. Scene 3. Posthumus. — " Gods ! if you Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, . . . . . . But, alack You snatch some hence for little faults ; that's love To have them fall no more : you some permit To second ill with ills, each elder worse." — Act 5. Scene i. Posthumus. — "You it seems, come from the fliers." British Lord. " I did." Posthumus. " No blame be to you, sir ; for all was lost But that the heavens fought." — Act 5. scene 3. (Tke Scene of the dream of Posthumus, which follows in Act 5, Scene 4, is allegorical of supernatural influence^ Lucius {to Cyvibeline). — " Consider, sir, the chance of . . . But since the gods [war : — Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives May be called ransoms, let it come," — 34° MISCELLANEA. Belarius {to Cymbdine). . . . — " GraciouS Sir, Here are your sons again : . . . The benediction of these covering heavens Fall on their heads like dew ; for they are worthy To inlay heaven with stars." — . . . Soothsayer. — " The fingers of the powers above do tune The harmony of this peace." . . . Cymbeline. " Laud we the gods ! " Act s. Scene 5. Tempest (1610-11). In the characters and work- ing of this play the scope of Nature is quite transcended. Miranda. — " O, the heaven s ! What foul play had we that we came from thence ; Or blessed was't we did?" Prospero. " Both, both, my girl ; By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heaved thence; But blessedly holp hither." — Miranda. ■ . . — " How came we ashore ? " Prospero. " By Providence divine." — Prospero. ■ . • — " Know thus far forth. — By accident most strange, bountiful fortune. Now, my dear lady, hath mine enemies Brought to this shore : and by my prescience I find my zenith doth depend upon A most auspicious star ; whose influence. If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes Will ever after droop." — Act :. scene 2. Ariel. — " You are three men of sin, whom destiny (That hath to instrument this lower world. And what is in't) the never surfeited sea Hath caused to belch up. . . . . . . You three From Milan did supplant good Prospero ; Exposed unto the sea, which hath requit it. MISCELLANEA. 34 [ Him and his innocent child : for which foul deed The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have Incensed the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures. Against your peace : . . . . . . Ling'ring perdition (worse than any death Can be at once) shall step by step attend You and your ways ; whose wraths to guard you from (Which here in this most desolate isle ; else falls Upon your heads) is nothing, but heart's sorrow And a clear life ensuing." — . . . Gonmio. — " All three of them are desperate ; their great Like poison given to work a great time after, [guilt Now 'gins to bite the spirits." — Act 3. Scene 3. Prospero to the Spirits of the Masque). " Well done ; — A^oid ; — no more. — — these our actors As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air : And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself. Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve ; And, like this insubstantial pageant faded. Leave not a rack behind : We are such stuff As dreams are made of, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep." — Act 4. scene i. Prospero. — " Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves ; And ye, that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him When he comes back ; you demy-puppets, that By moon-shine do the green-sour ringlets make. Whereof the ewe not bites ; and you, whose pastime Is to make midnight-mushrooms ; that rejoice To hear the solemn curfew ; by whose aid (Weak masters though ye be), I have be-dimmed 342 MISCELLANEA. The noon-tide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault Set roaring war : to the dread rattling thunder Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak With his own bolt: the strong-based promontory Have I made shake ; and by the spurs pluck'd up The vine and cedar : graves, at my command, Have waked their sleepers ; oped, and let them forth By my so potent art: But this rough magic I here abjure: and, when I have required Some heavenly music (which even now I do). To work mine end upon their senses, that This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, And, deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book." — . . . Gonmio. ■ ■ ■ — " Look down, you gods, •And on this couple drop a blessed crown ; For it is you, that have chalk'd forth the way Which brought us hither ! " Aionso. " I say, Amen, Gonzalo ! " — . . . Aionzo. " These are not natural events, they strengthen. From strange to stranger — — This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod ! And there is in this business more than nature Was ever conduct of" — . . . Prospero. • • • — " To Naples Where I have hope to see the nuptial Of these our dear-beloved solemnized ; And thence retire me to my Milan, where Every third thought shall be my grave." — Epilogue {spoken by Prosperd). Now all my charms are all o'erthrown And what strength I have's mine own ; Which is most faint : — MISCELLANEA. 343 — Now I want Spirits to enforce, art to enchant ; And my ending is despair, Unless I be relieved by prayer ; Which pierces so, that it assaults Mercy itself and frees all faults." Act s. scene i. King Henry VIII. {date uncertain — late period, divided authorship). Queen Katherine (after the msion). " Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye all gone? And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye." Griffith. " Madam, we are here." Katherine. " It is not you I Call for : Saw ye none enter, since I slept?" Griffith. " None, Madam." Katherine. "No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop Invite me to a banquet ; whose bright faces Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun ? They promised me eternal happiness ; And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel I am not worthy yet to wear : I shall, Assuredly." Act 4. scene 2. Finis. December 2ird, 1897. NOTE. For the References to Shakespeare and the Plays in PART II., passim, see pp. 88, 90, 93, 96, 99, 104, io6, 109. PART IV. LETTERS TO AMIELLE. lEXCERPTA?^ 1862-1865. LETTERS TO AMIELLE. \excerpta:\ 1862-1865. E VERO. I. Jan. 24th, 1862. When next you find yourself in a humour rather tart, I would advise you to give it a full fling — if I am the object of it. How very suddenly you have pulled in your horns. It is far from me to divine your present thoughts under this masked battery that now defends you. Was it wise, however, after having advanced so far, to evacuate your position so hastily? You know best. For my own part, I am only desirous to do that which is best, — if I could only be assured on that head. I rather think, but am not certain, that you have misconceived the purport of my letter, — have drawn some inference from it undesigned by me. However, the matter rests with you. H, Saturday night, 12 o'clock. It would be difficult to say why I am now writing to you, save that it arises from one of those incomprehensible impulses whose origin is lost in remote beginnings. You are an endless theme of thought to me, and of reverie. In place 3 so LETTERS TO AMIELLE. of those questions of "fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute," with which I was wont to puzzle myself, I now continually am vexing my brain with close, dissecting criticism of your personality and my own. You will not be surprised, I know, that I have some unpleasant retrospects concerning you, and harsher still concerning myself For I do not at all scruple to apply the knife in both instances, remorselessly. You would laugh how I examine you in detail. To-day I was annoying myself that I had never seen your bare feet. I shall insist upon your showing them to me. I have a notion that they are peculiar — are they ? Tell me if the tips of your toes resemble in conformation the tips of your fingers. Don't think that I am crazed, there is method in my inquiry. Dear, let us know each other thoroughly, and converse with naked souls. No human intercourse can stop at a fixed point ; works are ever being built up or destroyed. If we do not continually gain in knowledge of each other, we shall lose what we have. Why is it that you so seldom or ever have questioned me? I have never sought to screen myself from you, but rather have en- deavoured to indicate what I am and have been, for the story could not be told. I have doubts as to whether your love would survive the knowledge of me. The fact is, that I do not regard myself as a lovable man, but one rather the reverse, I take my lovableness to be only superficial. By the way, you never replied to that letter of mine which resulted in your last silence. How was that? I have gone over all possibilities and probabilities of our future, and have concluded that, on my side, I shall never give up writing to you ; at LETTERS TO AMIELLE. 351 least, as long as we are permitted. I assume that we are not merely fair weather friends, and, of real friends, I have none but you to whom I could turn in any real anxiety for sympathy and advice. In what light you might regard abandonment by me, I do not know ; but, on my part, it would haunt me. Should we sober down into simpler friendship, you might marry, or so might I, and even in either event a tenderness might exist in thought between us. But rather than you should have a shattered heart, it were preferable that we should link our fates together irrevocably, and abide the unwisdom of it, if unwisdom it should turn out to be. How paltry seems every con- sideration before that of doing right ! All my days have I wished for an honest life. At times I wholly despair of it, and give myself hard names, as one beyond pardon, — I never even ask for it in words. That morning and evening private ritual, which the good man renders, has not been paid by me for years ; I have not dared the service of the lips. It is Sunday morning, one o'clock. The pale, full moon rises high in the heavens, and the ether has that faintly luminous haze of tinct beloved of ghosts. Preserve me from their sight and pressure, for they fill the air ! Good night, I go to bed, and commend myself and you to God ! III. July ist, 1862. Are you very, very busy, or very, very wroth with me ; or both, that you do not write ? Or have you nothing to say ? I always thought that to be a predicament reserved for my own sex alone. 352 LETTERS TO AMIELLE. If you have a grievance, expound ; and I will defend myself to the best of my ability. But I must have a definite charge brought against me. Why did you shut the door upon that proposi- tion of yours so suddenly? I would send you a kiss ; but you scorn the idea of such a thing. IV. Oct. 17th, 1862 Are we to see each other at Christmas? That is the principal topic of my thought. Did you not once tell me that you had the chance of an engagement at Manchester? I almost wish that you had tried it — anything so that we might see each other oftener than at such long intervals. I recurred to your allusion to Leighton's picture at the Academy. I hardly think that you know exactly the incidents upon which it is founded. Francesca was inveigled into a marriage with Malestata of Rimini, under an impression, on her part, that his younger brother, Paolo, was to be her husband. Malestata is ugly, overbearing, and fierce ; Paolo after the pattern of Bayard. Males- tata discovers their love, and, according to Dante, kills them both. Dante finds them in the 2nd Circle of the Inferno, where also are Helen of Troy, Cleopatra, &c., Tristram of Arthur's Round Table ; but the poet does not mention Lancelot, strange to say. Dante asks permission to speak to Paolo and Francesca, whose story he seems to have known. Francesca then, with her own lips, tells the incident that led to a mutual avowal of their love. The enclosed extract is part of her LETTERS TO AMIELLE. 353 narration (Gary's Dante), and is the subject of Leighton's picture. If you cannot, or will not, see me at Christmas, I shall vote you the greatest nuisance living. V. November, 1862, I have just read your letter, and return you this, though not by way of answer. You see that the Ethiopian still adheres to his own skin, and will indulge in speculation. I must post this at once, as I am off to Lytham, delighted to have some business to perform. Since this year began, I have had hardly more than a day's work to do in a week. But then I sometimes think that I am used up for long consecutive work. Gladly would I exchange my valetudinarianship (heavens, what a long word !) for a portion of that superabundant health which I have your own word for it you enjoy. See that you take care of it. I remember, not more than a few years ago, laughing sar- donically in the face of a man whom I knew very well, on account of the habitual precautions which he took for the maintenance of his health. He told me quietly that a time would come when I should have to study mine after the manner that he studied his. I rather guess that the time has come. The Roundabout paper in the Comhill struck me as including Lytton's Strange Story amongst the subjects laughed at. If, instead of writing this scrawl, I had contented myself with simply assuring you of my love and loyalty, it had been enough. Do you long to see me again, as I long to see you ? Shall we ever 3S4 LETTERS TO AMIELLE. meet again, solus cum sola. Good-night ; I clasp you, invisibly, in my arms. VI. November, 1862, Properly speaking, we ought never to change our minds, and never doubt as to what we should or should not do. To be of a reasoning and far- seeing turn of mind is rather a nuisance. I have been wondering whether, if I knew the art and science of Farming, an out-of-door life in Australia would suit us. To become a patriarch, like Abraham and Isaac, Esau and Jacob — I think Esau the nobler of the two — would perhaps not be a bad change from my present avocations. For I get infinitely disgusted with the order of men, women, and affairs that are my daily surroundings. Alone in my room sitting be-slippered before the fire, I spit upon all of them, and call them Dogs. Their ways are not my ways, nor their thoughts my thoughts. Then I am becoming indifferent to the practice of my profession. While I am imagining palaces, comes a country clod-hopper and wants a house building. He will show me a place, he says, "nearly like what he wants." I go with him to inspect his ideal — Oh, heaven, to think that I am called upon to imitate such a box of bricks ! VII. April 28th, 1863. Oh no, we never kindle all life's fires at once, never. Infinite passion and pain never has rufHed the calm of our hearts, never ! my little Preacher ! Since I wrote last, one of our local notabilities LETTERS TO AMIELLE. 355 has somewhat untimely departed this life ; making one think of the value of the days that are given to those who remain. This morning I met an old gentleman, of irreproachable life, rich, and a founder of Churches, — a man who has endeavoured in good towards his kind. As he came along towards me, I began to make comparison between us. I found that no advantage which his world could give me would tempt me to change our respective situations. " And why ? " — " Because I was young, and he was old." — " And what was the advantage of that ? " " Obvious ; the power to move the limbs with rapidity ; to have quick- glancing nimbleness of thought ; to have emotions, pleasures, — in a- word, to have Youth." "Then why don't you enjoy your youth ? " said the tor- mentor, with a home thrust. Then saw I that I was a fool ; that I was wasting the precious days, in endurance, for some unknown good, which, when got, was not worth the having. However, one is not always occupied in reducing human ends and conditions to one round sum of nothingness. I do relish Nature. If man delights not me, she ever consoles me. From morn to night, travelling on roads I know not ; over hills and vales where I meet no living soul for miles ; sitting upon field stiles, or by running streams ; climbing the hill top to see the course of rivers below, with the white silver sea afar ; — last Friday, being Good-Friday, starting from home in the early morning, I found myself at Settle in York- shire before sunset, dinnerless, after having walked from Longridge, some thirty miles. That's more than you can do, my pretty! I quite think with you that none have been more immeasurably happy than me ; and many ^ 3S6 LETTERS TO AMIELLE. time do I live o'er again the hours. The likeness and close-fitting of mind and sense between us will remain. And the Episodes — the Trial at Worcester, the Hall hung with Cromwellian armour, the dingy Court, the case "summat abaat a well on't quay," the Judge Kettle ironically exhorting the solicitor — "Oh, Go on, Mr. Clutter- buck " ; the dusky sunset drive over the Malvern Hills, with your head upon my shoulder ; — those bells at night, bells at Hereford and at Ross, ringing their Christmas peals over our happy bridal — oh, those bells ! those bells ! ; and the pre- luding waits of the harpers at Monmouth, in the square, where Harry of that name looks down in statuary of stone — why prolong the tale — Tintern, the Wyndcliff, Chepstow, Gloucester — Ah-h ! vni. April 2ist, 1863, It is true, Amielle, that I suffer. I never am happy in loneliness at best, and many times am unhappy. If, in such a state of unrest, I have said anything to cause you pain, it was with no intent to do so. I was mainly occupied in probing my own wounds. It is strange that these thoughts, demons as they are, are always exorcised when you are with me. Do not grieve over our fate, my Amielle, my Companion on the banks of the Wye, so gay and so lissome. Sudden death has been holding his Court in this town of late. You meet a man in the street, stop and speak to him for a moment — a prince of revellers, a boon companion, a nightly frequenter of taverns, and in twenty-four hours he is dead as LETTERS TO AMIELLE. S57 a ducat. Another of these gets the wish of Walter Mapes, and dies in the tavern. A third, who had asked me to come to his place for a few days' fishing, is found dead in bed. A fourth is thrown from his horse, and dies of the fall. A fifth, a wealthy old close-fisted file, has two days' grace given him, and people actually rejoice. The sixth and last, an avaricious mill-owner, who had made it the object of his life to become worth ;£'i 00,000, achieves his object, and dies forthwith. How one can moralise about others ! How poor and unillumined their days ! I feel with Philip van Artevelde — "For me, let what is left of life, if brief, Be bright, and let me kindle all its fires." IX. May 5th, 1863. On my word, you have fine times of it to come. I'll tell you what you shall do for me — if you spend any portion of your holidays in London. You shall go to the Royal Academy, and take especial note of Leighton's three or four pictures, and report them to me. This in particular. Then you shall tell me of all the notable sights you are privileged to see, so that, if I do not myself visit London this season, my disappointment thereat may be rendered less keen. I cannot say that I have had properly a tour in Yorkshire and the Lancashire border, except in very piecemeal fashion. My wanderings have been simple day excursions mainly, returning home at nightfall. The last one was to Ribchester. On one of the occasions, I started to ascend Parlock Pike, a respectable sort of mountain on the Pendle 358 LETTERS TO AMIELLE. scale ; but just as I had got to the foot of it, and begun the ascent, with an expectation of being able to see the Westmoreland and Cumberland hills and the Irish Sea, a thick mist came suddenly from Lancashire way, in ten minutes I was enveloped in it, and could not see more than a few yards distance from me. So I crouched under a hedge for an hour, and then made my way towards Chipping and ham and eggs. If you are looking as well as you pretend, you will get a decent carte de visite when you are in town, to allow those who are distant the pleasure of knowing it. I beg to inform you that the goal of my long wandering on Good Friday last was the good dinner which you have assumed I went without, — that I should have stopped about half way, at either Newton or Slaidburn, had I found at either of these places a decent tavern, which failing, I tramped on to Settle, where, for dinner in the evening, I had salmon steak, a beef-steak, custard, jelly, tart, and a pint of good sherry at the " Golden Lion," and for accompaniment to the whole I had a fine hunger. Write to me respectably, and not with only two words and a half to a single page. Wretch that you are ! X. May 23rd, 1863. I have been in a great rage with you, I can tell you, for you know how annoying it is to be disappointed regularly twice a day for nearly a fortnight. I could not conceive in what I had vexed you. I inveighed regularly against what I LETTERS TO AMIELLE. 359 maintained to be your abominable habit of mind to shut yourself up when offended. With some difficulty I forbore from writing savagely to you. As I am almost at my wit's end for occupation, I have determined upon a week in London, as soon after Whitsuntide as I can arrange. I find that I shall not be satisfied without seeing the exhibitions. Naturally, I should look to see you. XI. May 27th, 1863. I don't wonder at your laughing at my sugges- tion to meet in London. Nevertheless, despite all economical considerations, in which, of course, I thoroughly agree ; and that London is the most stupid place in the world for such a pair of turtle- doves as we — the alternative which you suggest is very welcome for its thriftiness, and we will speak further of it. This day twelve months ago I was in Paris — the comparison of to-day is odious. XII. July 22nd, 1863. I must tell you a droll story, related by my mother, which she had heard during the last few days. Five persons, consisting of three men and two women, entered the Bull Hotel, and enquired if they could have some dinner. " Certainly," was the answer. After a due interval, during which the party conducted themselves as in a sort of place quite strange to them, — from Rossendale in East Lancashire they came — the first course of dinner, consisting of soup, was served by the 360 LETTERS TO AMIELLE. waiter, whose dress coat and white tie seemed to overawe the guests. All being ready, the waiter remained, expecting them to leave the uncomfort- able positions they occupied at the windows, and to take their seats. Seeing no disposition on their part to stir, the waiter informed them that all was ready, a hint at which they did not take the least notice, whereupon the offended waiter left the room, saying that they could ring when they wanted him. A long time elapses, and no ring comes. So he enters the room unbidden, to find the company mum at table, with the soup dish empty. They address the waiter as " Master," and show great deference. Salmon is next brought in, and again the waiter quits the room to free from them of his awe-inspiring presence. Then a second long interval, and the waiter, becoming excited,' re-enters to remove for the third course. He sees nothing but empty dishes and plates, and a few bare fish- bones. In silence, he places roast lamb upon the table. Up to this moment, the beverage of the strange party has been water. One of them timidly inquires of " Master " if they have any ginger-beer ? " No, it is not kept." — " Any rasp- berry brandy?"— "No."— "Any perry?" Waiter knoweth not the existence of such a liquor. For the third time they are left alone, and when, at length, the waiter again enters unbidden, he finds all the viands he last brought in untouched, and the eaters stolid at table. " Master, what have we to pay ? " says one of them. They resign them- selves to fate when the waiter informs them that their dinner is not yet completed. They are served with pastry, &c., and have to undergo the dis- comfiture of sitting with the good things before them, without a fraction of an inch of spare room LETTERS TO AMIELLE. 36 1 in their precious stomachs. Nature can stand it no further, so they ring, pay the bill, with what reflec- tions is not known, and steal furtively through the archway into the street, like people who had been committing a dishonest action, and been found out. XIII. June loth, 1863. Wordsworth has written much prosaic verse which posterity will never read, but some fragments will always be remembered with his name. In these he pierces through the phenomena, the Veil of Nature, and discerns that which sustains and is behind, as in the Lines on Tintern Abbey. Note that he always speaks in the first person, the Ego, when he is at his best. XIV. July nth, 1863. I did not expect that you would have been taken so freely with Leighton's pictures as is seemingly the case ; ordinary picture-gazers are incredulous of him, as are all ordinary minds towards everything that is in a groove not common. You like, then, his dreamy, luxurious vein of colour, his subtle, vague, shadowy refinements of form. But fancy, you and I to sit or recline in a banquet hall, whose wall panels were pictures by Leighton, the roof fretted and honey-combed like the Hall of the Abencerrages, while outside, the cool plash of fountains in the sun ! "There methinks would be enchantment More than in this march of mind — " 362 LETTERS TO AMIELLE. Or could we play the moonlight scene at Rowsley over again, — not Millais' theme could vie with it in ghostly beauty. XV. July isth, 1863. Mulready is dead, one of the best painters this country has ever produced. His later works, such as "Choosing the Wedding Gown," and the "Train up a Child," are amongst his best. And his draughtsmanship was of the rarest kind. He was home-bred, and would never travel abroad. XVI. July 2ist, 1863. I have had a two days' excursion into York- shire. From here to Skipton by train ; walked thence to Bolton Bridge and Bolton Abbey of the Olden Time ; on the following day through four miles of exquisite woodland and the river Wharfe ; then emerging suddenly from the higher woods, and finding one's self on rising moorland stretching far as eye could see ; proceeding onward for some miles and journeying no-whither ; changing the track and plunging knee-deep through the gorse, scaring the grouse which spring up in coveys and whirr away ; stopped at length by another forest through which, after much searching, I effect a way ; then a plunge down the hill-side to gain the high road and human habitations, finding a roadside inn where I dine off gooseberry pie and cream, bread, butter, cheese, and ale ; learning there that Barden Tower, built by the Lord LETTERS TO AMIELLE. 363 Clifford — the Shepherd Lord — in the 7th Henry's time, is only a mile distant ; wend thither ; and thence seven miles across the Moor in sunshine and shower over a grand panorama of hill and dale ; regain Skipton in the evening and take train home — one drawback only, that you were not with me, except when plunging through the untrodden gorse, remarking audibly — " She could not have managed this." You are wide of the mark in your previsions of the American affair. The Lancashire mill-owners are shrugging their shoulders in mute disappoint- ment at the defeat of the Confederates, and what is to become of their workpeople is very dubious. XVII. Oct. loth, 1863. The earthquake was not much heard of in our parts. I never felt a shock. I woke suddenly in the dark about the time it happened. I had not been dreaming, but as I live, about arm's-length from my awakened eyes, was your head and bust, as in a vignette portrait ; hair thrown back dis- hevelled, and your hands drawn wildly across the face in speechless grief With a low cry, I rose up and exclaimed, " What is to do ? " when the vision vanished, and I was gazing upon the dark- ness. I had been dreaming the previous night, tormented of forebodings. Another sudden death. Yesterday morning, as I was dressing at the window, I saw a burly middle-aged clergyman of my acquaintance, taking his early morning walk, despite the east wind ; and behold, as I walk up the main street this afternoon, the newspaper offices are placarded with 364 LETTERS TO AMIELLE. the sudden death of the Rev. Wm. Walling, M.A., &c. When you pinned your heart to this parti- coloured sleeve of mine, Amielle, you could hardly have thought that the wool of it was of such diverse threads. Do not be offended when I draw them out for you to see ; in any case you would have yourself discovered them. The demons who lay hold upon me would have me keep them secret ; but, who knows ? perhaps these malicious beings may leave me if I exhibit them. XVIII. Oct. 14th, 1863. One has to put up with one's mental constitu- tion, recognising it for what it is. The art of life, so far as action is concerned, is to strike the balance. Amid the many variations, irregularities, seekings, dispositions, likings and dislikings of the individual mind, the finding of the just mean is a subtle problem. Oh truly, to love is indeed a great art — the Art of all arts — and one would needs be almost a god with mastery over Nature and the inferiors. A wise forethought often stands in opposition to one's wishes. Nature's will is that man should subserve her concealed purposes : I oppose her, and affirm that I will serve my own. She'll beat me, because my garrison is disaffected. I love you, and what is of much more impor- tance, admire you. To advance ourselves together spiritually, acting and re-acting the one upon the other, is the chief good. I smile unbelievingly when you say you love me. Yours is the simpler nature, more wholesome than LETTERS TO AMIELLE. 365 mine. It takes something to throw your machinery out of gear, mine is so put together, as to become dislocated at the slightest obstruction. If now, you were to say resolutely to me : " You have a dangerous, uncertain, and complex nature that is very uncomfortable to consort with, always lapsing into discontent, and I am determined, in self-defence, not to live together with you," I know how it would be. I am not rich enough to let you go. XIX. Oct. T7th, 1863. The way in which you use me is unfair. I strive always to make you understand me ; you, sometimes, aim at leaving me in the dark. Never embrace me ; never press my hand again ! Oh, yes, you will. For better, for worse, we are linked together, irrevocably. XX. Oct. 31st, 1863. It is well. Do not be so precipitate in future. I think that you do not get properly to see into me. It is this feeling that makes me a little sceptical that it is really me whom you love. Not that I pooh-pooh Love. On the contrary, my need for it and for forbearance is great, especially for forbearance. You must learn to bear with and forgive my variations. We must meet oftener than heretofore. So long an interval as six months is not good : it breeds shadows. XXI. Nov. 5th, 1863. Sometimes I say to myself as I lie thinking in 366 LETTERS TO AMIELLE. bed, " Suppose she were dead, how desolate I should be ! " No, my own, you must live to smooth my way to the dark house, and soon come after me. Nothing, surely, will ocdur to prevent our meet- ing. Ah ! Amielle, the passion and enjoyment we have in each other during these re-unions almost recompenses us for their infrequency. I wish you to set your thoughtful head to work about contriving some scheme by which we could meet about every three months. Could you enter upon some occupation where you would be your own mistress ? I could provide, I think, ;;£^ioo, to serve some such end. My own prospects here are not greatly satisfactory, but I do not see that I could mend them elsewhere. Since this year com- menced, want of work has nearly devoured me. XXII. Nov. 24th, 1&63. Then let it be Lincoln. The word " shoddy " arose, I think, in Lanca- shire. Originally, it applies to that portion of a cotton "cop" which the spinners could not use. This portion being refuse, or waste, the work- people spoke of as " shoddy." Etymologically, I fancy that the origin of the word must be sought in the vulgarisms of the Lancashire dialect — there are many such. The Lancashire people, being a thrifty, inventive, and contriving race, could not allow this shoddy or waste to be of no use ; and a certain lower class of manufacturers arose, generally of means very limited, and belonging more or less to the operative class, who utilised the waste material in the manufacture of coarser LETTERS TO AMIELLE. 367 sorts of cotton cloth. As the magnates of the trade are described as the Cottonocracy, so the masters of lesser degree are said to be Shoddy- ocracy. These latter, being parvenus, and of no education or manners, are naturally given to making a vulgar parade of the wealth which many of them have acquired, and I presume that the Yankees have transplanted our term to describe the low and vulgar class which seems to flourish very extensively in New York just now. To show how words become coined into new meanings, I can mention a striking instance that has arisen since the commencement of the present distress. Through the failure of the usual source of cotton supply, all sorts of mean material of the fibre have been experimented with as a substitute — a cotton from Surat, conspicuously, which the work- people found so inferior to their usual American in texture and facility of working up, that they could not earn with it more than one-third of their usual rate of wages. So " Surats," as the opera- tives termed it, became an abomination unto them — and they began to apply it as a term of reproach to any inferior commodity. " Surat Tea," " Surat Pepper," and so on, to any inferior kind. In the Methodist conventicles they preached against "Surats." I do not know whether you were ever in one, but when the " local " preachers, as they are called, not being of the professional class of ministers, but oftentimes merely hard- handed operatives, thoroughly illiterate, expound in the pulpit, the way in which they invoke " the Lord " is often ludicrous in the extreme. " Now, Lord," says one of them, "DO (great emphasis on the word) look after these poor starving folks. Don't let 'em be clammed to death ; send 'em 368 LETTERS TO AMIELLE. cotton, and plenty on (of) it to keep 'em working full time. But, O Lord, don't let it be 'Surats.'" " O Lord, no," ejaculate the hearers in groans of chorus — "not Surats, not Surats." XXIII. Der. 2nd, 1863. Do you know that the prospect of our meeting works so upon my thoughts that it makes me rather ill? I can hardly think of anything else. If I take up a book it drops from my hands. This is a disease, intolerable. XXIV. Dec. 9th, 1S63. The weather still continues very stormy. Many accidents occurred here during the gale of Thurs- day last. An old man was walking down Charles Street, when a large slate, blown off the roof, came whirling against his leg, broke it in twain, and laid him prostrate on the pavement. The affrighted passers-by rushed to him in loud lamentations. They raised him, and burst into fits of laughter. Why? His leg was a wooden one. XXV. Dec. i2th, 1863. You will have seen the accounts of the great pugilistic affair — the two Champions thereof very characteristic of America and England. American- like, Heenan tries a new dodge heretofore not practised in the ring. By his hugging and wrest- ling he evidently expected to disconcert and then LETTERS TO AMIELLE. 369 discomfit his adversary. And, at the last but one round of the fight, Tom King was discomfited. Thrown heavily, the breath utterly out of him, he is taken senseless into his corner, and remains unconscious when "time" is called. The spectators have an impression that all is over, and crowd in. King is saved by the extra minute gained to him by the clearance of the ring. He gets up, and, — what is the most astonishing feature of the fight — seems to have got an accession of renewed strength, for his blows become fiercer, more rapid, and telling, while, no abatement of them affording the American time to collect himself, he succumbs. It is the old story, English bottom and endurance carrying the sway, despite the new trick. I suspect that you will not make much out of Wilhebn Meister or Faust. The novel is very unlike the ordinary one. I have read it twice, years ago, but have really very indistinct notions of it. Let me bethink its characteristics. It has no story or plot of any particular coherence or consequence. The personages are strange, original, and uncommon. What, then, can be the object of the author? Evidently not a picture of external life and manners. Well, then, is it a philosophical projection of underlying realities ? Does it deal with substrata and not with surfaces ? Is it a vehicle to put forth, tentatively, certain theories of the author concerning literature, education, and morals — the whole comprised in one term, a critique of life? combining with stories detached from the body of the novel in illustration of certain rare developments of human organisation which the novelist had either seen or imagined ? As for Faust, what the inner meaning is I have little comprehension. Has it a meaning worth seek- ~ a A 370 LETTERS TO AMIELLE. ing for ? De Quincey, a subtle critic, says not. He more than hints that Goethe contrived the obscurity of his meaning in order that his work might remain insoluble, and so, of never ceasing interest. This much, however, remains of Goethe : — He was a Man. In every sense, and in no partial one. All his pores open, receptive of all influences, animal and mental. Perhaps the thoroughest and completed specimen of his time of the genus homo. I intend to bring a book with me ; " The Life of William Blake!' About fifteen years ago when I was a very youth, John Bolton showed to me one Sunday an old fashioned book, " Blait's Grave" illustrated with Blake's designs. " They say he was mad," said my elder friend. The impressions of that Sunday afternoon I have never forgotten. This was a man who died unrecognised, save by a few ; while the gaudy ability of his compeers was clothed in purple and fine linen, faring sumptuously every day ; when this man, whom some of them felt beyond them, was in the daily necessity of fetching himself the pint of beer for the mid-day meal. It is recorded that he met William Collins, the R.A., on one of these occasions ; and Blake used to tell with quiet glee how Collins was about to shake hands, but seeing the beer, drew him- self up and stalked past. As to wherein Blake differed from his contemporaries, a single story will suffice. Apologising to a friend who visited him in his humble lodging — " I live in a hole," the artist said, " but God has a beautiful mansion for me elsewhere." By heaven ! living and dead, such men are the salt of the earth, and keep it from rottenness. If I brought "Les Miserables" with me, your interest in Marius and Cosette would induce you to pfersuade me to go out for a walk, while you devoured a few chapters. In ten days ! LETTERS TO AMIELLE. 37 1 XXVI. Dec. i6th, 1863. To-day is your birthday, and I have made a little purchase for you. I do not know whether Blake was included in Allan Cunningham's " Lives of the Painters!' Honest Allan was rather prosaic himself, so I should think not. James Barry, unrecognised of everybody of note but Edmund Burke, that truly great mind, literally starved to death. And now, my dear love, you must let me have one more letter on Monday next, and then the revoir. XXVII. Jan. sth, 1864. I thought that you would like the " Rhyddings " ; but the effect of the building itself is much finer than the Building News engraving can give, in which the brilliancy and variety of the details are lost. The situation is on an eminence, at Church, near Accrington. Have you caught cold from your journey back, and the long ride in the cab ? What have you done with the ring ? Is it again consigned for a time to limbo ? How many questions had you to answer concerning your travels ? The weather is so cold that I have temporarily turned tail upon my morning bath. XXVIII. Jan. i6tfa, 1864, I received yours on Thursday afternoon last, but, being then equipped for a Masonic ceremony, followed by a great dinner given by the Worshipful Master of the Lodge, Robert Towjiley Parker, Squire of Cuerden, 372 LETTERS TO AMIELLE. and recently M.P. for Preston, it has been stowed away until the present moment. Other magnates were present, Sir T. G. Hesketh, M.P. for Preston, and Lord Skelmersdale, a very handsome young man, with a carefully trimmed brown beard, and whiskers of extensive proportions. And only fancy ! for a joke on the part of Brother Shuttleworth, I was, in con- junction with another brother, called upon without notice to respond to the toast of " The Ladies." The indifference which I evinced at such a contre- temps was only equalled by the fiasco of my response, which I knew beforehand it would be, and of which I was afterwards assured on all hands that it was as bad as bad could be. In a business point of view, affairs continue still at zero with me, absolutely nothing ' to be done. A brother-in-law of mine talks of going to Cariboo, and has bought a Colts-revolver and a double barrelled rifle with that intent. Suppose you and I go : — how would you like the life of a squaw ? According to Blake's biographer, John Varley, water colour painter, zodiacal astrologer, and what not, died in 1 842, — so you could not know him. Was it his brother, Cornelius, also a mystic ? XXIX. Jan. 20th, 1864. Last Sunday night we were joking over supper, — my mother, sister, brother Joe and his wife, and myself, — about the fact of there being no male descendant of our branch of the family, I upbraiding Joe that out of four children he could not contrive to have a son, and stating that unless he proved himself competent to transmit our name, I should feel it incumbent upon me, much as I might deplore it, to LETTERS TO AMIELLE. 373 make the attempt myself. To his wife's discomfiture, he defended himself by asserting that he had a son now on the journey hither. I made sundry comments upon my own deprivation of the solace of matrimony, and drew mockingly the attention of my hearers to the extraordinary virtue of my abstinence. This they did not concede, saying it was not virtue at all, but mere "shyness," my sister adding, with a knowing look, that I " stole away," an accusation at which I smiled composedly. To you, I shall only add this, that our child, for I mean to have one, must be a son, " perfect in all his parts, and honourable to the builder," as free-masons say. I have recently been occupied with " Our Old Home" a book that leaves a very disagreeable impression. Several sentences with regard to Burns, and one especially towards Leigh Hunt, fairly enraged me. In the former case, because I do not think that the descriptive epithets Hawthorne indirectly applies, such as " disreputable," " drunken," " shabbily clothed," " shabbily housed," are consonant with the broad and general facts of Burns's life. For instance, I have never set eyes upon any labouring man properly dressed in the garments of his calling, whose appear- ance could be said to be "shabby," — a term more applicable to faded gentility than to the working farmer or the country gauger. And again, in describ- ing Leigh Hunt as one of the most gentlemanly men in form and manners whom he ever saw, he was nevertheless struck with the old poet's extreme delight in thankfully acknowledging the fragments of praise that dropped from his visitor's lips — and here the American author suggests, by way of assumption, without any reference to fact, except that the home of Leigh Hunt was narrowly and barely appointed — that possibly such pleasure as he evinced was likely 374 LETTERS TO AMIELLE. in a man who was in the daily habit of cleaning his own boots — a most thoroughly unmannerly and ungentlemanly suggestion. And this is not the only instance in which Hawthorne implies his own superior environment. As to what he says generally of us English, — and his remarks are pretty free — I have not a word of dissent, the John Bull character being no elevated one — but the vanity he displays whenever America and Americans come to be mentioned is ludicrous when uttered by a man from whom one looks for better judgment. Altogether, the author of the " Scarlet Letter" had consulted his fame by keeping the aJij/Vrfa membra of " Our Old Home " locked up in his desk. When you read the work, you will not fail to notice that Hawthorne put up at the " Saracen's Head " on his visit to Lincoln, and in some probability occupied the same rooms as we. I promise you that when I become a vagabond you shall accompany me. Yes, you shall be my Miami of the Mississippi. I seeyourcharming figure, lovely brown hair, well poised head and neck, wide shoulders, deep bosom, slender waist, swelling hips, round alabaster shapely limbs, as I, smoking the pipe of reminiscence by our forest hearth, remind me of the times when splendid shillings were in my pouch, and I sighed nor for oysters nor for cheerful ale. XXX. Jan. 27tfa, 1864, Let me add to my former observations upon hose and collars, a weakness in the matter of boots. As you love me, avoid those superfluous creases of leather beyond your length of foot. They mislike me. When we have our Easter together, let everything LETTERS TO AMIELLE. 375 propitious be combined, or there will be a retribution of the gods for your all but killing me at Southwell. The fact is, we shall be the death of one another yet. XXXI. Jan. 30th, 1864. So your nerves are out of order. You have not a monopoly that way. My own hand is shaky this morning, owing to a long walk yesterday in the country. My companion crowed over me when I declared myself tired at the journey's end, for 'tis the delight of mankind individually to have its little proof of superiority in the smallest thing. When I remember your vauntings of " exuberant health," I cannot refrain from now doing what I often do when certain scenes in which you and I were the dramatis personm flash across my vision ; — that is to say, I laugh. It matters not where I am, in the street, at table, or in bed, — I laugh. You don't see what there can be to laugh at ? Ah ! that only makes me laugh again. However, I am not one-sided, and you shall now have a laugh at me. Call to mind the time, place, and surroundings, when I, sitting, I am sure, in a most inelegant position, submitted to your gleesome pouring of cold water over me from a spouted vessel. The very recollection of it makes me again cry out " Hold, enough ! " XXXII. Feb. 3rd, 1864. Is it not rather too soon to fix definitely the day and time of our next meeting? Except that, if possible, it shall take place in Easter week. But the Lord knows what will ensue between now and then. I may be ruined by that Australian Company. I am 376 LETTERS TO ASllfiLLE. even now intent upon the denouement of a venture that may go beyond my reckoning. Don't be alarmed, the probabilities do not warrant it. The fact is, that I feel it somewhat incumbent on me, now that my professional avocations fail to bring me grist enough, to try, by venturesome means, to supply the deiiciency. This, of course, at the well understood risk of a loss. I mind me of the parody in Longfellow's " Psalm of Life," with which I consoled a fellow architect similarly situated, in enforced idleness : — " Art is slow, and time hangs precious Heavy in these idle days, When no clients come to pay us Five per cents, upon outlays," — a great liberty with Longfellow, to be sure. XXXIIL Feb. 24th, 1864. The Australian business gets worse and worse. Unless the Directors' game is put a stop to by the Stock Exchange Committee, or collapses from over- inflation, it seems a fair hkelihood that we shall be stripped as birches in December. I will write out " The Iron Shroud," so far as my remembrance will serve me, on some occasion when I am in a comfortable frame of mind. I have no intention of sending " Miser rimus" to the Builder. I may be miserrimus myself ere many weeks are over. I am looking, however, for the Stock Exchange to step in, and say to the victimisers — " Gentlemen, your scheme has a great fault ; it is too perfect ; but we cannot sanction Directors of Public Companies to take advantage of their position, in themselves con- spiring against a free and open market in the shares they allot." LETTERS TO AMIELLE. 377 XXXIV. March 4tb, 1864. You can hardly be surprised to hear that, under the circumstances I have mentioned, I am exceedingly ill. Respecting the Sonnet, I won't argue, but be dictatorial, and say — That Chiaroscuro is an element in poetry as in painting ; that artistically constructed verse is not necessarily of the run-and-read order (to which I think your taste inclines), but has often, and legitimately, a veil, through which the mind must first see before the meaning can be discerned, and its structural parts. Thus much generally. You say that Milton rarely leaves one in ignorance for four lines of what he is aiming at. I have not his poems at hand, but am not venturing a hazardous assertion in replying that he and all poets frequently do so, and to a far greater extent. When a sentence is cut in two, and sonnets are often times of but one sentence, you cannot expect the detached portions to be legible by themselves. I claim no excellence of workmanship for my sonnet. I agree with you that it is imperfect, but not in your reasons why it is so. Sense cannot be made of beginning with — " But me a nobler temple here invites" — Nobler than what ? and what is implied before — " But me?" How would a title to the sonnet explicate matters ? " Lincoln Cathedral : Within and Without." XXXV. March 7tb, 1864. Don't imagine that the Australian Directors are low Jeremy Diddlers. They are of high standing, influence, and wealth. One is the present Mayor of Liverpool. Three are the largest ship-owners in 378 LETTERS TO AMIELLE. Liverpool ; one is the late High Sheriff, and another is a great London banker. So if these great whales may not swallow shoals of minnows, who may ? How will Wednesday in Easter week suit you for our meeting ? Lichfield would not be an unlikely rendezvous. XXXVI. March gth, 1864. I enclose " The Iron Shroud" It is marvellous how I have been able to remember it, for the manuscript was burnt seven or eight years ago. I think the phoenix might well have remained in his ashes. A youthful production of my 17th or i8th year, and founded upon a short story in Maga, which had impressed me. Here it is : — The Iron Shroud. (A Metrical Stoty.) Away and remote amid Appenine hills, A crag doth a valley o'erfrown ; And seemeth as though they were hostile below, So scowlingly looketh it down. The friar below, as he raiseth his eye To gaze o'er the priory wall, Can yet see the hold that Hugo the bold Upraised on the summit so tall. The morning mist up from the valley doth rise, And breathes on the breasts of the steep ; And the Sun's setting glow tips the priory low, Bat plays 'gainst the walls of the keep. And while the good friars are tolling the bell All through the soft vespery air. The traveller his course he will stay it perforce And listening, utter <>. prayer. The friar then hies to his separate cell, The peasant goes homeward anon, Each muttering low of the wicked Hugo, " Thank Jesu, he's buried and gone ! " LETTERS TO AMIELLE. 379 'Tis evening, and the Sunset bright Is flushing those walls of grey, The landscape low, and the hill-top glow In the far-sent lengthening ray. And five men up that castled steep Must mount e'er closeth the day, For Hugo the lord with a glistening sword In his hand, is leading the way. And e'er and anon, as he looketh at One Doth hatred blacken his brow — • Whose hands are clasped in his minions' grasp. As higher and higher they go. While hoarsely he urges and hastens them on, They arrive at the postern gate. Which the Seneschal old doth slowly unfold. But "Quicker" cries Hugo— " 'tis late." The Seneschal old shuts the gate with a clang With a rattle he tumeth the key. Ere ceases the sound he tumeth him round. The prisoner that he may see. He see-eth no face, but a niuffled-up form, As awhile he doth earnestly stare. Then silently sighs, he lowerelh his eyes And in secret he utters » prayer. And watching them to a grim donjon all lone, He muttereth scarcely aloud : " Another, Another, O Mary the Mother " Doomed to yon Iron Shroud ! " As rustily opens the door of the cell The prey to receive in its maw. The evening bell slowly glides up the fell. From the neighbouring priory low. The prisoner list'ningly raiseth his head, He catcheth but faintly — Ding-dong ! And dreams of the past now course through him fast, O'ercrowding each other they throng. But he boweth his head as the sound dies away, And he strideth within the dark cell. When, hark ! — and there rang one monotonous clang That sank on his heart like a knell ! And with senses attuned to the priory bell That sound strikes hatsh on the ear Of the travelling wight on the neighbouring height, And he stoppeth in awe and in fear. 380 LETTERS TO AMIELLE. But the Seneschal old that doth open the gate Its meaning he knoweth full well, That the Iron Shroud is proclaiming aloud Its greeting in that hollow hell. The gloom gathers strength : the lonely abode Of the captive is darkening slow, And starlight appears, as he counteth the tiers Of openings that range o'er his brow. And one, and next two, and then three, four and five, AH listless his eyes do them see, Then reaching the brink of a pitcher to drink. To sleep on the pallet lies he. 'Tis broad light of day when he waketh, but slow And drearily time it doth drive, Till " Ha," mutters he, " of the openings o'er me " Methought yesternight there were five." Morn Cometh again : half-asleep, half-awake. In fear from his pallet starts he. And upward is gazing as in voice despairing He breathes out the syllable "Three !" And again lying down, with the lids o'er his eyes — "Can this a delusion be? "On the night I arrived I counted them five "Vet now there remaineth but three!" "And oh!" he doth groan, as his fancy depicts Him nearing a horrible fate ; " Will he me enfold, in the embrace cold " Of this instrument of his hate?" As drowning a being outstretcheth his hands Around him for succour to grope. So with head on his knees the captive doth seize The remains of a lingering hope. Now seemeth to pass all the rest of the day To his wearied heart full slow : At Nature's behest he retires to rest. That thought may more tranquilly flow. 'Tis night; and dark is that donjon drear. And darkness doth reign all around ; While, saving the moan of the prisoner lone, All slumbers in silence profound. But sudden and darkly ariseih that form. From his lips there doth issue a scream, With his hands he doth now wipe the sweat off his brow, And — " Oh God, what a horrible dream ! " LETTERS TO AMIELLE. 381 He had dreamt th.at the donjon had lingeringly closed On his form as all helpless lay he ; But see There ! what on high is now meeting his eye. Two windows instead of the Three ! And the daylight doth come, and the daylight doth go, But bereft of all life he doth seem, For he feeleth with gloom the approach of his doom Presaged by so awful a dream. Morn Cometh again : of the openings five. The prisoner he counteth but One ; And covering his face, with monotonous pace The morning doth pass, and the noon. And evening comes : but moved he has not, An ebon-like block seemeth he ; While out in the dell, the priory bell Tolls over the mountain and lea. Ere its echoes have died on the bosom of air, Their murmuring low he doth hear ; And he raiseth awhile his face as a smile Flits over his countenance sere. Now night closeth in, but the light, but the light, He shall never see more on the sod ; In his cell through the air his voice riseth in prayer As his Soul he commendeth to God. In the midst of that night, of that terrible night. As fervently prayed he aloud. There tolled forth a bell : — the roof to earth fell, And none but lord Hugo that ever could tell, Who lay wrapped in The Iron Shroud 1 Whole years have past, and dismantled that keep, But o'ex mountain and down in the dell. When westward and low doth the orb of day go, There yet toUeth the priory bell. And the friar below, as he raiseth his eye To gaze o'er the priory wall, Can yet see the hold of Hugo the bold, Still frown from its summit o'er all. How about meeting at Rugby ? There is Kenil- worth, Warwick, Coventry, Stratford-on-Avon, &c., in proximity. 382 LETTERS TO AMIELLE. XXXVII. March 24th> 1864. You will have seen that the Committee of the London Stock Exchange have declared against the Australian Directors. I vowed an offering to Fortuna if the goddess should see me through this business, and here it is, in the shape of a bracelet ior you. For my tyranny in matters of opinion, you are by no means the only person who has remarked it. XXXVIII. April 7th, 1864. Yesterday morning at this very time we were cosily at breakfast together, and lo! how shadowy and distant the time seems ! I cannot even realise that we have spent the last week together, so utterly is it out of the frame of things. I noted as I sat to-day before the barber's mirror that I wore a fresher aspect than on my previous visit to him. I see that Mr. Fechter declines to carry out his engagement to play Hamlet at Stratford during the festival. I wish these fussy people would leave Shakespeare in peace. Stratford is as yet in quiet, and the pale-faced female who inhabits the solitude of the poet's house of birth, goes furtively to the window and leans her ghostly visage against the diamond pane to watch the omnibus go by, and receiving the casual visitor with a listless air, names the sum of sixpence as an extra charge for seeing the personal relics, and shows an animated soul only when reading from a document describing Judith Shakespeare as a " Markswoman," but which she recites as a " Washer- woman " — pale-faced girl being more familiar with that word. To feel, to think, to enjoy, to see ; to be turned LETTERS TO AMIELLE, 383 into pleasant pastures unharnessed from the yoke of dragging on the world's burden of affairs ;— ^such is really life, and that we have had for a week. Now we are again yoked to the team, and Fate, the carter, lays his whip occasionally across our flanks — Come up, Dobbin ! Come up, Joan ! Amielle loquitur — " What, not even a kiss ! " I beg to move that it be taken as given. XXXIX. May 3rd, 1864. It has been your own blindness that has kept you in ignorance of certain features of my past relation- ships with your sex. Till we were at Kenilworth, I was under the impression that you were fully aware of my laches in this respect, and ignorant only of the person concerned. From the very first conversation which we then had in London, up to the very last occasion of our meeting, there never has been a time that we have been together when I have not designedly given you every reason to know the nature of that relationship ; and I am certain that I have never con- sciously kept back anything of which you ought to have bpen informed. That I considered it improper to particularise and specify I admit. When I came to London in the summer of 1861 to see you as a friend, I was in thrall of a Reine Margot, to whom I had been wholly and solely constant during the five preceding years, and it came to pass that I had to determine whether that yoke was now to be finally shaken off, or you to be relinquished. I did not hesitate about the choice. As to the maintenance of such a relationship^why, it has been broken off these three years pastel need hardly say, for ever. If any man have a chance of 384 LETTERS TO AMIELLE. training himself to freedom from the tyranny of the senses, it is I ; who am of a reflective temperament, and cultivate habitually a self-containedness ; — thus much guarantee have I, therefore, of my future conduct. Regarding the " noble nature with which you falsely endowed me," I am not responsible for your wrong judgment. I have ever told you explicitly that such a disposition was not mine. But we have yet many years before us to be true to one another. XL. May 7th, 1864. You have a capricious and fanciful vein in your temperament that crops out sometimes unexpectedly, and in such moods are apt to give yourself very lofty claims to superior rectitude, and lecture people for their shortcomings. Pray you, avoid it. XLI. Sept. 5th, 1864. "How long have I been ill?" I do not know. Illness and wellness with me run into each other imperceptibly. " What ails me ? " I cannot define. You shall hear the symptoms. I am fretful and peevish, disinclined to all work, inordinately given to reclining on the couch, glad to go to bed at night, indisposed to get up in the morning, ready to sleep at all hours of the day. My digestion is weak, my appetite poor. That's all. " Don't I think you have been a very good girl all this time ? " At your peril be otherwise ; for in this humour I stand no nonsense. LETTERS TO AMIELLE. 38$ You ought to be very happy, for you live in a world of illusions. Tremble at the future, you will see them rent some day. You have not yet learnt, like, me, to see facts in their sheer nakedness. "Apropos of what," says she. The oracle replies not. Verbum sat. XLII. Sept, 8th, 1864. If I knew, sub rosa, where I might waylay you on your journey north, it would be a trick to suit my humour. Per bacco, how your eyes would glisten ! Possibly my indisposition may gain the dignity it lacks in your estimation when you know that it drove ^me yesterday, after a consultation with my mother, to seek my doctor. XLIII. Sept. xsth, 1864, I perceive that you are indulging again in your favourite vein of preaching — you are a sort of Hypatia in that way. But I am a somewhat ironical listener to Madam Oracle. XLIV. Nov. 7th, 1864. Brevity is known to be the soul of wit, but when you give the mere body of it without the subtler essence, it is not much to be commended. I claim, my dear, to surpass you. My brevity is briefer than yours, and has more of that acid in it which belongs to the Tartaric kind. Nevertheless, I take the liberty of kissing you. 2 B 386 LETTERS TO AMIELLE. XLV. Dec. 13th, 1864. I protest against your calling yourself names so undeserved touching your recent somewhat unreason- able demeanor, which no doubt was owing to mere pique. I count myself as un homnie incompris in my bear- ing towards womankind, utterly untameable. And woe to me the day when I am no longer so. I shall be a lost man. These demonic promptings I find, both in myself and others, the most powerful agents of Conduct ; agents the most difficult to be gainsaid. You think you have conquered them to-day ; to-morrow comes, and irresistibly overthrows your victory. XLV I. Jan. sthj 1865. "Dramatis Persons " is Browningesque to an extreme ; magnificent in thought and form for the one half; chaotic, confused, tortuous, and of inextric- able meaning for the other, with passages of more intellectual reach than can be found in any other living versifier. Tennyson's genius is; by comparison, feminine, — sensuous, delicate, and tender. Browning is rugged, as if in disdain, though he occasionally shows that he can be as mellifluous as his great con- temporary. And he does not refrain from indelicacy, and expressing sensuality with great dabs, like a Velasquez. XLVII. Jan. 13th, 1865. Oh ! I am so ill that I shall do no work to-day. LETTERS TO AMIELLE. 387 should like to talk, for I am just in that frame when the mind is keen and active, and has all to itself. I met yesterday a former lady-friend, whom I had not met these seven years past. We hardly knew each other. Once we were correspondents. She married an elderly man subsequently, who had possessions. She said that of all the young men she had ever known, two only had her esteem, and I was one. She averred that I looked much older, and had lost my bloom. Alas ! I have lost much else since then. Freshness, eagerness for work, hope, determination — these, the companions of my youth, are partners with me no more. I am old at heart. Farewell, my youth ! There was much in you to honour. XLVIII. Jan. 18th, 1863. I smile a grim smile at reading your letter this morning. What! you begin to discern the vortex of things. 'Tis true that I fought against you as long as I could, but a disaffected garrison and a strong enemy at the gates have taken my fortress. Never mind, I capitulated fighting. So much for the past : now for the present. I think it rather weak on your part, at the very first puifof contrary winds, to shrink and go below deck. You knew beforehand that the voyage would be troublous. I am Captain of the ship, and shall do my part, never fear, sink or swim. So " Cheer up, Sam, don't let your spirits go down." I dreamt last night that I was lying with you, and you wore such a lovely robe of rose colour. XLIX. Jan, 27th, 1865. Remember that, by God's ordinance, women were 388 LETTERS TO AMIELLE. made for men, not men for women. I look to you, not for hindrance, but help in the prosecution of my earthly career. If you will come down from that airy perch on which from time to time you are prone to sit and imitate the birds of the Capitol, I shall be very glad. Let us be reasonable, and, above all, forego shouting and declamation. May isth, 1865. A family affair has turned up this morning very disagreeable for me. You remember that nearly twelve months ago I became co-surety in the sum of ;^ico for my brother, the repayment of which by him was to be in quarterly instalments extending over three years. With the payment of the third instal- ment my brother collapses — and the loan society comes upon me. And this is quite what I expected. Despite my repute with my family for hardness of character, it seems that I can be as weak as the most trusting of mortals. Now make yourself as cheerful as you can, and don't cry for the moon, which, after all, is only made of green cheese. LI. June 30th, 1863. When Israel was brought out of the house of bond- age, it is recorded that the people cast back an occasional sigh towards the land of Egypt, and at such times I daresay that Moses repented that he had been made the instrument of bringing them thence. I don't think that they were ever aware of the anxiety LETTERS TO AMIELLE. 389 which they put upon him. Such is the nature of my reflection as to your request. It is written that the wicked are punished at the end of this mortal life. I have an opinion that some of them are hastened into a sort of purgatory beforehand, as a preparation possibly for the severer ordeal they may have ulti- mately to encounter. LII. July ith, i86s. Robert Buchanan's " lefy/s of Inverburn " do not come up to the form of the " Undertones" I fell across a lady from Glasgow last week who told me that she boarded at the same house as Thomas Carlyle at Manchester during the Art Treasures Exhibition. She gives him a bad name : That he is queer, sarcastic, disagreeable, slovenly, and unkempt in his person ; impossible to understand whether in jest or earnest in his remarks ; and would never come down to dinner until after grace had been said. His wife very much the reverse of him, — lady-like and well bred. The two parliamentary candidates have made their appearance, and delivered themselves of the indis- pensable speeches. The young F. Stanley is not eloquent, and was very' nervous in addressing his respectable mob. I was so close to him that I could see the twitch of his fingers. His father, the Rupert of debate, was very different, I am told, at the same age. LHI. July 29th, 1865. I have had to have recourse to the doctor. My left hand had become very much swollen, and painfully 390 LETTERS TO AMIELLE. inflamed. He told me it was rheumatic gout, which I have never had before^ I have had a call from certain members of the Infirmary Committee, who have instructed me to submit a design. This is a great step towards the Commission. I think now that the matter will turn in my favour. LIV. Sept. sth, 1865. In an interview with half a dozen members of the Infirmary Building Committee, I propounded the views which I proposed to embody in my design, and I think did myself some good. It seems odd that just now, when I am likely to become recognised in a public sense as fit to be entrusted with the building of an important edifice, that gossip should be busying itself about me, but not in an unfriendly way. Barring accidents, it becomes a necessity almost with me now to be the Infirmary architect, otherwise it will appear as though I had been tried in the balance, and found wanting. LV. Oct. i5lh, 1865. Well, our way of life, with all its charm and romance, no longer suffices ; and we will face the world hand in hand, like every humdrum Darby and Joan. You will find my mother, after all, very helpful to her son's wife of the daughters of Heth. I shall take a house, furnish it, and then you will come hither with our first-born .as soon as possible. LETTERS TO AMIELLE. 39 1 No longer an imaginary mansion in the skies ; and the blue vault our fretted home. We shall share an humbler dwelling on mother Earth in constant companionship until death us do part, if it shall so please the heavenly powers. Meanwhile, I trust you to their keeping. Epilogue. Christmas Eve, 1865. Sailed are the treacherous seas, Now ALL the danger PAST, Our barques, in prospering ease, Lie safely moored at last. ROBERT STOCKWELL, PKINTEE, S, BADEN PLACE, CROSBV ROW, BOROUGH, LONDON, S.E.