CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Cornell University Library 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/cu31924013584606 THE AFTERMATH m~ OPINIONS OF THE PRESS " The student could desire nothing better than this wonder- fully compact little guide, which seems to us to say the last word upon the matter of modern journalism. It is written, moreover, in a weighty redundant style, which is in itself a most valuable object-lesson to the beginner and a model of all that contemporary letters should be." — The Journalist. (The organ of the Trade.) "... very repetitive and tiresome stuff . . ." — Mr. Amadeus (a notorious liar, writing in The World of the Pen). "... Admirable . . . most admirable . . . one of the most charming works which have appeared in the English language . , . quite admirable ... so admirable that we remember nothing like it since PoweU's criticism on Charles Lamb, or rather Lamb's Immortal reply to that criticism . . . quite admirable." — The Chesterfield Mercury. "... This is a book which those who take it up will not willingly lay down, and those who lay it down will not willingly take up. . . ." — The Rev. Chables Broyle, writing in Culture. "... How is it that England, even in her decline, can turn out such stufi as this? What other nation could have produced it in the moment of her agony? The Common Tongue still holds by its very roughness. . . ." — The Notion. (The principal organ of well-bred men in New York, U.S.A.) THE AFTERMATH; Or, gleanings FROM A BUSY LIFE, CALLED UPON THE OUTER COVER FOR PURPOSES OF SALE CALIBAN'S GUIDE TO LETTERS LAMBKIN'S REMAINS BY H. BELLOC LONDON: DUCKWORTH AND CO. 3, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN 1920 CALIBAN'S GUIDE TO LETTERS. First published, 1903. Reissued. New Edition, type reset, 1920. LAMBKIN'S REMAINS. First published, 1900, New Edition, type reset, 1920. 897253 All Rights Reserved, PEIKTBD IN GHBAT BRITAm BV BII.I ING AND SONS, LTD., GUILDFOHD, EKGLAND. TO CATHERINE, MRS. CALIBAN, BUT FOR WHOSE FRUITFUL SUGGESTION, EVER READY SYMPATHY, POWERS OF OBSERVATION, KINDLY CRITICISM, UNFLINCHING COURAGE, CATHOLIC LEARNING, AND NONE THE LESS CHRISTIAN PRINCIPLE, THIS BOOK MIOBT AS WELL NOT HAVE BEEN WRITTEN; IT IS DEDICATED BY HER OBEDIENT AND GRATEFUL SERVANT AND FRIEND IN AFFLICTION, THE AUTHOR " O, Man; with what tremors as of earth-begettings hast thou not wrought, O, Man! — Yet — is it utterly indeed of thee — ? Did there not toil in it also that Wokld-Man, or hafly was there not Some Other? ... O, Man I knowest thou that word Some Otherf" — Carlyle's " Frederick the Great." Most of these sketches are reprinted from "The Speaker," and appear in this form by the kind per- mission of its Editor. ERRATA AND ADDENDA P. ig, line 14 (from the top), for " enteric " read " esoteric." P. 73, second footnote, for " Sophia, Lady Gowl," read " Lady Sophia Gowl." P. 277 (line 5 from bottom), for "the charming prospect of such a bribe," read " Bride." P. 456, delete aU references to Black-mail, -passim. P. 510 (line 6 from top), for " Chou-fleur," read " Chaufeur." Direction to Printer. — Please print hard, strong, clear, straight, neat, clean, and well. Try and avoid those little black smudges ! CONTENTS PAGE PREFACE ... ix INTRODUCTION - - - II I. REVIEWING - - - - - 23 II. ON POLITICAL APPEALS - - - 37 III. THE SHORT STORY - - - 57 IV. THE SHORT LYRIC - - - - 69 V. THE INTERVIEW - - - - 84 VI. THE PERSONAL PAR - - - - 100 VII. THE TOPOGRAPHICAL ARTICLE - - I06 VIII. ON EDITING - - II4 IX. ON REVELATIONS - - - - 122 X. SPECIAL PROSE - - - - 1 38 APPENDIX : PRICES CURRENT • 145 NOTE ON TITLES - - 148 NOTE ON STYLE - - I49 THE ODE - 152 ON REMAINDERS AND PULPING 1 56 M^ FURTHER AND YET MORE WEIGHTY OPINIONS OF THE PRESS "... We found it very tedious. . . ." — Tie Evening German. (The devil " we " did ! " We " was once a private in a line regiment, drummed out for receiving stolen goods.) "... We cannot see what Dr. Caliban's Guide is driving at." — The Daily American. (It is driving at you.) "... What? Again? . . ."—The Edinburgh Review. "... On y retrouve a chaque page I'orgueil et la s&heresse Anglaise. . . ." — M. Hyppolite Durand, writing in Le Journal of Paris. " . . . O Angleterre ! He merveilleuse ! C'est done toujours de toi que sortiront la Justice et la V6rit^. . . .-*' — M. Chakmant Reinach, writing in the Horreur of Geneva. "... Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch'entrate." — Signor Y. Ilabrimo (of Palermo), writing in the Tribuna of Rome. ' ' jroXXi Th, Suva nivSev &v9pilnrov Seivdrepov ir Aet. ' ' — M. Negri. DEPOPOULOS DE WORMS, Writing in The "rd 8eirov " of Athens. " 1 ! ^StfD "—The Banner of Israel. " '."—The Times of London. viii PREFACE This work needs no apology. Its value to the English-speaking world is twofold. It preserves for all time, in the form of a printed book, what might have been scattered in the sheets of ephemeral publications. It is so designed that these isolated monuments of prose and verse can be studied, absorbed, and, if necessary, copied by the young aspirant to literary honours. Nothing is Good skve the Useful, and it would have been sheer vanity to have published so small a selection, whatever its merit, unless it could be made to do Some- thing, to achieve a Result in this strenuous modern world. It will not be the fault of the book, but of the reader, if no creative impulse follows its perusal, and the student will have but himself to blame if, with such standards before him, and so ludd and thorough an analysis of modern Literature and of its well-springs, he does not attain the goal to which the author would lead him. The book will be found conveniently divided into sections representing the principal divisions of modern literary activity; each section will contain an intro- ductory essay, which will form a practical guide to the subject with which it deals, and each will be adorned X PREFACE with one or more examples of the finished article, which, if the instructions be carefully followed, should soon be turned out without difficulty by any earnest and industrious scholar of average ability. If the Work can raise the income of but one poor journalist, or produce earnings, no matter how insig- nificant, for but one of that great army which is now compelled to pay for the insertion of its compositions in the newspapers and magazines, the labour and organizing ability devoted to it will not have been in vain. THE AFTERMATH OR GLEANINGS FROM A BUSY LIFE INTRODUCTION A GRATEFUL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR'S FRIENB (iN PART THE PRODUCER OF THIS BOOK), JAMES CALIBAN Few men have pursued more honourably, more usefully, or more successfully the career of letters than Thomas Caliban, D.D., of Winchelthorpe-on-Sea, near Ports- mouth. Inheriting, as his name would imply, the grand old Huguenot strain, his father was a Merchant Taylor of the City of London, and principal manager of the Anglo-Chilian Bank; his mother the fifth daughter of K. Muller, Esq., of Brighton, a furniture dealer and reformer of note in the early forties. The connection established between my own family and that of Dr. Caliban I purposely pass over as not germane to the ensuing pages, remarking only that the friendship, guidance, and intimacy of such a man will ever count among my chief est treasures. Of him it may truly be written: "He mdketh them to shine like Sharon; the waters are his in Ram-Shdd, and Gilgath fraiseth him." II 12 THE AFTERMATH I could fill a volume of far greater contents than has this with the mere record of his every-day acts during the course of his long and active career. I must content myself, in this sketch, with a bare summary of his habitual deportment. He would rise in the morning, and after a simple but orderly toilet would proceed to family prayers, terminating the same with a hymn, of which he would himself read each verse in turn, to be subsequently chanted by the assembled household. To this succeeded breakfast, which commonly consisted of ham, eggs, coffee, tea, toast, jam, and what-not — in a word, the appurtenances of a decent table. Breakfast over, he would light a pipe (for he did not regard indulgence in the weed as immoral, still less as un-Christian : the subtle word hn-dKua, which he translated "sweet reasonableness," was painted above his study door — it might have served for the motto of his whole life), he would light a pipe, I say, and walk round his garden, or, if it rained, visit the plants in his conservatory. Before ten he would be in his study, seated at a large mahogany bureau, formerly the property of Sir. Charles Henby, of North-chapel, and noon would still find him there, writing in his regular and legible hand the notes and manuscripts which have made him famous, or poring over an encyclopaedia, the more conscientiously to review some book with which he had been entrusted. After the hours so spent, it was his habit to take a turn in the fresh air, sometimes speaking to the gar- dener, and making the round of the bedsj at others passing by the stables to visit his pony Bluebell, or to pat upon the head his faithful dog Ponto, now INTRODUCTION 13 advanced in years and suffering somewhat from the mange. To this light exercise succeeded luncheon, for him the most cheerful meal of the day. It was then that his liveliest conversation was heard, his closest friends entertained : the goveriunent, the misfortunes of foreign nations, the success of our fiscal policy, our maritime supremacy, the definition of the word "gentleman," occasionally even a little bout of theology — a thousand subjects fell into the province of his genial criticism and extensive information; to each his sound judgment and ready apprehension added some new light ; nor were the ladies of the family incompetent to follow the gifted table talk of their father, husband, brother, master,* and host, t Until the last few years the hour after lunch was occupied with a stroll upon the terrace, but latterly he would consume it before the fire in sleep, from which the servants had orders to wake him by three o'clock- At this hour he would take his hat and stick and proceed into the town, where his sunny smile and friendly salute were familiar to high and low. A visit to the L.N.C. School, a few purchases, perhaps even a call upon the vicar (for Dr. Caliban was without prejudice — the broadest of men), would be the occupa- tion of the afternoon, from which he returned to tea in the charming drawing-room of 48, Henderson Avenue. It was now high time to revisit his Study. He was * The governess invariably took her meals with the family. t Miss Bowley, though practically permanently resident in the family, was still but a guest — a position which she never forgot, though Di. Caliban forbad a direct allusion to the fact. 14 THE AFTERMATH at work by six, and would write steadily till seven. Dinner, the pleasant conversation that succeeds it in our English homes, perhaps an innocent round game, occupied the evening till a gong for prayers aimounced the termination of the day. Dr. Caliban made it a point to remain the last up, to bolt the front door, to pour out his own whiskey, and to light his own candle before retiring. It was consonant with his exact and thoughtful nature, by the way, to have this candle of a patent sort, pierced down the middle to minimise the danger from falling grease ; it was moreover surrounded by a detachable cylinder of glass.* Such was the round of method which, day by day and week by week, built up the years of Dr. Caliban's life; but life is made up of little things, and, to quote a fine phrase of his own : " It is the hourly habits of a man that build up his character." He also said (in his address to the I. C. B. Y.) : " Show me a man hour by hour in his own home, from the rising of the sun to his going down, and I will tell you what manner of man he is." I have always remembered the epigram, and have acted upon it in the endeavour to portray the inner nature of its gifted author. I should, however, be giving but an insufficient picture of Dr. Caliban were I to leave the reader with no further impression of his life work, or indeed of the causes which have produced this book. His father had left him a decent competence. He layj therefore, under no necessity to toil for his living. Nevertheless, that sense of duty, " through which the • Such as are sold and patented by my friend Mr. Gape- thorn, of 362, Fetter Lane. INTRODUCTION 15 eternal heavens are fresh and strong " (Wordsworth), moved him to something more than " the consumption of the fruits of the earth" (Horace). He preached voluntarily and without remuneration for some years to the churches in Cheltenham, and having married Miss Bignor, of Winchelthorpe-on-Sea, purchased a villa in that rising southern watering-place, and received a call to the congregation, which he accepted. He laboured there till his recent calamity. I hardly know where to begin the recital of his numerous activities in the period of thirty -five years succeeding his marriage. With the pen he was inde- fatigable. A man more ttoikIXos — or, as he put it, many-sided — perhaps never existed. There was little he would not toudi, little upon which he was not con- sulted, and much in which, though anonymous, he was yet a leader. He wrote regularly, in his earlier years, for The Seventh Monarchy, The Banner, The Christian, The Free Trader, Household Words, Good Words, The Quiver, Chatterbox, The Home Circle, and The Sunday Monitor. During the last twenty years his work has continually appeared in the Daily Telegrafh, the Times, the Siicle, and the Tribuna. In the last two his work was translated. His political effect was immense, and that though he never acceded to the repeated request that he would stand upon one side or the other as a candidate for Parliament. He remained, on the contrary, to the end of his career, no more than president of a local associa- tion. It was as a speaker, writer, and preacher, that his ideas spread outwards; thousands certainly now use i6 THE AFTERMATH political phrases which they may imagine their own, but which undoubtedly sprang from his creative brain. He was perhaps not the first, but one of the first, to apply the term "Anglo-Saxon" to the English-speaking race — with which indeed he was personally connected through his relatives in New Mexico. The word " Empire " occurs in a sermon of his as early as 1869. He was contemporary with Mr. Lucas, if not before him, in the phrase, ' ' Command of the sea ' ' : and I find, in a letter to Mrs. Gorch, written long ago in 1873, the judgment that Protection was " no longer," and the nationalisation of land " not yet," within "the sphere of practical politics." If his influence upon domestic politics was in part due to his agreement with the bulk of his fellow-citizens, his attitude in foreign affairs at least was all his own. Events have proved it wonderfully sound. A strenuous opponent of American slavery as a very young man — in i860 — he might be called, even at that age, the most prominent Abolitionist in Worcestershire, and worked indefatigably for the cause in so far as it concerned this country. A just and charitable man, he proved, after the victory of the North, one of the firmest supporters in the press of what he first termed ' ' an Anglo-American entente." Yet he was not for pressing matters. He would leave the " gigantic daughter of the West " to choose her hour and time, confident in the wisdom of his daughter's judgment, and he lived to see, before his calamity fell upon him, Mr. Hanna, Mr. Roosevelt, Mr. Elihu Root, and Mr. Smoot occupying the positions they still adorn. He comprehended Europe. It was he who prophesied INTRODUCTION 17 of the Dual Monarchy (I believe in the Contemporary Review), that "the death of Francis Joseph would be the signal for a great upheaval " j he that applied to Italy the words ' ' clericalism is the enemy ' ' ; and he that publicly advised the withdrawal of our national investments from the debt of Spain — "a nation in active decay." He cared not a jot when his critics pointed out that Spanish fours had risen since his advice no less than 20 per cent., while our own consols had fallen by an equal amount. " The kingdom I serve, ' ' he finely answered^ ' ' knows nothing of the price of stock." And indeed the greater part of his fortune was in suburban rents, saving a small sum unfortunately adventured in Shanghai Telephones. Russia he hated as the oppressor of Finland and Poland, for oppression he loathed and combated wherever it appeared ; nor had Mri Arthur Balfour a stronger supporter than he when that statesman, armed only in the simple manliness of an English Christian and Freeman, combated and destroyed the terrorism that stalked through Ireland. Of Scandinavia he knew singularly little, but that little was in its favour ; and as for the German Empire, his stanzas to Prince Bismarck, and his sermon on the Emperor's recent visit, are too well known to need any comment here. To Holland he was, until recently, attracted. Greece he despised. Nowhere was this fine temper of unflinching courage and sterling common sense more apparent than in the great crisis of the Dreyfus case. No man stood up more boldly, or with less Jfiought of consequence, for Truth and Justice in this country. He was not indeed i8 THE AFTERMATH the chairman of the great meeting in St. James' Hall, but his peroration was the soul of that vast assemblage. " England will yet weather the storm. ..." It was a true prophecy, and in a sense a confession of Faith. There ran through his character a vein of something steady and profound, which inspired all who came near him with a sense of quiet persistent strength. This, with an equable, -4mf ailing pressure, restrained or con- trolled whatever company surrounded him. It was like the regular current of a full but silent tide, or like the consistent power of a good helmsman. It may be called his personal force. To most men and women of our circle, that force was a sustenance and a blessing; to ill-regulated or worldly men with whom he might come in contact, it acted as a salutary irritant, though rarely to so intense a degree as to give rise to scenes. I must unfortunately except the case of the Rural Dean of Bosham, whose notorious excess was the more lamentable from the fact that the Council of the S.P.C.A. is strictly non-sectarian, and whose excuse that the ink-pot was not thrown but brushed aside is, to speak plainly, a tergiversation. The recent unhappy war in South Africa afforded an excellent opportunity for the exercise of the qualities I mean. He was still active and alert ; still guiding men and maidens during its worse days. His tact was admirable. He suffered from the acute divisions of his congregation, but he suffered in powerful silence; and throughout those dark-days his sober necguid. nimis* was like a keel and ballast for us all. * iPetronius. INTRODUCTION 19 A young radical of sorts vas declaiming at his table one evening against the Concentration Camp. Dr. Caliban listened patiently, and at the end of the harangue said gently, " Shall we join the ladies?" The rebuke was not lost.* On another occasion, when some foreigner was reported in the papers as having doubted Mr. Brodrick's figures relative to the numbers of the enemy remaining in the field, Dr. Caliban said with quiet dignity, "It is the first time I have heard the word of an English gentleman doubted." It must not be imagined from these lines that he defended the gross excesses of the London mob — especially in the matter of strong waters — or that he wholly approved of our policy. "Peace in our time, Ok, Lord I" was his constant cry, and against mili- tarism he thundered fearlessly. I have heard him apply to it a word that never passed his lips in any other connection — the word Damnable. On the details of the war, the policy of annexation, the advisability of frequent surrenders, the high salaries of irregulars, and the employment of national scouts, he was silent. In fine, one might have applied to him the strong and simple words of Lord Jacobs, in his Guildhall speech.t One main fact stood out — ^he hated warfare. He was a man of peace. The tall, broad figure, inclining slightly to obesity, the clear blue northern eyes, ever roaming from point to point, as though seeking for grace, the familiar soft • The Ladies were Mrs. Caliban, Miss Rachel and Miss Aletheia Caliban, Miss Bowley, Miss Goucher, and Lady Robinson. t " It is ^ough for me that I am an Englishman." ?o THE AFTERMATH wideawake, the long full white beard, the veined com- plexion and dark-gloved hands, are now, alas, removed from the sphere they so long adorned. Dr. Caliban's affiction was first noticed by his family at dinner on the first of last September — a date which fell by a strange and unhappy coincidence on a Sunday. For some days past Miss Goucher had remarked his increasing volubility ; but on this fatal evening, in spite of all the efforts of his wife and daughters, he continued to speak, without interruption, from half -past seven to a quarter-past nine; and again, after a short interval, till midnight, when he fell into an uneasy sleep, itself full of mutterings. His talk had seemed now a sermon, now the reminiscence of some leading article, now a monologue, but the whole quite incoherent, thougl^ delivered with passionate energy; nor was it the least distressing feature of his malady that he would tolerate no reply, nay, even the gentlest assent drove him into paroxysms of fury. Next day he began again in the manner of a debate at the local Liberal Club, soon lapsing again into a sermon, and anon admitting snatches of strarige songs into the flow of his words. Towards eleven he was apparently, arguing with imaginary foreigners, and shortly after- wards the terrible scene was ended by the arrival of a medical man of his own persuasion. It is doubtful whether Dr. Caliban will ever be able to leave Dr. Charlbury's establishment, but all that can be done for him in his present condition is lovingly and ungrudgingly afforded. There has even been provided for him at considerable expense, and after an exhaustive search, a companion whose persistent hallucination it is INTRODUCTION 2^ that he is acting as private secretary to some leader of the Opposition, and the poor wild soul is at rest. Such was the man who continually urged upon me the necessity of compiling some such work as that which now lies before the reader. He had himself intended to produce a similar volume, and had he done so I should never have dared to enter the same field ; but I feel that in his present incapacity I am, as it were, fulfilling a duty when I trace in these few pages the plan which he so constantly counselled, and with such a man counsels were commands. If I may be permitted to dwell upon the feature more especially his own in this Guide, I will point to the section " On Vivid Historical Literature in its Application to Modern Problems," and furthermore, to the section "On the Criticism and Distinction of Works Attributed to Classical Authors." In the latter case the examples chosen were taken from his own large collection; for it was a hobby of his to purchase as bargains manuscripts and anonymous pamphlets which seemed to him to betray the hand of some master. Though I have been compelled to differ from my friend, and cannot conscientiously attribute the specimens I have chosen to William Shakespeare or to Dean Swift, yet I am sure the reader will agree with me that the error into which Dr. Caliban fell was that of no ordinary mind. Finally, let me offer to his family, and to his numerous circle, such apologies as may be necessary for the differences in style, and, alas, I fear, sometimes in mode of thought, between the examples which I have chosen as models for the student and those which perhaps would have more powerfully attracted the sympathies of 22 THE AFTERMATH my preceptor himself. I am well aware that such a difference is occasionally to be discoyered. I can only plead in excuse that men are made in very different ways, and that the disciple cannot, even if he would, forbid himself a certain measure of self -development. Dr. Caliban's own sound and broad ethics would surely have demanded it of no one, and I trust that this solemn reference to his charity and genial toleration will put an end to the covert attacks which some of those who should have been the strongest links between us have seen fit to make in the provincial and religious press. 1 REVIEWING The ancient and honourable art of Reviewing is, with- out question, the most important branch of that great calling which we term the " Career of Letters." As it is the most important, so also it is the first which a man of letters should learn. It is at once his shield and his weapon. A thorough knowledge of Reviewing, both theoretical and applied, will give a man more popularity or power than he could have attained by the expenditure of a corresponding energy in any one of the liberal professions, with the possible exception of Municipal politics. It forms, moreover, the foundation upon which all other literary work may be said to repose. Involving, as it does, the reading of a vast number of volumes, and the thorough mastery of a hundred wholly different subjects ; training one to rapid, conclusive judgment, and to the exercise of a kind of immediate power of survey, it vies with cricket in forming the character of an Englishman. It is interesting to know that Charles Hawbuck was for some years principally occupied in Reviewing ; and to this day some of our most important men will write, nay, and sign, reviews, as the press of the country testifies upon every side. It is true that the sums paid for this species of literary activity are not large, and it is this fact which 23 24 THE AFTERMATH has dissuaded some of our most famous novelists and poets of recent years from undertaking Reviewing of any kind. But the beginner will not be deterred by such a consideration, and he may look forward, by way of compensation, to the ultimate possession of a large and extremely varied library, the accumulation of the books which have been given him to review. I have myself been presented with books of which individual volumes were sometimes worth as much as forty-two shillings to buy. Having said so much of the advantages of this initial and fundamental kind of writing, I will proceed to a more exact account of its dangers and difficulties, and of the processes inherent to its manufacture. It is clear, in the first place, that the Reviewer must regard herself as the servant of the public, and of her employer; and service, as I need hardly remind her (or him), has nothing in it dishonourable. We were all made to work, and often the highest in the land are the hardest workers of all. This character of service, of which Mr. Ruskin has written such noble things, will often lay the Reviewer under the necessity of a sharp change of opinion, and nowhere is the art a better training in morals and application than in the habit it inculcates of rapid -and exact obedience, coupled with the power of seeing every aspect of a thing, and of insisting upon that particular aspect which will give most satisfaction to the commonwealth. It may not be uninstructive if I quote here the adventures of one of the truest of the many stout- hearted men I have known, one indeed who recently died in harness reviewing Mr. Garcke's article on REVIEWING 25 Electrical Traction in the supplementary volumes of the Encyclopedia Britannica. This gentleman was once sent a book to review ; the subject, as he had received no special training in it, might have deterred one less bound by the sense of duty. This book was called The Snail : Its Habitat, Food, Customs, Virtues, Vices, and Future. It was, as its title would imply, a monograph upon snails, and there were many fine coloured prints, showing various snails occupied in feeding on the leaves proper to each species. It also contained a large number of process blocks, showing sections, plans, elevations, and portraits of snails, as well as detailed descriptions (with diagrams) of the ears, tongues, eyes, hair, and nerves of snails. It was a comprehensive and remark- able work. My friend (whose name I suppress for family reasons) would not naturally have cared to review this book. He saw that it involved the assumption of a knowledge which he did not possess, and that some parts of the book might require very close reading. It numbered in all 1,532 pages, but this was including the index and the preface. He put his inclinations to one side, and took the book with him to the office of the newspaper from which he had received it, where he was relieved to hear the Editor inform him that it was not necessary to review the work in any great detail. " Moreover," he added, " I don't think you need praise it too much." On hearing this, the Reviewer, having noted down the price of the book and tlie name of the publisher, wrote the following words — which, by the way, the student will do well to cut out and pin upon his wall, 26 THE AFTERMATH as an excellent example of what a "short notice" should be : "The Snail: Its Habitat, etc. Adam Charles. Pschuffer. 3IS. 6d. " This is a hadls. that will hardly add to the reputation of its author. There is evidence qI detailed work, and even of conscientious' research in several places, but the author has ignored or misunderstood the whole teaching of and the special discoveries of and what is even more remarkable in a. man of Mr. Charles' standing, he advances views which were already exploded in the days of ." He then took an Encyclopaedia and filled up tiie blanks with the names of three great men who appeared, according to that work, to be the leaders in this branch of natural history. His duty thus thoroughly accom- plished and his mind at rest, he posted his review, and applied himself to lighter occupations. Next day, however, the Editor telephoned to him, to the effect that the notice upon which he had spent so much labour could not be used. " We haye just received," said the Editor, "a page advertisement from Pschuffer. I would like a really good article, and you might use the book as a kind of peg on which to hang it. You might begin on the subject of snails, and make it something more like your ' Oh I my lost friend,' which has had such a success. " On occasions such as these the beginner must remember to keep full possession of himself. Nothing in this mortal life is permanent, and the changes that are native to the journalistic career are perhaps the most startling and frequent of all those which threaten humanity. REVIEWING 27 The Reviewer of whom I speak was as wise as he was honourable. He saw at once what was needed. He wrote another and much longer article, beginning — "rA« S»ail: lit Habitat, etc. Adam Chaxlea. PschufEer. 21S. 6d. " There are tender days just before the Spring dares the adventure of the Channel, when our Kentish woods are prescient, as it were, of the South. It is calm . . ." and so forth, leading gradually up to snails, and bring- ing in the book here and there about every twentieth line. When this long article was done, he took it back to the office, and there found the Editor in yet a third mood. He was talking into the telephone, and begged his visitor to wait until he had done. My friend, there- fore, took up a copy of the Sfectator, and attempted to distract his attention with the inasterf ul irony and hard crystalline prose of that paper. Soon the Editor turned to him and said that Psehuffers had just let him know by telephone that they would not advertise after all. It was now necessary to delete all that there might be upon snails in his article, to head the remainder "My Kentish Home," and to send it immediately to "Life in the O-penJ" This done, he sat down and wrote upon a scrap of paper in the office the following revised notice, which the Editor glanced at and approyed : " The Snail: Its Habitat, etc. Adam Charles. Pschuffer. 21S. 6d. " This work will, perhaps, appeal to specialists. This journal does not profess any capacity of dealing with it, but 28 THE AFTERMATH a glance at its pages is sufficient to show that it would be very ill-suited to ordinary readers. The illustrations are not without merit." Next morning he was somewhat perturbed to be called up again upon the telephone by the Editor, who spoke to him as follows ; " I am very sorry, but I have just learnt a most important fact. Adam Charles is standing in our interests at Biggleton. Lord Bailey will be on the plat- form. You must write a long and favourable review of the book before twelve to-day, and do try and say a little about the author." He somewhat wearily took up a sheet of paper and wrote what follows : — a passage which I must again recommend to the student as a very admirable specimen of work upon these lines. " The Snail: Its Habitat, etc. Adam Charles. Pschuffer. 2IS. 6d. " This book comes at a most opportune moment. It is not generally known that Professor Charles was the first to point out the very great importance of the training of the mind in the education of children. It was in May, 1875, that he made this point in the presence of Mr. Gladstone, who was so impressed by the mingled enlightermient and novelty of the view, that he wrote a long and interesting postcard upon the aiuthor to a friend of the present writer. Professor Charles may be styled — ^nay, he styles himself — a ' self-made man.' Born in Huddersfield of parents who were weavers in that charming northern city, he was early fascinated by the study of natural science, and was admitted to the Alexandrovna University. . . ." (And so on, and so on, out of " Who's Who.") " But this would not suffice for his growing genius." REVIEWING 89 (And so on, and so on, out of the Series of Coniemforary Agnostics.) " ... It is sometimes remarkable to men o£ less wide experience how such spirits find the mere time to achieve their prodigious results. Take, for example, this book on the Snail. . . ." And he continued in a fine spirit of praise, such as should be given to books of this weight and importance, and to men such as he who had written it. He sent it by boy-messenger to the office. The messenger had but just left the house when the telephone rang again, and once more it was the Editor, who asked whether the review had been sent off. Know- ing how dilatory are the run of journalists, my friend felt some natural pride in replying that he had indeed just despatched the article. The Editor, as luck would have it, was somewhat annoyed by this, and the reason soon appeared when he proceeded to say that the author was another Charles after all, and not the Mr. Charles who was standing for Parliament. He asked whether the original review could still be retained, in which the book, it will be remembered, had been treated with some severity. My friend permitted himself to give a deep sigh, but was courteous enough to answer as follows : " I am afraid it has been destroyed, but I shall be very happy to write another, and I will make it really scathing. You shall have it by twelve." It was under these circumstances that the review (which many of you must have read) took this final form, which I recommend even more heartily than any 30 THE AFTERMATH of the others to those who may peruse these pages for their profit, as well as for their instruction. "The Snail: Its Habitat, etc. Adam Charles. Pschuffer. 2IS. 6d. " We desire to have as little to do with this book as possible, and we should reconunend some similar attitude to our readers. It professes to be scientific, but the harm books of this kind do is incalculable. It is certainly unfit fen: ordinary reading, and for our part we will confess that we have not read more than the first few words. They were quite sufficient to confirm the judgment which we have put before our readers, and they would have formed sufficient material for a lengthier treatment had w^ thought it our duty as Englishmen to dwell further upon the subject." Let me now turn from the light parenthesis of illuminating anecdote to the sterner part of my task. We will begin at the beginning, taking the simplest form of review, and tracing the process of production through its various stages. It is necessary first to procure a few forms, such as are sold by Messrs. Chatsworthy in Chancery Lane, and Messrs. Goldman, of the Haymarket, in which all the skeleton of a review is provided, with blanks left for those portions which must, with the best will in the world, vary according to the book and the author under consideration. There are a large number of these forms, and I would recommend the student who is as yet quite a novice in the trade to select some forty of the most conventional , such as these on page 7 of the catalogue : " Mr. has hardly seized the pure beauty of " " We cannot agree with Mr. in his estimate of " " Again, how admirable is the following :" REVIEWING 31 " There is some- what of the -'s style." -'s -'s At the same establishments can be procured very complete lists of startling words, which lend individu- ality and force to the judgment of the Reviewer. Indeed I believe that Mr. Goldman was himself the original patentee of these useful- little aids, and among many before me at this moment I would recommend the following to the student : Absolute Immediate Creative Bestial Intense Authoritative in Mr. Ampitheatrical ) Mrs. Lapsed Miss - Miggerlish Japhetic Accidental Alkaline Zenotic , Messrs. Mailing, of Duke Street, Soho, sell a par- ticular kind of cartridge paper and some special pins, gum, and a knife, called "The Reviewer's Outfit." I do not know that these are necessary, but they cost only a few pence, and are certainly of advantage in the final process. To wit : Seizing firmly the book to be reviewed, write down the title, price, publisher, and (in books other than anonymous) the author's name, at the to-p of the sheet of paper you have chosen. The book should then be taken in both hands and opened sharply, with a gesture not easily described, but acquired with 32 THE AFTERMATH very little practice. The test of success is that the book should give a loud crack and lie open of itself upon the table before one. This initial process is technically called "breaking the back " of a book, but we need not trouble ourselves yet with technical terms. One of the pages so disclosed should next be torn out and the word " extract " written in the corner, though not before such sentences have been deleted as will leave the remainder a coherent paragraph. In the case of historical and scientific work, the preface must be torn out bodily, the name of the Reviewer substituted for the word "I," and the whole used as a description of the work in question. What remains is very simple. The forms, extracts, etc., are trimmed, pirmed, and gummed in order upon the cartridge paper (in some oifices brown paper), and the whole is sent to press. 1 need hardly say that only the most elementary form of review can be constructed upon this model, but the simplest notice contains all the factors which enter into the most complicated and most serious of literary criticism and pronouncements. In this, as in every other practical trade, an ounce of example is worth a ton of precept, and I have much pleasure in laying before the student one of the best examples that has ever appeared in the weekly press of how a careful, subtle, just, and yet tender review, may be written. The complexity of the situation which called it forth, and the lightness of touch required for its successful completion, may be gauged by the fact that Mr. Mayhem was the nephew of my employer, had quarrelled with him at the moment when the notice was written, but will almost certainly be on good terms with REVIEWING 33 him again; he was also, as I privately knew, engaged to the daughter of a publisher who had shares in the works where the review was printed. A YOUNG POET IN DANGER Mr. Mayhem's " Pb;reant qui Nostra." We fear that in " Pereant qui Nostra," Mr. Mayhem has hardly added to his reputation, and we might even doubt whether he was well advised to publish it at all. " Tufts in an Orchard" gave such promise, that the author of the ex- quisite lyrics it contained might easily have rested on the immediate fame that first effort procured him. " Lord, look to England; England looks to you," and — " Great unaffected vampires and the moon," are lines the Anglo-Saxon race will not readily let die. In " Pereant qui Nostra," Mr. Mayhem preserves and even increases his old facility of expression, but there is a terrible falling-off in verbal aptitude. What are we to think of " The greatest general the world has seen" applied as a* poetic description to Lord Kitchener? Mr. Mayhem will excuse us if we say that the whole expres- sion is commonplace. Commonplace thought is bad enough, though it is difficult to avoid when one tackles a great national subject, and thinks what all good patriots and men of sense think also. " Pour Mre poete," as M. Yves Guyot proudly said in his receptional address to the French Academy, " Pour 6tre poSte on n'est pas forc6ment alifin^." But commonplace language should always be avoidable, and it is a fault which we cannot but admit we have found throughout Mr. Mayhem's new volume. Thus in " Laura " he compares a young goat to a " tender flower," and in " Billings " he calls some little children " the younglings of the flock." Again, he says of the waves at Dover in a gale that they are "horses all in rank, with manes of snow," and tells us in " Eton College " that the Thames " runs lik" a silver thread amid the green." 3 34 THE AFTERMATH All these similes verge upon the commonplace, even when they do not touch it. However, there is very genuine feel- ing in the description of his old school, and we have no doubt that the bulk of Etonians will see more in the poem than outsiders can possibly do. It cannot be denied that Mr. Mayhem has a powerful source of inspiration in his strong patriotism, and the sonnets addressed to Mr. Kruger, Mr. O'Brien, Dr. Clark, and General Mercier are full of vigorous denunciation. It is the more regrettable that he has missed true poetic diction and lost his subtletly in a misapprehension of planes and values. " Vile, vile old man, and yet more vile again," is a line that we are sure Mr. Mayhem would reconsider in his better moments: "more vile" than what? Than him- self? The expression is far too vague. " Proud Prelate," addressed to General Mercier, must be a misprint, and it is a pity it should have slipped in. What Mr. Mayhem probably meant was " Proud Caesar " or " soldier," or some other dissyllabic title. The word frelate can properly only be applied to a bishop, a mitred abbot, or a vicar apostolic. " Babbler of Hell, importunate mad fiend, dead canker, crested worm," are vigorous and original, but do not save the sonnet. And as to the last two lines, " Nor seek to pierce the viewless shield of years. For thait you certainly could never do," Mr. Mayhem must excuse us if we say that the order of the lines make a sheer bathos. Perhaps the faults and the excellences of Mr. Mayhem, his fruitful limitations, and his energetic inspirations, can be best appreciated if we quote the following sonnet; the exercise will also afford us the opportunity (which we are sure Mr. Mayhem will not resent in such an old friend) of pointing out the dangers into which his new tendencies may lead him. " England, if ever it should be thy fate By fortune's turn or accident of chance To fall from craven fears of being great. And in the tourney with dishevelled lance REVIEWING 35 To topple headlong, and incur the Hate Of Spain, America, Germany, and France, What will you find upon that dreadful date To check the backward move of your advance ? A little Glory ; purchased not with gold Nor yet with Frankincense (the islaaid blood Is incommensurate, neither bought nor sold), But on the poops where Drake and Nelson stood An iron hand, a stern unflinching eye To meet the large assaults of Destiny." Now, here is a composition that not everyone could have written. It is inspired by a vigorous patriotism, it strikes the right note (Mr. Mayhem is a Past Seneschal of the Navy League), and it breathes throughout the motive spirit of our greatest lyrics. It is the execution that is defective, and it is to execution that Mr. Mayhem must direct himself if he would rise to the level of his own great conceptions. We will take the sonnet line by line, and maka our mean- ing clear, and we do this earnestly for the sake of a young poet to whom the Anglo-Saxon race owes much, and whom it would be deplorable to see failing, as Kipling appears to be failing, and as Ganzer has failed. Line i is not very striking, but might pass as an intro- duction ; line 2 is sheer pleonasm — after using the word "fate," you cannot use "fortune," "accident," "chance," as though they were amplifications of your first thought. Moreover, the phrase " by fortune's turn " has a familiar sound. It is rather an echo than a creation. In line 3, "craven fears of being great" is taken from Tennyson. The action is legitimate enough. Thus, in Wordsworth's " Excursion " are three lines taken bodily from " Paradise Lost," in Kipling's " Stow it " are whole phrases taken from the Police Gazette, and in Mr. Austin's verses you may frequently find portions of a Standard leader. Nevertheless, it is a licence which a young poet should be chary of. All these others were men of an established reputa- tion before they permitted themselves this liberty. In line 4, "dishevelled" is a false epithet for "lance"; a. lance has no hair ; the adjective can only properly be used of a woman, a wild beast, or domestic animal. 36 THE AFTERMATH In line 5, " incur the hate " is a thoroughly unpoetic phrase — ^we say so unreservedly. In line 6, we have one of those daring experiments in metre common to our younger poets; therefore we hesitate -to pronounce upon it, but (if we may presume to advise) we should give Mr. Mayhem the sugges- tion made by the Times to Tennyson — that he should stick to an exact metre until he felt sure of his style ; and in line 8, "the backward move of your advance" seems a little strained. It is, however, in the sextet that the chief slips of the sonnet appear, and they are so characteristic of the author's later errors, that we cannot but note them ; thus, " purchased not with gold or Frankincense " is a grievous error. It is indeed a good habit to quote Biblical phrases (a habit which has been the making of half our poets), but not to confuse them : frankincense was never used as coin — even by the Hittites. " Incommeiisurate " is simply meaningless. How can blood be " incommensurate " ? We fear Mr. Mayhem has fallen into the error of polysyllabic effect, a modern pit- fall. " Island blood " will, however, stir many a responsive thrill. The close of the sonnet is a terrible falling o£E. When you say a thing is purchased, " not with this but " the reader naturally expects an Edternative, instead of which Mr. May- hem goes right off to another subject ! Also (though the allusion to Nelson and Drake is magnificent) the mention of an iron hand and an eye by themselves on a poop seems to US a very violent metaphor. The last line is bad. We dp not write in this vein to gain any reputation for preciosity, and still less to offend. Mr. Mayhem has many qualities. He has a rare handling of penultimates, much potentiality, large framing ; he has a very definite chiaros- curo, and the tones are full and objective; so are the values. We would not restrain a production in which (as a partner in a publishing firm) the present writer is directly interested. But we wish to recall Mr. Mayhem to his earlier and simpler style — ^to the " Cassowary," and the superb interrupted seventh of " The Altar Ghoul." England cannot afford to lose that talent. II ON POLITICAL APPEALS It was one of Dr. Caliban's chief characteristics — and perhaps the main source of his power over others — that he could crystallise, or — to use the modern term — "wankle," the thought of his generation into sharp unexpected phrases. Among others, this was constantly upon his lips : " We live in stirring times." If I may presume to add a word to the pronounce- ments of my revered master, I would rewrite the sentence thus : " We live in stirring — and Changefxjl — times." It is not only an element of adventure, it is also an element of rapid and unexpected development which marks our period, and which incidentally lends so con- siderable an influence to genius. In the older and more settled order, political forces were so well known that no description or analysis of them was necessary : to this day members of our more ancient political families do not read the newspapers. Soon, perhaps, the national life will have entered a new groove, and once more literary gentlemen will but in- directly control the life of the nation. For the moment, however, their effect is direct and 37 38 THE AFTERMATH immediate. A vivid prophecy, a strong attack upon this statesman or that foreign Government may deter- mine public opinion for a space of over ten days, and matter of this sort is remunerated at the rate of from 15s. to i8s. 6d. per thousand words. When we contrast this with the 9s. paid for the translation of foreign classics, the 5s. of occasional verse, or even the los. of police-court reporting, it is sufficiently evident that this kind of composition is the Premier Prose of our time. There must, indeed, be in London and Manchester, alive at the present moment, at least fifty men who can command the prices I have mentioned, and who, with reasonable industry, can earn as much as ;^Soo a year by their decisions upon political matters. But I should be giving the student very indifferent counsel were I to recommend him for the delivery of his judgment to the beaten track of Leading Articles or to that of specially written and signed communications : the simis paid for such writing never rise beyond a modest level; the position itself is precarious. In London alone, and within a radius of 87 yards from the " Green Dragon," no less than 53 Authors lost their livelihood upon the more respectable papers from an inability to prophesy with any kind of accuracy upon the late war, and this at a time when the majority of regular politicians were able to retain their seats in Parliament and many ministers their rank in the Cabinet. By far the most durable, the most exalted, and the most effective kind of appeal, is that which is made in a poetic form, especially if that form be vague and symbolic in its character. Nothing is risked and every- thing is gained by this method, upon which have been ON POLITICAL APPEALS 39 founded so many reputations and so many considerable fortunes. The student cannot be too strongly urged to abandon the regular and daily task of set colimins — signed or unsigned — for the occasional Flash of Verse if he desire to provoke great wars and to increase his income. It may not always succeed, but the proportion of failures is very small, and at the worst it is but a moment's energy wasted. " We are sick," says one of the most famous among those who have adopted this method, " We are sick " — he is speaking not only of himself but of others — " We are sick for a stave of the song that our fathers sang." Turn, therefore, to the dead — who are no longer alive, and with whom no quarrel is to be feared. Make them reappear and lend weight to your contention. Their fame is achieved, and may very possibly support your own. This kind of writing introduces all the elements that most profoundly affect the public : it is mysterious, it is vague, it is authoritative; it is also eminently literary, and I can recall no first-class political appeal of the last fifteen years which has not been cast more or less upon these lines. The subjects you may choose from are numerous and are daily increasing, but for the amateur the best, without any question, is that of Imperialism. It is a common ground upon which all meet, and upon which every race resident in the wealthier part of London is agreed. Bring forward the great ghosts of the past, let them swell what is now an all but universal chorus. Avoid the more complicated metres, hendecasyllables, and the rest ; choose those which neither scan nor rhyme ; or, if their subtlety bafHes you, fall back upon blank 40 THE AFTERMATH verse, and you should, with the most moderate talent, lay the foundation of a permanent success. I will append, as is my custom, a model upon which the student may shape his first efforts, though I would not have him copy too faithfully, lest certain idiosyn- crasies of manner should betray the plagiarism. THE IMPERIALIST FEAST [A Hall at the Grand Oriental. At a long table are seated innumerable Shades. The walls are deco- rated with fags of all nations, and a band of musicians in sham uniform are flaying very loudly on adms,'\ Catullus rises and makes a short speech, pointing out the advantages of Strong Men, and making several delicate allusions to Csesar, who is too much of a gentleman to applaud. He then gives them the toast of " Imperialism," to which there is a hearty response. Lucan replies in a few well-chosen words, and they fall to conversation. Petronius : I would be crowned with paper flowers to-night And scented with the rare opopanax, Whose savour leads the Orient in, suggesting The seas beyond Modore. Talleyrand : Shove up, Petronius, And let me sit as near as possible To Mr. Bingoe's Grand Imperial Band With Thirty-seven Brazen Instruments And Kettle-Drums complete : I hear the players Discourse the music called " What Ho ! She Bumps !" ON POLITICAL APPEALS 41 Lord Chesterfield : What Ho ! She Bumps ! Like- wise 1 C'est 9a ! There's 'Air ! Lord Glenaltamont of Ephesus {severely) : Lord Chesterfield ! Be worthy of your name. Lord Chesterfield {angrily) : Lord Squab, be worthy of your son-in-law's. Henry V. : My Lords ! My Lords I What do you with your swords ? I mean, what mean you by this strange demeanour Which (had you swords and knew you how to use them) Might ... I forget what I was going to say. . . . Oh ! Yes Is this the time for peers to quarrel, When all the air is thick with Agincourt And every other night is Crispin's day ? The very supers bellow up and down, Armed of rude cardboard and wide blades of tin For England and St. George ! Richard Yea and Nay : You talk too much. Think more. Revise. Avoid the commonplace; And when you lack a startling word, invent it. [Their quarrel is stopped by Thomas Jefferson rising to propose the toast of " The Anglo-Saxon Race."'] Jefferson : If I were asked what was the noblest message Delivered to the twentieth century, I should reply — {Etc., etc. While he maunders on Antony, Cleopatra, and Caesar hegin talking rather loud) Cleopatra : Waiter ! I want a little crkne de menthe. {The waiter pays no attention.) 42 THE AFTERMATH Antony : Waiter ! A glass of curagao and brandy. (Waiter still looks at /eferson.) C^SAR : That is the worst of these contracted dinners. They give you quite a feed for 3s. 6d. And have a splendid Band. I like the Band, It stuns the soul. . . . But when you call the waiter He only sneers and looks the other way. Cleopatra (makes a moue). Cesar (archly) : Was that the face that launched a thousand ships And sacked . . . Antony (angrily) : Oh ! Egypt ! Egypt ! Egypt ! Thomas Jefferson (ending, interrupts the quarrel). . . . blessings Of order, cleanliness, and business methods. The base of Empire is a living wage. One King . . . (applause) . . . (applause) . . . . . . (applause) shall always wave . . . (applause) . . . (loud applause) . . . (applause) The Reign of Law ! (Thunders of applause) Napoleon (rising to reply) : I am myself a strong Imperialist. A brochure, very recently compiled (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read). Neglects the point, I think; the Anglo-Saxon . . . (etc., etc.) George III. (to Burke): Who's that? Eh, what? Who's that? Who ever's that ? Burke : Dread sire ! It is the Corsican Vampire. ON POLITICAL APPEALS 43 George III. : Napoleon? What? I thought that he was leaner. I thought that he was leaner. What? What? What? Napoleon {sitting down) . . . such dispositions ! Order! THe d'Armiel {Slight afplause) Herod {rises suddenly without being asked, crosses his arms, glares, and shouts very loudly). Ha ! Would you have Imperial hearing ? Hounds ! I am that Herod which is he that am The lonely Lebanonian {interruption) v/ho despaired In Deep Marsupial Dens . . . {cries of "Sit down I") ... In dreadful hollows To — {"Sit downl") — tear great trees with the teeth, and hurricanes — {"Sit downl") — That shook the hills of Moab ! Chorus of Dead Men : Oh ! Sit down. {He is swamped by the clamour, in the midst of which Zucullus murmurs to himself) LucuLLUS {musing) : The banquet's done. There was a tribute drawn Of anchovies and olives and of soup In tins of conquered nations ; subject whiting : Saddle of mutton from the antipodes Close on the walls of ice ; Laponian pheasants ; Eggs of Canadian rebels, humbled now To such obeisance — scrambled eggs — and butter From Brittany enslaved, and the white bread Hardened for heroes in the test of time. Was California's offering. But the cheese, The cheese was ours. ... Oh ! but the glory faded 44 THE AFTERMATH Of feasting at repletion mocks our arms And threatens even Empire. {Great noise of Vulgarians, a mob of people, hetald\, trumpets, flags. Enter Vitellius.) ViTELLius : I have dined ! But not with you. The master of the world Has dined alone and at his own expense. And oh ! — I am almost too full for words — But oh ! My lieges, I have used you well ! I have commanded fifteen hundred seats And standing room for something like a thousand To view my triumph over Nobody Upon the limelit stage. Herod : Oh ! rare Vitellius, Oh ! Prominent great Imperial ears ! Oh ! Mouth To bellow largesse ! Oh ! And rolling Thunder, And trains of smoke. And oh ! . . . Vitellius : Let in the vulgar To see the master sight of their dull lives : Great Csesar putting on his overcoat. And then, my loved companions, we'll away To see the real Herod in the Play. {The Shades pass out in a crowd. In the street Theocritus is heard singing in a voice that gets fainter and fainter with distance. . . .) " Put me somewhere ea-heast of Su-hez, Were the best is loi-hoike the worst — Were there hain' no " — {and so forth). Finis. ON POLITICAL APPEALS 45 It . is not enough to compose such appeals as may quicken the nation to a perception of her peculiar mission; it is necessary to paint for her guidance the abominations and weakness of foreign countries. The young writer may be trusted to know his duty instinc- tively in this matter, but should his moral perception be blunted, a sharper argument will soon remind him of what he owes to the Common Conscience of Christians. He that cannot write, and write with zeal, upon the Balkans, or upon Finland, or upon the Clerical trouble, or upon whatever lies before us to do for righteousness, is not worthy of a place in English letters : the public and his editor will very soon convince him of what he has lost by an unmanly reticence. His comrades, who are content to deal with such matters as they arise, will not be paid at a higher rate : but they will be paid more often. They will not infre- quently be paid from several sources; they will have many opportunities for judging those financial questions which are invariably mixed up with the great battle against the Ultramontane, the Cossack, and the Turk. In Cairo, Frankfort, Pretoria, Mayfair, Shanghai, their latter days confirm Dr. Caliban's profound conclusion : " Whosoever works for Humanity works, whether he know it or not, for himself as well."* I earnestly beseech the reader of this textbook, especially if he be young, to allow no false shame to modify his zeal in judging the vileness of the Continent. We know whatever can be known; all criticism or qualification is hypocrisy ; all silence is cowardice. • This Phase closes the XXXIVth of Dr. Caliban's " Subjects for Sinners." 46 THfi AFTERMATH There is work to be done. Let the writer take up his pen and write. I had some little hesitation what model to put before the student. This book does not profess to be more than an introduction to the elements, of our science j I there- fore omitted what had first seemed to me of some value, the letters written on a special commission to Pondi- cherry during the plague and famine in that unhappy and ill-governed remnant of a falling empire. The articles on the tortures in the Philippines were never printed, and might mislead. I have preferred to show Priestcraft and Liberty in their eternal struggle as they appeared to me in the character of Special Commissioner for Out and About during the troubles of 1901. It is clear, and I think unbiassed; it opens indeed in that light fashion which is a concession to contemporary journalism : but the half frivolous exterior conceals a permanent missionary purpose. Its carefully collected array of facts give, I suggest, a vivid picture of one particular battlefield; that whereon there rage to-day the opposed forces which will destroy or save the French people. The beginner could not have a better intro- duction to his struggle against the infamies of Clericalism. Let him ask himself (as Mr. Gardy, M.P., asked in a letter to Out and About) the indig- nant question, "Could such things happen here in England?" ON POLITICAL APPEALS 47 THE SHRINE OF ST. LOUP My excellent good Dreyfusaxds, anti-Dreyfusards, Baptists, Anabaptists, pre-Monstratentians, antiquaries, sterling fellows, foreign correspondents, home-readers, historians, Nestorians, philosophers, Deductionists, Inductionists, Praetorians (I forgot those), Csesarists, Lazarists, Catholics, Protestants, Agnostics, and militant atheists, as also all you Churchmen, Noncon- formists, Particularists, very strong secularists, and even you, my well-beloved little brethren called The Peculiar People, give ear attentively and listen to what is to follow, and you shall learn more of a matter that has woefully disturbed you than ever you would get from the Daily Mail or from Mynheer van Damm, or even from Dr. Biggies' Walks and. Talks in France. In an upper, valley of the Dauphin^ there is a village called Lagarde. From this village, at about half past four o'clock of a pleasant June morning, there walked out with his herd one Jean Rigors, a herdsman and half-wit. He had not proceeded very far towards the pastures above the village, and the sun was barely showing above the peak profanely called The Three Bishops, when he had the fortune to meet the Blessed St. Loup, or Lupus, formerly a hermit in that valley, who had died some fourteen hundred years, ago, but whose name, astonishing as it may seem to the author of The Justification of Fame, is still remembered among the populace. The Blessed Lupus admonished the peasant, recalling the neglect into which public worship had fallen, reluctantly promised a sign whereby it 48 THE AFTERMATH might be recreated among the faithful, and pointed out a nasty stream of muddy water, one out of fifty that trickled from the moss of the Alps. He then struck M. Rigors a slight, or, as some accounts have it, a heavy, blow with his staff, and disappeared in glory. Jean Rigors, who could not read or write, being a man over thirty, and having therefore forgotten the excellent free lessons provided by the Republic in primary schools, was not a little astonished at the apparition. Having a care to tether a certain calf whom he knew to be light-headed, he left the rest of the herd to its own unerring instincts, and ran back to the village to inform the parish priest of the very remarkable occurrence of which he had been the witness or victim. He found upon his return that the morning Mass, from which he had been absent off and on for some seven years, was already at the Gospel, and attended to it with quite singular devotion, until in the space of some seventeen minutes he was able to meet the priest in the sacristy and inform him of what had happened. The priest, who had heard of such miraculous appear- ances in other villages, but (being a humble man, un- fitted for worldly success and idiotic in business matters) had never dared to hope that one would be vouchsafed to his own cure, proceeded at once to the source of the muddy streamlet, and (unhistorical as the detail may seem to the author of Our Old Europe, Whence and Whither?) neglected to reward the hind, who, indeed, did not expect pecuniary remuneration, for these two excellent reasons : First, that he knew the priest to be by far the poorest man in the parish ; secondly, that he ON POLITICAL APPEALS 49 thought a revelation from the other world incom- mensurate with money payments even to the extent of a five- franc piece. The next Sunday (that is, three days afterwards) the priest, who had previously informed his brethren throughout the Canton, preached a sermon upon the decay of religion and the growing agnosticism of the modern world — a theme which, as they had heard it publicly since the Christian religion had been established by Constantine in those parts and privately for one hundred and twenty-five years before, his congregation received with some legitimate languor. When, however, he came to what was the very gist of his remarks, the benighted foreigners pricked up their ears (a physical atavism impossible to our own more enlightened com- munity), and Le Sieur Rigors, who could still remember the greater part of the services of the Church, was filled with a mixture of nervousness and pride, while the good priest informed his hearers, in language that would have been eloquent had he not been trained in the little seminary, that the great St. Lupus himself had appeared to a devout member of his parish and had pointed out to him a miraculous spring, for the proper enshrinement of which he requested — ^nay, he demanded — ^the contribu- tions of the faithful. At that one sitting the excellent hierarch received no less' a sum than 1,053 francs and 67 centimes j the odd two-centimes (a coin that has disappeared from the greater part of France) being contributed by a road- mender, who was well paid by the State, but who was in the custom of receiving charity from tourists ; the said tourists being under the erroneous impression that he was a beggar. He also, by the way, would entertain 4 so THE AFTERMATH the more Anglo-Saxon of these with the folk-lore of the district, in which his fertile imagination was never at fault. It will seem astonishing to the author of Village Communities in Western Europe to hear of so large a sum as jQ^o being subscribed by the congregation of this remote village, and it would seem still more astonishing to him could he see the very large chapel erected over the spring of St. Loup. I do not say that he would understand the phenomenon, but I do say that he would become a more perturbed and therefore a wiser man did he know the following four facts : (i) That the freehold value of the village and its communal land, amounting to the sum of a poor ;^20,ooo, was not in the possession of a landlord, but in that of these wretched peasants. (2) That the one rich man of the neighbourhood, a retired glove-maker, being also a fanatic, presented his subscriptions in such a manner that they were never heard of. He had, moreover, an abhorrence for the regulation of charity. (3) That the master mason in the neighbouring town had in his youth been guilty of several mortal sins, and was so weak as to imagine that a special tender would in such a case make a kind of reparation; and (4) that the labourers employed were too ignorant to cheat and too illiterate to combine. The new shrine waxed and prospered exceedingly, and on the Thursday following its dedication an epileptic, having made use of the water, was restored to a normal, and even commonplace, state of mind. On the Friday a girl, who said that she had been haunted by devils (though until then no one had heard of the matter), declared, upon drinking a cup from the spring ON POLITICAL APPEALS 51 of St. Loup, that she was now haunted by angels — a very much pleasanter condition of affairs. The Sunday following, the village usurer, who called himself BertoUin, but who was known to be a wicked foreigner from beyond the Alps, of the true name of Bertolino, ran inta the iim like one demented, and threw down the total of his ill-gotten gains for the benefit of the shrine. They amounted, indeed, to but a hundred francs, but then his clientele were close and skin-flint, as peasant proprietors and free men generally are the world over; and it was well known that the cobbler, who had himself borrowed a small sum for a month, and quadrupled it in setting up lodgings for artists, had been unable to recover from the usurer the mending of his boots. By this time the Bishop had got wind of the new shrine, and wrote to the Cm6 of Lagarde a very strong letter, in which, after reciting the terms of the Con- cordat^ Clause 714 of the Constitution and the decree of May 29th, 1854, he pointed out that by all these and other fundamental or organic laws of the Republic, he was master in his own diocese. He rebuked the curd for the superstitious practice which had crept into his cure, ordered the chapel to be used for none but ordinary purposes, and issued a pastoral letter upon the evils of local superstitions. This pastoral letter was read with unction and holy mirth in the neighbouring monastery of Bernion (founded in defiance of the law by the widow of a President of the Republic), but with sorrow and without comment in the little church of Lagarde. The Minister of the Interior and the Minister of Public Worship, each in his separate way, proceeded to stamp out this survival of the barbaric period of Europe. 52 THE AFTERMATH The first by telling the Prefect to tell the sub-Prefect to tell the Mayor that any attempt to levy taxes in favour of the shrine would be administratively punished : the second by writing a sharp official note to the Bishop for not having acted on the very day that St. Loup appeared to the benighted herdsman. The sub-Prefect came from the horrible town of La Rochegayere and lunched with the Mayor, who was the donor of the new stained-glass window in the churchy and they talked about the advan- tages of forcing the Government to construct a road through the valley to accommodate the now numerous pilgrims; a subject which the sub-Prefect, who was about to be promoted, approached with official non- chalance, zut the Mayor (who owned the principal inn) with pertinacity and fervour. They then went out, the Mayor in his tricolour scarf to lock up the gate in front of the holy well, the sub- Prefect to escort his young wife to the presbytery, where she left a gift of 500 francs : the sub-Prefect thought it improper for a lady to walk alone. Upon the closure of the shrine a local paper (joint property of the Bishop and a railway contractor) attacked the atheism of the Govermnent. A local duchess, who was ignorant of the very terminology of religion, sent a donation of 5,000 francs to the cure; with this the excellent man built a fine approach to the new chapel, "which," as he sorrowfully and justly observed, " the faithful may approach, though an atheistic Government forbids the use of the shrine." That same week, by an astonishing accident, the Ministry was overturned; the Minister of the Interior was compelled to retire into private life, and lived ON POLITICAL APPEALS 53 dependent upon his uncle (a Canon of Rheims). The Minister of Public Worship (who had become increas- ingly unpopular through the growth of anti-Semitic feeling) took up his father's money-lending business at Antwerp. Next week the lock and seals were discovered to have been in some inexplicable way removed from the gate of the well and (by Article 893 of the Administrative Code) before they could be replaced an action was necessary at the assize-town of Grenoble. This action (by the Order of 1875 on Law Terms) could not take place for six months ; and in that interval an astonishing number of things happened at Lagarde. An old Sapper General, who had devised the special obturator for light quick-firing guns, and who was attached to the most backward superstitions, came in full uniform to the Chapel and gave the shrine 10,000 francs : a mysteriously large endowment, as this sum was nearly half his income, and he had suffered im- prisonment in youth for his Republican opinions. He said it was for the good of his soul, but the editor of the Horreur knew better, and denounced him. He was promptly retired upon a pension about a third greater than that to which he was legally entitled, and received by special secret messenger from the Minister of War an earnest request to furnish a memorandiun on the fortifi- cations of the Isfere and to consider himself inspector, upon mobilisation, of that important line of defence. Two monks, who had walked all the way from Spain, settled in a house near the well. A pilgrim, who had also evidently come from a prodigious distance on foot, but gaye false information as to his movements, was 54 THE AFTERMATH arrested by the police and subsequently released. The arrest was telegraphed to the Times and much com- mented upon, but the suicide of a prominent London solicitor and other important news prevented any mention of his release. A writer of great eminence, who had been a leading sceptic all his life, stayed at Lagarde for a month and became a raving devotee. His publishers (MM. Her- mann Khan) punished him by refusing to receive his book upon the subject; but by some occult influence, probably that of the Jesuits, he was paid several hundreds for it by the firm of Zadoc et Ciej ten years afterwards he died of a congested liver, a catastrophe which some ascribed to a Jewish plot, and others treated as a proof that his intellect had long been failing. A common peasant fellow, that had been paralysed for ten years, bathed in the water and walked away in a sprightly fashion afterwards. This was very likely due to his ignorance, for a doctor who narrowly watched" the whole business has proved that he did not know the simplest rudiments of arithmetic or history, and how should such a fellow understand so difficult a disease as paralysis of the Taric nerve — especially if it were (as the doctor thought quite evident) complicated by a stricture of the Upper Dalmoid ? Two deaf women were, as is very commonly the case with enthusiasts of this kind, restored to their hearing ; for how long we do not know, as their subsequent history was not traced for more than five years. A dumb boy talked, but in a very broken fashion, and as he had a brother a priest and another brother in the army, trickery was suspected. ON POLITICAL APPEALS 55 An English merchant, who had some trouble with his eyes, bathed in the water at the instance of a sister who desired to convert him. He could soon see so well that he was able to write to the Freethinker an account of his healing, called "The Medicinal Springs of Lagarde," but, as he has subsequently gone totally blind, the momentary repute against ophthalmia which the water might have obtained was nipped in the bud. What was most extraordinary of all, a very respect- able director of a railway came to the village quietly, under an assumed name, and, after drinking the water, made a public confession of the most incredible kind and has since become a monk. His son, to whom he made over his whole fortune, had previously instituted a demand at law to be made guardian of his estates ; but, on hearing of his father's determination to embrace religion, he was too tolerant to pursue the matter further. To cut a long story short, as Homer said when he abruptly closed the Odyssey, some 740 cases of mira- culous cures occurred between the mysterious opening of the gates and the date for the trial at Grenoble. In that period a second and much larger series of buildings had begun to arise; the total property involved in the case amounted to 750,000 francs, and (by clause 61 of the Regulation on Civil Tribunals) the local court of assize was no longer competent. Before, however, the case could be removed to Paris, the assent of the Grenoble bench had to be formally obtained, and this, by the singularly Republican rule of ' ' Non-avant ' ' (instituted by Louis XL), took just two years. By that time the new buildings were finished, eight priests were attached 56 THE AFTERMATH to the Church, a monastery of seventy-tWo monks, five hotels, a golf links, and a club were in existence. The total taxes paid by Lagarde to the Treasury amounted to half-a-million francs a year. The Government had become willing (under the "Compromise of '49," which concerns Departments V. the State in the matter of internal communications) to build a fine, great road up to Lagarde. There was also a railway, a Custom House, and a project of sub- prefecture. Moreover, in some underhand way or other, several hundred people a month were cured of various ailments, from the purely subjective (such as buzzing in the ears) to those verging upon the truly objective (such as fracture of the knee-pan or the loss of afi eye). The Government is that of a practical and common- sense people. It will guide or protect, but it cannot pretend to coerce. Lagarde therefore flourishes, the Bishop is venerated, the monastery grumbles in silence, and there is some talk of an Hungarian journalist, born in Constantinople, whose father did time for cheating in the Russian Army, writing one of his fascinating anti- religious romances in nine hundred pages upon the subject. You will learn far more from such a book than you can possibly learn from the narrow limits of the above. Ill THE SHORT STORY The short story is the simplest of all forms of literary composition. It is at the same time by far the most lucrative. It has become (to use one of Dr. Caliban's most striking phrases) ' ' part of the atmosphere of our lives." In a modified form, it permeates our private correspondence, our late Baron Reuter's telegraphic messages, the replies of our cabinet ministers, the rulings of our judges; and it has become inseparable from affirmations upon oath before Magistrates, Registrars, Coroners, Courts of Common Jurisdiction, Official Receivers, and all others qualified under 17 Vic. 21, Caps. 2 and 14; sub-section III. To return to the short story. Its very reason for being (raison d'etre) is simplicity. It suits our strenuous, active race J nor would I waste the student's time by recalling the fact that, in the stagnant civilisation of China, a novel or play deals with the whole of the hero's life, in its minutest details, through seventy years. The contrast conveys an awful lesson ! Let us confine ourselves, however, to the purpose of these lines, and consider the short story; for it is the business of every true man to do what lies straight before him as honestly and directly as he can. The Short Story, on account of its simplicity, coupled with the high rates of pay attached to it, attracts at the 57 58 THE AFTERMATH outset the great mass of writers. Several are successful, and in their eager rapture (I have but to mention John and Mary Hitherspoon) produce such numerous examples of this form of art, that the student may ask what more I have to teach him? In presenting a model for his guidance, and reproducing the great skeleton lines upon which the Short Story is built up, I would remind my reader that it is my function to instruct and his to learn ; and I would warn him that even in so elementary a branch of letters as is this, " pride will have a fall." It is not necessary to dwell further upon this un- pleasant aspect of my duty. Let us first consider where the writer of the Short Story stands before the Law. What is her Legal Position as to (a) the length, (b) the plot of a short story which she may have contracted to deliver on a certain date to a particular publisher, editor, agent, or creditor ? The following two decisions apply : Mabworthy Mabworthy v. Crawley. — Mrs. Mabworthy V. Crawley, brought an action against Crawley and Co. to recover payment due for a short story ordered of her by defendant. Defendant pleaded lack of specific performance, as story dealt with gradual change of spiritual outlook, during forty years, of maiden lady inhabiting Ealing. It was held by Mr. Justice Pake that the subject so treated was not of "ordinary length." Judgment for the defendant. Mrs. Mabworthy, prompted by her sex, fortune, and solicitor to appeal, the matter was brought before the Court THE SHORT STORY 59 of Appeal, which decided that the word ''ordinary" was equivalent to the word " reasonable." Judgment for the defendant, with costs. Mrs. Mabworthy, at the insti- gation of the Devil, sold a reversion and carried the matter to the House of Lords, where it was laid down that "a Short Story should be of such length as would be found tolerable by any man of ordinary firmness and courage." Judgment for the defendant. The next case is the case of — Gibson V. Gibson v. Acle. — In this case, Mr. Phillip Aele. Gibson, the well-known publisher, brought an action for the recovery of a sum of £^ los., advanced to Miss Acle, of " The Wolf cote," Croydon, in consideration of her contracting to supply a short story, with regard to the manuscript of which he maintained, upon receiving it, that (i) it was not a story, and (2) it was not technically " short," as it filled but eighteen lines in the very large type known as grand pica. Three very important points were decided in this case; for the Judge (Mr. Justice Veale, brother of Lord Burpham) maintained, with sturdy common sense, that if a publisher bought a manuscript, no matter what, so long as it did not offend common morals or the public security of the realm, he was bound to "print, comfort, cherish, defend, enforce, push, maintain, advertise, circulate, and make public the 6o THE AFTERMATH same"; and he was supported in the Court of Crown Cases Reserved in his decision that: First: The word "short " was plainly the more applicable the less lengthy were the matter delivered : and Secondly: The word "story " would hold as a definition for any concoction of words whatsoever, of which it could be proved that it was built up of separate sentences, such sentences each to consist of at least one pre- dicate and one verb, real or imaginary. Both these decisions are quite recent, and may be regarded as the present state of the law on the matter. Once the legal position of the author is grasped, it is necessary to acquire the five simple rules which govern the Short Story. I St. It should, as a practical matter apart from the law, contain some incident. and. That incident should take place on the sea, or in brackish, or at least tidal, waters. 3rd. The hero should be English-speaking, white or black. 4th. His adventures should be horrible ; but no kind of moral should be drawn from them, unless it be desired to exalt the patriotism of the reader. Sth. Every short story should be divided by a " Cassura" : that is, it should break off sharp in the middle, and you have then the choice of three distinct courses : THE SHORT STORY 6i (a) To stop altogether — as is often done by people who die, and whose remains are published. (b) To go on with a totally different subject. This method is not to be commended to the beginner. It is common to rich or popular writers ; and even they have commonly the decency to put in asterisks. (c) To go on with your story where it left off, as I have done in the model which follows. That model was constructed especially with the view to guide the beginner. Its hero is a fellow subject, white — ^indeed, an Englishman. The scene is laid in water, not perhaps salt, but at least brackish. The adventure preys upon the mind. The moral is doubt- ful : the Caesura marked and obvious. Moreover, it begins in the middle, which (as I omitted to state above) is the very hall-mark of the Vivid Maimer. THE ACCIDENT TO MR. THORPE When Mr. Thorpe, drysalter, of St. Mary Axe, E.G., fell into the water, it was the opinion of those who knew him best that he would be drowned. I say " those who knew him best" because, in the crowd that immediately gathered upon the embankment, -there were present not a few of his friends. They had been walking home together on this fine evening along the river side, and now that Mr. Thorpe was in such peril, not one could be got to do more than lean upon the parapet shouting for the police, though they should have known how useless was that body of men in any other than its native element. Alas ! how frail a thing is 62 THE AFTERMATH human friendship, and how terribly does misfortune bring it to the test. How had Mr. Thorpe fallen into the water? I am not surprised at your asking that question. It argues a very observant, critical, and accurate mind; a love of truth; a habit of weighing evidence; and altogether a robust, sturdy, practical, Anglo-Saxon kind of an atti- tude, that does you credit. You will not take things on hearsay, and there is no monkish credulity about you. I congratulate you. You say (and rightly) that Honest Merchants do not fall into the Thames for nothing, the thing is unusual ; you want (very properly) to know how it happened, or, as you call it, "occurred." I cannot tell you. I was not there at the time. All I know is, that he did fall in, and that, as matter of plain fact (and you are there to judge fact, remember, not law), Mr. Thorpe was at 6.15 in the evening of June 7th, 1892, floundering about in the water a little above Cleopatra's Needle ; and there are a cloud of witnesses. It now behoves me to detail with great accuracy the circumstances surrounding his immersion, the degree of danger that he ran, and how he was saved. In the first place, Mr. Thorpe fell in at the last of the ebb, so that there was no tide to sweep him out to sea ; in the second place, the depth of water at that spot was exaqtly five feet two inches, so that he could — ^had he but known it — have walked ashore (for he was, of course, over six feet in height) ; in the third place, the river has here a good gravelly bed, as you ought to know, for the clay doesn't begin till you get beyond Battersea Bridge — and, by the way, this gravel accounts for the otherwise inexplicable phenomenon of the little boys that will dive for pennies THE SHORT STORY 63 at low tide opposite the shot tower ; in the fourth plac3e, the water, as one might have imagined at that season of the year, was warm and comfortable ; in the fifth place, there lay but a few yards from him a Police Pier, crowded with lines, lifebuoys, boats, cork-jackets, and what not, and decorated, as to its Main Room, with a large placard entitled " First help to the drowning," the same being illustrated with cuts, showing a man of commonplace features fallen into the hands of his religious opponents and undergoing the torture. Therefore it is easy to see that he could have either saved himself or have been saved by others without difficulty. Indeed, for Mr. Thorpe to have drowned, it would have been necessary for him to have exercised the most determined self- control, and to have thought out the most elaborate of suicidal plans ; and, as a fact, he was within forty-three seconds of his falling in pulled out again by a boat- hook, which was passed through the back of his frock coat : and that is a lesson in favour of keeping one's coat buttoned up like a gentleman, and not letting it flap open like an artist or an anarchist, or a fellow that writes for the papers. But I digress. The point is, that Mr. Thorpe was immediately saved, and there (you might think) was an end of the matter. Indeed, the thing seems to come to a conclusion of its own, and to be a kind of epic, for it has a beginning where Mr. Thorpe falls into the water (and, note you, the beginning of all epics is, or should be, out of the text); it has a middle or "action," where Mr. Thorpe is floundering about like a sea monster, and an end, where he is pulled out again. They are of larger scope than this little story, and written in a pompous manner, yet the Iliad, 64 THE AFTERMATH the /Eneid, Abbo's Siege of Paris, the Chanson de Roland, Orlando Furioso, Thalaba the Destroyer, and Mr. Davidson's shorter lyrics have no better claim to be epics in their essentials than has this relation of The Accident to Mr. Thorpe. So, then (you say), that is the end ; thank you for the story ; we are much obliged. If ever you have another simple little story to tell, pray. publish it at large, and do not keep it for the exquisite delight of your private circle. We thank you again a, thousand times. Good morrow. Softly, softly. I beg that there may be no undue haste or sharp conclusions ; there is something more to come. Sit you down and listen patiently. Was there ever an epic that was not continued? Did not the Rhapsodists of Cos piece together the Odyssey after their successful Iliad? Did not Dionysius Paracelsus write a tail to the M,neid? Was not the Chanson de Roland followed by the Four Sons of Aymon? Could Southey have been content with Thalaba had he not proceeded to write the adventures in America of William ap Williams, or some other Welshman whose name I forget? Eh? Well, in precisely the same maimer, I propose to add a second and completing narrative to this of Mr. Thorpe's accident ; so let us have no grumbling. And to understand what kind of thing followed his fall into the water, I must explain to you that nothing had ever happened to Mr. Thorpe before ; he had never sailed a boat, never ridden a horse, never had a fight, never written a book, never climbed a mountain — indeed, I might have set out in a long litany, covering several pages, the startling, adventurous, and dare-devil things that Mr. Thorpe had never done; and were I to space THE SHORT STORY 65 out my work so, I should be well in the fashion, for does not the immortal Kipling (who is paid by the line) repeat his own lines half-a-dozen times over, and use in profusion the lines of well-known ballads? He does; and so have I therefore the right to space and stretch my work in whatever fashion will spin out the space most fully ; and if I do not do so, it is because I am as eager as you can possibly be to get to the end of this chronicle. Well then, nothing had ever happened to Mr. Thorpe before, and what was the result ? Why that this aqueous adventure of his began to grow and possess him as you and I are possessed by our more important feats, by our different distant journeys, our bold speculations, our meeting with grand acquaintances, our outwitting of the law; and I am sorry to say that Mr. Thorpe in a very short time began to lie prodigiously. The symptoms of this perversion first appeared a few days after the accident, at a lunch which he attended (with the other directors of the Marine Glue Company) in the City. The company was in process of negotiating a very difficult piece of business, that required all the attention of the directors, and, as is usual under such circum- stances, they fell to telling amusing tales to one another. One of them had just finished his story of how a nephew of his narrowly escaped lynching at Leadville, Colorado, when Mr. Thorpe, who had been making ponderous jokes all the morning, was suddenly observed to grow thoughtful, and (after first ascertaining with some care that there was no one present who had seen him fall in) he astonished the company by saying : " I cannot hear of such escapes from death without awe. It was but the other day that I was saved as by a miracle from drown- S 66 THE AFTERMATH ing." Then he added, after a little pause, " My whole life seemed to pass before me in a moment." Now this was not true. Mr. Thorpe's mind at the moment he referred to had been wholly engrossed by the peculiar sensation that follows the drinking of a gallon of water suddenly when one is not in the least thirsty ; but he had already told the tale so often, that he was fully persuaded of it, and, by this time, believed that his excellent and uneventful life had been presented to him as it is to the drowning people in books. His fall was rapid. He grew in some vague way to associate his adventure with the perils of the sea. Whenever he crossed the Channel he would draw some fellow-passenger into a conversation, and, having cun- ningly led it on to the subject of shipwreck, would describe the awful agony of battling with the waves, and the outburst of relief on being saved. At first he did not actually say that he had himself struggled in the vast and shoreless seas of the world, but bit by bit the last shreds of accuracy left him, and he took to painting with minute detail in his conversations the various scenes of his danger and salvation. Sometimes it was in the " steep water off the Banks " ; sometimes in ' ' the glassy steaming seas and on the feverish coast of the Bight"; sometimes it was "a point or two norr'ard of the Owers light" — but it was always terrible, graphic, and a lie. This habit, as it became his imique preoccupation, cost him not a little. He lost his old friends who had seen his slight adventure, and he wasted much time in spiiming these yams, and much money in buying books of derring-do and wild 'scapes at sea. He loved those THE SHORT STORY 67 who believed his stories to be true, and shocked the rare minds that seemed to catch in them a suspicion of exaggeration. He could not long frequent the same society, and he strained his mind a little out of shape by the perpetual necessity of creative effort. None the less, I think that, on the whole, he gained. It made him an artist : he saw great visions of heaving waters at night ; he really had, in fancy, faced death in a terrible form, and this gave him a singular courage in his last moments. He said to the doctor, with a slight calm smile, " Tell me tlie worst; I have been through things far more terrifying than this " ; and when he was offered, consolation by his weeping friends, he told them that " no petty phrases of ritual devotion were needed to soothe a man who had been face to face with Nature in her wildest moods." So he died, comforted by his illusion, and for some days after the funeral his sister would hold him up to his only and favourite nephew as an example of a high and strenuous life lived with courage, and ended in heroic quiet. Then they all went to hear the will read. But the will was the greatest surprise of all. For it opened with these words : " Having some experience of the perils they suffer that go down to the sea in ships, and of the blessedness of unex- pected relief and rescue, I, John Curtail Thorpe, hvunbly and gratefuUy reminiscent of my own wonderful and miraculous snatching from the jaws of death . . ." And it went on to leave the whole property (including the little place in Surrey), in all (after Sir William Vernon Harcourt's death duties had been paid) some ;£69,337 6s. 3d. to the Lifeboat Fund, which badly 68 THE AFTERMATH needed it. Nor was there any modifying codicil but one, whereby the sum of ;£i,ooo, free of duty, was left to Sylvester Sarassin, a poetic and long-haired young man, who had for years attended to his tales with reverent attention, and who had, indeed, drawn up, or " Englished " (as he called it), the remarkable will of the testator. Many other things that followed this, the law-suit, the quarrel of the nephew with Sarassin, and so forth, I would relate had I the space or you the patience. But it grows late ; the oil in the bulb is exhausted. The stars, which (in the beautiful words of Theocritus) " tremble and always follow the quiet wheels of the night," warn me that it is morning. Farewell. IV THE SHORT LYRIC Many Guides to Literature give no rules for the manu- facture of short lyrics, and nearly all of them omit to furnish the student with an example of this kind of composition. The cause of this unfortunate neglect (as I deem it) is not far to seek. Indeed in one Textbook (Mrs. Railston's Book for Beginners. Patteson. 12s. 6d.) it is set down in so many words. " The Short Lyric," says Mrs. Railston in her preface, " is practically iimo- cent of pecuniary va,lue. Its construction should be regarded as a pastime rather than as serious exercise; and even for the purposes of recreation, its fabrication is more suited to the leisure of a monied old age than to the struggle of eager youth, or the full energies of a strenuous manhood " (p. 34). The judgment here pronounced is surely erroneous. The short Lyric is indeed not very saleable (though there are exceptions even to that rule — the first Lord Tennyson is said to have received £200 for The Throstle); it is (I say) not very saleable, but it is of great indirect value to the writer, especially in early youth. A reputation can be based upon a book of short lyrics which will in time procure for its author Review ; ing work upon several newspapers, and sometimes, 69 70 TELE AFTERMATH towards his fortieth year, the editorship of a magazine ; later in life it will often lead to a pension, to the command of an army corps, or even to the governorship of a colony. I feel, therefore, no hesitation in describing at some length the full process of its production, or in presenting to the student a careful plan of the difSculties which will meet him at the outset. To form a proper appreciation of these last, it is necessary to grasp the fundamental fact that they all proceed from the inability of busy editors and readers to judge the quality of verse; hence the rebuffs and delays that so often overcast the glorious morning of the Poetic Soul. At the risk of some tedium — ^for the full story is of considerable length — I will show what is their nature and effect, in the shape of a relation of what happened to Mr. Peter Gurney some years ^o, before he became famous. Mr. Peter Gurney (I may say it without boasting) is one of my most intimate friends. He is, perhaps, the most brilliant of that brilliant group of young poets which includes Mr. John Stewart, Mr. Henry Hawk, etc., and which is known as the " Cobbley school," from the fact that their historic meeting-ground was the house of Mr. Thomas Cobbley, himself no mean poet, but especially a creative, seminal critic, and uncle of Mr. Gurney. But to my example and lesson : Mr. Gurney was living in those days in Bloomsbury, and was occupied in reading for the bar. He was by nature slothful and unready, as is indeed the sad habit of literary genius ; he rose late, slept long, THE SHORT LYRIC 71 eat heartily, drank deeply, read newspapers, began things he never finished, and wrote the ending of things whose beginnings he never aGCOmplished ; in a word, he was in every respect the man of letters. He looked back continually at the stuff he had written quite a short time before, and it always made him hesitate in his opinion of what he was actually engaged in. It was but six months before the events herein set down that he had written — " The keep of the unconquerable mind " — only to discover that it was clap-trap and stolen from Wordsworth at that. How, tiien, could he dare send off the sonnet — " If all intent of unsubstantial art " — and perhaps get it printed in the Nineteenth Century or the North American Review, when (for all he knew) it might really be very poor yerse indeed ? These two things, then, his sloth and his hesitation in criticism, prevented Peter from sending out as much as he should have done. But one fine day of last summer, a kind of music passed into him from universal nature, and he sat down and wrote these remarkable lines : " He is not dead; the leaders do not die, But rather, lapt in immemorial ease Of merit consummate, they passing, stand; And rapt from rude reality, remain ; And in the flux and eddy of time, are still. Therefore I call it consecrated sand Wherein they left their prints, nor overgrieve ; An heir of English earth let English earth receive." 72 THE AFTERMATH He had heard that Culture of Boston, Mass., U.S.A., paid more for verse than any other review, so he sent it off to that address, accompanied by a very earnest little letter, calling the gem " Immortality," and waiting for the answer. The editor of Culture is a businesslike man, who reads his English mail on the quay at New York, and takes stamped envelopes and rejection forms down with him to the steamers. He looked up Peter's name in the Red Book, Who's Who, Burke, the Court Guide, and what not, and find- ing it absent from all these, he took it for granted that there was no necessity for any special courtesies ; Peter therefore, fifteen days after sending off his poem, received an envelope whose stamp illustrated the conquest of the Philippines by an Armed Liberty, while in the top left- hand comer were printed these simple words : " If not delivered within three days, please return to Box 257, Boston, Mass., U.S.A." He was very pleased to get this letter. It was the first reply he had ever got from an editor, and he took it up unopened to the Holbom, to read it during lunch. But there was very little to read. The original verse had folded round it a nice half-sheet of cream-laid notepaper, with a gold ■fleur de lis in the corner, and underneath the motto, "Devoir Fera"; then, in the middle of the sheet, three or four lines of fine copper- plate engraving, printed also in gold, and running as follows : " The editor of Culture regrets that he is unable to accept the enclosed contribution; it must not be imagined that any adverse criticism or suggestion is thereby passed upon the THE SHORT LYRIC 73 work; pressuie of space, the previous acceptation of similar matter, and other causes having necessarily to be con- sidered." Peter was so much encouraged by this, that he sent his verses at once to Mr. McGregor, changing, however, the word " rude " in the fourth line to " rough," and adding a comma after "rapt," points insignificant in themselves perhaps, but indicative of a critic's ear, and certain (as he thought) to catch the approval of the distinguished scholar. In twenty-four hours he got his reply in the shape of an affectionate letter, enclosing his MSS. : " My dear Peter, "No; I should be doing an injustice to my readers if I were to print your verse in the Doctrinaire ; but you must not be discouraged by this action on my part. You are still very young, and no one who has followed (as you may be sure I have) your brilliant career at the University can doubt your ultimate success in whatever profession you under- take. But the path of letters is a stony one, and the level of general utility in such work is only reached by the most arduous efforts. I saw your Aunt Phoebe the other day, and she was warm in your praises. She told me you were think- ing of becoming an architect; I sincerely hope you will, for I believe you have every aptitude for that profession. Plod on steadily and I will go warrant for your writing verse with the best of them. It is inevitable, my dear Peter, that one's early verse should be imitative and weak; but you have the ' inner voice,' do but follow the gleam and never allow your first enthusiasms to grow dim. " Always your Father's Old Friend, " Archibald Wellington McGregor." Peter was a little pained by this ; but he answered it very politely, inviting himself to lunch on the following Thursday, and then, turning to his verses, he gave the 74 THE AFTERMATH title " Dead," and sent them to the Patriot, from whom he got no reply for a month. He then wrote to the editor of the Patriot on a post- card, and said that, iit view of the present deplorable reaction in politics, he feared the verses, if they were held over much longer, would lose their point. Would the Patriot be so kind, then, as to let him know what they proposed to do with the Poem ? He got a reply the same evening : " Tele f hone 239. " 36*, Clabe Market, "Telegrafk, ^Vindex.' "W.C. " Dh. Sib, " Your estd. favour to hand. No stamp being enclosed with verses, we haive retained same, but will forward on receipt of two stamps, including cost of this. " Faithfully yrs., "Alphonse Ripheaim. " Please note change of address." By this Peter Gumey was so angered, that he walked straight over to his club, rang up No. 239, and told the editor of the Patriot, personally, by word of mouth, and with emphasis, that he was a Pro-Boer j then he rang off before that astonished foreigner had time to reply. But men of Mr. Peter Gumey's stamp are not cast down by these reverses. He remembered one rather low and insignificant sheet called the Empire, in which a vast number of imknown names had been appearing at the bottom of ballads, sonnets, and so forth, dealing mainly with the foreign policy of Great Britain, to which country (as being their native land) the writers were apparently warmly attached. THE SHORT LYRIC 75 Peter Gumey flattered himself that he understood why the Empire made a speciality of begimiers. It was a new paper with little capital, and thought (wisely enough) that if it printed many such juvenilia it would, among the lot, strike some vein of good verse. He had heard of such ventures in journalism, and remembered being told that certain sonnets of Mr. Lewis Morris, and even the earlier poems of Tennyson, were thus buried away in old magazines. He copied out his verses once more, gave them the new title " Aspiro," and sent them to the Emfire. He got a very polite letter in reply : " Deak Me. , " I have read your verses with much pleasure, and see by them that the praise I have heard on all sides of your unpublished work was not unmerited. Unfortunately, the Emfire cannot afford to pay anj^ing for its verse; and so large has been the demand upon our space, that we have been compelled to make it a rule that all contributions of this nature should pay a slight premium to obtain a space in our columns. But for this it would be impossible to distinguish between competitors without the risk of heartburnings and petty jealousies. We enclose our scale of charges, which are (as you see), purely nominal, and remain, awaiting yonr order to print, " Yours truly, " William Poweh." I need hardly tell you that Peter, on receiving this letter, put two farthings into an envelope addressed to William Power, and was careful not to register or stamp it. As for his Poem, he changed the title to " They Live !" and sent it to the editor of Criticism. Neart day he was not a little astonished to get his verses back, folded up in the following waggish letter ; ^6 THE AFTERMATH " The Laurels, " 20, Poplar Grove, " S.W. " Monday, the 21st of April. " Sir, " I am directed by the editor To say that lack of space and press of matter Forbid his using your delightful verses, Which, therefore, he returns. Believe me still Very sincerely yours, Nathaniel PickersgiU." Now not a little disconsolate, young Mr. Gurney went out into the street, and thought of Shavings as a last chance. Shavings gave a guinea to the best poem on a given subject, and printed some of the others sent in. This week he remembered the subject was a eulogy of General Whitelock. He did not hesitate, therefore, to recast his poem, and to call it a "Threnody" on that commander, neglecting, by a poetic fiction, the fact that he was alive, and even looking well after his eight months of hard work against the Warra-Muggas. He went into the great buildings where Shavings is edited, and saw a young man opening with immense rapidity a hand-barrowful of letters, while a second sorted them with the speed of lightning, and a third tied them into neat bundles of five hundred each, and placed them in pigeon-holes under their respective initial letters. "Pray, sir," said Peter to the first of these three men, "what are you doing?" "I am," replied the fvmctionary, "just finishing my week's work" (for it was a Saturday morning), " and in the course of these four hours alone I am proud to say that I have opened no less than seven thousand three hundred and two poems on our great Leader, some of which, indeed, THE SHORT LYRIC 77 have been drawn from the principal English poets, but the greater part of which are, I am glad to say, original." Embittered by such an experience, my friend Gurney returned to his home, and wrote that same afternoon the Satire on Modern Literature, in which he introduces his own verses as an example and warning, and on which, as all the world knows, his present fame reposes. To-day everyone who reads these lines is envious of Mr. Peter Gurney's fame. He is the leader of the whole Cobbley school, the master of his own cousin, Mr. Peter Davey, and without question the model upon which Mr. Henry Hawk, Mr. Daniel Witton, and Mr. John Stuart have framed their poetic manner. He suffered and was strong. He condescended to prose, and kept his verse in reserve. The result no poet can ignore. I should but mislead the student were I to pretend that Mr. Peter Gurney achieved his present reputation — a reputation perhaps somewhat exaggerated, but based upon real merit and industry — ^by any spontaneous effort. Hard, regular, unflinching labour in this, as in every other profession, is the condition of success. But the beginner may say (and with justice), "It is not enough to tell me to work; how should I set about it? What rules should I follow?" Let me pursue my invariable custom, and set down in the simplest and most methodical form the elements of the Short Lyric. The student will, at some time or another, have suffered strong emotions. He will have desired to give them metrical form. He will have done so — and com- monly he will have gone no farther. I have before me 78 THE AFTERMATH as I write a verse, the opening of one of the most unsuc- eessful poems ever written. It runs : " I am not as my fathers were, I cannot pass from sleep to sleep. Or Uve content to drink the deep Contentment of the common air." This is very bad. It is bad because it proceeded from a deep emotion only, and shot out untrammelled. It has no connection with verse as an art, and yet that art lies open for any young man who will be patient and humble, and who will learn. His first business is to decide at once between the only two styles possible in manufactured verse, the Obscure and the Prattling. I isay " the only two styles " because I don^t think you can tackle the Grandiose, and I am quite certain you couldn't manage the Satiric. I know a young man in Red Lion Square who can do the Grandiose very well, and I am going to boom him when I think the time has come; but the Student- in-Ordinary cannot do it, so he may put it out of his head. I -will take the Simple or Prattling style first. Choose a subject from out of doors, first because it is the fashion, and secondly because you can go and observe it closely. For you must know that manufactured verse is very like drawing, and in both arts you have to take a model and be careful of details. Let us take {e.g.) a Pimpernel. A Pimpernel is quite easy to write about; it has remarkable habits, it is not gross or common. It would be much harder to write about grass, for instance, or parsley. THE SHORT LYRIC 79 First you write down anything that occurs to you, like this : " Pretty little Pimpernel, May I leain to love you weU?" You continue on the style of "Twinkle, twinkle." " Hiding in the mossy shade, Like a lamp of — \j made. Or a gem by fairies dropt In their . . ." and there you stick, "just as you had got into the style of the "L' Allegro." I have no space or leisure to give the student the full treatment of so great a subject, how he would drag in the dosing and opening of the flower, and how (skilfully avoiding the word " dell ") he would end his ten or fifteen lines by a repetition of the first (an essential feature of the Prattling style). I will confine myself to showing him what may be made of these ridiculous six lines. The first has an obvious fault. It runs too quickly, and one falls all over it. We will keep "Little" and put it first, so one might write " Little Purple Pimpernel." But even that won't do, though the alliteration is well enough. What change can we make ? It is at this point that I must introduce you to a most perfect principle. It is called the Mutation of Adjec- tives — it is almost the whole art of Occ. verse. This principle consists in pullibg out one's first obvious adjective, and replacing it by another of similar length, chosen because it is fecuUar. You must not put in an adjective that could not possibly apply; for in^iance, you must not speak of the " Ponderous Rabbit " or th^ 8o THE AFTERMATH " Murky Beasts " ; your adjective must be applicable, but it must be startling, as " The Tolerant Cow," " The Stammering Minister," or "The Greasy Hill" — all quite true and most imexpected. Now, here it is evident that Purple is commonplace. What else can we find about the Pimpernel that is quite true and yet really startling ? Let us (for instance) call it "tasteless." There you have it, "Little tasteless Pimpernel " — no one could read that too quickly, and it shows at the same time great knowledge of nature. I will not weary you with every detail of the process, but I will write down my result after all the rules have been properly attended to. Read this, and see whether the lines do not fit with my canons of art, especially in what is called the " choice of words " : " Little tasteless Pimpernel, Shepherd's Holt and warning spell Crouching in the cushat shade Like a mend of mowry made. ..." and so forth. There you have a perfect little gem. Nearly all the words are curious and well chosen, and yet the metre trips along like a railway carriage. The simplicity lies in the method; the quaint diction is quarried from Mr. Skeats' excellent book on et}rmology ; but I need not point out any particular work, as your " Thesaurus " in this matter is for your own choosing. So much for the Prattling style. As for the Obscure style, it is so easy that it is getting overdone, and I would not depend too much upon it. In its origins, it was due to the vagaries of some THE SHORT LYRIC 81 gentlemen and ladies who suffered from an imperfect education, and wrote as they felt, without stopping to think. But that first holy rapture cannot be recovered. We must work by rule. The rules attaching to this kind of work are six : (i) Put the verb in the wrong place (some leave it out altogether) ; (2) Use words that may be either verbs or nouns — plurals are very useful ; (3) Punctuate insufficiently; (4) Make a special use of phrases that have two or three meanings ; (5) Leave out relatives; (6) Have whole sentences in apposition. Some of our young poets have imagined that the mere use of strange words made up the Obscure style. I need not say that they were wrong. Thus, the lines — " And shall I never tread them more. My murrant balks of wealden lathes?" are singularly bad. Anyone could be obscure in so simple a fashion. It behoves the student rather to read carefully such lines as the following, in which I have again tackled the Pimpernel, this time in the Obscure manner. I begin with " What Pimpernels," which might mean "What! Pimpernels?" or, "What Pimpernels?" or again, "What Pimpernels I" ; expressing surprise, or a question, or astonished admiration : but do you think I am going to give the show away by telling the reader what I mean? Not a bit of it. There is something in 6 82 THE AFTERMATH our island temper which loyes mystery : something of the North. I flatter myself I can do it thoroughly : " What Pimpernels; a rare indulgence blesses The winter wasting in imperfect suns And Pimpernels are in the waning, runs A hand unknown the careless winter dresses. Not for your largess to the ruined fells. Her floors in waste, I call you, Pimpernels." There ! I think that will do very fairly well. One can make sense out of it, and it is broad and full, like a modern religion; it has many aspects, and it makes men think. There is not one unusual word, and the second line is a clear and perfect bit of English. Yet how deep and solemn and thorough is the whole ! And yet, for all my ability in these matters, I may not offer an example for the reader to follow. I am conscious of something more powerful (within this strict channel), and I am haunted reproachfully by a great soul. May I quote what none but She could have written? It is the most perfect thing that modem England knows. Every lesson I might painfully convey there stands manifest, of itself, part of the Created Thing. THE YELLOW MUSTARD Oh ! ye that prink it to and fro, In pointed flounce and furbelow, What have ye known, what can ye know That have not seen the mustard grow? The yellow mustard is no less Than God's good gift to loneliness; And he was sent in gorgeous press, Jo jangle keys at my distress. THE SHORT LYRIC 83 I heaxd the throstle call again Come hither, Pain I come hither, Pain ! Till all my shameless feet were fain To wander through the summer rain. And far apart from human place, And flaming like a vast disgrace. There struck me blinding in the face The livery of the mustard race. To see the yellow mustard grow Beyond the town, above, below ; Beyond the purple houses, oh ! To see the yellow mustard grow ! V THE INTERVIEW It is now some years ago since I was sitting in Mr. Caliban's study, writing in his name upon the Balance of Power in Europe. I had just completed my article, and passed it to him to sign, when I noticed that he was too much absorbed in a book which he was reading to pay attention to my gesture. Men of his stamp enforce courtesy in others by their mere presence. It would have been impossible to have disturbed him. I turned to a somewhat more lengthy composition, which was also to appear above his signa- ture, entitled, " The Effect of Greek Philosophy upon European Thought." When I had completed my analysis of this profound historical influence, I thought that my master and guide would have freed himself from the net of the author who thus entranced him. I was mistaken. I had, however, but just begim a third article, of which the subject escapes me, when he turned to me and said, closing the book between his hands : " Will you go and interview someone for me?" I fear my sudden change of expression betrayed the fact that the idea was repugnant to one familiar rather with foreign politics and with the Classics than with the reporters' side of the paper. Mr. Caliban looked at my collar with his kindly eyes, and kept them fixed upon it for some seconds. He then smiled (if such a man could be said to smile) and continued ; 84 THE INTERVIEW 85 " I want to tell you something ..." There was profound silence for a little while, during which a number of thoughts passed through my mind. I remembered that Dr. Caliban was Editor at that moment of the Sunday Herald. I remembered that I was his right hand, and that without me the enormous labour he weekly undertook could never have been accomplished without trespassing upon the sanctity of the Sabbath. After a little hesitation, he pulled down his waistcoat, hitched his trousers at the knees, crossed his legs, made a half -turn towards me (for his study- chair was mounted upon a swivel), and said : " It's like this . . . ." I assured him that I would do what he wished, for I knew, whenever he spoke in this tone, that there was something to be done for England. "It's like this," he went on, " I have found a man here who should count, who should tell. It is a fearful thought that such a mind can have remained so long hidden. Here is a man with something in him quite peculiar and apart — and he is unknown ! It is England through and through, and the best of England; it is more than that. Even where I disagree with him, I find something like a living voice. He gets right at one, as it were ... yet I never heard his name !" Here Mr. Caliban, having stopped for a moment, as though seeking something in his memory, declaimed in a rich monotone : " Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear : Full many a flower is born to blush unseen And waste its sweetness on the desert air." 86 THE AFTERMATH There was a little silence. Then he said abruptly : " Do you know Wordsworth's definition of a poet? Take it down. I should like you to use it." I pulled out my notebook and wrote in shorthand from his dictation a sublime phrase, which was new to me : " A Poet is a man speaking to men." "This man," said Dr. Caliban simply, "is a man speaking to men." He put the book into my hands ; two or three of the leaves were turned down, and on each page so marked was a passage scored in pencil. The lines "would have arrested my eye, even had a greater mind than my own not selected them. ' ' A. woman is only a woman, hut a good cigar is a smoke." " Tied wrist to bar for their red iniquitee." " To do butcher work " (he is speaking of war) " yer don't want gen'lemen, 'cept to lead." " 1 got the gun-barrels red-hot and fetched the whip- cord out of the cupboard, while th6 other man held the screaming, writhing thing down upon the floor." " Under whose (speaking of God) awful hand we hold dominion over palm and pine." I have no space to quote a longer passage of verse, evidently intended to be sung to a banjo, and describing the emotions of the author in a fit of delirium tremens when he suffered from the hallucination that a red-hot brass monkey was himself attempting song. The poet showed no jealousy of the animal. There was the full, hearty Anglo-Saxon friendship for a comrade and even for a rival, and I met the same tone again on a further page in the line : THE INTERVIEW 87 " You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din." I looked up at Mr. Caliban and said : "Well?" — for these short phrases are often the most emphatic. "Well," said Dr. Caliban, "that man must not be allowed to go under. He must be made, and we must make him." I said that such a man could not fail to pierce through and conquer. He seemed the very salt and marrow of all that has made us great. Dr. Caliban laid his hand in a fatherly way upon my shoulder and said : ' ' You are still young ; you do not know how long fame may take to find a man, if the way is not pointed out to her ; and if she takes too long, sometimes he dies of a broken heart." It was a noble thought in one who had known Fame almost from the very day when, as a lad of 22 years old, he had stood up in the chapel at Barking Level and answered the preacher with the words, "Lord, here ami." Dr. Caliban continued in a few simple words to convince me that my foolish pride alone stood between this young genius and the fame he deserved. He pointed out what a weight would lie upon my mind were that poet some day to become famous, and to be able to say when I presented myself at his receptions : " Get ye hence : I know ye not 1" He added the awful words that death might find us at any moment, and that then we should have to answer, not for our reasons or our motives, but for the things we have done, and for the things we have left undone. He 88 THE AFTERMATH added that he would regard a visit to this new writer as overtime work, and that he was ready to pay my expenses, including cab fares to and from the station. He ended with an appeal which would have convinced one less ready to yield : a magnificent picture of the Empire and of the Voice for which it had waited so long. ***** It seems unworthy, after the relation of this intimate domestic scene, to add any words of exhortation to the reader and student. I will not pretend that the interview is a form of true literature. If I have been guilty of too great a con- fidence, my excess has proceeded from an earnest desire to watch over others of my kind, and to warn them lest by one chance refusal they should destroy the oppor- tunities of a lifetime. To interview another, even a rival, is sometimes necessary at the outset of a career. It is an experience that need not be repeated. It is one that no earnest student of human nature will regret. The powerful emotions aroused by the reminiscence of Dr. Caliban's eloquence, and of the meeting to which it led, must not be desecrated by too lengthy an insist- ance upon the mere technique of a subsidiary branch of modern letters. I will state very briefly my conclusions as to what is indispensable in the regulation of this kind of literature. It is, in the first place, of some moment that the young interviewer should take his hat and gloves with him in his left hand into the room. If he carries an umbrella or cane, this also should be carried in the same hand, leaving the right hand completely free. Its THE INTERVIEW 89 leadiness for every purpose is the mark of a gentleman, and the maintenance of that rank is absolutely necessary to the sans gitte which should accompany a true inter- view. In the second place, let him, the moment he appears, explain briefly the object of iis visit. Without any such introduction as " The fact is . . ." " It is very odd, but . . ." let him say plainly and simply, like an Englishman, " I have been sent to interview you on the part of such and such a paper." He will then be handed (in the majority of cases) a short type-written statement, which he will take into his right hand, pass into his left, in among the gloves, stick, hat, etc., and will bow, not from the shoulders, nor from the hips, but subtly from the central vertebrae. In the third place he will go out of the room. There are two exceptions to this general procedure. The first is with men quite unknown; the second with men of high birth or great wealth. In the first case, the hat and gloves should be laid upon a table and the stick leaning against it in such a way as not to fall down awkwardly in the middle of a conversation. The student will then begin to talk in a genial manner loudly, and will continue for about half-an-hour ; he will end by looking at his watch, and will go away and write down what he feels inclined. In the second case, he will do exactly the same, but with a different result, for in the first case he will very probably become the friend of the person interviewed, which would have happened anyhow, and in the second case he will be forbidden the house, a result equally inevitable. 90 THE AFTERMATH I cannot conclude these remarks without exhorting the young writer most earnestly, when he is entering upon the first of these distressing experiences, to place a firm trust in Divine Providence, and to remember that, corag what may, he has done his duty. If he should have any further hesitation as to the general manner in which an interview should be written, he has but to read what follows. It constitutes the interview which I held with that young genius whom Mr. Caliban persuaded me to visit, and of whose fame I shall therefore always feel myself a part. INTERVIEW WITH HIM (Written specially for the Sunday Englishman^ by the Rev. James Caliban, D.D.)* " By the feace among the feofles, men shall know ye serve the Lord." — Deuieeonomy, xvi. 7. . . . Leaping into a well-appointed cab, I was soon whirled to a terminus which shall be nameless, not a hundred miles from Brandon Street, and had the good luck to swing myself into the guard's van just as the train was steaming out from the platform. I plunged at once in medias res, and some two hours later alit in the sunny and growing residential town of Worthing. I hailed a vehicle which plied for hire, and begged the driver to conduct me to 29, Darbhai Road, " if indeed," * I reproduce the title in its original form. I was only too pleased to know that my work would appear above his signature ; nor do I see anything reprehensible in what is now a recognised custom among journalists. THE INTERVIEW 91 to quote my own words to the Jehu, "if indeed it be worth a drive. I understand it is close upon a mile." "Yes, sir," replied the honest fellow. "You will find, sir^ that it is quite a mile, sir. Indeed, sir, we call it a little over a mile, sir." I was soon whirled, as fast as the type of carriage permitted, to Laburntim Lodge, Darbhai Road, where a neat-handed Phyllis smilingly opened the door for me, and took my card up to her master, bidding me be seated awhile in the hall. I had the leisure to notice that it was lit by two stained glass panels above the entrance, representing Alfred the Great and Queen Victoria. In a few minutes the servant returned with the message that her master would be down in a moment, and begged me to enter his parlour until he could attend me, as he was just then in his study, looking out of window at a cricket match in an adjoining field. I found myself in a richly-furnished room, surrounded by curious relics of travel, and I was delighted to notice the little characteristic touches that marked the personal tastes of my host. Several skulls adorned the walls, and I observed that any natural emotion they might cause was heightened by a few tasteful lines such as actors paint upon their faces. Thus one appeared to grin beyond the ordinary, another was fitted with false eyes, and all had that peculiar subtle expression upon which genius loves to repose in its moments of leisure. I had barely time to mark a few more notable matters in my surroundings, when I was aware that I was in the presence of my host. "No," or "Yes," said the great man, smiling through his spectacles and puffing a cloud of smoke 92 THE AFTERMATH towards me in a genial fashion, " I do not in the least mind telling you how it is done. I do not think," he added drily, " that any other fellows will pull quite the same chock-a-block haul, even if I do give them the fall of the halyard. You must excuse these technical terms ; I make it a point to speak as I write — ^I think it is more natural." I said I should be delighted to excuse him. " I hope you will also excuse," he continued, "my throwing myself into my favourite attitude." I said that, on the contrary, I had long wished to see it. With a sigh of relief he thrust those creative hands of his into his trouser pockets, slightly stooped his shoulders, and appeared to my delight exactly as he does in the photograph he handed me for publication. " To show you how it is done, I cannot begin better than by a little example," he said. He went to a neighbouring table, rummaged about m a pile of the Outlook and Vanity Fair, and produced a scrap of paper upon which there was a type-written poem. His hands trembled with pleasure, but he con- trolled himself well (for he is a strong, silent kind of man), and continued : " I will not weary you with the whole of this Work. I am sure you must already be familiar with it. In the Volunteer camp where I was recently staying, and where I slept imder canvas like anybody else, the officers knew it by heart, and used to sing it to a tune of my own composition (for you must know that I write these little things to airs of my own). I will only read you the last verse, which, as is usual in my lyrics, contains the pith of the whole matter." THE INTERVIEW 93 Then in a deep voice he intoned the following, with a slightly nasal accent which lent it a peculiarly indi- vidual flavour : " I'm sorry for Mister Naboth ; I'm sorry to make him squeak ; But the Lawd above me made me strawng In order to pummel the weak. " That chorus, which applies to one of the most important problems of the Empire, contains nearly all the points that illustrate ' How it is Done. ' In the first place, note the conception of the Law. It has been my effort to imprint this idea of the Law upon the mind of the English-speaking world — a phrase, by the way, far preferable to that of Anglo-Saxon, which I take this opportunity of publicly repudiating. You may, perhaps, have noticed that my idea of the Law is the strongest thing in modem England. ' Do this because I tell you, or it will be the worse for you,' is all we know, and all we need to know. For so, it seems to me. Heaven " (here he reverently raised the plain billy-cock hat which he is in the habit of wearing in his drawing-room) "governs the world, and we who are Heaven's lieu- tenants can only follow upon the same lines. I will not insist upon the extent to which the religious training I enjoyed in early youth helped to cast me in that great mould. You have probably noticed its effect in all my work." I said I had. " Well, then, first and foremost, I have in this typical instance brought out my philosophy of the Law. In my private conversation I call this ' following the gleam.' " " Now for the adventitious methods by which J 94 THE AFTERMATH enhance the value of my work. Consider the lilt. ' Lilt ' is the ' Tiim ti ti ttim ti turn ' effect which you may have felt in my best verse." I assured him I had indeed felt it. " Lilt," he continued, " is the hardest thing of all to acquire. Thousands attempt it, and hundreds fail. I have it (though I say it who should not) to perfection. It is the quality you will discover in the old ballads, but there it is often marred by curious accidents which I can never properly explain. Their metre is often very irregular, and I fancy that their style (which my Work closely resembles) has suffered by continual copy- ing. No : where you get the true ' Lilt ' is in the music halls — I am sorry it is so often wasted upon impertinent themes. Do you know ' It is all very fine and large,' or ' At my time of life,' or again, ' Now we shan't be long'?" I answered I had them all three by heart. " I shouldn't say they were worth that," he answered, as a shade of disappointment appeared upon his delicate, mobile features, " but there is a place where you get it to perfection, and that is Macaulay's Lays of Anci&nt Rome. They are my favourite reading. But that is another story. " To turn to quite a different point, the Vernacular. It isn't everything that will go down in ordinary English. Of course I do use ordinary English — at least, Bible English, in my best work. For instance, there is a little thing called " In the Confessional," which I propose to read to you later, and which has no slang nor swear-words from begiiming to end. " But, of course, that is (^uite aq exception. Mpgt THE INTERVIEW 95 things won't stand anything but dialect, and I just give you this tip gratis. You can make anything individual and strong by odd spelling. It arrests the attention, and you haven't got to pick your words. Did you ever read a beautiful work called Colorado Bill; or. From Cowboy to President? Well, I can assure you that when it was in English, before being turned into dialect, it was quite ordinary-like. " But that ain't all. One has now and then to strike a deeper note, and striking a deeper note is so simple, that I wonder it has not occurred to others of our poets. You have got to imagine yourself in a church, and you must read over your manuscript to yourself in that kind of hollow voice — ^you know what I mean." I swore that I did. "Now, you see why one puts 'ye' for 'you,' and ' ye be ' for ' you are,' and mentions the Law in so many words. It is not very difficult to do, and when one does succeed, one gets what I call Ai copper-bottomed poetry. ' ' He went to a corner of the room, opened a large, scented, velvet-bound book upon a brass reading-desk, looked at me severely, coughed twice, and began as follows : " I am about to read you ' In the Confessional.' The greatest critic of the century has called this the greatest poem of the century. I begin at the third verse, and the seventeenth line : » * » * » " Lest he forget the great ally In heaven yclept hypocrisy, So help me Bawb ! I'll mark him yet— = Lest he forget ! Lest he forget I" 96 THE AFTERMATH He closed the book with becoming reverence. And there was a silence, during which the grand words went on running in my head as their author had meant them to do. " Lest he forget ! Lest he forget !" Ah, may heaven preserve its darling poet, and never let him fall from the height of that great message. " Well," said he, genially, anticipating my applause, " good-bye. But before you go please let me beg you to tell the public that I lately wrote something for the Times a great deal better than anything else I have ever written. Nobody seems to read the Times," he con- tinued, in a tone of slight petulance, " and I have not seen it quoted anywhere. I wonder if it is properly known? Please tell people that that little note about ' copyright ' is only for fun. Anyone may use it who likes — I had a paragraph put in the papers to say so. It's like this " He thai added a few conventional words of God-speed, and I left him. I have never seen him since. And yet . . . and yet . . . The student will now pardon me, I trust, if I go somewhat more deeply into things than is customary in textbooks of this class. That little conquest over pride, that little task honestly performed, earned me some- thing I shall value for ever, something that will be handed down in our family " even unto the third and the fourth generation " {Habb. vii. 13). It is something that means far, far more to me than a mere acquaintance with an author could possibly have done. For who can gauge so volatile a thing as friendship? Who could with certitude have pointed me out and said, " There goes His friend " ? The Written Thing remained. THE INTERVIEW 97 In my room, nay, just above me as I write, hangs framed the following note in pencil. "Awfully glad to see the stuff in the ' Herald,' but say — are you old Caliban? That was rather stiff on a jack high? Wasn't it? Never mind. You didn't ask me for my auto, but I send it herewith right along, for I like you." There is the Man Alone as He IS — . . . It seems of small moment, but there is something more. Framed in dark oak and gold very sumptuously, and hanging quite apart, is the little shred of paper which He enclosed. Shall I whisper what is written upon it? . . . ? ... The first few jotted notes of the glorious song which rang through the Empire like a bugle-call, and hurled it at Nicaragua. Hark and attend my Chosen : Ve have heard me iftm,—C»n prepositioa ' witk a Gapil y' ' t'ofle KSt'i^i^f Out of the East, with an introduction t I came and the nations trembled: I bore the Mark A/km,— Alter. withamaamm^m S^"Sd".tL! glory about me? of the Beast, And I made ye a hundred books — ^yea ! even an hundred Good. and one Of all the labours of men that labour under the sun, And I clad me about with Terrors; Yea! I covered Second "^ea"? my paths with dread, lett"' "'^ And the women-folk were astonied at the horrible things I said. And the men of the Island Race were some of them woundily bored, But the greater part of them paid me well : and I praised the Lord. 7 §8 THE AFTERMATH And when — as the spirit was full — I sniggered and lapped and swore "D '"'of Yore" ^^ ^^^^ "^^^ ^^^ before me, men of the days of yore. is commonplace. ( ?) Lore V Mot* ' When-as the spirit was full— But when it was rare and Provisional : see low Emily also about J (^pie(j ^he Psahns at random; and lo! it was even so ! (Fill in here: aj^BHBIB) Publi$her Then up and arose the Daughter-Nations : Up and arose Undesaysthat Fearless men feciting me fearlessly through the nose, Gr«k. ' Mm^ Some of them Presbyterian, and some of them Jews, Plagiarism. and some Change. ' O^ ti*^ Latter-Day Church, King Solomon's sect — which is awfully rum. [Stuck.) . . . the lot of it . . . Anglo-Saxons . . . shout it aloud ... at it again? . . . back the crowd? [Fill in, Mem. — must be consecutive) Things are not as they were (common-flace) (delete) Things are not as they . . . Things and the Change . . . Things and . . . thijvg^ . . . (Leave this to fill in) • * # » « And some of ye stand at a wicket, and they are the luckier men. But others field afar on a field, and ever and then, Whenas. Good. When-as the over is over, they cross to the other side, "'soreb."^" '"A weary thing to the flesh and a wounding thing to the pride, to goi "" *™ A°head. Every man must occupy his t)r!ain Sand body. Most men discover or choose an occupation, but I have not been a family doctor for thirty years without distinguishing these from such rare organisms as yours — and your fateily's. The House of Commons is the saving of you. {The Doetor here famed, gazed anxiously at Mr. , and said i®N REVELATIONS 131 slonXy) P«rbaps, though, you take your work too seriously. It is often so with highly strung men. Do as little as you can. Minister : I do . . . but still it wearies me inex- pressibly. Doctor : Not so much as writing a book would, or travel, or country iralks. Minister (sfiaking Ms head) : I never felt so tired after "It May be True," nor even a:fter " I Greatly Doubt It," as I do now (smiling a little). They sold well. Doctor : And why ? Because you were engaged in politics. Believe me, dear Mr. , without that one regular employment you would do little or nothing. It is the balance-wheel that regulates your whole system. Change the rules, and, if you will, limit debate to a minimum, but do not think of giving up the one thing that keeps up your circulation. More men die from inanition than I care to tell you. Minister : Very well, Doctor ... (weakly and quietly) it is nearly onej I must sleep . . . Good-bye. {The Doctor here went out on tip-toe. The Minister slept. There was a great silence.) The Evening German suffered Merely, and would have been ruined but for the prompt action of the. Frankfort House; and the whole incident shows as clearly as possible what perils surround the most tempt- ing, but the most speculative, sort of journalistic enter- prise. The student may tell me — and justly — that I have offered him none but negative examples. I will com- 132 THE AFTERMATH plete his instruction by printing one of the best chosen Revelations I know. At the time when a number of letters addressed to Mr. Kruger by various public men were captured, and very rightly published, a certain number were, for reasons of State, suppressed. To Dr. Caliban, reasons of State were no reasons ; he held that no servant of the people had a right to keep the people in ignorance. Within a week, a detective in his employ had brought a little sheaf of documents, which, judged by internal evidence alone, were plainly genuine. They were printed at once. They have never since been challenged. I. 497, Jubilee Row, B'hau, i9-7-'99- Dear Sir, We must respectfully press for the payment o^ our account. The terms upon which the ammunition was furnished were strictly cash, and, as you will see by the terms of our letter of the 15th last, we cannot tolerate any further delay. If we do not hear from you relative to same by next mail, we shall be compelled to put the matter into the hands of our solicitors. Yours, etc;, John Standfast, Pro Karl Biffenheimer and Co. ON REVELATIONS 133 II. Yacht Fleur de Lys. ' Pkince ne Daigne. Palesme, SiCILE. a, la teste de VAssomftion de la T.S.V. (Vieux Style) Van de N.S.J.C. MCM {1900). Monsieur Mon Frere, Nous vous envoyons nos remerciemens pour vos souhaits et vous assurons de la parf aicte amicti^ qui liera toujours nos couronnes allies. Faictes. Continuez. Agrfez, Monsieur Mon Frfere, I'assurance de notre consideration Royale la plus distingufe. Orleans, pour le Roy, Chetif. Vu, pour copie conforme, Le Seneschal, Bru. III. Offices of the " SiicLE/' Paris, Chef-lieu of the DEPARTMENT OF THE SEINE, FKANCE. 6, ThermidoT, 108. My good Kruger, It is evidently necessary that I should speak out to you in plain English. I can't go into a long disser- tation, but if you will read the books I send herewith, The Origin of Species, Spencer's Sociology, Grant Allen's Evolution of the Idea of God, etc., you will see why I can't back you up. As for your contemptible 134 THE AFTERMATH offer, I cast it back at you with disdain. My name alone should have protectee! ; me from such insults. I would have you know that my paper represents French opinion in England, and is now owned by an inter- national company. I am the irremovable editor. Yours with reserve, Yves Guyot. V.S. — I have been a Cabinet Minister. I send you a circular of our new company. It is a good thing. Push it along. IV. The Chaplainov, Barfoed College, Old St. Winifred's Day, 1900. My dear Mr. Kruger, Your position is at once interesting and peculiar, and deserves, as you say, my fullest attention. On the one hand (as you well remark) youj believe you h^ve a right to your independence, and that our Government has no moral right to interfere in your domestic affairs. You speak warmly of Mr. Chamberlain and describe him as lacking in common morality or (as we put it) in breeding. I think you are hardly fair. Mr. Chamberlain has Ijis own morality, and in that sumirjing up of all ethics which we in England call "manners,'' he is indis- tinguishi^ble from other gentlemteB! of our class. He has had a great deal to bear and he has latterly borne it in silence. It is hardly the part of a generous foe to taunt him now. I fear you look upon these matters a little narrowly ajid tend to accept one aspect as the ON REVl^lLATIONS 135 absolute. The truth is that international morality must always be largely Utilitarian, and in a very interesting little book by Beeker it is even doubted whether what we call " ethics " have any independent existence. This new attitude (which we call " moral anarchism ") has lately cast a great hold upon our younger men and is full of interesting possibilities. If you meet Milper you should discuss the point with him. I assure you this school is rapidly ousting theoId"^comparative-positLve" in which he and Curzon were trained. There is a great deal of self-realisation going on also. Lord Mestehvaux (whom you have doubtless met— he. was a director of the Johannesburg Alcohol Concession) is of rny opinion. Believe me, my dear Mr. Krug^, with the fullest and warmest sympathy for such of your grievances as may be legitiljiate, and with the ardent grayer that the result of this deplorable quarrel may turn out to be the best for JoM parties, Your affectionate Friend of old days, JosHiA Lambkin, M.A., Fellojv and Chaplain. V. (Telegram.) Send orders payable Amsterdam immediate, Liberal party clamouring ... (name illegible) risen to ten thousand, market firm and rising. Waste no money on comic paper. Not Read. • „, • (Unsigned.) Finally this- damning piece of evidence must close the terrible series. 136 THE ' AFTERMATH VI. To the Rbv. Ebenezeh Biggs, Capetown. ' The House of Commons^ My DEAR Sir, ^ ., , ■Atriltoth,^. ' You put me in a very diflScult positioni far, on the one hand, I cannot, and would not, work agaihsit the interests of my country, and on the pthe; hand, I am conviflced that Mr. Chamberlain is determined to plunge that country into the war spoken of by John in Revela- tioii ix. Anything I can do for peace I will, but for some reason or other th* Times will npt insert my letters, though I write to them twice and sometimes thrice in one day. Sir Alfred Milner was once very rude to me. He is a weak man morally, mainly intent upon " getting on"; he has agreed since his youth with every single person of influence (except myself) whom he happened to come across, and is universally liked. I fear that no one's private influence can do much. The London Press has been bought in a limip by two financiers. Perhaps a little waiting is the best thing. There is sure to be a reaction, and after all, Mr. Chamberlain is a man of a very low order. His mind, I take it, is not imlike his face. He thinks very little and very clearly. . . I have really nothing more to, say. Always your sincere friend, Edward Bayton. No one knew better than Dr. Caliban that a Revelation is but weakened by comment. But the war was at its height, and he could not read without disgust such words, written in such a place by such a man. ON REVELATIONS 137 Hei added the note : " We understand that the law officers of the Crown are debating whether or no the concluding sentences of this dis- graceful letter can be made to come within 26 Edward III., cap. 37, defining high treason.;. It is certainly not a physical attack upon the Person, Consort, or offspring of the Crown, nor is it (strictly speaking)' giving aid to the Queen's enemies. On the other hand, it is devoutly hoped that the attack on Hr. Chamberlain can be made to fall under 32 Henry VIII., ^, whereby it is felony tQ strike oir ' provoke ' the King's servants within the precincts of the Palace. The infamous screed was certainly written in a palace, and Mr. Chamber- lain is as certaibly a servant of the Queen. He certainly was provoked — ^nay nettled. The latter clauses of the act, condemn- ing those who attack the doctrine of Transubstantiation to be roasted alive, have, of course, fallen into desuetude. The earlier, milder, and more general clauses stand, and should be mfoTced." ' Let me not be misunderstood. I think it was an error to pen that comment. Strong expressions, used in a time of high party feeling, may look exaggerated when they survive into, quieter times. But if it was an error, it was the only error that can be laid to the charge of a just and great man in the whole course of forty years, during which period he occasionally edited as many as five journals at a time. X SPECIAL PROSE Mrs. Caliban begged me to add a few words on "Special Prose," and to subjoin an example of that manner. She has suggested for the latter purpose Mrs. Railston's "Appreciation of William Shakespeare," written as a preface for the Charing Cross Shakespeare in 1897. She has even been at the pains of asking Mrs. Railston's leave to have it included in this volume, a permission that was at once granted, accompanied with the courteous request that Mrs. Railston's name, address, and private advertisement shoyld accompany the same. Were I dependent upon my own -judgment alone, the wisdom of adding such a division at the close of these essays might seem doubtfuL Special Prose is an advMiced kind of literature, too great an attraction to which might at first cpnf use rather than aid the student j and I should hardly make a place for it in a straight- forward little Textbook. Mrs. Caliban's wishes in all matters concerning this work must be observed, and I have done what she desired me, even to the degree of printing Mrs, Railston's advertisement, though I am certain that great Authoress does herself harm by this kind of insistence. ... It is no business of mine. . . . It is only fair to add that prose of this sort is the highest form of our Art, and should be the ultimate 138 SPECML PROSE X39 goal of eveiy rfeader of this; Guide. If, however,, the student is bewildered in his first attempt to decipher it (as he very well may be), my advice to him is this : let him minrk the point to which he has persevered, and then put the whole thing aside until he has had some little further practice in English letters. Then let him return, fresh from other work, some weeks later, and see if.'he cannot penetrate still further into the close-knit texture. Soon he will find it almost like his, own tongue, and wiU begin to love and to underhand. Not many months will pass before it will mean to him something more than life, as he once imagined, could contain. Having said so much, let me hasten to obey Mrs. Caliban's command, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE An Afffeeiation. By Margaret Railston. How very manifestly well did not Montaigne (I think it was) say in his essay upon Value that the " inner part of Poesy is whilom hid, whilom bare, and it' matters little whether it be bare or hidden. ' ' That was a sentence such as our Wordsworth might have quoted at the high court of Plato when the poets were arraigned as un- worthy to ,be rooted in his Republic. For the most part these deax poets of our tongue will rather have it bare than hidden, leaving the subtleties of " The Misan- thrope ' ' to another race, and themselves prefening the straight verbal stab of "The Idiot Boy" or " Darmy Deever " ; so that many of us see nothing in the Rhymed 140 THE AFTERMATH Heroics of the Grand iSifecle. Yet Molifere also had genius. , ' " Moli^ie a du gtoie et Chiistian H& beau." That sentence given nasally by a Coquelin to a theatre- full of People of the Middle-Class should convince also us of- the Hither- North that flowers may blow in any season and be as various as multiplicity may. William Shakespeare, without all question and beyond any repining, is — or rather was — the first of our Poets, and was — or rather is — the first to-day. So that, with him for a well and the Jacobean Bible for a further spring of effort, our English Poets make up ("build" Milton called it) the sounding line. But William Shakespeare also is of us : he will have it on the surface or not at all; as a man hastening to beauty, too eager to delve by the way. And with it all how he succeeds ! What grace and what appreciation in epithet, what subtle and subconscious effects of verb ! What resonant and yet elusive diction ! It is true Shakes- peare, that line — " Rough winds do shake the darling buds ol May." And that other — "Or stoops with the Kemover to remove." And these are true Shakespeare because in each there is we know not what of ivory shod with steeL A mixture of the light and the strong, of the subtle and the intense rescues his simple words from oblivion. But another, not of our blood, would have hidden far more ; he shows it all, frankly disdaining artifice. Also the great Elizabethan needs room for his giant limbs, for his frame of thought and his thews of diction. SPECIAL PROSE 141 Cite him just too shortly, choose but a hair's breadth too mickle an ensample of his work, and it is hardly Poesy, nay, hardly Prose. Thus you shall have Othello-^the Moor they call him — ^betrayed and raging, full of an African Anger. What does he say of it? Why very much; but if you are of those that cut out their cameos too finely ; you slip into quoting this merely : " OlH. Hum ! Hum !" And that is not our Shakespeare at all, nor e'en our Othello. Oh ! no, it is nothing but a brutish noise, meaning nothing, empty of tragedy, unwished for. It was Professor Goodie who said that " none needed the spaces of repose more than Shakespeare," and taught us in these words that the poet must have hills and valleys ; must recline if he is to rise. But does not Shakiespeare, even in his repose, seem to create? The Professor will indeed quote to us the mere sprawling leisure of Stratford, and shame us with such lines as^ " Mac — The Devil damn thee black, thou cieam-faced loon, Where got'st thou that goose look?" Which is Shakespeare at full length. But we also, that are not over sure of Shakespeare's failing, can answer him with such excerpts as these : " Hen. — ^Therefore do thou, stifi-set Northumberland, Retire to Chester, and my cousin here, The noble Bedford, hie to Glo'ster straight And give our Royal ordinance and word That in this fit and strife of empery No loss shall stand account. To this compulsion I pledge my sword, my person and my honour On the Great Seal of England : so farewell. Swift to your charges : nought was ever done Unless at some time it were first begun." 142 THE AFTERMATH This also is Shakespeare in his repose, but a better Shakespeare than he whom the Professor *K>uld chal- lenge. For though there is here no work or strain in the thiag, yet it reeks df English. It is like' the mist over our yalleys at evening, so eiGfortless is it and so reposeful, and yet so native. Note the climax "On the Great Seal of England " and tte quaint, characjteristic folklore of the concluding couplet,' with its rhyming effect. Note also how sparing is William Shakespeare of the strong qualiiicative, however just it may be. For when our moderns will speak hardly of " the tolerant kine " or " the under-lit sky," or of " the creeping river like a worm upturned, with silver belly stiflFenedJn the ^rass," though they be by all this infinitely stronger, yet are they but the more condensed and self -belittled. Shakespeare will write you ten lines and have in all but one just and sharp adjective — " stiff-set "j for the rest they are a cormnon highway.; he cares not. And here he is in the by-paths ; a meadow of Poesy. I have found it hidden away in one of the latter plays ; the flowers of his decline : " Fear no more the heat o' the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages; Now thine earthly tasi is done, Xhou'it gone home and ta'^ thy wages. Golden lads and lasses must, Like chimney-sweepers, come to dust." There is in that a line I swear no one but Shakespeare would have dared. '" Thou'rt gone home an ta'en thy wages." Commonplace? A text on the wall? A sermon-tag ? All you will, but a frame f<)r glory. This then is William Shakespeare in a last word. A SPECIAL PROSE 143 man at wOrk full of doing ; the F epyov : glad if you saw the mark of the chisel ; still more glad if you did not -see it. And if it be queried why are such things written of him ? Why do we of the last and woeful days turn and return the matter of our past ? We say tills. Vixert Fortes; that is, no fame were enduring save by continued iterance and echo of similar praise, nor any life well earned in the public sheets that dared not touch on any matter and remodel all. It is for ourselves and for William Shakespeare that these things are done. For ourselves, that is a private thing to hide imder the veil of the Home-lpfe. For William Shakespeare, that is the public duty, that his fame may not fail in the noise of new voices. And we can borrow from him and return to him what he said of another with such distinc- tion of plane and delicate observance of value : " So long as men shall breathe and eyes can see. This lives, and living, this gives Ufe to thee." {^Notices in this manner can be furnished at reasonable natice upon any poet, preferably a young or a modern poet, on the usual terms. The style is produced in seven distinct sizes, of which this is No. 3. Please state No. when ordering. All envelopes to be addressed. Mrs. Margaket Rai^ston, c/o Charlie Bemberg, 48, Upper Gannimore Gardens, Shepherd's Bush, W. All envelopes to be marked " Appreciation." Accounts monthly. All cheques to be crossed "Becker, Becker, and Bemberg."'] APPENDIX PRICES CURRENT In all ordinary lines Prices were well maintained aild rising at the outbreak of the Spanish-American War. They rose sharply thenceforward till the second week of the war in South Africa, since which date they have been sagging, touching bed rock in the spring of this year (March, 1903). There has been a slight reaction since the beginning of the season, but it is not supported, and the market is still extremely dull. Patriotic Poems have fallen out of sight, and Criticism is going begging : in some offices books are: no longer given to their reviewers : sub-editor? have latterly been asked to briflg, their own suppers. The pinch is being felt everywhere. Police reports are on piece-work and the Religious Column 19 shut down to half shifts. Leader writers have ^)roken from i,%oo a year to 300. Editors have suffered an all- round cut in wages of ?5 per cent. Publishers' carrying- over days are more anxious than ever. Several first-class houses were hammered on the last contango, and the Banks are calling ip loans. Private capital can hardly be obtained save for day-to-day transactions, and even so at very high rates of interest. The only lines that are well maintained are City Articles and Special Prose. Snippets are steady. 145 JO 146 THE AFTERMATH The following list is taken from Hunter's Handbook, and represents Prices at the close of May : PROSE (Prices in shillings per' thousand words.) Rise or Fall. Special Prose ... ., . 30/- .3,5/- Unchanged. Street Accidents 10/- 12/- - Si- Reviews ... 7/6 10/- -20/- Police Court Notices 15/- 18/, - 5/- Guaranteed Libels 25I- 30/- - 3/- Unguaranteed ditto 5/-^ 7/- + 2/- Deferred ditto ,14/- 16/- -1- 4/- Pompous Leaders 8/- 10/. -25/-! Smart Leaders 9/- 11/6 + 3l- Ten-line Leaderettes 10/: 12/- Unchanged. Political Appeals ... IS/- 17/- -30/- Attacks on Foreign Nations 3/- 3/6 -48/-!! Dramatic Criticism 20/- 25/- Unchanged. Historical Work — 6d.? (Practically no demand). Religious Notes ... . 12/- 18/- - 8/- ■ Attacks upoii Qiristianity 4/- 4/6 - 5/- (A very heavy fall for this kind of matter). VERSE (Prices in fence fer line.) Bad Verse ... No price can be given— very, variable. Good minor Verse 3d , (much the same as last year). Special Verse ... i/- (a heavy fall). APPENDIX 147 4 r* « . • • • ~r • ■ ^M *j „; S^ S^ -Q o b o o - M "* u g- B t* S S?S?S?S?S?S?S^ § •- I g « §4-^^^ o au° ^s i£ " *,jjg ^ ....... „; §. B § a rf y *, .a ,§ I » n* 'U ■« — .* ^ngO^^O«lVpl\Ou,o .2 r^ •* S ^ n — ^^ ^^ ^ — — ■ ^-^ ^^ en C3 bfl "S ^ U L""^ 5* M M N tn-S jT '> S -^ Q « ^ . ::::::. «^o .2.S -3 o- ° ^1 |. ••■■••■ gS s.|St i « "^ 'g M50 ^ . vo j^si? o -355 I ? ^ ^ J -? i£. -!2 -i~ ^ -^ !?. <« o J=^ ^ ".S § ^ S.2 3 g ■ S g •^ „ 3* « -Sa & S =3 ■" I ^5 •^- >5 ^5 ^5 ^j •« > ^^r^§!=^ ."o M ■-+* i-iw coFk 1-1 HN « H« ♦ -I- S ++ « «» ^ £ § a 148 THE AFTERMATH (The Sections dealing with "The Detection of Classical Authors" and "The Vivid Presenta- tion OF History" have been; omitted by request of the Family. It is perhaps as well.) NOTE ON TITLES The young journalist will never make an error as to the title of an individual, and his proper style and address, if he will but learn to trust the books of reference pro- vided by the office. They are far more accurate than other works of the kind.* Contrast, for instance, Bowley's Peerage and Baronetage with Bowley's Register of Events during the Past Yiar. What may be called " derivative titles " differ in the most complicated manner according to the rank of the parent. It would be quite impossible for the journalist to attempt to learn them. He had far better write plain " Lord " and " Lady " where he has occasion to, and on all other occasions whatsoever, "Mr." or, if he prefer the term, " Esquire." In conversation no Lord should be addressed as "My Lord," but a Bishof should always be so addressed; no Duke should be called " Your Grace " to his face, but it is courteous to bestow this honour upon an Archbishop. It is still more important to avoid the term " milady " in speaking to the consorts of the above named, especially • They are often inaccurate with regard to the past history of the families mentioned, and very often wrong in the spelling of the family name; but these details are furnished by the families themselves, upon whom the responsibility must rest. APPENDIX ; 149 in the case of bishops' wives, to whom the title does not apply. Baronets, on the other hand, must always be addressed as "Sir," followed by a Christian name. The omission to do this has led to grievous trouble. The principal English titles are : Prince, Duke, Marquis, Marquess (a more recent creation). Earl, Baron; then comes a division; then Irish Peers, Baronets, Knights, and finally Members of the Victorian Order. The principal foreign titles are : Count, Viscount (which by the way, is also an English title, but I forgot it), Vidame, Chevalier, Excellency, Graf, Furst, Mar- grave, Baron, Boyar, Monsignor, and Grandee — the latter used only in Spain, Ceuta, and the other Spanish dominions beyond the seas. Imperial titles are : The Maharajah, the Maharanee, the Akon of Swat, the Meresalja, of Baghirmi, the Oyo of Oya, the Allemami of Fout^zajlam, the Ameer, the Emir, the Bally-o-Gum of Abe-o-Kuta,* and others too numerous to mention. All these should, in general, be addressed as "Your Highness." Colonials are called " The Honourable," NOTE ON STYLE One does well to have by one a few jottings that will enable one to add to one's compositions wha:t one calls style in case it is demanded of one by an editor. I would not insist too much upon the point; it is simple enough, and the necessity of which I speak does not often crop up. Put editors differ very much among * I omit the ex-Jumbi of Koto-Koto, a rebellious upstart whom the Imperial Government has very properly deposed. ISO THE AFTERMATH themselves, and every now and then one gets a manu- script returned with the note, "please improve style," in blue pencil, on the margin. If one had no idea as to the meaning of this a good deal of time might be wasted, so I will add here what are considered to be the five principal canons of style or good English. The first canon, of course, is that style should have Distinction, Distinction is a quality much easier to attain than it looks. It consists, on the face of it, in the selection of peculiar words and their arrangement in an odd and perplexing order, and the objection is conimonly raised that such irregularities cannot be rapidly acquired. Thus the Chaplain of Barford, preaching upon style last Holy Week, remarked " there is a natural tendency in stating some useless and empty thing to express oneself in a common or vulgar manner." That is quite true, but it is a tendency which can easily be corrected, and I think that that sentence I have just quoted throws a flood of light on the reverend gentleman's own deficiencies. Of course no writer is expected to write or even to speak in this astonishing fashion, but what is easier than to go over one's work and strike out ordinary words? There should be no hesitation as to what to put in their place. Halliwell's " Dictionary of Archaic and Pro- vincial Words" will give one all the material one may require. Thus " lettick " is charming Rutlandshire for "decayed" or "putrescent," and "swinking" is a very good alternative for "working." It is found in Piers Plowman. It is very easy to draw up a list of such unusual words, each corresponding with some ordinary one, and APPENDIX 151 to pin it up where it will meet your eye. In all this matter prose follows very much the same rules as were discovered and laid down for verse on page 86. The second canon of style is that it should be obicure, universally and without exception. The disturbance of the natural order of words to which I have just alluded is a great aid, but it is not by any means the only way to achieve the result, One should also on occasipn use several negatives one after the other^ and the sly correc- tion of punctuation is very useful. I have knqwn a fortune to be made by the omission of a full stop, and a comma put right in between a noun and its adjective was the beginning of Daniel Witton's reputation. A foreign word misspelt is also very, useful. Still more useful is some allusion to some unimportant historical person or event of which your reader cannot possibly have heard. As to the practice, which has reqently grown up, of writing only when one is drunk, or of introducing plain lies into every sentence, they are quite Unworthy of the. stylist properly so called, and can never permanently add to one's reputation. The third canon of style is the occasional omission of a verb or of the predicate. Nothing is more agreeably surprising, and nothing more effective. I have known an honest retired major-general, while reading a novel in his club, to stop puzzling at one place for an hour or more in his bewilderment at this delightful trick, and for years after he would exclaim with admiration at the style of the writer. The fourth canon of style is to use metaphors of a striking, violent, and wholly novel kind, in the place of 152 THE AFTERMATH plain statement : as, to say ' ' the classics were grafted on the standing stirp of his mind rather than planted in its soil," which means that the man had precious little Greek, or again, ' ' we propose to canalise, not to dam, the current of Afghan development," which means that the commander of our forces in India strongly refused to campaign beyond the Khyber. This method, which is invaluable for the purpose of flattering the rich, is very much used among the clergy, and had its origin in our great Universities, where it is employed to conceal ignorance, and to impart tone and vigour to the tedium of academic society. The late Bishop of Barchester was a past master of this manner, and so was Diggin, the war correspondent, who first talked of a gun " Coughing '.' at one, and was sent home by Lord Kitchener for lying. The fifth canon of style is, that when you are bored with writing and do not know what to say next, you should hint at unutterable depths of idea by the intro- duction of a row of asterisks. '' THE ODE The writing of Odes seems to have passed so completely out of our literary life, that I thought it inadvisable to incorporate any remarks upon it with the standing part of my book, but I cannot refrain from saying a few words upon it in the Appendix, since I am convinced that it is destined to play a great part in the near future. APPENDIX 153 I will take for my example the well-known Ode (almost the only successful modern example of this form of composition) which was sung on the beach at Calshott Castle, by a selected choir, on the return of Mr. Joseph Chamberlain from South Africa ; and I will use some passages from it in order to emphasize the leading principle that the Ode defends for its effective- ness almost entirely ufon the music accomfanying it. Thus, Mr. Daniel Witton's opening lines : " What stranger barque from what imperial shores The angry Solent dares to what mysterious goal?" would seem tame enough were it not for the wonderful rising of the notes which accompany them; and the famous outburst: " She to Southampton steers !" is equally dependent upon the crash of music and the combined voices of the whole choir. It is difficult for us, who have heard it rendered in the Albert Hall, to appreciate what the words would be without this adven- titious aid. Even the lovely single line, " Lift up your head, Southampton, dry your honourable tears," would be less without the delicate soprano floating above its syllables. I will admit that the passage on the bodyguard of National Scouts is very fine, but then, precisely in proportion as it is effective qua literature, it fails to impress when accompanied by music, though the author of the score was wise enough to set it to a somewhat monotonous recitative. If the student will read the 154 THE AFTERMATH lines slowly to himself, first with, and then without, the notes, he will see what I mean. " And who more fit than they Whose better judgment led them to betray An aged leader and a failing cause Because — Because they found it pay." Mr. Daniel Witton did not write that word " because " twice over in his original manuscript. He put it in twice to please the musician (whose ignorance of the English tongue was a great handicap throughout), and, as I at least think, he made an error in so doing. All that passage where the great politician "... taking off his hat," comes into the palace at Pretoria, where " . . . in awful state alone. Alone, the scientific Monist sat, Who guards our realm, extends its narrow bounds, And to achieve his end, Is quite prepared to spend The inconceivably imperial sum of twica three hundred times five hundred thousand pounds," shows the grave difficulty of wedding the verse to the music. The last line is intolerably clumsy, when read without the air accompanying it; and the whole illus- trates very well my contention that music should be the chief thing in the composition of an ode, and that the libretto should be entirely subservient to it. A still better example is found in the great chorus " Pretoria," which begins — " Pretoria with her hundred towers Acknowledges his powers," APPENDIX 155 and " Johannesburg," which ends — " Heil ! heil ! hoch ! heil ! du ubermenslich' wohl-gebornen Graf von Chamberlein, While underground. While underground. Such rare and scattered KaflSrs as are found Repeat the happy, happy, happy, happy, sound." And of course the lyric at the end — " All in his train de luxe Reading selected books, Including Conan Doyle's ingenious fiction And popular quota- Tions, verses by the way For which he has a curious predilection. And Mr. Werther's work Called ' Englaind shall not shirk,' Or ' The Cape to Cairo, Kairouan and Cadiz,' And ' Burke,' and ' Who is Who,' And ' Men and Women ' too. And ' Etiquette for Gentlemen and Ladies,' " Et cetera, et cetera. All that lyric depends entirely for its effects upon the little Venetian air taken from Sullivan, who himself took it from Verdi, who got it from a Gondolier. The words by themselves have no beauty whatsoever. Indeed, I think in the whole Ode there is but one exception to the rule I have laid down, and that is at the very end, where they sing of the accomplished task and, in a fine hyperbole, of the " Great story that shall shake the affrighted years." The last five lines are such good music and such good verse that I caimot dissociate one from the other : " Chorus. And now returns he, turns, turns he to his own — Trombone. Ah, maddened with delight, I welcome him upon the loud trombone. 156 THE AFTERMATH The Bass Drum. I, in more subtle wise. Upon the big bass drum. The tenor. And I upon the trembling flute, that shrieks and languishes and dies. All Three. Welcome, and make a widowed land rejoice : Welcome, attuned voice; — Sweet eyes !" It is a very fine ending, and I congratulate Mr. Daniel Witton upon it most sincerely. "... It reminds one of the Bacchae. ***** Should the student desire to attempt something of the kind for himself, he cannot do better than to invite a musical friend and compose the ode strictly in con- junction with him ; neither should write separately from the other, and let there be no quarrels or tantrums, but let each be ready to give way. I suggest, as a subject for this exercise, a Funeral Ode upon the same statesman, to be sung when occasion serves. ON REMAINDERS AND PULPING Should the student aspire to collect his journalistic work, or the less ephemeral part of it, into book form, he will do well to apply to some old and established firm of publishers, who will give him a reasonable estimate for its production, plus the cost of advertising, ware- housing, wear and tear, office expenses, etc., etc., to which must be added the customary Fee. The book so issued will be sent to the Press for notice APPENDIX IS7 and review, and will, some weeks later, be either Re- maindered or Pulped. It is important to have a clear idea of these processes which accompany an author throughout his career. A book is said to be Remaindered when it is sold to the second-hand bookseller in bulk ; lo per cent, of the sums so received, less the cost of cartage to and fro from shop to shop, and the wages of the Persuader who attempts to sell the volumes, is then credited to the author in his account, which is usually pressed upon the completion of the transaction. The less fortunate must be content with Pulping. In the midst of their chagrin they will be consoled by the thought that their book enjoys a kind of resurrection, and will reappear beneath some other, and — who knows ? — ^perhaps some nobler form. The very paper upon which these words are printed may once have formed part of a volume of yerse, or of Imperialist pamphlets subsi- dised by the South African Women's League. A book is said to be Pulfed when it is sold at so many pence the thousand copies to the Pulpers* for Pult>ing. The transfoiteation. is effected as follows : Fitst the covers are thoroughly and skilfully torn off the edition by girls known as "Scalpers" or "Skin- ners, ' ' and the Poems (or whatnot), after going through this first process, are shot in batches of twenty-four into a trough, which communicates by an inclined plane with open receptacles known technically as " bins." Hence the sheets are taken out by another batch of hands known as " feeders " — for it is their duty to " feed " the mar- * Messrs. Ibbotson, of Fetter-lane, and Charlton and Co., of St. Anne's, are the best-known Pulpers. 158 THE AFTERMATH vellous machine which is the centre of the whole works. The Poems (as we may imagine them to be) are next thrown by the "feeder^," with a cer^taiji rapid and practised gesture, into a furmel-shaped receiver, where they are caught by Sjx Large Rows of strong Steel Teeth* known as the "Jaws," which are so arranged as just barely to miss each other ; these work alternatively back and forth, and, reduce the hardest matter to shreds in an incredibly short time. The shreds so formed fall on to a wide endless band, which carries them on into the "bowl," where they are converted under a continual stream of boiling water, into a kind of loose paste. Lest any, trace of the original Poetic (or Prose) composition could remain to trouble the. whiteness of the rapidly, forrping mixture, this water contains a 30 per cent, solution of. Sardonic Oxide, two kilogrammes of which will bleach one thousand kilos of, shredded Poems or Essays in from thirty -five to forty minutes. When the Poems or whatnot have been finally reduced to a, white and formless mass, they are termed ■pulp and ithis pulp is laid out into frames, to be con- verted once more into paper, Art, glazed, and niedium. This principle of "the Conservation of Paper " or, as Lord Balton (Sir Charles Quarry) has himself called it, ' ' the Circulation of Literature, ' ' is naturally more developed among the Anglo-Saxon peoples than upon the, Continent. The patriotic reader will be pleased to • Until Lord Balton (then Sir Chai^les Quarry) invented this part of the machine, poisms, apologies for Christianity, etc., in fact all kinds of books, had to be torn laboriously into minute pieces 'by hand. It is'diflScult for us to realise now-a- days what exertion this involved. We live in an age of machinery I APPENDIX 159 hear that whereas of existing German books barely 35 per cent, are pulped within the year, of French books not 27 per cent., and of Italian but 15 per cent. ; of our total production — which is far larger — no less than 73 per cent, are restored to their original character of useful blank paper within the year, ready to receive further impressions of Human Genius and to speed on its accelerated round the progress of Mankind. Amen. INDEX Abingdon, History of, by Lord Charles Gamber, see Pulping, p. 187. Action, Combination of, with Plot, Powefful Efiect of, in Modern Novels, see Pulping, p. 187. Advertisement, FoUy and Waste of, see Pulping, p. 187. Affection, Immoderate, for our own Work, Cure of, see Pulping, p. 187. All Souls, College of, see Pulping, p. 187. Amusements of Printers and Publishers, see Pulping, p. 187. Art, Literary, Ultimate End of, see Pulping, p. 187. Astonishment of Young Poet, see Pulping, p. 187. Authorship, Vanity of Human, see Pulping, p. 187. Baronets, Family Histories of, see Pulping, p. 187. Benjamin Kidd, see Kidd. Beaune, Wine of. Its Consoling Qualities, see Pulping, p. 187. Beotius, Decline in Sale of Works of, see Pulping, p. 187. Bilge, Literature so Termed, see Pulping, p. 187. Bird, The Honourable, his " Essay on Popery," see Pulping, p. 187. Books, see Pulping, p. 187. Bote, Books that, see Pulping, p. 187. Boston, Effect of, upon American Culture, see Pulping, p. 187. Cabs, Necessity of, to Modern Publisher, see Pulping, p. .87. Cabs to Authors, Unwarrantable Luxury, see Pulping, p. 187. Call, Divine, to a Literary Career, see Pulping, p. 187. Curse, Publishers a, see Pulping, p. 187. Curron, Lord, his Literary Works, see Pulping, p. 187. ii THE AFTERMATH Damn, Expletive, When Used, see Pulping, p. 187. Damn, Thiiteen Qualifications of Same, see Pulping, p. 187. Daniel in Lion's Den Compared to a Just Author, see Pulping, p. 187. Dogs, Reputation Going to the, see Pulping, p. 187. Dowagers, Novels Written by, see Pulping, p. 187. Doyle, Conan, see O'Doyle. Dozen, Trade Term for Thirteen, see Pulping, p. 187. Dreyfus, Literature upon, see Pulping, p. 187. Education, Futility of, see Pulping, p. 187. Eighty Club, see Female Suffrage, also Suffrage. Elders, see Suzanna. England, Source and Wealth of, see Pulping, p. 187. Evil, Origin of, see Pulping, p. 187. Fame, see Pulping, p. 187. Fate, see Pulping, p. 187. Finesse, see Pulping, p. 187. Finland, Doom of, see Pulping, p. 187. Francis of Assisi, Saint, Modern Books on, see Pulping, p. 187. Fuss, Folly of, see Pulping, p. 187. Genius, Indestructibility of, see Pulping, p. 187. Hanging, Suicide by, when Caused by Failure, see Pulping, p. 187. Heaven, Monkish Fables upon, see Pulping, p. 187. Hell, ditto, see Pulping, p, 187. Howl, The Sudden, When Excusable, see Pulping, p. 187. " Huguenot," pseudonym, his " Influence of Jesuits in Europe," see Pulping, p. 187. India, Lord Curzon's Views on, see Pulping, p. 187. Inspiration, Sole Source of Poetry, see Pulping, p. 187. Jesuits, Their Reply to " Huguenot," see Pulping, p. 187. INDEX iii Kidd, E^enjamiii, Philosophy of, see Pulping, p. 187. Kruger, Memoixs of, see Pulping, p. 187. Lamb, Charles, Centenary Edition of, see Pulping, p. 187. London, Fascination of, see Pulping, p. 1S7. " Lunaticus," his Essays on Foreign Politics, see Pulping, p. 187. Luzon, " How Old Glory Floats Over " (Putnam and Co., 3 dollars), see Pulping, p. 187. Mach4, Papier, see Pulping, p. 187. "Mamma," "Darling Old," Story for Children, by the Countess of K , see Pulping; p. 187. Milner, Lord, Proclamations of, see Pulping, p. 187. Moulds, Modern Books Printed from, see Pulping, 187. " Mucker," " To Come a," Publishers' slang, see Pulping, p. 187. Name, Real, of " Diplomaticus," see Pulping, p. 187. O'Doyle, Conan, Political Works of, see Pulping, p. 187. Opper, Caricatures of England by, see Pulping, p. 187. Paper, How Procured, see Pulping, p. 187. Profits, Half, System of, see Pulping, p. 187. Pulping, p. 187. Queen of Roumania, Verses by, see Pulping, p. 187. Rhodes, Cecil, Numerous Lives of, see Pulping, p. 187. Rot, Inevitable End of, see Pulping, p. 187. Rubbish, Common Fate of, see Pulping, p. 187. Sabatier, see Pulping, p. 187. Soul, Human, What is the, by James Heading, see Pulping, p. 187. Suffrage, Female, Arguments For and Against, by Members of the Eighty Club, see Pulping, p. 187. Suzanna asd tbe Elders, Sacred Poem, see Pulping, p. 187. IV THE AFTERMATH Tax, Bre»d, Repeal of, see Ft^lpiag, p. 187. Times Newspaper, History of Wai in South Africa, see Pulping, p. 187. Times, Obituary Notices of. Reprinted, see Pulping, p. 187. Times, All Republications from, see Pulping, p. 187. Transvaal, Truth About, by Patrick Fit^Patrick, see Pulping, p. 187. Uganda Railway, Balance-sheet of, see Pulping, p. 187. Vanitas, Vanitatum, see Vanitatum. Vanitatum, Vanitas, see Pulping, p. 187. Vindex, his Great Biography of Cecil Rhodes, see Pulping, p. 187. W. X. Y. Z., see Pulping, p. 187. LAMBKIN'S REMAINS DEDICATION TO THE REPUBLICAN CLUB I AM DETERMINED TO DEDICATE THIS BOOK, AND NOTHING SHALL TURN ME FROM MY PURPOSE DEDICATORY ODE I MEAN to write with all my strength (It lately has been sadly waning), A ballad of enormous length — Some parts of which will need explaining.* Because (unlike the bulk of men, Who write for fame and public ends) I turn a lax and fluent pen To talking of my private friends, t For no one, in our long decline, So dusty, spiteful, and divided, Had quite such pleasant friends as mine. Or loved them half as much as I did. The Freshman ambles down the High, In love with everything he sees. He notes the clear October sky. He sniffs a vigorous western breeze. * But do not think I shall explain To any great extent. Believe me, I partly write to give you pain. And if you do not like me, leave me. t And least of all can you complain. Reviewers, whose unholy trade is. To puff with all your might and main Biographies of single ladies. 165 i66 DEDICATORY ODE " Can this be Oxford ? This the plac«s " (He cries), " of which my father said The tutoring was a damned disgrace, The creed a mummery, stuffed and dead ? " Can it be here that Uncle Paul Was driven by excessive gloom, To drink and debt, and, last of all, To smoking opium in his room ? "Is it from here the people come, Who talk so loud, and roll their eyes. And stammer ? How extremely rum ! How curious ! What a great surprise. " Some influence of a nobler day Than theirs (I mean than Uncle Paul's), Has roused the sleep of their decay, And decked with light their ancient walls. " O ! dear undaunted boys of old. Would that your names were carven here. For all the world in stamps of gold. That I might read them and revere. ' ' Who wrought and handed down for me This Oxford of the larger air. Laughing, and full of faith, and free, With youth resplendent everywhere." Then learn : thou ill-instructed, blind, Young, callow, and untutored man, Their private names were * Their club was called Republican. ***** * Never mind. DEDICATORY ODE 167 Where on their banks of light they lie, The happy hills of Heaven between, The Gods that rule the morning sky Are not more young, nor more serene Than were the intrepid Four that stand, The first who dared to live their dream, And on this uncongenial land To found the Abbey of Theleme. We kept the Rabelaisian plan :* We dignified the dainty cloisters With Natural Law, the Rights of Man, Song, Stoicism, Wine, and Oysters. The library was most inviting : The books upon the crowded shelves Were mainly of our private writing : We kept a school and taught ourselves. We taught the art of writing things On men we still should like to throttle : And where to get the blood of kings At only half-a-crown a bottle. * * * * * Eheu Fugaces ! Postume ! (An old quotation out of mode) My coat of dreams is stolen away, My youth is passing down the road. The plan forgot (I know not how, Perhaps the Refectory filled it) To put a chapel in : and now We're mortgaging the rest to build it. i68 DEDICATORY ODE The wealth of youth, we spent it well And decently, as very few can. And is it lost ? I cannot tell ; And what is more, I doubt if you can. The question's very much too wide, And much too deep, and much too hollow. And learned men on either side Use arguments I carmot follow. They say that in the unchanging place, Where all we loved is always dear. We meet our morning face to face. And find at last our twentieth year. . . . They say (and I am glad they say), It is so j and it may be so : It may be just the other way, I cannot tell. But this I know : From quiet homes and first begiiming. Out to the undiscovered ends. There's nothing worth the wear of winning. But laughter and the love of friends. * * * * * But something dwindles, oh ! my peers. And something cheats the heart and passes, And Tom that meant to shake the years Has come to merely rattling glasses. And He, the Father of the Flock, Is keeping Burmesans. in order. An exile on a lonely rock That overlooks the Chinese border. DEDICATORY ODE 169 And One (myself I mean — ^no less), Ah ! — will Posterity believe it — Not only don't deserve success, But hasn't managed to achieve it. Not even this peculiar town Has ever fixed a friendship firmer, But — one is married, one's gone down, And one's a Don, and one's in Burmah. » » » » * And oh ! the days, the days, the days. When all the four were off together : The infinite deep of summer haze. The roaring boast of autumn weather ! # * » » * I will not try the reach again, I will not set my sail alone, To moor a boat bereft of men At Yarnton's tiny docks of stone. But I will sit beside the fire. And put my hand before my eyes. And trace, to fill my heart's desire, The last of all our Odysseys. The quiet evening kept her tryst : Beneath an open sky we rode. And mingled with a wandering mist Along the perfect Evenlode. The tender Evenlode that makes Her meadows hush to hear the sound Of waters mingling in the brakes. And binds my heart to English ground. 170 DEDICATORY ODE A lovely river, all alone, She lingers in the hills and holds A hundred little towns of stone, Forgotten in the western wolds. I dare to think (though meaner powers Possess our thrones, and lesser wits Are drinking worser wine than ours, In what's no longer Austerlitz) That surely a tremendous ghost, The brazen-lunged, the bumper -filler. Still sings to an immortal toast. The Misadventures of Nthe Miller. The vasty seas are hardly bar To men with such a prepossession ; We were ? Why then, by God, we are — Order ! I call the club to session ! You do retain the song we set, And how it rises, trips, and scans ? You keep the sacred memory yet, Republicans ? Republicans ? You know the way the words were hurled. To break the worst of fortune's rub ? I give the toast across the world. And drink it, " Gentlemen : the Club." CONTENTS PAGB DEDICATORY ODE - - 165 PREFACE - - - 173 1. INTRODUCTORY - - - - 177 II. lambkin's NEWDIGATE - - - 186 HI. SOME REMARKS ON LAMBKIN'S PROSE STYLE I92 IV. lambkin's ESSAY ON "SUCCESS" - - 1 96 V. LAMBKIN ON " SLEEP " - - - 202 VI. lambkin's ADVICE TO FRESHMEN - - 205 VII. lambkin's LECTURE ON "RIGHT" - - 211 VIII. lambkin's SPECIAL CORRESPONDENCE - 217 IX. lambkin's ADDRESS TO THE LEAGUE OF PROGRESS - - - - 226 X. lambkin's LEADER - - - - 233 XL lambkin's remarks ON THE END OF TERM 236 XII. lambkin's ARTICLE ON THE NORTH-WEST CORNER OF THE MOSAIC PAVEMENT OF THE ROMAN VILLA AT BIGNOR 24I XIII. lambkin's sermon - - - 247 XIV. lambkin's OPEN LETTER TO CHURCHMEN - 254 XV. lambkin's LETTER TO A FRENCH FRIEND 260 XVI. INTERVIEW WITH MR, LAMBKIN - 266 171 PREFACE The preparation of the ensuing pages has l^n a labour of love, and has cost me many an anxious hour. " Of the writing of books," says the learned Psalmist (or more probably a Syro-Chaldseic scribe of the third century) "there is no end"; and truly it is a very solemn thought that so many writers, furnishing the livelihood of so many publishers^ these in their turn supporting so many journals, reviews, and magazines, and these last giving bread to such a vast army of editors, reviewers, and what not — I say it is a very solemn thought that this great mass of people should be engaged upon labour of this nature; labour which, rightly applied, might, be of immeasurable seryice to humanity, but which is, alas ! so often diverted into useless or even positively harmful chaimels : channels upon which I could write at some length, were it not necessary for me, however, to bring this reflection to a. close. A fine old Arabic poem — ^probably the oldest complete literary work in the world — (I mean the Comedy which we are accustomed to call the Book of Job)* contains * There can be no doubt that the work is a true example of the early Semitic Comedy. It was probably sung in Farts at the Spring-feast, and would be acted by shepherds wear- ing masks and throwing goatskins at one anotiier, as they appear on the Bas-xeUef at Ik-shumM. See the article in Righteousness, by a gentleman whom the Bible Society sent out to Assyria at their own expense ; and the note to Appendix A of Benson's Og: King of Bashan. J73 174 PREFACE hidden away among its many treasures the phrase, "Oh ! that mine enemy had written a book !" This craving for literature, which is so explicable in a primitive people, and the half -savage desire that the labour of writing should fall upon a foeman captured in battle, have given place in the long process of historical develop- ment to a very different spirit. There is now, if any- thing, a superabundance of literature, and an apology is needed for the appearance of such a work as this, nor, indeed, would it have been brought out had it not been imagined that Lambkin's many friends would give it a ready sale. Animaxander, King of the Milesians, upon being asked by the Emissary of Atarxessus what was, in his opinion, the most wearying thing in the world, replied by cutting off the head of the messenger, thus outraging the religious sense of a time to which guests and heralds were sacred, as being under the special protection of Zeus (prraiounced " Tsephs "). Warned by the awful fate of the sacrilegious monarch, I will put a term to these opening remarks. My book must be its own preface, I would that the work could be also its own publisher, its own bookseller, and its own reviewer. It remains to me only to thank the many gentlemen who have aided me in my task with the loan of letters, scraps of MSS., portraits, and pieces of clothing — in fine, with all that could be of interest in illustrating Lambkin's career. My gratitude is especially due to Mr. Binder, who helped in part of the writing; to Mr. Cook, who was kind enough to look over the proofs; and to Mr. Wallingford, Q.C., who very kindly con- PREFACE 175 sented to receive an advance copy. I must also thank the Bishop of Bury for his courteous sympathy and ever-ready suggestion; I must not omit from this list M. Hertz, who has helped me with French, and whose industry and gentlemanly manners are particularly pleasing. I cannot close without tendering my thanks in general to the printers who have set up this book, to the agencies which have distributed it, and to the booksellers, who have put it upon their shelves; I feel a deep debt of gratitude to a very large number of people, and that is a pleasant sensation for a man who, in the course of a fairly successful career, has had to give (and receive) more than one shrewd knock. The Chaplaincy, BuKFOBD College, OXFOKD. P.S. — I have consulted, in the course of this work, Liddell and Scott's Larger Greek Lexicon, Smith's Dic- tionary of Antiquities, Skeat's Etymological Dictionary, Le Dictionaire Franco- Anglais, et Anglo-Franqais, of Boileau, Curtis' English Synonyms, Buffle on Punctua- tion, and many other authorities which will be acknow- ledged in the text. LAMBKIN'S REMAINS BEING THE UNPUBLISHED WORKS OF J. A. LAMBKIN, M.A., Sometime Fellow of Bnrford College. I INTRODUCTORY It is without a trace of compunction or regret that I prepare to edit the few unpublished essays, sermons, and speeches of my late deaf friend, Mr. Lambkin. On the contrary, I am filled with a sense that my labour is one to which the clearest interests of the whole English people call me, and I have found myself, as the work grew under my hands, fulfilling, if I may say so with due modesty, a high and noble duty. I remember Lambkin himself, in one of the last conversations I had with him, saying with the acuteness that charac- terised him, " The world knows nothing of its greatest men." This pregnant commentary upon human affairs was, I admit, produced by an accident in the Oxford Herald which concerned myself. In a description of a Public Function my name had been mis-spelt, and though I was deeply wounded and offended, I was careful (from a feeling which I hope is common to all of us) tp make no more than the slightest reference to this insult. 177 12 178 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS The acute eye of friendship and sympathy, coupled with the instincts of a scholar and a gentleman, per- ceived my irritation, and in the evening Lambkin uttered the memorable words that I have quoted. I thanked him warmly, but, if long acquaintance had taught him my character, so had it taught me his. I knew the reticence and modesty of my colleague, the almost morbid fear that vanity (a vice which he detested) might be imputed to him on account of the exceptional gifts which he could not entirely ignore or hide; and I was certain that the phrase which he constructed to heal my wound was not without some reference to his own unmerited obscurity. The world knows nothing of its greatest men ! Josiah Lambkin ! from whatever Cypress groves of the underworld which environs us when on dark winter even- ings in the silence of our own souls which nothing can dissolve though all attunes to that which nature herself perpetually calls us, always, if we choose but to remember, your name shall be known wherever the English language and its various dialects are spoken. The great All -mother has made me the humble instru- ment, and I shall perform my task as you would have desired it in a style which loses half its evil by losing all its rhetoric ; I shall pursue my way and turn neither to the right nor to the left, but go straight on in the fearless old English fashion till it is completed. Josiah Abraham Lambkin was born of well-to-do and gentlemanly parents in Bayswater* on January 19th, 1843. His father, at the time of his birth, entertained * The house is now occupied by Mr. Heavy, the well-known financier. INTRODUCTORY 179 objections to the great Public Schools, largely founded upon his religious leanings, which were at that time opposed to the ritual of those institutions. In spite therefore of the yehement protestations of his mother (who was distantly connected on the maternal side with the Cromptons of Cheshire) the boy passed his earlier years under" the able tutorship of a Nonconformist divine, and later passed into the academy of Dr. Whortlebury at Highgate.* Of his school-days he always spoke with some bitter- ness. He appears to have suffered considerably from bullying, and the Headmaster, though a humane, was a blunt man, little fitted to comprehend the delicate nature with which he had to deal. On one occasion the nervous susceptible lad found it necessary to lay before him a description of the treatment to which he had been subjected by a younger and smaller, but much stronger boy; the pedagogue's only reply was to flog Lambkin heartily with a light cane, "inflicting," as he himself once told me, "such exquisite agony as would ever linger in his memory." Doubtless this teacher of the old school thought he was (to use a phrase then common) "making a man of him," but the object was not easily to be attained by brutal means. Let us be thankful that these punishments have nearly disappeared from our modern seminaries. When Josiah was fifteen years of age, his father, having prospered in business, removed to Eaton Square * The old school house has been pulled down to make room for a set of villas called " Whortlebury Gardens." I believe No. 35 to be the exact spot, but was unable to determine it accurately on account of the uncourteous action of the present proprietor. i8o LAMBKIN'S REMAINS and bought an estate in Surrey. The merchant's mind, which, though rough, was strong and acute, had mean- while passed through a considerable change in the matter of religion; and as the result o£ long but silent self- examination he became the ardent supporter of a system which he had formerly abhorred. It was therefore determined to send the lad to one of the two great Universities, and though Mrs. Lambkin's second cousins, the Crumptons, had all been to Cambridge, Oxford was finally decided upon as presenting the greater social opportunities at the time.* Here, then, is young Lambkin, in his nineteenth year, richly tut soberly dressed, and eager for the new life that opens before him. He was entered at Burford College on October the 15th, 1861 ; a date which is, by a curious coincidence, exactly thirty-six years, four months, and two days from the time in which I pen these lines. Of his undergraduate career there is little to be told. Called by his enemies "The Burford Bounder," or " dirty Lambkin," he yet acquired the respect of a small but choice circle who called him by his own name. He was third froxime accessit for the Johnson prize in Biblical studies, and would undoubtedly have obtained (or been mentioned for) the Newdigate, had he not been pitted against two men of quite exceptional poetic gifts — the present editor of " The Investor's Sure Prophet," and Mr. Hound, the well-known writer on " Food Statistics." He took a good Second-class in Greats in the summer of 1864, and was immediately elected to a fellowship * I am speaking of 1861. INTRODUCTORY i8i at Burford. It was not known at the time that his father had become a bankrupt through lending large sums at a high rate of interest to a young heir without security, trusting to the necessity under which his name and honour would put him to pay. In the shipwreck of the family fortunes, the small endowment was a veritable godsend to Josiah, who but for this recognition of his merits would have been compelled to work for his living. As it was, his peculiar powers were set free to plan his great monograph on " Being," a work which, to the day of his death, he designed not only to write but to publish. There was not, of course, any incident of note in the thirty years during which he held his fellowship. He did his duty plainly as it lay before him, occasionally taking pupils, and after the Royal Coimnission, even giving lectures in the College hall. He was made Junior Dean in October, 1872, Junior Bursar in 1876, and Bursar in 1880, an office which he held during the rest of his life. In this capacity no breath of calumny ever touched him. His character was spotless. He never offered or took compensations of any kind, and no one has hinted that his accounts were not accurately and strictly kept. He never allowed himself to be openly a candidate for the Wardenship of the College, but it is remarkable that he received one vote at each of the three elections held in the twenty years of his residence. He passed peacefully away just after Hall on the Gaudy Night of last year. When his death was reported, an old scout, ninety-two years of age, who had grown i82 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS deaf in the service of the College, burst into tears and begged that the name might be more clearly repeated to him, as he had failed to catch it. On hearing it he dried his eyes, and said he had never known a better master. His character will, I think, be sufficiently evident in the writings which I shall publish. He was one of nature's gentlemen; reticent, just, and full of self- respect. He hated a scene, and was careful to avoid giving rise even to an argument. On the other hand, he was most tenacious of his just rights, though charitable to the deserving poor, and left a fortune of thirty-five thousand pounds. In the difficult questions which arise from the superior rank of inferiors he displayed a constant tact and judg- ment. It is not always easy for a tutor to control and guide the younger members of the aristocracy without being accused of pitiless severity on the one hand or of gross obsequiousness on the other. Lambkin, to his honour, contrived to direct with energy and guide with- out offence the men upon whom England's greatness depends. He was by no means a snob — ^snobbishness was not in him. On the other hand, he was equally removed from what is almost worse than snobbishness — the morbid terror of subservience which possesses some ill-balanced minds. His attitude was this : that we are compelled to admit the aristocratic quality of the English polity and should, while decently veiling its cruder aspects, enjoy to the full the benefits which such a constitution confers upon society and upon our individual selves. INTRODUCTORY 183 By a genial observance of such canons Be became one of the most respected among those whom the chances of an academic career presented to him as pupils or parents. He was the guest and honoured friend of the Duke of Cumberland, the Duke of Pembroke, the Duke of Limerick (" Mad Harry "), and the Duke of Lincoln; he had also the honour of holding a long conversation with the Duke of Berkshire, whom he met upon the top of an onmibus in Piccadilly and instantly recognised. He possessed letters, receipts or communications from no less than four Marqxrises, one Marquess, ten Barons, sixteen Baronets, and one hundred and twenty County Gentlemen. I must not omit Lord Grumbletooth, who had had commercial dealings with his father, and who remained to the end of his life a cordial and devoted friend.* His tact in casual conversation was no less remark- able than his general savoir faire in the continuous business of life. Thus upon one occasion a royal personage happened to be dining in Hall. It was some days after the death of Mr. Hooligan, the well- known Home Rule leader. The distinguished guest, with perhaps a trifle of licence, turned to Lambkin and said, "Well, Mr. Bursar, what do you think of Hooligan?" We observed a respectful silence and wondered what reply Lambkin would give in these difficult circumstances. The answer was like a bolt from the blue, " De mortuis nil nisi bonum," said the Classical Scholar, and a murmur of applause went round the table. * Mr. Lambkin has assured me that his lordship had main- tained these relations to the day of his death. i84 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS Indeed his political views were perhaps the most remarkable feature in a remarkable character. He died a convinced and staunch Liberal Unionist, and this was the more striking as he was believed by all his friends to be a conservative until the introduction of Mr. Gladstone's famous Bill in 1885. In the delicate matter of religious controversy his own writings must describe him, nor will I touch here upon a question which did not rise to any considerable public importance until after his death. Perhaps I may be permitted to say this much; he was a sincere Christian in the true sense of the word, attached to no narrow formularies, but following as closely as he could the system of Seneca, stiffened (as it were) with the medita- tions of Marcus Aurelius, though he was never so violent as to attempt a practice of what that extreme stoic laid down in theory. Neither a ritualist nor a low -churchman, he expressed his attitude by a profound and suggestive silence. These words only escaped him upon one single occasion. Let us meditate upon them well in the stormy discussions of to-day : " Medio tutissimus ibis." His learning and scholarship, so profound in the dead languages, was exercised with singular skill and taste in the choice he made of modern authors. He was ignorant of Italian, but thoroughly conversant with the French classics, which he read in the admirable translations of the ' ' Half-crown Series. ' ' His principal reading here was in the works of Voltaire, wherein, however, he confessed, " He could find no style, and little more than blasphemous ribaldry." Indeed, of the European languages -he would read German with the INTRODUCTORY 185 greatest pleasure, confining himself chiefly to the writ- ings of Lessing, Kant, and Schiller. His mind acquired by this habit a singular breadth and fecundity, his style a kind of rich confusion, and his speech (for he was able to converse a little in that idiom) was strengthened by expressions of the deepest philosophic import; a habit which gave him a peculiar and individual power over his pupils, who mistook the teutonic gutturals for violent objurgations. Such was the man, such the gentleman, the true " Hglaford," the modern " Godgebidden Eorldeman- thingancanning, " whose inner thoughts shall unroll themselves in the pages that follow. II LAMBKIN'S NEWDIGATE POEM WRITTEN FOR " NEWDIGATE PRIZE" IN ENGLISH VERSE By J. A. Lambkin, Esq., of Burford College N.B. — {The comfetitors are confined to the use of Rhymed Heroic Iambic Pentameters, but the introduction of Lyrics is fermitfedl . Subject: "The Benefits Conferred by Science, especially in connection with the electric Light For the benefit of those who do not care to read through the Poem but desire to Jtnow its contents, I affend the follow- ing headings: Invocation to the Muse Hail ! Happy Muse, and touch the tuneful string ! The benefits conferred by Science* I sing. His Theme : the Electric Light and its Benefits Under the kind Examiners' + direction I only write about them in connection With benefits which the Electric Light Confers on us ; especially at night. • To be pronounced as a monosyllable in the American fashion, t Mr. Punt, Mr. Howl, and Mr. Grewcock (now, alas I i86 LAMBKIN'S NEWDIGATE 187 These are my theme, of these my song shall rise. My lofty head shall swell to strike the skies,* And tears of hopeless love bedew the maiden's eyes. Second Invocation to the Muse Descend, O Muse, from thy divine abode, OSNEY To Osney, on the Seven Bridges Road ; For under Osney 's solitary shade The bulk of the Electric Light is made. Here are the works, from hence the current flows Which (so the Company's prospectus goes) Power of Works there Can furnish to Subscribers hour by hour No less than sixteen thousand candle pow^r, t All at a thousand volts. (It is essential To keep the current at this high potential In spite of the considerable expense.) Statistics concerning Them The Energy developed represents. Expressed in foot-tons, the united forces Of fifteen elephants and forty horses. But shall my scientific detail thus Clip the dear wings of Buoyant Pegasus ? * A neat rendering of " Sublimi feriam sidera vertice." + To the Examiners. — These facts (of which I guarantee the accuracy) were given me by a Director. i88 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS Poetical or Rhetorical Questions Shall pure statistics jar upon the ear That pants for Lyric accents loud and clear ? Shall I describe the complex Dynamo Or write about its commutator ? No ! The Theme changes To happier fields I lead my wanton pen, The proper study of mankind is men. Third Invocation to the Muse Awake, my Muse ! Portray the pleasing sight That meets us where they make Electric Light. A Picture of the Electrician Behold the Electrician where he stands : Soot, oil, and verdigris are on his hands ; Large spots of grease defile his dirty clothes, The while his conversation drips with oaths. Shall such a being perish in its youth? Alas ! it is indeed the fatal truth. In that dull brain, beneath that hair unkempt, Familiarity has bred contempt. We warn him of the gesture all too late ;- Oh, Heartless Jove ! Oh, Adamantine Fate ! His Awful Fate Some. random Touch — a hand's imprudent slip- The Terminals — a flash — a sound like " Zip !" A smell of burning fills the startled Air — The Electrician is no longer there ! LAMBKIN'S NEWDIGATE 189 He changes his Theme But let us turn with true Artistic scorn From facts funereal and from views forlorn Of Erebus and Blackest midnight born.* Fourth Invocation to the Muse Arouse thee, Muse ! and chaunt in accents rich The interesting processes by which The Electricity is passed along : These are my theme, to these I bend my song. Description of Method by which the Current IS used It runs encased in wood or porous brick Through copper wires two millimetres thick, And insulated on their dangerous mission By indiarubber, silk, or composition. Here you may put with critical felicity The following question : " What is Electricity?" Difficulty of determining Nature of Electricity "Molecular Activity," say some. Others when asked say nothing, and are dumb. Whatever be its nature : this is clear. The rapid current checked in its career. Baulked in its race and halted in its courset Transforms to heat and light its latent force : * A reminiscence of Milton : " Fas est et ab hoste doceri." f Lambkin told me he regretted this line, which was for the sake of Rhyme. He would willingly have replaced it, but to his last day could construct no substitute. I90 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS Conservation of Energy. Proofs of this : NO Experiment needed It needs no pedant in the lecturer's chair To prove that light and heat are present there. The pear-shaped vacuum globe, I understand, Is far too hot to fondle with the hand, While, as is patent to the meanest sight, The carbon filament is very bright. Doubts on the Municipal System, but — As for the lights they hang about the town, Some praise them highly, others run them down. This system (technically called the arc) Makes some passages too light, others too dark. None on the Domestic But in the house the soft and constant rays Have always met with universal praise. Its Advantages For instance : if you want to read in bed No candle burns beside your curtains' head, Far from some distant corner of the room The incandescent lamp dispels the gloom, Advantages of Large Print And with the largest print need hardly try The powers of any young and vigorous eye. Fifth Invocation to the Muse Aroint thee. Muse ! inspired the poet sings ! I cannot help observing future things ! LAMBKIN'S NEWDIGATE 191 The only Hope of Humanity is in Science Life is a vale, its paths are dark and rough Only because we do not know enough. When Science has discovered something more We shall be happier than we were before. Peroration in the Spirit of the Rest of the Poem Hail ! Britain, mistress of the Azure Main, Ten Thousand Fleets sweep over thee in vain ! Hail ! mighty mother of the brave and free, That beat Napoleon, and gave birth to me ! Thou that canst wrap in thine emblazoned robe One quarter of the habitable globe. Thy mountains, wafted by a favouring breeze. Like mighty hills withstand the stormy seas. Warning to Britain Thou art a Christian Commonwealth. And yet Be thou not all unthankful — ^nor forget As thou exultest in Imperial might The benefits of the Electric Light. Ill SOME REMARKS ON LAMBKIN'S PROSE STYLE No achievement of my dear friend's produced a greater effect than the English Essay which he presented at his examination. That so young a man, and a man trained in such an environment as his, should have written an essay at all was sufficiently remarkable, but that his work should have shown such mastery in the handling, such delicate balance of idea, and so much know-ledge (in the truest sense of the word), coupled with such an astounding insight into himian character and contem- porary psychology, was enough to warrant the remark of the then Warden of Burford : "If these things" (said the aged but eminent divine), "if these things " (it was said in all reverence and with a full sense of the responsibility of his position), " If these things are done in the green wood, what will be done in the dry?" Truly it may be said that the Green Wood of Lambkin's early years as an Undergraduate was worthily followed by the Dry Wood of his later life as a fellow and even tutor, nay, as a Bursar of his college. It is not my purpose to add much to the reader's own impressions of this tour de force, or to insist too strongly upon the skill and breadth of treatment which will at 192 LAMBKIN'S PROSE STYLE 193 once make their mark upon any intelligent man, and even upon the great mass of the public. But I may be forgiven if I give some slight personal memories in interpretation of a work which is necessarily presented in the cold medium of type. Lambkin's hand-writing was flowing and determined, but was often difficult to read, a quality which led in the later years of his life to the famous retort made ,by the Rui:al Dean of Henchthorp to the Chaplain of Bower's Hall.* His manuscript was, like Lord Byron's (and unlike the famous Codex V in the Vatican), re- markable for its erasures, of which as many as three may be seen in some places super-imposed, ladder-wise, en echelle, the one above the other, perpendicularly to the line of writing. This excessive fastidiousness in the use of words was the cause of his comparatively small production of written work; and thus the essay printed below was the labour of nearly three hours. His ideas in this matter were best represented by his little epigram on the appearance of Liddell and Scott's larger Greek Lexicon. *' Quality not quantity " was the wkty phrase which he was heard to mutter when he received his first copy of that work. The nervous strain of so much anxiety about his literary work wearied both mind and body, but he had his reward. The scholarly aptitude of every particle in the phrase, and the curious symmetry apparent in the great whole of the essay are due to a quality which he, pushed indeed to excess, but never beyond th& boundary * The anecdote will be found in my Fifty Years of Chance Acquaintances. (Isaacs and Co., 44s. net.) 13 194 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS that separates Right and Wrong j we admire in the product what we might criticise in the method, and when we judge as critics we are compelled as English- men and connoisseurs to congratulate and to applaud. He agreed with Aristotle in regarding lucidity as the main virtue of style. And if he sometimes failed to attain his ideal in this matter, the obscurity was due to none of those maimerisms which are so deplorable in a Meredith or a Browning, but rather to the fact that he found great difficulty in ending a sentence as he had begun it. His mind outran his pen; and the sentence from his University sermon, ' ' England must do her duty, or what will the harvest be?" stirring and patriotic as it is, certainly suffers from some such fault, though I cannot quite see where. The Oxymoron, the Aposiopesis, the Nominativus " Pendens, the Anacoluthon and the Zeugma he looked upon with abhorrence and even with dread. He was a friend to all virile enthusiasm in writing but a foe to rhetoric, which (he would say) "is cloying even in a demagogue, and actually nauseating in the literary man." He drew a distinction between eloquence and rhetoric, often praising the one and denouncing the other with the most abandoned fervour : indeed, it was his favourite diversion in critical conversation accurately to determine the meaning of words. In early youth he Would often split an infinitive or end a sentence with a preposition. But, ever humble and ready to learn, he determined, after reading Mrs. Griffin's well-known essays in the Daily American, to eschew such conduct for the future; and it was a most touching sight to watch him, even in extreme old age, his reverend white LAMBKIN'S PROSE STYLE 195 locks sweeping the paper before him and his weak eyes peering close at the MSS. as he carefully went over his phrases with a pen, scratching out and amending, at the end of his day's work, the errors of this nature. He commonly used a gilt " J " nib, mounted upon a holder of imitation ivory, but he was not cramped by any petty limitations in such details and would, if necessity arose, make use of a quill, or even of a fountain pen, insisting, however, if he was to use the latter, that it should be of the best. The paper upon which he wrote the work that remains to us was the ordinary ruled foolscap of commerce ; but this again he regarded as quite unimportant. It was the matter of what he wrote that concerned him, not (as is so often the case with lesser men) the mere accidents of pen or paper. I remember little else of moment with regard to his way of writing, but I make no doubt that these details will not be without their interest ; for the personal habits of a great man have a charm of their own. I read once that the sum of fifty pounds was paid for the pen of Charles Dickens. I wonder what would be offered for a similar sacred relic, of a man more obscure, but in- directly of far greater influence; a relic which I keep by me with the greatest reverence, which I do not use myself, however much at a loss I may be for pen or pencil, and with which I never, upon any account, allow the children to play. But, I must draw to a close, or I should merit the reproach of lapsing into a sentimental peroration, and be told that I am myself indulging in that rhetoric which Lambkin so severely condenoned. IV LAMBKIN'S ESSAY ON "SUCCESS" On " Success " : its Causes and Results Di-fflculty of Subject. — In approax:hing a problem of this nature, with all its anomalies and analogues, we are at once struck by the difficulty of conditioning any accurate estimate of the factors of the solution of the difficulty which is latent in the very terms of the above question. We shall do well, perhaps, however, to clearly differentiate from its fellows the proposition we have to deal with, and similarly as an inception of our analysis to permanently fix the definitions and terms we shall be talking. of, with, and by. Definition of Success. — Success may be defined as the Successful Consummation of an Attemft or more shortly as the Realisation of an imagined Good, and as it im- plies Desire or the Wish for a thing, and at the same time action or the attempt to get at a thing,* we might look at Success from yet another point of view and say that Success is the realisation of Desire through action. Indeed this last definition seems on the whole to be the best ; but it is evident that in this, as in all other matters, * liambkin resolutely refused to define Happiness when pressed to dp, so, by a pupil in June, 1881 : in fact, his hatred of definitions was so well kpown as to earn him the good- humoured nick-name of " the Sloucher " among the wilder young scholars. 196 LAMBKIN'S ESSAY ON "SUCCESS" 197 it is impossible to arriye at perfection, and our safest definition will be that which is found to be on the whole most approximately the average mean* of many hun- dreds that might be virtually constructed to more or less accurately express the idea we have undertaken to do. So far then it is evident that while we may have a fairly definite subjective visual concept of what Success is, we shall never be able to convey to others in so many words exactly what our idea may be. "What am I? An infant crying for the light That has no language but a cry." Method, of dealing with Problem. — It is, however, of more practical importance nevertheless, to arrive at some method or other by which we can in the long run attack the very serious problem presented to us. Our best chance of arriving at any solution will lie in attempting to give objective form to what it is we have to do with. For this purpose we will first of all divide all actions into (^{) Successful and (3) Non-successful t actions. These two categories are at once mutually exclusive and collectively universd.1. Nothing of which Success can be truly predicated, can at the same time be called with any approach to accuracy Unsuccessful j and similarly if an action finally result in Non-success, it is quite evident that to speak of its "Success" would be to trifle with words and to throw dust into our own eyes, * t4 neaov. ■ t This was the first historical example of Lambkin's acquaintance with Hebrew — ,a knowledge which he later turned to such great account in his attack on the pseudo- Johannes. !• 198 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS which is a fatal error in any case. We have then these two primary categories : what is true of one will, with certain reservations, be untrue of the other, in most cases (we will come to that later) and vice-versa. (i) Success. (2) Non-success. First great Difficulty. — But here we are met at the outset of our examination by a difficulty of enormous dimensions. There is not one success ; there are many. There is the success of the Philosopher, of the Scientist, of the Politician, of the Argument, of the Commanding Officer, of the Divine, of the mere imthinking Animal appetite, and of others more numerous still. It is evident that with such a vast number of different sub- sidiary categories within our main category it would be impossible to arrive at any absolute conclusions, or to lay down any firm general principle. For the moment we had erected some such fundamental foundation the fair structure would be blown to a thousand atoms by the coijsideration of some fresh form, aspect, or realisa- tion, of Success which might have escaped our vision, so that where should we be then? It is therefore most eminently a problem in which we should beware of undue generalisations and hasty dogmatism. We must abandon here as everywhere the immoral and exploded cant of inedi?eval deductive methods invented by priests and mummers to enslave the human mind, and confine our- selves to what we absolutely know. Shall we towards the end of this essay truly know anything with regard to Success ? Who can tell ! But at least let us not cheat ourselves with the axioms, affirmations, and dogmas LAMBKIN'S ESSAY ON "SUCCESS" 199 which are, in a certain sense, the ruin of so many ; let us, if I may use a metaphor, "abandon the iJ -priori for the chiaroscuro." Second much gredter Difficulty. — But if the problem is complex from the great variety of the various kinds of Success, what shall we say of the disturbance introduced by a new aspect of the matter, which we are now about to allude to ! Aye ! What indeed ! An aspect so widespread in its consequences', so momentous and so fraught with menace to all philosophy, so big with portent, and of such threatening aspect to humanity itself, that we hesitate even to bring it forward !* Success is not always Success : Non-success (or Failure) is an aspect of Success, and vice-versa. This apparent paradox will be seen to be true on a little consideration. For " Success " in any one case involves the " Failure " or " Non-success " of its opposite or correlative. Thus, if we bet ten pounds with one of our friends our "Success" would be his "Non-success," and vice- versa, collaterally. Again, if we desire to fail in a matter {e.g., any man would hope to fail in being hangedt), then to succeed is to fail, and to fail is to succeed, and our successful failure would fail were we to happen upon a disastrous success! And note that the very same act, not this, that, or another, but the VERY SAME, is (according to the way we look at it) a "successful" or an "unsuccessful" act. Success * It is the passage that follows which made so startling an impression on the examiners. At that time young Lambkin was almost alone in holding the vilews which have since, through the Fellows of Colleges who may be newspaper men or colonial governors, influenced the whole world. t Jocular. 200 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS therefore not only may be, but muit be failure, and the two categories upon which we had built such high hopes have disappeared for ever ! Solemn Considerations consequent upon this. — Terrible thought ! A thing can be at once itself and not itself — nay its own opposite ! The mind reels, and the frail human vision peerii^g over the immense gulf of meta- physical infinity is lost in a cry for mercy and trembles on the threshold of the unseen ! What visions of horror and madness may not be reserved for the too daring soul which has presumed to knock at the Doors of Silence ! Let us learn from the incomprehensible how small and weak a thing is man ! A more Cheerful View. — But it would ill-befit the philosopher to abandon his effort because of a kind of a check or two at the start. The great hand of Time shouts ever " onward " ; and even if we cannot discover the Absolute in the limits of this essay, we may rise from the ashes of our tears to better and happier things. The Beginning of a Solution. — K light seems to dawn on us. We shall not arrive at the full day but we shall see " in a glass darkly ' ' what, in the final end of our development, may perhaps be more clearly revealed to us. It is evident that we have been dealing with a relative. Hop) things so apparently at)solute as hanging or betting can be in any true sense relative we cannot tell, because we cannot conceive the majestic whole of which Success and Failure, plus and minus, up and down, yes and no, truth and lies, are but as the glitter- ing facets of a diamond borne upon the finger of some titled and wealthy person. Our error came from foolish self-sufficiency and LAMBKIN'S ESSAY ON "SUCCESS" 201 pride. We thought (forsooth) that our mere human conceptions of contradiction were real. It has been granted to us (though we are but human still) to discover our error — there is no hot or cold, no light or dark, and no good or evil, all are, in a certain sense, and with certain limitations (if I may so express myself) the Aspects A.t this ■point the bell rattg and the pafers had to be delivered up. Lambkin could not let his work go, however, without adding a few words to show what he might have done had time allowed. He •wrote: " No Time. Had intended examples — Success, Academic, Acrobatic, Agricultural, Aristocratic, Bacillic . . . Yaroslavic, Zenobidic, etc. Historical cases examined, Biggar's view, H. Unity, Univ. Conscious- ness, Amphodunissa,* Setxm ^--v.^^^^." * The MS. is here aJmost illegible. LAMBKIN ON "SLEEP" [7 hts little gem was written for the great Monograph on " Being," which Lambkin never lived to complete. It was included, however, in his little volume of essays entitled " Rictus Almae Matris." The careful footnotes, the fund of information, and the scholarly accuracy of the whole sketch are an example — {alas I the only one) — of what his full work would have been had he brought it to a conclusion. It is an admirable example of his manner in maturer years.} In Sleep our faculties lie dormant.* We perceive nothing or almost nothing of our surroundings; and the deeper our slumber the more absolute is the barrier between ourselves and the outer world. The causes of this "Cessation of Consciousness" (as it has been admirably called by Professor M'Obvy)t lie hidden from our most profound physiologists. It was once my privilege to meet the master of physical science who has rendered famous the University of Kreigenswald, | and I asked him what in his opinion was the cause of sleep. He answered, with that reverence which is the glory of * The very word " dormant " comes from the Latin for " sleeping." + I knew Professor M'O. in the sixties. He was a charm- ing and cultured Scotchman, with a thorough mastery of the English tongue. t Dr. von Lieber-Augustin. I knew him well. He was a charming and cultured German. 202 LAMBKIN ON "SLEEP" 203 the Teutonic mind, "It is in the dear secret of the All- wise Nature-mother preserved." I have never forgotten those wise and weighty words.* Perhaps the nearest guess as to the nature of Sleep is to be discovered in the lectures of a brilliant but some- times over-daring young scholar whom we all applaud in the chair of Psychology. " Sleep " (he says) " is the direct product of Brain Somnolence, which in its turn is the result of the need for Repose that every organism must experience after any specialised exertion. ' ' I was present when this sentence was delivered, and I am not ashamed to add that I was one of those who heartily cheered the young speaker. + We may assert, then, that Science has nearly con- quered this last stronghold of ignorance and super- stition.'J As to the Muses, we know well that Sleep has been ( their favourite theme for ages. With the exception of Catullus (whose verses have been greatly over-rated, and who is always talking of people lying awake at night), all the ancients have mentioned and praised this inno- cent pastinie. Everyone who has done Greats will remember the beautiful passage in Lucretius, § but perhaps that in Sidonius ApoUinaris, the highly * How different from the cynical ribaldry of Voltaire. + Mr. Buffin. I know him well. His uncle is Loird Glen- altamont, one of the most charming and cultured of our new peers. + See especially " Hypnotism," being the researches of the Research Society (xiv. vols., London, 1893), and " Supersti- tions of the Past, especially the belief in the Influence of Sleep upon Spells," by Dr. Beradini. Translated by Mrs. Blue. (London : Tooby and Co., 1895.) S Bk. I. or Bk. IV. 204 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS polished Bishop of Gaul, is less well known.* To turn to our own literature, the sonnet beginning " To die, to sleep," etc.,t must be noted, and above all, the glorious lines in which Wordsworth reaches his noblest level, beginning — " It is a pleasant thing to go to sleep !" lines which, for my part, I can never read without catching some of their magical drowsy influence. J All great men have slept. George III. frequently slept, § and that great and good man Wycliffe was in the habit of reading his Scriptural translations and his own sermons nightly to produce the desired effect. || The Duke of Wellington (whom my father used to call " The Iron Duke ") slept on a little bedstead no larger than a common man's. As for the various positions in which one may sleep, I treat of them in my little book of Latin Prose for Schools, which is coming out next year.H * " Amo dormire. Sed nunquam dormio post nonas horas nam episcopus sum et volo dare bouum exemplum fidejibus." App. Sid. Epistol., Bk. III., Epist. 26. (Libermach's edi- tion. Berlin, 1875.) It has the true ring of the fifth century. + So Herrick, in his famous epigram on Buggins. A learned prelate of my acquaintance would frequently quote this. + The same lines occur in several other poets. Notably Tuffer and Montgomery. § See " Private Memoirs of the Court of Geo. III. and the Regent," by Mrs. Fitz-H ^t. II See further, The Morning Star of England, in " Stirrers of the Nations Series," by the Rev. H. Turmsey, M.A. Also Foes and Friends of John of Gaunt, by Miss Matchkin. ^ " Latin. Proses," 3s. ,6d. net. Jason and Co., Piccadilly. VI LAMBKIN'S ADVICE TO FRESHMEN Mr. Lambkin possessed among other great and gracious qualities the habit of writing to his nephew, Thomas Ezekiel Lambkin,* who entered the college as an undergraduate when his uncle was some four years a Fellow. Of many such communications he valued especially this which I print below, on account o£ the curious and pathetic circumstances which surrounded it. Some months after Thomas had been given his two groups and had left the University, Mr. Lambkin was looking over some books in a second-hand bookshop — ^not with the intention of purchasing so much as to improve the mind. It was a favourite habit of his, and as he was deeply engaged in a powerful romance written under the pseudonym of "Marie Corelli "t there dropped from its pages the letter which he had sent so many years before. It lay in its original envelope unopened, and on turning to the flyleaf he saw the name of his nephew written. It had once been his ! The boy had so treasured the little missive as to place it in his favourite book' I * Now doing' liis duty tb the Empire nobly as a cattle-man in Minnesota. t Everyone will remember the striking article on this author in T?ie Christian Home for July, 1886. It was from Lambkin's pen. 205 2o6 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS Lambkin was so justly touched by the incident as to purchase the volume, asking that the price might be entered to his account, which was not then of any long standing. The letter he docketed "to be published after my death." And I obey the wishes of my revered friend : ' ' My dear Thomas, " Here you are at last in Oxford, and at Burford, ' a Burford Man. ' How proud your mother must be and even your father, whom I well remember saying that ' if he were not an accountant, he would rather be a Fellow of Burford than anything else on earth. ' But it was not to be. " The life you are entering is very different froni that which you have left behind. When you were at school you were under a strict discipline, you were compelled to study the classics and to play at various games. Cleanliness and truthfulness were enforced by punish- ment, while the most instinctive habits of decency and good manners could only be acquired at the expense of continual application. In a word, ' you were a child and thought as a child. ' "Now all that is changed, you are free (within limits) to follow your own devices, to make or mar yourself. But if you use Oxford aright she will make you as she has made so many of your kind — a perfect gentleman. " But enough of these generalities. It is time to turn to one or two definite bits of advice which I hope you will receive in the right spirit. My dear boy, I want you to lay your hand in mine while I speak to you, not LAMBKIN'S ADVICE TO FRESHMEN 207 as an uncle, but rather as an elder brother. Promise me three things. First, never to gamble in any form; secondly, never to drink a single glass of wine after dirmer; thirdly, never to purchase anything without paying for it in cash. If you will make such strict rules for yourself and keep them religiously you will find after years of constant effort a certain result developing (as it were), you will discover with delight that your character is formed ; that you have neither won nor lost money at hazards, that you have never got drunk of an evening, and that you have no debts. Of the first two I can only say that they are questions of morality on which we all may, and all do, differ. But the third is of a vital and practical importance. Occa- sional drunkenness is a matter for private judgment, its rightness or wrongness depends upon our ethical system ; but debt is fatal to any hope of public success. " I hesitate a little to mention one further point; but — ^may I say it? — will you do your best to avoid drinking neat spirits in the early morning — especially Brandy? Of course a Governor and Tutor, whatever his abilities, gets removed in his sympathies from the younger men.* The habit may have died out, and if so I will say no more, but in my time it was the ruin of many a fair young life. " Now as to your day and its order. First, rise briskly when you are called, and into your cold bath, you young dog!t No shilly-shally; into it. Don't splash the water about in a miserable attempt to deceive * Lambkin was, when he wrote this letter, fully twenty-six years o£ age. t Only a playful term of course. 2o8 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS your scout, but take an Honest British Cold Bath like a man. Soap should never be used save on the hands and neck. As to hot baths, never ask for them in College, it would give great trouble, and it is much better to take one in the Town for a shilling ; nothing is more refresh- ing than a good hot bath in the Winter Term. " Next you go out and 'keep ' a Mosque, Synagogue, or Meeting of the Brethren, though if you can agree with the system it is far better to go to your College Chapel ; it puts a man right with his superiors and you obey the Apostolic injunction.* " Then comes your breakfast. Eat as much as you can; it is the foundation of a good day's work in the Vineyard. But what is this ? — a note from your Tutor. Off you go at the appointed time, and as you may be somewhat nervous and diffident I will give you a little Paradigm,! as it were, of a Freshman meeting his Tutor for the first time. " [The Student enters, and as he is half -way through the door says:'\ " St. : Good-morning ! Have you noticed what the papers say about — \^Here mention some prominent sub- ject of the day. ] " \^The Tutor does not answer but goes on writing in a little book; at last he looks uf and says:'\ " Tut. : Pray, what is your name? " St. : M. or N. "Tut. : What have you read before coming up, Mr. ^^? * A considerable discussion has arisen as to the meaning of this. f A jocular allusion. LAMBKIN'S ADVICE TO FRESHMEN 209 " St. : The existing Latin authors from Ennius to Sidonius Appollinaris, with their fragments. The Greek from Sappho to Origen including Bacchylides. l^Tfte Tutor makes a note of this and resumes • . .] "Tut. : Have you read the Gospels? " St. : No, Sir. " Tut. : You' must read two of them as soon as possible in the Greek, as it is necessary to the passing of Divinity, unless indeed you prefer the beautiful work of Plato. Come at ten to-morrow. Good-morning. " St. : I am not accustomed to being spoken to in that fashion. [The Tutor will turn to some other Student, and the ffst Student will leave the room."] " I have little more to say. You will soon learn the customs of the place, and no words of mine can efficiently warn you as experience will. Put on a black coat before Hall, and prepare for that meal with neat- ness, but with no extravagant display. Do not wear your cap and gown in the afternoon, do not shQW an exaggerated respect to the younger fellows (except the Chaplain), on the one hand, nor a silly contempt for the older Dons upon the other. The first line of conduct is that of a timid and uncertain mind; it is of no profit for future advancement, and draws down upon one the contempt of all. The second is calculated to annoy as fine a body of men as any in Englan,d, and seriously to affect your reputation in Society. " You will find in every college some club which contains the wealthier undergraduates and those of prominent position. Join it if possible at once before 14 2IO LAMBKIN'S REMAINS you are known. At its weekly meeting speak soberly, but not pompously. Enliven your remarks with occa- sional flashes of humour, but do not trench upon the ribald nor pass the boundary of right-reason. Such excesses may provoke a momentary laugh, but they ultimately destroy all respect for one's character. Remember Lot's wife ! ' ' You will row, of course, and as you rush down to the river after a hurried lunch and dash up to do a short bit of reading before Hall, your face will glow with satisfaction at the thought that every day of your life will be so occupied for four years. "Of the grosser and lower evils I need not warn you : you will not give money to beggars in the street, nor lend it to your friends. You will not continually expose your private thoughts, nor open your heart to every comer in the vulgar enthusiasm of some whom you may meet. No, my dear Ezekiel, it would be unworthy of your name, and I know you too well, to fear such things of you. You are a Gentleman, and that you may, like a gentleman, be always at your ease, courteous on occasion, but familiar never, is the earnest prayer of " JosiAH Lambkin." yii LAMBKIN'S LECTURE ON "RIGHT" Of the effects of Mr. Lambkin's lectures, the greatest and (I .venture to think) the most permanent are those that followed from his course on Ethics. The late Dean of Heaving-on-the-Marsh (the Honourable Albert Nathan-Merivale, the first name adopted from his property in Rutland) told me upon one occasion that he owed the direction of his mind to those lectures (under Providence) more than to any other lectures he could remember. Very much the same idea was conveyed to me, more or less, by the Bishop of Humbury, who turned to me in hall, only a year ago, with a peculiar look in his eyes, and (as I had mentioned Lambkin's name) said suddenly, like a man who struggles with an emotion :* " Lambkin( !)t . . . did not he give lectures in your hall ... on Ethics?" "Some," I replied, "were given in the Hall, others in Lecture Room No. 2 over the glory -hole." His lordship said nothing, but there was a world of thought and reminiscence in his eyes. May we not — knowing his lordship's difficulties in matters of oelief , and his . final victory — ascribe some- thing of this progressive and salutary influence to my dear friend? * " Sicut ut homo qui " — my readers will fill in the rest. + The note of exclamation is my own. 211 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS On " Right ' [Being Lecture V. in a Course of Eight, delivered in the Autumn Term of 1878.] We have now proceeded ' ^or a considerable distance in our journey towards the Solution. Of eight lectures, of which I had proposed to make so many milestones on the road, the fifth is reached, and now we are in measurable distance of the Great Answer; the Under- standing of the Relations of the Particular to the Universal. It is an easy, though a profitable task to wander in what the late Sir Reginald llawke once called in a fine phrase ' ' the flovfery meads and bosky dells of Positive Knowledge." It is in the essence of any modern method of inquiry that we should be first sure of our facts, and it is on this account that all philosophical research worthy of the name must begin with the physical sciences. For the last few weeks I have illus- trated my lectures Ivith chemical experiments and occa- sionally with large coloured diagrams, which, especially to young people like yourselves have done not a little to enliven what might at first appear a very dull subject. It is therefore with happy, hopeful hearts, with spark- ling eyes and eager appetite that we leave the physical entry-hall of knowledge to approach the delicious feast of metaphysics. But here a difficulty confronts us. So far we have followed an historical development. We have studied the actions of savages and the gestures of young children ; we have inquired concerning the habits of sleep-walkers, and have drawn our conclusions from the attitudes LAMBKIN'S LECTURE ON "RIGHT" 213 adopted in special manias. So far, then, we have been on safe ground. We have proceeded from the known to the unknown, and we have correlated Psychology, Sociology, Anatomy, Morphology, Physiology, Geo- graphy, and Theology {here Mr. Darkin of Vast, who had been ailing a long time, was carried out in a faint; Mr. Lambkin, being short-sighted, did not fully seize what had haffened, and thinking that certain of his audience were leaving the Hall without fermission, he became as nearly angry as was possible to such a man. He made a short speech on the decay of manners, and fell into several bitter epigrams. It is only just to say that, on learning the occasion of the interruption, he regretted the expression " strong meat for babes " which had escaped him at the time). So far so good. But there is something more. No one can proceed indefinitely in the study of Ethics without coming, sooner or later, upon the Conventional conception of Right. I do not mean that this concep- tion has any philosophic value. I should be the last to lay down for it those futile, empirical, and dogmatic foundations which may satisfy narrow, deductive minds. But there it is, and as practical men with it we must deal. What is Right? Whence proceeds this curious conglomeration of idealism, mysticism, empiricism, and fanaticism to which the name has been given? It is impossible to say. It is the duty of the lecturer to set forth the scheme of truth : to make (as it were) a map or plan of Epistemology. He is not concerned to demonstrate a point; he is not bound to dispute the attitude of opponents. Let them fall of their own weight (Ruant mole sua). It is mine to show that things 214 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS may be thus or thus, and I will most steadily refuse to be drawn into sterile argument and profitless discussion with mere affirmations. " The involute of progression is the subconscious evolution of the particular function." No close reasoner will deny this. It is the final summing up of all that is meant by Development. It is the root formula of the nineteenth century that is now, alas ! drawing to a close under our very eyes. Now to such a funda- mental proposition I add a second. " The sentiment of right is the inversion of the subconscious function in its relation to the indeterminate ego." This also I take to be admitted by all European philosophers in Germany. Now I will not go so far as to say that a major premiss when it is absolutely sound, followed by a minor equally sound, leads to a sure conclusion. God fulfils himself in many ways, and there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. But I take this tentatively : that if these two propo- sitions are true (and we have the word of Herr Waldteufel,* who lives in the Woodstock Road, that it is true) then it follows conclusively that no certainty can be arrived at in these matters. I would especially recommend you on this point {here Mr. Lambkin changed his lecturing voice for a sfecies of conversational, inter- ested, and familiar tone) to read the essay by the late Dr. Barton in Shots at the Probable : you will also find the third chapter of Mr. Mendellsohn's History of the Soul very useful. Remember also, by the way, to con- sult the footnote on p. 343, of Renan's Anti-Christ. * Author of " Prussian Morals." LAMBKIN'S LECTURE ON "RIGHT" 215 The Master of St. Dives' Little Journeys in the Obvious is light and amusing, but instructive in its way. There is a kind of attitude {this was Lambkin's peroration, and he was justly fraud of it) which destroys nothing but creates much : which transforms without metamorphosis, and which says "look at this, I have found truth \" but which dares not say " look away from that — it is untrue." Such is our aim. Let us make without unmaking and in this difficult question of the origin of Right, the grand old Anglo-Saxon sense of "Ought," let us humbly adopt as logicians, but grimly pursue as practical men some such maxini as what follows : ' ' Right came from nothing, it means nothing, it leads to nothing ; with it we are nothing, but without it we are worse than nothing."* Next Thursday I shall deal with morality in inter- national relations. * These are almost the exact words that appeared in the subsequent and over-rated book of Th^ophile Gautier : " Rien ne mene a rien cependant tout arrive." VIII LAMBKIN'S SPECIAL CORRE- SPONDENCE Lambkin was almost the first of that great band of Oxford Fellows who go as special correspondents for Newspapers to places of difficulty and even of danger. On the advantages of this system he would often dilate, and he was glad to see, as he grew to be an older, a wealthier, and a wiser man, that others were treading in his footsteps. " The younger men," he would say, ' ' have noticed what perhaps I was the first to see, that the Press is a Power, and that men who are paid to educate should not be ashamed to be paid for any form of education." He was, however, astonished to see how rapidly the letters of a correspondent could now be issued as a book, and on finding that such publications were arranged for separately with the publishers, and were not the property of the Newspapers, he expressed himself with a just warmth in condemnation of such a trick. " Sir " (said he to the Chaplain), " in my young days we should have scorned to have faked up work, well done for a particular object, in a new suit for the sake of wealth " ; and I owe it to Lambkin's memory to say that he did not make a penny by his "Diary on the Deep,"* in which he collected towards the end of his • It was by my suggestion (quorum -pars -parva /«»'), that was added the motto " They that go down to the sea in ships, they see the wonders of the Lord." 2i6 SPECIAL CORRESPONDENCE 217 life his various letters written to the Newspapers, and mostly composed at sea. The occasion which produced the following letter was the abominable suppression by Italian troops of the Catholic Riots at Rome in 1873. Englishmen of all parties had been stirred to a great indignation at the news of the atrocities. " As a nation " (to quote my dear frieijd) " we are slow to anger, but our anger is terrible." And such was indeed the case. A great meeting was held at Hampstead, in which Mr. Ram made his famous speech. "This is not a question of religion or of nationality but of manhood ' ' (he had said), " and if we do not give our sympathy freely, if we do not send out correspondents to inform us of the truth, if we do not meet in public and protest, if we do not write and speak and read till our strength be exhausted, then is England no longer the England of Cromwell and of Peel." Such public emotion could not fail to reach Lambkin. I remember his coming to me one night into my rooms and saying " George " (for my name is George), " I had to-day a letter from Mr. Solomon's paper — The Sunday Englishman. They want me to go and report on this infamous matter, and I will go. Do not attempt to dissuade me. I shall return — if God spares my life — before the end of the vacation. The offer is most advantageous in every way : I mean to England, to the cause of justice, and to that freedom of thought without which there is no true religion. For, understand me, that though these poor wretches are Roman Catholics, I hold that every man should have justice, and my blood boils within me." 2i8 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS He left me with a parting grip of the hand, promis- ing to bring me back photographs from the Museum at Naples. If the letter that follows appears to be lacking in any full account of the Italian army and its infamies, if it is observed to be meagre and jejune on the whole subject of the Riots, that is to be explained by the simple facts that follow. When Lambkin sailed, the British Fleet had already occupied a deep and commodious harbour on the coast of Apulia, and public irritation was at its height; but by the time he landed the Quirinal had been forced to an apology, the Vatican had received monetary com- pensation, and the Piedmontese troops had been com- pelled to evacuate Rome. He therefore found upon landing at Leghorn* a telegram from the newspaper, saying that his services were not required, but that the monetary engagements entered into by the proprietors would be strictly adhered to. Partly pleased, partly disappointed. Lambkin re- turned to Oxford, taking sketches on the way from various artists whoqi he found willing to sell their productions. These he later hung round his room, not on nails (which as he very properly said, defaced the wall), but from a rail; — their colours are bright and pleasing. He also brought me the photographs I asked him for, and they now hang in my bedroom. This summary must account for the paucity of the notes that follow, and the fact that they were never published. * Livorno in Italian. SPECIAL CORRESPONDENCE 219 ' [There was some little doubt as to whether certain strictures on the First Mate in Mr. Lambkin's letters did not affect one of our best families. Until I could make certain whether the Estate should be credited with a receipt on this account or debited with a loss I hesi- tated to publish. Mr. Lambkin left no heirs, but he would have been the first to regret (were he alive) any diminution of his small fortune. I am glad to say that it has been satisfactorily settled, and that while all parties have gained none have lost by the settlement.] THE LETTERS S.S. Borgia, Gravesend, Sunday, Seft. 2'jth, 1873. Whatever scruples I might have had in sending off my first letter before I had left the Thames, and upon such a day, are dissipated by the emotions to which the scenes I have just passed through give rise.* What can be more marvellous than this historic river ! All is dark, save where the electric light on shore, the river-boats' lanterns on the water, the gas-lamps and the great glare of the townt dispel the gloom. And over the river itself, the old Tamesis, a profound silence reigns, broken only by the whistling of the tugs, the * Or " have given rise." Myself and my colleagues attempted (or had attempted) to determine this point. But there can be little doubt that the version we arrived alt is right both in grammar and in fact. The MS. is confused. t Though posted in Gravesend this letter appears to have been written between London and the Estuary. Some say in Dead Man's Reach. 220 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS hoarse cries of the bargemen and the merry banjo-party under the awning of our ship. All is still, noiseless, and soundless : a profound silence broods over the mighty waters. It is night. It is night and silent ! Silence, and night ! The two primeval things ! I wonder whether it has ever occurred to the readers of the Sunday Englishman to travel over the great waters, or to observe in their quiet homes the marvellous silence of the night? Would they know of what my thoughts were full? They were full of those poor Romans, insulted, questioned, and disturbed by a brutal soldiery, and I thought of this : that we who go out on a peculiarly pacific mission, who have only to write while others wield the sword, we also do our part. Pray heaven the time may soon come when an English Protectorate shall be declared over Rome and the hate- ful rule of the Lombard foreigners shall cease.* There is for anyone of the old viking blood a kind of fascination in the sea. The screw is modern, but its vibration is the very movement of the wild white oars that brought the Northmen + to the field of Senlac.J Now I know how we have dared and done all. I could conquer Sicily to-night. As I paced the deck, an officer passed and slapped me heartily on the shoulder. It was the First Mate. A rough diamond but a diamond none the less. He asked me where I was bound to. I said Leghorn. He then asked me if I had all I needed for the voyage. It seems that I had strayed on to the part of the deck reserved * This passage was set for the Latin Prose in the Burford Scholarship of 1875. ^t '"'^^ yiioi[i by Mr. Hurt, now Chaplain of the Wainmakers' Guild. I Norman. X Hastings. SPECIAL CORRESPONDENCE 221 for the second-class passengers. I informed him of his error. He laughed heartily and said we shouldn't quarrel about that. I said his ship seemed to be a Saucy Lass. He answered, " That's all right," asked me if I played "Turn-up Jack," and left me. It is upon men like this that the greatness of England is foxmded. Well, I will "turn in" and "go below" for my watch J "you gentlemen of England" who read the Sunday Englishman, you little know what life is like on the high seas ; but we are one, I think, when it comes to the love of blue water. Posted at Dover, Monday, Sept. 28, 1873. We have dropped the pilot. I have nothing in par- ticular to write. There is a kind of monotony about a sea voyage which is very depressing to the spirits. The sea was smooth last night, and yet I awoke this morning with a feeling of un-quiet to which I have long been a stranger, and which should not be present in a healthy man. I fancy the very slight oscillation of the boat has something to do with it, though the lady sitting next to me tells me that one only feels it in steamboats. She said her dear husband had told her it was " the smell of the oil " — I hinted that at breakfast one can talk of other things. The First Mate sits at the head of our table. I do not know how it is, but there is a lack of social reaction on board a ship. A man is a seaman or a passenger, and there is an end of it. One has no fixed rank, and the wholesome discipline of social pressure seems entirely lost. Thus this morning the First Mate called 222 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS me "The Parson," and I had no way to resent his familiarity. But he meant no harm; he is a sterling fellow. After breakfast my mind kept running to this question of the Roman Persecution, and (I know not how) certain phrases kept repeating themselves literally " ad nauseam " in my imagination. They kept pace with the throb of the steamer, an altogether new sensation, and my mind seemed (as my old tutor, Mr. Blurt, would put it) to " work in a circle." The pilot will take this. He is coming over the side. He is not in the least like a sailor, but small and white. He wears a bowler hat, and looks more like a city clerk than anything else. When I asked the First Mate why this was, he answered, "It's the Brains that tell." A very remarkable state- ment, and one full of menace and warning for our mercantile marine. * * 4t * * Thursday, Oct. i, 1873. I cannot properly describe the freshness and beauty of the sea after a gale. I have not the style of the great masters of English prose, and I lack the faculty of expression which so often accompanies the poetic soul. The white curling tips (white horses) come at one if one looks to windward, or if one looks to leeward seem to flee. There is a kind of balminess in the air born of the warm south ; and there is a jollity in the whole ship's company, as Mrs. Burton and her daughters remarked to me this morning. I feel capable of anything. When the First Mate came up to me this morning and tried to bait me with his vulgar chaff I answered roundly. SPECIAL CORRESPONDENCE 223 "Now, sir, listen to me. I am not seasick, I am not a landlubber, I am on my sea legs again, and I would have you know that I have not a little pow^r to make those who attack me feel the weight of my arm. ' ' He turned from me thoroughly ashamed, and told a man to swab the decks. The passengers appeared absorbed in their various occupations, but I felt I had ' ' scored a point ' ' and I retired to my cabin. My steward told me of a group of rocks off the Spanish coast which we are approaching. He said they were called " The Graveyard." If a man can turn his mind to the Universal Consciousness and to a Final Purpose all foolish fears will fall into a secondary plane. I will not do myself the injustice of saying that I was affected by the accident, but a lady or child might have been, and surely the ship's servants should be warned not to talk nonsense to passengers who need all their strength for the sea. Friday, Oct. 2, 1873. To-day I met the Captain. I went up on the bridge to speak to him. I find his name is Arnssen. He has risen from the ranks, his father having been a large haberdasher in Copenhagen and a town councillor. I wish I could say the same of the First Mate, who is the scapegrace son of a great English family, though he seems to feel no shame. Arnssen and I would soon become fast friends were it not that his time is occupied in managing the ship. He is just such an one as makes the strength of our British Mercantile marine. He will often come and walk with me on the deck, on which occasions I give him a cigar, or even sometimes ask him 224 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS to drink wine with me. He tells me it is against the rules for the Captain to offer similar courtesies to his guests, but that if ever I am in Etnskjoldj, near Copen- hagen, and if he is not absent on one of his many voyages, he will gratefully remember and repay my kindness. I said to the Captain to-day, putting my hand upon his shoulder, " Sir, may one speak from one's heart?" "Yes," said he, "certainly, and God bless you for your kind thought." " Sir," said I, " you are a strong, silent. God-fearing man and my heart goes out to you — no more." He was silent, and went up on the bridge, but when I attempted to follow him, he assured me it was not allowed. Later in the day I asked him what he thought of the Roman trouble. He answered, " Oh ! knock their heads together and have done with it." It was a bluff sea- man's answer, but is it not what England would have said in her greatest days ? Is it not the very feeling of a Chatham ? I no longer speak to the First Mate. But in a few days I shall be able to dismiss the fellow entirely from my memory, so I will not dwell on his insolence. Leghorn, Oct. s, 1873. Here is the end of it. I have nothing more to say. I find that the public has no need of my services, and that England has suffered a disastrous rebuff. The fleet has retreated from Apulia. England — let posterity note this — has not an inch of ground in all the Italian Peninsula. Well, we are worsted, and we must bide SPECIAL CORRESPONDENCE 225 our time ; but this I will say : if that insolent young fool the First Mate thinks that his family shall protect him he is mistaken. The press is a great power and never greater than where (as in England) a professor of a university or the upper classes write for the papers, and where a rule of anonymity gives talent and position its full weight.* * These letters were never printed till now. IS IX LAMBKIN'S ADDRESS TO THE LEAGUE OF PROGRESS Everybody will remember the famous meeting of the Higher Spinsters in 1868; a body hitherto purely voluntary in its organisation, it had undertaken to add to the houses of the poor and wretched the element which reigns in the residential suburbs of our great towns. If Whitechapel is more degraded now than it was thirty years ago we must not altogether disregard the earlier efforts of the Higher Spinsters, they laboured well each in her own sphere and in death they were not divided. The moment however which gave their embryonic conceptions an organic form did not sound till this year of 1868. It was in the Conference held at Burford during that sunmier that, to quote their eloquent circular, ' ' the ideas were mooted and the feeling was voiced which made us what we are." In other words, the Higher Spinsters were merged in the new and greater society of the League of Progress. How much the League of Progress has done, its final recognition by the County Council, the sums paid to its organisers and servants I need not here describe ; suffice it to say that, like all our great movements, it was a spontaneous effort of the upper middle class, that it concerned itself 226 ADDRESS TO LEAGUE OF PROGRESS 227 chiefly with the artisans, whom it desired to raise to its own level, and that it has so far succeeded as to now possess forty-three Cloisters in our great towns, each ^ith its Grand Master, Chatelaine, Corporation of the Burghers of Progress and Lay Brothers, the whole supported upon salaries suitable to their social rank and proceeding entirely from voluntary contributions with the exception of that part of the revenue which is drawn from public funds. The subject of the Conference, out of which so much was destined to grow, was " The Tertiary Symptoms of Secondary Education among the Poor." Views upon this matter were heard from every possible standpoint ; men of varying religious per- suasions from the Scientific Agnostic to the distant Parsee lent breadth and elasticity to the fascinating subject. Its chemical aspect was admirably described (with experiments) by Sir Julius Wobble, the Astronomer Royal, and its theological results by the Reader in Burmesan. Lambkin was best known for the simple eloquence in which he could clothe the most difficult and confused conceptions. It was on this account that he was asked to give the Closing Address with which the Proceedings terminated. Before reciting it I must detain the reader with one fine anecdote concerning this occasion, a passage worthy of the event and of the man. Lambkin (as I n^ed hardly say) was full of his subject, enthusiastic and absorbed. No thought of gain entered his head, nor was he the kind of man to have applied for payment unless he believed money to be owing to him. Nevertheless it 228 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS would have been impossible to leave unremunerated such work as that which follows. It was decided by the authorities to pay him a sum drawn from the fees which the visitors had paid to visit the College Fish-Ponds, whose mediaeval use in monkish times was explained in popular style by one who shall be nameless, but who gave his services gratuitously. After their departure Mr. Large entered Lambkin's room with an envelope, wishing to add a personal courtesy to a pleasant duty, and said : " I have great pleasure, my dear Lambkin, in pre- senting you with this Bank Note as a small acknow- ledgment of your services at the Conference." Lambkin answered at once with : "My dear Large, I shall be really displeased if you estimate that slight performance of a pleasurable task at so high a rate as ten pounds." Nor indeed was this the case. For when Lambkin opened the enclosure (having waited with delicate courtesy for his visitor to leave the room) he discovered but five pounds therein. But note what follows — Lambkin neither mentioned the matter to a soul, nor passed the least stricture upon Large's future actions, save in those matters where he found his colleague justly to blame : and in the course of the several years during which they continually met, the restraint and self- respect of his character saved him from the use of ignoble weapons whether of pen or tongue. It was a lesson in gentlemanly irony to see my friend take his place above Large at high table in the uneasy days that followed. ADDRESS TO LEAGUE OF PROGRESS 229 THE ADDRESS My dear Friends, I shall attempt to put before you in a few simple, but I hope well-chosen words, the views of a plain man upon the great subject before us to-day. I shall attempt with the greatest care to avoid any per- sonal offence, but I shall not hesitate to use the knife with an unsparing hand, as is indeed the duty of the Pastor whosoever he may be. I remember a late dear friend of mine [who would not wish me to make his name public but whom you will perhaps recognise in the founder and builder of the new Cathedral at Isaacsville in Canada*]. I remember his saying to rne with a merry twinkle of the eye that looms only from the free manhood of the west: "Lambkin," said he, "would you know how I made my large fortune in the space of but three months, and how I have attained to such dignity and honour? It was by following this simple maxim which my dear mother t taught me in the rough log-cabin| of my birth : ' Be courteous to all strangers, but familiar with none.' "§ My friends, you are not strangers, nay, on the present * The late Hon. John Tupton, the amiable colonial who purchased Marlborough House and made so great ai stir in London some years ago. + Mrs. Tupton, senior, a woman whose heroic struggles in the face of extreme poverty were a continual commentary on the awful results of our so-called perfected Penal System. + There is great doubt upon the exactitude of this. In his lifetime Tupton often spoke of "the poor tenement house in New York where I was born," and in a letter he alludes to " my. birth at sea in the steerage of a Liner." § This was perhaps the origin of a phrase which may be found scattered with profusion throughout Lambkin's works. 230 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS solemn occasion I think I may call you friends — even brethren ! — dear brothers and sisters ! But a little bird has told me. . . . {Hire a genial smile passed over Ms face and he drank a draught of pure cold water from a tumbler at his side.) A little bird has told me, I say, that some of you feared a trifle of just harshness, a reprimand perhaps, or a warning note of danger, at the best a doubtful and academic temper as to the future. Fear nothing. I shall pursue a far different course, and however courteous I may be I shall indulge in no familiarities. " The Tertiary Symptoms of Secondary Education among the Poor " is a noble phrase and expresses a noble idea. Why the very words are drawn from our Anglo-Saxon mother-tongue deftly mingled with a few expressions borrowed from the old dead language of long-past Greece and Rome. What is Education? The derivation of the word answers this question. It is from "e" that is "out of," " duc-o " " I lead," from the root Due — ^to lead, to govern (whence we get so many of our most important words such as " Duke " ; " Duck " = a drake; etc.) and finally the termination " -tio " which corresponds to the English ' ' -ishness. ' ' We may then put the whole phrase in simple language thus, ' ' The threefold Showings of twofold Led-out-of -ishness among the Needy." The Needy ! The Poor ! Terrible words ! It has been truly said that we have them always with us. It is one of our peculiar glories in nineteenth-century England, that we of the upper classes have fully recog- nised our heavy responsibility towards our weaker fellow- citizens. Not by Revolution, which is dangerous and ADDRESS TO LEAGUE OF PROGRESS 231 vain, not by heroic legislation or hair-brained schemes of universal panaceas, not by frothy Utopias. No ! — by solid hard work, by quiet and persistent effort, with the slow invisible tenacity that won the day at Badajoz, we have won this great social victory. And if anyone should ask me for the result I should answer him — go to Bolton, go to Manchester, go to Liverpool; go to Hull or Halifax — the answer is there. There are many ways in which this good work is proceeding. Life is a gem of many facets. Some of my friends take refuge in Prayer, others have joined the Charity Organisation Society, others again have laboured in a less brilliant but fully as useful a fashion by writing books upon social statistics which command an enormous circulation. You have turned to education, and you have done well. Show me a miner or a stevedore who attends his lectures upon R.ossetti, and I will show you a man. Show me his wife or daughter at a cookery school Or engaged in fretwork, and I will show you a woman. A man and a woman — solemn thought ! A noble subject indeed and one to occupy the whole life of a man! This "Education," this "Leading- out-of," is the matter of 'all our lives here in Oxford except in the vacation.* And what an effect it has ! Let me prove it in a short example. At a poor lodging-house in Lafayette, Pa., U.S.A., three well-educated men from New England who had fallen upon evil times were seated at a table surrounded by a couple of ignorant and superstitious Irishmen; these poor untaught creatures, presuming upon their numbers, did not hesitate to call the silent and gentle- * Mr. Lambkin did not give the derivation of this word. 232 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS manly unfortunates "Dommed High-faluthing Fules"; but mark the sequel. A fire broke out in the night. The house was full of these Irishmen and of yet more repulsive Italians. Some were consumed by the devour- ing element, others perished in the flames, others again saved their lives by a cowardly flight.* But what of those three from Massachusetts whom better principles had guided in youth and with whom philosophy had replaced the bitter craft of the Priest? They were found — ^my dear friends — they were found still seated calmly at the table ; they had not moved ; no passion had blinded them, no panic disturbed : in their charred and blackened features no trace of terror was apparent. Such is the effect, such the glory of what my late master and guide, the Professor of Tautology, used to call the " Principle of the Survival of the Fittest." {Applause, which was only checked by a consideration for the respect due to the Sacred edifice.) Go forth then ! Again I say go forth ! Go forth ! Go forth ! The time is coming when England will see that your claims to reverence, recognition, and emolu- ment are as great as our own. I repeat it, go forth, and when you have brought the great bulk of families to change their mental standpoint, then indeed you will have transformed the world ! For without the mind the human intellect is nothing. * " Alii igni infamiae vitamalii fugd dederunt." — Tacitus, In Omnes Caesares, I. viii. 7 X LAMBKIN'S LEADER Mr. Solomon was ever determined to keep the Sunday Englishman at a high level. " We owe it " (he would say) "first to the public who are thereby sacrificed — I mean satisfied — and to ourselves, who secure thereby a large and increasing circulation. " [ " Ourselves ' ' alluded to the shareholders, for the Sunday Englishman was a limited Company, in which the shares (of which Mr. Solomon held the greater number) were distributed in the family; the tiniest toddler of two years old was remembered, and had been presented with a share by his laughing and generous parent. ] In this laudable effort to keep "abreast of the times" (as he phrased it), the Editor and part Pro- prietor determined to have leaders written by University men, who from their position of vantage enjoy a unique experience in practical matters. He had formed a very high opinion of Lambkin's journalistic capacity from his unpublished letters as a special correspondent. Indeed, he was often heard to say that " a man like him was lost at Oxford, and was born for Fleet Street." He wrote, therefore, to Mr. Lambkin and gave him " Carte Blanche," as one French scholar to another, sending him only the general directions that his leader must be "smart, up-to-date, and with plenty of push," it was to be "neither too long nor too short," and while it 233 234 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS should be written in an easy familiar tone, there should be little or no seriously offensive matter included. Mr. Lambkin was delighted, and when at his request the article had been paid for, he sent in the following : THE LEADER " The English-Speaking Race has — if we except the Dutch, Negro, and Irish elements — a marvellous talent for self-government. From the earliest origins of our Anglo-Saxon forefathers to the latest Parish Council, guided but not controlled by the modern ' Mass Thegen ' or local ' Gesithcund man,' this talent, or -rather genius, is apparent. We cannot tell why, in the inscrutable designs of Providence, our chosen race should have been so specially gifted, but certain it is that wherever plain ordinary men such as I who write this and you who read it* may be planted, there they cause the desert to blossom, and the waters to gush from the living rock. Who has not known, whether among his personal acquaintance or from having read of him in books, the type of man who forms the strength of this mighty national organism? And who has not felt that he is himself something of that kidney ? We stand aghast at our own extraordinary power, and it has been finely said that Nelson was greater than he knew. From one end of the earth to the other the British language is spoken and understood. The very words that I am writing will be read to-morrow in London, the day after in Oxford — and from this it is but a step to the utter- most parts of the earth. * The italicised words were omitted in the article. LAMBKIN'S LEADER 23S " Under these conditions of power, splendour, and domination it is intolerable that the vast metropolis of this gigantic empire should be pestered with crawling cabs. There are indeed many things which in the Divine plan have it in their nature to crawl. We of all the races of men are the readiest to admit the reign of universal law. Meaner races know not the law, but we are the childreA of the law, and where crawling is part of the Cosmos we submit and quit ourselves like men, being armed with the armour of righteousness. Thus no Englishman (whatever foreigners may feel) is offended at a crawling insect or worm. A wounded hare will crawl, and we Read that ' the serpent was cursed and crawled upon his belly ' ; again, Aristotle in his Ethics talks of those whose nature ((^vo-ts) it is ' epsretv,' which is usually translated ' to crawl, ' and Kipling speaks of fifes ' crawling. ' With all this we have no quarrel, but the crawling cab is a shocking and abominable thing; and if the titled owners of hansoms do not heed the warning in time they will find that the spirit of Crom- well is not yet dead, and mayhap the quiet determined people of this realm will rise and sweep them and their gaudy gew-gaws and their finicky high-stepping horses, and their perched-up minions, from the fair face of England." XI LAMBKIN'S REMARKS ON THE END OF TERM Delivered in Hall on Saturday, Dec. 6th, 1887, the morning upon which the College went down. My dear Friends ; my dear Undergraduate Mem- bers OF THIS College, The end of Term is approaching — nay, is here. A little more, and we shall meet each other no longer for six weeks. It is a solemn and a sacred thought. It is not the sadness, and even the regret, that takes us at the beginning of the Long Vacation. This is no defini- tive close. We lose (I hope) no friends ; none leave us for ever, unless I may allude to the young man whom few of you knew, but through whose criminal folly the head of this foundation has lost the use of one eye. This is not a time of exaltation, so should it not be a time for too absolute a mourning. This is not the end of the Easter Term, nor of the Summer Term. It is the end of Michaelmas Term. That is the fact, and facts must be looked in the face. What are we to do with the approaching vacation? What have we done with the past term? In the past term (I think I can answer for some of you) a much deeper meaning has entered into your lives. Especially you, the young freshmen (happily I have had 236 REMARKS ON THE END OF TERM 237 the control of many, the teaching of some), I know that life has become fuller for you. That half -hour a week to which you pay so little heed will mean much in later years. You have come to me in batches for half-an-hour a week, and each of you has thus enjoyed collectively the begiiming of that private control and moulding of the character which is the object of all our efforts here in Oxford. And can you not, as you look back, see what a great change has passed over you in the short few months? I do not mean the corporeal change in- volved by our climate or our prandial habits j neither do I allude to the change in your dress and outward appear- ance. I refer to the mental transformation. You arrived sure of a number of things which you had learnt at school or at your mother's knee. Of what are you certain now ? Of nothing ! It is necessary in the mysterious scheme of education that this blind faith or certitude should be laid as a foundation in early youth. But it is imperative that a man — if he is to be a man and not a monster — should lose it at the outset of his career. My young friends, I have given you the pearl of great price. You have begun to doubt. Half-an-hour a week — four hours in all the term . . . could any positive, empirical, or dogmatic teach- ing have been conveyed in that time, or with so much fullness as the great scheme of negation can be? I trow not. So much for knowledge and tutorship. What of morals ? It is a delicate subject, but I will treat of it boldly. You all remember how, shortly after the month of October, the College celebrated Guy Fawkes' Day : the elders, by a dinner in honour of their founder, the 238 LAMBKIN'S r:EMAINS juniors by lighting a bonfire in the quadrangle. You all know what followed. I do not wish to refer again — certainly not with bitterness — to the excesses of that evening ; but the loss of eyesight is a serious thing, and one that the victim may forgive, but hardly can forget. I hope the lesson will suffice, and that in future no fellow of this College will have to regret so serious a disfigure- ment at the hands of a student. To pass to lighter things. The Smoking Concert on All Souls' Day was a great success. I had hoped to organise some similar jollity on Good Friday, but I find that it falls in the Easter vacation. It is, however, an excellent precedent, and we will not fail to have one on some other festal occasion. To the action of one of our least responsible members I will not refer. But surely there is neither good breeding nor decency in dressing up as an old lady, in assuming the name of one of our Greatest Families, and in so taking advantage of the chivalry, and perhaps the devotion, of one's superiors. The offence is one that cannot lightly be passed over, and the culprit will surely be discpvered. Of the success of the College at hockey and in the inter-University draughts competition, I am as proud as yourselves. [Loud cheers, lasting for several minutes. "^ They were games of which in my youth I was myself proud. On the river I see no reason to be ashamed; next term we have the Torpids, and after that the Eights. We have no cause to despair. It is my experi- ence (g,n experience based on ten years of close obser- vation), that no college can permanently remain at the bottom of the river. There is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood leads on to fortune, let REMARKS ON THE END OF TERM 239 us therefore take heart of grace and screw our courage to the sticking point. We have the lightest cox. in the 'Varsity and an excellent coach. Much may be done with these things. As to the religious state of the college it is, as you all know, excellent — I wish I could say the same for the Inorganic Chemistry. This province falls under the guidance of Mr. Large, but the deficiency in our stand- ing is entirely the fault of his pupils. There are not twenty men in the University better fitted to teach Inorganic Chemistry than my colleague. At any rate it is a very grave matter and one by which a college ultimately stands or falls. We have had no deaths to deplore during this term, and in my opinion the attack of mumps that affected the college during November can hardly be called an epidemic. The drains will be thoroughly overhauled during the vacation, and the expense of this, spread as it will be among all undergraduate members whether in residence or not, will form a very trifling addition to Battells. I doubt if its effect will be felt. There is one last thing that I shall touch upon. We have been constantly annoyed by the way in which undergraduates tread down the lawn. The Oxford turf is one of the best signs of our antiquity as a university. There is no turf like it in the world. The habit of continually walking upon it is fatal to its appearance. Such an action would certainly never be permitted in a gentleman's seat, and there is some talk of building a wall round the quadrangle to prevent the practice in question. I need hardly tell you what a disfigurement such a step would involve, but if there is one thing in 240 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS the management of the college that I am more deter- mined upon than another it is that no one, be he scholar or be he commoner, shall walk upon the grass ! I wish you a very Merry Christmas at the various country houses you may be visiting, and hope and pray that you may find united there all the members of your own family. Mr. Gurge will remain behind and speak to me for a few moments. XII LAMBKIN'S ARTICLE ON THE NORTH- WEST CORNER OF THE MOSAIC PAVEMENT OF THE ROMAN VILLA AT BIGNOR Of Mr. Lambkin's historical research little mention has been made, because this was but the recreation of a mind whose serious work was much more justly calcu- lated to impress posterity. It is none the less true that he had in the inner coterie of Antiquarians, a very pronounced reputation, and that on more than one occasion his discoveries had led to animated dispute and even to friction. He is referred to as " Herr Professor Lambkin" in Winsk's "Roman Sandals,"* and Mr. Bigchurch in the Preface of his exhaustive work on "The Drainage of the Grecian Sea Port" (which includes much information on the Ionian colonies and Magna Graecia) acknowledges Mr. Lambkin's " valuable sympathy and continuous friendly aid which have helped him through many a dark hour." Lambkin was also frequently sent books on Greek and Roman Antiquities to review ; and it must be presumed that the editor of Culture, \ who was himself an Oxford man * The full title of the translation is " The Roman Sandal : Its growth, development and decay. Its influence on society and its position in the liturgy of the Western Church." t Nephew of Mr. Child, the former editor ; grandson of Mr. Pilgrim, the founder ; and father of the present editor of Culture. 241 16 242 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS and had taken a House degree in 1862, would hardly have had such work done by an ignorant man. If further proof were needed of Mr. Lambkin's deep and minute scholarship in this matter it would be dis- covered in the many reproductions of antiquities which tfsed to hang round his room in college. They were photographs of a reddish-brown colour and represented many objects dear to the Scholar, such as the Parthenon, the Temples of Paestum, the Apollo Belvedere, and the Bronze head at the Vatican ; called in its original dedica- tion an Ariadne, but more properly described by M. Cremieux-Nathanson, in the light of inodern research, as a Silenus. Any doubts as to Lambkin's full claim to detailed- knowledge in those matters, will, however, be set at rest by the one thing he has left us of the kind — his article in the Revue Intellectuelle, which was translated for him by a Belgian friend, but of which I have preserved the original MSS.* It is as follows : THE ARTICLE I cannot conceive how M. Bischofft and Herr Crapildnit can have fallen into their grotesque error with regard to the Head in the Mosaic at Bignor. The Head, as all the world knows, is to be found in the extreme north-w€st corner of the floor of the Mosaic at Bignor, in Sussex. Its exact dimensions from the highest point of the crown to the point or cusp of the * Mr. Cook criticises this sentence. It is a point upon which friends may " agrier a difirer." + Author of Psychologit de VAbsurde. X Professoi: of Micro-graphy at Bonn. THE ROMAN VILLA AT BIGNOR 243 chili, and from the furthest back edge of the cerebellum to the outer tip of the nose are one foot five inches and one foot three inches respectively. The Head is thus of the Heroic or exaggerated size, and not (as Wain- wright says in his Antiquities), "of life size." It represents the head and face of an old man, and is composed of fragments, in which are used the colours black, brown, blue, yellow, pink, green, purple, and bright orange. There can be no doubt that the floor must have presented a very beautiful and even brilliant appearance when it was new, but at the present day it is much dulled from having lain buried for fifteen hundred years. My contention is that M. Bischoff and Herf Crapiloni have made a very ridiculous mistake (I will not call it by a harsher name) in representing this head to be a figure of Winter. In one case (that of M. Bischoflf) I have no doubt that patriotic notions were too strong for a well-balanced judgment ;* but in the other, I am at a loss to find a sufficient basis for a statement which is not only false, but calculated to do a grave hurt to history and even to public morals. M. Bischoff admits that he visited England in company with Herr Crapiloni — I have no doubt that the latter itifluenced the former, and that the blame and shame of this matter must fall on the ultra-montane German and not on the philo- sophical but enthusiastic Gaul. For my opponents' abuse of myself in the columns of such rags as the Bulletin de la Societe Historique de Bourges, or the Revue d'Histoire Romaine, I have only * This was father severe, as M. Bischoff had spent some years in a Maison de Sant6. 244 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS contempt and pity ; but we in England are taught that a lie on any matter is equally serious, and I will be no party to the .calling of the Mosaic a figure of " Winter " when I am convinced it is nothing of the kind. As far as' I can make out from their somewhat turgid rhetoric, my opponents rely upon the inscription " Hiems " put in with white stones beneath the mosaic, and they argue that, as the other four corners are admitted to be "Spring," "Summer," and "Autumn," each with their title braieath, therefore this fourth corner must be Winter ! It is just such an argument from analogy as I should have expected from men brought up in the corrupt morality and the base religious conceptions of the Continent ! When one is taught that authority is every- thing and cannot use one's judgment,* one is almost certain to jump at conclusions in this haphazard fashion in dealing with definite facts. For my part I am convinced that the head is the portrait of the Roman proprietor of the villa, and I am equally convinced that the title " Hiems " has been added below at a later date, so as to furnish a trap for all self-suffici^it and gullible historians. Are my continental critics aware that no single cofy of the mosaic is to be found in the whole of the Roman Remains of Britain? Are they aware the villa at Bignor has changed hands three times in this century? I do not wish to make any insinuations of bad faith, but I would hint that the word " Hiems " has a fresh new look about it which puzzles me. * An exan^ple of these occasional difficulties in style, due to the eagerness of which I have spoken. THE ROMAN VILLA AT BIGNOR 245 To turn to another matter, though it is one connected with our subject. The pupil of the eye has disappeared. We know that the loss is of ancient date, as Wright mentions its absence in his catalogue. A very inter- esting discussion has arisen as to the material of which the pupil was composed. The matter occupied the Society at Dresden (of which I am a corresponding member) in a debate of some days, I have therefore tried to fathom it but with only partial success. I have indeed found a triangular blue fragment which is much the same shape as the missing cavity; it is, however, somewhat larger in all its dimensions, and is convex instead of flat, and I am assured it is but a piece of blue china of recent manufacture, of which many such odds and ends are to be found in the fields and dustbins. If (as I strongly suspect) these suggestions are only a ruse, and if (as I hope will be the case) my fragment, after some filing and chipping, can be made to fit the cavity, the discovery will be of immense value; for it will show that the owner of the villa was a Teuton and will go far to prove the theory of Roman continuity, which is at present based on such slight evidence, I will let you know the result. The coins recently dug up in the neighbourhood, and on which so many hopes were based, prove nothing as to the date of the mosaic. They cannot be of Roman origin, for they bear for the most part the head and inscription of William III., while the rest are pence and shillings of the Georges. One coin was a guinea, and will, I fear, be sold as gold to the bank. I was very disappointed to find so poor a result : ever since my inquiry labourers have kept coming to me with coins 246 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS obviously modern — especially bronze coins of Napoleon Ill.^which they have buried to turn them green, and subsequently hanmiered shapeless in the hopes of my purchasing them. : I have had the misfortune to pur- chase, for no less a sum than a sovereign, what turned out to be the circular brass label on a dog's collar. It contained the name of " Ponto," inscribed in a classic wreath which deceived me. Nothing else of real importance has occurred since my last communication. XIII LAMBKIN'S SERMON A MAN not over-given to mere words, Lambkin was always also somewhat diffident of his pulpit eloquence and his sermons were therefore rare. Jt must pot be imagined that he was one of those who rebel vainly against established usage. There was nothing in him of the blatant and destructive demagogue; no character could have been more removed from the demons who drenched the fair soil of France with such torrents of blood during the awful reign of terror. But just as he was in politics a liberal in the truest sense (not in the narrow party definition of the word), so in the religious sphere he descried the necessity of gentle but persistent reform. " The present," he would often say, " is inseparable from the past," but he wquld add "continual modification to suit the necessities of a changing environment is a cardinal condition of vitality." It was, therefore, his aim to keep the form of all existing institutions and merely to change their matter. Thus, he was in favour of the retention of the Regius Professorship of Greek, and even voted for a heavy increase in the salary of its occupant ; but he urged and finally carried the amendment by which that dignitary is at present compelled to lecture mainly on current 247 248 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS polities. Mathematics again was a subject whose interest he discerned, however much he doubted its value as a mental discipline; he was, therefore, a supporter of the prize fellowships occasionally offered on the subject, but, in the determination of the success- ful candidate he would give due weight to the minutiae of dress and good manners. It will be seen from all this that if Lambkin was essentially a modern, yet he was as essentially a wise and moderate man; cautious in action and preferring judgment to violence he would often say, " transioimei please, not reioTtasr," when his friends twitted him over the port with his innovations.* Religion, then, which must be a matter of grave import to all, was not neglected by such a mind. He saw that aril was not lost when dogma failed, but that the great ethical side of the system could be developed in the room left by the decay of its formal character. Just as a man who has lost his fingers will sometimes grow thumbs in their place, so Lambkin foresaw that in the place of what was an atrophied function, vigorous examples of an older type might shoot up, and the organism would gain in breadth what it lost in definition. " I look forward to the time " (he would cry) " when the devotional hand of man shall be all thumbs." The philosophy which he thus applied to formal teaching and dogma took practical effect in the no less * The meaning of this sentence is made clear thus : They (subject) twitted (predicate), with-his-qualifications (adver- bially " how "), over — the — ^port (adverbially " where and when "), him (object). LAMBKIN'S SERMON 249 important matter of the sermon. He retained that form or shell, but he raised it as on stepping stones from its dead self to higher things ; the success of many a man in this life has been due to the influence exerted by his simple words. The particular allocution which I have chosen as the best illustration of his method was not preached in the College Chapel, but was on the contrary a University Sermon given during eight weeks. It ran as follows : SERMON I take for my text a beautiful but little-known passage from the Talmud : " / will arise and gird up my lions — / mean loins — and go; yea, I will get me out of the land of my fathers which is in Ben-ramon, even unto Edom and the Valley of Kush and the cities about Laban to the uttermost ends of the earth." There is something about foreign travel, my dear Brethren, which seems, as it were, a positive physical necessity to our eager and high-wrought generation. At specified times of the year we hunt, or debate; we attend to our affairs in the city, or we occupy our minds with the guidance of State. The ball-room, the draw- ing-room, the club, each have their proper season. In our games football gives place to cricket, and the deep bay of the faithful hound yields with the advancing season to the sharp crack of the Winchester, as the grouse, the partridge, or the yery kapper-capercailzi« 250 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS itself falls before the superior intelligence of man. One fashion also will succeed another, and in the mysterious development of the years — a development not entirely under the guidance of our human wills — the decent croquet-ball returns to lawns that had for so long been Strangers to aught but the fierce agility of tennis. So in the great procession of the times and the seasons, there comes upon us the time for travel. It is not (my dear Brethren), it is not in the winter when all is covered with a white veil of snow — or possibly trans- formed with the marvellous effects of thaw ; it is not in the spring when the buds begin to appear in the hedges, and when the crocus studs the spacious sward in artful disorder and calculated negligence — ^no it is not then — the old time of Pilgrimage,* that our positive and enlightened era chooses for its migration, t It is in the burning summer season, when the glare of the sun is almost painful to the jaded eye of the dancer, when the night is shortest and the day longest, that we fly from these inhospitable shores and green fields of England. And whither do we fly ? Is it to the cool and delicious north, to the glaciers of Greenland, or to the noble cliffs and sterling characters of Orkney? Is it to Norway? Can it be to Lapland ? Some perhaps, a very few, are to be found journeying to these places in the commo- dious and well-appointed green boats of Mr. Wilson, of Tranby Croft. But, alas ! the greater number leave the * Mr. Lambkin loved to pass a quiet hour over the MSS. in the Bodleian, and would quote familiarly the rare lines of Chaucer, especially, among the mediaeval poets. + This sentence is an admirable example of Lambkin's later manner. LAMBKIN'S SERMON 251 hot summer of England for the yet more torrid climes of Italy, Spain, the Levant, and the Barbary coast. Negligent of the health that is ourt;hiefest treasure, we waste our energies in the malaria of Rome, or in Paris poison our minds with the contempt aroused by the sight of hideous foreigners. Let me turn from this painful aspect of a question which certainly presents nobler and more useful issues. It is most to our purpose, perhaps, in a certain fashion ; it is doubtless more to our purpose in many ways to consider on an occasion such as this the moral aspects of foreign travel, and chief among these I reckon those little points of mere every day practice, which are of so much greater importance than the rare and exaggerated acts to which our rude ancestors gave the name of Sins. Consider the over-charges in hotels. The economist may explain, the utilitarian may condone such action, but if we are to make for Righteousness, we cannot pass without censure a practice which we would hardly go so far as to condemn. If there be in the sacred edifice aily one of those who keep houses of entertainment upon the Continent, especially if there sit among you any repre- sentative of that class in Switzerland, I would beg him to consider deeply a matter which the fanatical clergy of his land may pardon, but which it is the duty of ours to publicly deplore. Consider again the many examples of social and moral degradation which we meet with in our journey- ings ! We pass from the coarse German to the in- constant Gaul. We fly the indifference and ribald sco^ng of Milan only to fall into the sink of idolatry and superstition which men call Naples ; we observe in 252 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS our rapid flight the indolent Spaniard, the disgusting Slav, the uncouth Frisian, and the frightful Hun. Our travels will not be without profit if they teach us to thank Heaven that our fathers preserved us from such a lot as theirs. Again, we may consider the great advantages that we may gather as individuals from travel. We can exercise our financial ingenuity (and this is no light part of mental training) in arranging our expenses for the day. We can find in the corners of foreign cities those relics of the Past which the callous and degraded people of the place ignore, and which are reserved for the apprecia- tion of a more vigorous race. In the galleries we learn the beauties of a San Mirtanoja, and the vulgar insuf- ficiency and ostentation of a Sanzio.* In a thousand ways the experience of the Continent is a consolation and a support. Fourthly, my dear Brethren, we contrast our sturdy and honest crowd of tourists with the ridiculous castes and social pettiness of the ruck of foreign nations. There the peasant, the bourgeois, the noble, the priest, the politician, the soldier, seems each to live in his own world. In our happier England there are but two classes, the owners of machinery and the owners of land ; and these are so subtly and happily mixed, there is present at the same time so hearty an independence and so sensible a recognition of rank, that the whole vast mass of squires and merchants mingle in an ex- quisite harmony, and pour like a life-giving flood over the decaying cities of Europe. But I have said enough. I must draw to a close. * Raphael. LAMBKIN'S SERMON 253 The love of fame, which has been beautifully called the last infirmity of noble-minds, alone would tempt me to proceed. But I must end. I hope that those of you who go to Spain will visit the unique and interesting old town of Saragossa. {Here Mr. Lambkin abruptly left the pulpit.) XIV LAMBKIN'S OPEN LETTER TO CHURCHMEN The noise made by Mr. Lambkin's famous advice to Archdeacon Burfle will be remembered by all my readers. He did not, however, publish the letter {as is erroneously presumed in Great Dead Men of the Period),* without due discussion and reflection. I did not personally urge him to make it public — I thought it unwise. But Mr. Large may almost be said to have insisted upon it in the long Conversation which he and Josiah had upon the matter. When Lambkin had , left Large's room I took the liberty of going up to see him again, but the fatal missive had been posted, and appeared next day in The Times, the Echo, and other journals, not to mention the Englishman^ s Anchor. I do not wish to accuse Mr. Large of any malicious purpose or deliberately misleading intention, but I fear that (as he was not an impulsive man) his advice can only have proceeded from a woeful and calculated lack of judgment. There is no doubt that (from Lambkin's own point of * P. 347, " The impetuosity of the action ill-suits with what is known of Lambkin." It is all very well for the editor of Great Dead Men to say that this apologises for the misfortune ; that apology does not excuse the imputation of impetuosity (forsooth !) to a man whose every gesture was restrained. 254 OPEN LETTER TO CHURCHMEN 255 view), the publication of this letter was a very serious error. It bitterly offended Arthur Bundleton, and alienated all the " Pimlico " group (as they were then called). At the same time it did not satisfy the small biit eager and cultured body who followed Tamworthy. It gave a moderate pleasure to the poorer clergy in the country parishes, but I doubt very much whether these are the men from whom social advantage or eccle- siastical preferment is to be expected. I often told Lambkin that the complexity of our English Polity was a dangerous thing to meddle with. "A man," I would say to him, " who expresses an opinion is like one who plunges a knife into some sensitive part of the human frame. The former may offend unwittingly by the mere impact of his creed or prejudice, much as the latter may give pain by happening upon some hidden nerve." ■ Now Lambkin was essentially a wise man. He felt the objigation — the duty (to give it a nobler name) — which is imposed on all of us of studying our fellows. He di(j not, perhaps, say where his mind lay in any matter more than half a dozen times in his life, for fear of opposing by such an expression the wider experience or keener emotion of the society around him. He felt himself a part of a great stream, which it was the business of a just man to follow, and if he spoke strongly (as he often did) it was on some matter upon which the vast bulk of his countrymeo were agreed; indeed he rightly gave to public opinion, and to the governing classes of the nation, an overwhelming weight; in his system of morals > and even at twenty-one he had a wholesome contempt for the doctrinaire enthusiast who neglects his newspaper and hatches an ethical system 2s6 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS out of mere blind tradition or (what is worse) his inner conscience. It is remarkable, therefore, that such a man should have been guilty of one such error. " It was not a crime," he said cleverly, in speaking of the matter to me, "it was worse; it was a blunder." And that is what we all felt. The matter can be explained, how- ever, by a reference to the peculiar conditions of the moment in which it appeared. The Deanery of Bury had just fallen vacant by the death of Henry Carver, the elder.* A Liberal Unionist Government was in power, and Lambkin perhaps imagined that controversy still led — as it had done but a few years before — ^to the public notice which it merits. He erred, but it was a noble error. One thing at least we can rejoice in, the letter may have hurt Lambkin in this poor mortal life ; but it was of incalculable advantage to the generation immediately succeeding his own. I caimot but believe that from that little source springs all the mighty river of reform which has left so profound a mark upon the hosiery of this our day. The letter is as follows : AN OPEN LETTER BUEFORD, My dear BurFLE, St. John's Eve, 1876. You have asked my advice on a matter of deep import, a matter upon which every self-respecting * Better known perhaps as an author than as a cleric. He met his end in a shocking manner in a railway accident. His life was, however, insured, and he had upon him a copy of Golden Deeds. OPEN LETTER TO CHURCHMEN 257 Englishman is asking himself the question, " Am I a iheep or a goat?" My dear Burfle, I will answer you straight out, and I know you will not be angry with me if I answer also in the agora, "before the people," as Paul would have done. Are you a skeep or a gpat? Let us think. You say rightly that the question upon which all this turns is the question of boots. It is but a symbol, but it is a symbol upon which all England is divided. On the one hand we have men strenuous, determined, eager — ^men (i;f I may say so) of true Apostolic quality, to whom the buttoned boot is sacred to a degree some of us may find it difficult to understand. They are few, are these devout pioneers, but they are in certain ways, and from some points of view, among the elite of the Nation, so to speak. On the other hand we have the great mass of sensible men, earnest, devout, practical — what Beeker calls in a fine phrase " Thys corpse and verie bodieof England"* — determined to maintain what their fathers had before them, and insisting on the laced boot as the proper foot-gear of the Chuich. No one is more sensible than myself (my dear Burfle), I say no one is more sensible than I am, of the gravity of this schism — for schism it threatens to be. And no one appreciates more than I do how much there is to be said on both sides. The one party will urge (with perfect justice), that the buttoned boot is a development. They maintain (and there is much to be said in their favour), that the common practice of wearing buttoned * Seeker's A Torch for the Chafell; or the Nonconfor- mists out-done. Folio, 1663, p. 71. 17 ZS8 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS boots, their ornate appearance, and the indication of well-being which they afford, fit them most especially for the Service of the Temple. They are seen upon the feet of Parisians, of Romans, of Vieimese; they are associated with our modern occasions of Full Dress, and when we wear them we feel that we are one with all that is of ours in Christendom. In a word, they are Catholic, in the best and truest sense of the word. Now, my dear Burfle, consider the other side of the argument. The laoed boot, modern though it be in form and black and solid, is yet most undoubtedly the Primitive Boot in its essential. That the early Chris- tians wore sandals is now beyond the reach of doubt or the power of the wicked. There is indeed the famous forgery of Gelasius, which may have imposed upon the superstition of the dark ages,* there is the doubtful evidence also of the mosaic at Ravenna. But the only solid ground ever brought forward was the passage in the Pseudo-Johannes, which no modern scholar will admit to refer to buttons, ^vyov means, among other things, a lace, an absolute lace, and I defy our enemies (who are many and unscrupulous) to deny. The Sandal has been finally given its place as a Primitive Christian ornament ; and we can crush the machinations of foreign missions, I think, with the plain sentence of that great scholar. Dr. Junker. " The sandal," he jays, " is the parent of the laced boot." So far then, so good. You see (my dear Burfle), how honestly the two sides may differ, and how, with such a backing upon either side, the battle might rage in- * Referring to the edict on Buttoned Boots of Romulus Augustulus : a very shameless injustice. OPEN LETTER TO CHURCHMEN 259 definitely, to the final extinction, perhaps, of our beloved country and its most cherished institutions. Is there no way by which such a catastrophe may be avoided ? Why most certainly yes. There is a road on which both may travel, a place in which all may meet. I mean the boot (preferably the cloth boot) with elastic sides. Already it is worn by many of our clergy,* It offends neither party, it satisfies, or should satisfy, both; and for my part, I see in it one of those com- promises upon which our greatness is founded. Let us then determine to be in this matter neither shee-p nor goats. It is better, far better, to admit some sheepish- ness into our goatishness, or (if our extremists will have it so), some goatishness into our sheepishness — it is better, I say, to enter one fold and be at peace together, than to imperil our most cherished and beloved tenets in a mere wrangle upon non-essentials. For, after all, what is essential to us ? Not boots, I think, but righteous- ness. Righteousness may express itself in boots, it is just and good that it should do so, but to see righteous- ness in the boot itself is to fall into the gross materialism of the middle ages, and to forget our birthright and the mess of pottage. Yours (my dear Burfle) in all charity, JosiAH Lambkin. * Lambkin lived to see its almost universal adoption : a result in which he was no mean agent. XV LAMBKIN'S LETTER TO A FRENCH FRIEND Lambkin's concern for the Continent was deep and lasting. He knew the Western part of this Division of the Globe from a constant habit of travel which would take him by the Calais-Bale, passing through the St. Gothard by night, and so into the storied plains of Italy.* It was at Milan that he wrote his Shorter Anglo-Saxon Grammar, and in Assisi that he corrected the proofs of his article on the value of oats as human food. Everyone will remember the abominable outrage at Naples, where he was stabbed by a coachman in revenge for his noble and disinterested protection of a poor cab-horse ; in a word, Italy is full of his vacations, and no name is more familiar to the members of the Club at the Villa Marinoni. It may seem strange that under such circumstances our unhappy neighbours across the Channel should so especially have taken up his public action. He was no deep student of the French tongue, and he had but a trifling acquaintance with the habits of the common people of that country ; but he has said himself with great fervour, in his " Thoughts on Political Obliga- * " On iair Italia's storied plains," Biggin, xii., /. 32. 260 LETTER TO A FRENCH FRIEND 261 tions," that no man could be a good citizen of England who did not understand her international position. " What " (he would frequently exclaim) " what can they know of England, who only England know?"* He did not pretend to a familiarity with the minute details of foreign policy, nor was he such a pedant as to be offended at the good-humoured chaff directed against his accent in the pronunciation of foreign names. Nevertheless he thought it — and rightly thought it — part of his duty to bring into any discussion of the affairs of the Republic those chance phrases which lend colour and body to a conversation. He found this duty as it lay in his path and accomplished it, without bombast, but with full determination, and with a vast firmness of purpose. Thus he would often let drop such expressions as " etat majeur," "la clericalisme c'est I'ennemi," " l'6tat c'est moi,"t and such was his painful and exact research that he first in the University arrived at the meaning of the word "bordereau," which, until his discovery, all had imagined to be a secret material of peculiar complexity. Mr. Lambkin had but one close friend in France, a man who had from cosmopolitan experience acquired a breadth and humour which the Frenchman so conspicu- ously lacks ; he united, therefore, the charm of the French character to that general experience which Lambkin invariably demanded of his friends, and the fact that he belonged to a small political minority and * I am assured by Mr. Venial that this well-known line originally took shape on Mr. Lambkin's Ups. t This phrase he noticed early in his studies to be a rhym- ing catchword, and pronounced it so to the day of his death. 262 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS had so long associated with foreigners had winnowed from that fine soul the grossness and one-sidedness, the mingled vanity and ferocity, which seems so fatal a part of the Gallic temper. In some ways this friend re- minded one of the great Huguenots whom France to her eternal loss banished by the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, and of whom a bare twenty thousand are now to be foimd in the town of Nimes. In other ways this gifted mind recalled — and this would be in his moments of just indignation — the manner and appearance of a Major Prophet. Jules de la Vaguere dh Bissac was the first of his family to bear that ancient name, but not the least worthy. Born on a Transatlantic in the port of Ham- burg, his first experience of life had been given him in the busy competition of New York. It was there that he acquired the rapid glance, the grasp, the hard business head which carried him from Buenos Ayres to Amsterdam, and finally to a fortune. His wealth he spent in the entertainment of his numerous friends, in the furtherance of just aims in politics (to which alas ! the rich in France do not subscribe as they should), to the publication of sound views in the press, and occa- sionally (for old habit is second nature*), in the promo- tion of some industrial concern destined to benefit his country and the world, t With transactions, however sound and honest, that savoured of mere speculation De Bissac would have nothing to do, and when his uncle and brother fled the country in 1887, he helped, * Hobbes. + Thus M. de Bissac was the President of the Soci6t6 Anonyme des Voitures-fixes. LETTER TO A FRENCH FRIEND 263 indeed, with his purse but he was never heard to excuse or even to mention the poor, fallen men. His hotel in the Rue des Fortifications (a modest but coquettish little gem, whose doors were bronze copies of the famous gates of the Baptistery at Florence), had often received Mr. Lambkin and a happy circle of friends. Judge then of the horror and indignation with which Oxford heard that two of its beautiful windows bad been intentionally broken on the night of June 15th, 1896. The famous figure of " Mercy," taken from the stained glass at Rheims, was destroyed and one of the stones had fallen on the floor within an inch of a price- less Sevres vase that had once belonged to Law and had been bought from M. Panama. It was on the occasion of this abominable outrage that Mr. Lambkin sent the following letter, which, as it was published in the Horreur, I make no scruple of reprinting. But, for the sake of the historical interest it possesses, I give it in its original form : Cher Ami et Monsieur, Je n'ai pas de doute que vous aurez souvenu votre visite a Oxford, car je suis bien sur que je souviens ma visite a Paris, quand je fus recu avec tant de bienveillance par vous et votre aimable f amille. Vous aurez done immediatement apres I'accident pens6 3L nous car vous aurez su que nous dtions, moi et Bilkin, vos amis sinceres surtout dans la politique. Nous avons expecte quelque chose pareille et nous comprenons bien pourquoi c'est le mauvais Durand qui a j^te les pierres. Vous avez et6 trop bon pour cet homme la. Souvenez- vous en future que c'est exactement ceux a qui nous 264 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS pretons de I'argent et devraient etre d^voues a nous, qui deviennent des ennemis. Voila ce qui empSche si souvent de f aire du bien excepte a ceux qui nous seront fideles et doux. (All this, being of a private nature, was not printed in M. de Bissac's paper. The public portion follows.) II est bien evident d'oii viennent des abominables et choquants choses pareilles. C'est que la France se meurent. Un pays ou il n'y a personne* qui peut empecher des fanatiques de briser les verres est un pays en decadence, voila ce que I'Irlande aurait ^te si nous etions pas la pour rempecher. On briserait des verres tres surement et beaucoup. J'espfere que je ne blesse pas votre coeur de Frangais en disant tout cela, mais il est bien mieux 3e connaitre ce que I'on a, meme si c'est mortal comme en France. Vous I'avez bien dit c'est les militarisme et clericalisme qui font ces outrages. Examinez bien I'homme qui a fait 5a et vous yerrez qu'il a ete baptise et tres probable- ment il a fait son service militaire. Oh ! Mon cher ami que Dieut vous a merveilleusement pr^serv^ de I'influence du Sabe et du Goupillon ! Vous n'avez pas fait votre service et si vous Stes sage ne faites le jamais car il corrompt le caractere. Je nous ne I'avons pas. J'ai lu avec grand plaisir votre article " Le Pretre au Bagne," oui ! c'est au Bagne que'l on devrait envoyer les' Pr6tres seulement dans un pays ou tant de personne sont Catholiques, je crains que les jurys sentimentales de votre pays aquitterait honteusement ces hommes nef astes. * " Accuracy in the use of negatives," Mr. Lambkia would, say, " is the test of a scholar." f Changed to "Je Destin" in the newspaper. LETTER TO A FRENCH FRIEND 265: J'espfere que je ne blesse pas votre Coeur de Catho- lique en disant cela. * Nos Catholiques ici ne sont pas. si mauvais que nos Catholiques la-bas. Beaucoup de& notres sont de trfes bonnes families, mais en Irlande I'ignorance et terrible, et on veut le faire plus grand avec une University ! En esperant que la France redeviendra son vrai mSmet ce que je crains etre impossible, je reste, mon cher ami (et Monsieur) votre ami sincere, agriez mes vcEux presses, tout-a-toi. JosuE Lambkin. * M. de Bissac was a Catholic, but one of the most liberal temper. He respected the Pope, but said that he was led' astray by his advisers. He voted every year for the suppres- sion of public worship in France and the turning of the churches into local museums. He was in every way remark- ably unprejudiced for a man of that persuasion. His in- defatigable attacks upon the clergy of his country have earned him the admiration of part of the whole civilized world. t The phrase is " return to her true self." It was a favourite one of Lambkin's, but is I fear untranslatable. The French have no such subtle ideas. The whole sentence was left out in the Horreur, and the final paragraph began with, " Je reste." XVI INTERVIEW WITH MR. LAMBKIN A REPRESENTATIVE of The J. C. R. had, but a short while before his death, the privilege of an interview with Mr. Lambkin on those numerous questions of the day which the enterprise of the Press puts before its readers. The meeting has a most pathetic interest ! Here was the old man full and portly, much alive to current questions, and to the last a true representative of his class. Within a week the fatal Gaudy had passed and he was no more ! Though the words here given are reported by another, they bear the full, fresh impress of his personality and I treasure them as the last authentic expression of that great mind. ' ' Ringing the bell ' ' (writes our representative) " at a neat villa in the Banbury Road, the door was answered by a trim serving-maid in a chintz gown and with a white cap on her head. The whole aspect of Mr. Lambkin's household without and within breathes repose and decent merriment. I was ushered into a well-ordered study, and noticed upon the walls a few handsome prints, chosen in perfect taste and solidly mounted in fine frames, ' The meeting of Wellington and Elucher at Waterloo,' ' John Knox preaching before Mary Queen of Scots,' ' The trial of Lord William Russell,' and two charming pictures of a child and a dog : ' Can 'oo 266 INTERVIEW WITH MR. LAMBKIN 267 talk?' and 'Me too!' completed the little .gallery. I noticed also a fine photograph of the Marquis of Llanidloes, whose legal attainments and philological studies had formed a close bond between him and Mr. Lambkin. A faded daguerreotype of Mr. Lambkin's mother and a pencil sketch of his father's country seat possessed a pathetic interest. " Mr. Lambkin came cheerily into the room, and I plunged at once ' in medias res.' "'Pray Mr. Lambkin, what do you think of the present position of parties?' " 'Why, if you ask me,' he replied, with an intelli- gent look, ' I think the great party system needs an opposition to maintain it in order, and I regret the absence of any man of weight or talent — I had almost said of common decency — on the Liberal side. The late Lord Llanidloes — who was the old type of Liberal — such a noble heart ! — said to me in this very room, " Mark my words, Lambkin " (said he) "the Of position is doomed." ' This was in Mr. Gladstone's 1885 Parlia- ment; it has always seemed to me a wonderful prophecy. But Llanidloes was a wonderful man, and the place of second Under-Secretary for Agriculture was all too little a reward for such services as his to the State. ' Do you know those lines,' here Mr. Lambkin grew visibly affected, ' " Then all were for the party and none were for the State, the rich man paid the poor man, and the weak man loved the great " ? I fear those times will never come again.' ' ' A profound silence followed. ' However, ' con- tinued he with quiet emphasis, ' Home Rule is dead, and there is no immediate danger of any tampering with 268 LAMBKIN'S REMAINS the judicial system of Great Britain after the fashion that obtains in France. " ' Yes,' he continued, with the smile that makes him so familiar, ' these are my books : trifles — ^but my own. Here ' (taking down a volume), ' is Vlhat would Crom- well have done? — a proposal for reforming Oxford. Then here, in a binding with purple flowers, is my Time and Purfose — a devotional book which has sold largely. The rest of the shelf is what I call my "casual" work. It was mainly done for that great modern publisher — Matthew Straight, who knows so well how to combine the old Spirit with Modern exigencies. You know his beautiful sign of the Boiling Pot in Plummer's Court? It was painted for him by one of his young artists. You have doubtless seen his name in the lists of guests at country houses; I often meet him when I go to visit my friends, and we plan a book together. " ' Thus my Boys of Great Britain — an historical work, was concfeived over the excellent port of Baron Gusmann at Westburton Abbey. Then there is the expansion of this book, English Boyhood, in three volumes, of which only two have appeared — Anglo- Saxon Boyhood and Mediceval Boyhood in England. It is very laborious. " 'No,' he resumed, with nervous rapidity, 'I have not confined myself to these. There is What is Will? Mehitopel the Jewess of Prague (a social novel); The Upper House of Cortvo cation before History; Elements of the Leibnitzian Monodology for Schools (which is the third volume in the High School Series) ; Physiology of the Elephant and its little abbreviated form for the INTERVIEW WITH MR. LAMBKIN 269 use of children — How Jumbo is made Inside- — dedicated by the way, to that dear little fairy. Lady Constantia de la Pole : such a charming child, and destined, I am sure, to be a good and beautiful woman. She is three years old, and shooting up like a graceful young lily.' " ' I fear I am detaining you,' I said, as the good man, whose eyes had filled with tears during the last remark (he is a great lover of children) pulled out a gold watch and consulted its tell-tale dial. ' Not at all, ' he replied with finished courtesy, ' but I al\*ays make a point of going in to High Tea and seeing my wife and family well under weigh before I go off to Hall. Surely that must be the gong, and there ' (as the pleasant sound of children's high voices filled the house) ' come what I call my young barbarians.' " He accompanied me to the door with true old- world politeness and shook me beautifully by the hand. ' Good-bye,' he said, 'Good-bye and God-speed. You may make what use you like of this, that I believe the task of the journalist to be among the noblest in our broad land. The Press has a great mission, a great mission.' " With these words still ringing in my ears I gathered up my skirts to cross the muddy roadway and stepped into the tram." A LIST OF THE LIBRARIES AND SERIES OF COPYRIGHT BOOKS PUBLISHED BY DUCKWORTH £ff CO. 3 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN LONDON, W.C.2 2 DUCKWORTH & CO.'S LIBRARIES AND SERIES THE LIBRARY OF ART Embracing Painting, Sculpture, Architecture, etc. Edited by Mrs S. Arthur Strong, LL.D. Extra doth, with lettering and design in gold. Largt cr. 8vo (7f in. by 5f in.). 7^. 6d. net a volume. Postage 6d. LIST OF VOLUMES DONATBLLO. By Lord Balcarres, M.P. (Earl Crawford). With 58 plates. Great Masters of Dutch and Flemish Painting. By W. Bode. With 48 plates. Rembrandt. By G. Baldwin Brown, of the University of Edinburgh. With 45 plates. Antonio Pollaiuolo. By Maud Cruttwell. With 50 plates. Verrocchio. By Maud Cruttwell. With 48 plates. The Lives of the British Architects. By E. Beresford Chancellor. With 45 plates. 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