FORS CLAVIGERA 
 
 Lktters to the Workmen and Labourers 
 OF Great Britain 
 
 COMPLETE IN FOUR VOLUMES 
 
 VOLUMES I AND 11 
 
 BV 
 
 JOHN RUSKIN, M.A. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "the SEVEN LAMPS OF ARCHITECTURE," "THE CROWN OF WILD OLIVE," 
 "sesame and lilies," ETC. 
 
 ALDINE 
 
 BOSTON 
 BOOK PUBLISHING 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
 CO. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 Denmark Hill, 
 
 Ist January^ 1871. 
 
 Friends, 
 
 We begin to-day another group of ten years, not in happy 
 circumstances. Although, for the time, exempted from the 
 direct calamities which have fallen on neighbouring states, 
 believe me, we have not escaped them because of our better 
 deservings, nor by our better wisdom ; but only for one of 
 two bad reasons, or for both : either that we have not sense 
 enough to determine in a great national quarrel which side is 
 right, or that w^e have not courage to defend the right, 
 when w^e have discerned it. 
 
 I believe that both these bad reasons exist in full force ; 
 that our own political divisions prevent us from understand- 
 ing the laws of international justice ; and that, even if we 
 did, we should not dare to defend, perhaps not even to assert 
 them, being on this first of January, 1871, in much bodily 
 fear ; that is to say, afraid of the Russiaifs ; afraid of the 
 Prussians ; afraid of the Americans ; afraid of the Hindoos ; 
 afraid of the Chinese ; afraid of the Japanese ; afraid of the 
 New Zealanders ; and afraid of the Caffres : and very justly 
 so, being conscious that our only real desire respecting any 
 of these nations has been to get as much out of them as we 
 could. 
 
 They have no right to complain of us, notwithstanding 
 
4 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 since we have all, lately, lived ourselves in the daily endeavour 
 to get as much out of our neighbours and friends as we could ; 
 and having by this means, indeed, got a good deal out of each 
 other, and put nothing into each other, the actually obtained 
 result, this day, is a state of emptiness in purse and stomach, 
 for the solace of which our boasted " insular position " is in- 
 effectual. 
 
 I have listened to many ingenious persons, who say we are 
 better off now than ever we were before. I do not know how 
 well off we were before ; but I know positively that many 
 very deserving persons of my acquaintance have great diffi- 
 culty in living under these improved circumstances : also, 
 that my desk is full of begging letters, eloquently written 
 either by distressed or dishonest people ; and that we cannot 
 be called, as a nation, well off, while so many of us are living 
 either in honest or in villanous beggary. 
 
 For my own part, I will put up with this state of things, 
 passively, not an hour longer. I am not an unselfish person, 
 nor an Evangelical one ; I have no particular pleasure in do- 
 ing good ; neither do I dislike doing it so much as to expect 
 to be rewarded for it in another world. But I simply cannot 
 paint, nor read, nor look at minerals, nor do anything else 
 that I like, and the very light of the morning sky, when there 
 is any — which is seldom, now-a-days, near London — has be- 
 come hateful to me, because of the misery that I know of, 
 and see signs of, where I know it not, which no imagination 
 can interpret too bitterly. 
 
 Therefore, as I have said, I will endure it no longer quietly ; 
 but henceforward, with any few or many who will help, do 
 my poor best to abate this misery. But that I may do my 
 best, I must not be miserable myself any longer ; for no man 
 who is wretched in his own heart, and feeble in his own work, 
 can rightly help others. 
 
 Now my own special pleasure has lately been connected with 
 a given duty. I have been ordered to endeavour to make our 
 English youth care somewhat for the arts ; and must put my 
 uttermost strength into that business. To which end I must 
 clear myself from all sense of responsibility for the material 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 distress around me, by explaining to you, once for all, in the 
 shortest English I can, what I know of its causes ; by point- 
 ing out to you some of the methods by which it might bo 
 relieved ; and by setting aside regularly some small percent- 
 age of my income, to assist, as one of yourselves, in what one 
 and all we shall have to do ; each of us laying by something, 
 according to our means, for the common service ;• and having 
 amongst us, at last, be it ever so small, a national Store in- 
 stead of a National Debt. Store which, once securely found- 
 ed, will fast increase, provided only you take the pains to 
 understand, and have perseverance to maintain, the ele- 
 mentary principles of Human Economy, which have, of late, 
 not only been lost sight of, but wilfully and formally entombed 
 under pyramids of falsehood. 
 
 And first I beg you most solemnly to convince yourselves 
 of the partly comfortable, partly formidable fact, that your 
 prosperity is in your own hands. That only in a remote de- 
 gree does it depend on external matters, and least of all, on 
 forms of Government. In all times of trouble the first thinff 
 to be done is to make the most of whatever forms of gov- 
 ernment you have got, by setting honest men to work them ; 
 (the trouble, in all probability, having arisen only from the 
 want of such) ; and for the rest, you must in no wise concern 
 yourselves about them : more particularly it would be lost 
 time to do so at this moment, when whatever is popularly 
 said about governments cannot but be absurd, for want of 
 definition of terms. Consider, for instance, the ridiculuous- 
 ness of the division of parties into Liberal " and Con- 
 servative." There is no opposition whatever between those 
 two kinds of men. There is opposition between Liberals and 
 Illiberals ; that is to say, between people who desire liberty, 
 and who dislike it. I am a violent Illiberal ; but it does not 
 follow that I must be a Conservative. A Conservative is a 
 person who wishes to keep things as they are ; and he is op- 
 posed to a Destructive, who wishes to destroy them, or to an 
 Innovator, who wishes to alter them. Now, though I am an 
 Illiberal, there are many tilings I should like to destroy. I 
 should like to destroy most of the railroads in England, and 
 
6 
 
 FOES GLAVIGERA. 
 
 all the railroads in Wales. I should like to destroy and re- 
 build the Houses of Parliament, the National Gallery, and 
 the East end of London ; and to destroy, without rebuilding, 
 the new town of Edinburgh, the north suburb of Geneva, 
 and the city of New STork. Thus in many things I am the 
 reverse of Conservative ; nay, there are some long-established 
 things which I hope to see changed before I die ; but I want 
 still to keep the fields of England green, and her cheeks red ; 
 and that girls should be taught to curtsey, and boys to take 
 their hats off, when a professor or otherwise dignified person 
 passes by : and that kings should keep their crowns on their 
 heads, and bishops their crosiers in their hands ; and should 
 duly recognize the significance of the crown, and the use of 
 the crook. 
 
 As you will find it thus impossible to class me justly in 
 either party, so you will find it impossible to class any per- 
 son whatever, who had clear and developed political opinions, 
 and who could define tliem accurately. Men only associate 
 in parties by sacrificing their opinions, or by having none 
 worth sacrificing ; and the effect of party government is 
 always to develop hostilities and hypocrisies, and to ex- 
 tinguish ideas. 
 
 Thus the so-called Monarchic and Republican parties have 
 thrown Europe into conflagration and shame, merely for 
 want of clear conception of the things they imagine them- 
 selves to fight for. The moment a Republic was proclaimed in 
 France, Garibaldi came to fight for it as a Holy Republic." 
 But Garibaldi could not know, — no mortal creature could 
 know, — whether it was going to be a Holy or Profane Re- 
 public. You cannot evoke any form of government by beat 
 of drum. The proclamation of a Government implies the 
 considerate acceptance of a code of laws, and the appoint- 
 ment of means for their execution, neither of which things 
 can be done in an instant. You may overthrow a govern- 
 ment, and announce yourselves lawless, in the twinkling of 
 an eye, as you can blow up a ship, or upset and sink one. 
 But you can no more create a government with a word, than 
 an iron-clad. 
 
FORS OLA no ERA. 
 
 7 
 
 No ; nor can you even define its character in few words ; 
 the measure of sanctity in it depending on degrees of justice 
 in the administration of law, which are often independent of 
 form altogether. Generally speaking, the community of 
 thieves in London or Paris have adopted Republican Institu- 
 tions, and live at this day without any acknowledged Cap- 
 tain or Head ; but under Robin Hood brigandage in Eng- 
 land, and under Sir John Hawkwood, brigandage in Italy, 
 became strictly Monarchical. Theft could not, merely by that 
 dignified form of government, be made a holy manner of 
 life ; but it was made both dexterous and decorous. The 
 pages of tlie English kniglits under Sir John Hawkwood 
 spent nearly all their spare time in burnishing the knights' 
 armour, and made it always so bright, that they were called 
 the "White Company." And the Notary of Tortona, Azario, 
 tells us of them, that those foragers {furatores,) were more 
 expert than any plunderers in Lombardy. They for the 
 most part sleep by day, and watch by night, and have such 
 plans and artifices for taking towns, that never were the like 
 or equal of them witnessed."* 
 
 The actual Prussian expedition into France merely differs 
 from Sir John's in Italy by being more generally savage, 
 much less enjoyable, and by its clumsier devices for taking 
 towns ; for Sir John had no occasion to burn their libraries. 
 In neither case does the monarchical form of government be- 
 stow any Divine right of theft ; but it puts the available 
 forces into a convenient form. Even with respect to con- 
 venience only, it is not yet determinable by the evidence of 
 history, what is absolutely the best form of government to 
 live under. There are, indeed, said to be republican villages, 
 (towns ?) in America, where everybody is civil, honest, and 
 substantially comfortable ; but these villages have several 
 unfair advantages — there are no lawyers in them, no town 
 councils, and no parliaments. Such republicanism, if possible 
 on a large scale, would be worth fighting for ; though, in my 
 
 * Communicated to me by my friend Mr. Rawdon Brown, of Venice, 
 from hia yet unpublished work * Tfie English in Italy ifi the \Uh Cm^ 
 tury.* 
 
8 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 own private mind, I confess I should like to keep a few law- 
 yers, for the sake of their wigs — and the faces under them— 
 generally very grand when they are really good lawyers — 
 and for their (unprofessional) talk. Also, I should like to 
 have a Parliament, into which people might be elected on con« 
 dition of their never saying anything about politics, that one 
 might still feel sometimes that one was acquainted with an 
 M. P. In the meantime Parliament is a luxury to the British 
 squire, and an honour to the British manufacturer, which you 
 may leave them to enjoy in their own way ; provided only 
 you may make them always clearly explain, when they tax 
 yoU;, what they want with your money ; and that you under- 
 stand yourselves, what money is, and how it is got, and what 
 it is good for, and bad for. 
 
 These matters I hope to explain to you in this and some 
 following letters ; which, among various other reasons, it is 
 necessary that I should write in order that you may make no 
 mistake as to the real economical results of Art teaching, 
 whether in the Universities or elsewhere. I will begin by 
 directing your attention particularly to that point. 
 
 The first object of all work — not the principal one, but the 
 first and necessary one — is to get food, clothes, lodging, and 
 fuel. 
 
 It is quite possible to have too much of all these things. I 
 know a great many gentlemen, who eat too large dinners ; a 
 great many ladies, who have too many clothes. I know there 
 is lodging to spare in London, for I have several houses there 
 myself, which I can't let. And I know there is fuel to spare 
 everywhere, since we get up steam to pound the roads with, 
 while our men stand idle ; or drink till they can't stand, idle, 
 or any otherwise. 
 
 Notwithstanding, there is agonizing distress even in this 
 highly-favoured England, in some classes, for want of food, 
 clothes, lodging, and fuel. And it has become a popular idea 
 among the benevolent and ingenious, that you may in great 
 part remedy these deficiencies by teaching, to these starving 
 and shivering persons, Science and Art. In their way — as I 
 do not doubt you will believe — I am very fond of both ; and 
 
FOBS GLAVIGERA, 
 
 9 
 
 I am sure it will be beneficial for the British nation to be leclr 
 ured upon the merits of Michael Angelo, and the nodes of 
 the Moon. But I should strongly object myself to being lect- 
 ured on eitlier, while I was hungry and cold ; and I suppose 
 the same view of the matter would be taken by the greater 
 number of British citizens in those predicaments. So that, 1 
 am convinced, their present eagerness for instruction in paint- 
 ing and astronomy proceeds from an impression in their minds 
 that, somehow, they may paint or star-gaze themselves into 
 clothes and victuals. Now it is perfectly true that you may 
 sometimes sell a picture for a thousand pounds ; but the 
 chances are greatly against your doing so — much more than 
 the chances of a lottery. In the first place, you must paint a 
 very clever picture ; and the chances are greatly against your 
 doing that. In the second place, you must meet with an 
 amiable picture-dealer ; and the chances are somewhat against 
 your doing that. In the third place, the amiable picture- 
 dealer must meet with a fool ; and the chances are not 
 always in favour even of his doing that — though, as I gave 
 exactly the sum in question for a picture, myself, only the 
 other day, it is not for me to say so. Assume, however, to 
 put the case most favourably, that what with the practical 
 results of the energies of Mr. Cole at Kensington, and the 
 aesthetic impressions produced by various lectures at Cam- 
 bridge and Oxford, the profits of art employment might be 
 counted on as a rateable income. Suppose even that the 
 ladies of the richer classes should come to delight no less in 
 new pictures than in new dresses ; and that picture-making 
 should thus become as constant and lucrative an occupation 
 as dress-making. Still, you know, they can't buy pictures 
 and dresses too. If they buy two pictures a day, they can't 
 buy two dresses a day ; or if they do, they must save in some- 
 thing else. They have but a certain income, be it never so 
 large. They spend that, now ; and you can't get more out 
 of them. Even if they lay by money, the time comes when 
 somebody must spend it. You will find that they do verily 
 spend now all they have, neither more nor less. If ever they 
 seem to spend more, it is only by running in debt and not 
 
10 
 
 FOES GLAVIGERA. 
 
 uaying ; if tliey for a time spend less, some day the overplus 
 must come into circulation. All they have, they spend ; more 
 than that, they cannot at any time : less than that, they can 
 only for a short time. 
 
 Whenever, therefore, any new industry, such as this of 
 picture-making, is invented, of v/hich the profits depend on 
 patronage, it merely means that you have effected a diversion 
 of the current of money in your own favour, and to somebody 
 else's loss. Nothing really has been gained by the nation, 
 though probably much time and wit, as well as sundry peo- 
 ple's senses, have been lost. Before such a diversion can be 
 effected, a great many kind things must have been done ; a 
 great deal of excellent advice given ; and an immense quan- 
 tity of ingenious trouble taken : the arithmetical course of 
 the business throughout, being, that for every penny you are 
 yourself better, somebody else is a penny the worse ; and 
 the net result of the whole precisely zero. 
 
 Zero, of course, I mean, so far as money is concerned. It 
 may be more dignified for working women to paint than to 
 embroider ; and it may be a very charming piece of self-de- 
 nial, in a young lady, to order a liigh art fresco instead of a 
 ball-dress ; but as far as cakes and ale are concerned, it is 
 all the same, — there is but so much money to be got by you, 
 or spent by her, and not one fartiiing more, usually a great 
 deal less, by high art, than by low. Zero, also, observe, I 
 mean partly in a complimentary sense to the work executed. 
 If you have done no good by painting, at least you have done 
 no serious mischief. A bad picture is indeed a dull thing to 
 have in a house, and in a certain sense a mischievous thing ; 
 but it won't blow the roof off. Whereas, of most things 
 which the English, French, and Germans are paid for mak- 
 ing now-a-days, — cartridges, cannon, and the like, — you know 
 the best thing we can possibly hope is that they may be us©* 
 less, and the net result of them, zero. 
 
 The thing, therefore, that you have to ascertain, approxi- 
 mately, in order tp determine on some consistent organiza- 
 tion, is the maximum of wages-fund you have to depend on 
 to start with, that is to say, virtually, the sum of the income. 
 
FOBS GLAVWERA. 
 
 11 
 
 of the gentlemen of England. Do not trouble yourselves at 
 first about France or Germany, or any other foreign coun- 
 try. The principle of Free-trade is, that French gentlemen 
 should employ English workmen, for whatever the English 
 can do better than the French ; and that English gentlemen 
 should employ French workmen, for whatever the French 
 can do better than the English. It is a very right principle, 
 but merely extends the question to a wider field. Suppose, 
 for the present, that France, and every other country but 
 your own, were — what I suppose you would, if you had your 
 way, like them to be — sunk under water, and that England 
 were the only country in the world. Then, how would you 
 live in it most comfortably ? Find out that, and you will 
 then easilv find out liow two countries can exist toirether : 
 or more, not only without need for fighting, but to each 
 other's advantage. 
 
 For, indeed, the laws by which two next-door neigbours 
 might live most happily — the one not being the better for 
 his neighbor's poverty, but the worse, and the better for his 
 neighbor's prosperity — are those also by which it is conven- 
 ient and wise for two parishes, two provinces or two king- 
 doms to live side by side. And the nature of every commer- 
 cial and military operation which takes place in Europe, or 
 in the world, may always be best investigated by supposing 
 it limited to the districts of a single country. Kent and 
 Northumberland exchange hops and coals on precisely the 
 same economical principles as Italy and England exchange 
 oil for iron ; and the essential character of the war between 
 Germany and France may be best understood by supposing 
 it a dispute between Lancashire and Yorkshire for the line 
 of the Kibble. Suppose that Lancashire, having absorbed 
 Cumberland and Cho&hire, and been much insulted and 
 troubled by Yorkshire in consequence, and at last attacked ; 
 and having victoriously repulsed the attack, and retaining 
 old grudges against Yorkshire, about the color of roses, from 
 the 15th century, declares that it cannot possibly be safe 
 ngainst the attacks of Yorkshire any longer, unless it gets 
 the townships of Giggleswick and AVigglesworth, and a for- 
 
12 
 
 FOES CLAVIGERA. 
 
 tress on Pen-y-gent. Yorkshire replying that this is totally 
 inadmissible, and that it will eat its last horse, and perish to 
 its last Yorkshirernan, rather than part with a stone of Gig- 
 gleswick; a crag of Pen-y-gent, or a ripple of Ribbie, — Lan- 
 cashire with its Cumbrian and Cheshire contingents invades 
 Yorkshire, and meeting with much Divine assistance, rav- 
 ages the West Riding, and besieges York on Christmas Day. 
 That is the actual gist of the whole business ; and in the 
 same manner you may see the downright common-sense — i£ 
 any is to be seen — of other human proceedings, by taking 
 them first under narrow and homely conditions. So for the 
 present, we will fancy ourselves, what you tell me you all 
 want to be, independent : we will take no account of any 
 other country but Britain ; and on that condition I will be- 
 gin to show you in my next paper how we ought to live, 
 after ascertaining the utmost limits of the wages-fund, which 
 means the income of our gentlemen ; that is to say, essen- 
 tially, the income of those who have command of the land, 
 and therefore of all food. 
 
 What you call " wages," practically, is the quantity of 
 food which the possessor of the land gives you, to work for 
 him. There is finally, no "capital" but that. If all the 
 money of all the capitalists in tlie whole world were de- 
 stroyed ; the notes and bills burnt, the gold irrecoverably 
 buried, and all the machines and apparatus of manufactures 
 crushed, by a mistake in signals, in one catastrophe ; and 
 nothing remained bwt the land, with its animals and vege- 
 tables, and buildii.gs for shelter, — the poorer population 
 would be very little worse off than they are at this instant ; 
 and their labour, instead of being " limited " by the destruc- 
 tion, would be greatly stimulated. They would feed them- 
 selves from the animals and growing crops ; heap here and 
 there a few tons of ironstone together, build rough w^alls 
 round them to get a blast, and in a fortnight tiiey would 
 have iron tools again, and be ploughing and fighting, just as 
 usual. It is only we who had the capital who would siiiTer ; 
 we should not be able to live idle, as we do now, and many 
 of us — I, for instance — should starve at once : but you, though 
 
FOBS CLAVIOERA, 
 
 13 
 
 little the worse, would none of you be the better, eventually, 
 for our loss — or starvation. The removal of superfluous 
 mouths would indeed benefit you somewhat, for a time ; but 
 you would soon replace them with hungrier ones ; and there 
 are many of us who are quite worth our meat to you in ditf- 
 ferent ways, which I will explain in due place : also I will 
 show you that our money is really likely to be useful to you 
 in its accumulated form, (besides that, in the instances when 
 it has been won by work, it justly belongs to us), so only 
 that you are careful never to let us persuade you into bor- 
 rowing it, and paying us interest for it. You will find a very 
 amusing story, explaining your position in that case, at the 
 117th page of the Manual of Political Economy^ published 
 this year at Cambridge, for your early instruction, in an al- 
 most devotionally catechetical form, by Messrs. Macmillan. 
 
 Perhaps I had better quote it to you entire : it is taken by 
 the author " from the French.'' 
 
 There was once in a village a poor carpenter, who worked 
 hard from morning to night. One day James thought to him- 
 self. With my hatchet, saw, and hammer, I can only make 
 coarse furniture, and can only r^at the pay for such. If I had 
 a plane, I should ])lease my customers more, and they would 
 pay mo more. Yes, I am resolved, I will make myself a 
 plane." At the end of ten days, James had in his possession 
 an admirable plane, which he valued all the more for having 
 made it himself. Whilst he v/as reckoning all the ])rofits 
 which he expected to derive from the use of it, he was inter- 
 rupted by William, a carpenter in the neighbouring village. 
 William, having admired the plane, was struck with the ad- 
 vantages which might bo gained from it. lie said to James : — 
 
 " You must do me a service ; lend me the plane for a year." 
 As might be expected, James cried out, " llow can you think 
 of such a thing, William ? Well, if I do you this service, 
 what will you do for mo in return ?" 
 
 IK Nothing. Don't you know that a loan ought to be 
 gratuitous ? 
 
 J, I know nothing of the sort ; but I do know that if I 
 were to lend you my plane for a year, it would be giving it to 
 you. To tell you the truth, that was not what I made it for. 
 
 TK Very well, then ; J ask you to do me a service ; what 
 service do you ask mc in return ? 
 
14 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 J, First, then, in a year the plane will be done for. You 
 must therefore give me another exactly like it. 
 
 W, That is perfectly just. I submit to these conditions. 1 
 think you must be satisfied with this, and can require nothing 
 further. 
 
 J, I think otherwise. I made the plane for myself, and not 
 for you. I expected to gain some advantage from it. I have 
 made the plane for the purpose of improving my work and my 
 condition ; if you merely return it to me in a year, it is you 
 who will gain the profit of it during the whole of that time. 
 I am not bound to do you such a service without receiving 
 anything in return. Therefore, if you wnsh for my plane, 
 besides the restoration already bargained for, you must give 
 me a new plank as a compensation for the advantages of 
 which I shall be deprived. 
 
 These terms vv^ere agreed to, but the singular part oMt is 
 that at the end of the year, when the plane came into James's 
 possession, he lent it again ; recovered it, and lent it a third 
 and fourth time. It has passed into the hands of his son, 
 who still lends it. Let us examine this little story. The 
 plane is the symbol of all capital, and the plank is the symbol 
 of all interest. 
 
 If this be an abridgement, what a graceful piece of highly 
 wrought literature the original story must be ! I take the 
 liberty of abridging it a little more. 
 
 James makes a plane, lends it to William on 1st January 
 for a year. William gives him a plank for the loan of it, 
 wears it out, and makes another for James, which he gives him 
 on 31st December. On 1st January he again borrows the new 
 one ; and the arrangement is repeated continuously. The 
 position of William therefore is, that he makes a plane every 
 31st of December ; lends it to James till the next day, and 
 pays James a plank annually for the privilege of lending it to 
 him on that evening. This, in future investigations of capi- 
 tal and interest, we will call, if vou please, the position of 
 William.'' 
 
 You may not at the first glance see) wliere the fallacy lies 
 (the writer of this story evidently counts on your not seeing 
 it at all). 
 
 If James did not lend the plane to William, he could only 
 
FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 IS 
 
 get his gain of a plank by working with it himself, and wear- 
 ing it out himself. When he had worn it out at the end of the 
 year, he would, therefore, have to make another for himself. 
 William, working with it instead, gets the advantage instead, 
 which he must, therefore, pay James his plank for ; and re- 
 turn to James, what James would, if he had not lent his plane, 
 then have had ; — not a new plane — but the worn-out oneo 
 James must make a new one for himself, as he would have 
 had to do if no William had e^cisted ; and if William likes to 
 borrow it again for another plank — all is fair. 
 
 That is to say, clearing the story of its nonsense, that 
 James makes a plane annually, and sells it to William for its 
 proper price, which, in kind, is a new plank. But this 
 arrangement has nothing whatever to do with ]>rincipal, or 
 with interest. There are, indeed, many very subtle condi- 
 tions involved in any sale ; one among which is the value of 
 ideas ; I will explain that value to you in the course of time ; 
 (the article is not one which modern political economists 
 have any familiarity with dealings in); and I will tell you 
 somewhat also of tlie real nature of interest ; but if you will 
 only get, for the present, a quite clear idea of " the Position 
 of William," it is all 1 want of you. 
 
 1 remain, your faithful friend, 
 
 JOHN RUSKIN. 
 
 My next letter, I hope, on 1st February. 
 
 LETTER 11. 
 
 Denmark Hill, 
 
 Friends, , Ut Febrvury, 1871. 
 
 Before going farther, you may like to know, and ought 
 to know, what I mean by the title of these Letters ; and why 
 it is in Latin. I can only tell you in part, for the letters will 
 be on many things, if I am able to carry out my plan in 
 them : and that title means many things, and is in Latin, 
 because I could not have given an English one that meant so 
 
16 
 
 FOBS CLAVIQEEA. 
 
 many. We, indeed, were not till lately a loquacious people, 
 nor a useless one ; but the Romans did more, and said less, 
 than any other nation tliat ever lived ; and their language ia 
 the most heroic ever spoken by men. 
 
 Therefore I wish you to know, at least, some words of it, 
 and to recognize what thougiits they stand for. 
 
 Some day, I hope, you may know — and that European 
 workmen may know — many words of it ; but even a few will 
 be useful. 
 
 Do not smile at my saying so. Of Arithmetic, Geometry, 
 and Chemistry, you can know but little, at the utmost ; but 
 that little, well learnt, serves you well. And a little Latiii, 
 well learnt, will serve you also, and in a higher way than any 
 of these. 
 
 Fors " is the best part of three good English words, 
 Force, Fortitude, and Fortune. I wish you to know the 
 meaning of those three words accurately. 
 
 "Force," (in humanity), means power of doing good work. 
 A fool, or a corpse, can do any quantity of mischief ; but 
 only a wise and strong man, or, with what true vital force 
 there is in liim, a weak one, can do good. 
 
 "Fortitude" means the power of bearing necessary pain, 
 or trial of patience, whether by time, or temptation. 
 
 " Fortune " means the necessary fate of a man : the ordi- 
 nance of his life which cannot be changed. To " make your 
 Fortune " is to rule that appointed fate to the best ends of 
 which it is ca'pable. 
 
 Fors is a feminine word ; and Clavigera is, therefore, the 
 feminine of " Claviofer." 
 
 Clava means a club. Clavis, a key. Clavus, a nail, or a 
 rudder. 
 
 Gero means "I carry." It is the root of our word "gest* 
 ure" (the way you carry yourself); and, in a curious bye- 
 way, of "jest." 
 
 Clavigera may mean, therefore, either Club-bearer, Key- 
 bearer, or Nail-bearer. 
 
 Each of these three possible meanings of Clavigera cor- 
 responds to one of the three meanings of Fors. 
 
FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 17 
 
 Fors, the Club-bearer, means the strength of Hercules or 
 of Deed. 
 
 Fors, the Key-bearer, means the strength of Ulysses, or of 
 Patience. 
 
 Fors, the Nail-bearer, means the strength of Lycurgus, or 
 of Law. 
 
 I will tell you what you may usefully know of those three 
 Greek persons in a little time. At present, note only of the 
 three powers : 1. That the strength of Hercules is for deed, 
 not misdeed ; and that his club — the favourite weapon, also, 
 of the Athenian hero Theseus, whose form is the best inheri- 
 tance left to us by the greatest of Greek sculptors, (it is in 
 the Elgin room of the British Museum, and I shall have 
 much to tell you of him — especially how he helped Hercules 
 in his utmost need, and how he invented mixed vegetable 
 soup) — was for subduing monsters and cruel persons, and 
 was of olive-wood. 2. That the Second Fors Clavigera is 
 portress at a gate which she cannot open till you have waited 
 long ; and that her robe is of the color of ashes, or dry earth.* 
 3. That the Third Fors Clavigera, the power of Lycurgus, is 
 Royal as well as Legal ; and that the notablest crown yet ex- 
 isting in Europe of any tliat have been worn by Christian 
 kings, was — people say — made of a Nail. 
 
 That is enough about my title, for this time ; now to our 
 work. I told you, and you will find it true, that, practically, 
 all wages mean the food and lodging given you by the pos- 
 sessors of the land. 
 
 It begins to be asked on many sides how the possessors of 
 the land became possessed of it, and why they should still 
 possess it, more than you or 1 : and Ricardo's Theory " of 
 Rent, though, for an economist, a very creditably ingenious 
 work of fiction, will not much longer be imagined to explain 
 the " Practice " of Rent. 
 
 The true answer, in this matter, as in all others, is the best. 
 Some land has been bought ; some, won by cultivation : but 
 the greater part, in Europe, seized originally by force of hand 
 
 * See Carey's traaslation of the ninth book of Dante's Purgatory, line 
 105. 
 
 2 
 
18 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 You may think, in that case, you would be justified in try- 
 ing to seize some yourselves, in the same way. 
 
 If you could, you, and your children, would only hold it 
 by the same title as its present holders. If it is a bad one, 
 you had better not so hold it ; if a good one, you had better 
 let the present holders alone. 
 
 And in any case, it is expedient that you should do so, for 
 the present holders, whom we may generally call *' Squires,'' 
 (a title having three meanings, like Fors, and all good ; 
 namely. Rider, Shield-bearer, and Carver), are quite the best 
 men you can now look to for leading : it is too true that they 
 have much demoralized themselves lately by horse-racing, bird- 
 shooting, and vermin-hunting ; and most of all by living in 
 London, instead of on their estates ; but they are still without 
 exception brave ; nearly without exception, good-natured ; 
 honest, so far as they understand honesty, and much to be 
 depended on, if once you and they understand each other. 
 
 Which you are far enough now from doing ; and it is im- 
 minently needful that you should : so we will have an accu- 
 rate talk of them soon. The needfuUest thinof of all first is 
 that you should know the functions of the persons whom 3^ou 
 are being taught to think of as your protectors against the 
 Squires ; — your Employers," namely ; or Capitalist Sup- 
 porters of Labour. 
 
 Employers." It is a noble title. If, indeed, they have 
 found you idle, and given you employment, wisely, — let us 
 no more call them mere "Men" of Business, but rather "An- 
 gels " of Business : quite the best sort of Guardian Angel. 
 
 Yet are you sure it is necessary, absolutely, to look to su- 
 perior natures for employment ? Is it inconceivable that you 
 should employ — yourselves ? I ask the question, because 
 these Seraphic beings, undertaking also to be Seraphio 
 Teachers or Doctors, have theories about employment which 
 may perhaps be true in their own celestial regions, but are 
 inapplicable under worldly conditions. 
 
 To one of these principles, announced by themselves as 
 highly important, I must call your attention closely, because 
 it has of late been the cause of much embarrassment among 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 19 
 
 persons in a sub-seraphic life. I take its statement verbatim, 
 from the 25th page of the Cambridge catechism before quoted*^ 
 
 This brings us to a most important proposition respecting capital, 
 one which it is essential that the student should thoroughly understand. 
 
 ^* The proposition is this — A demand for commodities is not a demand 
 for labour. 
 
 ''The demand for labour depends upon the amount of capital; the 
 demand for commodities simply determines in what direction labour 
 shall be employed. 
 
 "An example. — The truth of these assertions can best be shown by 
 examples. Let us suppose that a manufacturer of woollen cloth is in 
 the habit of speiiding 50(^. annually in lace. What does it matter, say 
 some, whether ho spends this 30/. in lace or whether he uses it to em- 
 ploy more labourers in his own business ? Does not the 50/. spent in 
 lace maintain the labourers who make the lace, just the same as it 
 would maintain the labourers who make cloth, if the manufacturer 
 used the money in exteudiug his own business? If he ceased buying 
 the lace, for the sake of employing more clothmakers, would there not 
 be simply a transfer of the 50^. from the lacemakers to the clothmakers ? 
 In order to find the right answer to these questions let us imagine what 
 would actually take place if the maimfacturer ceased buying the lace, 
 and employed the 51)/. in paying the wages of an additional number of 
 clothmakers. The lace manufacturer, in consequence of the diminished 
 demand for lace, would diniiui.sh the production, and would withdraw 
 from his business an amount of caiiital corresponding to the diminished 
 demand. As there is no reason to suppose that the lacemaker would, 
 on losing some of his custom, become more extravagant, or would cease 
 to derive income from the capital which the diminished demand has 
 caused him to withdraw from his own business, it may be assumed that 
 he would invest this capital in some other industiy. This capital is not 
 the same as that which his former customer, the woollen cloth manu 
 facturer, is now paying his oynx labourers with ; it is a second capital ; 
 and in the place of 50^. employed in maintaining labour, there is now 
 100/. so employed. There is no transfer from lacemakers to clothmakers. 
 There is fresh employment for the clothmakers and a transfer from the 
 lacemakers to some other labourers.*' — {Principles of PoliticaL Economy ^ 
 ▼oL 1, p. 102.) 
 
 This is very fine ; and it is clear that we may carry for- 
 ward the improvement in our commercial arrangements by 
 recommending all the other customers of the lacemaker to 
 treat him as tiie cloth maker has done. Whereupon he of 
 course leaves the lace business entirely, and uses all his capi- 
 
20 FOBS CLAVIGEEA, 
 
 tal in '^some other industry." Having thus established the 
 lacemaker with a complete " second capital," in the other in^ 
 dustrj, we will next proceed to develope a capital out of tlie 
 clothmaker, bj recommending all his customers to leave him. 
 Whereupon, he will also invest his capital in '''some other 
 industry," and we have a Third capital, employed in the Na- 
 tional benefit. 
 
 We will now proceed in the round of all possible busi- 
 nesses, developing a correspondent number of new capitals^ 
 till we come back to our friend the lacemaker again, and find 
 him employed in whatever his new industry was. By now 
 taking away again all his new customers, we begin tlie de- 
 velopment of another order of Capitals in a higher Seraphio 
 circle — and so develope at last an Infinite Capital ! 
 
 It would be difficult to match this for simplicity ; it is 
 more comic even than the fable of James and William, 
 though you may find it less easy to detect the fallacy here ; 
 but the obscurity is not because the error is less gross, but 
 because it is threefold. Fallacy 1st is the assumption that 
 a clothmaker may employ any number of men, whether he 
 has customers or not ; while a lacemaker must dismiss his 
 men if he has not customers. Fallacy 2nd. That when a 
 lacemaker can no longer find customers for lace, he can 
 always find customers for something else. Fallacy 3rd (the 
 essential one). That the funds provided by these new- 
 customers, produced seraphically from the clouds, are a 
 "second capital." Those customers, if they exist now, 
 existed before the lacemaker adopted his new" business ; and 
 were the employers of the people in that business. If the 
 lacemaker gets them, he merely diverts their fifty pounds 
 from the tradesmen they were before employing, to himself ; 
 and that is Mr. Mill's " second capital." 
 
 Underlying these three fallacies, however, there is in the 
 mind of *'the greatest thinker of England," some conscious- 
 ness of a partial truth, which he has never yet been able to 
 define for himself — still less to explain to others. The reaJ 
 root of them is his conviction that it is beneficial and profit- 
 able to make broadcloth ; and unbeneficial and unprofitable to 
 
FOBS GLAVIGERA. 21 
 
 make lace ;* so that the trade of clothmaking should be in* 
 finitely extended, and that of lacemaking infinitely repressed. 
 Which is, indeed partially true. Making cloth, if it be well 
 made, is a good industry ; and if you had sense enough 
 to read your Walter Scott thoroughly, I should invite you to 
 join me in sincere hope that Glasgow might in that industry 
 long flourish ; and the chief hostelry at Aberfoil be at the 
 sign of the "Nicol Jarvie." Also, of lacemakers, it is often 
 true that they had better be doing something else. I admit 
 it, with no good will, for I know a most kind lady, a clergy- 
 man's wife, who devotes her life to the benefit of her country 
 by employing lacemakers ; and all her friends make presents 
 of collars and cuffs to each other for the sake of charity; and 
 as, if they did not, the poor girl lacemakers would probably 
 indeed be " diverted " into some other less divertins" industrv, 
 in due assertion of the rights of women, (cartridge-filling, or 
 percussion-cap making, most likely) I even go to the length, 
 sometimes, of furnishing my friend with a pattern, and never 
 say a word to disturb her young customers in their convic- 
 tion that it is an act of Christian charity to be married in 
 more than ordinarily expensive veils. 
 
 But there is one kind of lace for which I should be glad 
 that the demand ceased. Iron lace. If we must even doubt 
 whether ornamental thread-work may be, wisely, made on 
 cushions in the sunshine, by dexterous fingers for fair shoul- 
 ders, — how are we to think of Ornamental Iron-worlc, made 
 with deadly sweat of men, and steady waste, all summer 
 through, of the coals that Earth gave us for winter fuel ^ 
 What shall we say of labour spent on lace such as that? 
 
 Nay, says the Cambridge Catechism, "the demand for 
 commodities is not a demand for labour." 
 
 Doubtless, in the economist's new earth, cast iron will be 
 had for asking ; the hapless and brave Parisians find it even 
 rain occasionally out of the new economical Heavens, withoid 
 
 * 1 assume the Cambridge quotation to be correct: in ray old edition, 
 (1848), the distinction is between " weavers and lacemakers'* and '•jour- 
 neymen bricklayers;'* and making velvet is considered to be the pro- 
 duction of a commodity but building a house only doing a '* service." 
 
22 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 asking. Gold will also one day, perhaps, be begotten of gold^ 
 until the supply of that, as well as of iron, may be, at least, 
 equal to the demand. But, in this world, it is not so yet. 
 Neither thread-lace, gold-lace, iron-lace, nor stone-lace, 
 whether they be commodities or incommodities, can be had 
 for nothing. How much, think you, did the gilded flourishes 
 cost round the gas-lamps on Westminster Bridge ? or the 
 stone-lace of the pinnacles of the temple of Parliament at the 
 end of it, (incommodious enough, as I hear ;) or the point- 
 lace of the park-railings which you so improperly pulled 
 down, when you wanted to be parliamentary yourselves ; 
 (much good you would have got of that !) or the " openwork " 
 of iron railings generally — the special glories of English de- 
 sign ? Will you count the cost, in labour and coals, of the 
 blank bars ranged along all the melancholy miles of our sub- 
 urban streets, saying with their rusty tongues, as plainly as 
 iron tongues can speak, " Thieves outside, and nothing to 
 steal wit?iin." A beautiful wealth they are ! and a productive 
 capital J " Well but," you answer, "the making them was 
 work for us." Of course it was ; ii? not that the very thing 
 I am telling you ! Work it was; 
 and too much. But will you be 
 good enough to make up your 
 minds, once for all, whether it is 
 really work that you want, or 
 rest ? r thought you rather ob- 
 jected to your quantity of work ; 
 — that you were all for having 
 eight hours of it instead of ten ? 
 You may have twelve instead of 
 ten easily. Sixteen, if you like ! 
 if it is only occupation you want^ 
 why do you cast the iron ? Forge 
 it in the fresh air, on a work- 
 man's anvil ; make iron-lace like 
 this of Verona, — 
 every link of it swinging loose like a knight's chain mail : 
 then you may have some joy of it afterwards, and pride ; and 
 
FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 23 
 
 sa}'" you knew the cunning* of a man's right hand. But 1 
 think it is pay that you want, not work ; and it is very true 
 that pretty ironwork like that does not pay ; but it is pretty, 
 and it might even be entertaining, if you made those leaves 
 at the top of it (which are, as far as I can see, only artichoke, 
 and not very well done) in the likeness of all the beautiful 
 leaves you could find, till you knew them all by heart. 
 " Wasted time and hammer-strokes," say you ? "A wise 
 people like the English will have nothing but spikes ; and 
 besides, the spikes are highly needful, so many of the wise 
 people being thieves." Yes, that is so ; and, therefore, 
 in calculating the annual cost of keeping your thieves, you 
 must always reckon, not only the cost of the spikes that keep 
 them in, but of the spikes that keep them out. But how if, 
 instead of flat rough spikes, you put triangular polished ones, 
 commonly called bayonets ; and instead of the perpendicular 
 bars put perpendicular men ? What is the cost to you then, 
 of your railing, of which you must feed the idle bars daily ? 
 Costly enough, if it stays quiet. But how, if it begin to 
 march and countermarch ? and apply its spikes horizontally? 
 
 And now note this that follows ; it is of vital importance 
 to you. 
 
 There are, practically, two absolutely opposite kinds of 
 labour going on among men, for ever.* 
 
 The first, labour su})ported by Capital, producing nothing. 
 
 The second, labour unsupported by Capital, producing all 
 things. 
 
 Take two simple and precise instances on a small scale. 
 
 A little while since I was paying a visit in Ireland, and 
 chanced to hear an account of the pleasures of a picnic party, 
 who had gone to see a waterfall. There was of course ample 
 lunch, feasting on the grass, and basketsfuU of fragments 
 taken up afterwards. 
 
 * I do not mean that there are no other kinds, nor that well-paid la- 
 bour must necessarily be unproductive. I hope to see much done, some 
 day, for just pay, and wholly productive. But these, named in the 
 text, are the two opposite extremes ; and, in actual life hitherto, the 
 largest means have been usually spent in mischief, and the most useful 
 work done for the worst pay. 
 
24 
 
 F0R8 CLAYIGERA, 
 
 Then the company, feeling themselves dull, gave the frag«. 
 ments that remained to the attendant ragged boys, on con- 
 dition that they should pull each other's hair." 
 
 Here, you see, is, in the most accurate sense, employment 
 of food, or capital, in the support of entirely unproductive 
 labour. 
 
 Next, for the second kind. I live at the top of a short 
 but rather steep hill ; at the bottom of v^hich, every day, all 
 the year round, but especially in frost, coal-waggons get 
 stranded, being economically provided with the smallest num- 
 ber of horses that can get them along on level ground. 
 
 The other day, when the road, frozen after thaw, was at 
 the worst, my assistant, the engraver of that bit of iron-work 
 on the 22nd page, was coming up here, and found three coal- 
 waggons at a lock, helpless ; the drivers, as usual, explaining 
 Political Economy to the horses, by beating them over the 
 heads. 
 
 There were half-a-dozen fellows besides, out of work, or not 
 caring to be in it — standing by, looking on. My engraver 
 put his shoulder to a wheel (at least his hand to a spoke), and 
 called on the idlers to do as much. They didn't seem to have 
 thought of such a thing, but were ready enough when called 
 on. " And we went up screaming," said Mr. Burgess. 
 
 Do you suppose that was one whit less proper human work 
 than going up a hill against a battery, merely because, in 
 that case, half of the men would have gone down, screaming, 
 instead of up ; and those who got up would have done no 
 good at the top ? 
 
 But observe the two opposite kinds of labour. The first, 
 lavishly supported by Capital, and producing Nothing. The 
 second, unsupported by any Capital whatsoever, — not having 
 so much as a stick for a tool — but, called by mere goodwill, 
 out of the vast void of the world's Idleness, and producing 
 the definitely profitable result of moving a weight of fuel 
 some distance towards the place where it was wanted, and 
 sparing the strength of overloaded creatures. 
 
 Observe further. The labour producing no useful result 
 was demoralizing. All such labour is. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 26 
 
 The labour producing useful result was educational in its 
 influence on the temper. All such labour is. 
 
 And the first condition of education, the thing you are all 
 crying out for, is being put to wholesome and useful work. 
 And it is nearly the last condition of it, too ; you need very 
 little more ; but, as things go, there will yet be difficulty in 
 getting that. As things have hitherto gone, the difficulty 
 has been to avoid getting the reverse of that. 
 
 For, during the last eight hundred years, the upper classes 
 of Europe have been one large Picnic Party. Most of them 
 have been religious also ; and in sitting down, by companies,, 
 upon the green grass, in parks, gardens, and the like, have 
 considered themselves commanded into that position by 
 Divine authority, and fed with bread from Heaven : of which 
 they duly considered it proper to bestow the fragments in 
 support, and the tithes in tuition, of the poor. 
 
 But, without even such small cost, they migJit have taught 
 the poor many beneficial things. In some places, they have 
 taught them manners, which is already mucii. They might 
 have cheaply taught them merriment also : — dancing and 
 singing, for instance. The young English ladies who sit 
 nightly to be instructed, themselves, at some cost, in melo- 
 dies illustrative of the consumption of La Traviata, and the 
 damnation of Don Juan, might have taught every girl peas- 
 ant in England to join in costless choirs of innocent song. 
 Here and there, perhaps, a gentleman might have been found 
 able to teach his peasantry some science and art. Science 
 and fine art don't pay ; but they cost little. Tithes — not of 
 the income of the country, but of the income, say, of its 
 brewers — nay, probably the sum devoted annually by Eng- 
 land to provide drugs for the adulteration of its own beer, — 
 would have founded lovely little museums, and perfect libra- 
 ries, in ev^ery village. And if here and there an English 
 churchman had been found (such as Dean Stanley) willing 
 to explain to peasants the sculpture of his and their own ca* 
 thedral, and to read its black letter inscriptions for them ; 
 and, on warm Sundays, when they were too sleepy to attend 
 to anything more proper — to tell them a story about some of 
 
26 
 
 FOnS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 the people who had built it, or lay buried in it — we perhaps 
 might have been quite as religious as we are, and yet need 
 not now have been offering prizes for competition in art 
 schools, nor lecturing with tender sentiment on the inimi- 
 tableness of the works of Fra Angelico. 
 
 These things the great Picnic Party might have taught 
 without cost, and with amusement to themselves. One thing, 
 at least, they were bound to teach, whether it amused them 
 or not ; — how, day by day, the daily bread they expected 
 their village children to pray to God for, might be earned in 
 accordance with the laws of God. This they might have 
 taught, not only without cost, but with great gain. One 
 thing only they Have taught, and at considerable cost. 
 
 They have spent four hundred millions of pounds * here in 
 England within the last tw^enty years ! — how much in France 
 and Germany, I will take some pains to ascertain for you, — ■ 
 and with this initial outlay of capital, have taught the peas- 
 ants of Europe — to pull each other's hair. 
 
 With this result, 17th January, 1871, at and around the 
 chief palace of their own pleasures, and the chief city of their 
 delights : 
 
 " Each demolished house has its own legend of sorrow, of pain, and 
 horror ; each vacant doorway speaks to the eye, and almost to the ear, 
 of hasty flight, as armies or fire came — of weeping women and trem- 
 bling children running away in awful fear, abandoning the home that 
 saw their birth, the old house they loved — of startled men seizing 
 quickly under each arm their most valued goods, and rushing, heavily 
 laden, after their wives and babes, leaving to hostile hands the task of 
 burning all the rest. When evening falls, the wretched outcasts, worn 
 with fatigue and tears, reach Versailles, St. Germain, or some other 
 place outside the range of fire, and there they beg for bread and shelter, 
 homeless, f oodless, broken with despair. And this, remember, has been 
 the fate of something like a hundred thousand people during the last 
 four months. Versailles alone has about fifteen thousand such fugitives 
 
 * £992,740,328, in seventeen years, say the working men of Burnley, 
 in their address just issued — an excellent address in its way, and full of 
 very fair arithmetic— if its facts are all right ; only I don't see, myselt 
 how from fifteen to twenty-five millions per annum," make nine hun? 
 dred and ninety-two millions in seventeen yearg. 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 27 
 
 io keep alive, all ruined, all hopeless, all vaguely asking the grim future 
 what still worse fate it may have in stor« for them." — Daily Telegrap\ 
 Jan. 17th, 1871. 
 
 That is the result round their pleasant city, and this within 
 their industrious and practical one : let us keep for the refer- 
 ence of future ages, a picture of domestic life, out of the 
 streets of London in her commercial prosperity, founded on 
 the eternal laws of Supply and Demand, as applied by the 
 modern Capitalist : 
 
 A father in the last stage of consumption — two daughters nearly 
 marriageable with hardly sufficient rotting clothing to * cover their 
 Bhame.* The rags that hang around their attenuated frames flutter in 
 strips against their naked legs. They have no stool or chair upon which 
 they can sit. Their father occupies the only stool in the room. They 
 have no employment by which they can earn even a pittance. They ara 
 at home starving on a half -chance meal a day, and hiding their ragged- 
 ness from the world. The walls are bare, there is one bed in the room, 
 and a bundle of dirty rags are upon it. The dying father will shortly 
 follow the dead mother, and when the parish coffin encloses his wasted 
 form, and a pauper's grave closes above him, what shall be his daughters' 
 lot ? This is but a type of many other homes in the district : dirt, mis- 
 ery, and disease alone flourish in that wretched neighborhood. * Fever 
 and small-pox rage,' as the inhabitants say, ' next door, and next door, 
 and over the way, and next door to that, and further down.* The liv- 
 ing, dying, and dead are all huddled together. The houses have no 
 ventilation, the back yards are receptacles for all sorts of filth and rub- 
 bish, the old barrels or vessels that contain the supply of water are 
 thickly coated on the sides with slime, and there is an undisturbed de- 
 posit of mud at the bottom. There is no mortuary house — the dead lie 
 in the dog-holes where they breathed their last, and add to the contagion 
 which spreads through the neighborhood." — Vail JfaU Gazette^ January 
 7th, 1871, quoting the Builder, 
 
 As I was revising this sheet, — on tlie evening of the 20th 
 <3f last month, — two slips of paper were brought to nie. One 
 contained, in consecutive paragraphs, an extract from the 
 speech of one of the best and kindest of our public men, to 
 the " Liberal Association " at Portsmouth ; and an account 
 of the performances of the 35-ton gun called the " WooJwich 
 infant," which is fed with 700 pound shot, and 130 pounds of 
 gunpowder at one mouthful ; not at all like the Wapping 
 
28 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 infants, starving on a half-chance meal a day. " The gun 
 was fired with the most satisfactory result," nobody being 
 hurt, and nothing damaged but the platform, while the shot 
 passed through the screens in front at the rate of 1,303 feet 
 per second : and it seems, also, that the Woolwich infant has 
 not seen the light too soon. For Mr. Cowper-Temple, in the 
 preceding paragraph, informs the Liberals of Portsmouth, 
 that in consequence of our amiable neutrality, " we must 
 contemplate the contingency of a combined fleet coming from 
 the ports of Prussia, Russia, and America, and making an 
 attack on England." 
 
 Contemplating myself these relations of Russia, Prussia, 
 Woolwich, and Wapping, it seems to my uncommercial mind 
 merely like another case of iron railings — thieves outside, 
 and nothing to steal within. But the second slip of paper 
 announced approaching help in a peaceful direction. It was 
 the prospectus of the Boardmen's and General Advertising 
 Co-operative Society, which invites, from the " generosity 
 of the public, a necessary small preliminary sum," and, "in 
 addition to the above, a small sum of money by way of 
 capital," to set the members of the society up in the profit- 
 able business of walking about London between two boards. 
 Here is at last found for us, then, it appears, a line of life ! 
 At the West End, lounging about the streets, with a well- 
 made back to one's coat, and front to one's shirt, is usually 
 thought of as not much in the way of business ; but, doubt- 
 less, to lounge at the East End about the streets, with one 
 Lie pinned to the front of you, and another to the back of 
 you, will pay, in time, only with proper preliminary ex- 
 penditure of capital. My friends, I repeat my question : Do 
 you not think you could contrive some little method of em- 
 ploying — yourselves ? for truly I think the Seraphic Doctors 
 are nearly at their wits' end (if ever their wits had a begin- 
 ning). Tradesmen are beginning to find it difficult to live 
 by lies of their own ; and workmen will not find it much 
 easier to live, by walking about, flattened between other 
 people's. 
 
 Think over it. On the first of Miirch, I hope to ask you to 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 29 
 
 read a little history with me ; perhaps, also, because the 
 world's time, seen truly, is but one long and fitful April, in 
 which every day is All Fool's day, — we may continue our 
 studies in that month ; but on the first of May, you shall 
 consider with me what you can do, or let me, if still living, 
 tell you what I know you can do — those of you, at least, who 
 will promise — (with the help of the three strong Fates), these 
 three things : 
 
 1. To do your own work well, whether it be for life or 
 death. 
 
 2. To help other people at theirs, when you can, and seek 
 to avenge no injury. * 
 
 3. To be sure you can obey good laws before you seek to 
 alter bad ones. 
 
 Believe me. 
 
 Your faithful friend, 
 
 JOHN RUSKIN. 
 
 LETTER ITT. 
 
 Denmark Hill, 
 
 My Friends, Ut March, 1871. 
 
 We are to read — with your leave — some history to-day ; 
 the leave, however, will ]'>erhaps not willingly be given, for 
 you may think that of late you have read enough history, or 
 too much, in Gazettes of morning and evening. No ; you 
 have read, and can read, no history in these. Reports of 
 daily events, yes ; — and if any journal would limit itself to 
 statements of well-sifted fact, making itself not a *'news" 
 paper, but an " olds " pa})cr, and giving its statements 
 tested and true, like old wine, as soon as things could be 
 known accurately ; choosing also, of the many tilings that 
 might be known, those which it was most vital to know, and 
 summing them in few words of pure English, — I cannot say 
 whether it would ev3r pay well to sell it ; but I am sure it 
 would pay well to read it, and to read no other. 
 
 But even so, to know only what was happening day bj 
 
80 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 day, would not be to read history. What happens now 
 but the momentary scene of a great play, of which you can 
 understand nothing without some knowledge of the former 
 action. And of that, so great a play is it, you can at best 
 understand little ; yet of history, as of science, a little, well 
 known, will serve you much, and a little, ill known, will do 
 you fatally the contrary of service. 
 
 For instance, all your journals will be full of talk, for 
 months to come, about whose fault the war was ; and you 
 yourselves, as you begin to feel its deadly recoil on your own 
 interests, or as you comprehend better the misery it has 
 brought on others, will be looking about more and more rest- 
 lessly for some one to accuse of it. That is because you 
 don't know the law of Fate, nor the course of history. It is 
 the law or Fate that we shall live, in part, by our own efforts, 
 but in the greater part, by the help of others ; and that we 
 shall also die, in part, for our own faults ; but in the greater 
 part, for the faults of others. Do you suppose (to take the 
 thing on the small scale in which you can test it) that those 
 seven children torn into pieces out of their sleep, in the last 
 night of the siege of Paris,* had sinned above all the children 
 in Paris, or above yours ? or that their parents had sinned 
 more than you ? Do you think the thousands of soldiers, 
 German and French, who have died in agony, and of women 
 who have died of grief, had sinned above all other soldiers, 
 or mothers, or girls, there and here ? 
 
 It was not their fault, but their Fate. The thing ap- 
 pointed to them by the Third Fors. But you think it was 
 at least the Emperor Napoleon's fault, if not theirs ? Or 
 Count Bismarck's? No; not at all. The Emperor Napo- 
 leon had no more to do with it than a cork on the top of a 
 wave has with the toss of the sea. Count Bismarck had very 
 little to do with it. When the Count sent for my waiter, 
 last July, in the village ot* Lauterbrunnen, among the Alps, 
 — that the waiter then and there packed his knapsack and 
 departed, to be shot, if need were, leaving my dinner un- 
 served (as has been the case with many other people's dinners 
 * Daily Telegraph, 30th January, 1871. 
 
FOHS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 31 
 
 since) — depending on things much anterior to Count Bis- 
 marck. The two men who had most to answer for in the 
 mischief of the matter were St. Louis and his brother, w^ho 
 lived in the middle of the thirteenth century. One, among 
 the very best of men ; and the other, of all that I ever read 
 of, the worst. The good man, living in mistaken effort, and 
 dying miserably, to the ruin of his country ; the bad man 
 living in triumphant good fortune, and dying peaceably, to 
 the ruin of many countries. Such were their Fates, and 
 ours. I am not going to tell you of them, nor anything 
 about the French war to-day ; and you have been told, long 
 ago (only you would not listen, nor believe,) the root of the 
 modern German power — in that rough father of Frederick, 
 who "yearly made his country richer, and this not in money 
 alone (which is of very uncertain value, and sometimes has 
 no value at all, and even less), but in frugality, diligence, 
 punctuality, veracity, — the grand fountains from which 
 money, and all real values and valours, spring for men. 
 As a Nation's IfrisbanrJ, he seeks his fellow among Kings, 
 ancient and modern. Happy the nation which gets such a 
 Husband, once in the half thousand years. The Nation, as 
 foolish wives and Nations do, repines and grudges a good 
 deal, its weak whims and will being thwarted very often ; 
 but it advances steadily, with consciousness or not, in the 
 way of well-doing ; and, after long times, the harvest of this 
 diligent sowing becomes manifest to the Nation, and to all 
 Nations."* 
 
 No such harvest is sowing for you, — Freemen and in- 
 dependent Electors of Parliamentar}' representatives, as you 
 think vourselves. 
 
 Freemen, indeed ! You are slaves, not to masters of any 
 strength or honor ; but to the idlest talkers at that floral end 
 of Westminster bridge. Nay, to countless meaner masters 
 than they. For though, indeed, as early as the year 1102, it 
 was decreed in a council at St. Peter's, Westminster, " that no 
 man for the future should presume to carry on the wicked 
 trade of selling men in the markets, like brute beasts, which 
 * Carlyle's Frederick^ Book IV., chap. iii. 
 
32 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 hitherto had been the common custom of England/' the na 
 less wicked trade of iinderseWmcr men in markets has lasted 
 to this day ; producing conditions of slavery differing from 
 the ancient ones onlv in beino- starved instead of full-fed : 
 and besides this, a state of slavery unheard of among the 
 nations till now, has arisen with us. In all former slaveries, 
 Egyptian, Algerine, Saxon, and American, the slave's com- 
 plaint has been of compulsory loorh. But the modern Po- 
 litico-Economic slave is a new and far more injured species, 
 condemned to Compulsory Idleness^ for fear he should spoil 
 other people's trade ; the beautifully logical condition of the 
 national Theory of Economy in this matter being that, if you 
 are a shoemaker, it is a law of Heaven that you must sell 
 your goods under their price, in order to destroy the trade of 
 other shoemakers ; but if you are not a shoemaker, and are 
 going shoeless and lame, it is a law of Heaven that you must 
 not cut yourself a bit of cowhide, to put between your foot 
 and the stones, because that would interfere with the total 
 trade of shoemaking. 
 
 Which theory, of all the wonderful — ! 
 
 He * Ht * * 
 
 We will wait till April to consider of it ; meantime, here 
 is a note I have received from Mr. Alsager A. Hill, who hav- 
 ing been unfortunately active in organizing that new effort 
 in the advertising business, designed, as it seems, on this 
 loveliest principle of doing nothing that will be perilously 
 productive — was hurt by my manner of mention of it in tlie 
 last number of Fors, I offered accordingly to print any 
 form of remonstrance he would furnish me with, if laconic 
 enough ; and he writes to me, The intention of the Board- 
 men's Society is not, as the writer of Fors Clavigera sug- 
 gests, to ^find a line of life' for able-bodied laborers, but 
 simply, by means of co-operation, to give them the fullest 
 benefit of their labor whilst they continue a very humble but 
 still remunerative calling. See Rule 12. The capital asked 
 for to start the organization is essential in all industrial part- 
 nerships, and in so poor a class of labour as that of street 
 board-carrying could not be supplied by the men themselves. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGEUA. 
 
 33 
 
 Wit respect to the 'lies' alleged to be carried in front and 
 behind, it is rather hard measure to say that mere announce- 
 ments of public meetings or places of entertainments (of which 
 street notices chiefly consist) are necessarily falsehoods." 
 
 To which, I have only to reply that I never said the newly* 
 found line of life was meant for able-bodied persons. Tlie 
 distinction between able- and unable-bodied men is entirely 
 indefinite. There are all degrees of ability for all things ; 
 and a man who can do anything, however little, should be 
 made to do that little usefully. If you can carry about a 
 board with a bill on it, you can carry, not about, but where 
 it is wanted, a board without a bill on it ; which is a much 
 more useful exercise of your inability. Respecting the gen- 
 eral probity, and historical or descriptive accuracy, of adver- 
 tisements, and their function in modern economy, I will in- 
 quire in another place. You see I use none for this book, 
 and shall in future use none for any of my books ; having 
 grave objection even to the very small minority of advertise- 
 ments which are approximately true. I am correcting this 
 sheet in the ''Crown and Thistle" inn at Abingdon, and 
 under my window is a siirill-voiced person, slowdy progres- 
 sive, crying "Soles, three pair for a shillin'.*" In a market 
 regulated by reason and order, instead of demand and sup- 
 ply, the soles would neither have been kept long enough to 
 render such advertisement of them necessary, nor permitted, 
 after their inexpedient preservation, to be advertised. 
 
 Of all attainable liberties, then, be sure first to strive 
 for leave to be useful. Independence you liad better cease to 
 talk of, for you are dependent not only on every act of people 
 whom you never heard of, who are living around you, but on 
 every past act of what has been dust for a tliousand years. 
 So also, does the course of a thousand years to come, depend 
 upon the little perishing strength that is in you. 
 
 Little enough, and perishing, often witliout reward, how- 
 ever w^ell spent. Understand that. Virtue does not consist 
 in doing what will be presently paid, or even paid at all, to 
 you, the virtuous person. It may so chance ; or may not. 
 It ^vill be paid, some day ; but the vital condition of it, aa 
 3 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 virtue, is that it shall be content in its own deed, and desir* 
 ous rather that the pay of it, if any, should be for others; 
 just as it is also the vital condition of vice to be content in its 
 own deed, and desirous that the pay thereof, if any, should 
 be to others. 
 
 You have probably heard of St. Louis before now : and 
 perhaps also that he built the Sainte Chapelle of Paris, of 
 Avhich you may have seen that I wrote the other day to tha 
 Telegraphy as being the most precious piece of Gothic in 
 Northern Europe ; but you are not likely to have known 
 that the spire of it was Tenterden steeple over again, and 
 the cause of fatal sands many, quick, and slow, and above 
 all, of the running of these in the last hour-glass of France ; 
 for that spire, ?-nd others like it, subordinate, have acted 
 ever since as lightning rods, in a reverse manner ; carry- 
 ing, not the fire of heaven innocently to earth., but electric 
 fire of earth innocently to heaven, leaving us all, down here, 
 cold. The best virtue and heart-fire of France (not to say of 
 England, who building her towers for the most part with four 
 pinnacles instead of one, in a somewhat quadrumanous type, 
 finds them less apt as conductors), have spent themselves for 
 these past six centuries in running up those steeples and off 
 them, nobody knows where, leaving a holy Republic " as 
 residue at the bottom ; helpless, clay-cold, and croaking, a 
 habitation of frogs, which poor Garibaldi fights for, vainly 
 raging against the ghost of St. Louis. 
 
 It is of English ghosts, however, that I would fain tell you 
 somewhat to-day ; of them, and of the land they haunt, and 
 know still for theirs. For hear this to begin with : — 
 
 "While the map of France or Germany in the eleventh 
 century is useless for modern purposes, and looks like the 
 picture of another region, a map of England proper in the 
 reign of Victoria hardly differs at all from a map of England 
 proper in the reign of William " (the Conqueror). So says, 
 very truly, Mr. Freeman in his History of the Conquest. Are 
 there any of you who care for this old England, of which the 
 map has remained unchanged for so long? I believe you 
 would care more for her, and less for yourselves, except aa 
 
FOnS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 35 
 
 her faithful children, if you knew a little more about her ; 
 and especially more of what she has been. The difficulty, in- 
 deed, at any time, is in finding out what she has been ; for that 
 which people usually call her history is not hers at all ; but 
 that of her Kings, or the tax-gatherers employed by them, 
 which is as if people were to call Mr. Gladstone's history, or 
 Mr. Lowe's, yours and mine. 
 
 But the history even of her Kings is worth reading. You 
 remember, I said, that sometimes in church it might keep 
 you awake to be told a little of it. For a simple instance, 
 you have heard probably of Absalom's rebellion against his 
 father, and of David's agony at his death, until from very 
 weariness you have ceased to feel the power of the story. 
 You would not feel it less vividly if you knew that a far 
 more fearful sorrow, of the like kind, had happened to one 
 of your own Kings, perhaps the best we have had, take him 
 for all in all. Not one only, but three of his sons, rebelled ^ 
 against /mn, and were urged into rebellion by their mother. 
 The Prince, who should have been King after him, was par- 
 doned, not once, but many times — pardoned wholly, with re- 
 joicing over him as over the dead alive, and set at his fath- 
 er's right hand in the kingdom ; but all in vain. Hard and 
 treacherous to the heart's core, nothing wins him, nothing 
 warns, nothing binds. He flies to France, and wars at last 
 alike against father and brother, till, falling sick through 
 mingled guilt, and shame, and rage, he repents idly as the 
 fever-fire withers him. His father sends him the signet ring 
 from his finger in token of one more forgiveness. The Prince 
 lies down on a heap of ashes with a halter round his neck, 
 and so dies. When his father heard it he fainted away three 
 times, and then broke out into bitterest crying and tears. 
 This, you would have thought enough for the Third dark 
 Fate to have appointed for a man's sorrows. It was little 
 to that which was to come. His second son, who was now 
 his Prince of England, conspired against him, and pursued 
 his father from city to city, in Norman France. At last, 
 even his youngest son, best beloved of all^ abandoned him^ 
 and went over to his enemies. 
 
36 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOERA, 
 
 This was enough. Between him and his children Heaven 
 eommanded its own peace. He sickened and died of grief 
 on the 6th of July, 1189. 
 
 The son who had killed him, " repented " now ; but there 
 could be no signet ring sent to him. Perhaps the dead do 
 not forgive. Men say, as he stood by his father's corpse, 
 that the blood burst from its nostrils. One child only had 
 been faithful to him, but he was the son of a girl whom he 
 had loved much, and as he should not ; his Queen, therefore, 
 being a much older person, and strict upon proprieties, poi- 
 soned her ; nevertheless poor Rosamond's son never failed 
 him ; won a battle for him in England, which, in all human 
 probability, saved his kingdom ; and was made a bishop, and 
 turned out a bishop of the best. 
 
 You know already a little about the Prince who stood un- 
 forgiven (as it seemed) by his father's body. He, also, had 
 to forgive, in his time ; but only a stranger's arrow shot — 
 not those reversed " arrows in the hand of the giant," by 
 which his father died. Men called him Lion-heart," not 
 untruly ; and the English, as a people, have prided them- 
 selves somewhat ever since on having, every man of them, 
 the heart of a lion ; without inquiring particularly either 
 what sort of lieart a lion has, or whether to have the heart of 
 a lamb might not sometimes be more to the purpose. But 
 it so happens that the name was very justly given to this 
 prince ; and I want you to study his character somewhat, 
 with me, because in all our history there is no truer repre- 
 sentative of one great species of the British squire, under all 
 the three significances of the name ; for this Richard of ours 
 was beyond most of his fellows, a Rider and a Shieldbearer ; 
 and beyond all men of his day, a Carver ; and in disposition 
 and tenreasonable exercise of intellectual power, typically a 
 Squire altogether. 
 
 Note of him first, then, that lie verily desired the good of 
 his people (provided it could be contrived without any check 
 of his own humor), and that he saw his way to it a great deal 
 clearer than any of your squires do now. Here are some of 
 his laws for you : — 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 37 
 
 " Having set forth the great inconveniences arising from 
 the diversity of weights and measures in different parts of 
 the kingdom, he, by a law, commanded all measures of corn, 
 and other dry goods, as also of liquors, to be exactly the 
 same in all his dominions ; and that the rim of each of these 
 measures should be a circle of iron. Bv another law, he 
 commanded all clotli to be woven two yards in breadth within 
 the lists, and of equal goodness in all parts ; and that all 
 cloth which did not answer this description should be seized 
 and burnt. He enacted, further, that all the coin of the 
 kingdom should be exactly of the same weight and fineness; 
 — that no Christian should take any interest for money lent; 
 and, to prevent the extortions of the Jews, he commanded 
 that all compacts 'between Christians and Jews should be 
 made in the presence of witnesses, and the conditions of them 
 put in writing." So, you see, in Coeur-de-Lion's day, it was 
 not esteemed of absolute necessity to put agreements be- 
 tween Christia7is in writinor ! Which if it were not now, 
 you know we might save a great deal of money, and dis- 
 charge some of our workmen round Temple Bar, as well as 
 from Woolwich Dockyards. Note also tliat bit about in- 
 terest of money also for future reference. In the next place 
 observe that this King had great objection to thieves — at 
 least to any person whom he clearly comprehended to be a 
 thief. He was the inventor of a mode of treatment wliich I 
 believe the Americans — among whom it has not fallen alto- 
 gether into disuse — do not gratefully enough recognize as a 
 Monarchical institution. By the last of the laws for the 
 government of his fleet in his expedition to Palestine, it is 
 decreed, — ^'That whoever is convicted of theft shall have his 
 head shaved, melted pitch poured upon it, and the featliers 
 from a pillow shaken over it, that he may be known ; and 
 shall be put on shore on the first land whicii the ship touches. 
 And not only so ; he even objected to any theft by misre- 
 presentation or deception, — for being evidently particularly 
 interested, like Mr. Mill, in that cloth manufacture, and hav- 
 ing made the above law about the breadth of the web, which 
 has caused it to be spoken of ever since as "Broad Cloth.'' 
 
88 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 and besides, for better preservation of its breadth, enacted 
 that the Ell shall be of the same length all over the kingdom, 
 and that it shall be made of iron — (so that Mr. Tennvson's 
 provision for National defences — that every shop-boy should 
 strike with his cheating yard-wand home, would be mended 
 much by the substitution of King Richard's holiest ell-wand, 
 and for once with advisable encouragement to the iron trade) 
 — King Richard finally declares — "That it shall be of the 
 same D^oodness in the middle as at the sides, and that no 
 merchant in any part of the kingdom of England shall stretch 
 before his shop or booth a red or black cloth, or any other 
 thing by which the sight of buyers is frequently deceived in 
 the choice of o^ood cloth." 
 
 These being Richard's rough and unreasonable, chancing 
 nevertheless, being wliolly honest, to be wholly right, notions 
 of business, the next point you are to note in him is his un- 
 reasonable good humour ; an eminent character of English 
 Squires ; a very loveable one ; and available to himself and 
 others in many ways, but not altogether so exemplary as 
 many think it. If you are unscrupulously resolved, whenever 
 you can get your own way, to take it ; if you are in a posi- 
 tion of life wherein you can get a good deal of it, and if you 
 have pugnacity enough to enjoy fighting with anybody who 
 will not give it you, there is little reason why you should 
 ever be out of humour, unless indeed your w^ay is a broad 
 one, wherein you are like to be opposed in force. Richard's 
 way was a very narrow one. To be first in battle, (generally 
 obtaining that main piece of his will v/ithout question ; once 
 only worsted, by a French knight, and then, not at all good- 
 humouredly), to be first in recognized command — therefore 
 contending with his father, who was both in wisdom and ac- 
 knowledged place superior; but scarcely contending at all with 
 hisbrother John, who was as definitely and deeply beneath him; 
 good-humoured unreasonably, while he was killing his father, 
 the best of kings, and letting his brother rule unresisted, who 
 was among the worst ; and only proposing for his object in 
 life to enjoy himself everywhere in a chivalrous, poetical, and 
 pleasantly animal manner, as a strong man always may. 
 
FOES CLAVIGERA, 
 
 ^59 
 
 What should he liave been out of humour for ? That he 
 brightly and bravely lived through his captivity is much in- 
 deed to his honour ; but it was his point of honour to be 
 bright and brave ; not at all to take care of his kingdom. 
 A king w\\o cared for that, would have got thinner and sad- 
 der in prison. 
 
 And it remains true of the English squire to this day, that, 
 for the most part, he thinks that his kingdom is given him 
 that he may be bright and brave ; and not at all that the 
 sunshine or valour in him is meant to be of use toliis kingdom. 
 
 But the next point you have to note in Richard is indeed 
 a very noble quality, and true English ; he always does as 
 much of his work as he can with his own hands. He was not 
 in any wise a king who would sit by a wind-mill to watch his 
 son and his men at work, though brave kings have done so. 
 As much as might be, of whatever had to be done, he would 
 stedfastly do from his own shoulder ; his main tool being an 
 old Greek one, and tlie working God Vulcan's — the clearing 
 axe. When that was no longer needful, and nothing would 
 serve but spade and trowel, still the king was foremost ; and 
 after the weary retreat to Ascalon, when he found the place 
 "so completely ruined and deserted, that it afforded neither 
 food, lodging, nor protection," nor any otlier sort of capital, 
 — forthwith, 20th January, 1192 — his army and he set to 
 work to repair it ; a three months' business, of incessant toil, 
 "from which the king himself was not exempted, but wrought 
 with greater ardour than any common labourer." 
 
 The next point of his character is very English also, but 
 . less honourably so. I said but now that lie had a great ob- 
 jection to anybody whom ho clearly comprehended to be a 
 thief. But he had great dilliculty in reaching anything like 
 an abstract definition of thieving, such as would include every 
 method of it, and every culprit, which is an incapacity very 
 common to many of us to this day. For instance, he carried 
 off a great deal of treasure whicli belonged to his father, from 
 Chinon (the royal treasury-town in France), and fortified his 
 own castles in Poitou witn it ; and wlien he wanted mone}^ to 
 go crusading with, sold tne royal castles, manors^ woods, and 
 
40 
 
 FOES CLAVIGERA. 
 
 forests, and even the superiority of the Crown of England 
 over the kingdom of Scotland, which his father had wrought 
 hard for, for about a hundred thousand pounds. Nay, the 
 highest honours and most important offices became venal 
 under him ; and from a Princess's dowry to a Saracen cara- 
 van, nothing comes much amiss : not but that he gives gener- 
 ously also ; whole ships at a time when he is in the humour; 
 but his main practice is getting and spending, never saving ; 
 which covetousness is at last the death of him. For hearing 
 that a considerable treasure of ancient coins and medals has 
 been found in the lands of Vidomar, Viscount of Limoges, 
 Kinof Richard sends forthwith to claim this waif for himself. 
 The Viscount offers liim part only, presumably having an an- 
 tiquarian turn of mind. Whereupon Richard loses his temper, 
 and marches forthwith with some Brabant men, mercenaries, 
 to besiege the Viscount in his castle of Chains ; proposing, 
 first, to possess himself of the antique and otherwise inter- 
 esting coin in the castle, and then, on his general principle 
 of objection to thieves, to hang the garrison. The garrison, 
 on this, offer to give up the antiquities if they may march off 
 tiiemselves ; but Richard declares that nothing will serve but 
 tljey must all be hanged. Whereon the siege proceeding by 
 rule, and Richard looking, as usual, into matters with his 
 own eyes, and going too near the walls, an arrow well meant, 
 though half spent, pierces the strong white shoulder ; the 
 shield-bearing one, carelessly forward above instead of under 
 shield ; or perhaps, rather, w^hen he was afoot, shieldless, 
 engineering. He finishes his w^ork, however, though the 
 scratch teases him ; plans his assault, carries his castle, and 
 duly hangs his garrison, all but the archer, whom in his royal 
 unreasoning way he thinks better of for the well-spent ar< 
 row. But he pulls it out impatiently, and the head of it 
 stays m the fair flesh ; a little surgery follows ; not so skiU 
 ful as the archery of those days, and the lion heart is ap- 
 peased — 
 
 Sixth April, 1199. 
 
 We will pursue our historical studies, if you please, in that 
 month of the present year. But I wish, in tiie meantime, 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 41 
 
 jrou would observe, and meditate on, the quite Anglican 
 character of Ricliard, to his death. 
 
 It miglit have been remarked to him, on his pi'ojecting tlie 
 expedition to Chains,* that there were not a few Roman coins, 
 and other antiquities, to be found in his own kingdom of 
 England, witiiout fighting for them, by mere spade-labour 
 and other innocuous means ; that even the brightest new 
 money was obtainable from his royal people in almost any 
 quantity for civil asking, and that the same loyal people, en- 
 couraged and protected, and above all, kept clean-handed, in 
 tlie arts, by their king, might produce treasures more covet- 
 able than any antiquities. 
 
 No ;" Richard would have answered, — " that is all hypo- 
 thetical and visionary ; here is a pot of coin presently to be 
 had — no doubt about it — inside the walls here: — let me once 
 get hold of that, and then," — 
 
 ^ jfC J}4 Sjl Sj» 
 
 That is what we English call being Practical." 
 
 Believe me, 
 
 Faithfully yours, 
 
 JOHN RUSKIN. 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 Denmark Hill, 
 My Friends, l^"^- 
 
 It cannot but be pleasing to us to reflect, this day, that if 
 we are often foolish enough to talk English without under- 
 standing it, we are often wise enough to talk Latin without 
 knowing it. For this month retains its pretty Roman name, 
 and means the month of Opening ; of the light in the days, 
 and the life in the leaves, and of the voices of birds, and of 
 the hearts of men. 
 
 And being the month of Manifestation, it is pre-eminently 
 the month of Fools ; — for under the beatific influences of 
 moral sunshine, or Education, the Fools always come out 
 first. 
 
42 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 But what is less pleasing to reflect upon, this spring morn- 
 ing, is, that there are some kinds of education which may be 
 described, not as moral sunshine, but as moral moonshine : 
 and that, under these, Fools come cut both First— and Last. 
 
 We have, it seems, now set our opening hearts much on 
 this one point, that we will have education for ail men and 
 women now, and for all boys and girls that are to be. Noth- 
 ing, indeed, can be more desirable, if only we determine also 
 what kind of education we are to have. It is taken for 
 granted that any education must be good ; — that the m.ore 
 of it we get, the better ; that bad education only means little 
 education ; and that the worst thing we have to fear is get- 
 ting none. AlaSj that is not at all so. Getting no education 
 is by no means the worst thing that can happen to us. One 
 of the pleasantest friends I ever had in my life was a Savoy- 
 ard guide, who could only read with difficulty, and write, 
 scarcely intelligibly, and by great effort. He knev/ no lan- 
 guage but his own — no science, except as much practical ag- 
 riculture as served him to till liis fields. But he was, without 
 exception, one of the happiest persons, and, on the whole, 
 one of the best, I have ever known ; and after lunch, when 
 he had had his half bottle of Savoy wine, he would generally, 
 as we walked up some quiet valley in the afternoon light, 
 give me a little lecture on philosophy ; and after I had fa- 
 tigued and provoked him with less cheerful views of the 
 world than his own, he would fall back to my servant behind 
 me, and console himself with a shrug of the shoulders, and a 
 whispered "Le pauvre enfant, ii ne sait pas vivre !" — ("The 
 poor child, he doesn't know how to live.") 
 
 No, my friends, believe me, it is not the going without 
 education at all that we have most to dread. The real thing 
 to be feared is getting a bad one. There are all sorts — good, 
 and very good ; bad, and very bad. The children of rich 
 people often get the worst education that is to be had for 
 money ; the children of the poor often get the best for 
 nothing. And you have really these two things now to de- 
 cide for yourselves in England before you can take one 
 quit© safe practical step in the matter, namely, first, what 
 
F0R3 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 43 
 
 a good education is ; and, secondly, who is likely to give it 
 you. 
 
 What it is ? " Everybody knows that," I suppose you 
 would most of you answer. Of course — to be taught to 
 read, and write, and cast accounts ; and to learn geography, 
 and geology, and astronomy, and chemistry, and German, 
 and French, and Italian, and Latin, and Greek, and the 
 aboriginal Aryan language." 
 
 Well, when you have learned all that, what would you do 
 next. " Next ? Why then we should be perfectly happy, 
 and make as much money as ever we liked, and we would 
 turn out our toes before any company." I am not sure m}^- 
 self, and I don't think you can be, of any one of these three 
 things. At least, as to making you very happy, I know 
 something, myself, of nearly all these matters — not much, 
 but still quite as much as most men under the ordinary 
 chances of life, with a fair education, are likely to get to- 
 gether — and I assure you the knowledge does not make me 
 happy at all. When 1 was a boy I used to like seeing the 
 sunrise. I didn't know, then, there were any spots on the 
 sun ; now I do, and am always frightened lest any more 
 should come. When 1 was a boy, I used to care about 
 pretty stones. I got some Bristol (iiamonds at Bristol, and 
 some dog-tooth spar in Derbyshire ; my whole collection had 
 cost, perhaps three half-crowns, and was worth considerably 
 less ; and I knew nothing whatever, rightly, about any sin- 
 gle stone in it ; — could not even spell their names : but words 
 cannot tell the joy they used to give me. Now, I have a 
 collection of minerals worth, ))eriiaps, from two to three 
 thousand pounds ; and I know more about some of them 
 than most other people. But I am not a whit happier, either 
 for my knowledge, or possessions, for other geologists dis- 
 pute my theories, to my grievous indignation and discon- 
 tentment ; and I am miserable about all my best specimens, 
 because there are better in the British Museum. 
 
 No, I assure you, knowledge by itself will not make you 
 happy ; still less will it make you rich. Perhaps you thought 
 I was writing carelessly when I told you, last month, " sci- 
 
FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 ence did not pay." But you don't know what science is. 
 You fancy it means mechanical art ; and so you have put a 
 statue of Science on the Holborn Viaduct, with a steam- 
 engine regulator in its hands. My ingenious friends, science 
 has no more to do with makino- steam-eno-ines than with 
 making breeches ; though she condescends to help you s 
 little in such necessary (or it may be, conceivably, in both 
 cases, sometimes unnecessary) businesses. Science lives only 
 in quiet places, and with odd people, mostly poor. Mr. Jolm 
 Kepler, for instance, who is found by Sir Henry Wotton ''in 
 the picturesque green country by the shores of the Doriau, 
 in a little black tent in a field, convertible, like a windmill, 
 to all quarters, a camera-obscura, in fact. Mr. John invents 
 rude toys, writes almanacks, practises medicine, for good 
 reasons, his encouragement from the Holy Rotnan Empire 
 and mankind being a pension of 18/. a year, and that hardly 
 ever paid." * That is what one gets by star-gazing, my 
 friends. And you cannot be simple enough, even in April, 
 to think I got my three thousand pounds'-worth of minerals 
 by studying mineralogy ? Not so ; they were earned for me 
 by hard labour ; my father's in England, and many a sun- 
 burnt vineyard-dresser's in Spain. 
 
 " What business had you, in your idleness, with their 
 earnings then ?" you will perhaps ask. None, it may be ; 
 I will tell you in a little while how you may find that out ; 
 it is not to the point now. But it is to the point that you 
 should observe I have not kept their earnings, the portion of 
 them, at least, with which I bought minerals. That part of 
 their earnings is all gone to feed the miners in Cornwall, or 
 on the Hartz Mountains, and I have only got for myself a 
 few pieces of glittering (not always that, but often unseemly) 
 stone, which neither vinedressers nor miners cared for ; which 
 you yourselves w^ould have to learn many hard words, much 
 cramp mathematics, and useless chemistry, in order to care 
 for : which, if ever you did care for, as I do, would most 
 likely only make you envious of the British Museum, and 
 occasionally uncomfortable if any harm happened to your 
 ♦ Carljie, Frederick^ vol. 1, p. o31 (iirr?t editioa). 
 
FORa CLAVIGEliA, 
 
 45 
 
 dear stones. I have a piece of red oxide of copper, for in- 
 stance, which grieves me poignantly by losing its colour ; 
 and a crystal of sulphide of lead, with a chip in it, which 
 causes me a great deal of concern — in April ; because I see 
 it then by the fresh sunshine. 
 
 My oxide of copper and sulphide of lead you will not then 
 wisely envy me. Neither, probably, would you covet a hand- 
 ful of hard brown gravel, with a rough pebble in it, whitish, 
 and about the size of a pea ; nor a few grains of apparently 
 brass fihni2.*s with which the jrravel is mixed. I was but a 
 Fool to give good money for such things, you think ? It may 
 well be. I gave thirty pounds for that handful of gravel, 
 and the miners who found it were ill-paid then ; and it is 
 not clear to me that this produce of their labour was the best 
 possible. Shall we consider of it, with the help of the Cam- 
 bridge Catechism ? at the tenth page of which you will find 
 that Mr. Mill's definition of productive labour is — " That which 
 produces utilities fixed and embodied in material objects." 
 
 This is very fine — indeed, superfine — English ; but I can, 
 perhaps, make the meaning of the Greatest Thinker in Eng- 
 land a little more lucid for you by vulgarizing his terms. 
 
 "Object," you nmst always remember, is fine English for 
 " Thing." It is a semi-Latin word, and properly means a 
 thing " thrown in your way ; " so that if you put " ion " to 
 the end of it, it becomes Objection. We will rather say 
 
 Thing," if you have no objection — you and I. A " Ma- 
 terial" thing, then, of course, signifies something solid and 
 tani2:ible. It is verv necessarv for Political Economists al- 
 ways to insert this word " material," lest people should sup- 
 pose that there was any use or value in Thought or Knowl- 
 edge, and other sucii immaterial objects. 
 
 " Embodied is a particularly elegant word ; but superflu- 
 ous, because you know it would not be possible that a utility 
 should be Disembodied, as long as it was in a material ob- 
 ject. But v/hen you wish to express yourself as thinking in 
 a great manner, you may say — as, for instance, when you are 
 Bupping vegetable soup — tliat your power of doing so con- 
 veniently and gracefully is Embodied " in a spoon. 
 
46 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 Fixed " is, I am afraid, rashly, as well as superfluously 
 introduced into his definition by Mr. Mill. It is conceivable 
 that some Utilities may be also volatile, or planetary, even 
 when embodied. But at last we come to the great word m 
 the great definition — " Utility." 
 
 And this word, I am sorry to say, puzzles me most of all ; 
 for I never myself saw a Utility, either out of the body, oi 
 in it, and should be much embarrassed if ordered to .produce 
 one in either state. 
 
 But it is fortunate for us that all this seraphic language, 
 reduced to the vulgar tongue, will become, though fallen 
 in dignity and reduced in dimension, perfectly intelligible. 
 The Greatest Thinker in England means by these beautiful 
 words to tell you that Productive labour is labour that pro- 
 duces a Useful Thing. Which, indeed, perhaps, you knew 
 — or, without the assistance of great thinkers, might have 
 known, before now. But if Mr. Mill had said so much, sim- 
 ply, you might have been tempted to ask farther — "What 
 things are useful, and what are not ? " And as Mr. Mill does 
 not know, nor any other Political Economist going, — and as 
 they therefore particularly wish nobody to ask them, — it is 
 convenient to say, instead of " useful things," " utilities fixed 
 and embodied in material objects," because that sounds so 
 very like complete and satisfactory information, that one is 
 ashamed, after getting it, to ask for any more. 
 
 But it is not, therefore, less discouraging that for the pres- 
 ent I have got no help towards discovering whether my hand- 
 ful of gravel with the white pebble in it was worth my thirty 
 pounds or not. I am afraid it is not a useful thing to me. 
 It lies at the back of a drawer, locked up all the year round. 
 I never look at it now, for I know all about it : the only sat- 
 isfaction I have for my m.oney is knowing that nobody else 
 can look at it ; and if nobody else wanted to, I shouldn't 
 even have that. 
 
 " What did you buy it for then ?" you will ask. Well if 
 you must have the truth, because I was a Fool, and wanted 
 it. Other people have bought such things before me. The 
 white stone is a diamond, and the apparent brass filings are 
 
FOnn CLA VKJKRA. 
 
 47 
 
 gold dust ; but, I admit, nobody ever yet wanted such things 
 who was in their right senses. Only now, as I have candidly 
 ansv^ered all your questions, will you answer one of mine ? 
 If I hadn't bought it, what would you have had me do with 
 my money ? Keep that in the drawer instead ? — or at my 
 banker's, till it grew out of thirty pounds into sixty and a 
 hundred, in fulfilment of the law respecting seed sown in 
 good ground ? 
 
 Doubtless, that would have been more meritorious for the 
 time. But when I had got the sixty or the liundred pounds 
 — what should I have done with them? The question only 
 becomes doubly and trebly serious ; and all the more, to me, 
 because, when I told you last January that I had bought a 
 picture for a thousand pounds, permitting myself in that folly 
 for your advantage, as I thought, hearing that many of you 
 "wanted art Patronage, and wished to live by painting, — one 
 of your own popular organs, the Liverpool Daily Courier^ 
 of February 9th, said, " it showed want of taste, — of tact," 
 and was something like a mockery," to tell you so ! I am 
 not to buy pictures, therefore, it seems ; — you like to be 
 kept in mines and tunnels, and occasionally blown hither 
 and thither, or crushed flat, rather than live by painting, in 
 good light, and with the chance of remaining all day in a 
 whole and unextended skin ? But what sh<dl J buy, then, 
 with the next thirty pieces of gold I can scrape together ? 
 Precious things have been bought, indeed, and sold, before 
 now for thirty pieces, even of silver, but with doubtful issue. 
 The over-charitable person wlio was bought to be killed at 
 that price, indeed, advised the giving of alms ; but you won't 
 have alms, I suppose — you are so independent, nor go into 
 'alms-houses — (and, truly, 1 did not much wonder, as I walked 
 by the old church of Abingdon, a Sunday or two since, where 
 the alms-houses are set round the churchyard, and under the 
 level of it, and w^th a cheerful view of it, except that the 
 tombstones slio-htlv block the liffht of the lattice-windows ; 
 with beautiful texts from Scripture over the doors, to remind 
 the paupers still more emphatically that, highly blest as they 
 ■were, they were yet mortal) — you won't go into alms-houses \ 
 
FOES CLAVIGERA. 
 
 and all the clergy in London have been shrieking against 
 alms-giving to the lower poor this whole winter long, till I 
 am obliged, whenever T want to give anybody a penny, to 
 look up and down the street first, to see if a clergyman's com- 
 ing. Of course, I know I might buy as many iron railings as 
 I please, and be praised ; but I've no room for them. I can't 
 well burn more coals than I do, because of the blacks, which 
 spoil my books ; and tlie Americans won't let me buy ar>y 
 blacks alive, or else I would have some black dwarfs Vvilh 
 parrots, such as one sees in the pictures of Paul Veronese. 
 I sliould of course like, myself, above all things, to buy a 
 pretty white girl, with a title — and I should get great praise 
 for doing that — only I haven't money enough. White girls 
 come dear, even when one buys them only like coals, for fuel. 
 The Duke of Bedford, indeed, bought Joan of Arc, from the 
 French, to burn, for only ten thousand pounds, and a pension 
 of three hundred a vear to the Bastard of Vendome — and 1 
 could and would have given that for her, and not burnt her; but 
 one hasn't such a chance every day. Will you, any of you, 
 have the goodness — beggars, clergymen, workmen, seraphic 
 doctors, Mr. Mill, Mr. Fawcett or the Political-Economic Pro- 
 fessor of my own University — I challenge you, I beseech you, 
 all and singly, to tell me what I am to do with my money ? 
 
 T mean, indeed, to give you my own poor opinion on the 
 subject in May ; though I feel the more embarrassed in the 
 thought of doing so, because, in this present April, I am so 
 much a fool as not even to know clearly whether I have got 
 any money or not. I know, indeed, that things go on at 
 present as if I had ; but it seems to me that there must be a 
 mistake somewhere, and that some day it will be found out. 
 For instance, I have seven thousand pounds in what we call' 
 the Funds or Founded things; but I am not comfortable 
 about the Founding of them. All that I can see of them is 
 a square bit of paper, with some ugly printing on it, and all 
 that T know of them is that this bit of paper gives me a right 
 to tax you every year, and make you pay me two hundred 
 pounds out of 3'our wages ; which is very pleasant for me ; 
 but lunv long will you be pleased to do so ? Suppose it should 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 49 
 
 occur to you, any summer's day, that 3^ou had better not ? 
 Where would my seven thousand pounds be ? In fact, where 
 are they now? We call ourselves a rich people ; but you see 
 this seven thousand pounds of mine has no real existence — 
 it only means that you, the workers, are poorer by two hun- 
 dred pounds a year than you would be if I hadn't got it. 
 And this is surely a very odd kind of money for a country to 
 boast of. Well, then, besides this, T have a bit of low land 
 at Greenwich, which, as far as I see anything of it, is not 
 money at all, but only mud ; and would be of as little use to 
 me as my handful of gravel in the drawer, if it were not that 
 an ingenious person has found out that he can make chimney- 
 pots of it ; and, every quarter, he brings me fifteen pounds 
 off the price of his chimney-pots ; so that I am always sym- 
 pathetically glad when there's a high wind, because then I 
 know my ingenious friend's business is thriving. But suppose 
 it should come into his head, in any less wnndy month than 
 this April, that he had better bring me none of the price of 
 his chimneys ? And even though he should go on, as I hope 
 lie will, patiently, — (and I alwa3'S give him a glass of wine 
 when he brings me the fifteen pounds), — is this really to be 
 called money of mine? And is the country any richer be- 
 cause, when anybody's chimney-pot is blown down in Green- 
 wich, he must pay something extra, to me, before he can put 
 it on asrain ? 
 
 Then, also, I have some houses in Marylebone, which, 
 though indeed very ugly and miserable, yet, so far as they 
 are actual beams and brick-bats put into shape, I might have 
 imagined to be real property ; only, you know, Mr. Mill says 
 that people who build houses don't produce a commodity, 
 but only do us a service. So I suppose my liouses are not 
 "utilities embodied in material objects" (and indeed they 
 don't look much like it) ; but I know I have the right to 
 keep anybody from living in them unless they pay me ; only 
 suppose some day the Irish faith, that people ought to be 
 lodged for nothing, should become an English one also — • 
 where would my money be? Where is it now, except as a 
 chronic abstraction from other people's earnings? 
 
FOJiS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 So again, I have some land in Yorkshire — some Bank 
 " Stock " (I don't in the least know what that is) — and the 
 like ; but whenever I examine into these possessions, I find 
 they melt into one or another form of future taxation, and 
 that I am always sitting — (if I were working I shouldn't 
 mind, but I am only sitting) at the receipt of Custom, and 
 a Publican as well as a Sinner. And then, to embarrass the 
 business further yet, I am quite at variance with other people 
 about the place where this money, whatever it is, comes from. 
 The Spectator^ for instance, in its article of 25th June of 
 last year, on Mr. Goschen's lucid and forcible speech of 
 Friday week," says that " the country is once more getting 
 rich, and the money is filtering downwards to the actual 
 workers." But whence, then, did it filter down to us, the 
 actual idlers ? This is really a question very appropriate for 
 April. For such golden rain raineth not every day, hut in 
 a showery and capricious manner, out of heaven, upon us ; 
 mostly, as far as I can judge, rather pouring down than filter- 
 ing upon idle persons, and running in thinner driblets, but I 
 hope purer for the filtering process, to the " actual workers." 
 But where does it come from ? and in the times of drought 
 between the showers, where does it go to? "The country 
 is getting rich again," says the Spectator ; but then, if the 
 April clouds fail, may it get poor again ? And when it again 
 becomes poor, — when, last 25th of June, it was poor, — what 
 becomes, or had become, of the money ? Was it verily lost, 
 or only torpid in the winter of our discontent ? or was it sown 
 and buried in corruption, to be raised in a multifold power? 
 When we are in a panic about our money, what do we think 
 is going to happen to it ? Can no economist teach us to 
 keep it safe after we have once got it? nor any "beloved 
 physician," — as I read the late Sir James Simpson is called in 
 Edinburgh — guard even our solid gold against death, or at 
 least, fits of an apoplectic character, alarming to the family? 
 
 All these questions trouble me greatly ; but still to me the 
 strangest point in the whole matter is, that though we idlers 
 always speak as if we were enriched by Heaven, and became 
 ministers of its bounty to you ^ if ever you think the miii- 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 51 
 
 istry slack, and take to definite pillage of us, no good evei 
 comes of it to you ; but the sources of wealth seem to be 
 stopped instantly, and you are reduced to the small gain of 
 making gloves of our skins ; while, on the contrary, as long 
 as we continue pillaging you, there seems no end to the 
 profitableness of the business ; but always, however bare we 
 strip you, presently, more, to be had. For instance — just 
 read this little bit out of Froissart — about the English arm^ 
 in France before the battle of Cre9y : — 
 
 " We will now return to the expedition of the King of 
 England. Sir Godfrey de Harcourt, as marshal, advanced 
 before the King, with the vanguard of five hundred armed 
 men and two thousand archers, and rode on for six or seven 
 leagues' distance from the main army, burning and destroy- 
 ing the country. They found it rich and plentiful, abounding 
 in all things ; the barns full of every sort of corn, and the 
 houses with riches : the inhabitants at their ease, having cars, 
 carts, horses, sv/ine, sheep, and everything in abundance 
 which the country afforded. They seized whatever they 
 chose of all these good tilings, and brought them to the 
 King's army ; but the soldiers did not give any account to 
 their officers, or to those appointed by the King, of the gold 
 and silver they took, which they kept to themselves. When 
 they were come back, with all their booty safely packed in 
 waggons, the Earl of Warwick, the Earl of Suffolk, the Lord 
 Thomas Holland, and the Lord Reginald Cobham, took their 
 march, with their battalion on the right, burning and de- 
 stroying the country in the same way that Sir Godfrey de 
 Harcourt was doing. The King marched, with the main 
 body, between these two battalions ; and every night they 
 all encam})ed together. The King of England and Prince of 
 'Wales had, in their battalion, about three thousand men-at- 
 arms, six thousand archers, ten thousand infantry, without 
 counting those that were under the marshals ; and they 
 marched on in the manner I have before mentioned, burning 
 and destroying the country, but without breaking flieir line 
 of battle. They did not turn towards Coutances, but ad- 
 vanced to St. Lo, in Coutantin, which in those days was a 
 very rich and commercial town, and worth three such towns 
 as (Coutances. In the town of St. Lo was much drapery, and 
 many wealthy inhabitants ; among them you might count 
 
52 
 
 F0R8 GLAVIGEBA. 
 
 eight or nine score that were engaged in commerce. When 
 the King of England was come near to the town, he en* 
 camped ; he would not lodge in it for fear of fire. He sent, 
 therefore, his advanced guard forward, who soon conquered 
 it, at* a trifling loss, and completely plundered it. No one 
 can imagine the quantity of riches they found in it, nor the 
 number of bales of cloth. If there had been any purchasers, 
 they might have bought enough at a very cheap rate. 
 
 " The English then advanced towards Caen, which is a 
 much larger town, stronger, and fuller of draperies and all 
 other sorts of merchandize, rich citizens, noble dames and 
 damsels, and fine churches. 
 
 On this day (Froissart does not say what day) the Eng- 
 lish rose very early, and made themselves ready to march to 
 Caen ; the King heard mass before sunrise, and afterwards 
 mounting his horse, with the Prince of Wales, and Sir God- 
 frey de Harcourt (who was marshal and director of the army), 
 marched forward in order of battle. The battalion of the 
 marshals led the van, and came near to the handsome town 
 of Caen. 
 
 When the townsmen, who had taken the field, perceived 
 the English advancing, with banners and pennons flying in 
 abundance, and saw those archers whom they had not been 
 accustomed to, they were so frightened that they betook 
 themselves to flight, and ran for the town in great disorder. 
 
 " The English, who were after the runaways, made great 
 havoc ; for they spared none. 
 
 "Those inhabitants who had taken refuge in the garrets 
 flung down from them, in these narrow streets, stones, 
 benches, and whatever they could lay hands on ; so that they 
 killed and wounded upwards of five hundred of the English, 
 which so enraged the King of England, when he received the 
 reports in the evening, that he ordered the remainder of the 
 inhabitants to be put to the sword, and the town burnt. But 
 Sir Godfrey de Harcourt said to him : ' Dear sir, assuage 
 somewhat of your anger, and be satisfied with what has al- 
 ready been done. You have a long journey yet to make be- 
 fore you arrive at Calais, whither it is your intention to go : 
 and there are in this town a great number of inhabitants, who 
 will defend themselves obstinately in their houses, if you 
 force them to it : besides, it will cost you many lives before 
 the town can be destroyed, which may put a stop to your ex- 
 pedition to Calais, and it will not redound to your honour 
 
FORS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 therefore be sparing of your men, for in a month's time you 
 will have call for them.' The King replied : 'Sir Godfrey, 
 you are our marshal ; therefore order as you please ; for this 
 time we wish not to interfere.' 
 
 *'Sir Godfrey then rode through the streets, his banner 
 displayed before him, and ordered, in the King's name, that 
 no one should dare, under pain of immediate deatli, to insult 
 or hurt man or woman of tlie town, or attempt to set lire to 
 any part of it. Several of the inhabitants, on hearing thi^ 
 proclamation, received the English into their houses ; and 
 others opened tlieir coffers to them, giving up their all, since 
 they were assured of their lives. However, there were, in 
 spite of these orders, many atrocious thefts and murders 
 committed. The English continued masters of the town for 
 three days ; in this time, they amassed great wealth, wiiich 
 tliey sent in barges down the river of Estreham, to St. Saveur, 
 two leagues off, where their fleet was. The Earl of Hunt- 
 ingdon made prej^arations, therefore, with the two hundred 
 men-at-arms and his four hundred archers, to carry over to 
 England their ri(*hes and prisoners. Tlie King purchased, 
 from Sir Thomas Holland and his companions, tlie constable 
 of France and the Earl of Tancarville, and paid down twenty 
 thousand nobles for them. 
 
 "When the Kino^ had finished his business in Caen, and 
 sent his fleet to England, loaded with cloths, jewels, gold 
 and silver plate, and a quantity of other riches, and upwards 
 of sixty knights, with three hundred able citizens, prisoners ; 
 he then left his quarters and continued his march as before, 
 liis two marshals on his right and left, burning and destroy- 
 ing all the flat country. He took the road to Evreux, but 
 found he could not gain anything there, as it was well forti- 
 fied. He went on towards another town called Louviers, 
 which was in Normandy, and where there were many manu- 
 factories of cloth ; it was rich and commercial. The English 
 won it easily, as it was not inclosed ; and having entered the 
 town, it was plundered without opposition. They collected 
 much wealth there ; and, after they had done what they 
 pleased, they marched on into the county of Evreux, where 
 they burnt everything except the fortified towns and castles, 
 which the King left unattacked, as he was desirous of sparing 
 his men and artillery. He therefore made for the banks of the 
 Seine, in his approach to Rouen, where there were plenty of 
 men-at-arms from Normandy, under the command of the Earl 
 of Harcourt, brother to Sir Godfrey, and the Earl of Dreux. 
 
64 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 " The English did not march direct towards Rouen, but 
 went to Gisors, which has a strong castle, and burnt tho 
 town. After this, they destroyed Vernon, and all the coun- 
 try between Rouen and Pont-de-PArche : they then came to 
 Mantes and Meulan, which they treated in the same manner, 
 and ravaged all the country round about. 
 
 They passed by the strong castle of Roulleboise, and 
 everywhere found the bridges on the Seine broken down. 
 The}' pushed forward until they came to Poissy, where the 
 bridge was also destroyed ; but the beams and other parts oi 
 it were lying in the river. 
 
 " The King of England remained at the nunnery of Poissy 
 to the middle in August, and celebrated there the Feast of 
 the Virgin Mary." 
 
 It all reads at first, you see, just like a piece out of the 
 newspapers of last month ; but there are material differences, 
 notwithstanding. We fight inelegantly as well as expen- 
 sively, with machines instead of bow and spear ; we kill 
 about a thousand now to the score then, in settling any 
 quarrel — (Agincourt was won with the loss of less than a 
 hundred men ; only 25,000 English altogether were engaged 
 at Cre^y ; and 12,000, some say only 8,000, at Poictiers); we 
 kill with far ghastlier wounds, crashing bones and flesh to- 
 gether ; we leave our wounded necessarily for days and 
 nights in heaps on the fields of battle ; we pillage districts 
 twenty times as large, and with completer destruction of 
 more valuable property ; and with a destruction as irrepara- 
 ble as it is complete ; for if the French or English burnt a 
 church one day, they could build a prettier one the next ; 
 but the modern Prussians couldn't even build so much as an 
 imitation of one ; we rob on credit, by requisition, with in* 
 genious mercantile prolongations of claim ; and we improve 
 contention of arms with contention of tongues, and are able 
 to multiply the rancour of cowardice, and mischief of lying, 
 in universal and permanent print ; and so we lose our tem* 
 pers as well as our money, and become indecent in behaviour 
 as in raggedness ; for whereas, in old times, two nations sep- 
 arated by a little pebbly stream like the Tweed, or even the 
 two halves of one nation, separated by thirty fathoms' depths 
 
FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 55 
 
 of salt water (for most of the English knights and all the 
 English kings were French by race, and the best of them by 
 birth also) — would go on pillaging and killing each other 
 century after century, without the slightest ill-feeling to- 
 wards, or disrespect for one another, — we can neither give 
 anybody a beating courteously, nor take one in good part, or 
 without screaming and lying about it : and finally, we add 
 to these perfected Follies of Action more finely perfected 
 Follies of Inaction ; and contrive hitherto unheard-of ways 
 of being wretched through the very abundance of peace ; our 
 workmen, here, vowing themselves to idleness, lest they 
 should lower Wages, and there, being condemned by their 
 parishes to idleness lest they should lower Prices ; while out- 
 side the workhouse all the parishioners are buying anything 
 nasty, so that it be cheap ; and, in a word, under the 
 seraphic teaching of Mr. Mill, we have determined at last 
 that it is not Destruction, but Production, that is the (^ause 
 of human distress ; and the Mutual and Co-operative Col- 
 onization Company" declares, ungrammatically, but dis- 
 tinctly, in its circular sent to me on the 13th of last month, 
 as a matter universally admitted, even among Cabinet Min- 
 isters — " that it is in the greater increasing power of produc- 
 tion and distribution, as compared with demand, enabling 
 the few to do the work of many, that the active cause of the 
 w^ide-spread poverty among the producing and lower-middle 
 classes lay, which entails such enormous burdens on the Na- 
 tion, and exhibits our boasted progress in the light of a 
 monstrous Sham." 
 
 Nevertheless, however much we have magnified and mul- 
 tiplisd the follies of the past, the primal and essential prin- 
 ciples of pillage have always been accepted ; and from the 
 days when England lay so waste under that worth}' and 
 economical King who " called his tailor lown," that " whole 
 families, after sustaining life as long as they could by eating 
 roots, and the flesh of dogs and horses, at last died of hunger, 
 and you might see many pleasant villages without a single 
 inhabitant of either sex," while little Harry Switch-of-Broom 
 Bate learning to- spell in Bristol Castle, (taught, I think, 
 
66 
 
 FOES CLAVIGERA. 
 
 properly by his good uncle the preceptorial use of his name- 
 plant, though they say the first Harry was the finer clerk,) 
 and his mother, dressed all in white, escaped from Oxford 
 over the snow in the moonlight, through Bagley Wood here 
 to Abingdon ; and under the snows, by Woodstock, the buds 
 were growing for the bower of his Rose, — from that day to 
 this, when the villages round Paris, and food-supply, are, by 
 the blessinof of God, as thev then were round London — ^ 
 Kings have for the most part desired to win that pretty name 
 of " Switch-of-Broom " rather by habit of growing in waste 
 places ; or even emulating the Vision of Dion in sweeping 
 — diligently sweeping," than by attaining the other virtue of 
 the Planta Genista, set forth by Virgil and Pliny, that it is 
 pliant, and rich in honey ; the Lion-hearts of them seldom 
 proving profitable to you, even so much as the stomach of 
 Samson's Lion, or rendering it a soluble enigma in our Israel, 
 that " out of the eater came forth meat nor has it been 
 only your Kings who have thus made you pay for their 
 guidance through the world, but your ecclesiastics have also 
 made you pay for guidance out of it — particularly when it 
 grew dark, and the signpost was illegible where the upper 
 and lower roads divided; — so that, as far as I can read or cal- 
 culate, dying has been even more expensive to you than liv- 
 ing ; and then, to finish the business, as your virtues have 
 been made costly to you by the clergyman, so your vices have 
 been made costly to you by the lawyers ; and you have one 
 entire learned profession living on your siqs, and the other 
 on your repentance. So that it is no wonder that, things 
 having gone on thus for a long time, you begin to think that 
 you would rather live as sheep without any shepherd, and 
 that having paid so dearly for your instriiction in religion 
 and law, you should now set your hope on a state of instruc- 
 tion in Irreligion and Liberty, which is, indeed, a form of 
 education to be had for nothing, alike by the children of the 
 Rich and Poor; the saplings of the tree that was to be de* 
 sired to make us wise, growing now in copsewood on the 
 hills, or even b}^ the roadsides, in a Republican-Plantagenet 
 manner, blossoming into cheapest gold, either for coins, 
 
pons CLAVIOERA. 
 
 57 
 
 which of course you Republicans will call, not Nobles, but 
 Ignobles ; or crowns, second and third hand — (head, I should 
 say) — supplied'punctually on demand, with liberal reduction 
 on quantity ; the roads themselves beautifully public — trani- 
 wayed, perhaps — and with gates set open enough for all men 
 to the free, outer, better world, your chosen guide preceding 
 you merrily, thus, — 
 
 with music and dancing. 
 
 You have always danced too willingly, poor friends, to that 
 player on the viol. We will try to hear, far away, a faint 
 note or two from a more chief musician on stringed in- 
 struments, in May, when the time of the Singing of Bin s 
 is come. 
 
 Faithfully yours, 
 
 JOHN RUSKIN. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 ** For lo, the winter is past, 
 The rain is over and gone. 
 The flowers appear on the earth, 
 The time of the singing of birds is come, 
 Arise, oh my fair one, my dove, 
 And come.** 
 
 Denmark Hill, 
 
 My Friends, 1«« May, 1871. 
 
 It has been asked of me, very justly, why I have hitherto 
 written to you of things you were little likely to care for, in 
 words which it was difficult for you to understand. 
 
 I have no fear but that you will one day understand all my 
 poor words, — the saddest of them perhaps too well. But I 
 have great fear that you may never come to understand these 
 written above, which are part of a king's love-song, in one 
 sweet May, of many long since gone. 
 
 I fear that for you the wild winter's rain may never pass, 
 — the flowers never appear on the earth ; — that for you no 
 bird may ever sing ; — for you no perfect Love arise, and 
 fulfil 3^our life in peace. 
 
 " And why not for us, as for others ? " will you answer me 
 so, and take my fear for you as an insult ? 
 
 Nay, it is no insult ; — nor am I happier than you. For 
 mCj the birds do not sing, nor ever will. But they would, for 
 y^u, if you cared to have it so. When I told you that you 
 would never understand that love-song, I meant only that 
 you would not desire to understand it. 
 
 Are you again indignant with me ? Do you think, though 
 you should labor, and grieve, and be trodden down in dishonor 
 all your days, at least you can keep that one joy of Love, 
 and that one honor of Home ? Had you, indeed, kept that, 
 you had kept all. But no men yet, in the history of the race, 
 have lost it so piteously. In many a country, and many an 
 
FOES CLAVIOERA. 
 
 59 
 
 age, women have been compelled to labor for their liusbands' 
 wealth, or bread ; but never until now were they so homeless 
 as to say, like the poor Samaritan, " I have no husband." 
 Women of every country and people have sustained without 
 complaint the labor of fellowship : for the women of the lat- 
 ter days in England it has been reserved to claim the privi- 
 lege of isolation. 
 
 This, then, is the end of your universal education and civ- 
 ilization, and contempt of the ignorance of the Middle Ages, 
 and of their chivalry. Not only do you declare yourselves 
 too indolent to labor for daughters and wives, and too poor 
 to support them ; but you have made the neglected and dis- 
 tracted creatures hold it for an honour to be independent of 
 you, and shriek for some hold of the mattock for themselves. 
 Believe it or not, as you may, there has not been so low a 
 level of thought reached by any race, since they grew to l)o 
 male and female out of starfish, or chickweed, or whatever 
 else they have been made from, by natural selection, — accord- 
 ing to modern science. 
 
 That modern science also, Economic and of other kinds, 
 has reached its climax at last. For it seems to be the ap- 
 pointed function of the nineteenth century to exhibit in all 
 things the elect pattern of perfect Folly, for a warning to the 
 farthest future. Thus the statement of principle which I 
 quoted to you in my last letter, from the circular of the 
 Emigration Society, that it is over-production which is the 
 cause of distress, is accurately the most Foolish thing, not 
 only hitherto ever said by men, but which it is possible for 
 men ever to say, respecting their own business. It is a kind 
 of opposite pole (or negative acme of mortal stupidity) to 
 JN^ewton's discovery of gravitation as an acme of mortal wis- 
 dom : — as no wise being on earth will ever be able to make 
 such another wise discovery, so no foolish being on earth 
 will ever be capable of saying such another foolish thing, 
 through all the ages. 
 
 x\nd the same crisis has been exactly reached by our nat- 
 ural science, and by our art. It has several times chanced 
 to me, since T began these papers, to have the exact thing 
 
60 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEEA, 
 
 shown or brouglit to me that I wanted for illustration, just 
 in time* — and it happened that on the very day on which I 
 published my last letter, I had to go to the Kensington Mu- 
 seum ; and there I saw the most perfectly and roundly ill- 
 done thing which, as yet, in my whole life, I ever saw pro- 
 duced by art. It had a tablet in front of it, bearing this 
 inscription, — 
 
 ** Statue in black and white marble, a Newfoundland Dog standing 
 on a Serpent, which rests on a marble cushion, the pedestal ornamented 
 with pietra dura fruits in relief. — Eiiglish. Present Century, No. 1." 
 
 It was so very right for me, the Kensington people having 
 been good enough to number it I.," the thing itself being 
 almost incredible in its one-ness ; and, indeed, such a punct- 
 ual accent over the iota of Miscreation, — so absolutely and 
 exquisitely miscreant, that I am not myself capable of con- 
 ceiving a Number two, or three, or any rivalship or associa- 
 tion w^ith it whatsoever. The extremity of its unvirtue con- 
 sisted, observe, mainly in the quantity of instruction which 
 was abused in it. It showed that the persons who produced 
 it had seen everything, and practised everything ; and mis- 
 understood everything they saw, and misapplied everything 
 they did. They had seen Roman work, and Florentine work, 
 and Byzantine work, and Gothic w^ork ; and misunderstand- 
 ino' of evervthinof had passed throufrh them as the mud does 
 through earthworms, and here at last was their worm-cast of 
 a Production. 
 
 But the second chance that came to me that day, was more 
 siofnifjcant still. From the Kensinofton Museum I went to an 
 afternoon tea, at a house where I was sure to meet some nice 
 people. And among the first I met was an old friend who 
 had been hearing some lectures on botany at the Kensington 
 
 * Here is another curious instance : 1 have but a minute ago finished 
 correcting these sheets, and take up the Times of this morning, April 
 21st, and find in it the suggestion by the Chancellor of the Exchequer 
 for the removal of exemption from taxation, of Agricultural horses and 
 carts, in the very nick of time to connect it, as a proposal for economio 
 practice, with the statement of economic principle respecting Produc- 
 tion, quoted on this page. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 61 
 
 Museum, and been delighted by them. She is the kind of 
 person who gets good out of everything, and she was quite 
 right in being delighted ; besides that, as I found by her 
 account of them, the lectures were really interesting, and 
 pleasantly given. She had expected botany to be dull, and 
 had not found it so, and " had learned so much." On hear« 
 ing this I proceeded naturally to inquire what ; for my idea 
 oi her was that before she went to the lectures at all, she had 
 known more botany than she was likely to learn by them. 
 So she told me that she had learned first of all that there 
 were seven sorts of leaves." Now I have always a great 
 suspicion of the number Seven ; because when I wrote the 
 Seven Lamps of Architectiire^ it required all the ingenuity I 
 was master of to prevent them from becoming Eight, or even 
 Nine, on my hands. So I thought to myself that it would 
 be very charming \i there were only seven sorts of leaves ; 
 but that, perhaps, if one looked the woods and forests of the 
 world carefully through, it was just possible that one might 
 discover as many as eiglit sorts ; and then where would my 
 friend's new knowledge of Botany be ? So I said, "Tliat 
 was very pretty; but wliat more?" Then my friend told 
 me that slie had no idea, before, that petals were leaves. On 
 Avhich, I thought to myself that it would not have been any 
 great harm to her if she had remained under her old impres- 
 sion that petals were petals. But I said, That was very 
 pretty, too ; and what more ? " So then my friend told me 
 that the lecturer said, tlie object of his lectures would be 
 entirely accomplished if he could convince his hearers that 
 there was no such thing as a flower." Now, in that sentence 
 you have the most perfect and admirable summary given you 
 of the general temper and purposes of modern science. It 
 j^ives lectures on Botany, of w^hich the object is to show that 
 there is no such thing as a Flower; on Humanity, to show 
 that there is no such thing as a Man ; and on Theology, to 
 show there is no such thing as a God. No such thing as a 
 Man, but only a Mechanism ; no such thing as a God, but 
 only a series of Forces. The two faiths are essentially one : 
 if you feel yourself to be only a machine, constructed to be 
 
^2 
 
 FOBS CLAVIQERA. 
 
 I 
 
 a Regulator of minor machinery, you will put your statue of 
 such science on your Holborn Viaduct, and necessarily rec- 
 ognize only major machinery as regulating you, 
 
 I must explain the real meaning to you, however, of that 
 saying of the Botanical lecturer, for it has a wide bearings 
 Some fifty years ago the poet Goethe discovered that all the 
 parts of plants had a kind of common nature, and would 
 change into each other. Now this was a true discovery, and 
 a notable one ; and you will find that, in fact, all plants are 
 composed of essentially two parts — the leaf and root — one 
 loving the light, the other darkness ; one liking to be clean, 
 the other to be dirty ; one liking to grow for the most part 
 up, the other for the most part down ; and each having 
 faculties and purposes of its own. But the pure one, which 
 loves the light, has, above all things, the purpose of being 
 married to another leaf, and having child-leaves, and chil- 
 dren's children of leaves, to make the earth fair for ever. 
 And when the leaves marry, they put on wedding-robes, and 
 are more glorious than Solomon in all his glory, and they 
 have feasts of honey, and v/e call them " Flowers." 
 
 In a certain sense, therefore, you see the Botanical lect- 
 urer was quite right. There are no such things as Flowers 
 — there are only Leaves. Nay, farther than this, there may 
 be a dignity in the less happy, but unwithering leaf, which 
 is, in some sort, better than the brief lily of its bloom ; — - 
 which the great poets always knew, — well ; — Chaucer, be- 
 fore Goethe ; and the writer of the First Psalm, before 
 Chaucer. The Botanical lecturer was in a deeper sense than 
 he knew, right. 
 
 But in the deepest sense of all, the Botanical lecturer was, 
 to the extremity of wrongness, wrong ; for leaf, and root, 
 and fruit exist, all of them, only — that there may be flowers. 
 He disregarded the life and passion of the creature, which 
 were its essence. Had he looked for these, he would have 
 recognized that in the thought of Nature herself, there is, in 
 a plant, nothing else but its flowers. 
 
 Now in exactly the sense that modern Science declares 
 there is no such thing as a Flower, it has declared there is 
 
FOES CLAVIGERA. 
 
 63 
 
 no such thing as a Man, but only a transitional form of As- 
 cidians and apes. It may, or may not be true — it is not of 
 the smallest consequence whether it be or not. The real fact 
 is, that, seen with human eyes, there is nothing else but man; 
 that all animals and beings beside him are only made that 
 they may change into him ; that the world truly exists only 
 in the presence of Man, acts only in the passion of Man, The 
 essence of Light is in his eyes, — the centre of Force in his 
 soul, — the pertinence of Action in his deeds. 
 
 And all true science — which my Savoyard guide rightly 
 scorned me w^hen he thought I had not, — all true science is 
 " savoir vivre." But all your modern science is the contrary 
 of that. It is "savoir mourir." 
 
 And of its verv discoveries, such as thev are, it cannot 
 make use. 
 
 That telegraphic signalling was a discovery ; and conceiv- 
 ably, some day, may be a useful one. And there was some 
 excuse for your being a little proud when, about last sixth 
 of April (Coeur de Lion's death-day, and Albert Durer's), 
 you knotted a copper wire all the way to Bombay, and 
 flashed a message along it, and back. 
 
 But what was the message, and what the answer? Is 
 India the better for what you said to her? Are you the 
 better for what she replied? 
 
 If not, you have only wasted an all-round-tho-world's length 
 of copper wire, — which is, indeed, about the sum of your doing. 
 If you had had, perchance, two words of common senjae to 
 say, though you had taken wearisome time and trouble to 
 send them ; — though you had written them slowly in gold, 
 and sealed them with a hundred seals, and sent a squadron 
 of ships of the line to carry the scroll, and the squadron had 
 fought its way round the Cape of Good Hope, througii a 
 year of storms, with loss of all its ships but one, — the two 
 words of common sense would have been worth the carriage, 
 and more. But you have not anything like so much as that, 
 to say, either to India, or to any other place. 
 
 You think it a great triumph to make the sun draw brown 
 landscapes for you. That was also a discovery, and some daj^ 
 
64 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOERA, 
 
 may be useful. But the sun had drawn landscapes before 
 for you, not in brown, but in green, and blue, and all imagi- 
 nable colors, here in England. Not one of you ever looked 
 at them then ; not one of you cares for the loss of them now, 
 when you have shut the sun out with smoke, so that he can 
 draw nothing more, except brown blots through a hole in a 
 box. There was a rocky valley between Buxton and Bake- 
 well, once upon a time, divine as the Vale of Tempe ; you 
 might have seen the Gods there morning and evening — 
 Apollo and all the sweet Muses of the Light — walking in 
 fair procession on the lawns of it, and to and fro among 
 the pinnacles of its crags. You cared neither for Gods nor 
 grass, but for cash (which you did not know the way to get); 
 you thought you could get it by what the Times calls "Rail- 
 road Enterprise." You Enterprised a Railroad through the 
 valley — you blasted its rocks away, heaped thousands of tons 
 of shale into its lovely stream. The valley is gone, and 
 the Gods with it ; and now, every fool in Buxton can be 
 at Bakewell in half an hour, and every fool in Bakewell at 
 Buxton ; which you think a lucrative process of exchange — 
 you Fools Everywhere. 
 
 To talk at a distance, when you have nothing to say, 
 though you were ever so near ; to go fast from this place to 
 that, with nothing to do either at one or the other : these 
 are powers certainly. Much more, power of increased Pro- 
 duction, if you, indeed, had got it, would be something to 
 boast of. But are you so entirely sure that you have got it 
 — that the mortal disease of plenty, and afflictive affluence 
 of good things, are all you have to dread ? 
 
 Observe. A man and a woman, with their children, prop- 
 erly trained, are able easily to cultivate as much ground as 
 will feed them ; to build as much wall and roof as will lodge 
 them, and to spin and weave as much cloth as will clothe 
 them. They can all be perfectly happy and healthy in doing 
 this. Supposing that they invent machinery which will build, 
 plough, thresh, cook, and weave, and* that they have none of 
 these things any more to do, but may read, or play croquet, 
 
 cricket, all day long, I believe myself that they will neither 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 65 
 
 be so good nor so happy as without the machines. But I 
 waive my belief in this matter for the time. I will assume 
 -that they become more refined and moral persons, and that 
 idleness is in future to be the mother of all good. But ob- 
 serve, I repeat, the power of your machine is only in enabling 
 them to be idle. It will not enable them to live better than 
 they did before, nor to live in greater numbers. Get your 
 heads quite clear on this matter. Out of so much ground, 
 only so much living is to be got, with or without machinery. 
 You may set a million of steam-ploughs to work on an acre, 
 if you like — out of that acre only a given number of grains 
 of corn will grow, scratch or scorch it as you will. So that 
 the question is not at all whether, by having more machines, 
 more of you can live. No machines will increase the possi- 
 bilities of life. They only increase the possibilities of idle- 
 ness. Suppose, for instance, you could get the oxen in your 
 plough driven by a goblin, who would ask for no pay, not 
 even a cream bowl, — (you have nearly managed to get it 
 driven by an iron goblin, as it is ;) — Well, your furrow will 
 take no more seeds tlian if you had held the stilts yourself. 
 But, instead of holding them, you sit, I presume, on a bank 
 beside the field, under an eglantine ; — watch the goblin at 
 his work, and read poetry. Meantime, your wife in the house 
 has also got a goblin to weave and wash for her. And she 
 is lying on the sofa, reading poetry. 
 
 Now, as I said, I don't believe you would be happier so, 
 but I am willing to believe it ; only, since you are already 
 such brave mechanists, sliow me at least one or two places 
 where you are happier. Let me see one small example of ap- 
 proach to this seraphic condition. Zcan shovf you examples, 
 millions of them, of happy people, made happy by their own 
 industry. Farm after farm I can show you in Bavaria, Swit- 
 zerland, the Tyrol, and sucii other places, where men and 
 women are perfectly happy and good, without any iron ser- 
 vants. Show me, therefore, some English family, with its 
 fiery familiar, happier than these. Or bring me — for I am 
 not inconvincible by any kind of evidence,— bring me the 
 testimony of an English family or two to their increased 
 5 
 
66 
 
 FORS CLAVIGEHA. 
 
 felicity. Or if you cannot do so much as that, can you con^ 
 vince even themselves of it ? They are perhaps happy, if 
 only they knew hov7 happy they were ; Virgil thought so, 
 long ago, of simple rustics ; but you hear at present your 
 steam-propelled rustics are crying out that they are anything 
 else than happy, and that they regard their boasted prog- 
 ress " in the light of a monstrous Sham." I must tell you 
 one little thing, however, which greatly perplexes my im- 
 agination of the relieved ploughman sitting under his rose 
 bower, reading poetr3^ I have told it you before, indeed, 
 but I forget where. There was really a great festivity, and 
 i^xpression of satisfaction in the new order of things, down 
 in Cumberland, a little while ago ; some first of May, I think 
 it was, a country festival, such as the old heathens, who had 
 no iron servants, used to keep with piping and dancing. So 
 I thought, from the liberated country people — their work all 
 done for them by goblins — we should have some extraor- 
 dinary piping and dancing. But there was no dancing at 
 all, and they could not even provide their own piping. They 
 had their goblin to Pipe for them. They walked in proces- 
 sion after their steam plough, and their steam plough 
 whistled to them occasionallv in the most melodious manner 
 it could. Which seemed to me, indeed, a return to more 
 than Arcadian simplicity ; for in old Arcadia, plough-boys 
 truly v^histled as they went, for want of thought ; whereas, 
 here was verily a large company walking without thought, 
 but not having any more even the capacity of doing their 
 own Whistlinor'. 
 
 But next, as to the inside of the house. Before you got 
 your power-looms, a woman could always make herself a 
 chemise and petticoat of bright and pretty appearance. I 
 have seen a Bavarian peasant-woman at church in Munich, 
 looking a much grander creature, and more beautifully 
 dressed, than any of the crossed and embroidered angels in 
 Hesse's high-art frescoes ; (which happened to be just above 
 her, so that I could look from one to the other). Well, here 
 you are, in England, served by household demons, with five 
 hundred fingers, at least, weaving, for one that used to 
 
F0R8 CLAVIOEMA. 
 
 67 
 
 weave in the days of Minerva. You ought to be able to 
 show nie five hundred dresses for one that used to be ; tidi- 
 ness ouglit to have become five hundred fold tidier ; tapes- 
 try should be increased in cinque-cento-fold iridescence of 
 tapestry. Not only your peasant-girl ought to be lying on 
 the sofa reading poetry, but she ought to have in her ward- 
 robe five hundred petticoats instead of one. Is that, indeed, 
 your issue ? or are you only on a curiously crooked way to it ? 
 
 It is just possible, indeed, that you may not have been 
 allowed to get the use of the goblin's work — that other 
 people may have got the use of it, and you none ; because, 
 perhaps, you have not been able to evoke goblins wholly for 
 your, own personal service ; but have been borrowing goblins 
 from the capitalist, and paying interest, in the "position of 
 William," on ghostly self-going planes ; but suppose you 
 had laid by capital enough, yourselves, to hire all the demons 
 in the world, — nay, — all that are inside of it ; are you quite 
 sure you know what you might best set them to work at? 
 and what "useful things" you should conmiand them to 
 make for you? I told you, last month, that no economist 
 going (whether by steam or ghost,) knew what are useful 
 things and what are not. Very few of you know, yourselves, 
 except by bitter experience of the want of them. And no 
 demons, either of iron or spirit, can ever make them. 
 
 There are three Material things, not only useful, but essen- 
 tial to Life. No one " knows how to live " till he has got 
 them. 
 
 These are, Pure Air, Water, and Earth. 
 
 There are three Immaterial things, not only useful, but 
 essential to Life. No one knows how to live till he has got 
 them also. 
 
 These are. Admiration, Hope, and Love.* 
 
 Admiration — the power of discerning and taking delight 
 in what is beautiful in visible Form, and lovely in human 
 Character ; and, necessarily, striving to produce what is 
 beautiful in form, and to become what is lovely in character. 
 
 * Wordsworth, Excursion^ Book 4th ; in Moxon*s edition, 1857 (stu' 
 pidly without numbers to lines), voL vi. p. 135. 
 
68 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 Hope — the recognition, by true Foresight, of better things 
 to be reached hereafter, M^hether by ourselves or others ; ne- 
 cessarily issuing in the straightforward and undisappointable 
 effort to advance, according to our proper power, the gaining 
 of them. 
 
 Love, both of family and neighbour, faithful, and satisfied. 
 
 These are the six chiefly useful things to be got by Politi- 
 cal Economy, when it has become a science. I will briefly 
 tell you what modern Political Economy — the great " savoir 
 mourir" — is doing with them. 
 
 The first three, I said, are Pure Air, Water, and Earth. 
 
 Heaven gives you the main elements of these. You can 
 destroy them at your pleasure, or increase, almost without 
 limit, the available quantities of them. 
 
 You can vitiate the air by your manner of life, and of 
 death, to any extent. You might easily vitiate it so as to 
 bring such a pestilence on the globe as would end all of you. 
 You or your fellows, German and French, are at present 
 vitiating it to the best of your power in every direction ; — 
 chiefly at this moment with corpses, and animal and vegetable 
 ruin in war : changing men, horses, and garden-stuff into 
 noxious gas. But everywhere, and all day long, you are 
 vitiating it with foul chemical exhalations ; and the horri- 
 ble nests, which you call towns, are little more than labora- 
 tories for the distillation into leaven of venomous smokes and 
 smells, mixed with effluvia from decaying animal matter, and 
 infectious miasmata from purulent disease. 
 
 On the other hand, your power of purifying the air, by 
 dealing properly and swiftly with all substances in corruption ; 
 by absolutely forbidding noxious manufactures ; and by plant- 
 ino; in all soils the trees which cleanse and invio^orate earth 
 and atmosphere, — is literally infinite. You might make every 
 breath of air you draw, food. 
 
 Secondly, your power over the rain and river-waters of the 
 earth is infinite. You can bring rain where you will, by 
 planting wisely and tending carefully ; — drought, where you 
 will, by ravage of woods and neglect of the soil. You might 
 have the rivers of England as pure as the crystal of the rock ; 
 
FORS GLAVIQERA. 
 
 69 
 
 •^beautiful in falls, in lakes, in living pools ; — so full of fish 
 that you might take them out with your hands instead of 
 nets. Or you may do always as you have done now, turn 
 every river of England into a common sewer, so that you can- 
 not so much as baptize an English baby but with filth, unless 
 you hold its face out in the rain ; and even that falls dirty. 
 
 Then for the third, Earth, — meant to be nourishing for 
 you, and blossoming. You have learned, about it, that there 
 is no such thing as a flower ; and as far as your scientific 
 hands and scientific brains, inventive of explosive and death- 
 ful, instead of blossoming and life-giving, Dust, can con- 
 trive, you have turned tlie Mother-Earth, Demeter,* into the 
 Avenger-Earth, Tisiphone — with the voice of your brother's 
 blood crying out of it, in one wild harmony round all its mur- 
 derous sphere. 
 
 * Read thi8, for instance, concerning the Gardens of Paris : — one sen- 
 tence in the letter is omitted ; I will give it in full elsewhere, with its 
 necessary comments : — 
 
 To the Editor of the Times, 
 
 m April, 1871. 
 
 Sir, — As the paragrai)h you quoted on Monday from the Field gives 
 no idea of the destruction in the gardens round Paris, if you can spare 
 me a very little space I will endeavour to supplement it. 
 
 ** The public gardens in the interior of Paris, including the planting 
 on the greater number of the Boulevardp, are in a condition perfectly 
 surprising when one considers the sufferings even well-to-do persons had 
 to endure for want of fuel during the siege. Some of them, like the 
 little oases in the centre of the Louvre, even look as pretty as ever. 
 After a similar ordeal it is probable we should not have a stick left ia 
 London, and the presence of the very handsome planes on the Boule- 
 vards, and large trees in the various squares and gardens, after the 
 winter of 1870-71, is most creditable to the population. But when one 
 goes beyond the Champs Elyst'^es and towards the Bois, down the once 
 beautiful Avenue de Tlmperatrice, a sad scene of desolation presents 
 itself. A year ago it was the tinest avenue garden in existence; now 
 a considerable part of the surface where troops were camped is about 
 as filthy and as cheerless as Leicester Square or a sparsely furnished 
 rubbish yard. 
 
 The view into the once richly- wooded Bois from the huge and ugly 
 banks of earth which now cross the noble roads leading into it is deso- 
 late indeed, the stumps of the trees cut down over a large extent of its 
 
70 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 That is what you have done for the Three Material Usef u 
 Things. 
 
 Then for the Three Immaterial Useful Things. For Ad- 
 miration, you have learnt contempt and conceit. There is no 
 lovely thing ever yet done by man that you care for, or can 
 
 surface remiuding one of the dreary scenes observable in many parts of 
 Canada and the United States, where the stumps of the burnt or cut- 
 down pines are allowed to rot away for 3 ears. The zone of ruins round 
 the vast belt of fortifications I need not speak of, nor of the other zone 
 of destruction round each of the forts, as here houses and gardens and 
 all have disappeared. But the destruction in the wide zone occupied by 
 French and Prussian outposts is beyond description. I got to Paris the 
 morning after the shooting of Generals Clemeut Thomas and Lecomte, 
 and in consequence did not see so much of it as I otherwise might have 
 done; but round the villages of Sceaux, Bourg-la-Reine, L'Hay, Vitry, 
 and Villejuif , I saw an amount of havoc which the subscriptions to the 
 French Horticultural llelief Fund will go but a very small way to re- 
 pair. Notwithstanding all his revolutions and wars, the Frenchman 
 usually found time to cultivate a few fruit-trees, and the neighbour- 
 hood of the villages above mentioned were only a few of many covered 
 by nurseries of young trees. When I last visited Vitry, in the autumn 
 of 1868, the fields and hill-sides around were everywhere covered with 
 trees ; now the view across them is only interrupted by stumps about a 
 foot high. When at Vitry on the 28th of March, I found the once fine 
 nursery of M. Honore Desf resne deserted, and many acres once covered 
 with large stock and specimens cleared to the ground. And so it was 
 in numerous other cases. It may give some notion of the effect of the 
 war on the gardens and nurseries around Paris, when I state that, ac- 
 cording to returns made up just before my visit to Vitry and Villejuif, 
 it was found that round these two villages alone 2,400,400 fruit and 
 ether trees were destroyed. As to the private gardens, I cannot give a 
 better idea of them than by describing the materials composing the pro- 
 tecting bank of a battery near Sceaux. It was made up of mattresses, 
 sofas, and almost every other large article of furniture, with the earth 
 stowed between. There were, in addition, nearly forty orange and 
 oleander tubs gathered from the little gardens in the neighbourhood 
 visible in various parts of this ugly bank. One nurseryman at Sceaux, 
 M. Keteleer, lost 1,500 vols, of books, which were not taken to Germany, 
 but simply mutilated and thrown out of doors to rot. . . . Multiply 
 these few instances by the number of districts occupied by the belliger- 
 ents during the war, and some idea of the effects of glory on gardening 
 in France may be obtained. 
 
 W. BOBINSON/' 
 
FORS CLAVJGERA. 
 
 71 
 
 understand ; but you are persuaded you are able to do much 
 finer things yourselves. You gather, and exhibit together, 
 as if equally instructive, what is infinitely bad, with what is 
 infinitely good. You do not know which is which ; you in- 
 stinctively prefer the Bad, and do more of it. You instinc- 
 tively hate the Good, and destroy it.* 
 
 Then, secondly, for Hope. You have not so much spirit of 
 it in you as to begin any plan which will not pay for ten 
 years ; nor so much intelligence of it in you, (either politi- 
 cians or workmen), as to be able to form one clear idea of 
 what you would like your country to become. 
 
 Then, thirdly, for Love. You were ordered by the Founder 
 of your religion to love your neighbour as yourselves. 
 
 You have founded an entire Science of Political Economy, 
 on what you have stated to be the constant instinct of man — • 
 the desire to defraud his nuisrhbour. 
 
 And you have driven your women mad, so that they ask 
 no more for Love, nor for fellowship with you ; but stand 
 against you, and ask for " justice." 
 
 Are there any of 3^ou who are tired of all this ? Any of 
 you. Landlords or Tenants ? Employers or Workmen ? 
 
 Are there any landlords, — any masters, — who would like 
 better to be served by men tlian by iron devils ? 
 
 Any tenants, any workmen, who can be true to their leaders 
 and to each other? who can vow to work and to live faith- 
 fully, for the sake of tlie joy of their homes ? 
 
 Will any such give the tenth of what they have, and of 
 what they earn, — not to emigrate with, but to stay in Eng* 
 
 * Last night (I am writing this on the ISth of April) I got a letter 
 from Venice, bringing me the, 1 believe, too well-grounded, report that 
 the Venetians have requested permission from the government of Italy 
 to pull down their Ducal Palace, and *^ rebuild it." Put up a horrible 
 model of it, in its place, that is to say, fur which their architects may 
 charge a commission. Meantime, all their canals are choked with hu- 
 man dung, which they are too poor to cart away, but throw out at their 
 windows. 
 
 And all the great thirteenth -century cathedrals in France have been 
 destroyed, within my own memory, only that architects might charge 
 commission for putting up false models of them in their place. 
 
72 
 
 FOES CLAVIGEMA. 
 
 land with ; and do what is in their hands and hearts to make 
 her a happy England ? 
 
 I am not rich ; (as people now estimate riches), and great 
 part of v/hat I have is already engaged in maintaining art- 
 workmen, or for other objects more or less of public utility. 
 The tenth of whatever is left to me, estimated as accurately 
 as I can, (you shall see the accounts,) I will make over to you 
 in perpetuity, with the best security that English law can 
 give, on Christmas Day of this year, with engagement to add 
 the tithe of whatever I earn afterwards. Who else will help, 
 with little or much ? the object of such fund being, to begin, 
 and gradually — no matter how slowly — to increase, the buy- 
 ing and securing of land in England, wdiich shall not be built 
 upon, but cultivated by Englishmen, with their own hands, 
 and such help of force as they can find in wind and wave. 
 
 I do not care with how many, or how few, this thing is be- 
 gun, nor on what inconsiderable scale, — if it be but in two 
 or three poor men's gardens. So much, at least, I can buy, 
 myself, and give them. If no help come, I have done and 
 said what I could, and there will be an end. If any help 
 come to me, it is to be on the following conditions : — We will 
 try to make some small piece of English ground, beautiful, 
 peaceful, and fruitful. We will have no steam-engines upon 
 it, and no railroads ; we will have no untended or unthought- 
 of creatures on it ; none wretched, but the sick ; none idle, 
 but the dead. We will have no liberty upon it ; but instant 
 obedience to known law, and appointed persons : no equality 
 upon it ; but recognition of every betterness that we can find, 
 and reprobation of every worseness. When we want to go 
 anywhere, we will go there quietly and safely, not at forty 
 miles an hour in the risk of our lives ; when we want to carry 
 anything anywhere, we will carry it either on tlie backs of 
 beasts, or on our own, or in carts, or boats ; we w^ill have 
 plenty of flowers and vegetables in our gardens, plenty ot 
 corn and grass in our fields, — and few bricks. We will have 
 some music and poetry ; the children shall learn to dance to it 
 and sing it ; — perhaps some of the old people, in time, may 
 also. We will have some art, moreover ; we will at least try 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 73 
 
 If, like the Greeks, we can't make some pots. The Greeks 
 used to paint pictures of gods on their pots ; we, probably, 
 cannot do as much, but we may put some pictures of insects 
 on tliem, and reptiles ; — butterflies, and frogs, if nothing bet- 
 ter. There was an excellent old potter in France who used 
 to put frogs and vipers into his dishes, to the admiration of 
 mankind ; we can surely put something nicer than that. 
 Little by little, some higher art and imagination may mani 
 fest themselves among us ; and feeble rays of science may 
 dawn for us. Botany, though too dull to dispute the exist- 
 ence of flowers ; and history, though too simple to question 
 the nativity of men ; — nay — even perhaps an uncalculating 
 and uncovetous wisdom, as of rude Magi, presenting, at such 
 nativity, gifts of gold and frankincense. 
 
 Faithfully yours, 
 
 JOHN RUSKIN. 
 
 LETTER VL 
 
 Denmark Hn.L, 
 
 My Friends, ut June, 1871.* 
 
 The main purpose of these letters having been stated 
 in the last of them, it is needful 'that I should tell you why I 
 approach the discussion of it in this so desultory way, writ- 
 ing (as it is too true that I must continue to write,) " of 
 things that you little care for, in words that you cannot easily 
 understand." 
 
 I write of things you little care for, knowing that what 
 
 * I think it best to publish this letter as it was prepared for press on 
 the morning- of the 25th of last month, at Abingdon, before the papers 
 of that day had reached me. Yon may misinterpret its tone ; and think 
 it is written without feeling ; but I will endeavour to give you in my 
 next letter, a brief statement of the meaning, to the French and to all 
 other nations, of this war, and its results : in the meantime, trust me, 
 there is probably no other man living to whom, in the abstract, and ir- 
 rsspective of loss of family and property, the rr,in of Paris is so great a 
 BOiiow aa it is to me. 
 
FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 you least care for is, at this juncture, of the greatest moment 
 to you. 
 
 And 1 write in words you are little likely to understand, 
 because I have no wish (rather the contrary) to tell you any- 
 thing that you can understand without taking trouble. You 
 usually read so fast that you can catch nothing but the eclio 
 of your own opinions, which, of course, you are pleased to 
 see in print. I neither wish to please nor displease you 5 
 but to provoke you to think ; to lead you to think accu» 
 rately ; and help you to form, perhaps, some different opiu'* 
 ions from those you have now. 
 
 Therefore, I choose that you shall pay me the price of two 
 pots of beer, twelve times in the year, for my advice, each of 
 you who wants it. If you like to think of me as a quack 
 doctor, you are welcome ; and you may consider the large 
 margins, and thick paper, and ugly pictures of my book, as 
 my caravan, drum, and skeleton. You would probably, if 
 invited in that manner, buy my pills ; and I should make a 
 great deal of money out of you ; but being an honest doctor, 
 I still mean you to pay me what you ought. You fancy, 
 doubtless, that I write — as most other political writers do— 
 my opinions ; " and that one man's opinion is as good as 
 another's. You are much mistaken. When I only opine 
 things, I hold my tongue ; and work till I more than opine — 
 until I know them. If the things prove unknowable, I with 
 final perseverance, hold my tongue about them, and recom- 
 mend a like practice to other people. If the things prove 
 knowable, as soon as I know them, I am ready to write about 
 them, if need be ; not till then. That is what people call my 
 
 arrogance." They write and talk themselves, habitually, 
 of what they know nothing about ; they cannot in any wise 
 conceive the state of mind of a person who will not speak 
 till he knows ; and then tells them, serenely, ^' This is so ; 
 you may find it out for yourselves, if you choose ; but, how- 
 ever little you may choose it, the thing is still so." 
 
 Now it has cost me twenty years of thought, and of hard 
 reading, to learn what I have to tell you in these pamphlets 
 and you will find, if you choose to find, it is true ; and may 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 75 
 
 prove, if you choose to prove, that it is useful : and I am not 
 in the least minded to compete for your audience with the 
 " opinions" in your damp journals, morning and evening, tlie 
 black of them coming o£E on your lingers, and beyond all 
 washing, into your brains. It is no affair of mine whether 
 you attend to me or not ; but yours wholly ; my hand is 
 weary of j^en-holaing, my heart is sick of thinking ; for my 
 own part, I would not write you these pamphlets though you 
 would give me a barrel of beer, instead of two pints, for 
 them ; — I write them wholly for your sake ; I choose that 
 you shall have them decently printed on cream-colored paper, 
 and with a margin underneath, which you can write on, if 
 you like. That is also for your sake ; it is a proper form of 
 book for any man to have who can keep liis books clean ; and 
 if he cannot, he has no business with books at all ; it costs 
 me ten pounds to print a thousand copies, and five more to 
 give you a picture ; and a penny off my sevenpence to send 
 you the book — a thousand sixpences are twenty-five pounds ; 
 when you have bought a thousand Fors of me, I shall there- 
 fore have five pounds for my trouble — and my single shop- 
 man, Mr. Allen, five pounds for liis ; we won't work for less, 
 either of us ; not that we would not, were it good for you ; 
 but it would be by no means good. And I mean to sell all 
 my large books, henceforward, in the same way ; well printed, 
 well bound, and at a fixed price ; and the trade may charge 
 a proper and acknowledged profit for their trouble in retail- 
 ing the book. Then the public know what they are about, 
 and so will tradesmen ; T, the first producer, answer, to the 
 best of my power, for the quality of the book ; — paper, bind- 
 ing, eloquence, and all : the retail-dealer charges what he 
 ought to charge, openly ; and if the public do not choose to 
 give it, they can't get the book. That is what I call legiti- 
 mate business. Then as for this misunderstanding of me— 
 remember that it is really not easy to understand anytiiing, 
 which you have not heard before, if it relates to a complex 
 subject ; also it is quite easy to misunderstand things that 
 you are hearing every day — which seem to you of the intelli* 
 giblest sort. But I can only write of things in my own way 
 
76 
 
 FORS CLAVIGEIIA, 
 
 and as they come into my bead ; and of the things I care for, 
 whether you care for thein or not, as yet. I will answer for 
 it, you must care for some of them, in time. 
 
 To take an instance close to my hand : you would of course 
 think it little conducive to your interests that I should g-ive 
 you any account of the wild hyacinths which are opening in 
 flakes of blue fire, this day, within a couple of miles of me^ 
 in the glades of Bagley wood through which the Empress 
 Maude fled in the snoAv, (and which, by the way, I slink 
 through, myself, in some discomfort lest the gamekeeper of 
 the college of the gracious Apostle St. John should catch 
 sight of me ; not that he would ultimately decline to make a 
 distinction between a poacher and a professor, but that I dis- 
 like the trouble of giving an account of myself). Or, if even 
 you would bear with a scientific sentence or two about them, 
 explaining to you that they were only green leaves turned 
 blue, and that it was of no consequence wliether they were 
 either ; and that, as flowers, they were scientifically to be 
 considered as not in existence, — you will, I fear, throw my 
 letter, even though it has cost you sevenpence, aside at once, 
 when I remark to you tliat these wood-hyacinths of Bagley 
 have something to do with the battle of Marathon, and if 
 you knew it, are of more vital interest to you than even the 
 Match Tax. 
 
 Nevertheless, as I shall feel it my duty, some day, to speak 
 to you of Theseus and his vegetable soup, so to-day, I think 
 it necessary to tell you that the wood-hyacinth is the best 
 English representative of the tribe of flowers which the 
 Greeks called Asphodel," and which they thougiit the 
 heroes who had fallen in the battle of Marathon, or in any 
 other battle, fought in just quarrel, were to be rewarded, and 
 enough rewarded, by living in fields full of ; fields called, by 
 them, Elysian, or the Fields of Coming, as you and I talk of 
 the good time "^Coming," though with perhaps different 
 views as to the nature of the to be expected goodness. 
 
 Now what the Chancellor of the Exchequer said the other 
 day to the Civil FJngineors (see Saturday Review^ April 29t}i), ia 
 entirely true ; namely, that in any of our colliery or cartridge- 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 77 
 
 manufactory explosions, we send as many men (or women) into 
 Elysium as were likely to get there after the battle of Mara- 
 thon ; * and that is, indeed, like the rest of our economic ar- 
 rangements, very fine, and pleasant to think upon ; neither 
 may it be doubted on modern principles of religion and 
 equality, that every collier and cartridge-filler is as fit for 
 Elysium as any heathen could be ; and that in all these 
 respects the battle of Marathon is no more deserving of Eng- 
 lish notice. But what I want you to reflect upon, as of mo- 
 ment to you, is whether you really care for the hyacinthine 
 Elysium you are going to ? and if you do, why you should not 
 live a little while in Elvsium here, instead of waitins: so 
 patiently, and working so hardly, to be blown or flattened 
 into it ? The hyacinths will grow well enough on the top of the 
 ground, if you will leave off digging away the bottom of it ; 
 and another plant of the asphodel species, which the Greeks 
 thought of more importance even than hyacinths — onions ; 
 though, indeed, one dead hero is represented by Lucian as 
 finding something to complain of even in Elysium, because 
 he got nothing but onions there to eat. But it is simply, I 
 assure you, because the French did not understand that hya- 
 cinths and onions were the principal things to fill their exist- 
 ing Elysian Fields, or Champs Elysees, wnth, but chose to 
 have carriages and roundabouts instead, that a tax on 
 matches in those fields would be, now-a-days, so much more 
 productive than one on Asphodel ; and I see that only a day 
 or two since even a poor Punch's show could not play out its 
 play in Elysian peace, but had its corner knocked off by a 
 shell from Mont Valerien, and the dog Toby seriously 
 alarmed." 
 
 One m.ore instance of the things you don't care for, that 
 are vital to you, may be better told now than hereafter. 
 
 In my plan for our practical work, in last number, you re- 
 member I said, we must try and make some pottery, and 
 
 * Of course this was written, and in typO; before the late catastrophe 
 in Paris, and the one nt Dunkirk is, I suppose, long since forgotten, 
 much more our own good ])eginning at —Birmingham — was it ? I forget* 
 myself, now. 
 
73 
 
 FOnS CLAVIGBMA. 
 
 have some music, and that we would have no steam-engines. 
 On this I received a singular letter from a resident at Bir- 
 mingham, advising me that the colours for my pottery must 
 be ground by steam, and my musical instruments constructed 
 by it. To this, as my correspondent was an educated per* 
 son, and knew Latin, I ventured to answer that porcelain 
 had been painted before the time of James Watt ; that even 
 music was not entirely a recent invention ; that my poor 
 company, I fear&d, would deserve no better colours than 
 Apelles and Titian made shift with, or even the Chinese ; 
 and that I could not find any notice of musical instruments 
 in the time of David, for instance, having been made by 
 steam. 
 
 To this my correspondent again replied that he supposed 
 David's twangling upon the harp" would have been un- 
 satisfactory to modern taste ; in which sentiment I concurred 
 with him, (thinking of the Cumberland procession, without 
 dancing, after its sacred cylindrical Ark). We shall have to 
 be content, however, for our part, with a little twangling " 
 on such roughly-made harps, or even shells, as the Jews and 
 Greeks got their melody out of, though it must indeed be 
 little conceivable in a modern manufacturing town that a 
 nation could ever have existed which imaginarily dined on 
 onions in Heaven, and made harps of the near relations of 
 turtles on Earth. But, to keep to our crockery, you know 
 I told you that for some time we should not be able to put 
 any pictures of Gods on it ; and you might think that would 
 be of small consequence : but it is of moment that we should 
 at least try — for indeed that old French potter, Palissy, was 
 nearly the last of potters in France, or England either, who 
 could have done so, if anybody had wanted Gods. But nobody 
 in his time did ; they only wanted Goddesses, of a demi* 
 divine-raonde pattern ; Palissy, not well able to produce 
 such, took to moulding innocent frogs and vipers instead, 
 in his dishes ; but at Sevres and other places for shaping of 
 courtly clay, the charmingest things were done, as you prob 
 ably saw at the great peace-promoting Exhibition of 1851 ; 
 and not only the first rough potter's fields, tileries, as they 
 
F0R8 OLAVIGERA. 
 
 n 
 
 called them, or Tuileries, but the little deii wiiere Palissy long 
 after worked under the Louvre, were effaced and forgotten in 
 the glory of the house of France ; until the House of France 
 forgot also that to it, no less than the House of Israel, the words 
 were spoken, not by a painted God, " As tlie clay is in I he 
 hands of the potter, so are ye in mine ; " and thus the stained 
 and vitrified show of it lasted, as you have seen, until the 
 Tuileries again become the Potter's field, to bury, not 
 strangers in, but their own souls, no more ashamed of Traitor- 
 hood, but invoking Traitorhood, as if it covered, instead of 
 constituting, uttermost sliaine ; — until, of the kingdom and 
 its glory there is not a shard left, to take fire out of tlie 
 hearth. 
 
 Left — to men's eyes, I should have written. To their 
 thoughts, is left yet much ; for true kingdoms and true 
 glories cannot pass away. What France has had of such 
 remain to her. What any of us can find of such, will remain 
 to us. Will you look back, for an instant, again to the end 
 of my last Letter, p. 73, and consider the state of life de- 
 scribed there : — No liberty, but instant obedience to known 
 law and appointed persons ; no equality, but recognition of 
 every bitterness and reprobation of every worseness ; and 
 none idle but the dead." 
 
 I beg you to observe that last condition especially. You 
 will debate for many a day to come the causes that have 
 brouglit this misery upon France, and there are many ; but 
 one is chief — chief cause, now and always, of evil everywhere; 
 and I see it at this moment, in its deadliest form, out of the 
 window of my quiet English inn. It is the 21st of May, and 
 a bright morning, and the sun shines, for once, warmly on 
 the wall opposite, a low one, of ornamental pattern, imitative 
 in brick of wood-work (as if it had been of wood- work 
 it would, doubtless, have been painted to look like brick). 
 Against this low decorative edifice leans a ruddy-faced 
 English boy of seventeen or eighteen, in a white blouse 
 and brow!) corduroy trousers, and a domical felt hat ; with 
 the sun, as much as can get under the rim, on his face, and 
 bis hands in his pockets ; listlessly watching two dogs at 
 
80 
 
 FOES CLAVIGERA. 
 
 play. He is a good boy, evidently, and does not care tc 
 turn the play into a fight still it is not interesting enough 
 to him, as play, to relieve the extreme distress of his idleness, 
 and he occasionally takes his hands out of his pockets, and 
 claps them at the dogs to startle them. 
 
 The ornamental wall he leans against surrounds the county 
 police-office, and the residence at the end of it, appropriately 
 called '^Gaol Lodge." This county gaol, police-office, and a 
 large gasometer, have been built by the good people of Ab- 
 ingdon to adorn the principal entrance to their town from 
 the south. It was once quite one of the loveliest, as well as 
 historically interesting, scenes in England. A few cottages 
 and their gardens, sloping down to the river-side, are still 
 left, and an arch or two of the great monastery ; but the 
 principal object from the road is now the gaol, and from the 
 river the gasometer. It is curious that since the English 
 have believed (as you will find the editor of the Liverpool 
 Daily Post, quoting to you from Macaulay, in his leader of 
 the 9th of this month), "the only cure for Liberty is more 
 liberty " (which is true enough, for when you have got all 
 you can, you will be past physic), they always make their 
 gaols conspicuous and ornamental. Now I have no objec- 
 tion, myself, detesting, as I do, every approach to liberty, to 
 a distinct manifestation of gaol, in proper quarters ; nay, in 
 the highest, and in the close neighbourhood of palaces ; per- 
 haps, even, with a convenient passage, and Pontc de' Sos- 
 piri, from one to the other, or, at least, a pleasant access by 
 water-gate and down tlie river ; but I do not see why in these 
 days of incurable " liberty, the prospect in approaching a 
 quiet English county town should be gaol, and nothing else. 
 
 Tliat being so, however, the country-boy, in his white 
 blouse, leans placidly against the prison-wall this bright 
 Sunday morning, little thinking what a luminous sign-post 
 he is making of himself, and living gnomon of sun-dial, of 
 which the shadow points sharply to the subtlest cause of the 
 fall of France, and of England, as is too likely, after her. 
 
 * This was at seven in the mornirig, he had them fighting at half-past 
 nine. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 81 
 
 Your hands in your own pockets, in the morning. That 
 is the beginning of the last day ; your hands in other peo- 
 ple's pockets at noon ; that is the height of the last day ; 
 and the gaol, ornamented or otherwise (assuredly the great 
 gaol of the grave), for the night. That is the history of na* 
 tions under judgment. Don't think I say this to any single 
 class ; least of all specially to you ; the rich are continually, 
 now-a-days, reproaching you with 3'Our wish to be idle. It 
 is very wrong of you ; but, do they w^ant to work all day, 
 themselves ? All mouths are very properly open now against 
 the Paris Communists because they fight that they may get 
 wages for marching about with flags. What do the upper 
 classes fight for, then ? Wliat have they fought for since 
 the world became upper and lower, but that they also might 
 have wages for walking about with flags, and that mischiev- 
 ously ? It is very wrong of the Communists to steal church- 
 plate and candlesticks. Very wrong indeed ; and much good 
 may they get of their pawnbrokers' tickets. Have you any 
 notion (I mean that you shall have some soon), liow mucli 
 the fathers and fathers' fathers of these men, for a thousand 
 years back, have paid their priests, to keep them in plate and 
 candlesticks ? You need not think I am a republican, or that 
 I like to see priests ill-treated, and their candlesticks carried 
 off. I have many friends among priests, and should have 
 had more had I not long been trying to make them see that 
 they have long trusted too much in candlesticks, not quite 
 enough in candles ; not at all enougli in the sun, and least 
 of all enough in the sun's ?>Iaker. Scientific people indeed 
 of late opine the sun to have been produced by collision, and 
 to be a splendidly permanent railroad accident, or explosive 
 Elysium : also I noticed, only yesterday, that gravitation it- 
 self is announced to the members of the Royal Institution as 
 the result of vibratory motion. Some day, perhaps, the mem- 
 bers of the Royal Institution will proceed to inquire after the 
 cause of — vibratory motion. Be that as it may, the Begin- 
 ning, or Prince of Vibration, as modern science has it,— 
 Prince of Peace, as old science had it, — continues through 
 all scientific analysis, His own arrangements about the sun, 
 6 
 
82 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 as also about other liarhts, lately hidden, or burniiig" low. 
 And these are primarily, that He has appointed a great 
 power to rise and set in heav^en, which gives life, and warmth^ 
 and motion, to the bodies of men, and beasts, creeping things, 
 and flowers ; and w^iich also causes light and colour in the 
 eves of things that have eyes. And he has set above the 
 souls of men, on earth, a great law or Sun of Justice or 
 Righteousness, which brings also life and health in the daily 
 strength and spreading of it, being spoken of in the priests' 
 language, (which they never explained to anybody, and now 
 w^onder that nobody understands,) as having " healing in its 
 wings : " and the obedience to this law, as it gives strength 
 to the heart, so it gives light to the eyes of souls that have 
 got any eyes, so that they begin to see each other as lovely, 
 and to love each other. That is the final law respecting the 
 sun, and all manner of minor lights and candles, down to 
 rushlights ; and I once got it fairly explained, two years ago, 
 to an intellig-ent and obliofinir wax-and-tallow chandler at 
 Abbeville, in whose shop I used to sit sketching in rainy 
 days ; and watching the cartloads of ornamental candles 
 which he used to supply for the church at the far east end of 
 the town, (I forget what saint it belongs to, but it is opposite 
 the late Emperor's large new cavalry barracks), where the 
 young ladies of the better class in Abbeville had just got up 
 a beautiful evening service, with a pyramid of candles which 
 it took at least half-an-hour to light, and as long to put out 
 again, and which, when lighted up to the top of the church, 
 v/ere only to be looked at themselves, and sung to, and not 
 to light anybody, or anytliing. I got the tallow-chandler to 
 calculate vaguely the probable cost of the candles lighted in 
 this manner, every day, in all the churches of France ; and 
 then I asked him how many cottagers' wives he knew round 
 Abbeville itself who could afford, without pinching, either 
 dip or mould in the evening to make their children's clothe^ 
 by, and whether, if the pink and green bees-wax of the dis- 
 trict were divided every afternoon among them, it might not 
 be quite as honourable to God, and as good for the candle- 
 trade ? Which he admitted readily enough ; bnt what I 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 83 
 
 Bhould have tried to convince the young* ladies themselves 
 of, at the evening service, would probably not have been ad- 
 mitted so readily ; — that they themselves were nothing* more 
 than an extremely graceful kind of wax-tapers which had got 
 into their heads that they were only to be looked at, for the 
 honour of God, and not to light anybody. 
 
 Which is indeed too much the notion of even the mascu- 
 line aristocracy of Europe at this day. One can imagine 
 tliem, indeed, modest in the matter of their own luminous- 
 ness, and more timid of the tax on agricultural horses and 
 carts, than of that on lucifers ; but it would be vrell if they 
 were content, here in England, however dimly phosphores- 
 cent themselves, to bask in the sunshine of May at the end 
 of Westminster Bridge, (as my boy on Abingdon Bridge), 
 with their backs asrainst the larofe edifice thev have built 
 there, an edifice, by the way, to my own poor judgment less 
 contributing to the adornment of London, than the new 
 police-office to that of Abingdon. But the English squire, 
 after his fashion, sends himself to that highly decorated gaol 
 all spring-time ; and cannot be content with his hands in his 
 ow.*! pockets, nor even in yours and mine ; but claps and 
 laughs, semi-idiot that he is, at dog-fights on the floor of the 
 House, which, if he knew it, are indeed dog-fights of the Stars 
 in their courses, Sirius against Procyon ; and of the havock 
 and loosed dogs of war, makes, as The Times'^ correspondent 
 says they make, at Versailles, of the siege of Paris, the En- 
 tertainment of the Hour." 
 
 You think that, perhaps, an unjust saying of him, as he 
 will, assuredly, himself. He w^ould fain put an end to this 
 wild w^ork, if he could, he thinks. 
 
 My friends, I tell you solemnly, the sin of it all, down to 
 this last night's doing, or undoing, (for it is Monday now, I 
 waited before finishing my letter, to see if the Sainte Cha- 
 pelle would follow the Vendome Column ;) the sin of it, I tell 
 you, is not that poor rabble's ; spade and pickaxe in hand 
 among the dead ; nor yet the blasphemer's, making noise like 
 a dog by the defiled altars of our Lady of Victories ; and 
 round the barricades, and the ruins, of the Street of Peace. 
 
84 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 This cruelty has been done by the kindest of us, and th^ 
 most honourable ; by the delicate women, by the nobly- 
 nurtured men, who through their happy and, as they thought, 
 holy lives, have sought, and still seek, only the entertain- 
 ment of the hour." And this robbery has been taught to 
 the hands, — this blasphemy to the lips, — of the lost poor, by 
 the False Prophets v»^ho have taken the name of Christ in 
 vain, and leao-ued themselves with his chief enemv, " Covet- 
 ousness, which is idolatry." 
 
 Covetousness, lady of Competition and of deadly Care ; 
 idol above the altars of Ignoble Victory ; builder of streets, 
 in cities of Ignoble Peace. I have given you the picture of 
 her — your goddess and only Hope — as Giotto saw her ; domi- 
 nant in prosperous Italy as in prosperous England, and having 
 her hands clawed then, as now, so that she can only clutch, 
 not work ; also you shall read next month with me what one 
 
 of Giotto's friends says of 
 her — a rude versifier, one 
 of the t wangling harp- 
 ers ; as Giotto was a poor 
 painter for low price, and 
 with colours ground by 
 hand ; but such cheap 
 work must serve our turn 
 for this time ; also, here, 
 is portrayed for you * one 
 of the ministering angels 
 of the goddess ; for she 
 herself, having ears set 
 wide to the wind, is careful to have wind-instruments pro- 
 vided by her servants for other people's ears. 
 
 This servant of hers was drawn by the court portrait painter, 
 
 * Engraved, as also the woodcut in the April number, carefully after 
 Holbein, by my coal- waggon-assisting" assistant: but he has missed his 
 mark somewhat, here ; the imp's abortive hands, hooked processes 
 only, like Envy's, and pterodactylous, are scarcely seen in their clutch 
 of the bellows, and there are other faults. We will do it better for yoiv 
 afterwards. 
 
FOES CLAVIOERA. 
 
 85 
 
 Holbein ; and was a councillor at poor- Jaw boards, in his day ; 
 counselling then, as some of us have, since, Bread of Aj93ic- 
 tion and Water of Affliction " for the vagrant as such, — 
 which is, indeed, good advice, if you are quite sure the va- 
 grant has, or may have a home ; not otherwise. But we will 
 talk further of this next month, taking into council one of 
 Holbein's prosaic friends, as well as that singing friend of 
 Giotto's — an English lawyer and country gentleman, living 
 on his farm at Chelsea — (somewhere near Cheyne Row, I be- 
 lieve) — and not unfrequently visited there by the King of 
 England, who would ask himself unexpectedly to dinner at 
 the little Thames-side farm, though the floor of it was only 
 strewn with green rushes. It was burnt at last, rushes, 
 ricks, and all ; some said because bread of affliction and water 
 of affliction had been served to heretics there, its master be- 
 ing a stout Catholic ; and, singularly enough, also a Com- 
 nmnist ; so that because of. the fire, and other matters, the 
 King at last ceased to dine at Chelsea, ^^'^e will iiave some 
 talk, however, with the farmer, ourselves, some day soon ; 
 meantime and always, believe me, 
 
 Faithfully yours, 
 
 JOHN RUSKTN. 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 25th May (early morning), Reuter's final telegram, in the 
 Echo of last night, being " The Louvre and the Tuileries are 
 in flames, the Federals having set fire to them with petro- 
 leum," it is interesting to observe how in fulfilment of the 
 Mechanical Glories of our age, its ingenious Gomorrah mail' 
 ufactures, and supplies, to demand, her own brimstone : 
 achieving also a quite scientific, instead of miraculous, de- 
 scent of it from Heaven ; and ascent of it, where required, 
 without any need of cleaving or quaking of earth, except in 
 a superficially vibrator}^ " manner. 
 
 Nor can it be less encouraging to you to see how, with a 
 sufficiently curative quantity of Liberty, you may defend 
 
86 
 
 FOHS OLA VIGEHA. 
 
 yourselves against all danger of over-Production, especially 
 in art; but, in case you should ever wisli to re-" produce" 
 any of the combustibles (as oil, or canvas), used in these 
 Parisian Economies, you will do well to inquire of the author 
 of the " Essay on Liberty," wliether he considers oil of lin- 
 seed, or petroleum, as best fulfilling his definition, " utilities 
 fixed and embodied in material objects/' 
 
 LETTER YIL 
 
 Denmark Hill, 
 My Friends, ^''^V^ 1^'^^- 
 
 It seldom chances, my work lying chiefly among stones, 
 clouds, and flov^ers, that I am brought into any freedom of 
 intercourse with my fellow-creatures ; but since the fighting 
 in Paris 1 have dined out several times, and spoken to the 
 persons who sate next me, and to others when I went up- 
 stairs ; and done the best I could to find out what people 
 thought about the fighting, or thought they ought to think 
 about it, or thought they ought to say. I had, of course, no 
 hope of finding any one thinking what they ought to do. 
 But I have not yet, a little to my surprise, met with any one 
 who either appeared to be sadder, or professed himself wiser, 
 for anything that has happened. 
 
 It is true that I am neither sadder nor wiser, because of it, 
 myself. But then I was so sad before, that nothing could 
 make me sadder ; and getting wiser has always been to me a 
 very slovr process, — (sometimes even quite stopping for whole 
 days together), — so that if two or three new ideas fall in my 
 way at once, it only puzzles me ; and the fighting in Paris 
 has given me more than two or three. 
 
 The newest of all these new ones, and, in fact, quite a glis* 
 tering and freshly-minted idea to me, is the Parisian notion 
 of Communism, as far as I understand it, (which I don't pro* 
 fess to do altogether, yet, or I should be v/iser than I was, 
 with a vengeance.) 
 
FOBS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 87 
 
 For, indeed, I am myself a Communist of the old school — ■ 
 reddest also of the red ; and was on the very point of saying 
 so at the end of my last letter ; only the telegram about the 
 Louvre's being on fire stopped me, because I thought the 
 Communists of the new school, as I could not at all under* 
 stand them, might not quite understand me. For we Com- 
 munists of the old school think that our property belongs to 
 everybody, aiid everybody's property to us; so of course I 
 thouo^ht the Louvre belono^ed to me as much as to the Paris- 
 ians, and expected they would have sent word over to me, 
 being an Art Professor, to ask whether I wanted it burnt 
 down. But no messao-e or intimation to that effect ever 
 reached me. 
 
 Then the next bit of new coinage in the way of notion 
 which I have picked up in Paris streets, is the present mean- 
 ing of the French word " Ouvrier," which in my time the dic- 
 tionaries used to give as "Workman," or Working-man." 
 For again, I have spent many days, not to say years, with 
 the workinff-men of our Eno^lish school mvself : and I know 
 that with the more advanced of them, the gathering word is 
 that which I gave you at the end of my second number — To 
 do good work, whether we live or die." Whereas I perceive 
 the gathering, or rather scattering, word of the French 
 
 ouvrier" is, "To undo good work, whether we live or die." 
 
 And this is the third, and the last I will tell you for the 
 present, of my new ideas, but a troublesome one : namely, 
 that we are henceforward to have a duplicate power of politi- 
 cal economy ; and that the new Parisian expression for its 
 first principle is not to be "laissez faire" but " laissez r6- 
 faire." 
 
 I cannot, however, make anything of these new French 
 fashions of thought till I have looked at them quietly a little ; 
 so to-day I will content myself with telling you what we 
 Communists of the old school meant by Communism ; and it 
 will be worth your hearing, for — I tell you simply in my "ar- 
 rogant " way — we know, and have known, what Communism 
 is — for our fathers knew it, and told us, three thousand years 
 ago ; while you baby Communists do not so much as know 
 
S8 
 
 FOES CLAVIGERA, 
 
 what the name means, in your own English or French — no, 
 not so much as whether a House of Commons implies, or does 
 not imply, also a House of Uncommons ; nor whether the 
 Holiness of the Commune, which Garibaldi came to fight for^ 
 had any relation to the Holiness of the "Communion " which 
 he came to fio^ht ag-ainst. 
 
 Will 3''ou be at the pains, now, however, to learn rightly, 
 and once for all, what Communism is ? First, it means that 
 everybody must work in common, and do common or simple 
 work for his dinner ; and that if any man will not do it, he 
 must not have his dinner. That much, perhaps, you thought 
 you knew ? — but you did not think we Communists of the 
 old school knew it also ? You shall have it, then, in the 
 words of the Chelsea farmer and stout Catholic, I was telling 
 vou of, in last number. He was born in Milk Street, Lon- 
 don, three hundred and ninety-one years ago (1480, a year I 
 have just been telling my Oxford pupils to remember, for 
 manifold reasons), and he planned a Commune flowing with 
 milk, and honey, and otherwise Elysian ; and called it the 
 " Place of Wellbeing," or Utopia ; which is a word you per- 
 haps have occasionally used before now, like others, without 
 understanding it ; — (in the article of the Liverj^ool Daily 
 Post before referred to, it occurs felicitously seven times). 
 You shall use it in that stupid way no more, if I can help it. 
 Listen how matters really are managed there. 
 
 " The chief, and almost the only business of the govern- 
 ment,* is to take care that no man may live idle, but that 
 every one may follow his trade diligently : yet they do not 
 wear themselves out with perpetual toil from morning to 
 night, as if they were beasts of burden, which, as it is indeed 
 a heavy slavery, so it is everywhere the common course of 
 life amongst all mechanics except the Utopians : but they, 
 dividing the day and night into twenty-four hours, appoint 
 six of these for work, three of which are before dinner and 
 three after ; they then sup, and, at eight o'clock, counting 
 
 * T spare you, for once, a word for *' government" used by this old 
 author, which would have been unintelligible to you, and is so, except 
 in its general sense, to me, too. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 89 
 
 from noon, go to bed and sleep eight hours : the rest cf their 
 time, besides that taken up in work, eating, and sleeping, is 
 left to every man's discretion ; yet they are not to abuse that 
 interval to luxury and idleness, but must employ it in some 
 proper exercise, according to their various inclinations, which 
 is, for the most part, reading. 
 
 " But the time appointed for labour is to be narrowly ex- 
 amined, otherwise, you may imagine, that, since there are 
 only six hours appointed for work, they may fall under a 
 scarcity of necessary provisions : but it is so far from being 
 true that this time is not sufficient for supplying them with 
 plenty of all things, either necessary or convenient, that it is 
 rather too much ; and this you will easily apprehend, if you 
 consider how great a part of all other nations is quite idle. 
 First, women generally do little, who are the half of man- 
 kind ; and, if some few women are diligent, their husbands 
 are idle : then, — " 
 
 What then ? 
 
 We will stop a minute, friends, if you please, for I want 
 you, before you read what then, to be once more made fully 
 aware that this farmer wlio is speaking to you is one of the 
 sternest Roman Catholics of his stern time ; and, at tiie fall 
 of Cardinal Wolscy, became Lord High Chancellor of Eng- 
 land in his stead. 
 
 " — then, consider the great company of idle priests, and of 
 those that are called religious men ; add to these, all rich 
 men, chiefly those that have estates in land, who are called 
 noblemen and gentlemen, together with their families, made 
 up of idle persons, that are kept more for shew than use : 
 add to these, all those strong and lusty beggars that go 
 about, pretending some disease in excuse for their begging ; 
 and, upon the whole account, you will find, that the number 
 of those by whose labours mankind is supplied is much less 
 than you, perhaps, imagined : then, consider how few of 
 those that work are employed in labours that are of real ser- 
 vice ! for we, who measure all things by money, give rise to 
 many trades that are both vain and superfluous, and serve 
 only to support riot and luxury : for if those who work were 
 
90 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 employed only in such things as the conveniences of life re* 
 quire, there would be such an abundance of them, that th6 
 prices of them would so sink that tradesmeri could not b6 
 maintained by their gains — (italics mine — Fair and softly, 
 Sir Thomas ! we must have a shop round the corner, and a 
 pedlar or two on fair-days, yet) — " if all those who labouj* 
 about useless things were set to more profitable employ, 
 nients, and if all that languish out their lives in sloth and 
 idleness (every one of whom consumes as much as any two 
 of the men that are at work) were forced to labour, you may 
 easily imagine that a small proportion of time would serve 
 for doing all that is either necessary, profitable, or pleasant 
 to mankind, especially while pleasure is kept within its due 
 bounds : this appears very plainly in Utopia ; for there, in a 
 great city, and in all the territory that lies round it, you can 
 scarce find five hundred, either men or women, by their age 
 and strength capable of labour, that are not engaged in it ! 
 even the heads of government, though excused by the law, 
 yet do not excuse themselves, but work, that, by their ex- 
 amples, they may excite the industry of the rest of the 
 people." 
 
 You see, therefore, that there is never any fear among us 
 of the old school, of being out of w^ork ; but there \s great 
 fear, among many of us, lest we should not do the work set 
 us Avell ; for, indeed, we thorough-going Communists make 
 it a part of our daily duty to consider how common we are ; 
 and how few of us have any brains or souls worth speaking 
 of, or fit to trust to ; — that being the, alas, almost unexcep- 
 tionable lot of human creatures. Not that we think our« 
 selves (still less, call ourselves without thinking so,) miser- 
 able sinners, for we are not in any wise miserable, but quite 
 comfortable for the most part : and we are not sinners, tb^t 
 "we know of ; but are leading godly, righteous, and sober 
 lives, to the best of our pov,^er, since last Sunday ; (on which 
 day some of us were, we regret to be informed, drunk ;) but 
 vv^e are of course common creatures enough, the most of us^ 
 and thankful if we may be gathered up in St. Peter's sheet, 
 so as not to be uncivilly or urjjustly called unclean too. -A nd 
 
FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 therefore our chief concern is to find out any among us 
 wiser, and of better make than the rest, and to get them, if 
 they will for any persuasion take the trouble, to rule over 
 us, and teach us how to behave, and make the most of what 
 little good is in us. 
 
 So much for the first law of old Communism, respecting 
 work. Then the second respects property, and it is that the 
 public, or common, wealth, shall be more and statelier in all 
 its substance than private or singular wealth ; that is to say 
 (to come to my own special business for a moment) that 
 there shall be only cheap and few pictures, if any, in the in- 
 sides of houses, where nobody but the owner can see them ; 
 but costly pictures, and many, on the outsides of houses, 
 where the people can see them : also that the H6tel-de-Ville, 
 or Hotel of the whole Town, for the transaction of its com- 
 mon business, shall be a magnificent building, much rejoiced 
 in by the people, and with its tower seen far away through 
 the clear air ; but that the hotels for private business or 
 pleasure, cafes, taverns, and the like, sliall be low, few, plain, 
 and in back streets ; more especially such as furnish singular 
 and uncommon drinks and refreshments ; but that the foun- 
 tains which furnish the people's common drink should be very 
 lovely and stately, and adorned with precious marbles, and 
 the like. Then farther, according to old Communism, the 
 private dwellings of uncommon persons — dukes and lords — 
 are to be very simple, and roughly put together — sucli ])er- 
 sons being supposed to be above all care for things that 
 please the commonalty ; but the buildings for public or com- 
 mon service, more especially schools, almshouses, and work- 
 houses, are to be externally of a majestic character, as being 
 for noble purposes and charities ; and in their interiors fur- 
 nished with many luxuries for the poor and sick. And 
 finally and chiefly, it is an absolute law of old Communism 
 that the fortunes of private persons should be small, and of 
 little account in the State ; but the common treasure of the 
 whole nation should be of superb and precious things in re- 
 dundant quantity, as pictures, statues, precious books ; gold 
 and silver vessels, preserved from ancient times ; gold and 
 
92 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 silver bullion laid up for use, in case of any chance need oi 
 buying anything suddenly from foreign nations ; noble 
 horses, cattle, and sheep, on the public lands ; and vast 
 spaces of land for culture, exercise, and garden, round the 
 cities, full of flowers, which, being everybody's property, no- 
 body could gather ; and of birds which, being everybody's 
 property, nobody could shoot. And, in a word, that instead 
 of a common poverty, or national debt, which every poor per- 
 son in the nation is taxed annually to fulfil his part of, there 
 should be a common wealth, or national reverse of debt, con- 
 sisting of pleasant things, which every poor person in the 
 nation should be summoned to receive his dole of, annually ; 
 and of pretty things, which every person capable of admira- 
 tion, foreiofners as well as natives, should unfeisrnedlv admire, 
 in an aesthetic, and not a covetous manner (though for my 
 own part, I can't understand what it is that I am taxed now 
 to defend, or what foi-eign nations are supposed to covet, 
 here.) But truly, a nation that has got anything to defend 
 of real public interest, can usually hold it ; and a fat Latin 
 communist gave for sign of the strength of his commonalty, 
 in its strongest time, — 
 
 ' ' Privatus illis census erat breyis, 
 Commune magnum 
 
 which you may get any of your boys or girls to translate for 
 you, and remember ; remembering, also, that all commonalty 
 or publicity depends for its goodness on the nature of the 
 thing that is common, and that is public. When the French 
 cried, " Vive la Republique ! " after the battle of Sedan, 
 they were thinking only of the Publique, in the word, and 
 not of the Ro in it. But that is the essential part of it, 
 for that " Re " is not like the mischievous Re in Reform, and 
 Refaire, which the words had better be v/ithout ; but it is 
 short for res^ which means thing ; " and when you cry, 
 "Live the Republic," the question is mainly, what thing it 
 is you wish to be publicly alive, and whether you are striv- 
 ing for a Common-Wealth, and Public-Thing ; or, as too 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 93 
 
 plainly in Paris, for a Common-IUth, and Public-Nothing, or 
 even Public-Less-than-noiliing and Common Deficit. 
 
 Now all these laws respecting public and private property, 
 are accepted in the same terms by the entire body of us Com- 
 munists of the old school ; but w^ith respect to the manage- 
 ment of both, we old Reds fall into two classes, differing, not 
 indeed in colour of redness, but in depth of tint of it — one 
 class being, as it were, only of a delicately pink, peach-blos- 
 som, or dog-rose redness ; but the other, to which I myself do 
 partly, and desire wholly, to belong, as I told you, reddest of 
 the red, that is to say, full crimson, or even dark crimson, 
 passing into that deep colour of the blood, which made the 
 Spaniards call it blue, instead of red, and which the Greeks 
 call OoLVLK€o^, being an intense phoenix or flamingo colour : and 
 this not merely, as in the flamingo featliers, a colour on tlie 
 outside, but going through and through, ruby-wise ; so that 
 Dante, who is one of the few people wlio have ever beheld 
 our queen full in the face, says of l>er that, if she had been in 
 a fire, he could not liave seen her at all, so (ire-colour siie 
 was, all through.* 
 
 And between these two sects or shades of us, there is this 
 difference in our way of holding our common faith (that our 
 neighbour's property is ours, and ours his), namely, that the 
 rose-red division of us are content in their dilijrencc of care 
 to preserve or guard from injury or loss their neighbour's 
 property, as their own ; so that they may be called, not 
 merely dog-rose red, but even watch-dog-rose " red ; being, 
 indeed, more careful and anxious for the safety of the pos- 
 sessions of other people, (especially their masters,) than for 
 any of their own ; and also more sorrowful for any wound oi 
 harm suffered by any creature in their sight, than for hurt to 
 themselves. So that thev are Communists, even less in their 
 having part in all common well-being of their neighbours, than 
 ])art in all common pain : being yet, on the whole, infinite 
 gainers ; for there is in this world infinitely more joy than 
 
 * Tanto rossa, cV appeua fora dentro al fuoco nota." — Purg. xxix., 
 132. 
 
94 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 pain to be shared, if you will only take your share when it is 
 set for you. 
 
 The vermilion, or Tyrian-red sect of us, however, are not 
 content merely with this carefulness and watchfulness over 
 our neighbour's goods, but we cannot rest unless we are giv- 
 ing what we can spare of our own ; and the more precious it 
 is, the more we want to divide it with somebody. So that 
 above all things, in what we value most of possessions, pleas- 
 ant sights, and true knowledge, we cannot relish seeing any 
 pretty things unless other people see them also ; neither can 
 we be content to know anything for ourselves, but must con- 
 trive, somehow, to make it known to others. 
 
 And as thus especially we like to give knowledge away ; 
 so we like to have it good to give, (for, as for selling knowl- 
 edge, thinking it comes by the spirit of Heaven, we hold 
 the selling of it to be only a way of selling God again, and 
 utterly Iscariot's business) ; also, we know that the knowl- 
 edge made up for sale is apt to be watered and dusted, or 
 even itself good for nothing ; and we try, for our part, to 
 get it, and give it, pure : the mere fact that it is to be given 
 away at once to anybody who asks to have it, and immedi- 
 ately wants to use it, is a continual check upon us. For 
 instance, when Colonel North, in the House of Commons, on 
 the 20th of last month, (as reported in the 2\rnes,) " would 
 simply observe in conclusion, that it was impossible to tell 
 how many thousands of the young men who were to be em- 
 barked for India next September, would be marched, not to 
 the hills, but to their graves ; " any of us Tyrian-reds would 
 simply observe " that the young men themselves ought to be 
 constantly, and on principle, informed of their destination 
 before embarking ; and that this pleasant communicative- 
 ness of what knowledge on the subject was to be got, would 
 soon render quite possible the attainment of more. So also, 
 in abstract science, the instant habit of makino^ true discov- 
 eries common property, cures us of a bad trick which one 
 may notice to have much hindered scientific persons lately, 
 of rather spending their time in hiding their neighbours' dis* 
 coveries than improving their own : whereas, among us^ 
 
FORS CLAVTOERA. 
 
 95 
 
 scientific flamingoes are not only openly graced for discover- 
 ies, but openly disgraced for coveries ; and that sharply and 
 permanently ; so that there is rarely a hint or thought among 
 them of each other's being wrong, but quick confession of 
 whatever is found out rightly.* 
 
 But the point in which we dark-red Communists differ 
 most from other people is, that we dread, above all things, 
 getting miserly of virtue ; and if there be any in us, or 
 among us, we try forthwith to get it made common, and 
 would fain hear the mob crying for some of that treasure, 
 where it seems to have accumulated. I say " seems," only : 
 for though, at first, ail the finest virtue looks as if it were 
 laid up with the rich, (so that, generally, a millionnaire would 
 be much surprised at hearing that his daughter had made a 
 petroleuse of herself, or that his son had murdered anybody 
 for the sake of their watch and cravat), — it is not at all clear 
 to us dark-reds that this virtue, proportionate to income, is 
 of the right sort ; and we believe that even if it were, the 
 people who keep it thus all to themselves, and leave the so- 
 called canaille without any, vitiate what they keep by keep- 
 ing it, so that it is like manna laid up througli the night, 
 which breeds worms in the morning. 
 
 You see, also, that we dark-red Communists, since we exist 
 only in giving, must, on the contrary, hate with a perfect 
 hatred all manner of thieving : even to Coeur-de- Lion's tar- 
 and-feather extreme ; and of all thieving, we dislike thieving 
 on trust most (so that, if we ever get to be strong enough to 
 do what we want, and chance to catch hold of any failed 
 bankers, their necks will not be worth half an hour's pur- 
 chase). So, also, as we think virtue diminishes in the honour 
 
 * Confession always a little painful, however; scientific envy being" 
 the most difficult of all to conquer. 1 find I did much injustice to the 
 botanical lecturer, as well as to my friend, in my last letter; and, in- 
 deed, suspected as much at the time; but having some botanical notions 
 myself, which I am vain of, I wanted the lecturer's to be wrong, and 
 stopped cross-examining my friend as soon as I had got what suited rae. 
 Nevertheless, the general statement that follows, remember, rests on no 
 tea-table chat ; and the tea-table chat itself is accurate, as far as it goes. 
 
96 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGVjRA, 
 
 and force of it in proportion to income, we think vice in< 
 creases in the force and shame of it, and is worse in kings 
 and rich people than in poor ; and worse on a large scale thai> 
 on a narrow one ; and worse when deliberate than hasty. So 
 that we can understand one man's coveting a piece of vine- 
 yard-ground for a garden of herbs, and stoning the master 
 of it, (both of them being Jews ;) — and yet the dogs ate 
 queen's flesh for that, and licked king's blood ! but for two 
 nations — both Christian — to covet their neighbour's vine- 
 yards, all down beside the River of their border, and slay 
 until the River itself runs red ! The little pool of Samaria ! 
 — shall all the snows of the Alps, or the salt pool of the 
 Great Sea, wash their armour, for these ? 
 
 I promised, in my last letter, that I would tell you the 
 main meaning and bearing of the war, and its results to this 
 day : — now that you know what Communism is, I can tell 
 you these briefly, and what is more to the purpose, hov^^ to 
 bear yourself in the midst of them. 
 
 The first reason for all wars, and for the necessity of 
 national defences, is that the majority of persons, high 
 and low, in all European nations, are Thieves, and in 
 their hearts, greedy of their neighbours' goods, land, and 
 fame. 
 
 But besides being Thieves, they are also fools, and have 
 never yet been able to understand that if Cornish men want 
 pippins cheap, they must not ravage Devonshire — that the 
 prosperity of their neighbours is, in the end, their own also ; 
 and the poverty of their neighbours, by the Communism of 
 God, becomes also in the end their own. "Invidia," jealousy 
 of your neighbour's good, has been, since dust was first made 
 flesh, the curse of man ; and Charitas," the desire to do your 
 neighbour grace, the one source of all human glory, power, 
 and material Blessing. 
 
 But war between nations (thieves and fools though they 
 be,) is not necessarily in all respects evil. I gave you that 
 long extract from Froissart to show you, mainly, that Theft 
 in its simplicity — however sharp and rude, yet if frankly 
 done, and bravely — does not corrupt men's souls ; and they 
 
FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 can, in a foolish, but quite vital and faithful way, keep the 
 feast of the Virgin Mary in the midst of it. 
 
 But Occult Theft, Theft which hides itself even from itself, 
 and is legal, respectable, and cowardly, corrupts the body 
 and soul of man, to the last fibre of them. And the guilty 
 Thieves of Europe, the real sources of all deadly war in it, 
 are the Capitalists — that is to say, people who live by per- 
 centages or the labour of others ; instead of by fair wages 
 for their own. The Real war in Europe, of which this fight- 
 ing in Paris is the Inauguration, is between these and the 
 workman, such as these have made him. They have kept 
 him poor, ignorant, and sinful, that they might, without his 
 knowledge, gather for themselves the produce of his toil. At 
 last, a dim insight into the fact of this dawns on him ; and 
 such as they have made him, he meets them, and will meet. 
 
 Nay, the time is even come when he will study that Mete- 
 orological question, suggested by the Spectator^ formerly 
 quoted, of the Filtration of Money from above downwards. 
 
 " It was one of the many delusions of the Commune," (says 
 to-day's Telegraphy 24tli June,) " that it could do without 
 rich consumers." Well, such unconsumed existence wouhi 
 be very wonderful ! Yet it is, to me also, conceivable. 
 Without the riches, — no ; but without the consumers ? — 
 possibly ! It is occurring to the minds of the workmen that 
 tliese Golden Fleeces must get their dew from somewhere. 
 " Shall there be dew upon the fieece only ? " they ask : — and 
 will be answered. They cannot do without these long purses, 
 say you ? No ; but they want to find where the long purses 
 are filled. Nay, even their trying to burn the Louvre, with- 
 out reference to Art Professors, had a ray of meaning in it — 
 quite Spectatorial. 
 
 "If we must choose between a Titian and a Lancashire 
 cotton-mill," (vvrotei the Spectator of August 6th, last year, 
 instructing me in political economy, just as the war was be- 
 ginning,) in the name of manhood and morality, give us the 
 cotton-mill." 
 
 So thinks the French workman also, energetically ; only 
 his mill is not to be in Lancashire. Both French and English 
 7 
 
98 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 agree to have no more Titians, — it is well, — but which is to 
 have the Cotton-Mill? 
 
 Do you see, in The Times of yesterday and the day before, 
 22nd and 23rd June, that the Minister of France dares not, 
 even in this her utmost need, put on an income tax ; and do 
 you see why he dares not ? 
 
 Observe, such a tax is the only honest and just one ; 
 because it tells on the rich in true proportion to the poor, 
 and because it meets necessity in the shortest and bravest 
 way, and without interfering with any commercial opera- 
 tion. 
 
 All rich people object to income tax, of course ; — they like 
 to pay as much as a poor man pays on their tea, sugar, and 
 tobacco — nothing on their incomes. 
 
 Whereas, in true justice, the only honest and wholly right 
 tax is one not merely on income, but property ; increasing 
 in percentage as the property is greater. And the main virt- 
 ue of such a tax is that it makes publicly known what every 
 man has, and how he gets it. 
 
 For every kind of Vagabonds, high and low, agree in their 
 dislike to give an account of the way they get their living, 
 still less, of how much they have got sewn up in their 
 breeches. It does not, however, matter much to a country 
 that it should know how its poor Vagabonds live ; but it is 
 of vital moment that it should know how its rich Vas^abonds 
 live ; and that much of knowledge, it seems to me, in the 
 present state of our education, is quite attainable. But that, 
 when you have attained it, you may act on it wisely, the first 
 need is that you should be sure you are living honestly your- 
 selves. That is why I told you in my second letter, you 
 must learn to obey good laws before you seek to alter bad 
 ones : — I will amplify now a little the three promises I want 
 you to make. Look back at them. 
 
 1. You are to do good work, whether you live or die. It 
 may be you will have to die ; — well, men have died for their 
 country often, yet doing her no good ; be ready to die for 
 her in doing her assured good : her, and all other countries 
 with her. Mind your own business with your absolute heart 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 99 
 
 and soul ; but see that it is a good business first. That it is 
 corn and sweet pease you are producing, — not gunpowder 
 and arsenic. And be sure of this, literally : — you Diust sim^ 
 ply rather die than make any destroying mechanism or com- 
 pound. You are to be literally employed in cultivating the 
 ground, or making useful things, and carrying them where 
 they are wanted. Stand in the streets, and say to all who 
 pass by : — Have you any vineyard we can work in, — not 
 Naboth's ? In your powder and petroleum manufactory we 
 work no more. 
 
 I have said little to you yet of any of the pictures 
 engraved — you perhaps think, not to the ornament of my 
 book. 
 
 Be it so. You will find them better than ornaments in 
 time. Notice, however, in the one I give you with this 
 letter — the Charity " of Giotto — the Red Queen of Dante, 
 and ours also, — how different his thought of her is from the 
 common one. 
 
 Usually she is nursing children, or giving money. Giotto 
 thinks there is little charity in nursing children ; — bears and 
 wolves do that for their little ones ; and less still in giving 
 money. 
 
 His Charity tramples upon bags of gold — has no use for 
 them. She gives only corn and flowers ; and God's angel 
 gives her, not even these — but a Heart. 
 
 Giotto is quite liberal in his meaning, as well as figurative. 
 Your love is to give food and flowers, and to labour for them 
 only. 
 
 But what are we to do against powder and petroleuir., 
 then ? What men may do ; not what poisonous beasts may. 
 If a wretch spits in your face, will you answer by spitting in 
 his? if he throw vitriol at you, will you go to the apothecary 
 for a bigger bottle ? 
 
 There is no physical crime, at this day, so far beyond par- 
 don, — so without parallel in its untempted guilt, as the mak- 
 ing of war- machinery, and invention of mischievous substance. 
 Two nations may go mad, and fight like harlots — God have 
 mercy on them ; — you, who hand them carving-knives off th% 
 
100 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIOERA. 
 
 table, for leave to pick up a dropped sixpence, what mercy 
 is there for you ? We are so humane, forsooth, and so wise ; 
 and our ancestors had tar-barrels for witches ; we will have 
 them for everybody else, and drive the witches' trade our- 
 selves, by daylight ; we will have our cauldrons, please Hec- 
 ate, cooled, (according to the Darwinian theory,) with bab^ 
 oons' blood, and enough of it, and sell hell-fire in the open 
 streets. 
 
 II. Seek to revenge no injury. You see now — do not you 
 — a little more clearly why I wrote that ? what strain there 
 is on the untaught masses of you to revenge themselves, even 
 with insane fire ? 
 
 Alas, the Taught masses are strained enough also ; — have 
 you not just seen a great religious and reformed nation, with 
 its goodly Captains — philosophical, — sentimental, — domestic, 
 ► — evangelical-angelical-minded altogether, and with its Lord's 
 Prayer really quite vital to it, — come and take its neighbour 
 nation by the throat, saying, "Pay me that thou owest." 
 
 Seek to revenge no injury : I do not say, seek to punish 
 no crime : look what I hinted about failed bankers. Of that 
 hereafter. 
 
 III. Learn to obey good laws ; and in a little while, you 
 will reach the better learning — how to obey good Men, who 
 are living, breathing, unblinded law ; and to subdue base 
 and disloyal ones, recognizing in these the light, and ruling 
 over those in the power, of the Lord of Light and Peace, 
 whose Dominion is an everlasting Dominion, and his King 
 dom from generation to generation. 
 
 Ever faithfully yours, 
 
 JOHN RUSKIK 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 101 
 
 LETTER VIII. 
 
 My Friends, 
 
 I BEGIN this letter a month before it is wanted,* having 
 several matters in my mind that I would fain put into words 
 at once. It is the first of July, and I sit down to write by 
 the dismallest light that ever yet I wrote by ; namely, the 
 light of this midsummer morning, in mid-England, (Matlock, 
 Derbyshire), in the year 1871. 
 
 For the sky is covered with grey cloud ; — not rain-clouds, 
 but a dry black veil, which no ray of sunshine can pierce ; 
 partly diffused in mist, feeble mist, enough to make distant 
 objects unintelligible, yet without any substance, or wreath- 
 ing, or colour of its own. And everywhere the leaves of the 
 trees are shaking fitfully, as they do before a thunderstorm ; 
 only not violently, but enough to sliow the passing to and 
 fro of a strange, bitter, blighting wind. Dismal enough, 
 had it been the first morning of its kind that summer had 
 sent. But during all this spring, in London, and at Oxford, 
 through meagre March, through changelessly sullen x\j)ril, 
 through despondent May, and darkened June, morning after 
 morning has come grey-shrouded thus. 
 
 And it is a new thing to me, and a very dreadful one. 1 
 am fifty years old, and more ; and since I was five, have 
 gleaned the best hours of my life in the sun of spring and 
 summer mornings ; and I never saw such as these, till now. 
 
 And the scientific men are busy as ants, examining the 
 sun, and the moon, and the seven stars, and can tell me all 
 about them, I believe, by this time ; and how they move, 
 and what thev are made of. 
 
 And I do not care, for my part, two copper spangles how 
 
 * I have since been ill, and cannot thoroughly revise my sheets ; but 
 my good friend Mr. Robert Chester, whose keen reading has saved me 
 many a blunder ere now, will, I doubt not, see me safely through the 
 pinch. 
 
102 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 they move, nor what they are made of. I can't move them 
 any other way than they go, nor make them of anything 
 else, better than they are made. But I would care aiuch 
 and give much, if I could be told where this bitter wind 
 comes from, and what it is made of. 
 
 For, perhaps, with forethought, and fine laboratory science, 
 one might make it of something else. 
 
 It looks partly as if it were made of poisonous smoke ; 
 very possibly it may be : there are at least two hundred fur- 
 nace chimneys in a square of two miles on every side of me. 
 But mere smoke would not blow to and fro in that wild way. 
 It looks more to me as if it were made of dead men's souls — 
 such of them as are not gone yet where they have to go, and 
 may be flitting hither and thither, doubting, themselves, of 
 the fittest place for them. 
 
 You know, if there are such things as souls, and if ever 
 any of them haunt places where they have been hurt, there 
 must be many about us, just now^ displeased enough ! 
 
 You may laugh, if you like. I don't believe any one of 
 you would like to live in a room with a murdered man in the 
 cupboard, however well preserved chemically ; — even with a 
 sunflower growing out of the top of his head. 
 
 And I don't, myself, like livmg in a world witli such a 
 multitude of murdered men in the or-round of it — thouofh we 
 are making heliotropes of them, and scientific flowers, that 
 study the sun. 
 
 I wish the scientific men would let me and other people 
 study it with our own eyes, and neither through telescopes 
 nor heliotropes. You shall, at all events, study the rain a 
 little, if not the sun, to-day, and settle that question we have 
 been upon so long as to where it comes from. 
 
 All France, it seems, is in a state of enthusiastic delight 
 and pride at the unexpected facility with which she has got 
 into debt ; and Monsieur Thiers is congratulated by all our 
 wisest papers on his beautiful statesmanship of borrowing. 
 I don't m^^self see the cleverness of it, having suffered a good 
 deal from that kind of statesmanship in private persons ; but 
 I daresay it is as clever as anything else that statesmen do, 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 103 
 
 now-a-days ; only it happens to be more mischievous than 
 most of their other doings, and I want you to understand 
 the bearings of it. 
 
 Everybody in France who iias got any money is eager to 
 lend it to M. Thiers at five per cent. No doubt ; but who 
 is to pay the five per cent.? It is to be raised " by duties 
 on this and that. Then certainly the persons who get the 
 five per cent, will have to pay some part oi these duties 
 themselves, on their own tea and sugar, or whatever else is 
 taxed ; and this taxing will be on the whole of their trade, 
 and on whatever they buy with the rest of their fortunes ;* 
 bwt the five per cent, only on what they lend M. Thiers. 
 
 * " The charge on France for the interest of the newly-created debt^ 
 for the amount advanced by the Bank, and for the annual repayments 
 — in short, for the whole additional burdens which the war has rendered 
 necessary — is substantially to be met by increased Customs and Excise 
 duties. The two principles which seem to have governed the selection 
 of these imposts are, to extort the largest amount of money as it is leav- 
 ing the hand of the purchaser, and to enforce the same process as the 
 cash ia falling into the hand of the native vendor ; the results beiog to 
 burden the consumer and restrict the national industry. Leading com- 
 modities of necessary use — such as sugar and coffee, all raw materials 
 for manufacture, and all textile substances — have to pay ad vaiorern 
 duties, in some cases ruinously heavy. Worse still, and bearing most 
 seriously on English interests, heavy export dudes are to be imposed on 
 French products, among which wine, brandy, liqueurs, fruits, eggs, and 
 oilcake stand conspicuous — these articles paying a fixed duty ; while all 
 others, grain and flour, we presume, included, will pay 1 per cent, ad 
 valorem. Navigation dues are also to be levied on shipping, French 
 and foreign ; and the internal postage of letters is to be increased 25 
 per cent. From the changes in the Customs duties alone an increased 
 revenue of £10,500,000 is anticipated. We will not venture to assert 
 that these changes may not yield the amount of money so urgently 
 needed ; but if they do, the result will open up a new chapter in 
 political economy. Judging from the experience of every civilij-ed 
 State, it is simply inconceivable that such a tariff can be productive, 
 can possess the faculty of healthy natural increase, or can act otherwise 
 than as a dead weight on the industrial energies of the country. Every 
 native of France will have to pay more for articles of prime necessity, 
 and will thus have less to spare on articles of luxury — that is, on those 
 which contribute most to the revenue, with the least of damage to the 
 resources of his industry. Again, the i;ianufacturer will have the raw 
 
104 
 
 FOES CLAVIGEJIA, 
 
 It is a low estimate to say the payment of duties will take 
 off one per cent, of their five. 
 
 Practically, therefore, the arrangement is that they get 
 four per cent, for their money, and have all the trouble of 
 customs duties, to take from them another extra one per 
 cent., and give it them back again. Four per cent., however, 
 is not to be despised. But who pays that ? 
 
 The people who have got no money to lend, pay it ; the 
 daily worker and producer pays it. Unfortunate " William," 
 who has borrowed, in this instance, not a plane he could make 
 planks with, but mitrailleuses and gunpowder, with which 
 he has planed away liis own farmsteads, and forests, and fair 
 fields of corn, and having left himself desolate, now has to 
 pay for the loan of this useful instrument, five per cent. So 
 says the gently commercial James to him : Not only the 
 price of your plane, but five per cent, to me for lending it, 
 O sweetest of Williams." 
 
 Sweet William, carrying generally more absinthe in his 
 brains than wit, has little to say for himself, having, indeed, 
 wasted too much of his sweetness lately, tainted disagreeably 
 with petroleum, on the desert air of Paris. And the people 
 who are to get their five per cent, out of him, and roll him 
 and suck him, — the sugar-cane of a William that he is, — how 
 should they but think the arrangement a glorious one for the 
 nation ? 
 
 material of his trade enhanced in value ; and, though he may have the 
 benefit of a drawback on his exports, he will find his home market 
 starved by State policy. His foreign customer will purchase less, be- 
 cause the cost is so much greater, and because his means are lessened 
 by the increase in the prices of food through the export duty on French 
 products. The French peasant finds his market contracted by an ex- 
 port duty which prevents the English consumers of his eggs, poultry, 
 and wine from buying as largely as they once did ; his profits are there- 
 fore reduced, his piece of ground is less valuable, his ability to pay 
 taxes is lessened. The policy, in short, might almost be thought ex- 
 pressly devised to impoverish the entire nation when it most wants en- 
 riching — to strangle French industry by slow degrees, to dry up at theiif 
 source the main currents of revenue. Our only hope is, that the pro- 
 posals, by their very grossness, will defeat themselves." — Telegraphy 
 June 2dth. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 So there is great acclaim and triuinplial procession of finan- 
 ciers ! and the arrangement is made ; namely, tliat all the 
 poor labouring persons in France are to pay the rich idle ones 
 five per cent, annually, on the sum of eighty millions of ster- 
 ling pounds, until further notice. 
 
 But this is not all, observe. Sweet William is not alto- 
 gether so soft in his rind that you can crush him without 
 some sufficient machinery : you must have your army in 
 good order, to justify public confidence :" and you must 
 get the expense of that, besides your five percent., out of 
 ambrosial William. He must pay the cost of his own roller. 
 
 Now, therefore, see briefly w^hat it all comes to. 
 
 First, you spend eighty millions of money in fireworks, 
 doing no end of damage in letting them ofF. 
 
 Then you borrow money to pay the firework-maker's bill, 
 from any gain-loving persons who have got it. 
 
 And then, dressing your bailiff's men in new red coats and 
 cocked hats, you send them drumming and trumpeting into 
 the fields, to take the peasants by the throat, and make them 
 pay the interest on what you have borrowed, and the expense 
 of the cocked hats besides. 
 
 That is financiering," my friends, as the mob of the 
 money-makers understand it. And they understand it well. 
 For that is what it always comes to, finally ; taking the peas- 
 ant by the throat. lie must pay — for he only can. Food 
 can only be got out of the ground, and all these devices of 
 •soldiership, and law, and arithmetic, are but ways of getting 
 at last dowMi to him, the furrow-driver, and snatching the 
 roots from him as he digs. 
 
 And they have got him down, now, they think, well, for 
 a while, poor William, after his fit of fury and petroleum : 
 and can make their money out of him for years to come, in 
 the old wavs. 
 
 Did you chance, my friends, any of you, to see, the other 
 day, the 83d number of the Graphic^ with the picture of the 
 Queen's concert in it ? All the fine la<lies sitting so trimly, 
 Rnd looking so sweet, and doino- the whole datv of woman-- 
 wearing their fine clothes gracefully ; and th.e pretty singer, 
 
106 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 white-throated, warbling ''Home, sweet liome" to them, so 
 morally, and melodiously ! Here was yet to be our ideal of 
 virtuous life, thought the Graphio ! Surely, we are safe 
 back with our virtues in satin slippers and lace veils ; — and 
 our Kingdom of Heaven is come again, with observation, and 
 crown diamonds of the dazzlingest. Cherubim and Seraphim 
 in toilettes de Paris, — (bleu-de-ciel— vert d*olivier-de-Noe — 
 mauve de colombe-fusiilee), dancing to Coote and Tinney's 
 band ; and vulgar Hell reserved for the canaille, as hereto- 
 fore ! Vulgar Hell shall be didactically portrayed, accord- 
 ingly ; (see page 96), — Wickedness going its way to its poor 
 home — bitter-sweet. Ouvrier and petroleuse — prisoners at 
 last — ^glaring wild on their way to die. 
 
 Alas, of these divided races, of whom one was appointed 
 to teach and guide the other, which has indeed sinned deep- 
 est — the unteaching, or the untaught ? — which now are guil- 
 tiest — these, who perish, or those — who forget ? 
 
 Ouvrier and petroleuse ; they are gone their way — to their 
 death. But for these, the Virgin of France shall yet unfold 
 the oriflamme above their graves, and lay her blanched lilies 
 on their smirched dust. Yes, and for these, great Charles 
 shall rouse his Roland, and bid him put ghostly trump to lip, 
 and breathe a point of war ; and the helmed Pucelle shall 
 answer with a wood-note of Domremy ; — yes, and for these 
 the Louis they mocked, like his Master, shall raise his holy 
 hands, and pray God's peace. 
 
 " Not as the world giveth." Everlasting shame only, and 
 unrest, are the world's gifts. These Swine of the five per 
 cent, shall share them dulv. 
 
 La sconoscente vita, che i fe' sozzi 
 
 Ad ogni oonoscenza or li fa braal. 
 * * * ♦ 
 
 Che tutto Toro, ch'e sotto la luna, 
 
 E che gia fti, di queste anime stanch« 
 
 Non poterebbe fame posar una. 
 
 **Ad ogni oonoscenza bruni: " Dark to all recognition ! So 
 they would have it indeed, true of instinct. Ce serait I'in* 
 quisition," screamed the Senate of France, threatened with 
 
FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 107 
 
 income-tax and inquiry into their ways and means. Well, — 
 what better thing could it be ? Had they not been blind 
 long enough, under their mole-hillocks, that they should 
 shriek at the first spark of " Inquisition " ? A few things 
 might be " inquired," one should think, and answered, among 
 honest men, now, to advantage, and openly ? " Ah no — for 
 God's sake," shrieks the Senate, " no Inquisition. If ever 
 anybody should come to know how we live, we were dis- 
 graced for ever, honest gentlemen that we are." 
 
 Now, my friends, the first condition of all bravery is to 
 keep out of this loathsomeness. If you do live by rapine, 
 stand up like a man for the old law of bow and spear ; but 
 don't fall whimpering down on your belly, like Autolycus, 
 
 grovelling on the ground," when another human creature 
 asks you how you get your daily bread, with an Oii, that 
 ever I was born, — here is inquisition come on me ! " 
 
 The Inquisition must come. Into men's consciences, no ; 
 not now : there is little worth looking into there. But into 
 their pockets — yes ; a most practicable and beneficial inqui- 
 sition, to be made thoroughly and purgatorially, once for all, 
 and rendered unnecessary hereafter, by furnishing the re- 
 lieved marsupialia with — glass pockets, for the future. 
 
 You know, at least, that we, in our own society, are to 
 have glass pockets, as we are all to give the tenth of what 
 we have, to buy land with, so that we must every one know 
 each other's property to a farthing. And this month I be- 
 gin making up my own accounts for you, as I said I would : 
 I could not, sooner, though I set matters in train as soon as 
 my first letter was out, and effected (as I supposed !), in Feb- 
 ruary, a sale of 14,000/. worth of houses, at the West End. 
 to Messrs. and , of Row. 
 
 But from then till now, I've been trying to get that piece 
 of business settled, and until yesterday, 19th July, I have 
 not been able. 
 
 For, first there was a mistake made by my lawyer in the 
 list of the houses : No. 7 ought to have been No. 1. It was 
 a sheer piece of stupidity, and ought to have been corrected 
 by a dash of the pen ; but all sorts of deeds had to be made 
 
103 
 
 FOliS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 out again, merely that they might be paid for ; and it took 
 about three months to change 7 into 1. 
 
 At last all was declared smooth again, and I thought I 
 
 should get my money ; but Messrs. never stirred. 
 
 My people kept sending them letters, saying I really did 
 want the money, though they mightn't think it. Whether 
 they thought it or not, they took no notice of any such in- 
 formal communications. I thought they were going to back 
 out of their bargain ; but my man of business at last got 
 their guarantee for its completion. 
 
 " If they've guaranteed the payment, why don't they 
 pay ? " thought I ; but still I couldn't get any money. At. 
 last I found the lawyers on both sides were quarrelling over 
 the stamp-duties ! Nobody knew, of the whole pack of them, 
 whether this stamp or that was the right one ! and my law- 
 yers wouldn't give an eighty-pound stamp, and theirs wouldn't 
 be content with a twenty-pound one. 
 
 Now, you know, all this stamp business itself is merely Mr. 
 Gladstone's * way of coming in for his share of the booty. I 
 can't be allowed to sell my houses in peace, but Mr. Glad- 
 stone must have his three hundred pounds out of me, to feed 
 his Woolwich infant with, and fire it off " with the most 
 satisfactory result," " nothing damaged but the platform." 
 
 lam content, if only he would come and say what he wants, 
 and take it, and get out of my sight. But not to know what 
 he does want ! and to keep me from getting my money at 
 all, while his lawyers are asking which is the right stamp ? I 
 think he had better be clear on that point next time. 
 
 But here, at last, are six months come and gone, and the 
 stamp question is — not settled, indeed, but I've undertaken 
 to keep my man of business free of harm, if the stamps won't 
 do ; and so at last he says I'm to have my money ; and I 
 
 really believe, by the time this letter is out, Messrs. 
 
 will have paid me my 14,000^. 
 
 Now you know I promised you the tenth of alll had, when 
 free from incumbrances already existing on it. This first in- 
 
 * Of course, the Prime Minister is always the real tax-gatherer ; tho 
 Chancellor of Exchequer is only tho caf n-paw. 
 
FOBS CLA VIGERA. 
 
 109 
 
 stalment of 14,000/. is not all clear, for I want part of it to 
 found a Mastership of Drawing- under the Art Professorship 
 at Oxford ; which I can't do rightly for less than 5,000/. But 
 I'll count the sum left as 10,000/. instead of 9,000/., and that 
 will be clear for our society, and so, you shall have a thou- 
 sand pounds down, as the tentli of that, which will quit nie, 
 observe, of my pledge tlms far. 
 
 A thousand down, I say ; but down where ? Where can 
 I put it to be safe for us ? You will find presently, as others 
 come in to help us, and we get something worth takiiig care 
 of, that it becomes a very curious question indeed, where we 
 can put our money to be safe ! 
 
 In the meantime, I have told my man of business to buy 
 1,000/. consols in the names of two men of honour ; the names 
 cannot yet be certain. What remains of the round thousand 
 shall be kept to add to next instalment. And thus begins 
 the fund, which I think we may advisably call the "St. 
 George's " fund. And although the interest on consols is, as 
 I told you before, only the taxation on the British peasant 
 continued since the Napoleon wars, still this little portion of 
 his labour, tiie interest on our St. George's fund, will at last * 
 be saved for him, and brought back to him. 
 
 And now, if you will read over once again tlie end of my 
 fifth letter, I will tell you a little more of what v/e are to do 
 with this money, as it increases. 
 
 First, let whoever gives us any, be clear in their minds 
 that it is a Gift. It is not an Investment. It is a frank and 
 simple gift to the British people ; nothing of it is to come 
 back to the giver. 
 
 But also, nothing of it is to be lost. This money is not to 
 be spent in feeding Woolwich infants with gunpowder. It is 
 to be spent in dressing the earth and keeping it, — in feeding 
 human lips, — in clothing human bodies, — in kindling human 
 souls. 
 
 First of all, I say, in dressim;- liio earth. As soon as the 
 fund reaches any sufficient amount, the Trustees shall buy 
 with it any --kind of land offered them at just price in 
 
110 
 
 FOJRS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 Britain. Rock, moor, marsh, or sea-shore — -it matters not 
 what, so it be British ground, and secured to us. 
 
 Then, we will ascertain tlie absolute best that can be made 
 of every acre. We will first examine what flowers and herbs 
 it naturally bears ; every wholesome flower that it will grow 
 shall be sown in its wild places, and every kind of fruit-tree 
 that can prosper ; and arable and pasture land extended by 
 every expedient of tillage, with humble and simple cottaga 
 dwellings under faultless sanitary regulation. Whatever 
 piece of land we begin work upon, w^e shall treat thoroughly 
 at once, putting unlimited manual labour on it, until we have 
 every foot of it under as strict care as a flower-garden : and 
 the labourers shall be paid sufficient, unchanging wages ; and 
 their children educated compulsorily in agricultural schools 
 inland, and naval schools by the sea, the indispensable first 
 condition of such education being that the boj's learn either 
 to ride or to sail ; the girls to spin, weave, and sew, and at 
 a proper age to cook all ordinary food exquisitely ; the 
 youths of both sexes to be disciplined daily in the strictest 
 practice of vocal music ; and for morality, to be taught ' 
 ' gentleness to all brute creatures, — finished courtesy to each 
 other, — to speak truth with rigid care, and to obey orders 
 with the precision of slaves. Then, as tlie}^ get older, they 
 are to learn the natural history of the place they live in, — to 
 know Latin, boys and girls both, — and. the history of five 
 cities ; Athens, Rome, Venice, Florence, and London. 
 
 Now, as I told you in my fifth letter, to what extent I may 
 be able to carry this plan into execution, I know not ; but 
 to some visible extent, with my own single hand, I can, and 
 will, if I live. Nor do I doubt but that I shall find help 
 enough, as soon as the full action of the system is seen, 
 and ever so little a space of rightly cultivated ground in 
 perfect beauty, with inhabitants in peace of heart, of whom 
 none 
 
 Doluit miserans inopem, aut invidit habenti. 
 
 Such a life we have lately been taught by vile persons 
 to think impossible ; so far from being impossible, it has 
 
FOnS CLAVIGEIU. 
 
 Ill 
 
 been tlie actual life of all glorious human states in their 
 origin. 
 
 Hanc olim vetercs vitam coluere Sabini ; 
 
 Hanc Remus ct frater ; sic forfcis Etruria crevit ; 
 
 Scilicet et rerum facta est pulcherrima Roma. 
 
 But, had it never been endeavoured until now, we might 
 yet learn to hope for its unimagined good by considering 
 what it has been possible for us to reach of unimagined evil. 
 Utopia and its benediction are probable and simple things, 
 compared to the Kakotopia and its curse, which we have 
 seen actually fulfilled. We have seen the city of Paris (what 
 miracle can be thought of beyond this ?) witli her own forts 
 raining ruin on her palaces, and her young children casting 
 fire into the streets in which they had been born, but we 
 have not faith enouofh in heaven to imagine the reverse of 
 this, or the building of any city whose streets shall be full of 
 innocent boys and girls playing in tlie midst thereof. 
 
 My friends, you have trusted, in your time, too many idle 
 .words. Read now these following, not idle ones ; and re- 
 member them ; and trust tiiem, for they are true : — 
 
 " Oh, thou afflicted, tossed with tempest, and not com- 
 forted, behold, I will lay thy stones with fair colours, and lay 
 thy foundations with sapphires. 
 
 "And all thy children shall be taught of the lyord ; and 
 great shall be the peace of thy children. 
 
 " In rigliteousness shalt thou be established: thou shall 
 be far from oppression ; for thou shalt not fear : and from 
 terror ; for it shall not come near thee. 
 
 " Whosoever sliall gather together against thee shall fall 
 for thy sake. . . . 
 
 " No weapon that is formed against thee sliall prosper; 
 and every tongue that shall rise against thee in judgment 
 thou shalt condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of 
 the Lord ; and their righteousness is of me, saith the Lord." 
 
 Remember only that in this now antiquated translation, 
 "righteousness" means, accurately and simply, "justice," 
 and is the eternal law of riirht, obeved alike in the great 
 
112 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 times of each state, by Jew, Greek, and Roman. In my next 
 letter, we will examine into the nature of this justice, and of 
 its relation to Governments that deserve the name. 
 And so believe me 
 
 Faithfully yours, 
 
 JOHN RUSKIN. 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 
 Denmark Hill, 
 
 My Friends, September, 1871. 
 
 As the desio:n which I had in view when I beo-an these let- 
 ters (and many a year before, in the germ and first outlines of 
 it) is now fairly afoot, and in slow, but determined, begin- 
 nincr of realization, I will endeavour in this and the next fol- 
 lowing letter to set its main features completely before you; 
 though, remember, the design would certainly be a shallow 
 and vain one, if its bearings could be either shortly explained, 
 or quickly understood. I have much in my own hope, which' 
 I know you are as yet incapable of hoping, but which your 
 enemies are dexterous in discouraging, and eager to dis- 
 courage. Have you noticed how curiously and earnestly the 
 greater number of public journals that have yet quoted these 
 2:)apers, allege, for their part, nothing. but the difficulties in 
 our Vv^ay ; and that with as much contempt as they can vent- 
 ure to express ? No editor could say to your face that the 
 endeavour to give you fresh air, wholesome employment, 
 and high education, was reprehensible or dangerous. The 
 worst he can venture to say is, that it is ridiculous, — which 
 you observe is, by most, declared as wittily as they may. 
 
 Some must, indeed, candidly think, as well as say so. 
 Education of any noble kind has of late been so constantly 
 given only to the idle classes, or, at least, to those who con- 
 ceive it a privilege to be idle,* that it is difficult for any per- 
 
 * Infinite nonsense is talked about the "work done" by the upper 
 classes. I have done a little myself, in my day, of the kind of work they 
 boast of ; but mine, at least:, has been all play. Even lawyerV., which 'fi, 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 113 
 
 son, trained in modern habits of thought, to imagine a true 
 and refined scholarship, of which the essential foundation is to 
 be skill in some useful labour. Time and trial will show 
 which of the two conceptions of education is indeed the ridic- 
 ulous one — and have shown, many and many a day before 
 this, if any one would look at the showing. Such trial, how- 
 ever, I mean anew to make, with what life is left to me, and 
 help given to me : and the manner of it is to be this, that, few 
 or many, as our company may be, we will secure for the 
 people of Britain as wide spaces of British ground as we can; 
 and on such spaces of freehold land we will cause to be 
 trained as many British children as we can, in healthy, brave, 
 and kindly life, to every one of whom there shall be done true 
 justice, and dealt fair opportunity of advancement," or 
 what else may, indeed, be good for them. 
 
 ''True justice!" I might more shortly have written 
 justice," only you are all now so much in the way of asking 
 for what you think " rights," which, if you could get them, 
 would turn out to be the deadliest wrongs; — and you 
 suffer so much from an external mechanism of justice, which 
 for centuries back has abetted, or, at best, resulted in, every 
 conceivable maimer of injustice, — that I am compelled to say 
 " 2Vue justice," to distinguish it from that which is com- 
 monly imagined by the populace, or attainable under the 
 existing, laws, of civilized nations. 
 
 This true justice — (not to spend time, which 1 am apt 
 to be too fond of doing, in verbal definition), consists mainly 
 in the granting to every human being due aid in the de^ 
 velopment of such faculties as it possesses for action and en- 
 joyment ; primarily, for useful action, because all enjoyment 
 worth having (nay, all enjoyment not harmful) must in some 
 way arise out of that, either in happy energy, or rightly 
 complacent and exulting rest. 
 
 on the whole, the hardest, you may observe to be essentially grim play, 
 made more jovial for themselves by conditions which make it somewhat 
 dismal Co other people. Here and there we have a real worker among 
 soldiers, or no soldiering would long be possible ; nevertheless young men 
 don't go into the Guards with any primal or essential idea of work. 
 8 
 
114 
 
 FOBS CLAVIQERA. 
 
 ^*Due" aid you see I have written. Not equal" aid. 
 One of the first statements I made to you respecting this 
 domain of ours was *Hhere shall be no equality in it." In 
 education especially, true justice is curiously unequal — if 
 you choose to give it a hard name, iniquitous. The right 
 law of it is that you are to take most pains with the best 
 material. Many conscientious masters will plead for the ex- 
 actly contrary iniquity, And say you should take the most 
 pains with the dullest boys. But that is not so (only you 
 must be very careful that you know which are the dull boys; 
 for the cleverest look often very like them). Never waste 
 pains on bad ground ; let it remain rough, though properly 
 looked after and cared for ; it will be of best service so ; but 
 spare no labour on the good, or on what has in it the capac- 
 ity of good. The tendency of modern help and care is quite 
 morbidly and madly in reverse of this great principle. Benev- 
 olent persons are always, by preference, busy on the essen- 
 tially bad ; and exhaust themselves in their efforts to get 
 maximum intellect from cretins and maximum virtue from 
 criminals. Meantime, they take no care to ascertain (and 
 for the most part when ascertained, obstinately refuse to re- 
 move) the continuous sources of cretinism and crime, and 
 suffer the most splendid material in child-nature to wander 
 neglected about the streets, until it has become rotten to 
 the degree in which they feel prompted to take an interest in 
 it. Now I have not the slightest intention — understand 
 this, I beg of you, very clearly — of setting myself to mend 
 or reform people ; when they are once out of form they may 
 stay so, for me.* But of what unspoiled stuff 1 can find to 
 
 * I speak in the first person, not insolently, but necessarily, being yet 
 alone in this design : and for some time to come the responsibility of 
 carrying it on must rest with me, nor do I ask or desire any present 
 help, except from those who understand what I have written in the 
 course of the last ten years, and who can trust me, therefore. But tho 
 continuance of the scheme must depend on the finding men staunch 
 and prudent for the heads of each department of the practical work, 
 consulting, indeed, with each other as to certain great principles of that 
 work, but left wholly to their own judgment as to the maaner and 
 degree in which they are to be carried into effect. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 115 
 
 my hand I will cut the best shapes there is room for ; shapes 
 unalterable, if it may be, forever. 
 
 " The best shapes there is room for," since, according to 
 the conditions round them, men's natures must expand or re- 
 main contracted ; and, yet more distinctly let me say, " the 
 best shapes that there is substance for," seeing that we must 
 accept contentedly infinite difference in the original nature 
 and capacity, even at their purest ; which it is the first con- 
 dition of right education to make manifest to all persons — 
 most of all to the persons chiefly concerned. That other 
 men should know their measure, is, indeed, desirable ; but 
 that they should know it themselves, is wholly necessary. 
 
 " By competitive examination of course?" Sternly, no ! 
 but under absolute prohibition of all violent and strained ef- 
 fort — most of all envious or anxious effort — in everv exercise 
 of body and mind ; and by enforcing on every scholar's 
 heart, from the first to the last stage of his instruction, the 
 irrevocable ordinance of the tiiird Fors (Jkivigera^ that his 
 mental rank among men is fixed from the hour he was born, 
 — that by no temporary or violent effort can he train, though 
 he may seriously injure, the faculties he has ; that by no 
 manner of effort can he increase them ; and that his best 
 happiness is to consist in the admiration of powers by him 
 forever unattainable, and of arts, and deeds, by him forever 
 inimitable. 
 
 Some ten or twelve years ago, when I was first actively 
 engaged in Art teaching, a young Scottish student came up 
 to London to put himself under me, having taken many 
 prizes (justly, with respect to the qualities looked for by the 
 judges) in various schools of Art. lie worked under me 
 very earnestly and patiently for some time ; and I was able 
 to praise his doings in what I thought, very high terms : 
 nevertheless, there remained always a look of mortification 
 on his face, after he had been praised, however unqualifiedly. 
 At last, he could hold no longer, but one day, when I had 
 been more than usually complimentary, turned to me with 
 an anxious, yet not unconfident expression, and asked : Do 
 you think. Sir, that I shall ever draw as well as Turner ? " 
 
116 
 
 FOIIS CLAVIGEEA, 
 
 I paused for a second or two, being* much taken aback \ 
 and then answered,* " It is far more likely you should be 
 made Emperor of All the Russias. There is a new Emperor 
 every fifteen or twenty years, on the average ; and by strange 
 hap, and fortunate cabal, anybody might be made Emperor. 
 But there is only one Turner in five hundred years, and God 
 decides, without any admission of auxiliary cabal, what piece 
 of clay his soul is to be put in." 
 
 It was the first time that I had been brought into direct 
 collision with the modern system of prize-giving and compe- 
 tition ; and the mischief of it was, in the sequel, clearly 
 shown to me, and tragically. This youth had the finest pow- 
 ers of mechanical execution I have ever met with, but was 
 quite incapable of invention, or strong intellectual effort of 
 any kind. Had he been taught early and thoroughly to know 
 his place, and be cont^t with his faculty, he would have 
 been one of the happiest and most serviceable of men. But, 
 at the art schools, he got prize after prize for his neat hand- 
 ling ; and having, in his restricted imagination, no power of 
 discerning the qualities of great work, all the vanity of his 
 nature was brought out unchecked ; so that, being intensely 
 industrious and conscientious, as well as vain, (it is a Scottish 
 combination of character not unfrequent "j"), he naturally ex- 
 pected to become one of the greatest of men. My answer 
 not only mortified, but angered him, and made him suspicious 
 of me ; he thought I wanted to keep his talents from being 
 fairly displayed, and soon afterwards asked leave (he was 
 then in my employment as well as under my teaching) to put 
 himself under another master. I gave him leave at once, 
 telling him, " if he found the other master no better to his 
 mind, he might come back to me whenever he chose." The 
 other master giving him no more hope of advancement than 
 
 * I do not mean that I answered in these words, but to the effect of 
 them, at greater length. 
 
 f We English are usually bad altogether in a harmonious way, and 
 only quite insolent when we are quite good-for-nothing ; the least good 
 in us shows itself in a measure of modesty ; but many Scotch natures^ 
 of fine capacity otherwise, are rendered entirely abortive by conceit. 
 
FOES CLAVIGEIiA. 117 
 
 I did, he came back to me ; I sent him into Switzerland, to 
 draw Swiss architecture ; but instead of doing what I bid 
 him, quietly, and nothing else, he set himself, with furious 
 industry, to draw snowy mountains and clouds, that he might 
 show me he could draw like Albert Durer, or Turner ; — spent 
 his strength in agony of vain effort ; — caught cold, fell into 
 decline, and died. How many actual deaths are now an- 
 nually caused by the strain and anxiety of competitive exam- 
 ination, it would startle us all if we could know : but the 
 mischief done to the best faculties of the brain in all cases, 
 and the miserable confusion and absurdity involved in the 
 system itself, which oilers every place, not to the man who is 
 indeed fitted for it, but to the one who, on a given day, 
 chances to have bodily strength enough to stand the cruellest 
 strain, are evils infinite in their consequences, and more lam- 
 entable than many deaths. 
 
 This, then, shall be the first condition of what education 
 it may become possible for us to give, that the strength of 
 the youths shall never be strained ; and that their best pow- 
 ers shall be developed in each, without competition, though 
 they shall have to pass crucial, but not severe, examinations, 
 attesting clearly to themselves and to other people, not the 
 utmost they can do, but that at least they can do some things 
 accurately and well : their own certainty of this being ac- 
 companied with the quite as clear, and much happier cer- 
 tainty, that there are many other things which they will 
 never be able to do at all. 
 
 " The happier certainty ? " Yes. A man's happiness con- 
 sists infinitely more in admiration of the faculties of others 
 than in confidence in his own. That reverent admiration is 
 the perfect human gift in him ; all lower animals are happy 
 and noble in the degree they can share it. A dog reverences 
 you, a fly does not ; the capacity of partly understanding a 
 creature above him, is the dog's nobility. Iticrease sucli rev- 
 erence in human beings, and you increase daily their hap- 
 piness, peace, and dignity ; take it away, and you make them 
 wretched as well as vile. But for fiftv vears back modern 
 education has devoted itself simply to the teaching of impu- 
 
118 
 
 FOllS CLAVIGEUA. 
 
 dence ; and then we complain that we can no more manage 
 our mobs ! " Look at Mr. Robert Stephenson," (we tell a 
 boy,) and at Mr. James Watt, and Mr. William Shakspeare ! 
 You know you are every bit as good as they ; you have only to 
 work in the same way, and you will infallibly arrive at the same 
 eminence." Most boys believe the " you are every bit as good 
 as they," without any painful experiment : but the better- 
 minded ones really take the advised measures ; and as, at the 
 end of all things, there can be but one Mr. James Watt or Mr. 
 William Shakspeare, the rest of the candidates for distinction, 
 finding themselves, after all their work, still indistinct, think 
 it must be the fault of the police, and are riotous accordingly. 
 
 To some extent it is the fault of the police, truly enough, 
 considering as the police of Europe, or teachers of politeness 
 and civic manners, its higher classes, — higher either by race 
 or faculty. Police they are, or else are nothing : bound to 
 keep order, both by clear teaching of the duty and delight 
 of Respect, and, much more, by being themselves — Respect- 
 able ; whether as priests, or kings, or lords, or generals, or 
 admirals ; if they will only take care to be verily that, the 
 Respect will be forthcoming, with little pains : nay, even 
 Obedience, inconceivable to modern free souls as it may be, 
 we shall get again, as soon as there is anybody worth obey- 
 ing, and who can keep us out of shoal water. 
 
 Not but that those two admirals and their captains have 
 been sorely, though needfully, dealt with. It was, doubtless, 
 not a scene of the brightest in our naval history — that Agin^ 
 court, entomologically, as it were, pinned to her wrong place, 
 off Gibraltar ; but in truth, it was less the captain's fault, 
 than the ironmonger's. You need not think you can ever 
 have seamen in iron ships ; it is not in flesh and blood to be 
 vigilant when vigilance is so slightly necessary the best 
 seaman born will lose his qualities, when he knows he can 
 steam against wind and tide,* and has to handle ships so 
 
 * "Steam has, of course, utterly extirpated seamanship," says Admi- 
 ral Rous, in his letter to l^he Times (which I had, of course, not seen 
 when I wrote this). Read the whole letter and the article on it in Tht 
 Times of the 17th, which is entirely temperate and conclusive. 
 
FORS CLAVIQERA. 
 
 large that the care of them is necessarily divided among 
 many persons. If you want sea-captains indeed, like Sir 
 Ricliard Grenville or Lord Dundonald, you must give them 
 small ships, and wooden ones, — nothing but oak, pine, and 
 hemp to trust to, above or below, — and those, trustworthy. 
 
 You little know how much is implied in the two conditions 
 of boys' education that I gave you in my last letter, — that 
 thev shall all learn either to ride or sail : nor bv what con- 
 stancy of law the power of highest discipline and honour is 
 vested by Nature in the two chivalries — of the Horse and the 
 Wave. Both are significative of the right command of man 
 over his own passions ; but they teach, farther, the strange 
 mystery of relation that exists between liis soul and the wild 
 natural elements on the one hand, and the wild lower animals 
 on the other. The sea-riding gave their chief strength of 
 temper to the Athenian, Norman, Pisan, and Venetian, — 
 masters of the arts of the world — but the gentleness of chiv- 
 alry, properly so called, depends on the recognition of the 
 order and awe of lower and loftier animal-life, first clearly 
 taught in the myth of Chiron, and in his bringing up of Jason, 
 -55sculapius, and Achilles — but most perfectly by Homer m 
 the fable of the horses of Achilles, and the part assigned to 
 them, in relation to the death of his friend, and in prophecy 
 of his own. There is, perhaps, in all the Iliad nothing more 
 deep in significance — there is nothing in all literature more 
 perfect in human tenderness, and honour for the mystery of 
 inferior life,* than the verses that describe the sorrow of the 
 divine horses at the death of Patroclus, and the comfort 
 given them by the greatest of the gods. *You shall read 
 Pope's translation ; it does not give you the manner of the 
 original, but it entirely gives you the passion : — 
 
 Meantime, at distance from the scene of blood, 
 The pensive steeds of great Achilles stood ; 
 Their godlike master slain before their eyes 
 
 * The myth of Balaam ; the cause assigned for the journey of the 
 first King of Israel from his father's house ; and the manner of the tri- 
 umphal entry of the greatest Kiug of Judah into his capital, are sym- 
 bolic of the same truths ; but in a yet more strange humility. 
 
120 FOES CLAVIGEUA. " 
 
 They wept, and shared in human miseries. 
 
 In vain Automedon now shakes the rein, 
 
 Now plies the lash, and. soothes and threats in yaias 
 
 Nor to the fight nor Hellespont they go, 
 
 Restive they stood, and obstinate in woe \ 
 
 Still as a tombstone, never to be mov'd, 
 
 On some good man or woman unreprov'd 
 
 Lays its eternal weight ; or fix'd as stands 
 
 A marble courser by the sculptor's hands, 
 
 Placed on th^j hero's grave. Along their face, 
 
 The big round drops cours'd down with silent pace, 
 
 Conglobing on the dust. Their manes, that late 
 
 Circled their arched necks, and wav'd in state, 
 
 Trail'd on the dust, beneath the yoke were spread, 
 
 And prone to earth was hung their languid head : 
 
 Nor Jove disdain'd to cast a pitying look, 
 
 While thus relenting to the steeds he spoke : 
 
 *• Unhappy couriers of immortal strain! 
 Exempt from age, and deathless now in vain 1 
 Did we your race on mortal man bestow, 
 Only, alas ! to share in mortal woe ? 
 For ah ! what is there, of inferior birth, 
 That breathes or creeps upon the dust of earth ; 
 What wietched creature of wh t wretched kind. 
 Than man mo;e weak, calamitous, and blind ? 
 A miserable race ! But cease to mourn ; 
 For not by you shall Priam's son be borne 
 High on the splendid car : one glorious prize 
 He rashly boasts ; the rest our will denies. 
 Ourself will swiftness to your nerves impart, 
 Ourself with rising spirits swell your heart. 
 Automedon your rapid flight shall bear 
 Safe to the navy through the storm of war. . . 
 
 He said ; and, breathing in th' immortal horse 
 Excessive spirit, urg'd them to the course ; 
 From their high manes they shake the dust, and bear 
 The kindling chariot through the parted war. 
 
 Is not that a prettier notion of horses than you will get 
 from your betting English chivalry on the Derby day ? * 
 We will have, please heaven, some riding, not as jockeys 
 ride, and some sailing, not as pots and kettles sail, once more 
 
 * Compare also. Black Auster at the Battle of the Lake, in Macaulay'a 
 Lays of Rome, 
 
FOBS ' CLA VIGERA. 
 
 121 
 
 on English land and sea ; and out of both, kindled yet again, 
 the chivalry of heart of the Knight of Athens, and Eques of 
 Rome, and Ritter of Germany, and Chevalier of France, and 
 Cavalier of England — chivalry gentle always and lowly, among 
 those who deserved their name of knight ; showing mercy to 
 whom mercy was due, and honour to whom honour. 
 
 It exists yet, and out of La Mancha, too (or none of lis 
 could exist), whatever you may think in these days of ungen- 
 tleness and Dishonour. It exists secretly, to the full, among 
 you yourselves, and the recovery of it again would be to you 
 as the opening of a well in the desert. You remember what 
 I told you were the three spiritual treasures of your life — 
 Admiration, Hope, and Love. Admiration is the Faculty of 
 giving Honour. It is the best word we have for the various 
 feelings of wonder, reverence, awe, and humility, which are 
 needful for all lovely work, and wiiich constitute the habitual 
 temper of all noble and clear-sighted persons, as opposed to 
 the " impudence " of base and blind ones. Tlie Latins called 
 this great virtue "pudor," of which our "impudence" is the 
 negative ; the Greeks had a better word, alhois ; " too wide 
 in the bearings of it for me to explain to you to-day, even if 
 it could be explained before you recovered the feeling ; — 
 which, after being taught for fifty years that impudence is 
 the chief duty of man, and that living in coal-holes and ash- 
 heaps is his proudest existence, and that tiie methods of gen- 
 eration of vermin are his loftiest subjects of science, — it will 
 not be easy for you to do ; but your children may, and you 
 will see that it is good for them. In the history of the live 
 cities I named, they shall learn, so far as they can under- 
 etand, what has been beautifully and bravely done ; and they 
 shall know the lives of the heroes and heroines in trutii and 
 naturalness ; and shall be taught to remember the greatest 
 of them on the days of their birth and death ; so that the 
 3^ear shall have its full calendar of reveient Memory. And, 
 on every day, part of their morning service shall be a song 
 in honour of the hero whose birthday it is ; and part of their 
 evening service, a song of triumph for the fair death of one 
 whose death-day it is : and in their first learning of notes 
 
122 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 they shall be taught the great purpose of music, which is to 
 say a thing that you mean deeply, in the strongest and clear* 
 est possible way ; and they shall never be taught to sing 
 what they don't mean. They shall be able to sing merrily 
 when they are happy, and earnestly when they are sad ; but 
 they shall find no mirth in mockery, nor in obscenity ; neither 
 shall they waste and profane their hearts with artificial and 
 lascivious sorrow. 
 
 Regulations which will bring about some curious changes 
 in piano-playing, and several other things. 
 
 Which will bring." They are bold words, considering 
 how many schemes have failed disastrously (as your able 
 editors gladly point out), which seemed much more plausible 
 than this. But, as far as I know history, good designs have 
 not failed except when they were too narrow in their final aim, 
 and too obstinately and eagerly pushed in the beginning of 
 them. Prosperous Fortune only grants an almost invisible 
 slowness of success, and demands invincible patience in pur- 
 suing it. Many good men have failed in haste ; more in 
 egotism, and desire to keep everything in their own hands ; 
 and some by mistaking the signs of their times ; but others, 
 and those generally the boldest in imagination, have not 
 failed ; and their successors, true knights or monks, have 
 bettered the fate and raised the thoughts of men for centu- 
 ries ; nay, for decades of centuries. And there is assuredly 
 nothing in this purpose I lay before you, so far as it reaches 
 hitherto, which will require either knightly courage or monk- 
 ish enthusiasm to carry out. To divert a little of the large 
 current of English charity and justice from watching disease 
 to guarding health, and from the punishment of crime to the 
 reward of virtue ; to establish, here and there, exercise 
 grounds instead of hospitals, and training schools instead of 
 penitentiaries, is not, if you will slowly take it to heart, a 
 frantic imagination. What farther hope I have of getting 
 some honest men to serve, each in his safe and useful trade, 
 faithfully, as a good soldier serves in his dangerous and too 
 often, very wide of useful one, may seem for the moment, 
 vain enough ; for indeed, in the last sermon I heard out of 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 123 
 
 an English pulpit, the clergyman said it was now acknowl* 
 edged to be impossible for any honest man to live by trade 
 in Enoland. From which the conclusion he drew was, not 
 that the manner of trade in England should be amended, but 
 that his hearers should be thankful they were going to 
 heaven. It never seemed to occur to him that perhaps it 
 might be only through amendment of their ways in trade 
 that some of them could ever get there. 
 
 Such madness, therefore, as may be implied in this ulti- 
 mate hope of seeing some honest work and traffic done in 
 faithful fellowship, I confess to you : but what, for my own 
 part, I am about to endeavour, is certainly witiiin my power, 
 if my life and health last a few years more, and the compass 
 of it is soon definable. First, — as I told you at the beginning 
 of these Letters — I must do my own proper work as well as 
 I can — nothing else must come in the way of that ; and for 
 some time to come, it will be heavy, because, after carefully 
 considering the operation of the Kensington system of art- 
 teaching throughout the country, and watching for two years 
 its effect on various classes of students at Oxford, I became 
 finally convinced that it fell short of its objects in more than 
 one vital particular : and I have, therefore, obtained per- 
 mission to found a separate Mastership of Drawing in con- 
 nection with the Art-Professorship at Oxford ; and elementary 
 schools will be opened in the University galleries, next Oc- 
 tober, in which the methods of teaching will be calculated to 
 meet requirements which have not been contemplated in the 
 Kensington system. But how far what these, not new, but 
 very ancient disciplines teach, may be by modern students, 
 either required or endured, remains to be seen. The organ- 
 ization of the system of teaching, and preparation of ex- 
 amples, in this school, is, however, at present my chief work 
 — no light one — and everything else must be subordinate to it. 
 
 But in my first series of lectures at Oxford, I stated, (and 
 cannot too often or too firmly state) that no great arts were 
 practicable by any people, unless they were living contented 
 lives, in pure air, out of the way of unsightly objects, and 
 emanc\pated from unnecessary mechanical occupation. It is 
 
124 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 simply one part of the practical work 1 have to do in Art 
 teaching, to bring, somewhere, such conditions into existence, 
 and to show the working of them. I know also assuredly 
 that the conditions necessary for the Arts of men, are the 
 best for their souls and bodies ; and knowing this, I do not 
 doubt but that it may be with due pains, to some material 
 extent, convincingly shown ; and I am now ready to receive 
 help, little or much, from any one who cares to forward the 
 showing of it. 
 
 Sir Thomas Dyke Acland, and the Right Hon. William 
 Cowper-Temple have consented to be the Trustees of the 
 fund ; it being distinctly understood that in that office they 
 accept no responsibility for the conduct of the scheme, and 
 refrain from expressing any opinion of its principles. They 
 simply undertake the charge of the money and land given 
 to the St. George's Fund ; certify to tlie public that it is 
 spent, or treated, for the purposes of that fund, in the man- 
 ner stated in my accounts of it ; and, in the event of my 
 death, hold it for such fulfilment of its purposes as they may 
 then find possible. 
 
 But it is evidently necessary for the right working of the 
 scheme that the Trustees should not, except only in that 
 office, be at present concerned with, or involved in it ; and 
 that no ambiguous responsibility should fall on them. I 
 know too much of the manner of law to hope that I can get 
 the arrangement put into proper form before the end of the 
 year ; but I hope, at latest, on the eve of Christmas-day (the 
 day I named first) to publish the December number of Fors 
 with the legal terras all clear : until then, whatever sums or 
 land I may receive will be simply paid to the Trustees, or 
 secured in their name, for the St. George's Fund ; what I 
 may attempt afterwards will be in any case, scarcely notice- 
 able for some time ; for I shall only work with the interest 
 of the fund and as I have strength and leisure : — I have 
 
 * Since last Fors was published I have sold some more property, 
 which has brought me in another ten thousand to tithe ; so that I have 
 bought a second thou-and consols in the names of the Trustees — and 
 
FOBS GLAVIGERA, 
 
 12n 
 
 Httle enough of the one ; and am like to have little of the 
 other, for years to come, if these drawing-schools become 
 useful, as I hope. But what I may do myself is of small 
 consequence. Long before it can come to any convincing 
 result, I believe some of the gentlemen of England will have 
 taken up the matter, and seen that, for their own sake, no 
 less than the country's, they must now live on their estates, 
 not in shooting-time only, but all the year ; and be them- 
 selves farmers, or "shepherd lords,'^ and make the field gain 
 on the street, not the street on the field ; and bid the light 
 break into the smoke-clouds, and bear in their hands, up to 
 those loathsome city walls, the gifts of Giotto's Charity, corn 
 and flowers. 
 
 It is time, too, I think. Did you notice the lovely in- 
 stances of chivalry, modesty, and musical taste, recorded in 
 those letters in the Times^ giving description of the "civiliz- 
 ing" influence of our progressive age on the rural district of 
 Margate ? 
 
 They are of some documentary value, and worth preserv- 
 ing, for several reasons ; here they are : — ■ 
 
 1.— A TRIP TO MARGATE. 
 
 To the Editor of the Times. 
 
 Sir, — On Monday last I had the misfortune of taking* a trip per steamer 
 to Margate. The sea was rough, the ship crowded, and therefore most 
 of the Cockney excursionists prostrate with sea-sicknesa. On landing on 
 Margate pier I must confess I thou;^ht that, instead of landin;^ in an 
 English sea-port, I had been transported by magic to a land inhabited 
 by savages and lunatics. The scene that ensued when the unhappy 
 passengers had to pass between the double line of a Margate mob ou 
 the pier must be seen to be believed possible in a civilized country. 
 Shouts, yells, howls of delight greeted every pale-looking passenger, as 
 he or she got on the pier, accompanied by a running comment of the 
 lowest, foulest language imaginable. But the most insulted victims 
 were a young lady, who, having had a fit of hysterics on board, had to 
 be assisted up the step?, and a venerable-looking old gentlem?in with a 
 long grey beard, who, by the-by, was not sick at all, but being crippled 
 
 have received a pretty little gift of seven acres of woodland, in Worces- 
 tershiro, for you, already —so you see there is at least a beginning. 
 
126 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGEMA. 
 
 and very old, feebly tofcfcered up the slippery steps leaning on two sticks^ 
 Here's a guy ! '* *' Hallo ! you old thief, you won t get drowned, bo- 
 cause you know that you are to be hung," &c , and worse than that, 
 were the greetings of that poor old man. All this while a very much 
 silver-bestriped policeman stood calmly by, without interfering by word 
 or deed ; and myself, having several ladies to take care of, could do 
 nothing except telling the ruffianly mob some hard words, with, of 
 course, no other effect than to draw all the abuse on myself. This is 
 not an exceptional exhibition of Margate ruffianism, but, as I have been 
 told, is of daily occurrence, only varying in intensity with the roughness 
 of the sea. 
 
 Public exposure is the only likely thing to put a stop to such ruffian- 
 ism ; and now it is no longer a wonder to me why so many people are 
 ashamed of confessing that they have been to Margate. 
 
 I remain, Sir, yours obediently, 
 London^ August 16. C. L. S. 
 
 2.— MARGATE. 
 
 To the Editor of the Times, 
 
 Sir, — From personal experience obtained from an enforced residence 
 at Margate, I can confirm all that your correspondent " C. L. S." states 
 of the behaviour of the mob on the jetty ; and in addition I will ven- 
 ture to say that in no town in England or, so far as my experience goes, 
 on the Continent, can such utterly indecent exhibitions be daily wit- 
 nessed as at Margate during bathing hours. Nothing can be more r& 
 volting to persons having the least feelings of modesty than the pro- 
 miscuous mixing of the bathers; nude men dancing, swimming, or 
 floating with women not quite nude, certainly, but with scant clothing. 
 The machines for males and females are not kept apart, and the latter 
 do not apparently care to keep within the awnings. The authorities 
 post notices as to indecent bathing," but that appears to be all they 
 think they ought to do. 
 
 I am, Sir, yours obediently, B. 
 
 To the Editor of the Times. 
 
 Sir, — The account of the scenes which occur at the landing of pas- 
 sengers at the Margate jetty, giveH by your correspondent to-day, is by 
 no means overcharged. Bat that is nothing. The rulers of the place 
 seem bent on doing their utmost to keep respectable people away, or, 
 doubtless, long before this the class of visitors would have greatly im- 
 proved. The sea-froats of the town, which in the summer would be 
 
FOBS GLAVI9ERA. 
 
 127 
 
 Otherwise enjoyable, are abandoned to the noisy rule of the lowest 
 kinds of itinerant mountebanks, organ-grinders, and niggers ; and from 
 early morn till long after nightfall the place is one hopeless, hideous 
 din. There is yet another grievance. The whole of the drainage ia 
 discharged upon the rocks to the east of the harbour, considerably 
 above low-water mark ; and to the west, where much building is con- 
 templated, drains have already been laid into the sea, and, when these 
 new bouses are built and inhabited, bathing at Margate, now its great- 
 est attraction, must cease for ever. 
 
 Yours obediently, 
 MarQOXe, August 18. PHAROS. 
 
 I have printed these letters for several reasons. In the 
 first place, read after them this account of the town of Mar- 
 gate, given in the Encyclopmdia Britannica^ in 1797 : 
 " Margate, a seaport tov^^n of Kent, on the north side of the 
 Isle of Thanet, near the North Foreland. It is noted for 
 shipping vast quantities of corn (most, if not all, the product 
 of that island) for London, and has a salt-water bath at the 
 Post-house, which has performed great cures in nervous and 
 paralytic cases." 
 
 Now this Isle of Thanet, please to observe, which is an 
 elevated (200 to 400 feet) mass of chalk, separated from the 
 rest of Kent by little rivers and marshy lands, ought to be 
 respected by you (as PJnglislimen) because it was the first 
 bit of ground ever possessed in this greater island by your 
 Saxon ancestors, when they came over, some six or seven 
 hundred of them only, in three ships, and contented them- 
 selves for a while with no more territory than that white 
 island. Also, the North Foreland, you ought, I think, to 
 know, is taken for the terminal point of the two sides of 
 Britain, east and south, in the first geographical account of 
 our dwelling-place, definitely given by a learned person. 
 But you ought, beyond all question, to know, that the cures 
 of the nervous and paralytic cases, attributed seventy years 
 ago to the "salt-water bath at the Post-house," were much 
 more probably to be laid to account of the freshest and 
 changefullest sea-air to be breathed in England, bending the 
 rich corn over that white dry ground, and giving to sight, 
 above the northern and eastern sweep of sea, the loveliest 
 
128 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 skies that can be seen, not in England only, but perhaps in 
 all the world ; able, at least, to challenge the fairest in 
 Europe, to the far south of Italy. 
 
 So it was said, I doubt not rightly, by the man who of all 
 others knew best ; the once in five hundred years given 
 painter, whose chief work, as separate from others, was the 
 painting of skies. He knew tlie colours of the clouds over 
 the sea, from the Bay of Naples to the Hebrides ; and being 
 once asked where, in Europe, were to be seen the loveliest 
 skies, answered instantly, " in the Isle of Thanet." Where, 
 therefore, and in this very town of Margate, he lived, when 
 he chose to be quit of London, and yet not to travel. 
 
 And I can myself give this much confirmatory evidence 
 of his saying ; — that though I never stay in Thanet, the two 
 loveliest skies I have myself ever seen (and next to Turner, 
 I suppose few men of fifty have kept record of so many), 
 were, one at Boulogne, and the other at Abbeville ; that is 
 to say in precisely the correspondent French districts of corn- 
 bearing chalk, on the other side of the channel. 
 
 " And what are pretty skies to us ? perhaps you will ask 
 me, or what have they to do with the behaviour of that 
 crowd on Margate Pier ? " 
 
 Well, my friends, the final result of the education I want 
 you to give your children will be, in a few words, this. They 
 will know what it is to see the sky. They will know what 
 it is to breathe it. And they will know, best of all, what it 
 is to behave under it, as in the presence of a Father who is 
 in heaven. 
 
 Faithfully yours, 
 
 J. RUSKIN. 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 Denmark Hit.l, 
 ^ 1th September, 187L 
 
 My Friends, 
 
 For the last two or three days, the papers have been full 
 of articles on a speech of Lord Derby's, which, it seems, has 
 s^t the public mind on considering the land question. My 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 129 
 
 own mind having long* ago been both set, and entirely made 
 up, on that question, I have read neither the speech nor the 
 articles on it ; but my eye being caught this morning, fortu- 
 nately, by the words " Doomsday Book " in my Daily Tele- 
 graph, and presently, looking up the column, by " stalwart 
 arms and heroic souls of free resolute Englishmen," I glanced 
 down the space between, and found this, to me, remarkable, 
 passage : 
 
 The upshot is, that, looking at the question from a purely mechani- 
 cal point of view, we should seek the beau ideal in a landowner culti- 
 Tating huge farms for himself, with abundant machinery and a few 
 well paid labourers to manage the mechanism, or delegating the task 
 to the smallest possible number of tenants with capital But when we 
 bear in mind the origin of landlordism, of our national needs, and the 
 real interests of the great body of English tenantry, we see how advis- 
 able it is to retain intelligent yeomen as part of our means of cultivat- 
 ing the soil." 
 
 This is all, then, is it, that your liberal paper ventures to 
 say for you ? It is advisable to retain difew intelligent yeo- 
 men in the island. I don't mean to find fault with the Daily 
 Telegraph: I think it always means well on tlie whole, and 
 deals fairly ; which is more than can be said for its highly 
 toned and delicately perfumed opponent, the Pall Mall 
 Gazette. But I think a " Liberal " paper might have said 
 more for the " stalwart arms and heroic souls " than this. I 
 am going myself to say a great deal more for them, though 
 I am not a Liberal — quite the Polar contrary of that. 
 
 You, perhaps, have been provoked, in the course of these 
 letters, bv not bein<2: able to make out what I was. It is time 
 you should know, and I will tell you plainly. I am, and my 
 father was before me, a violent Tory of the old school ; (Wal- 
 ter Scott's school, that is to say, and Homer's,) I name these 
 two out of the numberless great Tory writers, because they 
 were my own two masters. I had Walter Scott's novels and 
 the Iliad, (Pope's translation,) for my only reading when I 
 was a child, on week-days : on Sundays their effect was tem- 
 pered by Robinson Crusoe and the Pilgrim's Progress; my 
 mother having it deeply in her heart to make an evangelical 
 % 
 
130 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 clergyman of me. Fortunately, I had an aunt more evangeli- 
 cal than my mother ; and my aunt gave me cold mutton lot 
 Sunday's dinner, which — as I much preferred it hot — greatly 
 diminished the influence of the PUgrhn's Progress, and the 
 end of the matter was, that I got all the noble imaginative 
 teaching of Defoe and Bunyan, and yet — am not an evangeli- 
 cal clergyman. 
 
 I had, however, still better teaching than theirs, and that 
 compulsorily, and every day of the week. (Have patience 
 with me in this egotism, it is necessary for many reasons that 
 you should know what influences have brought me into the 
 temper in which I write to you.) 
 
 Walter Scott and Pope's Homer were reading of my own 
 election, but my mother forced me, by steady daily toil, to 
 learn long chapters of the Bible by heart ; as well as to read 
 it every syllable through, aloud, hard names and ail, from 
 Genesis to the Apocalypse, about once a year ; and to that 
 discipline — patient, accurate, and resolute — I owe, not only 
 a knowledge of the book, which I find occasionally service- 
 able, but much of my general power of taking pains, and the 
 best part of my taste in literature. From Walter Scott's 
 novels I might easily, as I grew older, have fallen to other 
 people's novels ; and Pope might, perhaps, have led me to 
 take Johnson's English, or Gibbon's, as types of language ; 
 but, once knowing the 32nd of Deuteronomy, the 119th 
 Psalm, the 15th of 1st Corinthians, the Sermon on the Mount, 
 and most of the Apocalypse, every syllable by heart, and 
 having always a way of thinking with myself what w^ords 
 meant, it was not possible forme, even in the foolishest times 
 of youth, to write entirely superficial or formal English, and 
 the affectation of trying to write like Hooker and George 
 Herbert was the most innocent I could have fallen into. 
 
 From my own masters, then, Scott and Homer, I learned 
 the Toryism which my best after-thought has only served to 
 confirm. 
 
 That is to say a most sincere love of kings, and dislike of 
 everybody who attempted to disobey them. Only, both by 
 Homer and Scott, I was taught strange ideas about kings, 
 
FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 131 
 
 which I find, for the present, much obsolete ; for, I perceived 
 that both the author of the Iliad and the author of Waverley 
 made their kings, or king-loving persons, do harder work 
 than anybody else. Tydides or Idomeneus always killed 
 twenty Trojans to other people's one, and Redgauntlet 
 speared more salmon than any of the Solway fishermen, and 
 — which was particularly a subject of admiration to me, — I 
 observed that they not only did more, but in proportion to 
 their doings, got less, than other people — nay, that the best 
 of them were even ready to govern for nothing, and let their 
 followers divide any quantity of spoil or profit. Of late it 
 has seemed to me that the idea of a king has become exactly 
 the contrary of this, and that it has been supposed the duty 
 of superior persons generally to do less, and to get more than 
 anybody else ; so that it was. perhaps, quite as well that in 
 those early days my contemplation of existent kingship was 
 a very distant one, and my childish eyes wholly unacquainted 
 with the splendour of courts. 
 
 The aunt who gave me cold mutton on Sundays was my 
 father's sister : she lived at Bridge-end, in the town of Perth, 
 and had a garden full of gooseberry-bushes, sloping down to 
 the Tay, with a door opening to the water, which ran past it 
 clear-brown over the pebbles three or four feet deep ; an in- 
 finite thing for a child to look down into. 
 
 My father began business as a wine-merchant, with no 
 capital, and a considerable amount of debts bequeathed him 
 by my grandfather. He accepted the bequest, and paid them 
 all before he began to lay by anything for himself, for which 
 his best friends called him a fool, and I, without expressing 
 any opinion as to his wisdom, which I knew in such matters 
 to be at least equal to mine, have written on the granite slab 
 over his grave that he was "an entirely honest merchant." 
 As days went on he was able to take a liouse in Hunter 
 Street, Brunswick Square, No. 54 (the windows of it, fort- 
 unately for me, commanded a view of a marvellous iron post, 
 out of which the water-carts were filled through beautiful 
 little trap-doors, by pipes like boa-constrictors ; and 1 was 
 never weary of contemplating that mystery, and the delicious 
 
132 
 
 FORS CLAVIOERA, 
 
 dripping consequent) ; and as years went on, and I came to 
 be four or five years old, he could command a post-chaise and 
 pair for two months in the summer, by help of which, with 
 my mother and me, lie went the round of his country cus- 
 tomers (who liked to see the principal of the house his own 
 traveller) ; so that, at a jog-trot pace, and through the pan- 
 oramic opening' of the four windows of a post-chaise, made 
 more panoramic still to me because my seat was a little 
 bracket in fronts (for we used to hire the chaise regularly for 
 the two months out of Long Acre, and so could have it 
 bracketed and pocketed as we liked), I saw all the highroads, 
 and most of the cross ones, of England and Wales, and great 
 part of lowland Scotland, as far as Perth, where every other 
 year we spent the whole summer ; and I used to read the 
 Abbot at Kinross and the Monastery in Glen Farg, which I 
 confused with " Glendearg," and thought that the White 
 Lady had as certainly lived by the streamlet in that glen of 
 the Ochils, as the Queen of Scots in the island of Loch 
 Leven. 
 
 It happened also, which was the real cause of the bias of 
 my after life, that my father had a rare love of pictures. I 
 use the word rare " advisedly, having never met with an- 
 other instance of so innate a faculty for the discernment of 
 true art, up to the point possible without actual practice. 
 Accordingly, wherever there was a gallery to be seen, we 
 stopped at the nearest town for the night ; and in reverent- 
 est manner I thus saw nearly all the noblemen's houses in 
 England ; not indeed myself at that age caring for the pict- 
 ures, but much for castles and ruins, feeling more and more, 
 as I grew older, the healthy delight of uncovetous admira- 
 tion, and perceiving, as soon as I could perceive any political 
 truth at all, that it was probably much happier to live in a 
 small house, and have Warwick Castle to be astonished at, 
 than to live in Warwick Castle, and have nothing to be 
 astonished at ; but that, at all events, it would not make 
 Brunswick Square in the least more pleasantly habitable, 
 to pull Warwick Castle down. And, at this day, though 
 I have kind invitations enough to visit America, I could 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 133 
 
 not, even for a couple of months, live in a country so miser* 
 able as to possess no castles. 
 
 Nevertheless, having formed my notion of kingliood chiefly 
 from the FitzJames of the Lady of the Lake, and of noblesse 
 from the Douglas there, and the Douglas in Marmion, a 
 painful wonder soon arose in my child-mind, why the castles 
 should now be always empty. Tantallon was there ; but no 
 Archibald of Angus : — Stirling, but no Knight of Snow- 
 doun. The galleries and gardens of England were beautiful 
 to see — but his Lordship and her Ladyship were always in 
 town, said the housekeepers and gardeners. Deep yearning 
 took hold of me for a kind of '^Restoration," which I began 
 slowly to feel that Charles the Second had not altogether 
 effected, though I always wore a gilded oak-apple very rev- 
 erently in my button-hole on the 29th of May. It seemed to 
 me that Charles the Second's Restoration had been, as com- 
 pared with the Restoration I wanted, much as that gilded 
 oak-apple to a real apple. And as I grew older, the desire 
 for red pippins instead of brown ones, and Living Kings in- 
 stead of dead ones, appeared to me rational as well as 
 romantic ; and gradually it has become the main purpose of 
 my life to grow pippins, and its chief hope, to see Kings. 
 
 Hope, this last, for others much more than for myself. I 
 can always behave as if I had a King, whether I have one or 
 not ; but it is otherwise with some unfortunate persons. 
 Nothing has ever impressed me so much with the power of 
 kingship, and the need of it, as the declamation of the 
 French Republicans against the Emperor before his fall. 
 
 He did not, indeed, meet my old Tory notion of a King ; 
 and in my own business of architecture he was doing, I saw, 
 nothing but mischief ; pulling dow^n lovely buildings, and 
 putting up frightful ones carved all over with L. N.'s : but 
 the intense need of France for a governor of some kind was 
 made chiefly evident to me by the way tiie Republicans con- 
 fessed themselves paralyzed by him. Nothing could be done 
 in France, it seemed, because of the Emperor ; they could 
 not drive an honest trade ; they could not keep their houses 
 in order ; they could not study the sun and moon ; they 
 
134 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGERA, 
 
 could not eat a comfortable dejetlner k la fourchette ; they 
 could not sail in the Gulf of Lyons, nor climb on the Mont 
 d'Or ; they could not, in hne, (so they said), so much as walk 
 straight, nor speak plain, because of the Emperor. On this 
 side of the water, moreover, the Republicans were all in the 
 the same tale. Their opinions, it appeared, were not printed 
 to their minds in the Paris journals, and the world must 
 come to an end therefore. So that, in fact, here was all the 
 Republican force of France and England, confessing itself 
 paralyzed, not so much by a real King, as by the shadow of 
 one. All the harm the extant and visible King did was, to en- 
 courage the dressmakers and stone-masons in Paris, — to pay 
 some idle people very large salaries, — and to make some, per- 
 haps agreeably talkative, people, hold their tongues. That, 
 I repeat, was all the harm he did, or could do ; he corrupted 
 nothing but what was voluntarily corruptible, — crushed noth- 
 ing but what was essentially not solid : and it remained open 
 to these Republican gentlemen to do anything they chose 
 that was useful to France, or honourable to themselves, be* 
 tween earth or heaven, except only — print violent abuse of 
 this shortish man with a long nose, who stood, as they would 
 have it, between them and heaven. But there they stood, 
 spell-bound ; the one thing suggesting itself to their frantic 
 impotence as feasible, being to get this one shortish man 
 assassinated. Their children would not grow, their corn 
 would not ripen, and the stars w^ould not roll, till they had 
 got this one short man blown into shorter pieces. 
 
 If the shadow of a King can thus hold (how many ?) mill- 
 ions of men, by their own confession, helpless for terror of 
 it, what power must there be in the substance of one ? 
 
 But this mass of republicans — vociferous, terrified, and 
 mischievous, is the least part, as it is the vilest, of the great 
 European populace who are lost for want of true kings. It 
 is not these who stand idle, gibbering at a shadow, whom 
 w^e have to mourn over ; — they would have been good for 
 little, even governed ; — but those who work and do not gib- 
 ber, — the quiet peasants in the fields of Europe, sad-browed, 
 honest-hearted, full of natural tenderness and courtesy, who 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 135 
 
 have none to help them, and none to teach ; who have no 
 kings, except those who rob them while they live, no tutors, 
 except those who teach them — how to die. 
 
 I had an impatient remonstrance sent me tiie other da\\ 
 by a country clergyman's wife, against that saying in my 
 former letter, " Dying has been more expensive to you than 
 living." Did I know, she asked, what a country clergyman's 
 life was, and that he was the poor man's only friend. 
 
 Alas, I know it, and too well. What can be said of more 
 deadly and ghastly blame against the clergy of England, or 
 any other country, than that they are the poor man's only 
 friends ? 
 
 Have they, then, so betrayed their Master's charge and 
 mind, in their preaching to the rich ; — so smoothed their 
 words, and so sold their authority, — that, after twelve hun- 
 dred years entrusting of the gospel to them, there is no man 
 in England (this is their chief plea for themselves forsooth) 
 who will have mercy on the poor, but they ; and so they 
 must leave the word of God, and serve tables ? 
 
 I would not myself have said so much against English 
 clergymen, whether of country or town. Three — and one 
 dead makes four — of my dear friends (and I have not many 
 dear friends) are country clergymen ; and I know the ways of 
 every sort of them ; my architectural tastes necessarily bring- 
 ing me into near relations with the sort who like pointed 
 arches and painted glass ; and my old religious breeding 
 having given me an unconquerable habit of taking up with 
 any travelling tinker of evangelical principles I may come 
 across ; and even of reading, not without awe, the prophetic 
 warnings of any persons belonging to that peculiarly well- 
 informed " persuasion," such, for instance, as those of Mr. 
 Zion Ward concerning the fall of Lucifer, in a letter to a 
 friend, Mr. William Dick, of Glasgow, price twopence," in 
 which I read (as aforesaid, with unfeigned feelings of con- 
 cern,) that " the slain of the Lord shall be man-y ; that is, 
 man, in whom death is, with all the works of carnality, shall 
 be burnt up ! " 
 
 But I was not thinking either of English clergy, or of any 
 
136 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 other group of clergy, specially, when I wrote that sentence \ 
 but of the entire Clerkly or Learned Company, from the first 
 priest of Egypt to the last ordained Belgravian curate, and 
 of all the talk they have talked, and all the quarrelling they 
 have caused, and all the gold they have had given them, to 
 this day, when still, 'Hhey are the poor man's only friends" 
 — and by no means all ot them that, heartily ! tiiough I see 
 the Bishop of Manchester has of late been superintending — 
 I beg his pardon. Bishops don't superintend — looking on, or 
 over, I should have said, — the recreations of his flock at the 
 seaside ; and " the thought struck him " that railroads were 
 an advantage to them in taking them for their holiday out of 
 Manchester. The thought may, perhaps, strike him, next, 
 that a working man ought to be able to find " holy days " in 
 his home, as well as out of it.* 
 
 A year or two ago, a man who had at the time, and has 
 still, important official authority over much of the business 
 of the country, was speaking anxiously to me of the misery 
 increasing in the suburbs and back streets of London, and 
 debating, with the good help of the Oxford Regius Professor 
 of Medicine — who was second in council — what sanitary or 
 moral remedy could be found. The debate languished, how- 
 ever, because of the strong conviction in the minds of all 
 three of us that the misery was inevitable in the suburbs of 
 so vast a city. At last, either the minister or physician, I 
 forget which, expressed the conviction. Well," I answered, 
 *nhen you must not have large cities." " That," answered 
 the minister, " is an unpractical saying— you know we must 
 have them, under existing circumstances." 
 
 I made no reply, feeling that it was vain to assure any 
 man actively concerned in modern parliamentar}^ business, 
 that no measures were " practical " except those which 
 touched the source of the evil opposed. All systems of 
 government — all efforts of benevolence, are vain to repress 
 the natural consequences of radical error. But any man of 
 influence who had the sense and courag-e to refuse himself 
 and his family one London season — to stay on his estate 
 * See § 159, (written seven years ago), in Munera Pulvem, 
 
FOliS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 137 
 
 and employ the shopkeepers in his own village, instead ot 
 those in Bond Street — would be " practically " dealing 
 with, and conquering, this evil, so far as in him lay ; and 
 contributing with his whole might to the thorough and final 
 conquest of it. 
 
 Not but that I know how to meet it directly also, if any 
 London landlords choose so to attack it. You are beginning 
 to hear something of what Miss Hill has done in Marylebone, 
 and of the change brought about by her energy and good 
 sense in the centre of one of the worst districts of London. 
 It is difficult enough, I admit, to find a woman of average 
 sense and tenderness enough to be able for such work ; but 
 there are, indeed, other such in the world, only three-fourths 
 of them now get lost in pious lecturing, or altar-cloth sewing ; 
 and the wisest remaining fourth stay at home as quiet house- 
 wives, not seeins: their wav to wider action : nevertheless, 
 any London landlord who will content himself with moderate 
 and fixed rent (I get five per cent, from Miss Hill, which is 
 surely enough !), assuring his tenants of secure possession 
 if that is paid, so that they need not fear having their rent 
 raised, if they improve their houses ; and who will secure also 
 a quiet bit of ground for their ciiildren to play in, instead of 
 the street, — has established all the necessary conditions of 
 success ; and T doubt not that Miss Hill herself could find 
 co-workers able to extend the system of management she has 
 originated, and shown to be so effective. 
 
 But the best that can be done in this way will be useless 
 ultimately, unless the deep source of the misery be cut off. 
 While Miss Hill, with intense effort and noble power, has par- 
 tially moralized a couple of acres in Marylebone, at least fifty 
 square miles of lovely country have been Demoralized out- 
 side London, by the increasing itch of the upper classes to live 
 where they can get some gossip in their idleness, and show 
 each other their dresses. 
 
 That life of tiieirs must come to an end soon, both here and 
 in Paris, but to what end, it is, I trust, in their own power 
 still to decide. If they resolve to maintain to the last the 
 present system of spending the rent taken from the rural 
 
138 
 
 F0R8 OLAVIGEJRA, 
 
 districts in the dissipation of the capitals, they will not always 
 find they can secure a quiet time, as the other day in Dublin, 
 by withdrawing the police, nor that park-railings are the only 
 things which (police being duly withdrawn) will go down. 
 Those favourite castle battlements of mine, their internal 
 police" withdrawn, will go down also ; and I should be 
 sorry to see it ; — the lords and ladies, houseless at least in 
 shooting season, perhaps sorrier, though they did find the 
 grey turrets dismal in winter time. If they would yet have 
 them for autumn, thev must have them for winter. Con- 
 sider, fair lords and ladies, by the time you marry, and choose 
 your dwelling-places, there are for you but forty or fifty 
 winters more, in whose dark days you may see the snow 
 fall and wreathe. There will be no snow in Heaven, I pre- 
 sume — still less elsewhere (if lords and ladies ever miss 
 of Heaven). 
 
 And that some may, is perhaps conceivable, for there are 
 more than a few things to be managed on an English estate, 
 and to be "faithful" in those few cannot be interpreted as 
 merely abstracting the rent of them. Nay, even the Tele^ 
 graph's beau ideal of the landowner, from a mechanical point 
 of view, may come short, somewhat. Cultivating huge 
 farms for himself with abundant machinery ; — " Is that 
 Lord Derby*s ideal also, may it be asked ? The Scott-reading 
 of my youth haunts me, and I seem still listening to the 
 (perhaps a little too long) speeches of the Black Countess 
 who appears terrifically through the sliding panel in Peveril 
 of the Peak^ about " her sainted Derby." Would Saint 
 Derby's ideal, or his Black Countess's, of due ordinance for 
 their castle and estate of Man, have been a minimum of Man 
 therein, and an abundance of machinery ? In fact, only the 
 Trinacrian Legs of Man, transposed into many spokes of 
 wheels — no use for " stalwart arms" any more — and less than 
 none for inconveniently heroic " souls? 
 
 " Cultivating huge farms for himself ! " I don't even see, 
 after the sincerest efforts to put myself into a mechanicaJ 
 point of view, how it is to be done. For himself ? Is he to 
 eat the cornricks then ? Surely such a beau ideal is morQ 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 139 
 
 Utopian than any of mine ? Indeed, whether it be praise- or 
 blame-worth}'-, it is not so easy to cultivate anything wholly 
 for oneself, nor to consume, oneself, the products of cultiva- 
 tion. I have, indeed, before now, hinted to you that perhaps 
 the " consumer " was not so necessary a person economically, 
 as has been supposed ; nevertheless, it is not in his own mere 
 eating and drinking, or even his picture-collecting, that a 
 false lord injures the poor. It is in his bidding and forbid- 
 ding — or worse still, in ceasing to do either. I have given 
 you another of Giotto's pictures, this montJi, his imagination 
 of Injustice, which he had seen done in his time, as we in 
 ours ; and I am sorry to observe that his Injustice lives in a 
 battlemented castle, and in a mountain country, it appears ; 
 the gate of it between rocks, and in the midst of a wood ; 
 but in Giotto's time, woods were too many, and towns too 
 few. Also, Injustice has indeed very ugly talons to his fin- 
 gers, like Envy ; and an ugly quadruple hook to his lance, 
 and other ominous resemblances to the hooked bird," the 
 falcon, which both knights and ladies too much delighted in. 
 Nevertheless Giotto's main idea about him is, clearly, that he 
 *'sits in the gate" pacifically, with a cloak thrown over his 
 chain-armour (you can just see the links of it appear at his 
 throat), and a plain citizen's cap for a helmet, and his sword 
 sheathed, while all robbery and violence have way in the wild 
 places round him, — he heedless. 
 
 Which is, indeed, the depth of Injustice : not the harm 
 you do, but that you permit to be done, — hooking perhaps 
 here and there something to you with your clawed weapon 
 meanwhile. The baronial type exists still, I fear, in such 
 manner, here and there, in spite of improving centuries. 
 
 My friends, we have been thinking, perhaps, to-day, more 
 than we ought of our masters' faults, — scarcely enough of our 
 own. If you would have the upper classes do their duty, see 
 that you also do yours. See that you can obey good laws, 
 and good lords, or law-wards, if you once get them — that you 
 believe in goodness enough to know what a good law is. A 
 good law is one that holds, whether you recognize and pro- 
 nounce it or not \ a bad law is one that cannot hold, how- 
 
140 
 
 FOES GLAVIGERA, 
 
 ever much you ordain and pronounce it. That is the ftiighty 
 truth wiiich Carlyle has been telling you for a quarter of a 
 century — once for all he told it you, and the land-owners, 
 and all whom it concerns, in the third book of Past and 
 Present (1845, buy Chapman and Hall's second edition, if you 
 can, it is g-ood print, and read it till you know it by heart), 
 and from that day to this, whatever there is in England of 
 dullest and insolentest may be always known by the natural 
 instinct it has to howl against Carlyle. Of late, matters 
 coming more and more to crisis, the liberty men, seeing their 
 way, as they think, more and more broad and bright before 
 them, and still this too legible and steady old sign-post say- 
 ing. That it is not the way, lovely as it looks, the outcry against 
 it becomes deafening. Now, I tell you once for all, Carlyle 
 is the only living writer who has spoken the absolute and 
 perpetual truth about yourselves and your business ; and ex- 
 actly in proportion to the inherent weakness of brain in your 
 lying guides, will be their animosity against Carlyle. Your 
 lying guides, observe, I say — not meaning that they lie wil- 
 fully — but that their nature is to do nothing else. For in 
 the modern liberal there is a new and wonderful form of mis- 
 guidance. Of old, it was bad enough that the blind should 
 lead the blind ; still, with dog and stick, or even timid walk- 
 ing with recognized need of dog and stick, if not to be had, 
 such leadership might come to good end enough ; but now a 
 worse disorder has come upon you, that the squinting should 
 lead the squinting. Now the nature of bat, or mole, or owl, 
 may be undesirable, at least in the day-time, but worse may 
 be imagined. The modern liberal politico-economist of the 
 Stuart Mill school is essentially of the type of a flat-fish — 
 one eyeless side of him always in the mud, and one eye, on 
 the side that has eyes, down in the corner of his mouth, — not a 
 desirable guide for man or beast. There was an article — I be- 
 lieve it got in by mistake, but the Editor, of course, won't say 
 so — in the Contemporary Meview^ two months back, on Mr. 
 Morley's Essays, by a Mr. Buchanan ; with an incidental page 
 on Carlyle in it, unmatchable (to the length of my poor knowl- 
 edge) for obliquitous platitude, in the mud-walks of literature. 
 
F^ORS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 141 
 
 Read your Carlyle, then, with all your heart, and with tho 
 best of brain you can give ; and you will learn from him first, 
 the eternity of good law, and the need of obedience to it : 
 then, concerning your own immediate business, you will leari^ 
 farther this, that the beginning of all good law, and nearly 
 the end of it, is in these two ordinances, — That every man 
 shall do good work for his bread ; and secondly. That every 
 man shall have good bread for his work. But the first of 
 these is the only one you have to think of. If you are re- 
 solved that the work shall be good, the bread will be sure ; 
 if not, — believe me, tliere is neither steam plough nor steam 
 mill, go they never so glibly, that will win it from the earth 
 long, either for you, or the Ideal Landed Proprietor. 
 
 Faithfully yours, 
 
 J. RUSKIN. 
 
 LETTER XL 
 
 Denmark Hill, 
 
 My Friends, Ibth October, 1871. 
 
 A DAY seldom passes, now that people begin to notice 
 these letters a little, without my receiving a remonstrance on 
 the absurditv of WTitinof " so much above the level " of those 
 whom I address. 
 
 I have said, however, that eventually you shall under- 
 stand, if you care to understand, every word in these pages. 
 Through all this year I have only been putting questions ; 
 some of them such as have puzzled the wisest, and which 
 may, for a long time yet, prove too hard for you and me : 
 but, next year, I will go over all the ground again, answer- 
 ing the questions, where I know of any answers ; or making 
 them plain for your examination, when I know of none. 
 
 But, in the meantime, be it admitted, for argument's sake, 
 that this way of writing, which is easy to me, and which 
 most educated persons can easily understand, is very much 
 above your level. I want to know why it is assumed so 
 
142 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 quietly that your brains must always be at a lo^y level ? Is 
 it essential to the doing of the work by which England exists, 
 that its workmen should not be able to understand scholar's 
 English (remember, I only assume mine to be so for argu- 
 ment's sake), but only newspaper's English ? I chanced, iu" 
 deed, to take up a number of Belc/ravia ihe other day, which 
 contained a violent attack on an old enemy of mine — JBlack^ 
 woocVs Magazine — and I enjoyed the attack mightily, until 
 Belgravia declared, by way ol' coup-de-grace to JBlackwood, 
 that something which JBlackioood had spoken of as settled 
 in one \vay had been irrevocably settled the other way, — 
 " settled," said triumphant JBelgravia^ " in seventy-two news* 
 papers." 
 
 Seventy-two newspapers, then, it seems — or, with a mar- 
 gin, eighty-two, — perhaps, to be perfectly safe, we had better 
 say ninety-two — are enough to settle anything in this Eng- 
 land of ours, for the present. But, irrevocably, I doubt. If, 
 perchance, you workmen should reach the level of under- 
 standing scholar's English instead of newspaper's English, 
 thino's miofht a little unsettle themselves asrain : and, in the 
 end, might even get into positions uncontemplated by the 
 ninety-two newspapers, — contemplated only by the laws of 
 Heaven, and settled by them, some time since, as positions 
 which, if things ever got out of, they would need to get 
 into again. 
 
 And, for my own part, I cannot at all understand why 
 well-educated people should still so habitually speak of you 
 as beneath their level, and needing to be written down to, 
 with condescending simplicity, as fiat-foreheaded creatures 
 of another race, unredeemable by any Darwinism. 
 
 I was waiting last Saturday afternoon on the platform of 
 the railw^ay station at Furness Abbey ; (the station itself is 
 tastefully placed so that you can see it, and nothing else but 
 it, through the east window of the Abbot's Chapel, over the 
 ruined altar ;) and a party of the workmen employed on 
 another line, wanted for the swiftly progressive neighbour- 
 hood of Dalton, were taking Sabbatical refreshment at the 
 tavern recently established at the south side of the said Ai> 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 143 
 
 bot's Chapel. Presently, the train whistling for them, they 
 came out in a highly refreshed state, and made for it as fast 
 as they could by the tunnel under the line, taking very long 
 steps to keep their balance in the direction of motion, and 
 securing themselves, laterally, by hustling the wall or anj? 
 chance passengers. They were dressed universally in brown 
 rags, which, perhaps, they felt to be the comfortablest kind 
 of dress ; they had, most of them, pipes, which I really be- 
 lieve to be more enjoyable than cigars ; they got themselves 
 adjusted in their carriages by tlie aid of snatches of vocal 
 music, and looked at us — (I had charge of a lady and her 
 two young daughters), — with supreme indifference, as in- 
 deed at creatures of another race ; pitiable, perhaps, — cer- 
 tainly disagreeable and objectionable — but, on the whole, 
 despicable, and not to be minded. We, on our part, had the 
 insolence to pity them for being dressed in rags, and for be- 
 ing packed so close in the third-class carriages : the two 
 young girls bore being run against patiently ; and when a 
 thin boy of fourteen or fifteen, the most drunk of the com- 
 pany, was sent back staggering to the tavern for a forgotten 
 pickaxe, we would, any of us, I am sure, have gone and 
 fetched it for him, if he had asked us. For we were all in a 
 very virtuous and charitable temper : we had had an excel- 
 lent dinner at the new inn, and had earned that portion of 
 our daily bread by admiring the Abbey all the morning. So 
 we pitied the poor workmen doubly — first, for being so wicked 
 as to get drunk at four in the afternoon ; and secondly, for 
 being employed in work so disgraceful as throwing up clods 
 of earth into an embankment, instead of spending the day, 
 like us, in admiring the Abbey : and I, who am always 
 making myself a nuisance to people with my political econ 
 omy, inquired timidly of my friend whether sh« thought it 
 all quite right. And she said, certainly not ; but what could 
 be done ? It was of no use trying to make such men admire 
 the Abbey, or to keep them from getting drunk. They 
 wouldn't do the one, and they would do the other — they 
 were quite an unmanageable sort of people, and had been so 
 for generations. 
 
144 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOERA, 
 
 Which, indeed, I knew to be partly the truth, but it only 
 made the thing seem to nie more wrong than it did before, 
 since here were not only the actual two or three dozen of un- 
 manageable persons, with much taste for beer, a!id none for 
 architecture : but these implied the existence of many un- 
 manageable persons before and after them, — nay, a long an- 
 cestral and filial unmanageableness. They were a Fallen 
 Race, every way incapable, as I acutely felt, of appreciating 
 the beauty of Modern Painters, or fathoming the significance 
 of Fors Clavigera, 
 
 But what they had done to deserve their fall, or what I had 
 done to deserve the privilege of being the author of those 
 valuable books, remained obscure to me ; and indeed, what- 
 ever the deservinors mav have been on either side, in this and 
 other cases of the kind, it is always a marvel to me that the 
 arrangement and its consequences are accepted so patiently. 
 For observe what, in brief terms, the arrangement is. Virtu- 
 ally, the entire business of the world turns on the clear neces- 
 sity of getting on table, hot or cold, if possible, meat — but, 
 at least, veoretables, — at some hour of the dav, for all of us : 
 for you labourers, we will say at noon ; for us sesthetical per- 
 sons, we will say at eight in the evening ; for we like to have 
 done our eight hours' work of admiring abbeys before we 
 dine. But, at some time of day, the mutton and turnips, or, 
 since mutton itself is only a transformed state of turnips, we 
 may say, as sufficiently typical of everything, turnips only, 
 must absolutely be got for us both. And nearly every prob- 
 lem of State policy and economy, as at present understood, 
 and practised, consists in some device for persuading you 
 labourers to go and dig up dinner for us reflective and aes- 
 thetical persons, who like to sit still, and think, or admire. 
 So that when we get to the bottom of the matter, we find 
 the inhabitants of this earth broadly divided into two great 
 masses ; — the peasant paymasters — spade in hand, original 
 and imperial producers of turnips ; and, waiting on them all 
 round, a crowd of polite persons, modestly expectant of tur- 
 nips, for some — too often theoretical — service. There is, 
 first, the clerical person, whom the peasant pays in turnips 
 
FOES CLAVIGERA. 
 
 145 
 
 for giving him moral advice ; then the legal person, whom 
 the peasant pays in turnips for telling him, in black letters, 
 that his house is his own ; there is, thirdly, the courtly per- 
 son, whom the peasant pays in turnips for presenting a celes- 
 tial appearance to him ; there is, fourthly, the literary person, 
 whom the peasant pays in turnips for talking daintily to him ; 
 and there is, lastly, the military person, whom the peasant 
 pays in turnips for standing, with a cocked hat on, in the 
 middle of the field, and exercising a moral influence upon the 
 neighbours. Nor is the peasant to be pitied if these arrange- 
 ments are all faithfully carried out. If he really gets moral 
 advice from his moral adviser; if his house is, indeed, main- 
 tained to be his own, by his legal adviser ; if courtly persons, 
 indeed, present a celestial appearance to him ; and literary 
 persons, indeed, talk beautiful words : if, finally, his scare- 
 crow do, indeed, stand quiet, as with a stick through the mid- 
 dle of it, producing, if not always a wholesome terror, at least 
 a picturesque effect, and colour-contrast of scarlet with green, 
 — they are all of them worth their daily turnips. But if, per- 
 chance, it happen that he get ^mmoral advice from his moral- 
 ist, or if his lawyer advise him that his house is 7iot his own ; 
 and his bard, story-teller, or other literary charmer, begin to 
 charm him unwisely, not with beautiful words, but with ob- 
 scene and ugly words — and he be readier with his response 
 in vegetable produce for these than for any other sort ; — 
 finally, if his quiet scarecrow become disquiet, and seem likely 
 to bring upon him a whole flight of scarecrows out of his 
 neighbours' fields, — the combined fleets of Russia, Prussia, 
 &c., as my friend and your trustee, Mr. Cowper-Temple, has it, 
 (see above. Letter II., p. 17,) it is time to look into such 
 arrangements under their several heads. 
 
 Well looked after, however, all these arrangements have 
 their advantages, and a certain basis of reason and propriety. 
 But there are two other arrangements which have no basis 
 on either, and which are very widely adopted, nevertheless, 
 among mankind, to their great misery. 
 
 I must expand a little the type of my primitive peasant 
 before defining thebe. You observe, 1 have not named among 
 10 
 
146 
 
 FGRS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 the polite persons giving theoretical servnce in exchange for 
 vegetable diet, the large, and lately become exceedingly po* 
 Jite, class, of artists. For a true artist is only a beautiful 
 development of tailor or carpenter. As the peasant provides 
 the dinner, so the artist provides the clothes and house : in 
 the tailoring and tapestry producing function, the best of 
 artists ought to be the peasant's wife herself, when properly 
 emulative of Queens Penelope, Bertha, and Maude ; and in 
 the house producing-and-painting function, though conclud- 
 ing itself in such painted chambers as those of the Vatican, 
 the artist is still typically and essentially a carpenter or ma- 
 son ; first carving wood and stone, then painting the game 
 for preservation ; — if ornamentally, all the better. And, ac- 
 cordino;lv, vou see these letters of mine are addressed to the 
 " workmen and labourers " of England, that is to say, to the 
 providers of houses and dinners, for themselves, and for all 
 men, in this country, as in all others. 
 
 Considering these two sorts of Providers, then, as one great 
 class, surrounded by the suppliant persons for whom, together 
 with themselves, they have to make provision, it is evident 
 that they both have need originally of two things — land, and 
 tools. Clay to be subdued ; and plough, or potter's wheel, 
 wherewith to subdue it. 
 
 Now, as aforesaid, so long as the polite surrounding per- 
 sonages are content to offer their salutary advice, their legal 
 information, &c., to the peasant, for what these articles are 
 verily worth in vegetable produce, all is perfectly fair ; but 
 if any of the polite persons contrive to get hold of the peas- 
 ant's land, or of his tools, and put him into the " position of 
 William," and make him pay annual interest, first for the 
 wood that he planes, and then for the plane he planes it with ! 
 — my friends, polite or otherwise, these two arrangements 
 cannot be considered as settled yet, even by the ninety-two 
 newspapers, with all Belgravia to back them. 
 
 Not by the newspapers, nor by Belgravia, nor even by the 
 Cambridge Catechism, or the Cambridge Professor of Politi- 
 cal Economy. 
 
 Look to the beginning of the second chapter in the last 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 147 
 
 edition of Professor Fawcett's Manual of Political Economy^ 
 (Macmillan, 1869, p. 105). The chapter purports to treat of 
 the " Classes among whom wealth is distributed." And thus 
 is begins : — 
 
 We have described tlie requisites of production to be 
 three : land, labour, and capital. Since, therefore, land, 
 labour, and capital are essential to the production of wealth, 
 it is natural to suppose that the wealth which is produced 
 ought to be possessed by those who own the land, labour, 
 and capital which have respectively contributed to its pro- 
 duction. The share of wealth which is thus allotted to the 
 possessor of the land is termed rent ; the portion allotted to 
 the labourer is termed wages, and the remuneration of the 
 capitalist is termed profit. 
 
 You observe that in this very meritoriously clear sentence 
 both the possessor of the land and the possessor of the capi- 
 tal are assumed to be absolutely idle persons. If they con- 
 tributed anv labour to the business, and so confused them- 
 selves with the labourer, the problem of triple division would 
 become complicated directly ; — in point of fact, they do oc- 
 casionally employ themselves somewhat, and become deserv- 
 ing, therefore, of a share, not of rent only, nor of profit only, 
 but of wages also. And every now and then, as I noted in 
 my last letter, there is an outburst of admiration in some one 
 of the ninety-two newspapers, at the amount of ''work" 
 done by persons of the superior- classes ; respecting which, 
 however, you remember that I also advised you that a great 
 deal of it was only a form of competitive play. In the main, 
 therefore, the statement of the Cambridge Professor may be 
 admitted to be correct as to the existing facts ; the Holders 
 of land and capital being virtually in a state of Dignified 
 Repose, as the Labourer is in a state of — (at least, I hear it 
 always so announced in the ninety-two newspapers) — Digni- 
 fied Labour. 
 
 But Professor Fawcett's sentence, though, as I have just 
 said, in comparison with most writings on the subject, meri- 
 toriously clear, yet is not as clear as it might be, — still less 
 as scientific as it might be. It is, indeed, gracefully orna* 
 
148 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 mental, in the use, in its last clause, of the three words 
 "share," "portion," and "remuneration," for the same 
 thing ; but this is not the clearest imaginable language. 
 The sentence, strictly put, should run thus : — " The portion 
 of wealth which is thus allotted to the possessor of the land 
 is termed rent ; the portion allotted to the labourer is termed 
 wages ; and the portion allotted to the capitalist is termed 
 profit." 
 
 And you may at once see the advantage of reducing the 
 sentence to these more simple terms ; for Professor Fawcett's 
 ornamental language has this danger in it, that "Remunera- 
 tion," being so much grander a word than " Portion," in the 
 very roll of it seems to imply rather a thousand pounds a day 
 than three-and-sixpence. And until there be scientific reason 
 shown for anticipating the portions to be thus disproportioned, 
 we have no right to suggest their being so, by ornamental 
 variety of language. 
 
 Again, Professor Fawcett's sentence is, I said, not entirely 
 scientific. He founds the entire principle of allotment on 
 the phrase "it is natural to suppose." But I never heard of 
 any other science founded on what it was natural to suppose. 
 Do the Cambridge mathematicians, then, in these advanced 
 days, tell their pupils that it is natural to suppose the three 
 angles of a triangle are equal to two right ones? Nay, in 
 the present case, I regret to say it has sometimes been thought 
 wholly i/^znatural to suppose any such thing ; and so exceed- 
 ingly unnatural, that to receive either a " remuneration," or 
 a " portion," or a " share," for the loan of anything, without 
 personally working, was held by Dante and other such simple 
 persons in the middle ages to be one of the worst of the sins 
 that could be committed against nature : and the receivers 
 of such interest were put in the same circle of Hell with the 
 people of Sodom and Gomorrah. 
 
 And it is greatly to be apprehended that if ever our work- 
 men, under the influences of Mr. Scott and Mr. Street, come 
 indeed to admire the Abbot's Chapel at Furness more than 
 the railroad station, they may become possessed of a taste 
 for Gothic opinions as well as Gothic arches, and think it 
 
FOBS CLAVIOERA, 
 
 149 
 
 natural to suppose" that a workman's tools should be his 
 own property. 
 
 Which I, myself, having been always given to Gothic 
 opinions, do indeed suppose, very strongly ; and intend to 
 try with all my might to bring about that arrangement wher- 
 ever I have any influence ; — the arrangement itself being 
 feasible enough, if we can only begin by not leaving our 
 pickaxes behind us after taking Sabbatical refreshment. 
 
 But let me again, and yet again warn you, that onl}^ by 
 beginning so, — -that is to say, by doing what is in your own 
 power to achieve of plain right, — can you ever bring about 
 any of your wishes ; or, indeed, can you, to any practical 
 purpose, begin to wish. Only by quiet and decent exalta- 
 tion of your own habits can you qualify yourselves to dis- 
 cern what is just, or to define even what is possible. I hear 
 you are, at last, beginning to draw up your wishes in a defi- 
 nite manner ; (I challenged you to do so, in lime and Tlde^ 
 four years ago, in vain), and you mean to have them at last 
 
 represented in Parliament : " but I hear of small question 
 yet among you, whether they be just wishes, and can be 
 represented to the power of everlasting Justice, as things 
 not only natural to be supposed, but necessary to be done. 
 For she accepts no representation of things in beautiful lan- 
 guage, but takes her own view of them, with her own eyes. 
 
 I did, indeed, cut out a slip from the Birmingham Morn^ 
 i7ig News, last September (12tli), containing a letter written 
 by a gentleman signing himself Justice" in person, and 
 professing himself an engineer, who talked very grandly 
 about the " individual and social laws of our nature : " but 
 he had arrived at the inconvenient conclusions that no in- 
 dividual has a natural right to hold property in land," and 
 that "all land sooner or later must become public property." 
 I call this an inconvenient conclusion, because I reallv think 
 you would find yourselves greatly inconvenienced if your 
 wives couldn't go into the garden to cut a cabbage, without 
 getting leave from the Lord Mayor and Corporation ; and if 
 the same principle is to be carried out as regards tools, T beg 
 to state to Mr. Justice-in-Person, that if anybody and every- 
 
150 
 
 FOES CLAVIGERA. 
 
 body is to use my own particular palette and brushes, I re» 
 sign my office of Professor of Fine Art. Perhaps, when we 
 become really acquainted with the true Justice in Person, 
 not professing herself an engineer, she may suggest to us, as 
 a Natural Supposition : — '^That land should be given to those 
 who can use it^ and tools to those who can use them;'^'' and 
 I have a notion you will find this a very tenable supposition 
 also. 
 
 I have given you, this month, the last of the pictures I 
 want you to see from Padua ; — Giotto's Image of Justice, 
 which, as you observe, differs somewhat from the Image of 
 Justice we used to set up in England, above insurance offices, 
 and the like. Bandaged close about the eyes, our English 
 Justice was wont to be, with a pair of grocers' scales in her 
 hand, wherewith, doubtless, she was accustomed to weigh 
 out accurately their shares to the landlords, and portions to 
 the labourers, and remunerations to the capitalists. But 
 Giotto's Justice has no bandage about her eyes, (Albert 
 Durer's has them roimJopen, and flames flashing from them), 
 and weighs, not with scales, but with her own hands ; and 
 weighs, not merely the shares or remunerations of men, but 
 the w^orth of them ; and finding them worth this or that, 
 gives them what they deserve — death, or honour. Those are 
 her forms of Remuneration." 
 
 Are you sure that you are ready to. accept the decrees of 
 this true goddess, and to be chastised or rewarded by her, as 
 is your due, being seen through and through to your hearts' 
 core ? Or will you still abide by the level balance of the 
 blind Justice of old time ; or rather, by the oblique balance 
 of the squinting Justice of our modern geological Mud- 
 Period ? — the mud at present, becoming also more slippery 
 under the feet — I beg pardon — the belly, of squinting Jus- 
 tice, than was once expected ; becoming, indeed, (as it is an 
 nounced, even by Mr. W. P. Price, M.P., chairman at the 
 last half-yearly meeting of the Midland Railway Company,) 
 quite delicate ground." 
 
 The said chairman, you will find, by referring to the Pall 
 Mall Gazette of August 17th, 1871, having received a letter 
 
FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 151 
 
 from Mr. Bass on the subject of the length of time that the 
 servants of the company were engaged in labour, and their 
 inadequate remuneration, made the following remarks : — 
 " He (Mr. Bass) is treading on very delicate ground. The 
 remuneration of labour, the value of which, like the value of 
 gold itself, depends altogether on the one great universal 
 law of supply and demand, is a question on which there is 
 very little room for sentiment. He, as a very successful 
 tradesman, knows very well how much the success of com- 
 mercial operations depends on the observance of that law ; 
 and we, sitting here as your representatives, cannot altogether 
 close our eyes to it." 
 
 Now it is quite worth your while to hunt out that number 
 of the Pall Mall Gazette in any of your free libraries, be- 
 cause a quaint chance in the placing of the type has pro- 
 duced a lateral comment on these remarks of Mr. W. P. 
 Price, M.P. 
 
 Take your carpenter's rule, apply it level under the words, 
 " Great Universal Law of Supply and Demand," and read 
 the line it marks off in the other column of the same page. It 
 marks off this, " In Khorassan one-third of the whole popu- 
 lation has perished from starvation, and at Ispahan no less 
 than 27,000 souls." 
 
 Of course you will think it no business of yours if people 
 are starved in Persia. But the Great Universal " Law of 
 Supply and Demand may some day operate in the same man- 
 ner over here ; and even in the Mud-and-Flat-fish period, 
 John Bull may not like to have his belly flattened for him to 
 that extent. 
 
 You have heard it said occasionally that I am not a prac- 
 tical person. It may be satisfactory to you to know^ on the 
 contrary, that this whole plan of mine is founded on the very 
 practical notion of making you round persons instead of flat. 
 Round and merry, instead of flat and sulky. And my beau- 
 ideal is not taken from a mechanical point of view," but'is 
 one already realized. I saw last summer, in the flesh, as 
 round and merry a person as I ever desire to see. He was 
 tidily dressed — not in brown rags, but in green velveteen ; 
 
152 
 
 FOES CLAVIGEJRA. 
 
 he wore a jaunty hat, with a feather in it, a little on one 
 side ; he was not drunk, but tlie effervescence of his shrewd 
 good-humour filled the room all about him ; and he could 
 sing like a robin. You may say like a nightingale/' if you 
 like, but I think robin's singing the best, myself ; only I 
 hardly ever hear it now, for the young ladies of England 
 have had nearly all the robins shot, to wear in their hats, and 
 the bird-stuffers are exporting the few remaining to America, 
 
 This merry round person was a Tyrolese peasant ; and I 
 hold it an entirely practical proceeding, since I find my ideal 
 of felicity actually produced in the Tyrol, to set about the 
 production of it, here, on Tyrolese principles ; which, you 
 will find, on inquiry, have not hitherto implied the employ- 
 ment of steam, nor submission to the great Universal Law of 
 Supply and Demand, nor even Demand for the local Supply 
 of a Liberal " government. But they do imply labour of 
 all hands on pure earth and in fresh air. They do imply 
 obedience to government which endeavours to be just, and 
 faith in a religion which endeavours to be moral. And they 
 result in strength of limbs, clearness of throats, roundness of 
 waists, and pretty jackets, and still prettier corsets, to fit them. 
 
 I must pass, disjointedly, to matters whicii, in a written 
 letter, would have been in a postcript ; but I do not care, in 
 a printed one, to leave a useless gap in the type. First, the 
 reference in p. 135 of last number to the works of Mr. Zion 
 Ward, is incorrect. The passage I quoted is not in the 
 "Letter to a Friend," price twopence, but in the Origin of 
 Evil Discovered," price fourpence. (John Bolton, Steel- 
 house Lane, Birmingham.) And, by the way, I wish that 
 booksellers would save themselves, and me, some (now 
 steadily enlarging) trouble, by noting that the price of these 
 Letters to friends of mine, as supplied by me, the original 
 inditer, to all and sundry, through my only shopman, Mr. 
 Allen, is sevenpence per epistle, and not fivepence halfpennj^; 
 and that the trade profit on the sain of them is intended to 
 be, and must eventually be, as I intend, a quite honestly con- 
 fessed profit, charged to the customer, not compressed out of 
 the author ; which object may be easily achieved by the re« 
 
FOBS GLAVIGERA, 
 
 153 
 
 tail bookseller, if he will resolvedly charge the cyniinetrical 
 sum of Tenpence per epistle over his counter, as it is my pur- 
 pose he should. But to return to Mr. Ward ; the correction 
 of my reference was sent me by one of his disciples, in a 
 very earnest and courteous letter, written chiefly to complain 
 that my quotation totally misrepresented Mr. Ward's opin- 
 ions. I regret that it should have done so, but gave the 
 quotation neither to represent nor misrepresent Mr. Ward's 
 opinions ; but to show, which tlie sentence, though brief, 
 quite sufficiently shows, that he had no right to have any. 
 
 I have before noted to you, indeed, that, in a broad sense, 
 nohody has a right to have opinions ; but only knowledges : 
 and, in a practical and large sense, nobody has a right 
 even to make experiments, but only to act in a way which 
 they certainly know will be productive of good. And this I 
 ask you to observe again, because I begin now to receive 
 some earnest inquiries respecting the jilan I have in hand, the 
 inquirers very naturally assuming it to bo an ''experiment,'' 
 wliich may possibly be successful, and mucli more possibly 
 may fail. But it is not an experiment at all. It will be 
 merely the carrying out of what has been done already in 
 some places, to the best of my narrow power, in other places: 
 and so far as it can be carried, it must be productive of 
 some kind of good. 
 
 For example ; I have round me here at Denmark Hill 
 seven acres of leasehold ground. I pay 50^. a-ycar ground rent, 
 and 250/. a-year in wages to my gardeners ; besides expenses 
 in fuel for hot-houses, and the like. And for this sum of 
 three hundred odd pounds a-year I have some pease and 
 strawberries in summer; some camellias and azaleas in winter; 
 and good cream, and a quiet place to walk in, all the year 
 round. Of the strawberries, cream, and pease, I eat more 
 than is good for me ; sometimes, of course, obliging my 
 friends with a superfluous pottle or pint. The camellias and 
 azaleas stand in the anteroom of my library; and everybody 
 says, when they come in, how pretty:" and my young lady 
 friends have leave to gather what they like to put in theii 
 hair, when they are going to balls* Meantime, outside of my 
 
154 
 
 F0R8 GLAVIGERA, 
 
 fenced seven acres — owing to the operation of the great uni- 
 versal law of supply and demand — numbers of people are 
 starving ; many more, dying of too much gin ; and many of 
 their children dying' of too little milk : and, as I told you in 
 my first Letter, for my own part, I won't stand this sort of 
 thing any longer. 
 
 Now it is evidently open to me to say to my gardeners, 
 want no more azaleas or camellias; and no more straw- 
 berries and pease than are good for me. Make these seven 
 acres everywhere as productive of good corn, vegetables, or 
 milk, as you can ; I will have no steam used upon them, for 
 nobody on my ground shall be blown to pieces ; nor any fuel 
 wasted in making plants blossom in winter, for I believ^e we 
 shall, without such unseasonable blossoms, enjoy the spring 
 twice as much as now; but, in any part of the ground that is 
 not good for eatable vegetables, you are to sow such wild 
 flowers as it seems to like, and you are to keep all trim and 
 orderly. The produce of the land, after I have had my limited 
 and salutary portion of pease, shall be your own ; but if you 
 sell any of it, part of the price you get for it shall be de- 
 ducted from your wages. 
 
 Now observe, there would be no experiment whatever in 
 in any one feature of this proceeding. My gardeners might 
 be stimulated to some extra exertion by it; but in any event, 
 I should retain exactly the same command over them that I 
 liad before. I might save something out of my 250t of 
 wages, but I should pay no more than I do now, and in re- 
 turn for the gift of the produce, I should certainly be able to 
 exact compliance from my people with any such capricious 
 fancies of mine as that they should wear velveteen jackets, 
 or send their children to learn to sing ; and, indeed, I could 
 grind them, generally, under the iron heel of Despotism, 
 as the ninety-two newspapers would declare, to an extent 
 unheard of before in this free country. And, assuredly, 
 some children would get milk, strawberries, and wild flowers 
 who do not get them now; and my young lady friends would 
 still, I am firm in my belief, look pretty enough at their balls 
 even without the camellias or azaleas. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 T am not going to do this with niy seven acres here; first, 
 because they are only leasehold ; secondly, because they are 
 too near London for wild flowers to grow brightly in. But 1 
 have bought, instead, twice as many freehold acres, where 
 wild flowers are growing now, and shall continue to grow ; 
 and there I mean to live : and, with the tenth part of my 
 available fortune, I will buy other bits of freehold land, and 
 employ gardeners on them in this above-stated manner. I may 
 as well tell you at once that my tithe will be, roughly, about 
 seven thousand pounds altogether, (a little less rather than 
 more). If I get no help, I can show what I mean, even with 
 this ; but if any one cares to help me with gifts of either 
 money or land, they will And that what they give is applied 
 honestly, and does a perfectly definite service : they might, 
 for aught I know, do more good with it in other ways ; but 
 some good in this way — and that is all I assert — they will do, 
 certainly, and not experimentally. And the longer they 
 take to think of the matter the better I shall like it, for my 
 work at Oxford is more than enough for me just now, and I 
 shall not practically bestir myself in this land-scheme for a 
 year to come, at least ; nor then, except as a rest from 
 my main business : but the money and land will always 
 be safe in the hands of your trustees for you, and you need 
 not doubt, though 1 show no petulant haste about the matter, 
 that 1 remain, 
 
 Faithfully yours, 
 
 J. RUSKIxV. 
 
 LETTER XIL 
 
 Denmark Hill, 
 
 My Friends, 'ZM December, 1871. 
 
 You will scarcely care to read anything I have to say to 
 you this evening — having much to think of, wholly pleasant, 
 as I hope ; and prospect of delightful days to come, next 
 week. At least, however, you will be glad to know that I 
 have really made you the Christmas gift I promised — IfiOOl 
 
156 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 consols, in all, clear ; a fair tithe of what I had : and to as 
 much perpetuity as the law will allow me. It will not allow 
 the dead to have their own way, long, whatever license it 
 grants the living in their humours ; and this seems to me 
 unkind to those helpless ones ; — very certainly it is inex- 
 pedient for the survivors. For the wisest men are wise to 
 the full in death ; and if you would give them, instead of 
 stately tombs, only so much honour as to do their will, when 
 they themselves can no more contend for it, you will find it 
 a good memorial of them, such as the best of them would 
 desire, and full of blessings to all men for all time. 
 
 English law needs mending in many respects ; in none 
 more than in this. As it stands, I can only vest my gift in 
 trustees, desiring them, in the case of my death, immediately 
 to appoint their own successors, and in such continued suc- 
 cession, to apply the proceeds of the St. George's Fund to 
 the purchase of land in England and Scotland, which shall 
 be cultivated to the utmost attainable fruitfulness and 
 beauty by the labour of man and beasts thereon, such men 
 and beasts receiving at the same time the best education at- 
 tainable by the trustees for labouring creatures, according to 
 the terms stated in this book, " Fors Clavigera." 
 
 These terms, and the arrangement of the whole matter, 
 will become clearer to you as you read on with me, and can- 
 not be clear at all, till you do ; — here is the money, at any 
 rate, to help you, one day, to make merry v*^ith : only, if 
 you care to give me any thanks, will you pause now for a 
 moment from your merrymaking, to tell me, — to whom, as 
 Fortune has ordered it, no merrymaking is possible at this 
 time, (nor, indeed, much at any time ;) — to me, therefore, 
 standing as it were astonished in the midst of this gaiety of 
 yours, will you tell — what it is all about ? 
 
 Your little children would answer, doubtless, fearlessly, 
 
 Because the Child Christ was born to-day ; " but you, wiser 
 than your children, it may be, — at least, it should be, — are 
 you also sure that He was ? 
 
 And if He was, what is that to you ? 
 
 I repeat, are you indeed mi^e He was ? I mean, with reai 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 happening of the strange things you have been told, that the 
 Heavens opened near Him. showing their hosts, and that one 
 of their stars stood still over His head ? You are sure of 
 that, you say ? I am glad ; and wish it were so with me ; 
 but I have been so puzzled lately by many matters that 
 once seemed clear to me, that I seldom now feel sure of any- 
 thing. Still seldomer, however, do 1 feel sure of the con- 
 trary of anything. That people say they saw it, may not 
 prove that it was visible ; but that I never saw it cannot 
 prove that it was invisible : and this is a story which I more 
 envy the people who believe, on the weakest grounds, than 
 who deny, on the strongest. The people whom I envy not 
 at all are those who imagine they believe it, and do not. 
 
 For one of two things this story of the Nativity is cer- 
 tainly, and without any manner of doubt. It relates either 
 a fact full of power, or a dream full of meaning. It is, at the 
 least, not a cunningly devised fable, but tlie record of an 
 impression made, by some strange spiritual cause, on the 
 minds of the human race, at the most critical period of their 
 existence ; — an impression which has produced, in past ages, 
 the greatest effect on mankind ever yet achieved by an in- 
 tellectual conception ; and which is yet to guide, by the de- 
 termination of its truth or falsehood, the absolute destiny of 
 ages to come. 
 
 Will you give some little time, therefore, to think of it 
 with me to-day, being, as you tell me, sure of its truth ? 
 What, then, let me ask you, is its truth to yoii? The 
 Child for whose birth you are rejoicing was born, you 
 are told, to save His people from their sins ; but I have 
 never noticed that you were particularly conscious of any 
 sins to be saved from. If I were to tax you with any one in 
 particular — lying, or thieving, or the like — my belief is you 
 would say directly I had no business to do anything of the 
 kind. 
 
 Nay, but, you may perhaps answer me — "That is because . 
 v/e have been saved from our sins; and we are making 
 merry, because we are so perfectly good." 
 
 Well ; there would be some reason in such an answer. 
 
158 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGERA, 
 
 There is much goodness in you to be thankful for : far more 
 than you know, or have learned to trust. Still, I don't be- 
 lieve you will tell me seriously that you eat your pudding and 
 go to your pantomimes only to express your satisfaction that 
 you are so very good. 
 
 What is, or may be, this Nativity, to you, then, I repeat ? 
 Shall we consider, a little, what, at all events, it was to the 
 people of its time ; and so make ourselves more clear as to 
 what it might be to us ? We will read slowly. 
 
 " And there were, in that country, shepherds, staying out 
 in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night." 
 
 Watching night and day, that means ; not going home. 
 The staying out in the field is the translation of a word from 
 which a Greek nymph has her name, Agraulos, "the stayer 
 out in fields," of whom I shall have something to tell you, 
 soon. 
 
 " And behold, the Messenger of the Lord stood above 
 them, and the glory of the Lord lightened round them, and 
 they feared a great fear." 
 
 "Messenger." You must remember that, when this was 
 written, the word " angel " had only the effect of our word — 
 "messenger" — on men's minds. Our translators say "angel" 
 when they like, and " messenger " when they like ; but the 
 Bible, messenger only, or angel only, as you please. For 
 instance, " Was not Rahab the harlot justified by works, 
 when she had received the angels, and sent them forth 
 another way ? " 
 
 Would not vou fain know what this ano^el looked like ? 
 I have always grievously wanted, from childhood upwards, 
 to know that ; and gleaned diligently every word v/ritten 
 by people who said they had seen angels : but none of them 
 ever tell me what their eyes are like, or hair, or even what 
 dress they have on. We dress them, in pictures, conjectur- 
 ally, in long robes, falling gracefully ; but we onW continue 
 to think that kind of dress angelic, because religious young 
 girls, in their modesty, and wish to look only human, give 
 their dresses flounces. When I was a child, I used to be 
 satisfied by hearing that angels had always two wings, and 
 
FOBS CLA VIGERA. 
 
 159 
 
 Bometimes six ; but now nothing dissatisfies me so much as 
 hearing that ; for m}' business compels me continually into 
 close drawing of wings ; and now they never give me the 
 notion of anything but a swift or a gannet. And, worse 
 still, when I see a picture of an angel, I know positively 
 where he got his wings from — not at all from any heavenly 
 vision, but from the worshipped hawk and ibis, down through 
 Assyrian flying bulls, and Greek f'ying horses, and Byzantine 
 flying evangelists, till we get a brass eagle (of all creatures 
 in the world, to choose !) to have tiie gospel of peace read 
 from the back of it. 
 
 Therefore, do the best I can, no idea of an angel is possible 
 to me. And when I ask my religious friends, they tell me 
 not to wish to be wise above that which is written. Mv re- 
 ligious friends, let me write a few words of this letter, not to 
 my poor puzzled workmen, but to you, who will all be going 
 serenely to church to-morrow. This messenger, formed as 
 we know not, stood above the shepherds, and the glory of 
 the Lord lightened round them. 
 
 You would have liked to have seen it, you think ! Brighter 
 than the sun ; perhaps twenty-one coloured, instead of seven- 
 coloured, and as bright as the lime-light : doubtless you 
 would have liked to see it, at midnight, in Jud{ra. 
 
 You tell me not to be wise above that which is written ; 
 why, therefore, should you be desirous, above that which is 
 given ? You cannot see the glory of God as bright as the 
 lime-light at midnight ; but you may see it as l^right as the 
 sun, at eight in the morning ; if you choose. You might, at 
 least, forty Christmases since : but not now. 
 
 You know I must antedate my letters for special da3^s. I 
 am actually writini2: this sentence on the second December, 
 at ten in the morning, with the feeblest possible gleam of 
 sun on my paper ; and for the last three weeks the days ha-ve 
 been one long drift of ragged gloom, with only sometimes 
 five minutes' gleam of the glory of God, between the gusts, 
 which no one regarded. 
 
 I am taking the name of God in vain, j^ou think ? No, 
 my religious friends, not L For completed forty years, I 
 
160 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 have been striving to consider the blue heavens, the work of 
 His fingers, and the moon and the stars which He hath or- 
 dained ; but you have left me nothing now to consider here 
 at Denmark Hill, but these black heavens, the work of your 
 fingers, and the blotting of moon and stars which you have 
 ordained ; you, — taking the name of God in vain every 
 Sunday, and His work and His mercy in vain all the week, 
 through. 
 
 You have nothing to do with it — you are very sorry for it 
 — and Baron Liebig says that the power of England is coal ? " 
 
 You have everything to do with it. Were you not told 
 to come out and be separate from all evil ? You take 
 whatever advantage you can of the evil work and gain of 
 this world, and yet expect the people you share with, to be 
 damned, out of your way, in the next. If you would begin 
 by 23utting them out of your way here, you would perhaps 
 carry some of them with you there. But return to your 
 night vision, and explain to me, if not what the angel was 
 like, at least what you understand him to have said, — he, 
 and those with him. With his own lips he told the shep- 
 herds there was born a Saviour for them ; but more was to 
 be told ; And suddenly there was v/ith him a multitude of 
 the heavenly host." 
 
 People generally think that this verse means only that af- 
 ter one angel had spoken, there came more to sing, in the 
 manner of a chorus ; but it means far another thing than 
 that. If you look back to Genesis you find creation summed 
 thus : — " So the heavens and earth were finished, and all the 
 host of them." Whatever living powers of any order, great 
 or small, were to inhabit either, are included in the wonL 
 The host of earth includes the ants and the worms of it ; the 
 host of heaven includes, — we know not what ; — how should 
 we ? — the creatures that are in the stars which we cannot 
 count,— in the space which we cannot imagine ; some of them 
 60 little and so low that they can become flying poursuivants 
 to this grain of sand we live on ; others having missions, 
 doubtless, to larger grains of sand, and wiser creatures on 
 them. 
 
FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 161 
 
 But the vision of their multitude means at least this ; that 
 all the powers of the outer world which have any concern 
 with ours became in some way visible now : having interest 
 — they, in the praise, — as all the hosts of earth in the life, 
 of this Child, born in David's town. And their hymn was 
 of peace to the lowest of the two hosts — peace on earth ; — 
 and praise in the highest of the two hosts ; and, better than 
 peace, and sweeter than praise, Love, among men. 
 
 The men in question, ambitious of praising God after the 
 manner of the hosts of heaven, have written something which 
 they suppose this Song of Peace to have been like ; and sing 
 it themselves, in state, after successful battles. But you 
 hear it, those of you who go to church in orthodox quarters, 
 every Sunday ; and will understand the terms of it better by 
 recollecting that the Lordship, which you begin the 7fe Deum 
 by ascribing to God, is this, over all creatures, or over the 
 two Hosts. Li the Apocalypse it is "Lord, All governing" 
 — Pantocrator — which we weakly translate " Almighty ; " 
 but the Americans still understand the original sense, and 
 apply it so to their god, the dollar, praying that the will may 
 be done of their Father which is in Earth. P^arther on in 
 the hymn, the word Sabaoth " again means all " hosts " or 
 creatures ; and it is an important word for workmen to rec- 
 ollect, because the saying of St. James is coming true, and 
 that fast, that the cries of the reapers whose wages have 
 been kept back by fraud, have entered into the ears of the 
 Lord of Sabaoth ; that is to say, I^ord of all creatures, as 
 much of the men at St. Catherine's Docks as of St. Cather- 
 ine herself, though they live only under Tower-Hill, and she 
 lived close under Sinai. 
 
 You see, farther, I have written above, not " good will 
 towards men," but " love among men." It is nearer right 
 so ; but the word is not easy to translate at all. What it 
 means precisely, you may conjecture best from its use at 
 Christ's baptism — " This is my beloved Son, in whom I am 
 well-pleased,''^ For, in precisely the same words, the angels 
 say, there is to be " well-pleasing in men." 
 
 Now, my religious friends, I continually hear you talk of 
 11 
 
162 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 acting for God's glory, and giving God praise. Might yoxx 
 not, for the present, think less of praising, and more of pleas- 
 ing him ? lie can, perhaps, dispense with your praise ; your 
 opinions of His character, even when they come to be held 
 by a large body of the religious press, are not of material im- 
 portance to Him. He has the hosts of heaven to praise Hima 
 who see more of His ways, it is likely, than you ; but you 
 hear that you may be pleasing to Him if you try : — that He 
 expected, then, to have some satisfaction in you ; and might 
 have even great satisfaction — well-pleasing, as in His own 
 Son, if you tried. The sparrows and the robins, if you give 
 them leave to nest as they choose about your garden, will 
 have their own opinions about your garden ; some of them 
 will think it well laid out, — others ill. You are not solicitous 
 about their opinions ; but you like them to love each other ; 
 to build their nests without stealing each other's sticks, and 
 to trust you to take care of them. 
 
 Perhaps, in like manner, if in this garden of the world, you 
 would leave off telling its Master your opinions of him, and, 
 much more, your quarrelling about your opinions of him ; 
 but would simply trust him, and mind your own business 
 modestly, he might have more satisfaction in you than he has 
 had yet these eighteen hundred and seventy-one years, or 
 than he seems likely to have in the eighteen hundred and 
 seventy-second. For first, instead of behaving like sparrows 
 and robins, you want to behave like those birds you read the 
 Gospel from the backs of, — eagles. Now the Lord of the 
 garden made the claws of eagles for them, and your fingers 
 for you ; and if you would do the work of fingers, with the 
 fingers he made, would, without doubt, have satisfaction in 
 you. But, instead of fingers, you want to have claws — -not 
 mere short claws, at the finger-ends, as Giotto's Injustice 
 has them ; but long clav/s that will reach leagues away ; so 
 vou set to work to make yourselves manifold claws — far- 
 scratching ; — and this smoke, which hides the sun and chokes 
 the sky — this Egyptian darkness that may be felt, — manu- 
 factured by you, singular modern children of Israel, that you 
 may have 7io light in your dwellings, is none the fairer, be- 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 163 
 
 cause cast forth by the furnaces in which you forge youf 
 weapons of war. 
 
 A very singular children of Israel ! Your father, Abraham, 
 indeed, once saw the smoke of a country go up as the smoke 
 of a furnace ; but not with envy of the country. 
 
 Your English power is coal ? Well ; also the power of 
 the Vale of Siddim was in slime, — petroleum of the best ; 
 yet the Kings of the five cities fell there ; and the end was 
 no well-pleasing of God among men. 
 
 Emmanuel ! God with us I — how often, you tenderly- 
 minded Christians, have you desired to see this great sight, — 
 this Babe lying in a manger ? Yet, you have so contrived 
 it, once more, this year, for many a farm in France, that if 
 He were born again, in that neighbourhood, there would be 
 found no manger for Him to lie in ; only ashes of mangers. 
 Our clergy and lawyers dispute, indeed, whether He may not 
 be yet among us ; if not in mangers, in the straw of them, 
 or the corn. An English lawyer spoke twenty-six hours but 
 the other day — the other four days, I mean — before the Lords 
 of her Majesty's most Honourable Privy Council, to prove 
 that an English clergyman had used a proper quantity of 
 equivocation in his statement that Christ was in Bread. Yet 
 there is no harm in anybody thinking that He is in Bread, — 
 or even in Flour ! The harm is, in their expectation ot His 
 Presence in gunpowder. 
 
 Present, however, you believe He was, that night, in flesh, 
 to any one who might be warned to go and see Him. The 
 inn was quite full ; but we do not hear that any traveller 
 chanced to look into the cow-house ; and most likely, even if 
 they had, none of them would have been much interested in 
 the workman's young wife, lying there. They probably 
 would have thought of the Madonna, with Mr. John Stuart 
 Mill, {P)nnciples of Political Economy, octavo, Parker, 1848, 
 Vol. ii. page 321), that there was scarcely "any means open 
 to her of gaining a livelihood, except as a wife and mother ; " 
 and that "women who prefer that occupation might justifi- 
 ably adopt it — but, that there should be no option, no other 
 carriere possible, for the great majority of women, except in 
 
164 
 
 FOES CLA VIGERA. 
 
 the humbler departments of life, is one of those social injus* 
 tices which call loudest for remedy." 
 
 The poor girl of Nazareth had less option than most ; and 
 with her weak be it unto me as Thou wilt," fell so far be- 
 low the modern type of independent womanhood, that one 
 cannot wonder at any degree of contempt felt for her by 
 British Protestants. Some few people, nevertheless, were 
 meant, at the time, to think otherwise of her. And now, my 
 working friends, I would ask you to read with me, carefully, 
 for however often you may have read this before, I know 
 there are points in the story which you have not thought of. 
 
 The shepherds were told that their Saviour was that day 
 born to them " in David's village." We are apt to think 
 that this was told, as of special interest to them, because 
 David was a King. 
 
 Not so. It was told them because David was in youth not 
 a King ; but a Shepherd like themselves. " To you, shep- 
 herds, is born this day a Saviour in the shepherd's town ;" 
 that would be the deep sound of the message in tlieir ears. 
 For the great interest to them in the story of David himself 
 must have been always, not that he had saved the monarchy, 
 or subdued Syria, or written Psalms, but that he had kept 
 sheep in those very fields they were watching in ; and that 
 his grandmother* Ruth had gone gleaning, hard by. 
 
 And they said hastil}^ " Let us go and see." 
 
 Will you note carefully that they only think of seeing^ not 
 of worshipping. Even when they do see the Child, it is not 
 said that they worshipped. They were simple people, and 
 had not much faculty of worship ; even though the heavens 
 had opened for them, and the hosts of heaven had sung. 
 They had been at first only frightened ; then curious, and 
 communicative to the by-standers : they do not think even 
 of making any offering, which would have been a natural 
 thought enough, as it was to the first of shepherds : but they 
 brought no firstlings of their flock — (it is only in pictures, 
 and those chiefly painted for the sake of the picturesque, 
 that the shepherds are seen bringing lambs, and baskets of 
 * Great ; — father's father's mother. 
 
FORS CLAVIOBRA. 
 
 165 
 
 eggs.) It is not said here that they brought anything, but 
 they looked, and talked, and went away praising God, as 
 simple people, — yet taking nothing to heart ; only the mother 
 did that. 
 
 They went away : — " returned," it is said, — to their busi- 
 ness, and never seem to have left it again. Which is strange, 
 if you think of it. It is a good business, truly, and one 
 mucli to be commended, not only in itself, but as having 
 great chances of advancement" — as in the case of Jethro 
 the Midianite's Jew shepherd ; and the herdsman of Tekoa ; 
 besides that keeper of the few sheep in the wilderness, when 
 his brethren were under arms afield. But why are they not 
 seeking for some advancement now, after opening of the 
 heavens to them ? or, at least, why not called to it after- 
 wards, being, one would have thought, as fit for ministry 
 under a shepherd king, as fishermen, or custom-takers ? 
 
 Can it be that the work is itself the best that can be done 
 by simple men ; that the shepherd Lord Clifford, or Michael of 
 the Green-head ghyll, are ministering better in the wilderness 
 than any lords or commoners are likely to do in Parliament, 
 or other apostleship ; so that even tiie professed Fishers of 
 Men are wise in calling themselves Pastors rather than Pis- 
 cators? Yet it seems not less strange that one never hears 
 of any of these shepherds any more. The boy who made the 
 pictures in this book for you could only fancy the Nativity, 
 yet left his sheep, that he might preach of it, in iiis way, all 
 his life. But they, who saw it, went back to their sheep. 
 
 Some days later, another kind of persons came. On that 
 first day, the simplest people of his own land ; — twelve days 
 after, the wisest people of other lands, far away : persons 
 who had received, what you are all so exceedingly desir- 
 ous to receive, a good education ; the result of which, to 
 you, — according to Mr. John Stuart Mill, in the page of the 
 chapter on the probable future of the labouring classes, op- 
 posite to that from which I have just quoted his opinions 
 about the Madonna's line of life — will be as follows ; — '^From 
 this increase of intelligence, several effects may be confi- 
 dently anticipated. First : that they will become even less 
 
166 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 willing than at present to be led, and governed, and directed 
 into the way they should go, by the mere authority and pres- 
 tige of superiors. If they have not now, still less will they 
 have hereafter, any deferential awe, or religious principle of 
 obedience, holding them in mental subjection to a class above 
 - them." 
 
 It is curious that, in this old story of the Nativity, the 
 greater wisdom of these educated persons appears to have pro- 
 duced upon them an effect exactly contrary to that which you 
 liear Mr. Stuart Mill would have "confidently anticipated." 
 The uneducated people came only to see, but these highly 
 trained ones to worship ; and they have allowed themselves 
 to be led, and governed, and directed into the way which 
 they should go, (and that a long one,) by the mere authority 
 and prestig'e of a superior person, whom they clearly recog- 
 nize as a born king, though not of their people. " Tell us, 
 where is he that is born King of the Jews, for we have come 
 to worship him." 
 
 You may perhaps, however, think that these Magi had re- 
 ceived a different kind of education from that which Mr. Mill 
 would recommend, or even the book which I observe is the 
 favourite of the Chancellor of the Exchequer — " Cassell's 
 Educator." It is possible ; for they were looked on in their 
 own country as themselves the best sort of Educators which 
 the Cassell of their day could provide, even for Kings. And 
 as you are so much interested in education, you will, perhaps, 
 have patience with me while I translate for you a wise Greek's 
 account of the education of the princes of Persia ; account 
 given three hundred years, and more, before these Magi 
 came to Bethlehem. 
 
 When the boy is seven years old he has to go and learn 
 all about horses, and is tauor-ht bv the masters of horseman- 
 ship, and begins to go against wild beasts ; and when he is 
 fourteen years old, they give him the masters whom they 
 call the Kingly Child-Guiders : and these are four, chosen 
 the best out of all the Persians who are then in the prime of 
 life — to wit, the most wise man they can find, and the most 
 just, and the most temperate, and the most brave ; of whom 
 
FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 167 
 
 the first, the wisest, teaches the prince the magic of Zoroas- 
 ter ; and that magic is the service of the Gods ; also, he 
 teaches him the duties that belong to a king. Then the 
 second, the justest, teaches him to speak truth all his life 
 througli. Then the third, the most temperate, teaches him 
 not to be conquered by even so much as a single one of the 
 pleasures, that he may be exercised in freedom, and verily a 
 king, master of all things within himself, not slave to them. 
 And the fourth, the bravest, teaches him to be dreadless of 
 all things, as knowing that whenever he fears, he is a slave." 
 
 Three hundred and some odd years before that carpenter, 
 with his tired wife, asked for room in the inn, and found 
 none, these words had been written, my enlightened friends ; 
 and much longer than that, these things had been done. And 
 the three hundred and odd years (more than from Elizabeth's 
 time till now) })assed by, and much fine philosophy was talked 
 in the interval, and manv fine thin^rs found out : but it seems 
 that when God wanted tutors for his little Prince, — at least, 
 persons who would have been tutors to any other little prince, 
 but could only worship this one, — lie could find nothing bet- 
 ter than those quaint-minded masters of the old Persian school. 
 And since then, six times over, three hundred years have gone 
 by, and we have had a good deal of theology talked in them; 
 — not a little popular preaching administered ; sundry Acad- 
 emies of studious persons assembled, — Paduan, Parisian, Ox- 
 onian, and the like ; persons of erroneous views carefully 
 collected and burnt ; Eton, and other grammars, diligently 
 digested ; and the most exquisite and indubitable physical 
 science obtained, — able, tiiere is now no doubt, to distinguish 
 gases of every sort, and explain the reasons of their smell. 
 And here we are, at last, finding it still necessary to treat 
 ourselves by Cassell's Educator, — patent filter of human fac- 
 ulty. Pass yourselves through that, my intelligent working 
 friends, and see how clear you will come out on the other 
 side. 
 
 Have a moment's patience yet with me, first, while I note 
 for you one or two of the ways of that older tutorship. Four 
 masters, you see, there were for the Persian Prince. On© 
 
168 
 
 FOIiS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 had no other business than to teach him to speak truth ; so 
 difficult a matter the Persians thought it. We know better, 
 — we. You heard how perfectly the French gazettes did it 
 last year, without any tutor, by their Holy Republican in- 
 stincts. Then the second tutor had to teach the Prince to 
 be free. That tutor both the French and you have had for 
 some time back ; but the Persian and Parisian dialects are 
 not similar in their use of the word " freedom ; " of that 
 hereafter. Then another master has to teach the Prince to 
 fear nothing ; him, I admit, you want little teaching from, 
 for your modern Republicans fear even the devil little, and 
 God, less ; but may I observe that you are occasionally still 
 afraid of thieves, though as I said sometime since, I never 
 can make out what you have got to be stolen. 
 
 For instance, much as we suppose ourselves desirous of be- 
 holding this Bethlehem Nativity, or getting any idea of it, 
 I know an English gentleman who was offered the other day 
 a picture of it, by a good master, — Raphael, — for five and 
 twenty pounds ; and said it was too dear : yet had paid, 
 only a day or two before, five hundred pounds for a pocket- 
 pistol that shot people out of both ends, so afraid of thieves 
 was he.* 
 
 None of these three masters, however, the masters of jus- 
 tice, temperance, or fortitude, were sent to the little Prince 
 at Bethlehem. Young as he was, he had already been in 
 some practice of these ; but there was yet the fourth cardi- 
 nal virtue, of which, as far as we can understand, he had to 
 learn a new manner for his new reign : and the masters of 
 that were sent to him — the masters of Obedience. For he 
 had to become obedient unto death. 
 
 And the most wise — says the Greek — the most wise master 
 of all, teaches the boy magic ; and this magic is the service 
 of the gods. 
 
 My skilled working friends, I have heard much of youi 
 
 * The papers had it that several gentlemen concurred in this piece of 
 business ; but they put the Nativity at five and twenty thousand, and 
 the Agincourt, or whatever the explosive protector was called, at fivo 
 hundred thousand. 
 
FORS GLAVIGERA, 
 
 169 
 
 tnagic lately. Sleight of hand, and better than that, (you 
 say,) sleight of machine. Leger-de-main, improved into 
 leger-de-inecanique. From the West, as from the East^ 
 now, your American, and Arabian magicians attend you ; 
 vociferously crying their new lamps for the old stable lan- 
 tern of scapegoat's horn. And for the oil of the trees or 
 Gethsemane, vour American friends have struck oil more 
 finely inflammable. Let Aaron look to it, how he lets any 
 run down his beard ; and the wise virgins trim their wicka 
 cautiously, and Madelaine la Petroleuse, with her improved 
 spikenard, take good heed how she breaks her alabaster, and 
 completes the worship of her Christ. 
 
 Christmas, the mass of the Lord's anointed ; — you will hear 
 of devices enough to make it merry to you this year, I doubt 
 \iot. The increase in tiie quantity of disposable malt liquor 
 and tobacco is one great fact, better than all devices. Mr. 
 Lowe has, indeed, says the Times of June 5th, "done the 
 country good service, by placing before it, in a compendious 
 form, the statistics of its own prosperity. . . . The 
 twenty-two millions of people of 1825 drank barely nine 
 millions of barrels of beer in the twelve months : our thirty* 
 two millions now livinix drink all but twenty-six millio;is of 
 barrels. Tlie consumption of spirits has increased also, 
 though in nothing like the same proportion ; but whereas 
 sixteen million pounds of tobacco sufficed for us in 1825, as 
 many as forty-one million pounds are wanted now. By 
 every kind of measure, tiierefore, and on every principle of 
 calculation, the growth of our prosperity is established." * 
 
 Beer, spirits, and tobacco, are thus more than ever at your 
 command ; and magic besides, of lantern, and harlequin's 
 wand ; nay, necromancy if you will, the Witch of Endor at 
 number so and so round the corner, and raising of the dead, 
 
 * This last clause does not. you are however to observe, refer in the' 
 great Temporal Mind, merely to the merciful Dispensation of beer and 
 tobacco, but to the general state of things, afterwards thus summed 
 with exultation : ''We doubt if there is a household in the kinj^dom 
 which would now be contented with the conditions of living cheerfully 
 accepted in 185^5." 
 
170 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 if you roll away the tables from off them. But of this one 
 sort of magic, this magic of Zoroaster, which is the service 
 of God, you are not likely to hear. In one sense, indeed, 
 you have heard enough of becoming God's servants ; to wit, 
 servants dressed in His court livery, to stand behind His 
 chariot, with gold-headed sticks. Plenty of jjeople will ad-= 
 vise you to apply to Him for that sort of position : and 
 many will urge you to assist Him in carrying out His inten- 
 tions, and be what the Americans call helps, instead of ser- 
 vants. 
 
 Well ! that may be, some day, truly enough ; but before 
 you can be allowed to help Him, you must be quite sure that 
 you can see him. It is a question now, whether you can even 
 see any creature of His — or the least thing that He has made, 
 — see it, — so as to ascribe due worth, or worship, to it, — how 
 much less to its Maker ? 
 
 You have felt, doubtless, at least those of you who have 
 been brought up in any habit of reverence, that every time 
 when in this letter I have used an American expression, or 
 aught like one, there came upon you a sense of sudden w^rong 
 — the darting through you of acute cold. I meant you to feel 
 that : for it is the essential function of America to make us 
 all feel tiiat. It is the new skill they have found there ; — 
 this skill of degradation ; others they have, which other na- 
 tions had before them, from whom they have learned all they 
 know, and among whom they must travel, still, to see any 
 human work worth seeing. But this is their speciality, this 
 their one gift to their race, — to show men how^ not to wor- 
 ship, — how never to be ashamed in the presence of any- 
 thing. But the magic of Zoroaster is the exact reverse of 
 this, to find out the worth of all things, and do them 
 reverence. 
 
 Therefore, the Magi bring treasures, as being discerners of 
 treasures, knowing what is intrinsically worthy, and worth- 
 less ; what is best in brightness, best in sweetness, best in 
 bitterness — gold, and frankincense, and myrrh. Finders of 
 treasure hid in fields, and goodliness in strange pearls, such 
 as produce no effect whatever on the public mind, bent 
 
FOltH OLA riGERA. 
 
 171 
 
 passionately on its own fashion of pearl-diving at Gen* 
 nesaret. 
 
 And you will find that the essence of the mis- teaching, of 
 your day, concerning wealth of any kind, is in this denial of 
 intrinsic value. What anything is wortli, or not worth, it 
 cannot tell you : all that it can tell is the exchange value^ 
 What Judas, in the present state of Demand and Supply, 
 can get for the article he has to sell, in a given market, that 
 is tlie value of his article : — Yet you do not find that Judas 
 had joy of his bargain. No Christmas, still less Easter, 
 holidays, coming to him with merrymaking. Whereas, the 
 Zoroastrians, who " take stars for money," rejoice with ex- 
 ceeding great joy at seeing something, whicii — they cannot 
 put in their pockets. For, " the vital principle of their re- 
 ligion is the recognition of one supreme power ; the God 
 of Light — in every sense of the word — the Spirit who 
 creates the world, and rules it, and defends it against the 
 power of Evil." * 
 
 I repeat to you, now, the question T put at the beginning 
 of my letter. What is this Christmas to you? What Light 
 is there, for your eyes, also, pausing yet over the place where 
 the Child lay ? 
 
 I will tell you, briefly, what Light there should be ; — 
 what lessons and promise are in this story, at the least. 
 There may be infinitely more than I know ; but there is cer- 
 tainly, this. 
 
 The Child is born to bring you the promise of new life. 
 Eternal or not, is no matter ; pure and redeemed, at least. 
 
 He is born twice on your earth ; first, from the womb, to 
 the life of toil, then, from the grave, to that of rest. 
 
 To his first life, he is born in a cattle-shed, the supposed 
 son of a carpenter ; and afterwards brought up to a car- 
 penter's craft. 
 
 But the circumstances of his second life are, in great part, 
 hidden from us : only note this much of it. The three 
 principal appearances to his disciples are accompanied by 
 giving or receiving of food. He is known at Emmaus in 
 * M\x MiTLLEU : Genesis and tht Zend-Avesta, 
 
172 
 
 FORS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 breaking of bread ; at Jerusalem he himself eats fish and 
 honey to show that he is not a spirit ; and his charge to 
 Peter is " when they had dined," the food having been ob- 
 tained under his direction. 
 
 But in his first showing himself to the person who loved 
 him best, and to whom he had forgiven most, there is a cir 
 cumstance more sino-ular and si^riificant still. Observe — 
 assuming the accepted belief to be true, — this was the first 
 time when the Maker of men showed Himself to human eyes, 
 risen from the dead, to assure them of immortality. You 
 might have thought He would liave shown Himself in some 
 brightly glorified form, — in some sacred and before unimagi- 
 nable beauty. 
 
 He shows himself in so simple aspect, and dress, that she, 
 who, of all people on the earth, should have known him best, 
 glancing quickly back through her tears, does not know him. 
 Takes him for " the gardener." 
 
 Now, unless absolute orders had been given to us, such as 
 would have rendered error impossible (which would have 
 altered the entire temper of Christian probation) ; could we 
 possibly have had more distinct indication of the purpose of 
 the Master — born first by witness of shepherds, in a cattle- 
 shed, then by witness of the person for whom he had done 
 most, and who loved him best, in a garden, and in gar- 
 dener's guise, and not known even by his familiar friends 
 till he gave them bread, — could it be told us, I repeat, 
 more definitely by any sign or indication whatsoever, that 
 the noblest human life was appointed to be by the cattle- 
 fold and in the garden ; and to be known as noble in break- 
 ino^ of bread ? 
 
 Now, but a few words more. You will constantly hear 
 foolish and ignoble persons conceitedly proclaiming the 
 text, that " not many wise and not many noble are called." 
 
 Nevertheless, of those who are trul}'' wise, and truly noble, 
 all are called that exist. And to sight of this Nativity, you 
 find that, together with the simple persons, near at hand, 
 there were called precisely the Wisest men that could be 
 found on earth at that moment. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 173 
 
 And these men, for their own part, came — I beg }ou very 
 earnestly again to note this — not to see, nor talk — but to da 
 Reverence. They are neither curious nor talkative, but sub- 
 missive. 
 
 And, so far as they came to teach, they came as teachers 
 of one virtue only : Obedience. For of this Child, at once 
 Prince and Servant, Shepherd and Lamb, it was written : 
 See, mine elect, in whom my soul delighteth. He shall 
 not strive, nor cry, till he shall bring forth Judgment unto 
 Victory." 
 
 My friends, of the Black country, you may have wondered 
 at my telling you so often, — I tell you, nevertheless, once 
 more, in bidding you farewell this year, — that one main pur- 
 pose of the education I want you to seek is, that you may 
 see the sky, with the stars of it again ; and be enabled, in 
 their material light — "riveder le stelle." 
 
 But, much more, out of this blackness of the smoke of the 
 Pit, the blindness of heart, in which the children of Dis- 
 obedience blaspheme God and each other, heaven grant to 
 you the vision of that sacred light, at pause over the place 
 where the young child was laid ; and ordain that more and 
 more in each coming Christmas it may be said of you, " When 
 they saw the Star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy." 
 
 Believe me your faithful servant, 
 
 JOHN RUSKIN. 
 
 LETTER XHL 
 
 Ist Januai^y^ 1872. 
 
 My Friends, 
 
 I WOULD wish you a happy New Year, if I thought my 
 wishes likely to be of the least use. Perhaps, indeed, if your 
 cap of liberty were what you always take it for, a wishing 
 *cap, I might borrow it of you, for once ; and be so much 
 cheered by the chime of iis bells, as to wish you a happy 
 New Year, whether you deserved one or not : which would 
 be the worst thing T could possibly bring to pass for you. 
 
174 
 
 FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 But wishing cap, belled or silent, you can lend me none ; and 
 my wishes having proved, for the most part, vain for myself, 
 except in making me w^retched till I got rid of them, I will 
 not present you with anything which I have found to be of 
 so little worth. But if you trust more to anyone else's than 
 mine, let me advise your requesting them to wish that you 
 may deserve a happ}^ New Year, whether you get one or not. 
 
 To some extent, indeed, that way, you are sure to get it : 
 and it will much help you towards the seeing such way if you 
 would make it a practice in your talk always to say you " de- 
 serve " things, instead of that you " have a right " to them. 
 Say that you " deserve " a vote, — " deserve " so much a day, 
 instead of that you have ^'a right to " a vote, &c. The ex- 
 pression is both more accurate and more general ; for if it 
 chanced, which heaven forbid, — but it might be, — that you 
 deserved a whipping, you would never think of expressing 
 that fact by saying you " had a right to " a whipping ; and 
 if you deserve anything better than that, why conceal your 
 deserving under the neutral term, " rights ; " as if you never 
 meant to claim more than might be claimed also by entirely 
 nugatory and worthless persons. Besides, such accurate use 
 ot language will lead you sometimes into reflection on the 
 fact, that what you deserve, it is not only well for you to 
 get, but certain that you ultimately will get ; and neither 
 less nor more. 
 
 Ever since Carlyle wrote that sentence about rights and 
 mights, in his " French Revolution," all blockheads of a be- 
 nevolent class have been declaiming against him, as a wor- 
 shipper of force. What else, in the name of the three Magi, 
 is to be worshipped ? Force of brains, Force of heart. Force 
 of hand ; — will you dethrone these, and worship apoplexy ? 
 — despite the spirit of Heaven, and worship phthisis ? Every 
 condition of idolatry is summed in the one broad wickedness 
 of refusing to worship Force, and resolving to worship No- 
 Force ; — denying the Almighty, and bowing down to four-* 
 and-twopence with a stamo on it. 
 
 But Carlyle never meant in that place to refer you to such 
 final truth. He meant but to tell you that before yo\x dis. 
 
FOES GLAVIGEIiA. 
 
 175 
 
 pute about what you should get, you would do well to find 
 out first what is to be gotten. Which briefly is, for every- 
 body, at last, their deserts, and no more. 
 
 I did not choose, in beginning this book a year since, to 
 tell you what I meant it to become. This, for one of several 
 things, I mean, that it shall put before you so much of the 
 past history of the world, in an intelligible manner, as may 
 enable you to see the laws of Fortune or Destiny, " Clavigera," 
 Nail bearing or, in the full idea, nail-and-hammer bearing ; 
 driving the iron home with hammer-stroke, so that nothing 
 shall be moved ; and fastening each of us at last to the Cross 
 we have chosen to csirry. Nor do I doubt being able to show 
 you that this irresistible power is also just ; appointing meas- 
 ured return for every act and thought, such as men deserve. 
 
 And that being so, foolish moral writers will tell you that 
 whenever you do wrong you will be punished, and whenever 
 you do right rewarded : which is true, but only half the 
 truth. And foolish immoral writers will tell vou that if 
 you do right, you will get no good ; and if you do wrong 
 dexterously, no harm. Which, in their sense af good and 
 harm, is true also, but, even in that sense, only half the 
 truth. The joined and four-square truth is, that every right 
 is exactly rewarded, and every wrong exactly punished ; but 
 that, in the midst of this subtle, and, to our impatience, slow, 
 retribution, there is a startlingly separate or counter ordi- 
 nance of good and evil, — one to this man, and the other to 
 that, — one at this hour of our lives, and the other at that, — 
 ordinance which is entirely beyond our control ; and of wliich 
 the providential law, hitherto, defies investigation. 
 
 To take an example near at hand, which I can answer for. 
 Throughout the year which ended this morning, 1 have been 
 endeavouring, more than hitherto in any equal period, to act 
 for others more than for myself : and looking back on the 
 twelve montlis, am satisfied that in some measure T have done 
 right. So far as I am sure of that, 1 see also, even already, 
 definitely proportioned fruit, and clear results following from 
 that course ; — consequences simply in accordance with the 
 unfailing and undeceivable Law of Nature. 
 
176 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 That it has chanced to me, in the course of the same year 
 to have to sustain the most acute mental pain yet inflicted on 
 my life ; — to pass through the most nearly mortal illness ; — > 
 and to write your Christmas letter beside my mother's dead 
 body, are appointments merely of the hidden Fors, or Des- 
 tiny, whose power I mean to trace for you in past history, 
 being hitherto, in the reasons of it, indecipherable, yet pal- 
 pably following certain laws of storm, which are in the last 
 degree wonderful and majestic. 
 
 Setting this Destiny, over which you have no control what- 
 soever, for the time, out of your thoughts, tliero remains the 
 symmetrical destiny, over which you have control absolute— 
 namely, that you are ultimately to get — exactly what you 
 are worth. 
 
 And your control over this destiny consists, therefore, 
 simply in being worth more or less, and not at all in voting 
 that you are worth more or less. Nay, though you should 
 leave voting, and come to fighting, which I see is next pro- 
 posed, you will not, even that way, arrive any nearer to your 
 object — admitting that you have an object, which is much to 
 be doubted. I hear, indeed, that you mean to fight for a 
 Republic, in consequence of having been informed by Mr. 
 John Stuart Mill, and others, that a number of utilities are 
 embodied in that object. We will inquire into the nature of 
 this object presently, going over the ground of my last Jan- 
 uary's letter again ; but first, may I suggest to you that it 
 would be more prudent, instead of fighting to make us all 
 republicans against our will, — to make the most of the re- 
 publicans you have got. There are many, you tell me, in 
 England, — more in France, a sprinkling in Italy, — and no- 
 bod}^ else in the United States. What should you fight for, 
 being already in such prevalence ? Fighting is unpleasant, 
 now-a-days, however glorious, what with mitrailleuses, tor* 
 pedoes, and mismanaged commissariat. And what, I repeat, 
 should you fight for? All the fighting in the w^orld cannot 
 make us Tories change our old opinions, any more than it 
 will make you change your new ones. It cannot make us 
 leave off calling each other names if we like — Lord this, and 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 177 
 
 the Duke of that, whether 3^ou republicans like it or not. 
 After a great deal of trouble on both sides, it might, indeed, 
 end in abolishing our property ; but without any trouble on 
 either side, why cannot your friends begin by abolishing their 
 own ? Or even abolishing a tithe of their own. Ask them 
 to do merely as much as I, an objectionable old Tory, have 
 done for ^^ou. Make them send you in an account of their little 
 properties, and strike you off a tenth, for what purposes you 
 see good ; and for the remaining nine-tenths, you will find 
 clue to what should be done in the Republican of last No- 
 vember, wlierein Mr. W. Riddle, C.E., " fearlessly states " that 
 all property must be taken under control ; which is, indeed, 
 precisely what Mr. Carlyle has been telling you these last 
 thirty years, only he seems to have been under an impression, 
 which I certainly shared with him, tliat you republicans ob- 
 jected to control of any description. Whereas if you let 
 anybody put your property under control, you will find prac- 
 tically he has a good deal of hold upon you also. 
 
 You are not all agreed upon that point perhaps ? But 
 you are all agreed that you want a Republic. Though Eng- 
 land is a rich country, having worked herself literally black 
 in the face to become so, she finds she cannot afford to keep 
 a Queen any longer ; — is doubtful even whether she would 
 not get on better Queenless ; and I see with consternation 
 that even one of my own personal friends, Mr. Auberoii Her- 
 bert, rising the other day at Nottingham, in the midst of 
 great cheering, declares that, though he is not in favour of 
 anv immediate chano-e, vet, if we asked ourselves what form 
 of government was the most reasonable, the most in harmony 
 with ideas of self-government and self-responsibility, and 
 what Government was most likely to save us from unneces- 
 sary divisions of party, and to weld us into one compact mass, 
 he had no hesitation in savinsr the wei<xht of ar<i:ument was 
 in favour of a Republic." * 
 
 Well, suppose we were all welded into a compact mass. 
 Might it not still be questionable what sort of a mass we 
 were ? After any quantity of puddling, iron is still nothing 
 • See Fall Mall Gazette, Dec. 5th, 1871. 
 12 
 
178 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 better than iron ; — in any rarity of dispersion, gold-dust 13 
 still gold. Mr. Auberon Herbert thinks it desirable that you 
 should be stuck together. Be it so ; but what is there to 
 stick ? At this time of year, doubtless, some of your chil- 
 dren, interested generally in production of puddings, delight 
 themselves, to your great annoyance, with speculative pud- 
 ding in the gutter ; and enclose, between unctuous tops and 
 bottoms, imaginary mince. But none of them, I suppose, 
 deliberately come into their mothers, at cooking-time, with 
 materials for a treat on Republican principles. Mud for suet 
 — gravel for plums — droppings of what heaven may send for 
 flavour ; — "Please, mother, a towel, to knot it tight — (or, to 
 use Mr. Herbert's expression, " weld it into a compact mass ") 
 — Now for the old saucepan, mother ; and you just lay the 
 cloth ! " 
 
 My friends, I quoted to you last year the foolishest thing, 
 yet said, according to extant history, by lips of mankind — 
 namely, that the cause of starvation is quantity of meat.* 
 But one can yet see what the course of foolish thought was 
 which achieved that saying : whereas, though it is not absurd 
 to quite the same extent to believe that a nation depends for 
 happiness and virtue on the form of its government, it is 
 more difficult to understand how so large a number of other- 
 wise rational persons have been beguiled into thinking so. 
 The stuff of which the nation is made is developed by the 
 effort and the fate of ages : according to that material, such 
 and such government becomes possible to it, or impossible. 
 What other form of government you try upon it than the one 
 it is fit for, necessarily comes to nothing ; and a nation 
 wholly worthless is capable of none. 
 
 Notice, therefore, carefully Mr. Herbert's expression 
 " welded into a compact mass." The phrase would be likely 
 enough to occur to anyone's mind, in a midland district ; and 
 meant, perhaps, no more than if the speaker had said 
 
 melted," or "blended" into a mass. But whether Mr. 
 Herbert meant more or not, his words mean more. You may 
 
 * Letter IV. p. 55. Compare Letter V. p. 59 ; and observe, in future 
 references of this kind I shall merely say, IV. 55 ; V. 59, &c. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 179 
 
 melt glass or glue into a mass, but you can only weld, or 
 wield, metal. And are you sure that, if you would have a 
 Republic, you are capable of being welded into one ? Granted 
 that vou are no better than iron, are vou as ofood ? Have 
 you the toughness in you ? and can 3'ou bear the hammer- 
 ing ? Or, would your fusion together, — your literal con- 
 fusion — be as of glass only, blown thin with nitrogtiii, and 
 shattered before it irot cold ? 
 
 Welded Republics there indeed have been, ere now, but 
 they ask first for bronze, then for a hammerer, and mainly, 
 for patience on the anvil. Have you any of the three at 
 command, — patience, above all things, the most needed, yet 
 not one of your prominent virtues? And, finally, for the 
 cost of such smith's work, — My good friends, let me recom- 
 mend you, in that point of view, to keep your Queen. 
 
 Therefore, for your first bit of history this year, 1 will give 
 you one pertinent to the matter, wliich will show you how a 
 monarchy, and such a Republic as you are now capable of 
 producing, have verily acted on special occasion, so that you 
 may compare their function accurately. 
 
 The special occasion that 1 choose shall be the most solemn 
 of all conceivable acts of Government ; the adjudging and 
 execution of the punishment of Death. The two examples 
 of it shall be, one under an absolutely despotic Monarchy, 
 acting through ministers trained in principles of absolute 
 despotism ; and the other, in a completely free Republic, 
 acting by its collective wisdom, and in association of its 
 practical energies. 
 
 The example of despotism shall be taken from the book 
 which Mr. Froude most justly calls ^* the prose epic of the 
 English nation," the records compiled by Richard Hakluyt, 
 Preacher, and sometime Student of Christchurch in Oxford, 
 imprinted at London by Ralph Newherie, anno 1599, and 
 then in five volumes, quarto, in 1811, two hundred and sev- 
 enty copies only of this last edition being printed. 
 
 These volumes contain the original — usually personal, — • 
 narratives of the earliest voyages of tlie great seamen of all 
 countries, — the chief part of them English ; who " first went 
 
180 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 out across the unknown seas, fighting, discovering, coloniz- 
 ing ; and graved out the channels, paving them at last with 
 their bones, through which the commerce and enterprise of 
 Eno-land has flowed out over all the world." I mean to 
 give you many pieces to read out of this book, which Mr. 
 Froude tells you truly is your English Homer ; this piece, to 
 our present purpose, is already quoted by him in his essay on 
 England's forgotten worthies ; am.ong whom, far-forgotten 
 though they be, most of you must have heard named Sir 
 Francis Drake. And of him, it now imports you to know 
 this much ; that he was the son of a clergyman, who fled 
 into Devonshire to escape the persecution of Henry YIH. 
 (abetted by our old friend, Sir Thomas of Utopia) — that the 
 little Frank was apprenticed by his father to the master of a 
 small vessel trading to the Low Countries ; and that as ap- 
 prentice, he behaved so well that his master, dying, left him 
 his vessel, and he begins his independent life with that capi- 
 tal. Tiring of affairs with the Low Countries, he sells his 
 little ship, and invests his substance in the new trade to the 
 West Indies. In the course of his business there, the Span- 
 iards attack him, and carry off his goods. Whereupon, 
 Master Francis Drake, making his way back to England, and 
 getting his brother John to join with him, after due deliber- 
 ation, fits out two ships, to wit, the Passover of 70 tons, and 
 the Swan of 24, with 73 men and boys (both crews, all told), 
 and a year's provision ; and, thus appointed. Master Frank 
 in command of the Passover^ and Master John in command 
 of the SioaUy weigh anchor from Plymouth on the 24th of 
 May, 1572, to make reprisals on the most powerful nation of 
 the then world. And making his way in this manner over 
 the Atlantic, and walking with his men across the Isthmus 
 of Panama, he beholds " from the top of a very high hill, the 
 great South Sea, on which no English ship had ever sailed. 
 Whereupon, he lifted up his hands to God, and implored his 
 blessing on the resolution which he then formed, of sailing 
 in an English ship on that sea." In the meantime, building 
 
 * J. A. Froude, Short Studies on Great Subjects. Longmans, 1867 
 p. 297. 
 
FORS a L AVI a ERA. 
 
 m 
 
 some light fighting pinnaces, of which he had brought out 
 the material in the Passover^ and boarding what Spanish 
 ships he can, transferring his men to such as he finds most 
 convenient to fight in, he keeps the entire coast of Spanish 
 America in hot water for several months ; and having taken 
 and rifled, between Carthagena and Nombre de Dios (Name 
 of God) more than two hundred ships of all sizes, sets sail 
 cheerfully for England, arriving at Plymouth on the 9th of 
 August, 1573, on Sunday, in the • afternoon ; and so mucli 
 were the people delighted with the news of their arrival, that 
 they left the preacher, and ran in crowds to the quay, with 
 shouts and congratulations. 
 
 He passes four years in England, explaining American 
 affairs to Queen Elizabeth and various persons at court ; and 
 at last in mid-life, in the year 1577, he obtains a commission 
 from the Queen, by which he is constituted Captain-general 
 of a fleet of five ships : the Pelican, admiral, 100 tons, his 
 owm ship ; the Elizaheth, vice-admiral, 80 tons ; the Sioan, 
 50 tons ; Marigold, 30 ; and Christopher (Christbearer) 15; 
 the collective burden of the entire fleet being thus 275 tons ; 
 its united crew^s 164 men, all told : and it carries whatever 
 Sir Francis thought ''might contribute to raise in those 
 nations, with whom he should have any intercourse, the 
 highest ideas of the politeness and magnificence of his 
 native country. lie, therefore, not only procured a complete 
 service of silver for his own table, and furnished the cook- 
 room with many vessels of the same metal, but engaged 
 several musicians to accompany him." 
 
 I quote from Johnson's life of him, — you do not know if 
 in jest or earnest? Always in earnest, believe me, good 
 friends. If there be jest in the nature of things, or of men, 
 it is no fault of mine. I try to set them before you as they 
 truly are. And Sir Francis and his crew, musicians and all, 
 were in uttermost earnest, as in the quiet course of their 
 narrative you will find. For arriving on the 20th of June, 
 1578, "in a very good harborough, called by Magellan Port 
 St. Julian, where we found a gibbet standing upon the maine, 
 which we supposed to be the place where Magellan did ex- 
 
X82 
 
 FORS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 ecution upon his disobedient and rebellious company 
 in this port our Generall began to inquire diligently of the 
 actions of M. Thomas Doughtie, and found them not to be 
 such as he looked for, but tending rather to contention or 
 mutinie, or some other disorder, whereby (without redresse) 
 the successe of the voyage might greatly have bene liazarded; 
 whereupon the company was called together and made ac- 
 quainted with the particulars of the cause, which were found, 
 partly by Master Doughtie's owne confession, and partly by 
 the evidence of the fact, to be true ; w^hich when our Gen- 
 erall saw, although his private affection to M. Doughtie (as 
 hee then in the presence of us all sacredly protested) was 
 great, yet the care he had of the state of the voyage, of the 
 expectation of her Maiestie, and of the honour of his coun- 
 trey, did more touch him (as, indeede, it ought) than the 
 private respect of one man : so that, the cause being 
 thoroughly heard, and all things done in good order, as 
 neere as might be to the course of our lawes in England, it 
 was concluded that M. Doughtie should receive punishment 
 according to the qualitie of the offence : and he, seeing no 
 remedie but patience for himselfe, desired before his death 
 to receive the Communion, which he did at the hands of M» 
 Fletcher, our Minister, and our Generall himselfe accom- 
 panied him in that holy action : which being done, and the 
 place of execution made ready, hee having embraced our 
 Generall, and taken his leave of all the companie, with pray- 
 ers for the Queen's Maiestie and our realme, in quiet sort 
 laid his head to the blocke, where he ended his life. This 
 being done, our Generall made divers speaches to the whole 
 company, persuading us to unitie, obedience, love, and regard 
 of our voyage ; and for the better confirmation thereof, willed 
 evry man the next Sunday following to prepare himselfe to 
 receive the Communion, as Christian brethren and friends 
 ought to doe, which was done in ver}^ reverent sort, and so 
 with good contentment every man went about his businesse.'* 
 Thus pass judgment and execution, under a despotic 
 Government and despotic Admiral, by religious, or, it may 
 be, superstitious, laws. 
 
FOllS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 183 
 
 Toil shall next see how judgment acd execution pass on 
 the purest republican principles ; every man's opinion being 
 held as good as his neighbour's ; and no superstitious belief 
 whatsoever interfering with the wisdom of popular decision, 
 or the liberty of popular action. The republicanism shall also 
 be that of this enliohtened nineteenth centurv : in other re- 
 Bpects the circumstances are similar ; for the event takes 
 place during an expedition of British — not subjects, indeed, 
 but quite unsubjected persons, — acknowledging neither 
 Queen nor Admiral, — in search, nevertheless, of gold and 
 silver, in America, like Sir Francis himself. And to make all 
 more precisely illustrative, I am able to take the account of 
 the matter from the very paper which contained Mr. Auberon 
 Herbert's speech, the JPall Mail Gazette of 5th December 
 last. In another column, a little before the addresses of the 
 members for Nottingham, you will therein find, quoted from 
 the New York Tribune^ the following account of some execu- 
 tions which took place at ''the Angels" (Los Angeles), Cali« 
 fornia, on tlie 24th October. 
 
 *'The victims were some unoffending Chinamen, the execu- 
 tioners were some 'warm-hearted and impulsive' Irishmen, 
 assisted by some Mexicans. It seems that owing to an im- 
 pression that the houses inhabited by the Chinamen were 
 filled with gold, a mob collected in front of a store belonging 
 to one of them named Yo Hing with the object of plunder- 
 ing it. The Chinamen barricaded the building, shots were 
 fired, and an American was killed. Then commenced the 
 "work of pillage and murder. The mob forced an entrance, 
 four Chinamen were shot dead, seven or eight were wounded, 
 and seventeen were taken and hanged. The following de- 
 scription of the hanging of the first victim will show how the 
 executions were conducted : — 
 
 '' Weng Chin, a merchant, was the first victim of hanging. 
 He was led through the streets by two lusty Irishmen, who 
 were cheered on by a crowd of men and boys, most of Irish 
 and Mexican birth. Several times the unfortunate Chinaman 
 faltered or attempted to extricate himself from the two brutes 
 who were leading him, when a half-drunken Mexican in his 
 
184 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 immediate rear would plunge the point of a large dirk knife 
 into his back. This, of course, accelerated his speed, but never 
 a syllable fell from his mouth. Arriving at the eastern gate 
 of Tomlinson's old lumber yard, just out of Temple Street, 
 hasty preparations lor launching the inoffensive man into 
 eternity were followed by his being pulled up to the beam 
 \w\ih a rope round his neck. He didn't seem to hang right,' 
 and one of the Irishmen got upon his shoulders and jumped 
 upon them, breaking his collar-bone. What with shots, stabs^ 
 and strangulation, and other modes of civilized torture, the 
 victim was ' hitched up ' for dead, and the crowd gave vent 
 to their savage delight in demoniac yells and a jargon which 
 too plainly denoted their Hibernian nationality. 
 
 "One victim, a Chinese physician of some celebrity, Dr. 
 Gnee Sing, offered his tormentors 4,000 dollars in gold to let 
 him go. His pockets were immediately cut and ransacked, a 
 pistol-shot mutilated one side of his face 'dreadfully,' and he 
 too was 'stretched up' with cheers. Another wretched man 
 was jerked up with great force against the beam, and the 
 operation repeated until his head was broken in a way we 
 cannot describe. Three Chinese, one a youth of about fifteen 
 years old, picked up at random, and innocent of even a 
 knowledo-e of the disturbance, were hano^ed in the same brutal 
 manner. Hardly a word escaped them, but the younger one 
 said, as the rope was being placed round his neck, 'Me no 
 'fraid to die ; me velly good China boy ; me no hurt no man.' 
 Three Chinese boys who were hanged 'on the side of a 
 wagon ' struggled hard for their lives. One managed to lay 
 hold of the rope, upon which two Irishmen beat his hands 
 with clubs and pistols till he released his hold and fell into a 
 ' hanging position.' The Irishmen then blazed away at him 
 with bullets, and so put an end to his existence." 
 
 My republican friends — or otherwise than friends, as you 
 choose to have it — you will say, I presume, that this com- 
 parison of methods of magistracy is partial and unfair? It is 
 so. All comparisons — as all experiments — are unfair till you 
 have made more. More you shall make with me ; and as 
 many as you like, on your own side. I will tell you, in due 
 time, some tales of Tory gentlemen who lived, and would 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 185 
 
 scarcely let anybody else live, at Padua and Milan, which 
 will do }'our hearts good. Meantime, meditate a little over 
 these two instances of capital justice, as done severally by 
 monarchists and republicans in the sixteenth and nineteenth 
 centuries ; and meditate, not a little, on the capital justice 
 which you have lately accomplished yourselves in France. 
 You have had it all your own way there, since Sedan. No 
 Emperor to paralyze your hands any more, or impede the flow 
 of your conversation. Anything, since that fortunate hour, 
 to be done, — anything to be said, that you liked ; and in the 
 midst of you, found by sudden good fortune, two quite hon- 
 est and brave men ; one old and one young, ready to serve 
 you with all their strength, and evidently of supreme gifts in 
 the way of service, — Generals Trochu and Rossel. You have 
 exiled one, shot the other,* and, but that, as 1 told you, my 
 wishes are of no account that 1 know of, I should wish vou 
 joy of your "situation." 
 
 Believe me, faithfully yours, 
 
 JOHN RUSKIN. 
 
 LETTER XIV. 
 
 Denmark Hill, 
 
 Mv Friends, February, 1872. 
 
 In going steadily over our ground again, roughly broken 
 .'•ast year, you see that, after endeavouring, as I did last 
 month, to make you see somewhat more clearly the absurdity 
 of fighting for a Holy Republic before you are sure of hav- 
 ing got so mucli as a single saint to make it of, 1 have now 
 to illustrate farther the admission made in page 6 of my first 
 Letter, tliat even the most courteous and perfect Monarchy 
 cannot make an uiisaintly life into a saintly one, nor consti- 
 tute thieving, for instance, ati absolutely praiseworthy pro- 
 fession, however glorious or delightful. It is indeed more 
 
 * *^You did not shoot him?'* No ; my expression was hasty; you 
 only stood by, in a social manner, to soe him shot; bow many of jouf 
 —and 80 finely organized as you say you ace ! 
 
186 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 difficult to show this in the course of past history than any 
 other moral truth whatsoever. For, v/ithout doubt or excep- 
 tion, thieving has not only hitherto been the most respected 
 of professions, but the most healthy, cheerful, and in the 
 practical outcome of it, though not in theory, even the hon% 
 estest, followed by men. Putting the higher traditional and 
 romantic ideals, such as that of our Robin Hood, and the 
 Scottish Red Robin, for the time, aside, and keeping to mea- 
 gre historical facts, could any of 3^ou help giving your hearti- 
 est sympathy to Master Francis Drake, setting out in his 
 little Paschal Lamh to seek his fortune on the Spanish seas, 
 and coming home, on that happy Sunday morning, to the 
 unspeakable delight of the Cornish congregation ? Would 
 vou like to efface the stories of Edward IIL, and his lion's 
 whelp, from English history ; and do you wish that instead 
 of pillaging the northern half of France, as you read of them 
 in the passages quoted in my fourth Letter, and fighting the 
 Battle of Crecy to get home again, they had stayed at home 
 all the time ; and practised, shall we say, upon the flute, as 
 I find my moral friends think Frederick of Prussia should 
 have done ? Or would you have chosen that your Prince 
 Harry should never have played that set with his French 
 tennis-balls, which won him Harfleur, and Rouen, and Or- 
 leans, and other such counters, which we might have kept, 
 to this day perhaps, in our pockets, but for the wood maid 
 of Domremy ? Are you ready, even now, in the height of 
 3^our morality, to give back India to the Brahmins and their 
 cows, and Australia to her aborigines and their apes ? You 
 are ready ? Well, my Christian friends, it does one's heart 
 good to hear it, providing only you are quite sure you knoiv^ 
 what you are about. " Let him that stole steal no more ; 
 but rather let him labour." You are verily willing to accept 
 that alternative ? I inquire anxiously, because I see that 
 your Under Secretary of State for India, Mr. Grant Duff, 
 proposes to you, in his speech at Elgin, not at all as the first 
 object of your lives to be honest ; but, as the first, to be rich, 
 and the second to be intelligent ; now when you have all be- 
 come rich and intelligent, how do you mean to live? B^r, 
 
FOES CLAVIGERA. 
 
 187 
 
 Grant Duff, of course, means by being rich that you are each 
 to have two powdered footmen ; but then who are to be the 
 footmen, now that we mustn't have blacks? And granting 
 you all the intelligence in the world on the most important 
 subjects, — the spots in the sun, or the nodes of the moon, as 
 aforesaid — will that help you to get your dinner, unless you 
 steal it in the old fashion ? The subject is indeed discussed 
 with closer definition than by Mr. Grant Duff, by Mr. William 
 Riddle, C. E., the authority I quoted to you for taking prop- 
 erty " under control." You had better perhaps be put in 
 complete possession of his views, as stated by himself in the 
 Hepublican^ of December last ; the rather, as that periodical 
 has not had, according to Mr. Riddle, hitherto a world-wide 
 circulation : — 
 
 "the simple and only remedy for the wants of 
 
 NATIONS. 
 
 " It is with great grief that I hear that your periodical 
 finds but a limited sale. I ask you to insert a few words from 
 me, which may strike some of your readers as being inipor- 
 tant. These are all 171 all. What all nations want, Sir, are 
 — 1, Shelter ; 2, Food ; 3, Clothes ; 4, Warmth ; 5, Cleanli- 
 ness ; 6, Health ; 7, Love ; 8, Beauty. These are only to be got 
 in one way. I will state it. An International Congress must 
 make a number of steam engines, or use those now made, and 
 taking all property under its control (I fearlessly state it) 
 must roll off iron and glass for buildings to shelter hundreds 
 of millions of people. 2. — Must, by such engines, make 
 steam apparatus to plough immense plains of wheat, where 
 steam has elbow-room abroad ; must make engines to grind 
 it on an enormous scale, first fetching it in flat-bottomecf 
 ships, made of simple form, larger than the Great l^aGterny 
 and of simple form of plates, machine fastened ; must bake 
 it by machine ovens commensurate. 3. — Machine looms must 
 v/ork unattended night and day, rolling off textile yarns and 
 fabrics, and machines must make clothes, just as envelopes 
 are knocked off. 4, — Machinery must do laundress work. 
 
188 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEJIA, 
 
 iron and mangling, and, in a word, our labour must give place 
 to machinery, laid down in gigantic factories on common- 
 sense pinciples by an International leverage. This is the 
 education vou must inculcate. Then man will be at last 
 emancipated. All else is utter bosh, and I v/ill prove it so 
 when and wherever I can get the means to lecture. 
 
 "Wm. Riddle, C.E. 
 
 South Lambeth, Nov. 2." 
 
 Unfortunately, till those means can be obtained (may it 
 be soon), it remains unriddled to us on what principles of 
 ^^international leverage " the love and beauty are to be pro- 
 vided. But the point I wish you m.ainly to notice is, that 
 for this general emancipation, and elbow-room for men and 
 steam, you are still required to find " immense plains of wheat 
 abroad." Is it not probable that these immense plains may 
 belong to somebody " abroad " already ? And if not, in- 
 stead of bringing home their produce in flat-bottomed ships, 
 why not establish, on the plains themselves, your own flat- 
 bottomed — I beg pardon, — flat-bellied, persons, instead of 
 living here in glass cases, which surely, even at the British 
 Museum, cannot be associated in \^our minds with the perfect 
 manifestation of love and beauty ? It is true that love is to 
 be measured, in your perfected political economy, by rectan- 
 gular area, as you will find on reference to the ingenious 
 treatise of Mr. W. Stanley Jevons, M.A., Professor of Logic 
 and Political Economy in Owen's College, Manchester, who 
 informs you, among other interesting facts, that pleasure and 
 pain " are the ultimate objects of the calculus of economy," 
 and that a feeling, whether of pleasure or pain, may be re- 
 garded as having two dimensions — namely, in duration and 
 intensity, so that the feeling, say of a minute, may be rep- 
 resented by a rectangle whose base corresponds to the dura- 
 tion of a minute, and whose height is proportioned to the 
 intensity," * The collective area of the series of rectangles 
 v/ill mark the " aggregate of feeling generated." 
 
 * I quote from the Pall Mall Gazette of January 16th. In the more 
 elaborate review given in the Fortnightly^ I am glad to see that Pro- 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 189 
 
 But the Professor appears unconscious that there Is a third 
 dimension of pleasure and pain to be considered, besides theii 
 duration and intensity ; and that this third dimension is 
 to some persons, the most important of all — namely, their 
 quality. It is possible to die of a rose in aromatic pain ; 
 and, on the contrary, for flies and rats, even pleasure may 
 be the reverse of aromatic. There is swine's pleasure, and 
 dove's ; villain's pleasure, and gentleman's, to be arranged, 
 the Professor will find, by higher analysis, in eternally dis- 
 similar rectangles. 
 
 My friends, the follies of modern Liberalism, many and 
 great though they be, are practically summed in this denial 
 or neglect of the quality and intrinsic value of things. Its 
 rectangular beatitudes, and spherical benevolences, — theol- 
 ogy of universal indulgence, and jurisprudence which will 
 hang no rogues, mean, one and all of them, in the root, inca- 
 pacity of discerning, or refusal to discern, worth and unworth 
 in anything, and least of all in nuin ; whereas Nature and 
 Heaven command you, at your peril, to discern worth from 
 unworth in evervthins", and most of all in man. Your main 
 problem is tliat ancient and trite one, " Who is best man ? '^ 
 and the Fates forgive much, — forgive the wildest, fiercest, 
 crudest experiments, — if fairly made for the determination 
 of that. Theft and blood-guiltiness are not pleasing in their 
 sight ; yet the favouring powers of the spiritual and material 
 world will confirm to you your stolen goods ; and their 
 noblest voices applaud the lifting of your spear, and rehearse 
 the sculpture of your shield, if only your robbing and slay- 
 ing have been in fair arbitrament of that question, ^' Who is 
 best man ?" But if you refuse such inquiry, and maintain 
 every man for his neighbour's match,* — if you give vote to 
 
 fcssor C.aird is beginning to perceive the necessity of deUning the word 
 *' useful; " and, though greatly puzzled, is making way towards a defi- 
 nition; but would it not be wiser to abstain from exhibiting himself in 
 his state of puzzlement to the public ? 
 
 * Every man as good as his neighbour ! you extremely sagacious 
 English persons ; and forthwith you establish competitive examination, 
 which drives your boys into idiotcy, before you v, ill give them a bit of 
 
190 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 the simple, and liberty to the vile, the powers of those spirt 
 itual and material worlds in due time present you inevitably 
 with the same problem, soluble now only wrong side up- 
 wards ; and your robbing and slaying must be done then to 
 find out " Who is worst man ?" Which, in so wide an or- 
 der of merit, is, indeed, not easy ; but a complete Tammany 
 Ring, and lowest circle in the Inferno of Worst, you are sure 
 to find, and to be governed by. 
 
 And you may note that the wars of men, in this winnow- 
 ing or sifting function, separate themselves into three dis- 
 tinct stages. In healthy times of early national development, 
 the best men go out to battle, and divide the spoil ; in rare 
 generosity, perhaps, giving as much to those who tarry by 
 the stuff, as to those who have followed to the field. In the 
 second, and more ingenious stage, which is the one we have 
 reached now in England and America, the best men still go 
 out to battle, and get themselves killed, — or, at all events, 
 well withdrawn from public affairs, — and the worst stop at 
 home, manage the government, and make money out of the 
 commissariat. (See § 124 of Munera Piilveris, and my note 
 tliere, on the last American War.) Then the third and last 
 stage, immediately preceding the dissolution of any nation, 
 is when its best men (such as they are) — stop at home too ! 
 — and pay other people to fight for them. And this last 
 stage, not wholly reached in England yet, is, however, within 
 near prospect ; at least, if we may again on this point refer 
 to, and trust, the anticipations of Mr. Grant Duff, " who 
 racks his brains, without success, to think of any probable 
 combination of European events in which the assistance of 
 our English force would be half so useful to our allies as 
 money. 
 
 Next month I w411 give you some farther account of the 
 operations in favour of their Italian allies in the fourteenth 
 
 bread to make their young muscles of ! Every man as good as hia 
 neighbour ! and when I told you, seven years ago, that at least you 
 should give every man his penny of wages, whether he was good or not, 
 so only that he gave you the best that was in him, what did you answer 
 to me 
 
FORS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 191 
 
 century, effected by the White company under Sir John 
 Havvkwood ; — (they first crossed the Alps with a German 
 captain, however,) — not at all consisting in disbursements of 
 money ; but such, on the contrary, as to obtain for them 
 (as you read in my first Letter) the reputation, with good 
 Italian judges, of being the best thieves known at the time. 
 It is in many waya important for you to understand the 
 origin and various tendencies of mercenary warfare ; the 
 essential power of which, in Christendom, dates, singularly 
 enough, from the struggle of the free burghers of Italy with 
 a Tory gentleman, a friend of Frederick II. of Germany ; 
 the quarrel, of which you shall hear the prettiest parts, being 
 one of the most dramatic and vital passages of mediaeval his- 
 tory. Afterwards we shall be able to examine, more intelli- 
 gently, the prospects in store for us according to the — I 
 trust not too painfully racked. — brains of our Under Secre- 
 tary of State. But I am tired to-day of following modern 
 thought in these unexpectedly attenuated conditions ; and 
 I believe you will also be glad to rest, with me, by reading a 
 few words of true history of such life as, in here and there a 
 hollow of the rocks of Europe, just persons have sometimes 
 lived, untracked by the hounds of war. And in laying them 
 before you, I begin to give these letters tlie completed char- 
 acter I intend for them ; first, as it may seem to me needful, 
 commenting on what is passing at the time, with reference 
 always to the principles and plans of economy I have to set 
 before you ; and then collecting out of past literature, and 
 in occasional frontispieces or woodcuts, out of past art, what 
 may confirm or illustrate things that are for ever true : 
 choosing the pieces of the series so that, both in art and 
 literature, they may become to you in the strictest sense, 
 educational, and familiarise you with the look and manner 
 of fine work. 
 
 I want you, accordingly, now to read attentively some 
 pieces of agricultural economy, out of Marmonters C antes 
 Moraiix^'^ — (we too grandly translate the title into ''Moral 
 Tales^'^ for the French word Moeurs does not in accuracy 
 correspond to our " Morals " ); and I think it first desirable 
 
192 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGEBA, 
 
 that you should know something about Marmontel himself. 
 He was a French gentleman of the old school ; not noble, 
 nor, in French sense, even gentilhomme ; but a peasant's 
 son, who made his way into Parisian society by gentleness, 
 wit, and a dainty and candid literary power. He became one 
 of the humblest, yet honestest, placed scholars at the court 
 of Louis XV., and wrote pretty, yet wise, sentimental 
 stories, in finished French, which I must render as I can in 
 broken English ; but, however rudely translated, the sayings 
 and thoughts in them deserve your extreme attention, for in 
 their fine, tremulous way, like the blossoming heads of grass 
 in May, they are perfect. For introduction then, you shall 
 have, to-day, his own description of his native place, Bort, 
 in central south France, and of the circumstances of his 
 child-life. You must take it without further preamble — my 
 pages running short. 
 
 " Bort, situated on the river Dordogne, between Auvergne 
 and the province of Limoges, is a frightful place enough, 
 seen by the traveller descending suddenly on it ; lying, as it 
 does, at the bottom of a precipice, and looking as if the storm 
 torrents would sweep it away, or as if, some day, it must be 
 crushed under a chain of volcanic rocks, some planted like 
 towers on the height which commands the town, and others 
 already overhanging, or half uprooted : but, once in the 
 valley, and with the eye free to wander there, Bort becomes 
 full of smiles. Above the town, in a green island which the 
 river embraces with equal streams, there is a thicket peopled 
 with birds, and animated also with the motion and noise of 
 a mill. On each side of the river are orchards and fields, 
 cultivated with laborious care. Below the village the valley 
 opens, on one side of the river, into a broad, flat meadow, 
 watered by springs ; on the other, into sloping fields, crowned 
 by a belt of hills whose soft slope contrasts with the oppos- 
 ing rocks, and is divided, farther on, by a torrent which rolls 
 and leaps through the forest, and falls into the Dordogne in 
 one of the most beautiful cataracts on the Continent. Near 
 that spot is situated the little farm of St. Thomas, where I 
 used to read Virgil under the blossoming trees that sur- 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 193 
 
 rounded our bee-hives, and where I made delicious lunches 
 of their honey. On the other side of the town, above the 
 mill, and on the slope to the river, was the enclosure where, 
 on fete days, my father took me to gather grapes from the 
 vines he had himself planted, or cherries, plums, and apples 
 from the trees he had grafted. 
 
 " But what in my memory is the chief charm of my native 
 place is the impression of the affection which my family had 
 for me, and with which my soul was penetrated in earliest 
 infancy. If there is any goodness in my character, it is to 
 these sweet emotions, and the perpetual iiappiness of loving 
 and being loved that 1 believe it is owing. What a gift does 
 Heaven bestow on us in the virtue of parents? 
 
 ^' I owed much also to a certain gentleness of manners 
 which reigned then in my native town ; and truly the sweet 
 and simple life that one led there must have had a strange 
 attraction, for nothing was more unusual than that the 
 children of Bort should ever go away from it. In their 
 youth they were well educated, and in the neighbouring col- 
 leges their colony distinguished itself ; but they came back 
 to their homes as a swarm of bees comes back to the hive 
 with its spoil. 
 
 " I learned to read in a little convent where the nuns were 
 friends of my mother. Thence I passed to the school of a 
 priest of the town, who gratuitously, and for his own pleas- 
 ure, devoted himself to the instruction of children ; he was 
 the only son of a shoemaker, one of the honestest fellows in 
 the world ; and this churchman was a true model of filial 
 piety. I can yet remember, as if I had seen it but a moment 
 since, the air of quiet courtesy and mutual regard which the 
 old man and his son maintained to each other ; the one never 
 losing sight of the dignity of the priesthood, nor the other 
 of the sanctity of the paternal character." 
 
 I interrupt my translation for a moment to ask you to 
 notice how this finished scholar applies his words. A vulgar 
 svriter would most probably have said *' the sanctity of the 
 priesthood" and the dignity of the paternal character." 
 But it is quite possible that a priest may not be a saint, yet 
 13 
 
194 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 (admitting the theory of priesthood at all) his authority and 
 office are not, therefore, invalidated. On the other hand, a 
 father may be entirely inferior to his son, incapable of ad- 
 vising him, and, if he be wise, claiming no strict authority 
 over him. But the relation between the two is always 
 sacred. 
 
 " The Abbe Vaissiere " (that was his name), " after he had 
 fulfilled his duty at the church, divided the rest of his time 
 between reading, and the lessons he gave to us. In fine 
 weather, a little walk, and sometimes for exercise a game at 
 mall in the meadow, were his only amusements. For all 
 society he had two friends, people of esteem, in our town. 
 They lived together in the most peaceful intimacy, seeing 
 each other every day, and every day with the same pleas- 
 ure in their meeting ; and for fulfilment of good fortune, 
 they died within a very little while of each other. I have 
 scarcely ever seen an example of so sweet and constant 
 equality in the course of human life. 
 
 ^'At this school I had a comrade, who was from my in- 
 fancy an object of emulation to me. His deliberate and 
 rational bearing, his industry in study, the care he took of 
 his books, on which I never saw a stain ; his fair hair always 
 so well combed, his dress always fresh in its simplicity, his 
 linen always white, were to me a constantly visible example; 
 and it is rard that a child inspires another child with such 
 esteem as I had for him. His father was a labourer in a 
 neighbouring village, and well known to mine. I used to 
 walk with his son to see him in his home. How he used to 
 receive us, the white-haired old man — the good cream ! the 
 good brown bread that he gave us ! and what happy pres- 
 ages did he not please himself in making for my future life, 
 because of my respect for his old age ! Twenty years after- 
 wards, his son and I met at Paris ; I recognized in him the 
 same character of prudence and kindness which I had known 
 in him at school, and it has been to me no slight pleasure to 
 name one of his children at baptism, 
 
 "When I was eleven years old, just past, my master 
 judged me fit to enter the fourth class of students ; and mv 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 195 
 
 father consented, though unwillingly, to take me to the Col- 
 lege of Mauriac. His reluctance was wise. I must justify 
 it by giving some account of our household. 
 
 " I w^as the eldest of many children ; my father, a little 
 rigid, but entirely good under his severe manner, loved his 
 wife to idolatry ; and well he might ! I have never been 
 able to understand how, with the simple education of our 
 little convent at Bort, she had attained so much pleasantness 
 in wit, so much elevation in heart, and a sentiment of pro- 
 priety so just, pure, and subtle. My good Bishop of Limoges 
 has often spoken to mc since, at Paris, with most tender in- 
 terest, of the letters that my mother wrote in recommending 
 me to him. 
 
 " My father revered iier as much as he loved ; and blamed 
 her onlv for her too o^reat tenderness for me : but mv ofrand- 
 
 I/O x> o 
 
 mother loved me no less. I think I see her yet — the good 
 little old woman ! the bright nature that she had ! the gentle 
 gaiety ! Economist of the house, she presided over its man- 
 agement, and was an example to us all of filial tenderness, 
 for she had also her own mother and her husband's mother 
 to take care of. I am now dating far back, being just able 
 to remember my great-grandmother drinking her little cup 
 of wine at the corner of the hearth ; but, during the whole 
 of my childhood my grandmother and her three sisters lived 
 with us, and among all these women, and a swarm of chil- 
 dren, my father stood alone, tlieir support. With little 
 means enough, all could live. Order, economy, and labour, 
 — a little commerce, but above all things, frugality." (Note 
 again the good scholar's accuracy of language. *' Economy " 
 the right arrangement of things, "Frugality" the careful 
 and fitting use of them) — " these maintained us all in com- 
 fort. The little garden produced vegetables enough for the 
 need of the house ; the orchard gave us fruit, and our quinces, 
 apples, and pears, preserved in the honey of our bees, made, 
 during the winter, for the children and old women, the most 
 exquisite breakfasts." 
 
 I interrupt again to explain to you, once for all, a chief 
 principle with me in translation. Marmontel says, " for the 
 
196 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 children and good old women." Were I quoting the French 
 1 would give his exact words, but in translating I miss the 
 word "good," of which 1 know you are not likely to see the 
 application at the moment. You would not see why the old 
 women should be called good, when the question is only what 
 they had for breakfast. Marmontel means that if they had 
 been bad old women they would have wanted gin and bitters 
 for breakfast, instead of honey-candied quinces ; but I can't 
 always stop to tell you Marmontel's meaning, or other peo- 
 ple's, and therefore if I think it not likely to strike you, and 
 the word weakens the sentence in the direction T want you 
 to follow, I omit it in translating, as I do also entire sen- 
 ten.ces, here and there ; but never, as aforesaid, in actual 
 quotation. 
 
 ''The flock of the fold of St. Thomas, clothed, with its 
 wool, now the women and now the children ; my aunt spun 
 it, and spun also the hemp which made our under-dress ; the 
 children of our neio^libours came to beat it with us in the 
 evening by lamp-light, (our own walnut trees giving us the 
 oil,) and formed a ravishing picture. The harvest of our 
 little farm assured our subsistence ; the wax and honey of 
 our bees, of which one of my aunts took extreme care, were 
 a revenue, with little capital. The oil of our fresh walnuts 
 had flavour and smell, which we liked better than those of 
 the oil-olive, and our cakes of buckwheat, hot, with the sweet 
 butter of Mont Dor, were for us the most inviting of feasts. 
 By the fire-side, in the evening, while we heard the pot boil- 
 ing with sweet chestnuts in it, our grandmother would roast 
 a quince under the ashes and divide it among us children. 
 The most sober of women made us all gourmands. Thus, in 
 a household, where nothing was ever lost, very little expense 
 supplied all our further wants ; the dead wood of the neigh- 
 bouring forests was in abundance, the fresh mountain butter 
 and most delicate cheese cost little ; even wine was not dear, 
 and my father used it soberly." 
 
 That is as much, 1 suppose, as you will care for at once. 
 Insipid enough, you think? — or perhaps, in one way, too 
 sapid ; one's soul and affections mixed up so curiously with 
 
F0R8 GLAVIOERA. 
 
 197 
 
 quince-marmalade? It is true, the French have a trick ot 
 doing that ; but ^vhy not take it the other way, and sa}^, 
 one's quince-marmalade mixed up with affection ? We adul- 
 terate our affections in England, now-a-days, with a yellower, 
 harder, baser thing than that ; and there would surely be no 
 harm in our confectioners putting a little soul into their su- 
 gar, — if they put in nothing worse? 
 
 But as to the simplicity — or, shall we say, wateriness, — of 
 the style, I can answer you more confidentK'. Milkiness would 
 be a better word, only one does not use it of styles. This 
 writing of Marmontel's is different from the writing you are 
 accustomed to, in that there is never an exaggerating phrase 
 in it — never a needlessly strained or metaphorical word, and 
 never a misapplied one. Nothing is said pithily to show 
 the author's power, diffusely, to show his observation, nor 
 quaintly, to show his fancy. He is not thinking of himself 
 as an author at all ; but of liimself as a boy. He is not re- 
 membering his native valley as a subject for fine writing, but 
 as a beloved real place, about which he may be garrulous, per- 
 haps, but not rhetorical. But is it, or was it, or could it ever 
 be, a real place, indeed ? — you will ask next. Yes, real in the 
 severest sense ; with realities that are to last for ever, when 
 this London and Manchester life of 3^ours shall have become a 
 horrible, and, but on evidence, incredible, romance of the past. 
 
 Real, but only partially seen ; still more partially told. 
 The rightnesses only perceived ; the felicities only remem- 
 bered ; the landscape seen as if spring lasted always : the 
 trees in blossom or fruitacre evermore : no sheddin^r of leaf : 
 of winter, nothing remembered but its fireside. 
 
 Yet not untrue. The landscape is indeed there, and the 
 life, seen through glass that dims them, but not distorts ; and 
 w^hich is only dim to Evil. 
 
 But now supply, with your own undimmed insight, and 
 better knowledge of human nature ; or invent, with imagi- 
 native malice, what evil you think necessary to make the 
 picture true. Still — make the worst of it you will — it can- 
 not but remain somewhat incredible to you, like the pasto 
 ral scene in a pantomime, more than a piece of history. 
 
198 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 Well ; but the pastoral scene in a pantomime itself, — tell 
 me, — is it meant to be a bright or a gloomy part of your 
 Christmas spectacle ? Do you mean it to exhibit, by contrast, 
 the blessedness of your own life, in the streets outside ; or, 
 for one fond and foolish half hour, to recall the ravishing 
 picture " of days long lost. " The sheepfold of St. Thomas," 
 (you have at least, in him, an incredulous saint, and fit patron 
 of a Republic at once holy and enlightened,) the green island 
 full of singing birds, the cascade in the forest, the vines on 
 the steep river-shore ; — the little Marmontel reading his Vir- 
 gil in the shade, with murmur of bees round him in the sun- 
 shine ; — the fair-haired comrade, so gentle, so reasonable, 
 and, marvel of marvels, beloved for being exemplary ! Is all 
 this incredible to you in its good, or in its evil ? Those 
 children rolling on the heaps of black and slimy ground, 
 mixed with brickbats and broken plates and bottles, in the 
 midst of Preston or VVigan, as edified travellers behold them 
 when the station is blocked, and the train stops anywhere 
 outside, — the children themselves, black, and in rags ever- 
 more, and the only water near them either boiling, or gath- 
 ered in unctuous pools, covered with rancid clots of scum, in 
 the lowest holes of the earth-heaps, — why do you not paint 
 these for pastime? Are they not what your machine gods 
 have produced for you ? The mighty iron arms are visibly 
 there at work ; — no St. Thomas can be incredulous about the 
 existence of gods such as they, — day and night at work — • 
 omnipotent, if not resplendent. Why do you not rejoice in 
 these ; appoint a new Christmas for these, in memory of the 
 Nativity of Boilers, and put their realms of black bliss into 
 new Arcadias of pantomime — the harlequin, mask all over! 
 Tell me, my practical friends. 
 
 Believe me, faithfully yours, 
 
 JOHN RUSKIN. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 199 
 
 LETTER XV. 
 
 Denmakk Hill, 
 MyFkiends, Ut March, \m. 
 
 The Tory gentleman whose character I have to sketch 
 for you, in due counterbalance of that story of republican 
 justice in California, was, as I told you, the friend of Fried- 
 rich II. of Germany, another great Friedrich preceding the 
 Prussian one by some centuries, and living quite as hard a 
 life of it. But before I can explain to you anything either 
 about him, or his friend, I must develop the statement made 
 above (XL 144), of the complex modes of injustice respecting 
 the means of maintenance, which have hitherto held in all 
 ages among the three great classes of soldiers, clergy, and 
 peasants. I mean, by ' peasants ' the producers of food, out 
 of land or water ; by ^clergy,' men who live by teaching or 
 exhibition of behaviour ; and by ' soldiers,' those who live 
 by fighting, either by robbing wise peasants, or getting them- 
 selves paid by foolish ones. Into these three classes the 
 world's multitudes are essentially hitherto divided. The le- 
 gitimate merchant of course exists, and can exist, only on 
 the small percentage of pay obtainable foi the transfer of 
 goods ; and the manufacturer and artist are, in healthy so- 
 ciety, developed states of the peasant. The morbid power 
 of manufacture and commerce in our own age is an accidental 
 condition of national decrepitude ; the injustices connected 
 with it are mainly those of the gam))ling-house, and quite un- 
 worthy of analytical inquiry ; but the unjust relations of the 
 soldier, clergyman, and peasant have hitlierto been constant 
 in all great nations ; they are full of mystery and beauty in 
 their iniquity ; — they require the most subtle, and deserve 
 the most reverent, analvsis. 
 
 The first root of distinction between the soldier and peas- 
 ant is in barrenness and fruitfulness of possessed ground j 
 
200 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 the inhabitant of sands and rocks redeeming his share " (see 
 speech of Roderick in the Lady of the Lake) from the in- 
 habitant of corn-bearing" ground. The second root of it is 
 delight in athletic exercise, resulting in beauty of person and 
 perfectness of race, and causing men to be content, or even 
 triumphant, in accepting continual risk of deatli, if by such 
 risk they can escape the injury of servile toil. 
 
 Again, the first root of distinction between clergyman and 
 peasant is the greater intelligence, which instinctively desires 
 both to learn and teach, and is content to accept the smallest 
 maintenance, if it may remain so occupied. (Look back to 
 Marmontel's account of his tutor.) 
 
 The second root of distinction is that which gives rise to 
 the word ' clergy,' properly signifying persons chosen by lot, 
 or in a manner elect, for the practice and exhibition of good 
 behaviour ; the visionary or passionate anchorite being con- 
 tent to beg his bread, so only that he may have leave by un- 
 disturbed prayer, or meditation, to bring himself into closer 
 union with the spiritual world ; and the peasant being always 
 content to feed him, on condition of his becoming venerable 
 in that higher state, and, as a peculiarly blessed person, a 
 communicator of blessing. 
 
 Now, both these classes of men remain noble, as long as 
 they are content with daily bread, if they may be allowed to 
 live in their own way ; but the moment the one of them uses 
 his strength, and the other his sanctity, to get riches with, or 
 pride of elevation over other men, both of them become t}^- 
 rants, and capable of any degree of evil. Of the clerk's re- 
 lation to the peasant, I will only tell you, now, that, as you 
 learn more of the history of Germany and Italy, in the Mid- 
 dle Ages, and, indeed, almost to this day, you will find the 
 soldiers of Germany are always trying to get mastery over 
 the body of Italy, and the clerks of Italy are always trying 
 to get mastery over the mind of Germany ; — this main strug- 
 gle between Emperor and Pope, as the respective heads of 
 the two parties, absorbing in its v^ortex, or attracting to its 
 standards, all the minor disorders and dignities of war ; and 
 
FOIiS OLA Via ERA, 
 
 201 
 
 quartering itself in a quaintly heraldic fashion with the 
 nietliods of encroachment on the peasant, separately invented 
 by baron and priest. 
 
 Tlie relation of the baron to the peasant, however, is all 
 that I can touch upon to-day ; and first, note that this word, 
 ^ baron ' is the purest English you can use to denote the sol- 
 dier, soldato, or ' fighter,' hired with pence, or soldi, as such. 
 Originally it meant the servant of a soldier, or as a Roman 
 clerk of Nero's time* tells us, (the literary antipathy thus 
 early developing itself in its future nest), " the extreme fool, 
 who is a fool's servant ; " but soon it came to be associated 
 with a Greek word meaning heavy ; " and so got to sig- 
 nify heavy-handed, or heavy-armed, or generally prevailing 
 in manhood. For some time it was used to signify the au- 
 thority of a husband ; a woman called herself her husband's f 
 ^ancilla,' (hand-maid), and him her * baron.' Finally the 
 word got settled in the meaning of a strong lighter receiving 
 regular pay. " Mercenaries are persons who serve for a regu- 
 larly received pay ; the same are called *Barones' from the 
 Greek, because they are strong in labours." This is the defini- 
 tion given by an excellent clerk of the seventh century, Isi- 
 dore, Bishop of Seville, and I wish you to recollect it, because 
 it perfectly unites the economical idea of a Baron, as a per- 
 son paid for fighting, with the physical idea of one, as pre- 
 vailing in battle by weight, not without some attached idea 
 of slight stupidity ; — the notion holding so distinctly even to 
 this day that Mr. ]\Iatthew Arnold thinks the entire class 
 aptly describable under the term barbarians." 
 
 At all events, the word is the best general one for the 
 dominant rank of the Middle Aofes, as distino^uished from the 
 pacific peasant, and so delighting in battle that one of the 
 most courteous barons of the fourteenth century tells a young 
 knight who comes to him for general advice, that the moment 
 war fails in any country, he must go into another. 
 
 * Comutus, quoted by Ducange under the word " Bare." 
 f I am told in the north such pleasant fiction still holds in the Tees- 
 dale district; the wife calling lier husband * my mastor man.' 
 
202 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGEBA. 
 
 Et se la guerre est faillie, 
 
 Departie 
 Fay tost de cellui pais ; 
 N'arreste quoy que nul die. 
 
 And if the war has ended. 
 
 Departure 
 Make quickly from that country, 
 Do not stop, whatever anybody says to you." * 
 
 But long before this class distinction was clearly estab* 
 iished, the more radical one between pacific and warrior 
 nations had shown itself cruelly in the liistory of Europe. 
 
 You will find it greatly useful to fix in your minds these 
 following elementary ideas of that history : — 
 
 The Roman Empire was already in decline at the birth of 
 Christ. It was ended five hundred years afterwards. The 
 wrecks of its civilization, mingled with the broken fury of 
 the tribes which had destroyed it, were then gradually soft- 
 ened and purged by Christianity ; and hammered into shape 
 by three great warrior nations, on the north, south and west, 
 worshippers of the storms, of the sun, and of fate. Three 
 Christian kings, Henry the Fowler in Germany, Charle- 
 magne in France, and Alfred in England, typically represent 
 the justice of humanity, gradually forming the feudal system 
 out of the ruined elements of Roman luxury and law, under 
 the disciplining torment inflicted by the mountaineers, of 
 Scandinavia, India, and Arabia. 
 
 This forging process takes another five hundred years. 
 Christian feudalism may be considered as definitely organized 
 at the end of the tenth century, and its political strength 
 established, having for tlie most part absorbed the soldiers 
 of the north, and soon to be aggressive on those of Mount 
 Imaus and Mount Sinai. It lasts another five hundred years, 
 and then our own epoch, that of atheistic liberalism, begins, 
 practically necessitated, — the liberalism by the two discover- 
 ies of gunpowder and printing, — and the atheism by the un- 
 fortunate persistence of the clerks in teaching children what 
 
 * The Book of a Hundred Ballads. You shall hear more of them, sooa 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 2U3 
 
 they cannot understand, and employing young consecrated 
 persons to assert in pulpits what they do not know. 
 
 That is enouofh o^eneralization for vou to-dav. I want now 
 to fix your thoughts on one small point in all this, — the effect 
 of the discovery of gunpowder in promoting liberalism. 
 
 Its first operation was to destroy tlie power of the baron^ 
 by rendering it impossible for him to hold his castle, with a 
 few men, against a mob. The fall of the Bastile, is a typical 
 fact in history of this kind ; but, of course long previously, 
 castellated architecture had been felt to be useless. Much 
 other buildinof of a noble kind vanishes to^jether with it : nor 
 less (which is a much greater loss than the building,) the 
 baronial habit of living in the country. 
 
 Next to his castle, the baron's armour becomes useless to 
 him ; and all the noble habits of life vanish wiiich depend on 
 the wearing of a distinctive dress, involving the constant 
 exercise of accurately disciplined strength, and the public 
 assertion of an exclusive occupation in life, involving ex- 
 posure to danger. 
 
 Next, the baron's sword and spear become useless to liim ; 
 and encounter, no longer the determination of who is best 
 man, but of who is best marksman, which is a very different 
 question indeed. 
 
 Lastly, the baron being no more able to maintain his 
 authority by force, seeks to keep it by form ; he reduces his 
 own subordinates to a fine machinery, and obtains the com- 
 mand of it by pjirchase or intrigue. The necessity of dis- 
 tinction of character is in war so absolute, and the tests of it 
 are so many, that, in spite of every abuse, good officers get 
 sometimes the command of squadrons or of ships ; and one 
 good officer in a hundred is enough to save the honour of an 
 army, and the credit of a system : but generally speaking, 
 our officers at this day do not know their business ; and the 
 result is — that, paying thirty millions a year for our army, 
 we are informed by Mr. Grant Duff that the army we have 
 bought is of no use, and we must pay still more money to 
 produce any effect upon foreign affairs. So, you see, this is 
 the actual state of things, — and it is the perfection of lib- 
 
204 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEEA, 
 
 eralism, — that first we CHiinot buy a Rapliael for five and 
 twenty pounds, because we have to pay five hundred for a 
 pocket pistol ; and next, vve are coolly told that the pistol 
 won't go off, and that we must still pay foreign constables to 
 keep the peace. 
 
 In old times, under the pure baronial power, things used^ 
 as I told you, to be differently managed by us. We were, 
 all of us, in some sense barons ; and paid ourselves for fight- 
 ing. We had no pocket pistols, nor Woolwich Infants — 
 nothing but bows and spears, good horses, (I hear after two- 
 thirds of our existing barons have ruined their youth in 
 horse-racing, and a good many of them their fortunes also, 
 we are now in irremediable want of horses for our cavalry), 
 and bright armour. Its brightness, observe, was an essential 
 matter with us. Last autumn I saw, even in modern Enir- 
 land, something bright ; low sunshine at six o'clock of an 
 October morning, glancing down a long bank of fern covered 
 with hoar frost, in Yewdale, at the head of Coniston Water. 
 I noted it as more beautiful than anything I had ever seen, 
 to my remembrance, in gladness and infinitude of light. Now, 
 Scott uses this very image to describe the look of the chain- 
 mail of a soldier in one of thece free * companies ; — Le 
 Balafre, Quentin Durward's uncle : — " The archer's gorget, 
 arm-pieces, and gauntlets were of the finest steel, curiously 
 inlaid with silver, and his hauberk, or shirt of mail, was as 
 clear and bright as the frost-work of a winter morning upon 
 fern or briar." And Sir John Hawkwood's men, of whose 
 proceedings in Italy I have now to give you some account, 
 were named throughout Italy, as I told you in my first letter, 
 the White Company of English, * Societas alba Anglicorum,' 
 or generally, the Great White Company, merely from the 
 
 * This singular use of the word "free" in baronial times, correspond- 
 ing to our present singular use of it respecting trade, we will examine 
 in due time. A soldier who fights only for his own hand, and a mer- 
 chant who sells only for his own hand are, of course, in reality, equally 
 the slaves of the persons who employ them. Only the soldier is truly 
 free, and only the merchants, who tight and sell as their country needs, 
 and bids them. 
 
FOIiS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 205 
 
 splendour of their arms. They crossed the Alps in 1361, and 
 immediatelv caused a curious chano^e in the Italian lanjruaofe. 
 
 t/ CD O O 
 
 Azario lays great stress on their tall spears with a very long 
 iron point at the extremity ; this formidable weapon being 
 for the most part wielded by two, and sometimes moreover 
 by three individuals, being so heavy and huge, that whatever 
 it came in contact with was pierced thro' and thro'." He 
 says, that* at their backs the mounted bowmen carried their 
 bows ; whilst those used by the infantry archers were so 
 enormous that the lonor arrows discharged from them were 
 shot with one end of the bow resting on the ground instead 
 of being drawn in the air." 
 
 Of the English bow you have probably heard before, 
 though I shall have, both of it, and the much inferior Greek 
 bow made of two goats' horns, to tell you some things that 
 may not have come in your way ; but the change these 
 English caused in the Italian language, and afterwards gen- 
 erally in that of chivalry, was by their use of the spear ; for 
 " Filippo Villani tells us that whereas, ' until the English 
 company crossed the Alps, his countrymen numbered their 
 military forces by ' helmets ' and colour companies, (bandi- 
 ere) ; thenceforth armies were reckoned by the sjyear, a 
 weapon which, when handled by the White Company, proved 
 no less tremendous than the English bayonet of modern 
 times." 
 
 It is worth noting as one of the tricks of the third Fors — 
 tlie giver of names as well as fortunes — that the name of tlie 
 chief poet of passionate Italy should have been * the bearer 
 of the wing,' and that of the chief poet of practical England, 
 the bearer or shaker of the spear. Noteworthy also that 
 Shakespeare himself gives a name to his type of the false 
 soldier from the pistol ; but, in the future doubtless we shall 
 have a hero of culminating soldierly courage named from the 
 torpedo, and a poet of the commercial period, singing the 
 wars directed by Mr. Grant Duff, named Shake-purse. 
 
 The White Company when they crossed the Alps were 
 
 * I alwa5^s pive Mr. Rawdon Brown's translation from his work, The 
 EnglUJi in Italy ^ :ilready quoted. 
 
206 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 under a German captain. (Some years before, an entirely 
 German troop was prettily defeated by the Apennine peas- 
 ants.) Sir John Hawk wood did not take the command until 
 1364, when the Pisans hired the company, five thousand 
 strong, at the rate of a hundred and fifty thousand golden 
 florins for six months. I think about fifty thousand pounds 
 of our money a month, or ten pounds a man—Sir John Ijim- 
 self being then described as a "great general," an English- 
 man of a vulpine nature, " and astute in their fashion." This 
 English fashion of astuteness means, I am happy to say, that 
 Sir John saw far, planned deeply, and was nunning in military 
 stratagem ; but would neither poison his enemies nor sell Ir/s 
 friends — the two words of course being always understood 
 as for the time being ; — for, from this year 1364 for thirty 
 years onward, he leads his gradually more and more powerful 
 soldier's life, fighting first for one town and then for another ; 
 here for bishops, and there for barons, but mainly for those 
 merchants of Florence, from whom that narrow street in 
 your city is named Lombard Street, and interfering thus so 
 decidedly with foreign affairs, that, at the end of the thirty 
 years, when he put off his armour, and had lain resting for a 
 little while in Florence Cathedral, Kinof Richard the Second 
 begged his body from the Florentines, and laid it in his own 
 land ; the Florentines granting it in the terms of this follow- 
 ing letter : — 
 
 To THE King of England. 
 
 Most serene and invincible Sovereign, most dread Lord, 
 and our very especial Benefactor — 
 
 " Our devotion can deny nothing to your Highness' Emi- 
 nence : there is nothing in our power which we would not 
 strive by all means to accomplish, should it prove grateful 
 to you. 
 
 " Wherefore, although we should consider it glorious for 
 us and our people to possess the dust and ashes of the late 
 valiant knight, nay, most renowned captain. Sir John Hawk- 
 wood, who fought most gloriously for us, as the commander 
 of our armies, and whom at the public expense we caused to 
 
FORS CLAVIQERA, 
 
 207 
 
 be entombed in the Catliedral Church of our city; yet, not- 
 withstanding, according- to the form of the demand, tliat his 
 remains may be taken back to his country, we freely concede 
 the permission, lest it be said that your sublimity asked any- 
 thing in vain, or fruitlessly, of our reverential humility. 
 
 " We, however, with due deference, and all possible ear- 
 nestness, recommend to your Highness' graciousness, the son 
 and posterity of said Sir John, who acquired no mean repute, 
 and glory for the English name in Italy, as also our mer- 
 chants and citizens." 
 
 It chanced by the appointment of the third Fors,^ to 
 which, you know, I am bound in these letters uncomplain- 
 ingly to submit, that, just as I had looked out this letter for 
 you, given at Florence in the year 1396, I found in an old 
 book-shop two gazettes, nearly three hundred years later, 
 namely, Number 20 of the Mercuriics Publiciis^ and Number 
 50 of the Parliamentary Intelligencer^ the latter comprising 
 the same " foraign intelligence, with the affairs now in agi- 
 tation in England, Scotland, and Ireland, for information of 
 the people. Publish'd by order, from Monday, December 3rd, 
 to Monday, December 10th, 1660." This little gazette in- 
 forms us in its first advertisement, that in London, Novem- 
 ber 30th, 1660, was lost, in or about this city, a small paper 
 book of accounts and receipts, with a red leather cover, with 
 two clasps on it ; and that anybody that can give intelli- 
 gence of it to the city crier at Bread Street end in Cheapside, 
 
 shall have five shillings for their pains, and more if they 
 desire it." And its last i)aragraph is as follows : — On Sat- 
 urday (December 8), the Most Honourable House of Peers 
 concurred with the Commons in the order for digging up the 
 carkasses of Oliver Cromwel, Henry Ireton, John Bradshaw, 
 and Thomas Pride, and carrying them on an Hurdle to Ty- 
 burn, where they are to be first hang'd up in their Coffins, 
 and then buried under the Gallows." 
 
 The Public Mercury is of date Thursday, June 14th, to 
 Thursday, June 21st, 1660, and contains a report of the pro- 
 
 * Remember, briefly always, till I can tell you more about it, that 
 the first Fors is Courage, the second. Patience, the third, Fortune. 
 
208 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 ceedings at the House of Commons, on Saturday, the IGth, 
 S)i which the first sentence is : — 
 
 Resolved, — That his Majesty be humbly moved to call 
 in Milton's two books, and John Goodwin's, and order them 
 ^o be burnt by the common hangman." 
 
 By the final appointment of the third Fors, I chanced, just 
 after finding these gazettes, to come upon the following 
 j)assage in my Daily Telegraph : — 
 
 Every head was uncovered, and although among those 
 who were farthest off there was a pressing forward and a 
 straining- to catch sight of the coffin, there was nothing un- 
 seemly or rude. The Catafalque was received at the top of 
 the stairs by Col. Braine and other officers of the 9th, and 
 placed in the centre of the vestibule on a rich velvet pall on 
 which rested crowns, crosses, and other devices, composed of 
 tuberoses and camellias, while beautiful lilies were scattered 
 over the corpse, which was clothed in full regimentals, the 
 cap and sword resting on the body. The face, with the excep- 
 tion of its pallor, was unchanged, and no one, unless know- 
 ing the circumstances, would have believed that Fiske had 
 died a violent death. The body was contained in a handsome 
 rosewood casket, with gold-plated handles, and a splendid 
 plate bearing the inscription, ' James Fiske, jun., died January 
 7th, 1872, in the 37th year of his age.'" 
 
 In the foregoing passages, you see, there is authentic ac- 
 count given you of the various honours rendered by the en- 
 lightened public of the fourteenth, seventeenth, and nine- 
 teenth centuries to the hero of their day or hour; the persons 
 thus reverenced in their burial, or unburial, being all, by 
 profession, soldiers ; and holding rank in that profession, 
 very properly describable by the pretty modern English word 
 " Colonel " — leader, that is to say, of a Coronel, CoroneIJa, or 
 daisy-like circlet of men ; as in the last case of the three be-' 
 fore us, of the Tammany "Ring." 
 
 You are to observe, however, that the first of the three, 
 Colonel Sir John Hawkwood, is a soldier both in heart and 
 
FOUS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 209 
 
 deed, every inch of him ; and that the second, Colonel Oliver 
 Cromwell, was a soldier in deed, but not in heart ; being by 
 natural disposition and temper fitted rather for a Hunting- 
 donshire farmer, and not at all caring to make any money by 
 his military business ; and finally, that Colonel James Fiske, 
 jun., was a soldier in heart, to the extent of being willing to 
 receive any quantity of soldi from any paymaster, but no 
 more a soldier in deed than you are yourselves, when you go 
 piping and drumming past my gate at Denmark Hill (I should 
 rather say — banging, than drumming, for I observe you hit 
 equally hard and straightforward to every tune ; so that 
 from a distance it sounds just like beating carpets), under 
 the impression that you are defending your country as well 
 as amusing yourselves. 
 
 Of the various honours, deserved or undeserved, done by 
 enlightened public opinion to these three soldiers, I leave you 
 to consider till next montli, merely adding, to put you more 
 entirely in command of the facts, that Sir John Hawkwood, 
 (Acuto, the Italians called him, by happy adaptation of syl- 
 lables), whose entire subsistence was one of systematic mil- 
 itary robbery, had, when he was first buried, the honour, 
 rarely granted even to the citizens of Florence, of having his 
 coffin laid on the font of the House of his name-saint, St. 
 John Baptist — that same font which Dante was accused of 
 having impiously broken to save a child from drowning, in 
 **mio bel San Giovanni." I am soon o-oinir to Florence mv- 
 self to draw this beautiful San Giovanni for the beirinnini}: of 
 my lectures on Architecture, at Oxford ; and you sliall have 
 a print of the best sketch I can make, to assist 3'our medita- 
 tions on the lionours of soldiership, and efficacy of baptism. 
 Meantime, let me ask you to read an account of one funeral 
 more, and to meditate also on that. It is given in the most 
 exquisite and finished piece which I know of English Prose 
 literature in the eighteenth century ; and, however often 
 you may have seen it already, I beg of you to read it now, 
 both in connection with the funeral ceremonies described 
 liitherto, and for the sake of its educational effect on your 
 own taste in writing : — 
 14 
 
210 
 
 FORS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 " We last night received a piece of ill news at our club, 
 which very sensibly afflicted every one of us. I question not 
 but my readers themselves will be troubled at the hearing of 
 it. To keep them no longer in suspense, Sir Roger de 
 Coverley is dead. He departed this life at his house in the 
 country, after a few weeks of sickness. Sir i\.ndrew Freeport 
 has a letter from one of his correspondents in those parts, 
 that informs him the old man cauo-ht a cold at the countv- 
 sessions, as he was very warmly promoting an address of his 
 own penning, in which he succeeded according to his wishes. 
 But this particular comes from a whig justice of the peace, 
 who was always Sir Roger's enemy and antagonist. I have 
 letters both from the chaplain and captain Sentr}^, which 
 mention nothing of it, but are filled with many particulars to 
 the honour of the good old man. I have likewise a letter from 
 the butler, who took so much care of me last summer when 
 I was at the knight's house. As my friend the butler men- 
 tions, in the simplicity of his heart, several circumstances the 
 others have passed over in silence, I shall give my reader 
 a copy of his letter, without any alteration or diminution. 
 
 "'Honoured Sir, — Knowing that you was my old mas* 
 ter's good friend, I could not forbear sending you the melan- 
 choly news of his death, which has afflicted the whole country, 
 as well as his poor servants, who loved him, I may say, bet- 
 ter than we did our lives. I am afraid he caught his death 
 the last county-sessions, where he would go to see justice 
 done to a poor widow woman, and her fatherless children, 
 that had been wronged by a neighbouring gentleman ; for 
 you know, Sir, my good master was always the poor man's 
 friend. Upon his coming home, the first complaint he made 
 was, that he had lost his roast-beef stomach, not being able 
 to touch a sirloin, which was served up according to custom : 
 and you know he used to take great delight in it. From 
 that time forward he grew worse and worse, but still kept a 
 good heart to the last. Indeed we were once in great hope 
 of his recovery, upon a kind message that was sent him from 
 the widow lady whom he had made love to the forty last 
 
FOES CLAVIGERA. 
 
 211 
 
 years of his life ; but this only proved a lightning before 
 death. He has bequeathed to this lady, as a token of his 
 love, a great pearl necklace, and a couple of silver bracelets 
 set with jev^els, which belonged to niy good old lady his 
 mother. He has bequeathed the fine white gelding that he 
 used to ride a hunting upon, to his chaplain, because he 
 thought he would be kind to him, and has left you all his 
 books. He has moreover bequeathed to the chaplain a very 
 pretty tenement with good lands about it. It being a very 
 cold day when he made his will, he left for mourning to every 
 man in the parish, a great frize-coat, and to every woman a 
 black ridinof-hood. It was a most movins: sicrht to see him 
 take leave of his poor servants, commending us all for our 
 fidelity, whilst we were not able to speak a word for weep- 
 ing. As we most of us are grown grey-headed in our dear 
 master's service, he has left us pensions and legacies, which 
 we may live very comfortably upon the remaining part of 
 our days. He has bequeathed a great deal more in charity, 
 which is not yet come to my knowledge, and it is peremp- 
 torily said in the parish, that he has left money to build a 
 steeple to the church ; for lie was heard to say some time 
 ago, that if he lived two years longer, Coverley church should 
 have a steeple to it. The chaplain tells everybody that he 
 made a very good end, and never speaks of him without 
 tears. He was buried, according to his own directions, 
 among the family of the Coverleys, on the left hand of his 
 father Sir Arthur. The coffin was carried by six of his tenants, 
 and the pall held up by six of the quorum. The whole par- 
 ish followed the corpse with heavy hearts, and in their mourn- 
 ing suits ; the men in frize, and the women in riding-hoods. 
 Captain Sentry, my master's nephew, has taken possession 
 of the Hall-house, and the whole estate. When my old 
 master saw him a little before his death, he shook him by the 
 hand, and wished him joy of the estate which was falling to 
 him, desiring him only to make a good use of it, and to pay 
 the several legacies, and the gifts of charity, which he told 
 him lie had left as quit-rents upon the estate. The captain 
 truly seems & courteous man, though he says but little. He 
 
212 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 makes much of those whom my master loved, and shews 
 great kindness to the old house-dog, that you know my poor 
 master was so fond of. It would have gone to your heart 
 to have heard the moans the dumb creature made on the day 
 of my master's death. He has never joyed himself since ; 
 no more has any of us. It was the melancholiest day for 
 the poor people that ever happened in Worcestershire. This 
 is all from. Honoured Sir, 
 
 ' Your most sorrowful servant, 
 
 " ' Edward Biscuit. 
 
 "'P.S. My master desired, some weeks before he died, 
 that a book, which comes up to you by the carrier, should 
 be given to Sir Andrew Freeport in his name.' 
 
 " This letter, notwithstanding the poor butler's manner of 
 writing it, gave us such an idea of our good old friend, that 
 upon the reading of it there was not a dry eye in the club. 
 Sir Andrew opening the book, found it to be a collection of 
 acts of parliament. There was in particular the Act of 
 Uniformity, with some passages in it marked by Sir Roger's 
 own hand. Sir Andrew found that they related to two or 
 three points which he had disputed with Sir Roger the last 
 time he appeared at the club. Sir Andrew, who would have 
 been merry at such an incident on another occasion, at the 
 sight of the old man's handwriting burst into tears, and put 
 the book into his pocket. Captain Sentry informs me that 
 the knight has left rings and mourning for every one in the 
 club." 
 
 I am obliged to give you this ideal of Addison's because I 
 can neither from my own knowledge, nor, at this moment, 
 out of any domestic chronicles I remember, give you so per- 
 fect an account of the funeral of an English squire who has 
 lived an honourable life in peace. But Addison is as true 
 as truth itself. So now, meditate over these four funerals, 
 and the meaning and accuracy of the public opinions they 
 express, till I can write again. 
 
 x\nd believe me, ever faithfully yours, 
 
 JOHN RUSKIN. 
 
FOES CLAVIGEKA, 
 
 213 
 
 LETTER XVI. 
 
 Denmark Hill, 
 My Friends, 1^^^* March, 1872. 
 
 The meditation I asked you to give to the facts put before 
 you in my last letter, if given, should have convinced you, 
 for one thing, quite sufficiently for all your future needs, of 
 the unimportance of momentary public opinion respecting 
 the characters of men ; and for another thing, of the precious- 
 ness of confirmed public opinion, when it happens to be 
 right ; — preciousness both to the person opined of, and tlie 
 opiners ; — as, for instance, to Sir Roger de Coverley, the opin- 
 ion formed of him by liis tenants and club : and for third 
 thing, it might have properly led you to consider, though it 
 was scarcely probable your thoughts should have turned that 
 way, what an evil trick of human creatures it was to reserve 
 the expression of these opinions — or even the examination of 
 them, until the persons to be opined of are dead ; and then 
 to endeavour to put all right by setting their coffins on bap- 
 tistery fonts — or hanging them up at Tyburn. Let me very 
 strongly advise you to make up your minds concerning people, 
 wiiile they are witli you ; to honour and obey those whom 
 you consider good ones ; to dishonour and disobey those 
 whom you consider bad ones ; and when good and bad ones 
 die, to make no violent or expressive demonstrations of the 
 feelings which have now become entirely useless to the per- 
 sons concerned, and are only, as they are true or false, ser- 
 viceable, or the contrary, to yourselves ; but to take care 
 that some memorial is kept of men who deserve memory, in 
 a distinct statement on the stone or brass of their tombs, 
 either that they were true men, or rascals — wise men, or 
 fools. 
 
 How beautiful the variety of sepulchral architecture might 
 be, in any extensive place of burial, if the public would meet 
 
214 
 
 FQE8 CLAVIOEUA. 
 
 the small expense of thus expressing its opinions, in a verily 
 instructive manner ; and if some of the tombstones accord- 
 ingly terminated in fools' caps ; and others, instead of 
 crosses or cherubs, bore engravings of cats-of-nine-taiJs, as 
 typical of the probable methods of entertainment, in the 
 next world, of the persons, not, it is to be hoped, reposing, 
 below. 
 
 But the particular subject led up to in my last letter, 
 and which, in this special month of April, I think it appro- 
 priate for you to take to heart, is the way in which you 
 spend your money, or allow it to be spent for you. Colonel 
 Hawkwood and Colonel Fiske both passed their whole lives 
 in getting possession, by various means, of other people's 
 money ; (in the final fact, of working-men's money, yours, 
 that is to say), and everybody praises and crowns them for 
 doing so. Colonel Cromwell passes his life in fighting 
 for, what in the gist of it meant, not freedom, but free- 
 dom from unjust taxation ; — and you hang his coffin up at 
 Tyburn. 
 
 " Not Freedom, but deliverance from unjust taxation." You 
 call me unpractical. Suppose you became practical enough 
 yourselves to take that for a watchword for a little while, and 
 see how near you can come to its realization. 
 
 For, I very positively can inform you, the considerablest 
 part of the misery of the world comes of the tricks of unjust 
 taxation. All its evil passions — pride, lust, revenge, malice, 
 and sloth, derive their main deadliness from the facilities of 
 getting hold of other people's money open to the persons 
 they influence. Pay every man for his work, — pay nobody 
 but for his work, — and see that the work be sound ; and you 
 will find pride, lust, and sloth have little room left for them* 
 selves. 
 
 Observe, however, very carefully, that by unjust taxation, 
 I do not mean merely Chancellor of Exchequer's business, 
 but a great part of wliat really very wise and worthy gen- 
 tlemen, but, unfortunately, proud also, suppose to be their 
 business. 
 
 For instance, before beginning my letter to you this 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 215 
 
 morning, (the last I shall ever date from Denmark Hill,*) 
 I put out of my sight, carefully, under a large book, a legal 
 document, which disturbed me by its barbarous black letter- 
 ing. This is an R 
 
 in it, for instance, which is ugly enough, as such, but how 
 ugly in the significance of it, and reasons of its being 
 written that way, instead of in a properly intelligible way, 
 there is hardly vituperation enough in language justly to 
 express to you. This said document is to release the sole 
 remaining executor of my father's will from further responsi- 
 bility for the execution of it. And all that there is really 
 need for, of English scripture on the occasion, would be as 
 follows : — 
 
 I, having received this loth of March, 1822, from A. B., 
 Esq., all t-he property which my father left, hereby release 
 A. B., Esq., from future responsibility, respecting either my 
 father's property, or mine, or my father's business, or mine. 
 Signed, J. R., before such and such, two witnesses. 
 
 This document, on properly cured calf-skin, (not cleaned 
 by acids), and written as plainly as, after having contracted 
 some careless literary habits, I could manage to write it, 
 ought to answer the purpose required, before any court of 
 law on earth. 
 
 In order to effect it in a manner pleasing to the present 
 
 * Between May and October, any letters meant for me should bo ad- 
 dressed to Brantwood, Coniston ; between October and May, to Corpus 
 Christi College, Oxford They must be very short, and very plainly 
 written, or they will not be read ; and they need never ask me to do 
 anything, because I won't do it. And, in general, I cannot answer let- 
 ters ; but for any that come to help me, the writers may be sure that I 
 am grateful. I get a great many from people who know that I must 
 be good-natured," from my books. I was good-natured once ; but I beg 
 to state, in the most positive terms, that I am now old, tired, and very 
 ill-natured. 
 
216 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 legal mind of England, I receive eighty-seven lines of close 
 writing, containing from fourteen to sixteen words eacli, 
 (one thousand two hundred and eighteen words in all, at the 
 minimum) ; thirteen of them in black letters of the lovely 
 kind above imitated, but produced with much pains by the 
 scrivener. Of the manner in w^hich this overplus of one 
 thousand two hundred and seventy-eight words is accom- 
 plished, (my suggested form containing forty only), the 
 following example — the last clause of the document — may 
 suffice. 
 
 And the said J. R. doth hereby for himself his heirs 
 executors and administrators covenant and agree with and 
 to the said A. B. his executors and administrators that he 
 the said J. R. his heirs executors administrators or assigns 
 shall and will from time to time and at all times hereafter 
 save harmless and keep indemnified the said A. B. his heirs 
 executors administrators and assigns from and in respect of 
 all claims and demands whatsoever which may be made upon 
 him or tliem or any of them for or in respect of the real or 
 personal estate of the said J. R. and from all suits costs 
 charges and damages and expenses whatsoever which the 
 said A. B. his heirs executors administrators or assigns shall 
 be involved in or put unto for or in respect of the said real 
 or personal estate or an}^ part thereof." 
 
 Now, what reason do you suppose there is for all this bar- 
 barism and bad grammar, and tax upon my eyes and time, 
 for very often one has actually to read these things, or hear 
 them read, all through ? The reason is simply and wholly 
 that I may be charged so much per word, that the lawj^er and 
 his clerk may live. But do you not see how infinitely ad- 
 vantageous it would be for me, (if only I could get the other 
 sufferers under this black literature to be of my mind), to 
 chip the lawyer and his clerk, once for all, fairly out of the 
 w^ay in a dignified almshouse, with parchment unlimited, and 
 ink turned on at a tap, and maintenance for life, on the mere 
 condition of their never troubling humanity more, with either 
 their scriptures or opinions on any subject ; and to have this 
 release of mine, as above worded, simply confirmed by the 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 217 
 
 signature of any person whom the Queen might appoint for 
 that purpose, (say the squire of the parish), and there an end ? 
 How is it, do you think, that other sufferers under the black 
 literature do not come to be of my mind, which was Cicero's 
 mind also, and has been the mind of every sane person be- 
 fore Cicero and since Cicero, — so that we might indeed get 
 it ended thus summarily ? 
 
 Well, at the root of all these follies and iniquities, there 
 lies always one tacit, but infinitely strong persuasion in the 
 British mind, namely, that somehow money grows out of 
 nothing, if one can only find some expedient to produce an 
 article that must be paid for. Here," the practical Englisii- 
 man says to himself, " I produce, being capable of nothing 
 better, an entirely worthless piece of parchment, with one 
 thousand two hundred entirely foolish words upon it, written 
 in an entirely abominable hand ; and by this production of 
 mine, I conjure out of the vacant air, the substance of ten 
 pounds, or the like. What an infinitely profitable transac- 
 tion to me and to the world ! Creation, out of a chaos of 
 words, and a dead beast's hide, of this beautiful and omnipo- 
 tent ten pounds. Do I not see with my own eyes that this 
 is very good ? " 
 
 That is the real impression on the existing popular mind ; 
 silent, but deep, and for the present unconquerable. Tliat 
 by due parchment, calligraphy, and ingenious stratagem, 
 money may be conjured out of the vacant air. Alchemy is, 
 indeed, no longer included in our list of sciences, for alchemy 
 proposed, — irrational science that it was, — to make money 
 of something / — gold of lead, or the like. But to make money 
 of nothing^ — this appears to be manifoldly possible, to the 
 modern Anglo-Saxon practical person, — instructed by Mr. 
 John Stuart Mill. Sometimes, with rare intelligence, he is 
 capable of carrying the inquiry one step farther. Pushed 
 hard to assign a Providential cause for such legal docu- 
 ments as this we are talking of, an English gentleman would 
 say : 
 
 "Well, of course, where property needs legal forms to trans- 
 fer it, it must be in quantity enough to bear a moderate tax 
 
218 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 without inconvenience ; and this tax on its transfer enables 
 many well-educated and agreeable persons to live." 
 
 Yes, that is so, and I (speaking for the nonce in the name 
 of the working-man, maker of property) am willing enough 
 to be taxed, straightforwardly, for the maintenance of these 
 most agreeable persons ; but not to be taxed obliquely for 
 it, nor teased either obliquely or otherwise, for it. I greatly 
 and truly admire (as aforesaid, in my first letter), these edu- 
 cated persons in wigs ; and when I go into my kitchen-garden 
 in spring time, to see the dew on my early sprouts, I of tea 
 mentally acknowledge the fitness, yet singularity, of the ar- 
 rangement by which I am appointed to grow mute Broccoli 
 for the maintenance of that talking Broccoli. All that I 
 want of it is to let itself be kept for a show, and not to tax 
 my time as well as my money. 
 
 Kept for a show, of heads ; or, to some better purpose, for 
 writing on fair parchment, with really well-trained hands, 
 
 what might be desirable of literature. 
 Suppose every existing lawyer's clerk 
 was trained, in a good drawing-school, 
 to write red and blue letters as well as 
 black ones, in a loving and delicate 
 manner ; here for instance is an R and 
 a number eleven, which begin the elev- 
 enth chapter of Job in one of my thir- 
 teenth-century Bibles. There is as 
 good a letter and as good a number — 
 every one different in design, to every 
 chapter, and beautifully gilded and 
 painted ones to the beginnings of 
 books ; all done for love, and teasing 
 nobody. Now suppose the lawyer's 
 clerks, thus instructed to write decently, 
 were appointed to write for us, for 
 their present pay, words really worth setting down — Nursery 
 Songs, Grimm's Popular Stories, and the like, we should 
 have again, not, perhaps, a cheap literature ; but at least 
 an innocent one. Dante's words might then be taken up 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 219 
 
 literally, by relieved mankind. " Piu ridon le carte." "The 
 papers smile more," they might say, of such transfigured 
 legal documents. 
 
 Not a cheap literature, even then ; nor pleasing to my 
 friend the Glasgow Herald^ Avho v^rites to me indignantly, 
 but very civilly, (and I am obliged to him), to declare that he 
 is a Herald, and not a Chronicle. I am delighted to hear it ; 
 for my lectures on heraldry are just beginning at Oxford, 
 and a Glaswegian opinion may be useful to me, when I am 
 not sure of my blazon. Also he tells me good leather may be 
 had in Glasgow. Let Glasgow flourish, and I will assuredly 
 make trial of the same : but touching this cheap literature 
 question, I cannot speak much in this letter, for I must keep 
 to our especial subject of April — this Fool's Paradise of 
 Cloud -begotten Gold. 
 
 Cloud-begotten — and self-begotten — as some would have 
 it. But it is not so, friends. 
 
 Do you remember the questioning to Job ? The pretty 
 letter R stopped me just now at the Response of Zophar ; 
 but look on to the thirty-eighth chapter, and read down to 
 the question concerning this April time ? — " llath the rain a 
 father — and who hath begotten the drops of dew, — the hoary 
 Frost of Heaven — who hath gendered it?" 
 
 That rain and frost of heaven ; and the earth which thev 
 loose and bind : these, and the labour of your hands to 
 divide them, and subdue, are your wealth, for ever — unin- 
 creasable. The fruit of Earth, and its waters, and its light 
 — such as the strength of the pure rock can grow — such as 
 the unthwarted sun in his season brings — these are your in- 
 heritance. You can diminish it, but cannot increase: that 
 your barns should be filled with plenty — your presses burst 
 with new wine, is your blessing ; and every year — when it 
 is full — it must be new ; and every year, no more. 
 
 And this money, which you think so multipliable, is only 
 to be increased in the hands of some, by the loss of otliers. 
 The sum of it, in the end, represents, and can represent, 
 only what is in the barn and winepress. It may represent 
 less, but cannot more. 
 
220 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 These ten pounds, for instance, whicli I am grumbling at 
 having to pay my lawyer — what are they ? whence came 
 they ? 
 
 They were once, (and could be nothing now, unless they 
 had been) so many skins of Xeres wine — grown and mel- 
 lowed by pure chalk rock and unafilicted sunshine. Wine 
 drunk, indeed, long ago — but the drinkers gave the vine- 
 yard dressers these tokens, which we call pounds, signifying, 
 that having had so much good from them they would return 
 them as much, in future time. iVnd, indeed, for m}'' ten 
 pounds, if my lawyer didn't take it, I could still get my 
 Xeres, if Xeres wine exists anywhere. But, if not, what 
 matters it how many pounds I have, or think I have, or you 
 either ? It is meat and drink we want — not pounds. 
 
 As you are beginning to discover — I fancy too many of 
 you, in this rich country. ]f you only would discover it a 
 little faster, and demand dinners, instead of Liberty ? For 
 what possible liberty do you want, which does not depend 
 on dinner ? Tell me, once for all, what is it you want to do, 
 that you can't do ? Dinner being provided, do you think 
 the Queen will interfere with the way yoM choose to spend 
 your afternoons, if only you knock nobody down, and break 
 nobody's windows ? But the need of dinner enslaves you to 
 purpose ? 
 
 On reading the letter spoken of in my last correspondence 
 sheet, I find that it represents this modern form of slavery 
 with an unconscious clearness, which is very interesting. I 
 have, therefore, requested the writer's permission to print it, 
 and, with a passage or two omitted, and briefest comment, 
 here it is in full type, for it is worth careful reading : — 
 
 Glasgoio^ 12t7i February, 1872. 
 
 " You say in your Fors that you do not want any one to 
 buy your books who will not give a ' doctor's fee ' per 
 volume, which you rate at 105. 6c?.; now, as the Herald re- 
 marks, you are clearly placing yourself in a wrong position, 
 as you arbitrarily fix yoitr doctor's fee far too high ; indeed, 
 while you express a desire, no doubt quite sincerely, to 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 221 
 
 elevate the working-man, morally, mentally, and physically, 
 you in the meantime absolutely preclude him from purchas- 
 ing your books at all, and so almost completely bar his way 
 from the enjoyment and elevating iniluence of perhaps the 
 most" [&c., complimentary terms — omitted]. 
 
 " Permit me a personal remark : — I am myself a poorly 
 paid clerk, with a salary not much over the income-tax 
 minimum ; now no doctor, here at least, w^ould ever think 
 of charging me a fee of 105. 6c^., and so you see it as 
 much out of my ])ower to purchase your books as any work- 
 ing-man. While Mr. Carlyle is just now issuing a cheap 
 edition of his Works at 2s, per volume, which I can pur- 
 chase, here, quite easily for l5. Gc^.;" [Presumably, there- 
 fore, to be had, as far north as Inverness, for a shilling, and 
 for sixpence in Orkney], I must say it is a great pity that 
 a Writer so much, and, in my poor opinion, justly, appreci- 
 ated as yourself, should as it were inaugurate with your own 
 hands a system which thoroughly barriers your productions 
 from the great majority of the middle and working classes. 
 1 take leave, however, to remark that I by no means shut my 
 eyes to the anomalies of the Bookselling Trade, but I can't 
 see that it can be remedied by an Author becoming his own 
 Bookseller, and, at the same time^ putting an unusually high 
 price on his books. Of course, I would like to see an Author 
 remunerated as highly as possible for his labours." [You 
 ouo'ht not to like any such thincf : vou ourrht to like an 
 author to get what he deserves, like other people, not more, 
 nor less.] "I would also crave to remark, following up your 
 unfortunate analogy of the doctor's fee, that doctors who have 
 acquired, either professionally or otherwise, a competence, 
 often, nay very often, gave their advice gratis to nearly 
 every class, except that which is really wealthy ; at least, I 
 speak from my own experience, having known, nay even been 
 attended by such a benevolent physician in a little town in 
 Kirkcudbrightshire, who, when offered payment, and I was 
 both quite able and willing to do so, and he was in no way in- 
 debted or obliged to me or mine, positively declined to receive 
 any fee. So much for the benevolent physician and his fees, 
 
222 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 " Here am I, possessed of a passionate love of nature in 
 all her aspects, cooped up in this fearfully crammed mass of 
 population, with its filthy Clyde, which would naturally have 
 been a noble river, but, under the curse of our much-belauded 
 civilization, forsooth, turned into an almost stagnant loath- 
 some ditch, pestilence-breathing, belorded over by hundreds 
 upon hundreds of tall brick chimney-stacks vomiting up 
 smoke unceasingly ; and from the way I am situated, there 
 are only one day and a half in the week in which I can man- 
 age a walk into the country ; now, if I wished to foster my 
 taste for the beautiful in nature and art, even while living a 
 life of almost servile red-taped routine beneath the too fre- 
 quently horror-breathing atmosphere of a huge over-grown 
 plutocratic city like Glasgow, I cannot have your Works 
 [complimentary terms again] " as, after providing for my 
 necessaries, I cannot indulge in Books at 10^. 6c?. a volume. 
 Of course, as you may say " [My dear sir, the very last thing 
 I should say], " I can get them from a library. Assuredly, 
 but one (at least I would) wishes to have actual and ever- 
 present possession of productions such as yours" [more com- 
 pliments.] You will be aware, no doubt, that ' Geo. Eliot ' 
 has adopted ' a new system ' in publishing her new novel by 
 issuing it in bs, ' parts,' with the laudable view of enabling 
 and encouraging readers to buy the work for themselves, and 
 not trusting to get it from ' some Mudie ' or another for a 
 week, then galloping through the three volumes and imme- 
 diately forgetting the whole matter. When I possess a book 
 worth having I always recur to it now and again. ^ Your 
 new system,' however, tends to prevent the real reading pub- 
 lic from ever possessing your books, and the wealthy classes 
 who could afford to buy books at 10^. 6c?. a volume, as a rule, 
 I opine, don't drive themselves insane. by much reading of 
 any kind. 
 
 " I beg a last remark and I've done. Glasgow, for instance, 
 iias no splendid public buildings. She has increased in wealth 
 till I believe there are some of the greatest merchants in the 
 world trading in her Exchange ; but except her grand old 
 Cathedral, founded by an almost-forgotten bishop in th« 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 223 
 
 twelfth century, in what we in our v^ain folly are pleased to 
 call the dark ages, when we ourselves are about as really dark 
 as need be ; having no * higli calling' to strive for, except by 
 hook or by crook to make money — a fortune — retire at thirty- 
 five by some stroke of gambling of a highly questionable kind 
 on the Share market or otherwise, to a suburban or country 
 villa with Turkey carpets, a wine-cellar and a carriage and 
 pair ; as no man now-a-days is ever content with making a 
 decent and honest livelihood. Truly a very ' high calling ! ' 
 Our old Cathedral, thank God, was not built by contract or 
 stock-jobbing : there was, surely, a higher calling of some 
 sore in those quiet, old, unhurrying days. Our local pluto- 
 cratic friends put their hands into their pockets to the extent 
 of 150,000/. to help to build our new University buildings 
 after a design by G. Gilbert Scott, which has turned out a 
 very imposing pile of masonry ; at least, it is placed on an 
 imposing and magnificent site. I am no prophet, but I should 
 not wonder if old St. Mungo's Cathedral, erected nearly six 
 hundred years ago to the honour and glory of God, will bo 
 standing a noble ruin when our new spick-and-span College 
 is a total wreck after all. Such being the difference between 
 the work of really earnest God-fearing men, and that done by 
 contract and Trades Unions. The Steam Engine, one of the 
 demons of our mad, restless, headlong civilization, is scream- 
 ing its unearthly whistle in the very quadrangles of the now 
 deserted, but still venerable Collei2re buildinrrs in our Hiirh 
 Street, almost on the very spot where the philosophic Pro- 
 fessors of that day, to their eternal honour, gave a harbour- 
 age to James Watt,* when the narrow-minded guild-brethren 
 of Glasgow expelled him from their town as a stranger crafts- 
 man hailing from Greenock. Such is the irony of events ! 
 Excuse the presumption of this rather rambling letter, and 
 apologizing* for addressing you at such length, 
 
 " I am, very faithfully yours," 
 
 I have only time, just now, to remark on this letter, first, 
 that 1 don't believe any of Mr. Scott's work is badly done, or 
 will come down soon ; and that Trades Unions are quite right 
 
224 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 when lionest and kind : but tlie frantic mistake of the Glas- 
 wegians, in thinking that they can import learning into their 
 town safely in a Gothic case, and have 180,000 pounds' worth 
 of it at command, while they have banished for ever from 
 their eyes the sight of all that mankind have to learn any* 
 thing abouty is, — Well — as the rest of our enlightened public 
 opinion. They might as well put a pyx into a pigsty, to 
 make the pigs pious. 
 
 In the second place, as to my correspondent's wish to read 
 my books, I am entirely pleased by it ; but, putting the ques- 
 tion of fee aside for the nonce, I am not in the least minded 
 as matters stand, to prescribe my books for him. Nay, so 
 far as in me lies, he shall neither read them, nor learn to trust 
 in any such poor qualifications and partial comforts of the 
 entirely wrong and dreadful condition of life he is in, with 
 millions of others. If a child in a muddy ditch asked me for 
 a picture-book, I should not give it him ; but say, "Come 
 out of that, first ; or, if you cannot, I must go and get help ; 
 but picture-books, there, you shall have none ! " 
 
 Only a day and a half in the week on which one can get a 
 walk into the country, (and how few have as much, or any- 
 thing like it?) just bread enough earned to keep one alive, 
 on those terms — one's daily work asking not so much as a 
 lucifer match's worth of intelligence ; — unwholesome besides 
 — one's chest, shoulders and stomach getting hourly more 
 useless. Smoke above for sky ; mud beneath for w^ater ; and 
 the pleasant consciousness of spending one's weary life in 
 the pure service of the devil! And the blacks are emanci- 
 pated over the water there — and this is ^hat you call "hav- 
 ing your own way," here, is it ? 
 
 Very solemnly, my good clerk-friend, there is something 
 to be done in this matter ; not merely to be read. Do you 
 know any honest men who have a will of their own, among 
 your neighbours ? If none, set yourselves to seek for such ; 
 if any, commune with them on this one subject, how a man 
 may have sight of the earth he was made of, and his bread 
 out of the dust of it — and peace ! And find out what it is 
 that hinders you now from having these, and resolve that 
 
FOES CLAVIGEHA. 
 
 225 
 
 you will fight it, and put end to it. If you cannot find out 
 for yourselves, tell me your difficulties, briefly, and I will 
 deal with them for you, as the second Fo7'S may teach me. 
 Bring you the First with you, and the Third will help us. 
 And believe me, faithfully yours, 
 
 JOHN RUSKIN. 
 
 LETTER XVII. 
 
 Florence, 
 
 My Friends, 1872. 
 
 Have you thought, as I prayed you to think, during the 
 days of April, what things they are that will hinder you from 
 being happy on this first of May ? Be assured of it, you are 
 meant, to-day, to be as happy as the birds, at least. If you 
 are not, you, or somebody else, or something that you are 
 one or other responsible for, is wrong ; and your first busi- 
 ness is to set yourself, or them, or it, to rights. Of late you 
 have made that your last business ; you have thought things 
 would right themselves, or that it was God's business to right 
 them, not yours. Peremptorily it is yours. Not, observe, 
 to get your rights, but to put things to rights. Some eleven 
 in the dozen of tlie population of the world are occupied 
 earnestly in putting tilings to wrongs, thinking to benefit 
 themselves thereby. Is it any wonder, then, you are uncom- 
 fortable, when already the world, in our part of it, is over- 
 populated, and eleven in the dozen of the over-population 
 doing diligently wrong ; and the remaining dozenth expect- 
 ing God to do their work for them ; and consoling themselves 
 ^ith buying two-shilling publications for eighteenpence ! 
 
 To put things to rights ! Do you not know how refresh- 
 ing it is, even to put one's room to rights, when it has got 
 dusty and decomposed ? If no other happiness is to be had, 
 the mere war with decomposition is a kind of happiness. 
 But the war with the Lord of Decomposition, the old Dragon 
 himself, — St. George's war, with a princess to save, and win 
 
 IS 
 
226 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 — are none of you, my poor friends, proud enough to hope 
 for any part in that battle ? Do you conceive no figure of 
 any princess for May Queen ; or is the definite dragon 
 turned into indefinite cuttlefish, vomiting black venom into 
 the waters of your life ; or has he multiplied himself into an 
 host of pulicarious dragons — bug-dragons, insatiable as un-^ 
 clean, — whose food you are, daily ? 
 
 St. George's war ! Here, since last May, when I engraved 
 Giotto's Hope for you, have I been asking whether any one 
 would volunteer for such a battle? Not one human creature, 
 except a personal friend or two, for mere love of me, has an- 
 swered. 
 
 Now, it is true, that my writing may be obscure, or seem 
 only half in earnest. But it is the best I can do : it expresses 
 the thoughts that come to me as they come ; and I have no 
 time just now to put them into more intelligible words. 
 And, whether you believe them or not, they are entirely 
 faithful words ; I have no interest at all to serve by writing, 
 but vours. 
 
 And, literally, no one answers. Nay, even those who read, 
 read so carelessly that they don't notice whether the book is 
 to go on or not. 
 
 Heaven knows ; but it shall, if I am able, and what I un- 
 dertook last May, be fulfilled, so far as the poor faculty or 
 time left me may serve. 
 
 Read over, now, the end of that letter for May last, from 
 " To talk at a distance," in page 64. 
 
 I have given you the tenth of all I have, as I promised. I 
 cannot, because of those lawyers I was talking of last month, 
 get it given you in a permanent and accumulative form ; be- 
 sides that, among the various blockheadisms and rascalities 
 of the day, the perversion of old endowments from their ap- 
 pointed purposes being now practised with applause, gives one 
 little encourao:ement to think of the future. However, the 
 seven thousand pounds are given, and wholly now out of my 
 own power ; and, as I said, only two or three friends, for 
 love of me, and one for true love of justice also, have, in the 
 course of the year, joined with me. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 However, this is partly my own fault, for not saying more 
 clearly what T want ; and for expecting people to be moved 
 by writing, instead of by personal effort. Tlie more I see of 
 writing the less I care for it : one may do more with a man 
 by getting ten words •spoken with him face to face, than hy 
 the black letterino^ of a whole life's thousrht. 
 
 In parenthesis, just read this little bit of Plato ; and take 
 it to heart. If the last sentence of it does not fit some peo- 
 ple I know of, there is no prophecy on lip of man. 
 
 Socrates is speaking. I have heard indeed — but no one 
 can say now if it is true or not — that near Nancratis, in 
 Egypt, there was born one of the old gods, the one to whom 
 the bird is sacred which they call the ibis ; and this god or 
 demigod's name was Theuth Second parenthesis- -(Theuth, 
 or Thoth : he always has the head of an ibis with a beautiful 
 long bill, in Egyptian sculpture ; and you may see him at 
 the British Museum on stone and papyrus infinite, — especially 
 attending at judgments after death, when people's sins are 
 to be weighed in scales ; for he is the Egyptian account- 
 keeper, and adds up, and takes note of, things, as you will 
 liear presently from Plato. He became the god of merchants, 
 and a rogue, among the Romans, and is one now among us). 
 " And this demigod found out first, they say, arithmetic, and 
 logic, and geometry, and astronomy, and gambling, and the 
 art of writing. 
 
 *^ And there was then a king over all Egypt, in the great 
 city which the Greeks called Thebes. And Theuth, going to 
 Thebes, showed the king all the arts he had invented, and 
 said they should be taught to the Egyptians. But the king 
 said : — ' What was the good of them ? ' And Theuth telling 
 him, at length, of each, the king blamed some things, anci 
 praised others. But when they came to writing : * Now, 
 this piece of learning, O king,' says Theuth, ' will make the 
 Egyptians more wise and more remembering ; for this is 
 physic for the memory, and for wisdom.' But the king an- 
 swered : — * O most artful Theuth, it is one sort of person's 
 business to invent arts, and quite another sort of person's 
 business to know what mischief or good is in them. And 
 
228 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 you, the father of letters, are yet so simple-minded that you 
 fancy their power just the contrary of what it really is ; for 
 this art of writing will bring forgetfulness into the souls of 
 those who learn it, because, trusting to the external power of 
 the scripture, and stamp * of other men's minds, and not 
 themselves putting themselves in mind, within themselves, it 
 is not medicine of divine memory, but a drug of memorandum, 
 that you have discovered, and you will only give the reputa- 
 tion and semblance of wisdom, not the truth of wisdom, to 
 the learners : for,' " (now do listen to this, 3'ou cheap edu- 
 cation-mongers), ''*for becoming hearers of many things, 
 yet without instruction, they will seem to have manifold opin- 
 ions, but be in truth without any opinions ; and the most of 
 them incapable of living together in any good understand- 
 ing" ; having become seeming-wise, instead of wise.'" 
 
 So much for cheap literature ; not that I like cheap talk 
 better, mind you ; but I wish I could get a word or two with 
 a few honest people, now, face to face. For I have called 
 the fund I have established The St. George's Fund, because 
 I hope to find, here and there, some one who will join in a 
 White Company, like Sir John Hawkwood's, to be called the 
 Company of St. George ; which shall have for its end the 
 wise creating and bestowing, instead of the wise stealing, of 
 money. Now it literally happened that before the White 
 Company went into Italy, tliere was an Italian Company 
 called ' of St. George,' which was afterwards incorporated 
 with Sir John's of the burnished armour ; and another com* 
 pany, called ' of the Rose,' which was a very wicked and de- 
 structive one. And within my St. George's Company, — 
 which shall be of persons still following their own business, 
 wherever they are, but who will give the tenth of what they 
 have, or make, for the purchase of land in England, to be 
 cultivated by hand, as aforesaid in my last May number, — 
 shall be another company, not destructive, called of "Monte 
 Rosa," or " Mont Rose," because Monte Rosa is the central 
 mountain of the range between north and south Europe, 
 which keeps the gift of the rain of heaven. And the motto, 
 * Type," the actual word in the Greek. 
 
FOBS OLAVJGERA. 
 
 229 
 
 or watchword of this company is to be the old French 
 
 Mont-joie." And they are to be entirely devoted, accord- 
 ing to their power, first to tlie manual Libour of cultivatinnr 
 pure land, and guiding of pure streams and rain to the places 
 where they are needed : and secondly, together with this 
 manual labour, and much by its nieans, they are to carry on 
 the thoughtful labour of true education, in themselves, and 
 of others. And they are not to be monks nor nuns ; but are 
 to learn, and teach all fair arts, and sweet order and obedi- 
 ence of life ; and to Educate the children entrusted to their 
 schools in such practical arts and patient obedience ; but not 
 at all, necessarily, in either arithmetic, writing, or reading. 
 
 That is my design, romantic enough, and at this day diffi- 
 cult enough : yet not so romantic, nor so difficult as your now 
 widely and openly proclaimed design, of making the words 
 " obedience " and " loyalty " to cease from the English tongue. 
 
 That same number of the Republican which announced 
 that all property must be taken under control, was graced 
 by a frontispiece, representing, figuratively, ^' Royalty in 
 extremis the joyful end of Rule, and of every strength of 
 Kingship ; Britannia, having, ])erhaps, found her waves of 
 late unruly, declaring there shall be no rule over the land 
 neither. Some day I may let you compare this piece of 
 figurative English art with Giotto's ; but, meantime, since, 
 before you look so fondly for the end of Royalty, it is well 
 that you should know somewhat of its beginnings, I have 
 given you a picture of one of the companions in the St. 
 George's company of all time, out of a pretty book, published 
 at Antwerp, by John Baptist Vrints, cutter of figures in 
 copper, on the IGth April, 1598 ; and giving briefly the 
 (Stories, and, in no unworthy imagination, the pictures also, 
 of the first * foresters' (rulers of woods and weaves*) in Flan* 
 
 * " Davantage, ilz se nomraoyent Forestiers, non que leur charge at 
 gouvernement fust seulemeut sur la terre, qui estoit lors occupee et em- 
 peschee de la forest Charbonniere, mais la garde de la mer leur estoit 
 aussi commise. Convient ici entendre, que ce terme, forest, en vieil 
 bag Alemau, convenoit au&si bien aux eaux comrae aux boys, ainsi qu*il 
 est uarrc es memoires de Jean du T\\\Qt''-'Les Genealogies des Foi^.r 
 tiers ct Cointes de FUmdrm, Antp. 159^. 
 
230 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOEBA. 
 
 ders, where the waves once needed, and received, much 
 ruling ; and of the Counts of Flanders who succeeded them, 
 of whom this one, Robert, surnamed " of Jerusalem," w^as 
 the eleventh, and began to reign in 1077, being " a virtuous, 
 prudent, and brave prince,'' who, having first taken good 
 order in his money affairs, and ended some unjust claims his 
 predecessors liad made on church property ; and established 
 a perpetual chancellorship, and legal superintendence over 
 his methods of revenue ; took the cross against the infidels, 
 and got the name, in Syria, for his prowess, of the " Son of 
 St. George." 
 
 So he stands, leaning on his long sword — a man desirous of 
 setting the world to rights, if it might be ; but not knowing 
 the way of it, nor recognizing that the steel with which it can 
 be done, must take another shape than that double-edged 
 one. 
 
 And from the eleventh century to this dull nineteenth, less 
 and less the rulers of men have known their weapon. So far, 
 yet, are we from beating sword into ploughshare, that now 
 the sword is set to undo the plough's work when it has been 
 done; and at this hour the ghastliest ruin of all that moulder 
 from the fire, pierced through black rents by the unnatural 
 sunlight above the ashamed streets of Paris, is the long, 
 skeleton, and roofless hollow of the "Grenier d'Abond- 
 ance." 
 
 Such Agriculture have we contrived here, in Europe, and 
 ploughing of new furrows for graves. Will you hear how 
 Agriculture is now contrived in America, where, since you 
 spend your time here in burning corn, you must send to buy it ; 
 trusting, however, still to your serviceable friend the Fire, as 
 here to consume, so there, to sovir and reap, for repairing 
 of consumption. I have just received a letter from California, 
 which I trust the writer will not blame me for printing : — 
 
 «gjjj ''March Ut, 1872. 
 
 "You have so strongly urged ^agriculture by the hand,' 
 that it may be of some interest to you to know the result thus 
 far of agriculture by machinery, in California. I am the more 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 231 
 
 willing to address you on this subject from the fact that 
 I may have to do with a new Colony in this State, which will, 
 I trust, adopt as far as practicable, your ideas as to agricult- 
 ure by the hand. Such thoughts as you might choose to give 
 regarding the conduct of such a Colony here would be par- 
 ticularly acceptable; and should you deem it expedient to 
 comply with this earnest and sincere request, the following 
 facts may be of service to you in forming just conclusions. 
 
 We have a genial climate, and a productive soil. Our 
 farms ('ranches') frequently embrace many thousands of 
 acres, while the rule is, scarcely ever less than hundreds of 
 acres. Wheat-fields of 5,000 acres are by no means uncommon, 
 and not a few of above 40,000 acres are known. To cultivate 
 these extensive tracts much machinery is used, such as steam- 
 ploughs, gang-ploughs, reaping, mowing, sowing, and thrash- 
 ing-machines ; and seemingly to the utter extermination of 
 the spirit of home, and rural life. Gangs of labourers are 
 hired during the emergency of harvesting ; and they are left 
 for the most part unhoused, and are also fed more like 
 animals than men. Harvesting over, they are discharged, 
 and thus are left near the beginning of our long and rainy 
 winters to shift for themselves. Consequently the larger 
 towns and cities are infested for months with idle men and 
 boys. Housebreaking and highway robbery are of almost 
 daily occurrence. As to the farmers themselves, they live 
 in a dreamy, comfortless way, and are mostly without educa- 
 tion or refinement. To show them how to live better and 
 cleaner; to give them nobler aims than merely to raise wheat 
 for the English market ; to teach them the history of those 
 five cities, and 'their girls to cook exquisitely,' &c., is surely 
 a mission for earnest men in this country, no less than in 
 England, to say nothing of the various accomplishments to 
 which you have alluded. I have caused to be published in 
 some of our farming districts many of the more important of 
 your thoughts bearing on these subjects, and I trust with 
 beneficial results. 
 
 " I trust I shall not intrude on Mr. Ruskin's patience if I 
 now say something by way of thankfulness for what I hare 
 
232 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 received from jour works.* I know not certainly if this will 
 ever reach you. If it does, it may in some small way gladden 
 you to know that I owe to your teaching almost all the good 
 I have thus far attained. A large portion of my life has been 
 spent at sea, and in roaming in Mexico, Central and South 
 America, and in the Malaysian and Polynesian Islands. I 
 have been a sailor before anei abaft the mast. Years a^ro I 
 found on a remote Island of the Pacific the Modem Fainters^ 
 after them the Seven Lamps of Architecture; and finally your 
 complete works. Ignorant and uncultivated, I began earnestly 
 to follow certain of your teachings. I read most of the books 
 you recommended, simply because you seemed to be my 
 teacher ; and so in the course of these years I have come to 
 believe in you about as faithfully as one man ever believes in 
 another. From having no fixed object in life I have finally 
 found that I have something to do, and will ultimately, I 
 trust, have something to say about sea-life, something that 
 has not, I think, hitherto been said — If God ever permits me 
 the necessary leisure from hard railway work, the most hope- 
 less and depressing of all work I have hitherto done. 
 "Your most thankful servant. 
 
 With the account given in the first part of this letter of 
 the results of mechanical agriculture in California, you shall 
 now compare a little sketch by Marmontel of the peasant 
 life, not mechanical, in his own province. It is given, alter- 
 ing only the name of the river, in the " Contes Moraux," in 
 the story, professing to continue that of Moliere's Misan- 
 thrope : 
 
 " Alceste^ discontented as you know, both with his mis- 
 tress and with his judges, decided upon flying from men, and 
 retired very far from Paris to the banks of the Vologne ; 
 this river, in which the shells enclose pearl, is yet more pre* 
 
 * 1 accept the blame of vanity in printing the end of this letter, foi 
 the sake of showing more perfectly the temper of its writer, whom I 
 have answered privately ; in case my letter may not reach him, J 
 should be grateful if he would send me again his address. 
 
FOBS CLAVIQERA, 
 
 233 
 
 cious by the fertility which it causes to spring on its borders ; 
 the valley that it waters is one beautiful meadow. On one 
 side of it rise smiling hills, scattered ail over with woods and 
 villaofes, on the other extends a vast level of fields covered 
 with corn. It was there that Alceste went to live, forgotten 
 by all, free from cares, and from irksome duties ; entirely 
 his own, and finally delivered from the odious spectacle of the 
 world, he breathed freely, and praised heaven for having 
 broken all his chains. A little study, much exercise, pleas- 
 ures not vivid, but untroubled ; in a word, a life peacefully 
 active, preserved him from the ennui of solitude : he desired 
 nothing, and regretted nothing. One of the pleasures of his 
 retreat was to see the cultivated and fertile ground all about 
 him nourishing a peasantry, which appeared to him happy. 
 For a misanthrope who has become so by his virtue, only 
 thinks that he iiates men, because he loves them. Alceste 
 felt a strange softening of the heart mingled with joy at the 
 sight of his fellow-creatures rich by the labour of their hand. 
 ' These people,' said lie, ' are very happy to be still half sav- 
 age. They would soon be corrupted if they were more civ- 
 ilized.' As he was walking in the country, he chanced upon 
 a labourer who was ploughing, and singing as he ploughed. 
 *God have a care of you, my good man ! ' said he ; ' you are 
 very gay?' *I mostly am,' replied the peasant. 'I am 
 happy to hear it : that proves that you are content with 
 your condition.' * Until now, I have good cause to be.' 'Are 
 you married?' 'Yes, thank heaven.' 'Have you any chil- 
 dren ?' 'I had five. I have lost one, but that is a mischief 
 that may be mended.' 'Is your wife young?' 'She is 
 twenty-five years old.' 'Is she pretty?' 'She is, for me, 
 but she is better than pretty, she is good.' ' And you love 
 her?' 'If\ love her ! Who would not love her ! I won- 
 der ?' ' And she loves you also, without doubt.* 'Oh ! for 
 that matter, with all her heart — just the same as before mar- 
 riage.' 'Then you loved each other before marriage?' 
 'Without that, should we have let ourselves be caught?' 
 ' And your children — are they healthy ?' ' Ah ! it's a pleas- 
 ure to see them ! The eldest is only live years old, and he'« 
 
234 
 
 FOBS CLAVIQERA. 
 
 already a great deal cleverer than his father, and for my two 
 girls, never was anything so charming ! It'll be ill-luck in- 
 deed if they don't get husbands. The youngest is sucking 
 yet, but the little fellow will be stout and strong. Would 
 you believe it ? — he beats his sisters when they want to kiss 
 their mother ! — he's always afraid of anybody's taking him 
 from the breast.' ' All that is, then, very happy ? ' ' Happy ! 
 I should think so — you should see the joy there is when I 
 come back from my work ! You would say they hadn't seen 
 me for a year. I don't know which to attend to first. My 
 wife is round my neck — my girls in my arms — my boy gets 
 hold of my legs — little Jeannot is like to roll himself off the 
 bed to get to me — and I, I laugh, and cry, and kiss all at 
 once — for all that makes me cry !' 'I believe it, indeed,' 
 said Alceste. ' You know it, sir, I suppose, for you are 
 doubtless a father ? ' 'I have not that happiness.' ' So much 
 the worse for you ! There's nothing in the world worth hav- 
 ing, but that.' 'And how do you live?' 'Very well : we 
 have excellent bread, good milk, and the fruit of our orch- 
 ard. My wife, with a little bacon, makes a cabbage soup that 
 the King would be glad to eat ! Then we have eggs from 
 the poultry-yard ; and on Sunday we have a feast, and drink 
 a little cup of wine.' 'Yes, but when the year is bad?' 
 * Well, one expects the year to be bad, sometimes, and one 
 lives on what one has saved from the good 3^ears.' ' Then 
 there's the rigour of the v/eather — the cold and the rain, and 
 the heat — that you have to bear.' ' Well ! one gets used to 
 it ; and if you only knew the pleasure that one has in the 
 evening, in getting the cool breeze after a day of summer ; 
 or, in winter, warming one's hands at the blaze of a good fag- 
 got, between one's wife and children ; and then one sups 
 with good appetite, and one goes to bed ; and think you, 
 that one remembers the bad weather ? Sometimes my wife 
 says to me, — *' My good man, do you hear the wind and 
 the storm ? Ah, suppose you were in the fields?" ''But 
 I'm not in the fields, I'm here," I say to her. Ah, sir ! there 
 are many people in the fine world, who don't live as content 
 as WQ.' 'Well ! but the taxes ?' ' We pay them merrily— 
 
FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 235 
 
 and well we should — all the country can't be noble, our 
 squires and judges can't come to work in the fields with us 
 — they do for us what we can't — we do for them what they 
 can't — and every business, as one says, has its pains.' * What 
 equity!' said the misanthrope ; 'there, in two words, is ali 
 the economy of primitive society. Ah, Nature ! there is 
 nothing just but thee ! and the healthiest reason is in thy 
 untaught simplicity. But, in paying the taxes so willingly, 
 don't you run some risk of getting more put on you ? ' ' We 
 used to be afraid of that ; but, thank God, the lord of the 
 place has relieved us from this anxiety. He plays the part 
 of our good king to us. He imposes and receives himself, 
 and, in case of need, makes advances for us. He is as care- 
 ful of us as if we were his own children.' * And who is this 
 gallant man ?' *The Viscount Laval — he is known enough, 
 all the country respects him.' * Does he live in his chateau ?' 
 ^ He passes eight months of the year there.' * And the rest ? ' 
 * At Paris, I believe.' ' Does he see any company ! ' ' The 
 townspeople of Bruyeres, and now and then, some of our old 
 men go to taste his soup and chat with him.' ' And from 
 Paris does he bring nobody?' 'Nobody but his daughter.' 
 *He is much in the right. And how does he employ him- 
 self?' 'In judging between us — in making up our quarrels 
 — in. marrying our children — in maintaining peace in our 
 families — in helping them when the times are bad.' ' You 
 must take me to see his village,' said Alceste, * that must be 
 interesting.' 
 
 " He was surprised to find the roads, even the cross-roads, 
 bordered with hedges, and kept with care ; but, coming on 
 a party of men occupied in mending them, ' Ah ! ' he said, 
 *so you've got forced labour here?' 'Forced,' answered an 
 old man who presided over the work. 'We know nothing 
 of that here, sir; all these men are paid, we constrain no- 
 body ; only, if there comes to the village a vagrant, or a do- 
 nothing, they send him to me, and if he wants bread he can 
 gain it ; or, he must go to seek it elsewhere.' 'And who 
 has established this happy police?' 'Our good lord — our 
 father — the father to all of us.' * And where do the funds 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 come from?' * From the commonalty ; and, as it imposes 
 the tax on itself, it does not happen here, as too often else- 
 where, that the rich are exempted at the expense of the 
 poor.' 
 
 "The esteem of x\lceste increased every moment for the 
 wise and benevolent master who governed all this little coun- 
 try. ' How powerful would a king be ? ' he said to himself — - 
 'and how happy a state ! if all the great proprietors followed 
 the example of this one ; but Paris absorbs both property 
 and men, it robs all, and swallows up everything.' 
 
 "The first o-lance at the villasce showed him the imaofe of 
 confidence and comfort. Pie entered a building whicli had 
 the appearance of a public edifice, and found there a crowd 
 of children, women, and old men occupied in useful labour ; 
 ■ — idleness was only permitted to the extremely feeble. Child- 
 hood, almost at its first steps out of the cradle, caught the 
 habit and the taste for w^ork ; and old age, at the borders of 
 the tomb, still exercised its trembling hands : the season in 
 which the earth rests brought every vigorous arm to the 
 workshops — and then the lathe, the saw, and the hatchet 
 gave new value to products of nature. 
 
 "*Iam not surprised,' said Alceste, 'that this people is 
 pure from vice, and relieved from discontent. It is labori- 
 ous, and occupied vi^ithout ceasing.' He asked how the 
 workshop had been established. ' Our good lord,' was the 
 reply, ' advanced the first funds for it. It was a very little 
 place at first, and all that was done was at his expense, at 
 his risk, and to his profit ; but, once convinced that there 
 was solid advantage to be gained, he yielded the enterprise 
 to us, and now interferes only to protect ; and every year 
 he gives to the village the instruments of some one of our 
 arts. It is the present that he makes at the first w^edding 
 which is celebrated in the year.' " 
 
 Thus wrote, and taught, a Frenchman of the old school, 
 before the Revolution. But worldly-wise Paris went on her 
 own way absorbing property and men ; and has attained, 
 this first of May, what means and manner of festival you sea 
 in her Grenier d'Abondance. 
 
 -«r^^'«i^ . • 
 
FOES CLAVIGERA. 
 
 237 
 
 Glance back now to my proposal for the keeping of the 
 first of. May, in the letter on "Rose Gardens" in Time and 
 Tide, and discern which state is best for you — modern civ- 
 ilization," or Marmontel's rusticity, and mine. 
 
 Ever faithfully yours, 
 
 JOHN RUSKIN. 
 
 LETTER XVIIT. 
 
 My Fkiends, ^''^^ '^''^ ^"^''^ 
 
 You would pity me, if you knew how seldom I see a news- 
 paper, just now ; but 1 chanced on one yesterday, and found 
 that all the world was astir about the marriage of the Mar- 
 quis of B., and that the Pope had sent him, on that occasion, 
 a telegraphic blessing of superfine quality. 
 
 I wonder what the Marquis of B. iias done to deserve to 
 be blessed to that special extent, and whether a little miid 
 beatitude, sent here to Pisa, might not have been better 
 spent ? For, indeed, before getting hold of the papers, I 
 had been greatly troubled, while drawing the east end of the 
 Duomo, by three fellows w^ho were leaning against tiie Lean- 
 ing Tower, and expectorating loudly and copiously, at inter- 
 vals of half a minute each, over the white marble base of it, 
 which they evidently conceived to have been constructed 
 only to be spit upon. They were all in rags, and obviously 
 proposed to remain in rags all their days, and pass what 
 leisure of life they could obtain, in spitting. There was a 
 boy with them, in rags also, and not less expectorant ; but 
 having some remains of human activity in him still, being 
 not more than twelve years old ; and he was even a little 
 interested in my brushes and colours, but rewarded himself, 
 after the effort of some attention to these, by revolving 
 slowly round the iron railing in front of me like a pensive 
 squirrel. This operation at last disturbed me so much, that 
 I asked him if there were no other railini^s in Pisa he could 
 turn upside down over, but these ? "Sono cascato, Signor — " 
 
238 
 
 FORS GLAVIQERA. 
 
 tumbled over them, please. Sir," said he, apologetically, 
 with infinite satisfaction in his black eyes. 
 
 Now it seemed to me that these three moist-throated men 
 and the squirrelline boy stood much more in need of a 
 paternal blessing than the Marquis of B. — a blessing, of 
 course, with as much of the bloom off it as would make it 
 consistent with the position in which Providence had placed 
 them ; but enough, in its moderate way, to bring the good 
 out of them instead of the evil. For there v^as all manner 
 of good in them, deep and pure — yet for ever to be dormant; 
 and all manner of evil, shallow and superficial, yet for ever 
 to be active and practical, as matters stood that day, under 
 the Leaning Tower. 
 
 Lxicca^ ^th May. — Eighth days gone, and I've been work- 
 ing hard, and looking my carefuUest ; and seem to have 
 done nothing, nor begun to see these places, though I've 
 known them thirty years, and though Mr. Murray's Guide 
 says one may see Lucca, and its Ducal Palace and Piazza, 
 the Cathedral, the Baptistery, nine churches, and the Roman 
 amphitheatre, and take a drive round the ramparts, in the 
 time between the stopping of one train and the starting of 
 the next. 
 
 I wonder how much time Mr. Murray would allow for the 
 view I had to-day, from the tower of the Cathedral, up the 
 vallev called of " Nievole," — now one tufted softness of fresh 
 springing leaves, far as the eye can reach. You know some- 
 thing of the produce of the hills that bound it, and perhaps 
 of its own : at least, one used to see " Fine Lucca Oil " often 
 enough in the grocers* windows (petroleum has, I suppose, 
 •now taken its place), and the staple of Spitalfields was, I be- 
 lieve, first woven with Lucca thread. 
 
 The actual manner of production of these good things is 
 thus : — The Val di Nievole is some five miles wide by 
 thirty long, and is simply one field of corn or rich grass 
 land, undivided by hedges ; the corn two feet high, and 
 more, to-day. Quite Lord Derby's style of agriculture, you 
 think ? No ; not quite. Undivided by hedges, the fields 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 239 
 
 are yet meshed across and across by an intricate network of 
 posts and chains. The posts are maple-trees, and the chains, 
 garlands of vine. The meshes of this net each enclose two 
 or three acres of the corn-land, with a row of mulberry-trees 
 up the middle of it, for silk. There are poppies, and bright 
 ones too, about tlie banks and roadsides ; but the corn oi 
 Val di Nievole is too proud to grow with poppies, and 
 is set with wild gladiolus instead, deep violet. Here and 
 there a mound of crag rises out of the fields, crested with 
 stone-pine, and studded all over with large stars of the white 
 rock-cistus. Quiet streams, filled with the close crow^ds of 
 the golden water-flag, wind beside meadows painted with 
 purple orchis. On each side of the great plain is a wilder- 
 ness of hills, veiled at their feet with a grey cloud of olive 
 woods ; above, sweet with glades of chestnut ; peaks of more 
 distant blue, still, to-day, embroidered with snow, are rather 
 to be thought of as vast precious stones than mountains, for 
 all the state of the world's palaces has been hewn out of 
 their marble. 
 
 I was looking over all this from under the rim of a large 
 bell, beautifully embossed, with a St. Sebastian upon it, and 
 some lovely thin-edged laurel leaves, and an inscription say- 
 ing that the people should be filled with the fat of the land, 
 if they listened to the voice of the Lord. The bell-founder 
 of course meant, by the voice of the Lord, the sound of his 
 own bell ; and all over the plain, one could see towers rising 
 above the vines, voiced in the same manner. Also much 
 trumpeting and fiddling goes on below, to help the bells, on 
 holy days ; and, assuredly, here is fat enough of land to be 
 filled with, if listening to these scrapings and tinklings were^ 
 indeed the way to be filled. 
 
 The laurel leaves on the bell were so finely hammered that 
 I felt bound to have a ladder set against the lip of it, that 
 I might examine them more closely ; and the sacristan and 
 bell-ringer were so interested in this proceeding that they 
 got up, themselves, on the cross-beams, and sat like two 
 jackdaws, looking on, one on each side ; for which expres- 
 sion of sympathy 1 was deeply grateful, and offered the bell- 
 
240 
 
 FOES CLAVIGERA. 
 
 ringer, on the spot, two bank-notes for tenpence eacli. But 
 they were so rotten with age, and so brittle and black with 
 tobacco, that, having unadvisedly folded them up small in 
 my purse, the patches on their backs had run their corneii^ 
 through them, and they came out tattered like so much 
 tinder. The bell-ringer looked at them hopelessly, and gava 
 me them back. I promised him some better patched ones, 
 and folded the remnants of tinder up carefully, to be kept 
 at Coniston (where we have still \\ tenpence-worth or so of 
 copper, — though no olive oil) — for specimens of the cur- 
 rency of the new Kingdom of Italy. 
 
 Such are the monuments of financial art, attained by a 
 nation which has lived in the fattest of lands for at least 
 three thousand vears, and for the last twelve hundred of 
 them has had at least some measure of Christian benediction, 
 with help from be)!, book, candle, and, recently, even from gas. 
 
 Yet you must not despise the benediction, though it has 
 not provided them with clean bank-notes. The peasant race, 
 at least, of the Yal di Nievole are not unblest ; if honesty, 
 kindness, food sufficient for them, and peace of heart, can 
 anywise make up for poverty in current coin. Only the 
 evening before last, I was up among the hills to the south of 
 Lucca, close to the remains of the country-house of Castruc- 
 cio Castracani, who was Lord of the Yal di Nievole, and 
 much good land besides, in the year 1328 ; (and whose 
 sword, you perhaps remember, was presented to the King of 
 Sardinia, now King of Italy, when first he visited the Luc- 
 chese after driving out the old Duke of Tuscany ; and Mrs. 
 Browning wrote a poem upon the presentation ;) a Nea- 
 politan Duchess has got his country-house now, and has 
 restored it to her taste. Well, I was up among the hills, 
 that way, in places where no English, nor Neapolitans either, 
 ever dream of going, being altogether lovely and at rest, 
 and the country life in them unchanged ; and I had several 
 friends with me, and among them one of the young girls who 
 were at Furness Abbey last year ; and, scrambling about 
 among the vines, she lost a pretty little cross of Florentine 
 work. Luckily, she had made acquaintance, only the day be* 
 
FORS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 241 
 
 fore, with the peasant mistress of a cottage close by, and with 
 her two youngest children, Adam and Eve. Eve was still 
 tied up tight in swaddling clothes, down to the toes, and 
 carried about as a bundle ; but Adam was old enough to run 
 about ; and found the cross, and his mother gave it us back 
 next dav. 
 
 Not unblest, such a people, though with some common hu*^ 
 man care and kindness you might bless them a little more. 
 If only you would not curse them ; but the curse of your 
 modern life is fatally near, and only for a few years more, 
 perhaps, they will be seen — driving their tawny kine, or with 
 their sheep following them, — to pass, like pictures in en- 
 chanted motion, among their glades of vine. 
 
 Home^ 12th May, — I am wanting at the window of a new 
 inn, whence I have a view of a large green gas-lamp, and of 
 a pond, in rustic rock-work, with four large black ducks in 
 it; also of the top of the Pantheon; sundry ruined walls; tiled 
 roofs innumerable ; and a palace about a quarter of a mile 
 long, and the height, as near as I can guess, of Folkestone 
 cliffs under the New Parade : all which I see to advantaofe 
 over a balustrade veneered with an inch of marble over four 
 inches of cheap stone, carried by balusters of cast iron, painted 
 and sanded, but with the rust coming through, — this being 
 the proper modern recipe in Italy for balustrades which may 
 meet the increasing demand of travellers for splendour of 
 abode. (By the way, I see I can get a pretty little long 
 vicrnette view of the roof of the Pantheon, and some neioh- 
 bouring churches, through a chink between the veneering 
 and the freestone.) 
 
 Standing in this balcony, I am within three hundred yards 
 of the greater Church of St. Mary, from which Gastruccio 
 Castracani walked to St. Peter's on 17th January, 1328, carry- 
 ing the sword of the German Empire, with which he was ap- 
 pointed to gird its Emperor, on his taking possession of 
 Rome, by Castruccio's help, in spite of the Pope. The Lord 
 of the Val di Nievole wore a dress of superb damask silk, 
 doubtless the best that the worms of Lucca mulberry-trees 
 IG 
 
242 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 could spin ; and across his breast an embroidered scroll, in- 
 scribed, " He is wliat God made him," and across his shoul- 
 ders, behind, another scroll, inscribed, "And he shall be what 
 God will make." 
 
 On the 3rd of August, that same year, he recovered Pis- 
 toja from the Florentines, and rode home to liis own Lucca 
 in triumpli, being then the greatest war-captain in Europe, 
 and Lord of Pisa, Pistoja, Lucca, half the coast of Genoa, 
 and three hundred fortified castles in the Apennines ; on the 
 third of September he lay dead in Lucca, of fever. " Crushed 
 before the moth ; " as the silkworms also, who were boiled 
 before even they became so much as moths, to make his em- 
 broidered coat for him. And, humanly speaking, because 
 he had worked too hard in the trenches of Pistoja, in the 
 dog-days, with his armour on, and with his own hands on the 
 mattock, like the good knight he was. 
 
 Nevertheless, his sword was no gift for the King of Italy, 
 if the Lucchese had thousrht better of it. For those three 
 hundred castles of his were all Robber-castles, and he, in 
 fact, only the chief captain of the three hundred thieves who 
 lived in them. In the beginning of his career, these "towers 
 of the Lunigiana belonged to gentlemen who had made brig- 
 andage in the mountains, or piracy on the sea, the sole occu- 
 pations of their youth. Castruccia united them round him, 
 and called to his little court all the exiles and adventurers 
 who were wandering from town to town, in search of war or 
 pleasures." * 
 
 And, indeed, to Professors of Art, the Apennine between 
 Lucca and Pistoja is singularly delightful to this day, be- 
 cause of the ruins of these robber-castles on every mound, 
 and of the pretty monasteries and arcades of cloister beside 
 them. But how little we usually estimate the real relation 
 of these picturesque objects ! The homes of Baron and 
 Clerk, side by side, established on the hills. Underneath, in 
 the plain, the peasant driving his oxen. The Baron lives by 
 robbing the peasant, and the Clerk by blessing the Baron. 
 
 Blessing and absolving, though the Barons of grandest 
 ♦ SiSMONDi : History of Italian Republics^ Vol. III., Chap. ii. 
 
FOBS GLAVIOERA, 
 
 243 
 
 type could live, and resolutely die, without absolution. Old 
 Straw-Mattress of Evilstone,* at ninety-six, sent his son from 
 beside his deatli-inattress to attack the castle of the Bishop 
 of Arezzo, thinking the Bishop would be ofT his guard, news 
 having gone abroad that the grey-haired Knight of Evilstone 
 could sit his horse no more. But, usually, the absolution 
 was felt to be needful towards the end of life ; and if one 
 tliinks of it, the two kinds of edifices on the hill-tops may be 
 shortly described as those of the Pillager and Pardoner, or 
 Pardonere, Chaucer's word being classical in spelling, and 
 the best general one for the clergy of the two great Evan- 
 gelical and Papal sects. Only a year or two ago, close to the 
 Crystal Palace, I heard the Rev, Mr. Tipple announce from 
 his pulpit that there was no thief, nor devourer of widows' 
 houses, nor any manner of sinner, in his congregation that 
 day, who might not leave the church an entirely pardoned 
 and entirely respectable person, if he would only believe 
 what the Rev. Mr. Tipple was about to announce to him. 
 
 Strange, too, how these two great pardoning religions agree 
 in the accompaniment of physical filth. I have never been 
 hindered from drawing street subjects by pure human stench, 
 but in two cities, — Edinburgh and Rome. 
 
 There are some things, however, which Edinburgh and 
 London pardon, now-a-days, which Rome would not. Pen- 
 itent thieves, by all means, but not impenitent ; still less 
 impenitent peculators. 
 
 Have patience a little, for I must tell you one or two 
 things more about Lucca : they are all connected with the 
 histqry of Florence, which is to be one of the five cities 
 you are to be able to give account of ; and, by the way, re- 
 member at once, that her florin in the 14th century was of 
 Buch pure gold that when in " Chaucer's Pardonere's Tale" 
 Death puts himself into the daintiest dress he can, it is 
 into a heap of "fioreines faire and bright." He has chosen 
 another form at Lucca ; and when I had folded up my two 
 bits of refuse tinder, I walked into the Cathedral to look 
 at the golden lamp whicli liangs before the Sacred Face— 
 * Saccone of Pictra-mala." 
 
244 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 twenty-four pounds of pure gold in tlie lamp : Face of 
 wood : the oath of kings, since William Rufus' days ; carved 
 eighteen hundred years ago, if one would believe, and very 
 fall of pardon to faithful Lucchese ; yet, to some, helpless. 
 
 There are, I suppose, no educated persons in Italy, and few 
 in England, who do not profess to admire Dante ; and, per- 
 haps, out of every hundred of these admirers, three or four 
 may have read the bit about Francesca di Rimini, the death 
 of Ugolino, and the description of the Venetian Arsenal. 
 But even of these honestly studious three or four, we should 
 rarely find one, who knew why the Venetian Arsenal was de- 
 scribed. You shall hear, if you will. 
 
 " As, in the Venetian Arsenal, the pitch boils in the 
 winter time, wherewith to caulk their rotten ships . . . 
 so, not by fire, but divine art, a thick pitch boiled there, be- 
 neath, which had plastered itself all up over the banks on 
 either side. But in it I could see nothing, except the bub- 
 bles that its boiling raised, which from time to time made it 
 all- swell up over its whole surface, and presently fall back 
 again depressed. And as I looked at it fixedly, and won- 
 dered, my guide drew me back hastily, saying, * Look, look ! ' 
 And when I turned, I saw behind us, a black devil come 
 running along the rocks. Ah, how wild his face ! ah, how 
 bitter his action as he came with his wings wide, light upon 
 his feet ! On his shoulder he bore a sinner, grasped by both 
 liaunches ; and when he came to the bridge foot, he cried 
 down into the pit : ' Here's an ancient from Lucca : put him 
 under, that T may fetch more, for the land is full of such ; 
 there, for money, they make ''No" into "Yes" quipkly.' 
 And he cast him in and turned back, — never mastiff fiercer 
 after his prey. The thrown sinner plunged in the pitch, and 
 curled himself up ; but the devils from under the bridge 
 cried out, 'There's no holy face here ; here one swims other- 
 wise than in the Serchio.' And thev caugrht him with their 
 hooks and pulled him under, as cooks do the meat in broth ; 
 crying, 'People play here hidden ; so that they may filch in 
 gecret, if thev can,' " 
 
 Doubtless, you consider all this extremely absurd, and are 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 245 
 
 of opinion that such things are not likely to happen in the 
 next world. Perhaps not ; nor is it clear that Dante be- 
 lieved they would ; but I should be glad if you would tell 
 rne what you think is likely to happen there. In the mean- 
 time, please to observe Dante's figurative meaning, which is 
 by no means absurd. Every one of his scenes has symbolic 
 purpose, down to the least detail. This lake of pitch is 
 money, which, in our own vulgar English phrase, sticks to 
 people's fingers ; " it clogs and plasters its margin all over, 
 because the mind of a man bent on dishonest gain makes 
 everything within its reach dirty ; it bubbles up and down, 
 because underhand gains nearly always involve alternate 
 excitement and depression ; and it is haunted by the most 
 cruel and indecent of all the devils, because there is nothing 
 so mean, and nothing so cruel, but a peculator will do it. 
 So you may read every line figuratively, if you choose : all 
 that I want is, that you should be acquainted with the 
 opinions of Dante concerning peculation. For with the 
 history of the five cities, I wish you to know also the 
 opinions, on all subjects personally interesting to you, of 
 five people who lived in them ; namely, of Plato, Virgil, 
 Dante, Victor Carpaccio (whose opinions I must gather for 
 you from his paintings, for painting is the way Venetians 
 write), and Shakspeare. 
 
 If, after knowing these five men's opinions on practical 
 matters (these five, as you will find, being all of the same 
 mind), you prefer to hold Mr. J. S. Mill's and Mr. Fawcett's 
 opinions, you are welcome. And indeed I may as well end 
 this bv at once examinins: some of Mr. Fawcett's statements 
 on the subject of Interest, that being one of our chief mod- 
 ern modes of peculation ; but, before we put aside Dante for 
 to-day, just note farther this, that while he has sharp pun- 
 ishment for thieves, forgers, and peculators, — the thieves 
 being changed into serpents, the forgers covered with lep- 
 rosy, and the peculators boiled in pitch, — he has no punish- 
 ment for bad workmen ; no Tuscan mind at that day being 
 able to conceive such a ghastly sin as a man's doing bad work 
 wilfully ;fiind, indeed, I think the Tuscan mind, and in some 
 
246 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 degree the Piedmontese, retain some vestige of this old tem-t 
 per ; for though, not a fortnight since (on 3rd May), the 
 cross of marble in the arch-spandril next the east end of the 
 Chapel of the Thorn at Pisa was dashed to pieces before my 
 eyes, as I was drawing it for my class in heraldry at Oxford, 
 by a stone-mason, that his master might be paid for making 
 a new one, I have no doubt the new one will be as honestly 
 like the old as master and man can make it ; and Mr. Mur- 
 ray's Guide vf'iW call it a judicious restoration. So also, 
 though here, the new Government is digging through the 
 earliest rampart of Rome {agger of Servius Tullius), to build 
 a new Finance Office, which will doubtless issue tenpenny 
 notes in Latin, with the dignity of deiiarii (the "pence" of 
 your New Testament), I have every reason to suppose the 
 new Finance Office will be substantially built and creditable 
 to its masons ; (the veneering and cast-iron work being, I 
 believe, done mostly at the instigation of British building 
 companies.) But it seems strange to me that, coming to 
 Rome for quite other reasons, I should be permitted by the 
 Third Fors to see the cigger of Tullius cut through, for the 
 site of a Finance Office, and his Mons Justitise (Mount of 
 Justice), presumably the most venerable piece of earth in 
 Italy, carted away, to make room for a railroad station of 
 Piccola Velocita. For Servius Tullius was the first king who 
 stamped money with the figures of animals, and introduced 
 a word among the Romans with the sound of which English- 
 men are also now acquainted, " pecunia." Moreover, it is in 
 speaking of this very agger of Tullius that Livy explains in 
 what reverence the Romans held the space between the 
 outer and inner walls of their cities, which modern Italy de- 
 lights to turn into a Boulevard. 
 Now then, for Mr. Fawcett : — 
 
 At the 146th page of the edition of his Manual previously 
 quoted, you will find it stated that the interest of money con. 
 sists of three distinct parts : 
 
 1. Reward for abstinence. 
 
 2. Compensation for the risk of loss. 
 
 3. Wages for the labour of superintendence^ 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 247 
 
 I will reverse this order in examining the statements ; for 
 the only real question is as to the first, and we had better at 
 once clear the other two away from it. 
 
 3. Wages for the labour of superintendence. 
 
 By giving the capitalist wages at all, we put him at once 
 into the class of labourers, which in my November letter I 
 showed you is partly right ; but, by Mr, Fawcett's definition, 
 and in the broad results of business, he is not a labourer. So 
 far as he is one, of course, like any other, he is to be paid for 
 liis work. There is no question but that the partner who 
 superintends any business should be paid for superintend- 
 ence ; but the question before us is only respecting payment 
 for doing nothing. I have, for instance, at this moment 
 15,000/. of bank stock, and receive 1,200/. odd, a year, from 
 the Bank, but I have never received the slisi-htest intimation 
 from the directors that they wished for my assistance in the 
 superintendence of that establishment ; — (more shame for 
 them.) But even in cases where the partners are active, it 
 does not follow that the one who has most monev in the busi- 
 ness is either fittest to superintend it, or likely to do so ; it 
 is indeed probable that a man who has made money already 
 will know how to make more ; and it is necessary to attach 
 some importance to property as the sign of sense : but your 
 business is to choose and pay your superintendent for his 
 sense, and not for his money. Which is exactly what Mr. 
 Carlyle has been telling you for some time ; and both he and 
 all his disciples entirely approve of interest, if you are indeed 
 prepared to define that term as payment for the exercise of 
 common sense spent in the service of the person who pays for 
 it. I reserve yet awhile, however, what is to be said, as 
 hinted in my first letter, about the sale of ideas. 
 
 2. Compensation for risk. 
 
 Does Mr. Fawcett mean by compensation for risk, pro- 
 tection from it, or reward for running it ? Every business 
 involves a certain quantity of risk, which is properly covered 
 by every prudent merchant, but he does not expect to make 
 a profit out of his risks, nor calculate on a percentage on his 
 insurance. If he prefer not to insure, does Professor Fawcett 
 
us 
 
 FOES CLAVIGERA. 
 
 mean that his customers ought to compensate him for hia 
 anxiety ; and that while the definition of the first part of in- 
 terest is extra payment for prudence, the definition of the 
 second part of interest is extra payment for ^mprudence ? Or 
 does Professor Fawcett mean, what is indeed often the fact^ 
 that interest for money represents such reward for risk as 
 people may get across the green cloth at Homburg or Mon- 
 aco ? Because so far as what used to be business is, in 
 modern political economy, gambling, Professor Fawcett will 
 please to observe that what one gamester gains another loses. 
 You cannot get anything out of Nature, or from God, by 
 gambling ; — only out of your neighbour : and to the quantity 
 of interest of money thus gained, you are mathematically 
 to oppose a precisely equal (disinterest of somebody else's 
 money. 
 
 These second and third reasons for interest then, assis^ned 
 by Professor Fawcett, have evidently nothing whatever to do 
 with the question. What I want to know is, why the Bank 
 of England is paying me 1,200/. a year. It certainly does 
 not pay me for superintendence. And so far from receiving 
 my dividend as compensation for risk, I put my money into 
 the bank because I thought it exactly the safest place to put 
 it in. But nobody can be more anxious than I to find it 
 proper that I should have 1,200/. a year. Finding two of 
 Mr. Fawcett's reasons fail me utterly, I cling with tenacity 
 to the third, and hope the best from it. 
 
 The third, or first, — and now too sorrowfully the last — of 
 the Professor's reasons, is this, that my 1,200/. are given me 
 as the reward of abstinence." It strikes me, upon this, 
 that if I had not mv 15,000/. of Bank Stock I should be a 
 good deal more abstinent than I am, and that nobody would 
 then talk of rewarding me for it. It might be possible to 
 find even cases of very prolonged and painful abstinence, for 
 which no reward has yet been adjudged by less abstinent 
 England. Abstinence may, indeed, have its reward, never* 
 theless ; but not by increase of what we abstain from, unless 
 there be a law of growth for it, unconnected with our absti 
 nence, You cannot have your cake and eat it." Of course 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 240 
 
 not ; and If you don't eat it, you have your cake ; but not 
 a cake and a half ! Imagine the coippiex trial of schoolboy 
 minds, if the law of nature about cakes were, that if you ate 
 none of your cake to-day, you would have ever so much 
 bioro-er a cake to-morrow ! — which is Mr. Fawcett's notion of 
 the law of nature about money ; and, alas, many a man's 
 beside, — it being no law of nature whatever, but absolutely 
 contrary to all her laws, and not to be enacted by the whole 
 force of united mankind. 
 
 Not a cake and a quarter to-morrow, dunce, however ab- 
 stinent you are — only the cake you have, — if the mice don't 
 get at it in the night. 
 
 Interest, then, is not, it appears, payment for labour ; it 
 is not reward for risk ; it is not reward for abstinence. 
 
 What is It ? 
 
 One of two things it is ; — taxation, or usury. Of which in 
 my next letter. Meantime believe me 
 
 Faithfully yours, 
 
 " J. RUSKIN. 
 
 LETTER XIX. 
 
 - , Verona, 18;A June, 1873. 
 
 My Friends, ' 
 
 What an age of progress it is, by help of advertisements \ 
 No wonder you put some faith in them, friends. In sum- 
 mer one's work is necessarily much before breakfast ; so, 
 coming home tired to-day, I order a steak, with which is 
 served to me a bottle of Moutarde Diaphane," from Bor- 
 deaux. 
 
 What a beautiful arranfjement have we here ! Fancv the 
 appropriate mixture of manufactures of cold and hot at Bor- 
 deaux — claret and diaplianous mustard ! Then tlie quantity 
 of printing and proclamation necessary to make people in 
 Verona understand that diaphanous mustard is desirable, and 
 may be had at Bordeaux. Fancy, then, the packing, and 
 peeping into the packages, and porterages, and percentages 
 
250 
 
 FORS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 on porterages ; and the engineering, and the tunnelling, and 
 the bridge-building, and, the steam whistling, and the grind- 
 ing of iron, and raising of dust in the Limousin (Marmontel's 
 country), and in Burgundy, and in Savoy, and under the 
 Mont Cenis, and in Piedmont, and in Lombardy, and at last 
 over the field of Solferino, to fetch me my bottle of diapha- 
 nous mustard ! 
 
 And to think that, besides paying the railway officers all 
 along the line, and the custom-house officers at the frontier, 
 and the original expenses of advertisement, and the profits 
 of its proprietors, my diaphanous mustard paid a dividend to 
 somebody or other, all the way here ! I wonder it is not 
 more diaphanous by this time ! 
 
 An age of progress, indeed, in which the founding of my 
 poor St. George's company, growing its own mustard, and 
 desiring no dividends, may well seem difficult. I have scarcely 
 had courage yet to insist on that second particular, but will 
 try to find it, on this Waterloo day. 
 
 Observe, then, once for all, it is to be a company for Alms- 
 giving, not for dividend-getting. For I still believe in Alms- 
 giving, though most people now-a-days do not, but think the 
 only hopeful way of serving their neighbour is to make a 
 profit out of him. I am of opinion, on the contrary, that 
 the hopefullest way of serving him is to let him make a profit 
 out of me, and I only ask the help of people who are at one 
 with me in that mind. 
 
 Alms-giving, therefore, is to be our function ; yet alms 
 only of a certain sort. For there are bedesmen and bedes- 
 men, and our charities must be as discriminate as possible. 
 
 For instance, those two steely and stalwart horsemen, who 
 sit, by the hour, under the two arches opposite Whitehall, 
 from ten to four per diem, to receive the public alms. It is 
 tlieir singular and well-bred manner of begging, indeed, to 
 keep their helmets on their heads, and sit erect on horseback ; 
 but one may, with slight effort of imagination, conceive the 
 two helmets held in a reversed manner, each in the mouth of 
 a well-br©d and politely-behaving dog, Irish greyhound, or 
 the like ; sitting erect, it also, paws in air, with the brass 
 
FOES CLAVIGERA. 
 
 251 
 
 instead of copper pan in its mouth, plume downwards, for 
 reception of pence. 
 
 Ready to fight for us, they are, on occasional 18ths oi 
 June." 
 
 Doubtless, and able-bodied ; — barons of truest make : but 
 1 thought your idea of discriminate charity was to give rather 
 to the sick than .the able-bodied ? and that you have no hope 
 of interfering henceforward, except by money payments, in 
 any foreign affairs ? 
 
 " But the Guards are necessary to keep order in the Park.'' 
 Yes, certainly, and farther than the Park. The two breast- 
 plated figures, glittering in transfixed attitudes on each side of 
 the authoritative clock, are, indeed, very precious time-piece 
 ornamentation. No watchmaker's window in Paris or Ge- 
 neva can show the like. Finished little figures, perfect down 
 to the toes of their boots, — the enamelled clasp on the girdle 
 of the British Constitution ! You think the security of that 
 depends on the freedom of your press, and the purity of your 
 elections ? 
 
 Do but unclasp this piece of dainty jewellery ; send the 
 metal of it to the melting-pot, and see where your British 
 Constitution will be, in a few turns of the hands of the fault- 
 less clock. They are precious statues, these, good friends ; 
 set there to keep you and me from having too much of our 
 own way ; and I joyfully and gratefully dro[) my penny into 
 each helmet as I pass by, though I expect no other dividend 
 from that investment than good order, picturesque effect, 
 and an occasional flourish on the kettle-drum. 
 
 Likewise, from their contributed pence, the St. George's 
 Company must be good enough to expect dividend only in 
 good order and picturesque effect of another sort. For my 
 notion of discriminate charity is by no means, like most other 
 people's, the giving to unable-bodied paupers. My alms- 
 people are to be the ablest bodied I can find ; the ablest 
 minded I can make ; and from ten to four every day will bo 
 on duty. Ten to four, nine to three, or perhaps six to twelve ; 
 — just the time those two gilded figures sit with their tools 
 idle on their slioulders, (being fortunately without employ. 
 
252 
 
 FOnS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 ment,) my ungilcled, but not unstately, alrns-men shall stand 
 with tools at work, mattock or flail, axe or hammer. And I 
 do not doubt but in little time, they will be able to thresh 
 or hew rations for their day out of the ground, and that our 
 help to them need only be in giving them that to hew them 
 out of. Which, you observe, is just what I ask may be 
 bouo-ht for them. 
 
 ^' ' May be bought,' but by whom ? and for whom, hovr dis^ 
 tributed, in whom vested ? " and much more you have to ask. 
 
 As soon as I am sure vou understand w^hat needs to be 
 done, I will satisfy you as to the way of doing it. 
 
 But I will not let you know my plans, till you acknowledge 
 my principles, which I have no expectation of your doing 
 yet awhile. 
 
 June 22nd, 
 
 " Bouo:ht for them " — for whom ? How should I know ? 
 The best people I can find, or make, as chance may send 
 them : the Third Fors must look to it. Surely it cannot 
 matter much, to you, whom the thing helps, so long as you 
 are quite sure, and quite content, that it won't help you? 
 
 That last sentence is wonderfully awkward English, not to 
 say ungrammatical ; but I must write such English as may 
 come to-day, for there's something wrong with the Post, or 
 the railroads, and I have no revise of what I wrote for 3'ou 
 at Florence, a fortnight since ; so that must be left for the 
 August Letter, and meanwhile I must write something 
 quickly in its place, or be too late for the first of July. Of 
 the many things I have to say to you, it matters little which 
 comes first ; indeed, I rather like the Third Fors to take the 
 order of them into her hands, out of mine. 
 
 I repeat my question. It surely cannot matter to you 
 whom the thing helps, so long as you are content that it 
 won't, or can't, help you ? But are you content so ? For 
 that is the essential condition of the whole business — I will 
 not speak of it in terms of money- — are you content to give 
 work ? Will you build a bit of wall, suppose — to serve your 
 neighbour, expecting no good of the wall yourself ? If so,, 
 you must be satisfied to build the wall for the man who wants 
 
FOBS GLAVIGERA, 
 
 253 
 
 it built ; you must not be resolved first to be sure that he is 
 the best man in the village. Help any one, anyhow you can : 
 so, in order, the greatest possible number will be helped ; nay, 
 in the end, perhaps, you may get some shelter from the wind 
 under your charitable wall yourself ; but do not expect it, 
 nor lean on any promise that you shall find your bread again, 
 once cast away ; I can only say that of what I have chosen 
 to cast fairly on the waters myself, I have never yet, after 
 any number of days, found a crumb. Keep what you want ; 
 cast what you can, and expect nothing back, once lost, or 
 once given. 
 
 But for the actual detail of the way in which benefit might 
 thus begin, and diffuse itself, here is an instance close at 
 hand. Yesterday a thunder-shower broke over Verona in the 
 early afternoon ; and in a quarter of an hour the streets were 
 an inch deep in water over large spaces, and had little rivers 
 at each side of them. All these little rivers ran away into 
 the large river — the Adige, which plunges down under the 
 bridges of Verona, writhing itself in strong rage ; for Verona, 
 with its said bridges, is a kind of lock-gate upon the Adige, 
 half open — lock-gate on the ebbing rain of all the South 
 Tyrolese Alps. The little rivers ran into it, not out of the 
 streets only, but from all the hillsides ; millions of sudden 
 streams ; if you look at Charles Dickens's letter about the 
 lain in Glencoe, in Mr. Forster's Life of him, it will give you 
 a better idea of the kind of thing than I can, for my forte 
 is really not description, but political economy. Two hours 
 afterwards the sky was clear, the streets dry, the whole thun- 
 der-sliower was in the Adige, ten miles below Verona, making 
 the best of its way to the sea, after swelling the Po a little 
 (which is inconveniently high already), and I went out with 
 my friends to see the sun set clear, as it was likely to do, 
 and did, over the Tyrolese mountains. 
 
 The place fittest for such purpose is a limestone crag about 
 five miles nearer the hills, rising out of the bed of a torrent, 
 which, as usual, I found a bed only ; a little washing of the 
 sand into moist masses here and there being the only evi- 
 dence of the past rain. 
 
254 
 
 F0R8 GLAVIGERA. 
 
 Above it, where the rocks were dry, we sat down, to draw, 
 or to look ; but I was too tired to draw, and cannot any more 
 look at a sunset with comfort, because, now that I am fifty» 
 three, the sun seems to me to set so horribly fast ; when one 
 was young, it took its time ; but now it always drops like a 
 shell, and before I can get any image of it, is gone, and 
 another day with it. 
 
 So, instead of looking at the sun, I got thinking about the 
 dry bed of the stream, just beneath. Ugly enough it was ; 
 cut by occasional inundation irregularly out of the thick 
 masses of old Alpine shingle, nearly every stone of it the 
 size of an ostrich-egg. And, by the way, the average size 
 of shingle in given localities is worth your thinking about, 
 geologically. All through this Veronese plain the stones 
 are mostly of ostrich-egg size in shape ; some forty times as 
 big as the pebbles of English shingle (say of the Addington 
 Hills), and not flat nor round ; but resolvedly oval. Now 
 there is no reason, that 1 know of, why large mountains 
 should break into large pebbles, and small ones into small ; 
 and indeed the consistent reduction of our own masses of 
 flint, as big as a cauliflower, leaves and all, into the flattish 
 rounded pebble, seldom wider across than half a crown, of 
 the banks of Addington, is just as strange a piece of sys- 
 tematic reduction as the grinding of Monte Baldo into sculpt- 
 ure of ostrich-eggs : — neither of the processes, observe, de- 
 pending upon questions of time, but of method of fracture. 
 
 The evening drew on, and two peasants who had been cut- 
 ting hay on a terrace of meadow among the rocks, left their 
 Avork, and came to look at the sketchers, and make out, if 
 they could, what we wanted on their ground. They did not 
 speak to us, but bright light came into the face of one, evi- 
 dently the master, on being spoken to, and excuse asked of 
 him for our presence among his rocks, by which he courte- 
 ously expressed himself as pleased, no less than (though this 
 he did not say) puzzled. 
 
 Some talk followed, of cold and heat, and anything else 
 one knew the Italian for, or could understand the Veronese 
 for (Veronese being more like Spanish than Italian) ; and I 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 255 
 
 praised the country, as was just, or at least as I could, and 
 said I should like to live there. Whereupon he commended 
 it also, in measured terms ; and said the wine was good. 
 '^But the water?" I asked, pointing to the dry river-bed. 
 Tlie water was bitter, he said, and little wholesome. " Why, 
 then, have you let all that thunder-shower go down the 
 Adige, three hours ago ? " " That was the way the show- 
 ers came." Yes, but not the way they ought to go." 
 (We were standing by the side of a cleft in the limestone 
 which ran down through ledge after ledge, from the top of 
 the cliff, mostly barren ; but my farmer's man had led two of 
 his grey oxen to make what they could of supper from the 
 tufts of grass on the sides of it, half an hour before). "If 
 you h?d ever been at the little pains of throwing half-a-dozen 
 yards of wall liere, from rock to rock, you would have had, 
 at this moment, a pool of standing water as big as a mill- 
 pond, kept out of that thunder-shower, which very water, to- 
 morrow morning, will probably be washing away somebody's 
 hay-stack into the Po." 
 
 The above was what I wanted to say ; but didn't know 
 the Italian for hay-stack. I got enough out to make the 
 farmer understand what I meant. 
 
 Yes, he said, that would be very good, but "la spesa ?" 
 
 "The expense !" "What would be the expense to you 
 of ^ratherinii: a few stones from this hillside? And the idle 
 minutes, gathered out of a week, if a neighbour or two 
 joined in the work, could do all the building." He paused 
 at this — the idea of neighbours joining in work appearing 
 to him entirely abortive, and untenable by a rational being. 
 Which indeed, throughout Christendom, it at present is, — 
 thanks to the beautiful instructions and orthodox catechisms 
 impressed by the two great sects of Evangelical and Papal 
 pardoners on the minds of their respective flocks — (and on 
 their lips also, early enough in the lives of the little bleating 
 things. " Che cosa 6 la fede ? " I heard impetuously inter- 
 rogated of a seven years' old one, by a conscientious lady in 
 a black gown and white cap, in St. Michael's, at Lucca, and 
 answered in a glib speech a quarter of a minute long). 
 
256 
 
 F0R8 GLAVIGEJIA. 
 
 Neither have I ever thought of, far less seriously proposed, 
 such a monstrous thing as that neighbours should help one 
 another ; but I have proposed, and do solemnly still propose, 
 that people who have got no neighbours, but are outcasts 
 and Samaritans, as it were, should put whatever twopenny 
 charity they can afford into useful unity of action ; and that, 
 caring personally for no one, practically for every one, they 
 should undertake la spesa " of w^ork that will pay no divi- 
 dend on their twopences ; but will both produce and pour 
 oil and wine where they are most wanted. And I do sol- 
 emnly propose that the St. George's company in England, 
 and (please the University of Padua) a St. Anthony's com- 
 pany in Italy, should positively buy such bits of barren 
 ground as this farmer's at Verona, and make the most of 
 them that agriculture and engineering can. 
 
 Venice, 23r<:Z June, 
 
 My letter will be a day or two late, I fear, after all ; for I 
 can't write this morning, because of the accursed whistling 
 of the dirty steam-engine of the omnibus for Lido, waiting 
 at the quay of the Ducal Palace for the dirty population of 
 Venice, which is now neither fish nor flesh, neither noble nor 
 fisherman — cannot afford to be rowed, nor has strength nor 
 sense enough to row itself ; but smokes and spits up and 
 down the piazzetta all day, and gets itself dragged by a 
 screaming- kettle to Lido next mornino- to sea-bathe itself 
 into capacity for more tobacco. 
 
 Yet I am grateful to the Third Fors for stopping my re- 
 vise ; because just as I was passing by Padua yesterday I 
 chanced upon this fact, which T had forgotten (do me the 
 grace to believe that I knew it twenty years ago), in Anto- 
 nio Caccianiga's Vita Campestre,^ The Venetian Republic 
 founded in Padua — (wait a minute ; for the pigeons are 
 come to my window-sill and T must give them some break- 
 fast) — "founded in Padua, in 1765, the first chair of rural 
 economy appointed in Italy, annexed to it a piece of ground 
 
 * Second Edition, Milan, 1870. (Fratelli Rechiadei), p. 86. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 257 
 
 destined for the study, and called Peter Ardouin, a Veronese 
 botanist, to honour the school with his lectures." 
 
 Yes ; that is all very fine ; nevertheless, I am not quite 
 sure that rural economy, during the 1760 years previous, 
 had not done pretty well without a chair, and on its own 
 legs. For, indeed, since the beginning of those philosophies 
 in the eio-hteenth centurv, the Venetian aristocracy has so 
 ill prospered that instead of being any more able to give land 
 at Padua, it cannot so much as keep a poor acre of it decent 
 before its own Ducal Palace, in Venice ; nor hinder this 
 miserable mob, which has not brains enough to know so 
 much as what o'clock it is, nor sense enough so much as to 
 go aboard a boat without being whistled for like dogs, from 
 choking the sweet sea air with pitch-black smoke, and filling 
 it with entirely devilish noise, which no properly bred human 
 being could endure within a quarter of a mile of them — that 
 so they may be sufficiently assisted and persuaded to embark, 
 for the washing of themselves, at the Palace quay. 
 
 It is a strange pass for things to have reached, under politic 
 aristocracies and learned professors; but the policy and learn- 
 ino: became useless, throui^h the same kind of mistake on 
 both sides. The professors of botany forgot that botany, in 
 its original Greek, meant a science of things to be eaten; 
 they pursued it only as a science of tilings to be named. 
 And the politic aristocracy forgot that their own ''bestness" 
 consisted essentially in their being fit — in a figurative manner 
 — to be eaten, and fancied rattier that their superiority was 
 of a titular character, and that the beauty and power of their 
 order lay wholly in being fit to be — named. 
 
 I must go back to my wall-building, however, for a minute 
 or two more, because you might probably think that my an- 
 swer to the farmer's objection about expense, (even if I had 
 possessed Italian enough to make it intelligible,) would have 
 been an insufficient one; and that the operation of embank- 
 ing hill-sides so as to stay the rain-flow, is a work of enorm- 
 ous cost and difficulty. 
 
 Indeed, a work productive of good so infinite as this would 
 be, and contending for rule over the grandest forces of nature, 
 17 
 
258 FOBS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 cannot be altogether cheap, nor altogether facile. But spend 
 annually one-tenth of the sum you now give to build em- 
 bankments against immaginary enemies, in building embank- 
 ments for the help of people whom you may easily make 
 your real friends, — and see whether your budget does not be- 
 come more satisfactory, so ; and, above all, learn a little 
 hydraulics. 
 
 I wasted some good time, a year or two since, over a 
 sensational novel in one of our magazines, which I thought 
 would tell me more of what the public were thinking about 
 strikes than I could learn elsewhere. But it spent itself in 
 dramatic effects with lucifer matches, and I learned nothing 
 from it, and the public mislearned much. It ended, (no, I 
 believe it didn't end, — but 1 read no farther,) with the burst- 
 ing of a reservoir, and the floating away of a village. The 
 hero, as far as I recollect, was in the half of a house which 
 was just going to be washed down ; and the anti-hero was 
 opposite him, in the half of a tree which was just going to 
 be torn up, and the heroine was floating between them down 
 the stream, and one wasn't to know, till next month, which 
 would catch her. But the hydraulics were the essentially bad 
 part of the book, for the author made great play with the 
 tremendous weight of water against his embankment ; — it 
 never having occurred to him that the gate of a Liverpool 
 dry dock can keep out — and could just as easily for that 
 matter keep in, the Atlantic Ocean, to the necessary depth in 
 feet and inches; the depth giving the pressure, not the super- 
 ficies. 
 
 Nay, you may see, not unfrequently, on Margate sands, 
 your own six-years-old engineers of children keep out the 
 Atlantic ocean quite successfully, for a little while, from a 
 favourite hole ; the difficulty being not at all in keeping the 
 Atlantic well out at the side, but from surreptitiously finding 
 its way in at the bottom. And that is the real difficulty for 
 old engineers ; properly the only one ; you must not let the 
 Atlantic begin to run surreptitiously either in or out, else it 
 soon becomes difficult to stop ; and all reservoirs ought to 
 be wide, not deep, when they are artificial, and should not 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 259 
 
 be immediately above villages (though they might always be 
 made perfectly safe merely by dividing them by walls, so that 
 the contents could not run out all at once). But when reser- 
 voirs are not artificial, when the natural rocks, with adaman- 
 tine wall, and embankment built up from the earth's centre, 
 are ready to catch the rain for you, and render it back as 
 pure as their own crystal, — if you v*:ill only here and there 
 throw an iron valve across a cleft, — believe me — if you 
 choose to have a dividend out of Heaven, and sell the Rain, 
 you may get it a good deal more easily and at a figure or 
 two higher per cent, than you can on diaphanous mustard. 
 There are certainly few men of my age who have watched the 
 ways of Alpine torrents so closely as I liave (and you need 
 not think my knowing something of art prevents me from 
 understanding them, for the first good canal-engineer in Italy 
 was Lionardo da Vinci, and more drawings of water-wheels 
 and water-eddies exist of his, by far, than studies of hair and 
 eyes); and the one strong impression I have respecting them 
 is their utter docility and passiveness, if you will educate 
 them young. But our wise engineers invariably try to man- 
 age faggots instead of sticks ; and, leaving the rivulets of 
 the Viso without training, debate what bridle is to be put 
 in the mouth of the Po ! Which, by the way, is a runniiuj 
 reservoir, considerably above the level of the plain of Lom- 
 bardy; and if the bank of that one should break, any sum- 
 mer's day, there will be news of it, and more cities than 
 Venice with water in their streets. 
 
 Jxiiie 'ZMh. 
 
 Vou must be content with a short letter (I wish I could 
 flatter myself you would like a longer one) this month ; but 
 you will probably see some news of the w^eather here, yester- 
 day afternoon, which will give some emphasis to what I have 
 been saying, not for the first time by any means ; and so I 
 leave you to think of it, and remain 
 
 .Faithfully yours, 
 
 J. RUSKIN. 
 
260 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 LETTER XX. 
 
 MyFeiends, VEKiCE,3rcZJ.ijy,1872. 
 
 You probably thought I had lost my temper, and writ- 
 ten inconsiderately, when I called the whistling of the Lido 
 steamer accursed." 
 
 I never wrote more considerately ; using the longer and 
 weaker word " accursed " instead of the simpler and proper 
 one, cursed," to take away, as far as I could, the appear- 
 ance of unseemly haste ; and using the expression itself on 
 set purpose, not merely as the fittest for the occasion, but 
 because I have more to tell you respecting the general bene- 
 diction engraved on the bell of Lucca, and the particular 
 benediction bestowed on the Marquis of B. ; several things 
 more, indeed, of importance for you to know, about blessing 
 and cursing. 
 
 Some of you may perhaps remember the saying of St. 
 James about the tongue : " Therewith bless we God, and 
 therewith curse we men ; out of the same mouth proceedeth 
 blessing and cursing. My brethren, these things ought not 
 so to be." 
 
 It is not clear whether St. James means that there should 
 be no cursing at all, (which I suppose he does,) or merely 
 that the blessing and cursing should not be uttered by the 
 same lips. But his meaning, whatever it was, did not, in the 
 issue, matter ; for the Church of Christendom has always 
 ignored this text altogether, and appointed the same per- 
 sons in authority to deliver on all needful occasions, bene- 
 diction or malediction, as either might appear to them due ; 
 while our own most learned sect, wielding State power, has 
 not only appointed a formal service of malediction in Lent, 
 but commanded the Psalms of David, in which the blessing 
 and cursino: are inlaid as closelv as the black and white in a 
 mosaic floor, to be solemnly sung through once a month. 
 
 I do not wish, however, to-day to speak to you of the 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 261 
 
 practice of the churches ; but of your own, which, observe, 
 is in one respect singularly different. All the churches, of 
 late years, paying less and less attention to the discipline of 
 their people, have felt an increasing compunction in cursing 
 them when thev did wrono- ; while also, tlie wrons: doinof. 
 through such neglect of discipline, becoming every day more 
 complex, ecclesiastical authorities perceived that, if delivered 
 with impartiality, the cursing must be so general, and the 
 blessing so defined, as to give their services an entirely un- 
 popular character. 
 
 Now, there is a little screw steamer just passjng, with no 
 deck, an omnibus cabin, a flag at both ends, and a single 
 passenger ; she is not twelve yards long, yet the beating of 
 her screw has been so loud across the lagoon for the last five 
 minutes, that I thought it must be a large new steamer com- 
 ing in from the sea, and left my work to go and look. 
 
 Before I had finished w^riting that last sentence, the cry of 
 a boy selling something black out of a basket on the quay 
 became so sharply distinguished above the voices of the 
 always-debating gondoliers, that I must needs stop again, 
 and go down to the quay to see wliat he had got to sell. 
 They were half rotten figs, shaken down, untimely, by the 
 midsummer storms ; his cry of **Fighiaie-' scarcely ceased, 
 being delivered, as I observed, just as clearly between his 
 legs, when he was stooping to find an eatable portion of the 
 black mess to serve a customer with, as when he was stand- 
 ing up. His face brought the tears into my eyes, so open, 
 and sweet, and capable it was ; and so sad. I gave him 
 three very small halfpence, but took no figs, to his surprise : 
 he little thought how cheap the sight of him and his basket 
 was to me, at the money ; nor what this fruit, that could 
 jiot be eaten, it was so evil," sold cheap before the palace 
 of the Dukes of Venice, meant, to any one who could read 
 signs, either in earth, or her heaven and sea.* 
 
 Well ; the blessing, as I said, not being now often legiti- 
 
 * '*And the stars of heaven fell unto the earth, even as a fig-tree 
 casteth her untimely figs, when she is shaken of a mighty wind.** — Rct. 
 VI. 13 J compare Jerem. xxiv. S, and Amos, viii. 1 and 3. 
 
262 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 mately applicable to particular people by Christian priests, 
 they gradually fell into the habit of giving it of pure grace 
 and courtesy to their congregations ; or more specially to 
 poor persons, instead of money, or to rich ones, in exchange 
 for it, — or generally to any one to whom they wish to be 
 polite : while, on the contrary, the cursing, having now be- 
 come widely applicable, and even necessary, was left to be 
 understood, but not expressed ; and at last, to all practical 
 purpose, abandoned altogether, (the rather that it had be- 
 come very disputable whether it ever did any one the least 
 mischief); so that, at this time being, the Pope, in his 
 charmingest manner, blesses the bridecake of the Marquis of 
 B., making, as it were, an ornamental confectionery figure 
 of himself on the top of it ; but has not, in any wise, courage 
 to curse the King of Italy, although that penniless monarch 
 has confiscated the revenues of every time-honoured religious 
 institution in Italy : and is about, doubtless, to commission 
 some of the Raphaels in attendance at his court, (though, I 
 believe, grooms are more in request there), to paint an oppo- 
 sition fresco in the Vatican, representing the Sardinian in- 
 stead of the Syrian Heliodorus, successfully abstracting the 
 treasures of tlie temple, and triumphantly putting its angels 
 to flight. 
 
 Now the curious difference between your practice, and the 
 church's, to which I wish to-day to direct your attention, is, 
 that while thus the clergy, in what efforts they make to re- 
 tain their influence over human mind, use cursing little, and 
 blessing much, your working-men more and more frankly 
 every day adopt the exactly contrary practice of using bene- 
 diction little, and cursing much : so that, even in the ordinary 
 course of conversation among yourselves, you very rarely 
 bless, audibly, so much as one of your own children ; but 
 not unfrequently damn, audibly, them, yourselves, and your 
 friends. 
 
 I wish you to think over the meaning of this habit of yours 
 very carefully with me. I call it a habit of yours^ observe, 
 only with reference to your recent adoption of it. You have 
 learned it from your superiors ; but they, partly in conse« 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 263 
 
 quence of your too eager imitation of them, are beginning 
 to mend their manners ; and it would excite much surprise, 
 novv-a-days, in any European court, to hear tlie reigning 
 monarch address the lieir-apparent on an occasion of state 
 festivity, as a Venetian ambassador heard our James the 
 First address Prince Charles, — " Devil take you, vrhy don't 
 you dance?" But, strictly speaking, the prevalence of the 
 habit among all classes of laymen is the point in question. 
 
 U7l July, 
 
 And first, it is necessary that you should understand accu- 
 rately the difference between swearing and cursing, vulgarly 
 so often confounded. They are entirely different things ; 
 the first is invoking the witness of a S])irit to an assertion 
 you wish to make ; the second is invoking the assistance of 
 a Spirit, in a mischief you wish to inflict. When ill-educated 
 and ill-tempered people clamorously confuse the two invoca- 
 tions, they are not, in reality, either cursing or swearing ; 
 but merely vomiting empty words indecently. True swear- 
 ing and cursing must always be distinct and solemn ; liere is 
 an old Latin oath, for instance, whicli, though borrowed from 
 a stronger Greek one, and much diluted, is still grand : 
 
 I take to witness the Earth, and the stars, and the sea ; 
 the two lights of heaven ; the falling and rising of tlie year ; 
 the dark power of the gods of sorrow ; the sacredness of un- 
 bending Death ; and may the father of all things hear me, 
 who sanctifies covenants with his lightning. For I lay my 
 hand on the altar, and by the fires thereon, and the gods to 
 whom they burn, I swear that no future day shall break this 
 peace for Italy, nor violate the covenant she has made." 
 
 That is old swearing : but the lengthy forms of it appear- 
 ing partly burdensome to the celerity, and partly superstitious 
 to the wisdom, of modern minds, have been abridged, — in 
 England, for the most part, into the extremely simple By 
 God ; " in France into "Sacred name of God " (often the first 
 word of the sentence only pronounced), and in Italy into 
 " Christ " or " Bacchus ; " the superiority of the former Deity 
 being indicated by omitting the preposition before the name. 
 
264 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIOERA. 
 
 The oaths are " Christ,"— never " by Christ and ^^by Bao 
 chus," — never "Bacchus." 
 
 Observe also that swearino- is onlv bv extremelv ifrnorant 
 persons supposed to be an infringement of the Third Com- 
 mandment. It is disobedience to the teaching of Christ ; 
 but the Third Commandment has nothino^ to do with the 
 matter. People do not take the name of God in vain when 
 they swear ; they use it, on the contrary, very earnestly and 
 energetically to attest what they wish to say. But when the 
 Monster Concert at Boston begins, on the English day, with 
 the hymn, " The will of God be done," while the audience 
 know perfectly well that there is not one in a thousand of 
 them who is trying to do it, or who would have it done, if he 
 could help it, unless it was his own will too — that is taking 
 the name of God in vain, with a vengeance. 
 
 Cursing, on the other hand, is invoking the aid of a Spirit 
 to a harm you wish to see accomplished, but which is too 
 great for your own immediate power : and to-day I wish to 
 point out to you what intensity of faith in the existence and 
 activity of a spiritual world is evinced by the curse which is 
 characteristic of the Enorlish tonofue. 
 
 For, observe, habitual as it has become, there is still so 
 much life and sincerity in the expression, that we all feel our 
 passion partly appeased in its use ; and the more serious the 
 occasion, the more practical and effective the cursing becomes. 
 In Mr. Kinglake's " History of the Crimean War," you will 
 find the — th Regiment at Alma is stated to have been mate- 
 rially assisted in maintaining position quite vital to the bat- 
 tle by the steady imprecation delivered at it by its colonel 
 for half-an-hour on end. No quantity of benediction would 
 have answered the purpose ; the colonel might have said, 
 " Bless you, my children," in the tenderest tones, as often as 
 lie pleased, — yet not have helped his men to keep their 
 ground. 
 
 I want you, therefore, first to consider how it happens 
 that cursing seems at present the most effectual means for 
 encouraging human work ; and whether it may not be con- 
 ceivable that the work itself is of a kind which any form of 
 
FOES CLAVIGEIiA, 
 
 2G5 
 
 effectual blessing would iiinder instead of lielp. Then, sec- 
 ondly, I want you to consider what faith in a spiritual world 
 is involved in the terms of the curse we usually employ. It 
 has two principal forms ; one complete and unqualified, ^*God 
 damn your soul," implying that the soul is there, and that we 
 cannot be satisfied with less than its destruction : the other, 
 qualified, and on the bodily members only ; " God damn your 
 eyes and limbs." It is this last form I wish especially to 
 examine. 
 
 For how do you suppose that either eye, or ear, or limb, 
 €a?i be damned ? What is the spiritual mischief you invoke ? 
 Not merely the blinding of the eye, nor palsy of the limb ; 
 but the condemnation or judgment of them. And remember 
 that though you are for the most part unconscious of the 
 spiritual meaning of what you say, the instinctive satisfac- 
 tion you have in saying it is as much a real movement of the 
 spirit witiiin you, as the beating of your heart is a real move- 
 ment of the body, though you are unconscious of that also, 
 till you put your hand on it. Put your hand also, so to 
 speak, upon the source of the satisfaction with which you use 
 this curse ; and ascertain tlie law of it. 
 
 Now this you may best do by considering what it is which 
 will make the eyes and the limbs blessed. For the precise 
 contrary of that must be their damnation. What do you 
 think was the meanintj: of that savin": of Christ's, Blessed 
 are the eyes which see the things that ye see?" For to be 
 made evermore incapable of seeing such things, must be the 
 condemnation of the eyes. It is not merely the capacity of 
 seeing sunshine, which is their blessing ; but of seeing cer- 
 tain things under the sunshine ; nay, periiaps, even without 
 sunshine, the eye itself becoming a Sun. Therefore, on the 
 other hand, the curse upon the eyes will not be mere blind- 
 ness to the dayligiit, but blindness to particular things undet 
 the daylight ; so that, when directed towards these, the eye 
 itself becomes as the Night. 
 
 Again, with regard to the limbs, or general powers of the 
 body. Do you suppose that when it is promised that " the 
 lame man shall leap as an hart, and the tongue of the dumb 
 
2G0 
 
 FORS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 sing " — (Steam- whistle interrupts me from the Capo (T Istria^ 
 which is lying in front of my window with her black nose 
 pointed at the red nose of another steamer at the next pier„ 
 There are nine large ones at this instant, — half-past six, 
 morning, 4th July, — lying between the Churcli of the Re- 
 deemer and the Canal of the Arsenal ; one of them an iron- 
 clad, five smoking fiercely, and the biggest, — Eiigiish, and 
 half-a-quarter of a mile long — blowing steam from all manner 
 of pipes in her sides, and with such a roar through her funnel, 
 — whistle number two from Capo cV Istria — that I could not 
 make any one hear me speak in this room without an effort,) 
 — do you suppose, I say, that such a form of benediction is 
 just the same as saying that the lame man shall leap as a lion, 
 and the tongue of the dumb mourn ? Not so, but a special 
 manner of action of the members is meant in both cases : 
 (whistle number three from Capo d"^ Istria j lam writing 
 on, steadily, so that you will be able to form an accurate idea, 
 from this page, of the iritervals of time in modern music. 
 The roaring from the English boat goes on all the while, for 
 bass to the Capo cV Istria^s treble, and a tenth steamer 
 comes in sight round the Armenian Monastery) — a particu- 
 lar kind of activity is meant, I repeat, in both cases. The 
 lame man is to leap, (whistle fourth iromCapo cV Istria, this 
 time at high pressure, going through my head like a knife,) 
 as an innocent and joyful creature leaps, and the lips of the 
 dumb to move melodiously : they are to be blest, so ; may 
 not be unblest even in silence ; but are the absolute contrary 
 of blest, in evil utterance. (Fifth whistle, a double one, from 
 Capo Istria^ and it is seven o'clock, nearly ; and here's 
 my coffee, and I must stop writing. Sixth whistle — the 
 Capo (?' Istria is ofP, with her crew of morning bathers. 
 Seventh, — from I don't know which of the boats outside — 
 and I count no more.) 
 
 Wi July. 
 
 Yesterday, in those broken sentences, I tried to make you 
 understand that for all human creatures there are necessa- 
 rily three separate states ; life positive, under blessing ; — life 
 negative, under curse ; — and death, neutral between these : 
 
FOES GLAVIGERA, 
 
 267 
 
 and, henceforward, take due note of the quite true assump- 
 tion you make in your ordinary malediction, that the state 
 of condemnation may begin in this world, and separately 
 affect every living member of the body. 
 
 You assume the fact of these two opposite states, then ; 
 but you have no idea whatever of the meaning of your words, 
 nor of the nature of the blessedness or condemnation you 
 admit. I will try to make your conception clearer. 
 
 In the year 18G9, just before leaving Venice, I had been 
 carefully looking at a picture by Victor Carpaccio, repre- 
 senting the dream of a young princess. Carpaccio has taken 
 much pains to explain to us, as far as he can, the kind of life 
 she leads, by completely painting her little bedroom in the 
 light of dawn, so that you can see everything in it. It is 
 lighted by two doubly-arched windows, the arches being 
 painted crimson round their edges, and the capitals of the 
 shafts that bear them, gilded. They are filled at the top with 
 small round panes of glass ; but beneath, are open to the 
 blue morning sky, with a low lattice across them ; and in the 
 one at the back of the room are set two beautiful white Greek 
 vases with a plant in each ; one having rich dai k and pointed 
 green leaves, the other crimson flowers, but not of any spe- 
 cies known to me, each at the end of a branch like a spray 
 of heath. 
 
 These flower-pots stand on a shelf which runs all round the 
 room, and beneath the window, at about the height of the 
 elbow, and serves to put things on anywhere ; beneath it, 
 down to the floor, the walls are covered witii green cloth ; 
 but above, are bare and white. The second window is nearly 
 opposite the bed, and in front of it is the princess's reading- 
 table, some two feet and a half square, covered by a red cloth 
 with a white border and dainty fringe : and beside it her seat, 
 not at all like a reading chair in Oxford, but a very small 
 three-legged stool like a music-stool, covered with crimson 
 cloth. On the table are a book- set up at a slope fittest for 
 reading, and an hour-glass. Under the shelf, near the table, 
 so as to be easily reached by the outstretched arm, is a press 
 full of books. The door of this has been left open, and the 
 
268 
 
 FOJRS CLAViGEBA, 
 
 books, I am grieved to say, are rather in disorder, having 
 been pulled about before the princess went to bed, and one 
 left standing on its side. 
 
 Opposite this window, on the white wall, is a small shrine 
 or picture (I can't see which, for it is in sharp retiring per- 
 spective), with a lamp before it, and a silver vessel hung from 
 the lamp, looking like one for holding incense. 
 
 The bed is a broad four-poster, the ])osts being beauti- 
 fully w-rought golden or gilded rods, variously wreathed and 
 branched, carrying a canopy of warm red. The princess's 
 shield is at the head of it, and the feet are raised entirely 
 above the floor of the room, on a dais which projects at the 
 lower end so as to form a seat, on w'hich the child has laid 
 her crown. Her little blue slippers lie at the side of the bed, 
 — her white dog beside them. The coverlid is scarlet, the 
 white sheet folded half way back over it ; the young girl lies 
 straight, bending neither at waist nor knee, the siieet rising 
 and falling over her in a narrow^ unbroken wave, like the 
 shape of the coverlid of the last sleep, when the turf scarcely 
 rises. She is some seventeen or eighteen years old, her head 
 is turned towards us on the pillow, tlie cheek resting on her 
 hand, as if she were thinking, yet utterly calm in sleep, and 
 almost colourless. Her hair is tied with a narrow riband, 
 and divided into two wreaths, which encircle her head like a 
 double crown. The white nightgown hides the arm raised on 
 the pillow, down to the wrist. 
 
 At the door of the room an angel enters ; (the little dog, 
 though lying awake, vigilant, takes no notice.) He is a very 
 small angel, his head just rises a little above the shelf round 
 the room, and w^ould only reach as high as the princess's chinj 
 if she were standing up. He has soft grey wings, lustreless ; 
 and his dress, of subdued blue, has violet sleeves, open above 
 the elbow, and showing white sleeves below. He comes in 
 without haste, his body, like a mortal one, casting shadow 
 from the light through the door behind, his face perfectly 
 quiet ; a palm-branch in his right hand--a scroll in his left. 
 
 So dreams the princess, with blessed eyes, that need no 
 earthly dawn. It is very pretty of Carpaccio to make her 
 
FOBS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 269 
 
 dream out the angel's dress so particularly, and notice the 
 slashed sleeves ; and to dream so little an angel — very nearly 
 a doll angel, — bringing her the branch of palm, and message. 
 But the lovely characteristic of ail is the evident delight of 
 her continual life. Royal power over herself, and happiness 
 in her flowers, her books, her sleeping and waking, her 
 prayers, her dreams, her earth, her heaven. 
 
 After I had spent my morning over this picture, I had to 
 go to Verona by the afternoon train. In the carriage with 
 me were two American girls with their father and mother, 
 people of the class which has lately made so much money 
 suddenly, and does not know what to do with it : and these 
 two girls, of about fifteen and eighteen, had evidently been 
 indulged in everything, (since they had had the means,) which 
 western civilization could imao-ine. And here thev were, 
 specimens of the utmost which the money and invention of 
 the nineteenth century could produce in maidenhood, — chil- 
 dren of its most progressive race, — enjoying the full advan- 
 tages of political liberty, of enlightened philosophical educa* 
 lion, of cheap pilfered literature, and of luxury at any cost. 
 Whatever money, machinery, or freedom of thought, could 
 do for these two children, had been done. No superstition 
 had deceived, no restraint degraded them: — types, they could 
 not but be, of maidenly wisdom and felicity, as conceived by 
 the forwardest intellects of our time. 
 
 And they were travelling through a district which, if any 
 in the world, should touch the hearts and delight the eyes 
 of young girls. Between Venice and Verona ! Portia's villa 
 perhaps in sight upon the Brenta, — Juliet's tomb to be vis- 
 ited in the evening, — blue against the southern sky, the hills > 
 of Petrarch's home. Exquisite midsummer sunshine, with 
 low rays, glanced through the vine-leaves ; all the Alps were 
 clear, from the lake of Garda to Cadore, and to farthest 
 Tyrol. What a princess's chamber, this, if these are prin- 
 cesses, and what dreams might they not dream, therein ! 
 
 But the two American girls were neither princesses, nor 
 seers, nor dreamers. By infinite self-indulgence, they had 
 reduced themselves simply to two pieces of white putty that 
 
270 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 could feel pain. The flies and dust stuck to them as to clay, 
 and they perceived, between Venice and Verona, nothing 
 but the flies and the dust. They pulled down the blinds the 
 moment they entered the carriage, and then sprawled, and 
 writhed, and tossed among the cushions of it, in vain con- 
 test, during the whole fifty miles, with every miserable sen- 
 sation of bodily affliction that could make time intolerable. 
 They were dressed in thin white frocks, coming vaguely open 
 at the backs as they stretched or wriggled ; they had French 
 novels, lemons, and lumps of sugar, to beguile their state 
 with ; the novels hanging together by the ends of string that 
 had once stitched them, or adhering at the corners in densely 
 bruised dog's-ears, out of which the girls, wetting their fin- 
 gers, occasionally extricated a gluey leaf. From time to time 
 they cut a lemon open, ground a lump of sugar backwards 
 and forwards over it till every fibre was in a treacly pulp ; 
 then sucked the pulp, and gnawed the white skin into leath- 
 ery strings, for the sake of its bitter. Only one sentence 
 was exchanged, in the fifty miles, on the subject of things 
 outside the carriage (the Alps being once visible from a sta- 
 tion where they had drawn up the blinds). 
 Don't those snow-caps make you coo'l ? " 
 « No — I wish they did." 
 
 And so they went their way, with sealed eyes and tor- 
 mented limbs, their numbered miles of pain. 
 
 There are the two states for you, in clearest opposition; 
 Blessed and Accursed. The happy industry, and eyes full of 
 sacred imagination of things that are not (such sweet cosa, e 
 la fedc,) and the tortured indolence, and infidel eyes, blind 
 even to the things that are. 
 
 "How do 1 know the princess is industrious ? " 
 
 Partly by the trim state of her room, — by the hour-glasg 
 on the table, — by the evident use of all the books she has, 
 (well bound, every one of them, in stoutest leather or velvet, 
 and with no dog's-ears), but more distinctly from another 
 picture of her, not asleep. In that one, a prince of England 
 has sent to ask her in marriage : and her father, little liking 
 to part with her, sends for her to his room to ask her what 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 271 
 
 she would do. lie sits, moody and sorrowful ; she, standing 
 before him in a plain housewifely dress, talks quietly, going 
 on with her needlework all the time. 
 
 A work-woman, friends, she, no less than a princess ; and 
 princess most in being so. In like manner, in a picture by 
 a Florentine, whose mind I would fain have you know some- 
 what, as well as Carpaccio's — Sandro Botticelli — the girl who 
 is to be the wife of Moses, when he first sees her at the des- 
 ert-well, has fruit in her left hand, but a distaff in her right.* 
 
 " To do good work, whether you live or die," it is the 
 entrance to all Princedoms ; and if not done, the day will 
 come, and that infallibly, when you must labour for evil 
 instead of good. 
 
 It was some comfort to me, that second of May last, at 
 Pisa, to watch the workman's ashamed face, as he struck the 
 old marble cross to pieces. Stolidly and languidly he dealt 
 the blows, — down-looking, — so far as in any wise sensitive, 
 ashamed, — and well he might be. 
 
 It was a wonderful thing to see done. This Pisan chapel, 
 first built in 1230, then called the Oracle, or Oratory, — 
 "Oraculum, vel Oratorium " — of the Blessed Mary of the 
 New Bridge, afterwards called the Sea-bridge, (Ponte-a- 
 Mare,) was a shrine like that of ours on the bridge of Wake- 
 field ; a boatman's praying-place : you may still see, or might, 
 ten years since, liave seen, the use of sucii a thing at the 
 mouth of Boulogne Harbour, when the mackerel boats went 
 out in a Heet at early dawn. There used to be a little slirine 
 at the end of the longest pier ; and as the Bonne Esperance, 
 or Grace-de-Dieu, or Vierge Marie, or Notre Dame des Dunes, 
 or Reine des Anges, rose on the first surge of the open sea, 
 their crews bared their heads, and prayed for a few seconds. 
 So also the Pisan oarsmen looked back to their shrine, many- 
 pinnacled, standing out from the (juay above the river, as 
 they dropped down Arno under their sea bridge, bound for 
 the Isles of Groeco. Later, in the fifteenth century, there 
 
 * More accurately a rod cloven into three at the top, and so holding 
 the wool. The fruit is a brancli of iipiilcs ; she has golden sandals, and 
 a wreath of myrtle round her hair. 
 
272 
 
 F0R8 GLAVIGERA. 
 
 was laid up in it a little branch of the Crown of Thorns of 
 the Redeemer, which a merchant had brought home, enclosed 
 in a little urn of Beyond-sea" (ultramarine) and its name 
 was changed to " St. Mary's of the Thorn." 
 
 In the year 1840 I first drew it, then as perfect as when it 
 was built. Six hundred and ten j^ears had only given the 
 marble of it a tempered glow, or touched its sculpture here 
 and there, with softer shade. I daguerreotyped the eastern 
 end of it some years later, (photography being then unknown), 
 and copied the daguerreotype, that people might not be 
 plagued in looking, by the lustre. The frontispiece to this 
 letter is engraved from the drawing, and will show you what 
 the building was like. 
 
 But the last quarter of a century has brought changes, 
 and made the Italians wiser. British Protestant missionaries 
 explained to them that they had only got a piece of black- 
 berry stem in their ultramarine box. German philosophical 
 missionaries explained to them that the Crown of Thorns it- 
 self was only a graceful metaphor. French republican mis- 
 sionaries explained to them that chapels were inconsistent 
 with liberty on the quay ; and their own Engineering mis- 
 sionaries of civilization explained to them that steam-power 
 was independent of the Madonna. And now in 1872, row- 
 ing by steam, digging by steam, driving by steam, here, be- 
 hold, are a troublesome pair of human arms out of employ. 
 So the En^ineerinof missionaries fit them with hammer and 
 chisel, and set them to break up the Spina Chapel. 
 
 A costly kind of stone-breaking, this, for Italian parishes 
 to set paupers on ! Are there not rocks enough of Apennine, 
 think you, they could break down instead? For truly, the 
 God of their Fathers, and of their land, would rather see 
 them mar His own work, than His children's. 
 
 Believe me, faithfully yours, 
 
 JOHN RUSKIN, 
 
FOliS OLA ViGEllA, 
 
 273 
 
 LETTER XXI. 
 
 DULWICH, 
 
 ^ l^th August, 1872. 
 
 My Friends, 
 
 I HAVE not yet fully treated the subject of my last letter^ 
 for I must show you how things, as well as people, may be 
 blessed, or cursed ; and to show you that, I must explain to 
 you the story of Achan the son of Carmi, wliich, too prob- 
 ably, you don't feel at present any special interest in ; as 
 well as several matters more about steam-engines and steam- 
 whistling : but, in the meantime, here is my lost bit of letter 
 from Florence, written in continuation of the June number ; 
 and it is well that it should be put into place at once, (I see 
 that it notices, incidentally, some of the noises in Florence, 
 which might with advantage cease) since it answers the com- 
 plaints of two aggrieved readers. 
 
 Fi.ouK.NcK, 10th June, 1872. 
 
 In the page for correspondence you will find a letter from 
 a workman, interesting in many respects ; and besides, suf- 
 ficiently representing the kind of expostulation now con- 
 stantly made with me, on my not advertising either these 
 letters, or any other of my writings. Tliese remonstrances, 
 founded as they always are, very politely, on the assumption 
 tiiat every one who reads my books derives extraordinary 
 benefit from them, require from me at least, the courtesy of 
 more definite answer tlian I have hitherto found time to 
 give. 
 
 In the first place, my correspondents write under the 
 conviction, — a very natural one, — that no individual prac- 
 tice can have the smallest power to change or check the 
 vast system of modern commerce, or the methods of its 
 transaction. 
 
 I, on the contrary, am convinced that it is by his personal 
 conduct that any man of ordinary power will do the greatest 
 18 
 
274 
 
 FORS GLAVIGERA, 
 
 amount of good that is in him to do ; and when I consider 
 the quantity of wise talking which has passed in at one long 
 ear of the world, and out at the other, without making the 
 smallest impression upon its mind, I am sometimes tempted 
 for the rest of my life to try and do what seems to me ra- 
 tional, silently ; and speak no more. 
 
 But were it only for the exciting of earnest talk, action is 
 highly desirable, and is, in itself, advertisement of the best. 
 If, for instance, I had only written in these letters that I dis- 
 approved of advertisements, and had gone on advertising the 
 letters themselves, you would have passed by my statement 
 contemptuously, as one in which I did not believe myself. 
 But now, most of my readers are interested in the opinion, 
 dispute it eagerly, and are ready to hear patiently what I 
 can say in its defence. 
 
 For main defence of it, I reply (now definitely to my cor- 
 respondent of the Black Country). You ought to read 
 books, as you take medicine, by advice, and not advertise- 
 ment. Perhaps, however, you do take medicine by adver- 
 tisement, but you will not, I suppose, venture to call that a 
 wise proceeding? Every good physician, at all events, 
 knows it to be an unwise one, and will by no means consent 
 to proclaim even his favourite pills by the town-crier. But 
 perhaps you have no literary physician, — no friend to whom 
 you can go and say, " I want to learn what is true on such a 
 subject — what book must I read ? " You prefer exercising 
 your independent judgment, and you expect me to appeal to 
 it, by paying for the insertion in all the penny papers of a 
 paragraph that may win your confidence. As for instance, 
 " Just published, the — th number of ' Fors Clavigera^ con- 
 taining the most important information on the existing state 
 of trade in Europe ; and on all subjects interesting to the 
 British Operative. Thousandth thousand. Price 7c?. 7 for 
 3s. 6(7. Proportional abatement on large orders. No intelli^ 
 gent workman should pass a day without acquainting him- 
 self with the entirely original views contained in these 
 pages." 
 
 You don't want to be advised in that manner, do you say ? 
 
FOBS GLAVIOERA, 
 
 275 
 
 but only to know that such a book exists. What good would 
 its existence do you, if you did not know whether it was 
 worth reading ? Were you as rich as Croesus, you have no 
 business to spend such a sum as "Id. unless you are sure of 
 your money's worth. Ask some one who knows good books 
 from bad ones to tell you what to buy, and be content. 
 You will hear of I^hrs, so, in time ; — if it be worth hearing of. 
 
 But you have no acquaintance, you say, among people who 
 know good books from bad ones ? Possibly not ; and yet, 
 half the poor gentlemen of England are fain now-a-days to 
 live by selling their opinions on this subject. It is a bad 
 trade, let me tell them. Whatever judgment they have, 
 likely to be useful to the human beings about them, may be 
 expressed in few words ; and those words of sacred advice 
 ought not to be articles of commerce. Least of all ought 
 they to be so ingeniously concocted that idle readers may re- 
 main content with reading their eloquent account of a book, 
 instead of the book itself. It is an evil trade, and in our 
 company of Mont Rose, we will have no reviewers ; we will 
 have, once for all, our book Gazette, issued every 1st of Janu- 
 ary, naming, under alphabetical list of authors and of titles, 
 whatever serviceable or worthy writings have been published 
 during the past year ; and if, in the space of the year fol- 
 lowing, we have become acquainted with the same thor- 
 oughly, our time will not have been ill-spent, though we hear 
 of no new book for twelve months. And the choice of the 
 books to be named, as well as the brief accounts of them 
 given in our Gazette, will be by persons not paid for their 
 opinions, and who will not, therefore, express themselves 
 voluminously. 
 
 Meantime, your newspapers being your present advisers, 
 I beg you to observe that a number of Iu)7's is duly sent to 
 all the principal ones, whose editors may notice it if they 
 choose ; but I will not pay for their notice, nor for any man's. 
 
 These, then, are my immediate reasons for not advertising. 
 Indirect ones, I have, which weigh with me no less. I write 
 this morning, wearily, and without spirit, being nearly deaf 
 with the bell-ringing and bawling which goes on here, at 
 
276 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 Florence, ceaselessly, in advertisement of prayers, and wares | 
 as if people could not wait on God for what they wanted, 
 but God had to ring for them, like waiters, for what He 
 wanted : and as if they could think of nothing they were in 
 need of, till the need was suggested to them by bellowing at 
 their doors, or bill-posting on their house-corners. Indeed, 
 the fresco-painting of the bill-sticker is likely, so far as I see, 
 to become the principal fine art of modern Europe : here, at 
 all events, it is now the principal source of street effect. 
 Giotto's time is past, like Oderigi's ; but the bill-poster suc- 
 ceeds : and the Ponte Vecchio, the principal thoroughfare 
 across the Arno, is on one side plastered over with bills in 
 the exact centre, while the other side, for various reasons not 
 to be specified, is little available to passengers. 
 
 The bills on the bridge are theatrical, announcing cheap 
 operas ; but religious bills, inviting to ecclesiastical festivi- 
 ties, are similarly plastered over the front of the church once 
 called the Bride " for its beauty ; and the pious bill-stick- 
 ers paste them ingeniously in and out upon sculptured bear- 
 ings of tlie shields of the old Florentine knights. Political 
 bills, in various stages of decomposition, decorate the street- 
 corners and sheds of the markets ; and among the last year's 
 rags of these, one may still read here and there the heroic 
 apostrophe, " Rome ! or Death." 
 
 It never was clear to me, until now, what the desperately- 
 minded persons who found themselves in that dilemma, 
 wanted with Rome ; and now it is quite clear to me that they 
 never did want it, — but only the ground it was once built on, 
 for finance offices and railroad stations ; or, it may be, for 
 new graves, when Death, to young Italy, as to old, comes 
 without alternative. For, indeed, young Italy has just chosen 
 the most precious piece of ground above Florence, and a 
 twelfth-century church in the midst of it, to bury itself in, at 
 its leisure ; and make the summer air loathsome and pestif- 
 erous, from San Miniato to Arcetri. 
 
 No Rome, I repeat, did young Italy want ; but only the 
 site of Rome. Three davs before I left it, I went to see a 
 piece not merely of the rampart, but of the actual wall, of 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 277 
 
 Tullius, which zealous Mr. Parker with fortunate excavation 
 has just laid open on the Aventine. Fifty feet of blocks of 
 massy stone, duly laid ; not one shifted ; a wall which was 
 just eighteen hundred years old when Westminster Abbey 
 was begun building. I went to see it mainly for your sakes, 
 for after I have got past Theseus and his vegetable soup, I 
 shall have to tell you something of the constitutions of Ser- 
 vius Tullius ; and besides, from the sweet slope of vineyard 
 beneath this king's wall, one looks across tlie fields where 
 Cincinnatus was found ploughing, according to Livy; though, 
 you will find, in Smith's Dictionary, that Mr. Niebuhr has 
 pointed out all the inconsistencies and impossibiHties in this 
 legend ;" and that he is ^'inclined to regard it as altogether 
 fabulous/' 
 
 Very possibly it may be so, (not that for my own poor 
 part, I attach much importance to Niebuhr's inclinations,") 
 but it is fatally certain that whenever you begin to seek the 
 real authority for legends, you will generally find that the 
 ugly ones have good foundation, and the beautiful ones none. 
 Be prepared for this ; and remember that a lovely legend is 
 all the more precious when it has no foundation. Cincinnatus 
 might actually have been found ploughing beside the Tiber 
 fifty times over ; and it might have signified little to any 
 one ; — least of all to you or me. But if Cincinnatus never 
 was so found, nor ever existed at all in flesh and blood ; but 
 the great Roman nation, in its strength of conviction tliat 
 manual labour in tilling the ground was good and honourable, 
 invented a quite bodiless Cincinnatus ; and set him, accord- 
 ing to its fancy, in furrows of the field, and put its own words 
 into his mouth, and gave the honour of its ancient deeds into 
 his ghostly hand ; tJiis fable, which has no foundation ; — this 
 precious coinage of the brain and conscience of a mighty 
 people, you and I — believe me — had better read, and know, 
 and take to heart, diligently. 
 
 Of which at another time : the point in question just now 
 being that this same slope of the Aventine, under the wall 
 of Tullius, falling to the shore of Tiber just where the 
 Roman galleys used to be moored, (the marbles worn by the 
 
278 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 cables are still in the bank of it there), and opposite the farm 
 of Cinciniiatus, commands, as you may suppose, fresh air and 
 a fine view, — and has just been sold on " building leases." 
 
 Sold, I heard, to an English company ; but more probably 
 to the agents of the society which is gradually superseding, 
 with its splendid bills at all the street-corners, the last 
 vestiges of Roma, o morte,'* — the " Societa Anonima," for 
 providing lodgings for company in Rome. 
 
 Now this anonymous society, which is about to occupy it- 
 self in rebuilding Rome, is of course composed of persons 
 who know nothing whatever about building. They also care 
 about it as little as they know ; but they take to building, 
 because they expect to get interest for their money by such 
 operation. Some of them, doubtless, are benevolent persons, 
 who expect to benefit Italy by building, and think that, the 
 more the benefit, the larger will be the dividend. Generally 
 the public notion of such a society would be that it was get- 
 ting interest for its money in a most legitimate way, by do- 
 ing useful work, and that Roman comfort and Italian prosper- 
 ity would be largely promoted by it. 
 
 But observe in what its dividends will consist. Knowinof 
 nothing about architecture, nor caring, it neither can choose, 
 nor will desire to choose, an architect of merit. It will give 
 its business to the person whom it supposes able to build the 
 most attractive mansions at the least cost. Practically, the 
 person who can and will do so, is the architect who knows 
 where to find the worst bricks, the worst iron, and the worst 
 workmen, and who has mastered the cleverest tricks by which 
 to turn these to account. He will turn them to account by giv- 
 ing the external effect to his edifices which he finds likely to 
 be attractive to the majority of the public in search of lodging. 
 He will have stucco mouldings, veneered balconies, and cast- 
 iron pillars ; but, as his own commission will be paid on the 
 outlay, he will assuredly make the building costly in some 
 way or other ; and he can make it costly with least trouble 
 to himself by putting into it, somewhere, vast masses of 
 merely squared stone, chiselled so as to employ handicrafts- 
 men on whose wages commission can be charged, and who all 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 279 
 
 the year round may be doing the same thing, without giving 
 any trouble by asking for directions. Hence there will be 
 assuredly in the new buildings an immense mass of merely 
 squared or rusticated stones ; for these appear magnificent to 
 the public mind, — need no trouble in designing, — and pay a 
 vast commission on the execution. 
 
 The interior apartments will, of course, be made as luxurious 
 as possible ; for the taste of the European public is at present 
 practically directed by women of the town ; these having 
 the government of the richest of our youth at the time when 
 they spend most freely. And at the very time when the last 
 vestiges of the heroic works of the Roman Monarchy are 
 being destroyed, the base fresco-painting of the worst times 
 of the Empire is bei7ig faithfully copied^ with perfectly 
 true lascivious instinct, for interior decoration. 
 
 Of such architecture the anonymous society will produce 
 the most it can ; and lease it at the highest rents it can ; 
 and advertise and extend itself, so as, if possible, at last to 
 rebuild, after its manner, all the great cities of Italy. Now 
 the real moving powers at the bottom of all this are essen- 
 tially the vanity and lust of the middle classes, all of them 
 seeking to live, if it may be, in a cheap palace, with as much 
 cheap pleasure as they can have in it, and the airs of great 
 people. By 'cheap' pleasure, I mean, as I will show you in 
 explaining the nature of cursed things, pleasure which has 
 not been won by attention, or deserved by toil, but is 
 snatched or forced by wanton passion. But the mechanical 
 power which gives effect to this vanity and lust, is the in- 
 stinct of the anonymous society, and of other such, to get a 
 dividend by catering for them. 
 
 It has chanced, by help of the third Fors, (as again and 
 again in the course of these letters the thing to my purpose 
 has been brought before me just when I needed it), that 
 having to speak of interest of money, and first of the im- 
 portant part of it consisting in rents, I should be able to lay 
 my finger on the point of land in all Europe where the 
 principle of it is, at this moment, doing the most mischief. 
 But, of course, all our great building work is now carried on 
 
280 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 in the same way ; nor will any architecture, properly so 
 called, be now possible for many years in Europe. For true 
 architecture is a thing which puts its builders to cost — not 
 which pays them dividends. It a society chose to organize 
 itself to build the most beautiful houses, and the strong^est 
 that it could, either for art's sake, or love's ; either palaces 
 for itself, or houses for the poor ; such a society would build 
 something worth looking at, bat not get dividends. True 
 architecture is built by the man who wants a house for him- 
 self, and builds it to his own liking, at his own cost ; not for 
 his own gain, to the liking of other people. 
 
 All orders of houses may be beautiful when they are thus 
 built by their master to his own liking. Three streets from 
 me, at this moment, is one of the sixteenth century. The 
 corner stones of it are ten feet long, by three broad, and two 
 thick — fifty courses of such, and the cornice ; flawless stones, 
 laid as level as a sea horizon, so that the walls become one 
 solid mass of unalterable rock, — four grey cliffs set square in 
 mid-Florence, some hundred-and-twenty feet from cornice to 
 ground. The man who meant to live in it built it so ; and 
 Titian painted his little grand-daughter for him. He got no 
 dividend by his building — no profit on his picture. House 
 and picture, absolutely untouched by time, remain to this 
 dav. 
 
 On the hills about me at Coniston there are also houses 
 built by their owners, according to their means, and pleas- 
 ure. A few loose stones gathered out of the fields, set one 
 above another to a man's height from the ground ; a branch 
 or tw^o of larch, set gable-wise across them, — on these, some 
 turf cut from the next peat moss. It is enough : the owner 
 gets no dividend on his building ; but he has covert from 
 wind and rain, and is honourable among the sons of Earth. 
 He has built as best he could, to his own mind. 
 
 You think that there ought to be no such differences in 
 habitation ; that nobody should live in a palace, and nobody 
 under a heap of turf? But if ever you become educated 
 enough to know something about the arts, you will like to 
 -^ee a palace built in noble manner ; and if ever you become 
 
FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 281 
 
 educated enough to know something about men, you will 
 love some of them so well as to desire that at least they 
 should live in palaces, though you cannot. But it wmU be 
 long now before you can know much, either about arts or 
 men. The one point you may be assured of is, that your 
 happiness does not at all depend on the size of your house — 
 (or, if it does, rather on its smallness than largeness); but 
 depends entirely on your having peaceful and safe possession 
 of it — on your habits of keeping it clean and in order — on 
 the materials of it being trustworthy, if they are no more 
 than stone and turf — and on your contentment with it, so 
 that gradually you may mend it to your mind, day by day, 
 and leave it to your children a better house than it was. 
 
 To your children, and to theirs, desiring for them that they 
 may live as you have lived ; and not strive to forget you, 
 and stammer when any one asks who you were, because, 
 forsooth, they have become fine folks by your help. 
 
 EusTON Hotel, \^th August 
 
 Thus far I had written at Florence. To-day I received a 
 severe lesson from a friend whose teaching is always service- 
 able to me, of which the main effect was to show me that I 
 had been wrong in allowing myself so far in the habit of jest- 
 ing, either in these letters, or in any other of my books on 
 grave subjects ; and that although what little play I had per- 
 mitted, rose, as I told you before, out of the nature of the 
 things spoken of, it prevented many readers from under- 
 standing me rightly, and was an offence to others. The 
 second effect of the lesson was to show me how vain it was, 
 in the present state of English literature and mind, to expect 
 anybody to attend to the real force of the words I wrote ; 
 and that it would be better to spare myself much of the 
 trouble I took in choosing them, and try to get things ex- 
 plained by reiteration instead of precision, or, if I was too 
 proud to do that, to write less myself, and only urge your 
 attention, or aid it, to other people's happier sayings. 
 Which indeed 1 meant to do, as Foi'S went on ; for 1 have 
 always thought that more true force of persuasion might be 
 
282 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 obtained by rightly clioosing and arranging what others 
 have said, than by painfully saying it again in one's own 
 way. And since as to the matter which I have to teach you, 
 all the great writers and thinkers of the world are agreed, 
 without any exception whatsoever, it is certain I can teach 
 you better in other men's words than my own, if I can lay my 
 hand at once on what I want of them. And the upshot of 
 the lesson, and of my meditation upon it, is, that henceforth 
 to the end of the year I will try very seriously to explain, as 
 I promised, step by step, the things put questionably in last 
 year's letters. We will conclude therefore first, and as fast 
 as we can, the debate respecting interest of money which 
 was opened in my letter of January, 1871. 
 
 An impatient correspondent of mine, Mr. W. C. Sillar, who 
 has long been hotly engaged in testifying publicly against the 
 wickedness of taking interest, writes to me that all I say is 
 mysterious, that I am bound to speak plainly, and above every- 
 thing, if I think taking interest sinful, not to hold bank stock. 
 
 Once for all, then, Mr. Sillar is wholly right as to the ab- 
 stract fact that lending for gain is sinful; and he has in 
 various pamphlets, shown unanswerably that whatever is said 
 either in the Bible, or in any other good and ancient book^ 
 respecting usurj^, is intended by the writers to apply to the 
 receiving of interest, be it ever so little. But Mr. Sillar has 
 allowed this idea to take possession of him, body and soul ; 
 and is just as fondly enthusiastic about abolition of usury as 
 some other people are about the liquor laws. Now of course 
 drunkenness is mischievous, and usury is mischievous, and 
 whoredom is mischievous, and idleness is mischievous. But 
 we cannot reform the world by preaching temperance only, 
 nor refusal of interest only, nor chastity only, nor industry 
 only. I am myself more set on teaching healthful industry 
 than anything else, as the beginning of all redemption ; then, 
 purity of heart and body ; if I can get these taught, I know 
 that nobody so taught will either get drunk, or, in any unjust 
 manner, "either a borrower or a lender be." But I expect 
 also far higher results than either of these, on which, being 
 utterly bent, I am very careless about such minor matters as 
 
FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 2S3 
 
 the present conditions either of English brewing or banking. 
 I hold bank stock simply because I suppose it to be safer 
 than any other stock, and I take the interest of it, because 
 though taking interest is, in the abstract, as wrong as war, 
 the entire fabric of society is at present so connected with 
 both usury and war, that it is not possible violently to with- 
 draw, nor wisely to set example of withdrawing, from either 
 evil. I entirely, in the abstract, disapprove of war ; yet have 
 the profoundest sympathy with Colonel Yea and his fusiliers 
 at Alma, and only wish I had been there with them. 1 have 
 by no means equal sympathy either with bankers or land- 
 lords ; but am certain that for the present it is better that I 
 receive my dividends as usual, and that Miss Hill should con- 
 tinue to collect my rents in Marylebone. 
 
 " Ananias over again, or worse," Mr. Sillar will probably 
 exclaim, when he reads this, and invoke lightning against 
 me. I will abide the issue of his invocation, and only beg 
 him to observe respecting either ancient or modern denun- 
 ciations of interest, that they are much beside the mark un- 
 less they are accompanied with some explanation of the 
 manner in which borrowing and Icndinir, when necessary, 
 can be carried on without it. Neither are often necessary in 
 healthy states of society ; but they always must remain so to 
 some extent ; and tlie name ** Mount of Pity," * given still 
 in French and Italian to the pawnbroker's shop, descends 
 from a time when lending to the poor was as much a work of 
 mercy as giving to them. And both lending and borrowing 
 are virtuous, when the borrowing is prudent, and the lending 
 kind ; how much otherwise than kind lending at interest 
 usually is, you, I suppose, do not need to be told ; but how 
 
 * The " Mount ^' is the hoap of money in store for lending without 
 interest. You shall have a picture of it in next number, as drawn by a 
 brave landscape painter four liundred years ago ; and it will ultimately 
 be one of the crags of our own Mont Rose; and well should be. for it 
 was first raised among the rocks of Italy by a Francisc >n monk, for 
 refuge to bhe poor against the usury of the Lombard merchants who 
 gave name to our Lombard Street, and [»erished by their usury, a=? their 
 fc;ucces!5ors are like enough to do also. But the story goes back to 
 Friedrich II. of Germany again, and is too long for this letter. 
 
284 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 much otherwise than prudent nearly all borrowing is, and 
 above everything, trade on a large scale on borrowed capital, 
 it is very necessary for us all to be told. And for a begin- 
 ning of other people's words, here are some quoted by Mr, 
 Sillar from a work on the Labour question recently published 
 in Canada, which, though common-place, and evidently the 
 expressions of a person imperfectly educated, are true, ear- 
 nest, and worth your reading : — 
 
 ^' These Scripture usury laws, then, are for no particular 
 race and for no particular time. They lie at the very foun- 
 dations of national progress and wealth. They form the only 
 great safeguards of labour, and are the security of civil so- 
 ciety, and the strength and protection of commerce itself. 
 Let us beware, for our own sakes, how we lay our hand upon 
 the barriers which God has reared around the humble dwell- 
 ing of the labouring man 
 
 " Business itself is a pleasure, but it is the anxieties and 
 burdens of business arising all out of this debt system, which 
 have caused so many aching pillows and so many broken 
 hearts. What countless multitudes, during the last three 
 liundred years, have gone down to bankruptcy and shame — 
 what fair prospects have been for ever Vjlighted — what happy 
 liomes desolated — what peace destroyed — what ruin and de- 
 struction have ever marched hand in hand with this system 
 of debt, paper, and usury ! Verily its sins have reached 
 unto heaven, and its iniquities are very great. 
 
 " What shall the end of these things be ? God only know- 
 eth. I fear the system is beyond a cure. All the great 
 interests of humanity are overborne by it, and nothing can 
 flourish as it ought till it is taken out of the way. It con- 
 tains within itself, as we have at times witnessed, most potent 
 elements of destruction which in one hour may bring all its 
 riches to nought." 
 
 Here, lastly for this month, is another piece of Marmontel 
 for you, describing an ideal landlord's mode of ^'investing" 
 his money ; losing, as it appears, half his income annually by 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 285 
 
 ^uch investment, yet by no means with " aching pillows " or 
 broken hearts for the result. (By the way, for a lesson in 
 writing, observe that I know tiie Canada author to be imper- 
 fectly educated merely by one such phrase as "aching pillow" 
 — for pillow^s don't ache — and again, by his thinking it re- 
 ligious and impressive to say knoweth " instead of " knows.") 
 But listen to Marmontel. 
 
 "In the neighbourhood of this country-house lived a kind 
 of Philosopher, not an old one, but in the prime of life, who, 
 after having enjoyed everything that he could during six 
 months of the year in town, was in the habit of coming to 
 enjoy six months of his own company in a voluptuous solitude. 
 He presently came to call upon Elise. * You have the reputa- 
 tion of a wise man, sir,' slie said — *tell me, what is your plan 
 of life.' * My plan, madame ? I have never had any,' an- 
 swered the count. ' I do everything that amuses me. I seek 
 everything that I like, and I avoid with care everything that 
 annoys or displeases me.' ' Do you live alone, or do you see 
 people ? ' asked Eiise. * I see sometimes our clergyman, whom 
 1 lecture on morals. I chat with labourers, who are better 
 informed than all our servants. I give balls to little village 
 girls, the prettiest in the world. 1 arrange little lotteries 
 for them, of laces, and ribands.' (Wrong, Mr. Philosopher, 
 as many ribands as you please ; but no lotteries.) 'What?' 
 said Elise, with great surprise, * do those sort of people know 
 what love is ? ' ' Better than we do, madame — better than 
 we do a hundred times ; they love each other like turtle- 
 doves — they make me wish to be married myself!' *You 
 will confess, however,' said Elise, * that they love without any 
 delicacy.' * Nay, madame, delicacy is a refinement of art — 
 they have only the instinct of nature ; but, indeed, they have 
 in feeling what we have only in fancy. I have tried, iike 
 another, to love, and to be beloved, in the town, — there, ca- 
 price and fashion arrange everything, or derange it : — here, 
 tliere is true liking, and true choice. You will see in the 
 course of the gaities I give them, how these simple and ten- 
 der hearts seek each other, without knowing what they are 
 doing.' * You give me,' replied Elise, * a picture of the coun- 
 
286 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 try I little expected ; everybody says those sort of people are 
 so much to be pitied.' ' They were so, madame, some years 
 since ; but I have found the secret of rendering their condi- 
 tion more happy.' 'Oh! you must tell me your secret?' 
 interrupted Elise, with vivacity. *I wish also to put it in 
 practice.' * Nothing can be easier,' replied the count, — this 
 is what I do : I have about two thousand a year of income ; 
 I spend five hundred in Paris, in the two visits that I make 
 there during the year, — five hundred more in my country- 
 house, — and I have a thousand to spare, which I spend on 
 my exchanges.' 'And what exchanges do you make? ' 'Well,' 
 said the count, ' I have fields well cultivated, meadows well 
 watered, orchards delicately hedged, and planted with care.' 
 'Well! what then?' 'Why, Lucas, Blaise, and Nicholas, 
 my neighbours, and my good friends, have pieces of land 
 neglected or worn out ; they have no money to cultivate 
 them. I give them a bit of mine instead, acre for acre ; and 
 the same space of land which hardly fed them, enriches 
 them in two harvests : the earth which is ungrateful un- 
 der their hands, becomes fertile in mine. I choose the seed 
 for it, the way of digging, the manure which suits it best, 
 and as soon as it is in good state, I think of another ex- 
 ^^hange. Those are my amusements.' ' That is charming ! ' 
 cried Elise ; ' 3"ou know then the ai't of agriculture ? ' 'I 
 learn a little of it, madame ; every day, I oppose the theories 
 of the savants to the experience of the peasants. I try to 
 correct what I find wrong in the reasonings of the one, and in 
 the practice of the other.' ' That is an amusing study ; but 
 how you ought to be adored then in these cantons ! these 
 poor labourers must regard you as their father ! ' ' On each 
 side, we love each other very much, madame.'" 
 
 This is all very pretty, but falsely romantic, and not to be 
 read at all with the unqualified respect due to the natural 
 truth of the passages 1 before quoted to you from Marmon- 
 tel. He wrote this partly in the hope of beguiling foolish 
 and selfish persons to the unheard-of amusement of doing 
 some good to their fellow-creatures ; but partly also in really 
 erroneous sentiment, his own character having suffered much 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 287 
 
 deterioration by his compliance with the manners of the 
 (Jourt in the period immediately preceding the French Revo- 
 lution. Many of the false relations between the rich and 
 poor, which could not but end in such catastrophe, are indi- 
 cated in the above-quoted passage. There is no recognition 
 of duty on either side : the landlord enjoys himself benevo- 
 lently, and the labourers receive his benefits in placid grati- 
 tude, without being either provoked or instructed to help 
 themselves. Their material condition is assumed to be neces- 
 sarily wretched unless continually relieved ; while their house- 
 hold virtue and honour are represented (truly) as purer than 
 those of their masters. The Revolution could not do away 
 with this fatal anomaly ; to this day the French peasant is a 
 better man than his lord ; and no government will be possi- 
 ble in France until she has learned that all authority, before 
 it can be honoured, must be honourable. 
 
 But, putting the romantic method of operation aside, the 
 the question remains whether Marmontel is right in his main 
 idea that a landlord should rather take 2,000/. in rents, and 
 return 1,000/. in help to his tenants, than remit the 1,000/. 
 of rents at once. To which* I reply, that it is primarily bet- 
 ter for the State, and ultimately for the tenant, that admin- 
 istrative power should be increased in the landlord's hands ; 
 but that it ought not to be by rents which he can change at 
 his own pleasure, but by fixed duties under State law. Of 
 which, in due time ; — T do not say in my next letter, for 
 that would be mere defiance of the third Fors. 
 
 Ever faithfully yours, 
 
 JOHN RUSKIN. 
 
 LETTER XXII. 
 
 Brant WOOD, 
 
 My Friends, l^^'Z-i September, 1872. 
 
 I AM to-day to begin explaining to you the meaning of my 
 Dwn books, which, some people will tell you, is an egotistical 
 and impertinent thing for an author to do. My own view of 
 
288 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 tlie matter is, that it is generally more egotistical and imper- 
 tinent to explain the meaning of other people's books, — 
 which, nevertheless, at this day in England many young and 
 inexperienced persons are paid for pretending to do. What 
 intents I have had, myself, therefore, in th\^ For s Clavigera^ 
 and some other lately published writings, I will take on me 
 to tell you, without more preamble. 
 
 And first, for their little vignette stamp of roses on title- 
 page. It is copied from the clearest bit of the pattern of 
 the petticoat of Spring, where it is drawn tight over her 
 thigh, in Sandro Botticelli's picture of her, at Florence. I 
 drew it on the wood myself, and Mr. Burgess cut it ; and it 
 is on all my title-pages, because whatever I now write is 
 meant to help in founding the society called of * Monte 
 Rosa;' — see page two hundred and twenty-eighth in the 
 seventeenth of these letters. Such reference, hereafter, ob- 
 serve, is only thus printed, (XVII. 228). 
 
 And I copied this vignette from Sandro Botticelli, for two 
 reasons : first, that no man has ever yet drawn, and none is 
 likely to draw for many a day, roses as well as Sandro has 
 drawn them ; secondly, because he was the onl}^ painter of 
 Italy who thoroughly felt and understood Dante ; and the 
 only one also who understood the thoughts of Heathens and 
 Christians equally, and coultl in a measure paint both Aphro- 
 dite and the Madonna. So that he is on the whole, the most 
 universal of painters ; and take him, all in all, the greatest 
 Florentine workman : and I wish you to know with Dante's 
 opinions, his, also, on all subjects of importance to you, of 
 which Florentines could judge. 
 
 And of his life, it is proper for you immediately to know 
 thus much : or at least, that so much was current gossip 
 about it in Yasari's time, — that, when he was a boy, he ob= 
 stinately refused to learn either to read, write, or sum ; (and 
 I heartily wish all boys would and could do the same, till 
 they were at least as old as the illiterate Alfred), whereupon 
 his father, disturbed by these eccentric habits of his son, 
 turned him over in despair to a gossip of his, called Botti- 
 cello, who was a goldsmith." 
 
FORS CLAVIOERA, 
 
 2S9 
 
 And on this, note two things : the first, that all the great 
 early Italian masters of painting and sculpture, without ex- 
 ception, began by being goldsmith's apprentices : the second, 
 that they all felt themselves 'so indebted to, and formed by 
 the master-craftsman who had mainly disciplined their fingers, 
 whether in work on gold or marble, that they practically con° 
 sidered him their father, and took his name rather than their 
 own ; so that most of the great Italian workmen are now 
 known, not by their own names, but by those of their mas- 
 ters,* the master being himself often entirely forgotten by 
 the public, and eclipsed by his pupil ; but immortal in his 
 pupil, and named in his name. Thus, our Sandro, Alessan- 
 dro, or Alexander's own name was Filipepi ; which name yo\x 
 never heard of, I suppose, till now : nor I, often, but his 
 master's was Botticello ; of which master we nevertheless 
 know only that he so formed, and informed, this boy that 
 thenceforward the boy thought it right to be called " Botti-- 
 cello's Sandro," and nobody else's. Which in Italian is San- 
 dro di Botticello ; and that is abbreviated into Sandro Botti- 
 celh*. So, Francesco Francia is short for Francesco di Francia, 
 or " Francia's Francis," though nobody ever heard, except 
 thus, of his master the goldsmith, Francia. But his own 
 name was Raibolini. So, Philip Brunelleschi is short for 
 Brunellesco's Philip, Brunellesco being his father's Christia)i, 
 name, to show how much he owed to his father's careful 
 training ; (the family name was Lippo) ; and, which is the 
 prettiest instance of all, " Piero della F rancesca," means 
 * Francesca's Peter ; ' because he was chiefly trained by his 
 mother, Francesca. All which I beg you to take to heart, 
 and meditate on, concerning Mastership and Pupilage. 
 
 But to return to Sandro. Having learned prosperously 
 how to manage gold, he takes a fancy to know how to man- 
 age colour ; and is put by his good father under, as it chanced, 
 the best master in Florence, or the world, at that time ; the 
 Monk Lippi, whose work is the finest, out and out, that ever 
 monk did, which I attribute, myself, to what is usually con- 
 
 * Or of their native towns or villages, — these being recognized as 
 masters, also. 
 
 19 
 
290 
 
 FORS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 sidered faultful in him, his having ran away with a pretty 
 novice out of a convent. I am not jesting, I assure you, in 
 the least ; but how can I possibly help the nature of things, 
 when that chances to be laughable ? Nay, if you think of it, 
 perhaps you will not find it so laughable that Lippi should be 
 the only monk (if this be a fact), who ever did good painter's 
 work. 
 
 Be that as it may, Lippi and his pupil were happy in each 
 other ; and the boy soon became a smiter of colour, or colour- 
 smith, no less than a gold-smith ; and eventually an " Alex- 
 ander the Coppersmith," also, not inimical to St. Paul, and 
 for whom Christian people may wish, not revengefully, "the 
 Lord rew^ard him according to his works," though he w^as fain, 
 Demetrius-like, sometimes to shrine Diana. And he painted, 
 for a beginning, a figure of Fortitude ; (having, therefore, 
 just right to give us our vignette to Fors), and then, one of 
 St. Jerome, and then, one of our Lady, and then, one of 
 Pallas, and then, one of Venus with the Graces and Zephyrs, 
 and especially the Spring aforesaid with flowery petticoats ; 
 and, finally, the Assumption of our Lady, with the Patriarchs, 
 the Prophets, the Apostles, the Evangelists, the Martyrs, the 
 Confessors, the Doctors, the Virgins, and the Hierarchies. 
 It is to be presumed that by this time he had learned to read, 
 though we hear nothing of it, (rather the contrary, for he is 
 taunted late in life with rude scholarship,) and was so good 
 a divine, as well as painter, that Pope Sixtus IV. sent for 
 him to be master of the works in his new chapel (the same 
 you have sometimes heard of as the " Sixtine" or " Sistine ") ; 
 wherein he painted Moses, and his wife (see XX. 271, note), 
 very beautifully ; and the Destruction of Korah, and the 
 Temptation of Christ, — all well preserved and wonderful 
 pieces, which no person now ever thinks of looking at, though 
 they are probably the best works of pictorial divinity extant 
 in Europe. And having thus obtained great honour and rep- 
 utation, and considerable sums of money, he squandered all 
 the last away ; and then, returning to Florence, set himself 
 to comment upon and illustrate Dante, engraving some plates 
 for that purpose, which I will try to give you a notion of, 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGEUA, 
 
 291 
 
 some day. And at this time, Savonarola beginning to make 
 himself heard, and founding in Florence the company of the 
 Piagnoni, (Mourners, or Grumblers, as opposed to the men 
 of pleasure), Sandro made a Grumbler of himself, being then 
 some forty years old ; and, — his new master being burned in 
 the great square of Florence, a year afterwards (1498), — he^ 
 came a Grumbler to purpose ; and doing what he could to 
 show " che cosa e la fede," namely in engraving Savonarola's 
 Triumph of Faith," fell sadder, wiser, and poorer, day by 
 day ; until he became a poor bedesman of Lorenzo de' Medici ; 
 and having gone some time on crutches, being unable to stand 
 upright, and received his due share of w^hat I hope we may 
 call discriminate charity, died peacefully in his fifty-eighth 
 year, having lived a glorious life ; and was buried at Florence, 
 in the Church of All Saints, three hundred and fifty-seven 
 years ago. 
 
 So much for my vignette. For my title see II. 16, and 
 XIII. 175. I mean it, as you will see by the latter passage, 
 to be read, in English, as Fortune the Nailbearer," and that 
 the book itself should show you how to form, or make, this 
 Fortune, see the fifth sentence down the page, in II. 16 ; and 
 compare III. 30, 31. 
 
 And in the course of the first year's letters, I tried gradu- 
 ally to illustrate to you certain general propositions, which, 
 if I had set them down in form at once, might have seemed 
 to you too startling, or disputable, to be discussed with pa- 
 tience. So I tried to lead into some discussion of them first, 
 and now hope that you may endure the clearer statement of 
 them, as follows : — 
 
 Pkoposition I. (I. 3, 4). — The English nation is beginning 
 another group of ten years, empty in purse, empty in stomach, 
 and in a state of terrified hostility to every other nation under 
 the sun. 
 
 I assert this very firmly and seriously. But in the course 
 of these papers every important assertion on the opposite 
 Bide shall be fairly inserted ; so that you may consider of 
 them at your leisure. Here is one, for instance, from the 
 Momiiig Post of Saturday, August 31, of this year : — "The 
 
292 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 country is at the present moment in a state of such unex- 
 ampled prosperity that it is actually suffering from the very 
 superabundance of its riches. . . . Coals and meat are at 
 famine prices, we are threatened with a strike among the 
 bakers, and there is hardly a single department of industry 
 in which the cost of production has not been enhanced." 
 
 This is exceedingly true ; the Morning Post ought to have 
 congratulated you further on the fact that the things ^/o* 
 duced by this greater cost are now usually good for nothing : 
 Hear on this head, what Mr. Emerson said of us, even so far 
 back as 1856 (and we have made much inferior articles since 
 then). " England is aghast at the disclosure of her fraud in 
 the adulteration of food, of drugs, and of almost every fabric 
 in her mills and shops ; finding that milk will not nourish, 
 nor sugar sweeten, nor bread satisfy, nor pepper bite the 
 tongue, nor glue stick. In true England all is false and 
 forged. . . . It is rare to find a merchant who knows why 
 a crisis occurs in trade, — why prices rise or fall, or who knows 
 the mischief of paper money.* In the culmination of Na- 
 tional Prosperity, in the annexation of countries ; building 
 of ships, depots, towns ; in the influx of tons of gold and 
 silver ; amid the chuckle of chancellors and financiers, it was 
 found that bread rose to famine prices, that the yeoman was 
 forced to sell his cow and pig, his tools, and his acre of land ; 
 and the dreadful barometer of the poor-rates was touching 
 the point of ruin." f 
 
 Proposition II. (I. 4). — Of such prosperity I, for one, 
 have seen enough, and will endure it no longer quietly ; but 
 will set aside some part of my income to help, if anybody 
 else will join me, in forming a National store instead of a 
 National Debt ; and will explain to you as I have time and 
 power, how to avoid such distress in future, by adhering to 
 the elementary principles of Human Economy, which have 
 been of late wilfully entombed under pyramids of falsehood. 
 
 Wilfully ; " note this grave word in my second propo- 
 sition ; and invest a shilling in the purchase of Bishop 
 
 * Or the use of it, Mr. Emerson should have added, 
 f English Traits, (Routledge, 1856), p. 95. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 293 
 
 Berkeley on Money ^ being extracts from his Querist^ by 
 James Harvey, Liverpool.* At the bottom of tiie twenty- 
 first page you vrill find this query, Whether the continuous 
 efforts on the part of the Times^ the Telegraph^\ the Econo- 
 mist^ the Daily Kews^ and the daily newspaper press, and 
 also of moneyed men generally, to confound money and capi 
 tal, be the result of ignorance or design." 
 
 Of ignorance in great part, doubtless, for " moneyed men, 
 generally," are ignorant enough to believe and assert any- 
 thing ; but it is noticeable that their ignorance always tells 
 on their own side ; \ and the Times and Kco7iomist are now 
 nothing more than passive instruments in their hands. But 
 neither they, nor their organs, would long be able to assert 
 untruths in Political Economy, if the nominal professors of 
 the science would do their duty in investigation of it. Of 
 whom I now choose, for direct personal challenge, the Pro- 
 fessor at Cambridge ; and, being a Doctor of Laws of his 
 own University, and a Fellow of two colleges in mine, 1 
 charge him with having insufficiently investigated the prin- 
 ciples of the science lie is appointed to teach. I charge him 
 with having advanced in defence of the theory of Interest 
 on Mone}^ four arguments, every one of them false, and false 
 with such fallacy as a child ought to have been able to de- 
 tect. I have exposed one of these fallacies at page 14 of 
 the first letter, and the three others at page 246 to 249 in the 
 eighteenth letter, in this book, and I now publicly call on 
 Professor Fawcett either to defend, or retract, the statements 
 so impugned. And this open challenge cannot be ignored 
 by Professor Fawcett, on the plea that Political Economy is 
 his province, and not mine. If any man holding definite po- 
 sition as a scholar in either University, challenged me ])ub- 
 licly and gravely with having falsely defined an elementary 
 principle of Art, I should hold myself bound to answer him, 
 and I think public opinion would ratify my decision. 
 
 * Provost, Henrietta Street, Coven t Garden. 
 
 f The Telegraph has always seemed to me to play fairer than the 
 rest. The words " daily newspaper press " are, of course, too general, 
 X Compare Muiiera Pukerit^ § 140. 
 
294 
 
 FOBS OLAVIOERA. 
 
 Propositiont hi. (1. 5). — Your redemption from the dis- 
 tress into which you have fallen is in your own hands, and 
 in nowise depends on forms of government or modes of 
 election. 
 
 But you must make the most of what forms of govern- 
 ment you have got, by choosing honest men to work them (if 
 you choose at all), and preparatorily, by honestly obeying 
 them, and in all possible ways, making honest men of your- 
 selves ; and if it be indeed, now impossible — as I heard the 
 clergyman declare at Matlock, (IX. 123) for any honest man 
 to live by trade in England, — amending the methods of Eng- 
 lish trade in the necessary particulars, until it becomes 
 possible for honest men to live by it again. In the mean- 
 time resolving that you, for your part, will do good work, 
 whether you live by it or die — (II. 29). 
 
 Proposition IV. (I. 8 — 11). — Of present parliaments and 
 governments you have mainly to inquire what they want 
 with your money when they demand it. And that you may 
 do this intelligently, you are to remember that only a certain 
 quantity of money exists at any given time, and that your 
 first business must be to ascertain the available amount of it, 
 and what it is available for. Because you do not put more 
 money into rich people's hands, when you succeed in putting 
 into rich people's heads that they w^ant something to-day 
 which they had no occasion for yesterday. What they pay 
 you for one thing, they cannot for another ; and if they now 
 spend their incomes, they can spend no more. Which you 
 w^ill find they do, and always have done, and can, in fact, 
 neither spend more, nor less — this income being indeed the 
 quantity of food their land produces, by which all art and all 
 manufacture must be supported, and of which no art or 
 manufacture, except such as are directly and wisely employed 
 on the land, can produce a morsel. 
 
 Proposition V. (II. 18). — You had better take care of your 
 squires. Their land, indeed, only belongs to them, or is said 
 to belong, because they seized it long since by force of hand, 
 (compare the quotation from Professor Fawcett at p. xix of 
 the preface to Mumra Pulveris), and you may think you 
 
FOBS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 295 
 
 liave precisely the same right to seize it now, for yourselves, 
 if you can. So you have, — precisely the same right, — that 
 is to say, none. As they had no right to seize it then, neither 
 have you now. The land, by divine right, can be neithef 
 theirs nor yours, except under conditions which you will not 
 ascertain by fighting. In the meantime, by the law of Eng 
 land, the land is theirs ; and your first duty as Englishmen 
 is to obey the law of England, be it just or unjust, until it is 
 by due and peaceful deliberation altered, if alteration of it be 
 needful ; and to be sure that you are able and willing to obey 
 good laws, before you seek to alter unjust ones, (II. 29). 
 For you cannot know whether they are unjust or not until 
 you are just yourselves. Also, your race of Squires, con- 
 sidered merely as an animal one, is very precious ; and you 
 had better see what use you can make of it, before you let it 
 fall extinct, like the Dodo's. For none other such exists in 
 any part of this round little world ; and, once destroyed, it 
 will be long before it develops itself again from Mr. Darwin's 
 fferm-cells. 
 
 Proposition VI. (V. 72). — But, if you can, honestly, you 
 had better become minute squires yourselves. The law of 
 Enofland nowise forbids vour buvini? anv land which the 
 squires are willing to part with, for such savings as you may 
 have ready. And the main proposal made to you in this 
 book is that you should so economize till you can indeed be- 
 come diminutive squires, and develop accordingly into some 
 proportionate fineness of race. 
 
 Proposition VII. (II. 18). — But it is perhaps not equally 
 necessary to take care of your capitalists, or so-called * Em- 
 ployers.' For your real employer is the public ; and the so- 
 called employer is only a mediator between the public and 
 you, whose mediation is perhaps more costly than need be, 
 to you both. So that it will be well for you to consider how 
 far, without such intervention, you may succeed in employ- 
 in g 7/ ourselves ; and my seventh proposition is accordingly 
 that some of you, and all, in some proportion, should be di- 
 minutive capitalists, as well as diminutive squires, yet under 
 1 novel condition, as follows •. — 
 
296 
 
 FOUS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 Proposition VII J. — Observe, first, that in the ancient and 
 hitherto existent condition of things, the squire is essentially 
 an idle person who has possession of land, and lends it, but 
 does not use it ; and the capitalist is essentially an idle per- 
 son, who has possession of tools, and lends them, but does 
 not use them ; while the labourer, by definition, is a labori- 
 ous person, and by presumption a penniless one, who is 
 obliged to borrow both land and tools, and paying, for rent 
 on the one, and profit on the other, what will maintain the 
 squire and capitalist, digs finally a remnant of roots, where- 
 with to maintain himself. 
 
 These may, in so brief form, sound to you very radical and 
 international definitions. I am glad therefore, that (though 
 entirely accurate) they are not mine, but Professor Fawcett's. 
 You will find them quoted from his Manual of Political 
 Economy at the 147th page in my eleventh letter. He 
 does not, indeed, in the passage there quoted, define the 
 capitalist as the possessor of tools, but he does so quite 
 clearly at the end of the fable quoted in 1. 13, — The plane 
 is the symbol of all capital," and the paragraph given in XI. 
 147, is, indeed, a most faithful statement of the present con- 
 dition of things, which is, practically, that rich people are 
 paid for being rich, and idle people are paid for being idle, 
 and busy people taxed for being busy. Which does not ap- 
 pear to me a state of matters much longer tenable ; but 
 rather, and this is my 8th Proposition (XI. 150) that land 
 should belong to those who can use and tools to those 
 who can use them ; or, as a less revolutionary, and instantly 
 practicable, proposal, that those who have land and tools 
 • — should use them. 
 
 Proposition IX. and last : — To know the " use " either of 
 land or tools, you must know what useful things can be 
 grown from the one, and made with the other. And there- 
 fore to know what is useful, and what useless, and be skilful 
 to provide the one, and wise to scorn the other, is the first 
 need for all industrious men. Wherefore, I propose that 
 schools should be established, wherein the use of land and 
 tools shall be taught conclusively : — in other words, the sci- 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 297 
 
 ences of agriculture (with associated river and sea-culture); 
 
 and the noble arts and exercises of humanity. 
 
 */ 
 
 Now you cannot but see how impossible it would have been 
 for me, in beginning these letters, to have started with a for- 
 mal announcement of these their proposed contents, even 
 now startling enough, probably, to some of my readers, after 
 nearly two years' preparatory talk. You must see also how 
 in speaking of so wide a subject, it is not possible to com- 
 plete the conversation respecting each part of it at once, and 
 set that aside ; but it is necessary to touch on each head by 
 little and little. Yet in the course of desultory talk, I have 
 been endeavouring to exhibit to you, essentially, these six 
 following things, namely, — A, the general character and use 
 of squires ; B, the general character and mischievousness of 
 capitalists ; C, the nature of money ; D, the nature of use- 
 ful things ; E, the methods of fitiance which obtain money ; 
 and F, the methods of work which obtain useful things. 
 
 To these *^six points" I liave indeed directed my own 
 thoughts, and endeavoured to direct yours, perseveringly, 
 throughout these letters, though to each point as the Third 
 Fors might dictate ; that is to say, as light was thrown upon 
 it in my mind by what might be publicly taking place at the 
 time, or by any incident happening to me personally. ^ Only 
 it chanced that in the course of the first year, 1871, one 
 thing which publicly took place, namely the siege and burn- 
 ing of Paris, was of interest so unexpected that it necessarily 
 broke up what little consistency of plan I had formed, besides 
 putting me into a humour in which T could only write inco- 
 herently ; deep domestic vexation occurring to me at the 
 same time, till I fell ill, and my letters and vexations had 
 like to have ended together. So I must now patch the torn 
 web as best I can, by giving you reference to what bears on 
 each of the above six heads in the detached talk of these 
 twenty months, (and I hope also a serviceable index at the 
 two years' end); and, if the work goes on, — But I had better 
 keep all Ifs out of it. 
 
 Meantime, with respect to point A, the general character 
 and use of squires, you will find the meaning of the word 
 
298 
 
 FORS CLAVIGEBA, 
 
 * squire ' given in IJ. 18, as being threefold, like that of Fors. 
 First, it means a rider ; or in more full and perfect sense, a 
 master or governor of beasts ; signifying that a squire has 
 fine sympathy v^^ith all beasts of the field, and understanding 
 of their natures complete enough to enable him to govern 
 them for their good, and be king over all creatures, subduing 
 the noxious ones, and cherishing the virtuous ones. Which 
 *is the primal meaning of chivalry, the horse, as the noblest, 
 because trainablest, of wild creatures, being taken for a type 
 of them all. Read on this point, IX. 119 — 121, and if you 
 can see my larger books, at your library, § 205 of Aratra Pen- 
 telici J and the last lecture in Eagles Nest,^ And observe 
 farther that it follows from what is noted in those places, 
 that to be a good squire, one must have the instincts of ani- 
 mals as well as those of men ; but that the typical squire is 
 apt to err somewhat on the low^er side, and occasionally to 
 have the instincts of animals instead of those of men. 
 
 Secondly. The word ' Squire ' means a Shield-bearer ; — 
 properly, the bearer of some superior person's shield ; but at 
 all events, the declarer, by legend, of good deserving and 
 good intention, either others', or his own ; with accompany- 
 inof statement of his resolution to defend and maintain the 
 same ; and that so persistently that, rather than lose iiis 
 shield, he is to make it his death-bed : and so honourably 
 and without thought of vulgar gain, that it is the last blame 
 of base governments to become "shield-sellers;" (compare 
 Munera Pulveris, § 127.) On this part of the Squire's char- 
 acter I have not yet been able to insist at any length ; but 
 you wnll find partial suggestion of the manner in which you 
 may thus become yourselves shield- bearers, in 7Yme aiid Tide^ 
 §§ 72, 73, and I shall soon have the elementary copies in my 
 Oxford schools published, and you may then learn, if you 
 will, somewdiat of shield-drawing and painting. 
 
 And thirdly, the word ' Squire ' means a Carver, properly 
 a carver at some one else's feast ; and typically, has reference 
 to the Squire's duty as a Carver at all men's feasts, being 
 
 * Compare also Mr. Maurice's sermon for the fourth Sunday aftei 
 Trinity iu Vol. II. of third series. (Smith Elder & Co., no date.) 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 299 
 
 Lord of Land, and therefore giver of Food ; in whicii func= 
 tion his lady, as you have heard now often enough, (first 
 from Carlyie), is properly styled Loaf-giver : her duty being, 
 however, first of all to find out where all loaves come from ; 
 for, quite retaining his character in the other two respects, 
 the typical squire is apt to fail in this, and to become rather 
 a loaf-eater, or consumer, than giver, (compare X. 133, and X. 
 140) ; though even in that capacity the enlightened press of 
 your day thinks you cannot do without him. (VIL 97.) 
 Therefore, for analysis of what he has been, and may be, I 
 have already specified to you certain squires, whose history 
 I wish you to know and tiiink over; (with many others in 
 due course ; but, for the present, those already specified are 
 enough,) namely, the Theseus of the Elgin Marbles and Mid- 
 summer Night's Dream, (IL 17); the best, and unfortunatest* 
 of the Kings of France, *St. Louis' (IIL 34) ; the best and 
 unfortunatest of the Kings of England, Henry II. (III. 35) ; 
 the Lion-heart of England (III. 36) , ICdward III. of England 
 and his lion's whelp, (IV. 55) ; again and again the two 
 Second Friedrichs, of Germany and Prussia ; Sir John Hawk- 
 wood, (L 7, and XV. 204) ; SirTliomas More, (VIL 89) ; Sir 
 Francis Drake, (XIII. 180) ; and Sir Richard Grenville, (IX. 
 119). Now all these squires arc alike in their high quality of 
 captainship over man and beast ; they were pre-eminently 
 the best men of their surrounding groups of men ; and the 
 guides of their people, faithfully recognized for such ; unless 
 when their people got drunk, (which sometimes happened, 
 with sorrowful issue,) and all equality with them seen to be 
 divinely impossible. (Compare XIV. 192). And that most of 
 them lived by thieving does not, under tlie conditions of 
 their day, in any wise detract from their virtue, or impair 
 their delightfulness, (any more than it does that of your, on 
 the whole I suppose, favourite, Englishman, and nomadic 
 
 * In calling a man pre-eminently unfortunate, I do not mean that, as 
 tompared with others, he is absolulely less prosperous ; but that he is 
 one who has met with the least help or the greatest hostility, from the 
 Third Fors, in proportion to the wiadom of his purposes, and virtue of 
 his character. 
 
300 
 
 FORS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 Squire of Sherwood, Robin Hode or Hood) ; the theft, or 
 piracy, as it might happen, being always effected with a good 
 conscience, and in an open, honourable and merciful manner. 
 Thus, in the account of Sir Francis's third voyage, which 
 was faithfully taken out of the reports of Mr. Christofer 
 Ceely, Ellis Hixon, and others who were in the same voyage 
 with him, by Philip Nichols, preacher, revised and annotated 
 by Sir BVancis himself, and set forth by his nephew, what I 
 told you about his proceedings on the coast of Spanish 
 America (XIII. 180) is thus summed, — 
 
 "There were at this time belonoincr to Cartha^rene, Nom- 
 bre de Dios, Rio Grand, Santa Martha, Rio de Hacha, Venta 
 Cruz, Veragua, Nicaragua, the Honduras, Jamaica, &c. about 
 two hundred fregates,* some of a hundred and twenty tunnes, 
 other but of tenne or twelve tunne, but the most of thirty or 
 forty tunne, which all had entercourse betweene Carthagene 
 and Nombre de Dios, the most of w^hich, during our abode in 
 those parts, wee tooke, and some of them twice or thrice each, 
 yet never burnt nor suncke any, unless they were made out 
 men-of-warre against us. . . . Many strange birds, beastes, 
 and fishes, besides, fruits, trees, plants and the like were 
 scene and observed of us in this journey, which, willingly, 
 wee pretermit, as hastening to the end of our voyage, which 
 from this Cape of St. Anthony wee intended to finish by sayl- 
 ing the directest and speediest way homeward, and accord- 
 ingly even beyonde our owne expectation most happily per- 
 formed. For whereas our captaine had purposed to touch 
 at New-found-land, and there to have watered, which would 
 have been some let unto us, though wee stood in great want 
 of water, yet God Almighty so provided for us, by giving us 
 good store of raine water, that wee were sufficiently furnished; 
 and within twenty-three dayes wee past from the Cape of 
 Florida to the lies of Silley, and so arriv^ed at Plimouth on 
 Sunday, about sermon-time, August the Ninth, 1573, at what 
 time the newes of our captaine's returne brought unto his" 
 
 * Italian ftregata," I believe polished sided" ship, for swiftness^ 
 fricata ; ** but the derivation is uncertain. 
 
FOES CLAVIOERA, 
 
 301 
 
 (people ?) did so speedily pass over all the church, and sur- 
 pass their mindes with desire and delight to see him, that 
 very fewe or none remained with the preacher, all hastening 
 to see the evidence of God's love and blessing towards our 
 gracious Queene and countrey, by the fruite of our captaines 
 labour and successe. Soli Deo gloria." 
 
 I am curious to know, and hope to find, that the deserted 
 preacher was Mr. Philip Nichols, the compiler afterwards of 
 this log-book of Sir Francis. 
 
 Putting out of the question, then, this mode of their liveli- 
 hood, you will find all these squires essentially "captaines," 
 head, or chief persons, occupied in maintaining good order, 
 and putting things to rights, so that they naturally become 
 chief Lawyers without Wigs, (otherwise called Kings), in the 
 districts accessible to them. Of whom I have named first, 
 the Athenian Theseus, setter to rights," or "settler," his 
 name means ; he being both the founder of the first city 
 whose history you are to know, and the first true Ruler of 
 beasts : for his mystic contest with the Minotaur is the fable 
 through which the Greeks taught what they knew of the 
 more terrible and mysterious relations between the lower 
 creatures and man ; and the desertion of him by Ariadne, 
 (for indeed he never deserted her, but she him, — involun- 
 taiily, poor sweet maid, — Death calling her in Diana's name,) 
 is the conclusive stroke against him by the Third Fors. 
 
 Of this great squire, then, you shall really have some ac- 
 count in next letter. I have only further time now to tell you 
 that this month's frontispiece is a facsimile of two separate 
 parts of an engraving originally executed by Sandro Botti- 
 celli. An impression of Sandro's own plate is said to exist 
 in the Vatican ; I have never seen one. The ordinarily extant 
 impressions are assuredly from an inferior plate, a copy of 
 Botticelli's. But his manner of enfjravinof has been imi- 
 tated by the copyist as far as he understood it, and the 
 important qualities of the design are so entirely preserved 
 that the work has often been assigned to the master him- 
 self. 
 
 It represents the seven works of Mercy, as completed by an 
 
302 
 
 FGRS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 eighth work in the centre of all ; namely, lending without 
 interest, from the Mount of Pity accumulated by generous 
 alms. In the upper part of the design are seen the shores 
 of Italy, with the cities which first built Mounts of Pity : 
 Venice, chief of all ; — then Florence, Genoa, and Castruccio's 
 
 Lucca ; in the distance prays 
 the monk of Ancona, who first 
 thought — inspired of heaven 
 ' — of such war with usurers ; 
 |V5W^^ and an angel crowns him, as 
 ^^'v you see. The little dashes, 
 tkiL which form the dark back- 
 
 ground, represent waves of 
 the Adriatic ; and thev, as well 
 
 THE MOUNT OF COMPASSION. AND CORONATION OP ITS BUILDER. 
 Drawn thus by Sandbo Botticelli. 
 
 as all the rest, are rightfully and manfully engraved, though 
 you may not think it ; but I have no time to-day to give 
 you a lecture on engraving, nor to tell you the story of 
 Mounts of Pity, which is too pretty to be spoiled by haste ; 
 but I hope to get something of Theseus and Frederick the 
 Second, preparatorily, into next letter. Meantime I must 
 
FORS CLAVIGKUA. 
 
 303 
 
 close this one by answering two requests, which, though 
 made to ine privately, I think it right to state my reasons 
 for refusing publicly. 
 
 The first was indeed rather the offer of an honour to me, than 
 a request, in tiie proposal that I should contribute to the 
 Maurice Memorial Fund. 
 
 I loved Mr. Maurice, learned much from him, worked under 
 his guidance and authority, and liave deep regard and respect 
 for some persons whose names I see on the Memorial Com- 
 mittee. 
 
 But I must decline joining them : first, because I dislike 
 all memorials, as such ; thinking that no man who deserves 
 them, needs them ; and secondly, because, though I affec- 
 tionately remember and honour Mr. Maurice, I liave no mind 
 to put his bust in Westminster Abbey. For I do not think of 
 him as one of the great, or even one of the leading, men of 
 the England of his day ; but only as the centre of a group of 
 students whom his amiable sentimentalism at once exalted 
 and stimulated, while it relieved them from any painful neces- 
 sities of exact scholarship in divinit3\ And as he was always 
 honest, (at least in intention), and unfailingly earnest and 
 kind, he was harmless and soothing in error, and vividly help- 
 ful wdien unerrinsr. I have above referred vou, and most 
 thankfully, to his sermon on the relations of man to inferior 
 creatures ; and I can quite understand how pleasant it was 
 for a disciple panic-struck by the literal aspect of the doc- 
 trine of justification by faith, to be told, in an earlier dis- 
 course, that " We speak of an anticipation as justified by the 
 event. Supposing that anticipation to bo something so inward, 
 so essential to me, that my own very existence is involved in 
 it, I am justified by it." But consolatory equivocations of 
 this kind have no enduring place in literature ; nor has Mr. 
 Maurice more real right to a niche in Westminster Abbey 
 than any other tender-hearted Christian gentleman, who has 
 successfully, for a time, promoted the charities of iiis faith, 
 and parried its discussion. 
 
 I have been also asked to contribute to the purchase of the 
 Alexandra Park ; and I will not : and beg you, my working 
 
304 
 
 FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 readers, to understand, once for all, that I wish your homes to 
 be comfortable, and refined ; and that I will resist, to the ut- 
 most of my power, all schemes founded on the vile modern 
 notion that you are to be crowded in kennels till you are nearly 
 dead, that other people may make money by your work, and 
 then taken out in squads by tramway and railway, to be re- 
 vived and refined by science and art. Your first business is 
 to make your homes healthy and delightful : then, keep your 
 wives and children there, and let your return to them be 
 your daily " holy day." 
 
 Ever faithfully yours, 
 
 JOHN RUSKTN. 
 
 LETTER XXIII. 
 
 Brantwood, 
 
 Mr Friends, October 
 
 At breakfast this morning, which I was eating sulkily, 
 because I had final press-corrections to do on Fors (and the 
 last are always worst to do, being without repentance.) I 
 took up the Pall Mall Gazette for the 21st, and chanced on 
 two things, of which one much interested, the other mucli 
 pleased me, and both are to our present purpose. 
 
 What interested me was the statement in the column of 
 " This Evening's News," made by a gentleman much ac- 
 quainted with naval business, that Mr. Goschen is the one 
 man to whom, and to whom alone, we can as a nation look 
 even for permission to retain our power at sea." 
 
 Whether entirely, or, as I apprehend, but partially, true, 
 this statement is a remarkable one to appear in the journals 
 of a nation which has occupied its mind lately chiefly on the 
 subject of its liberties ; and I cannot but wonder what Sir 
 Francis Drake would have thought of such a piece of Even- 
 ing's News, communicated in form to him! 
 
 What he would have thought — if you can fancy it — would 
 be very proper for you also to think, and much to our 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 305 
 
 eventual purpose. But the part of the contents of the Pall 
 Mall which I found to bear on the subject of this letter, was 
 the address by a mangled convict to a benevolent gentle- 
 man. The Third Fors must assuredly have determined that 
 this letter should be pleasing to the Touchstone mind, — the 
 gods will have it poetical ; it ends already with rhyme, and 
 must begin in like manner, for these first twelve verses of 
 the address are much too precious to be lost among " news," 
 whether of morning or evening. 
 
 Mr. P. Taylor, honnered Sir, 
 
 Accept these verses I indict, 
 Thanks to a gentle mother dear 
 
 Whitch taught these infant hands to rite. 
 
 And thanks unto the Cliaplin here, 
 
 A heminent relidjous man, 
 As kind a one as ever dipt 
 A beke into the flowing can. 
 
 He points out to me most clear 
 
 How sad and sinfull is my ways. 
 And numerous is the briney tear 
 Whitch for that man I nigtly prays. 
 
 ** * Cohen,' he ses, in sech a voice ! 
 
 * Your lot is hard, your stripes is sore ; 
 But Cohen,' he ses, * rejoice ! rejoice 1 
 And never never steale no more ! ' 
 
 His langwidge is so kind and good. 
 It works so strong on mo inside, 
 
 I woold not do it if I could, 
 I coold not do it if I tryed. 
 
 Ah, wence this moisteur im my eye 
 Whot makes me turn agin my food V 
 
 O, Mister Taylor, arsk not why, 
 Ime so cut up with gratitood. 
 
 Fansy a gentleman like you, 
 No paultry Beak, but a M. P. , 
 
 A riggling in your heasy chair 
 The riggles they put onto me. 
 
 SO 
 
306 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 I see thee shudderin ore thy wine, — 
 
 You hardly Jcnow what you are at, 
 Whenere you think of Us empiyin 
 
 The bloody and unhenglish Cat. 
 
 Well may your indigernation rise ! 
 
 I call it Manley what you feeled 
 At seein Briton's n-k-d b-cks 
 
 By brutial jailors acked and weald. 
 
 ^' Habolish these yere torchiers ! 
 Dont have no horgies any more 
 Of arf a dozen orficers 
 
 All wallerin in a fellers goar. 
 
 ^* Inprisonment alone is not 
 
 A thing of whitch we woold complane ; 
 Add ill-conwenience to our lot, 
 But do not give the convick pain. 
 
 And well you know that's not the wust, 
 Not if you went and biled us whole ; 
 
 The Lash's degeradation ! — that's 
 What cuts us to the wery soul I" 
 
 The questions respecting punishment and reformation, 
 which these verses incidentally propose, are precisely the 
 same which had to be determined three thousand vears ag-o 
 in the city of Athens — (the only difference of any impor- 
 tance beino- that the instrument of execution discussed was 
 club instead of cat); and their determination gave rise to 
 the peculiar form in which the history of the great Athenian 
 Squire, Theseus, — our to-day's subject — was presented to 
 mankind. 
 
 The story is a difficult one to tell, and a more difficult one 
 still to understand. The likeness, or imagined likeness, of the 
 hero himself, as the Greeks fancied him, you may see, when 
 you care to do so, at the British Museum, in simple guise 
 enough. 
 
 Miss Edgeworth, in her noble last novel, Helen^ makes her 
 hero fly into a passion at even being suspected of wishing 
 to quote the too trite proverb that No man is a hero to his 
 valet-de-chambre." But Mr. Beauclerk disclaims it for its 
 
FOBS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 307 
 
 triteness only, when he ought rather to have disclaimed it 
 for its untruth. Every truly great man that ever I heard of, 
 was a principal hero to his servants, and most heroic to 
 those most intimate with him. At all events, the Greeks 
 meant all the world to be to their hero as valets-de-chambre, 
 for he sits mother-naked. Under wdiich primitive aspect, in- 
 deed, I would fain show you, mentally as well as bodily, 
 every hero I give you account of. It is the modern metliod, 
 in order to give you more inviting pictures of people, to 
 dress them — often very correctly, in the costume of the time, 
 wuth such old clothes as the masquerade shops keep. But 
 my own steady aim is to strip them for you, that you may 
 see if they are flesh, indeed, or dust. Similarly, I shall try 
 to strip theories bare, and facts, such as you need to know. 
 
 Mother-naked sits Theseus : and round about him, not 
 nmch more veiled, ride his Athenians, in Pan-x\thenaic pro- 
 cession, honouring their Queen-Goddess. Admired, beyond 
 all other marble shapes in the world ; for which reason, the 
 gentlemen of my literary club here in I.ondon, j>rofessing de- 
 votion to the same i^oddess, decorate their verv comfortable 
 corner liouso in Pall Mall with a copy of this A*:tic sculpt- 
 ure. 
 
 Being therein, themselves, Attic in no wise, but essentially 
 barbarous, pilfering what they cannot imitate : for a truly 
 Attic mind would have induced them to pourtray tfiemselves^ 
 as they appear in their own Pan-Chi istian procession, when- 
 ever and wherever it may be : — presumably, to Epsom downs 
 on the Derby day. 
 
 You may see, I said, the statue of Theseus whenever you 
 care to do so. I do not in the least know whv vou should 
 care. But for years back, you, or your foolish friends, have 
 been making a mighty fuss to get yourselves into the British 
 Museum on Sundays : so I suppose you want to see the 
 Theseus, or the stuffed birds, or the crabs and spiders, or the 
 skeleton of the gorilla, or the parched alligator-skins ; and 
 you imagine these contemplations likely to improve, and 
 sanctify, that is to say, recreate, your minds. 
 
 But are you quite sure you have got any minds yet to be 
 
308 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 recreated ? Before you expect edification from that long 
 gallery full of long-legged inconceivable spiders, and colossal 
 blotchy crabs, did you ever think of looking with any mind, 
 or mindfulness, at the only too easily conceivable short-legged 
 spider of your own English acquaintance ? or did you ever 
 so much as consider why the crabs on Margate sands were 
 minded to go sideways instead of straightforward ? Have 
 you so much as watched a spider making his cobweb, or, if 
 you have not yet had leisure to do that, in the toil of your 
 own cobweb-making, did you ever think how he threw his 
 first thread across the corner ? 
 
 No need for you to go to the British Museum yet, my 
 friends, either on Sundays or any other day. 
 
 " Well, but the Greek sculpture ? We can't see that at 
 home in our room corners." 
 
 And what is Greek sculpture, or any sculpture, to you ? 
 Are your own legs and arms not handsome enough for you 
 to look at, but you must go and stare at chipped and smashed 
 bits of stone in the likenesses of legs and arms that ended 
 their walks and work two thousand years ago ? 
 
 Your own legs and arms are not as handsome as — you 
 suppose they ought to be," say you ? 
 
 No ; I fancy not : and you will not make them handsomer 
 by sauntering with your hands in your pockets through the 
 British Museum. I suppose you will have an agitation, next, 
 for leave to smoke in it. Go and walk in the fields on Sun- 
 day, making sure, first, therefore, that you have fields to walk 
 in : look at living birds, not at stuffed ones ; and make your 
 own breasts and shoulders better worth seeing than the Elgin 
 Marbles. 
 
 Which to effect, remember, there are several matters to be 
 thought of. The shoulders will get strong by exercise. So 
 indeed will the breast. But the breast chiefly needs exercise 
 inside of it — of the lungs, namely, and of the heart ; and this 
 last exercise is very curiously inconsistent with many of the 
 athletic exercises of the present day. And the reason I do 
 want you, for once, to go to the British Museum, and to look 
 at that broad chest of Theseus, is that the Greeks imagined 
 
FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 309 
 
 it to have something better than a Lion's Heart beneath its 
 breadth — a Hero's heart, duly trained in every pulse. 
 
 They imagined it so. Your modern extremely wise and 
 liberal historians will tell you it never was so : — that no real 
 Theseus ever existed then ; and that none can exist now, 
 or, rather, that everybody is himself a Theseus and a little 
 more. 
 
 All the more strange then, all the more instructive, as the 
 disembodied Cicinnatus of the Roman, so this disembodied 
 Theseus of the Ionian ; though certainly Mr. Stuart Mill 
 could not consider him, even in that ponderous block of 
 marble imagery, a utility fixed and embodied in a material 
 object." Not even a disembodied utility — not even a ghost 
 — if he never lived. An idea only ; yet one that has ruled 
 all minds of men to this hour, from the hour of its first being 
 born, a dream, into this practical and solid world. 
 
 Ruled, and still rules, in a thousand ways, which you know 
 no more than the paths by which the winds have come that 
 blow in your face. But you never pass a day without being 
 brought, somehow, under the power of Theseus. 
 
 You cannot pass a china-shop, for instance, nor an uphol- 
 sterer's, without seeing, on some mug or plate, or curtain, 
 or chair, the pattern known as the " Greek fret," simple or 
 complex. I once held it in especial dislike, as the chief 
 means by which bad architects tried to make their buildings 
 look classical ; and as ugly in itself. Which it is : and it 
 has an ugly meaning also ; but a deep one, which I did not 
 then know ; having been obliged to write too young, when I 
 knew only half truths, and was eager to set them forth by 
 what I thought fine words. People used to call me a good 
 writer then ; now they say I can't write at all ; because, for 
 instance, if I think anybody's house is on fire, I only say, 
 " Sir, your house is on fire ; " whereas formerly I used to 
 say, Sir, the abode in which you probably passed the de- 
 lightful days of youth is in a state of inflammation," and 
 everybody used to like the effect of the two p's in " probably 
 passed," and of the two d's in " delightful days." 
 
 Well, that Greek fret, ugly in itself, has yet definite and 
 
310 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 noble service in decorative v^^ork, as black has among colours ; 
 much more, lias it a significance, very precious, though very 
 solemn, when you can read it. 
 
 There is so much in it, indeed, that I don't well know 
 where to begin. Perhaps it will be best to go back to our 
 cathedral door at Lucca, where we have been already. For 
 as, after examining the sculpture on the bell, with the help 
 of the sympathetic ringer, I was going in to look at the 
 golden lamp, my eyes fell on a slightly traced piece of sculpt- 
 ure and legend on the southern wall of the porch, which, 
 partly feeling it out with my finger, it being worn away by 
 the friction of many passing shoulders, broad and narrow, 
 these six hundred years and more, I drew for you, and Mr. 
 Burgess has engraved. 
 
 The straggling letters at the side, read straight, and with 
 separating of the words, run thus : — 
 
 HIC QVEM CRETICVS EDIT DEDALVB EST LABERINTHVS 
 DE QVO NYLLVS VADERE QVIVIT QVI FVIT INTVS 
 NI THESEVS GRATIS ADRIANE STAMINE JVTVS. 
 
 which is in English : — 
 
 This is the labyrinth which the Cretan Dedalus built. 
 Out of which nobody could get who was inside, 
 Except Theseus; nor could he have done it, unless he had been 
 helped with a thread by Adraine, all for love. 
 
 Upon which you are to note, first, that the grave announce- 
 ment, " This is the labyrinth which the Cretan Dedalus built," 
 may possibly be made interesting even to some of your chil- 
 dren, if reduced from mediaeval sublimity, into your more 
 popular legend — This is the house that Jack built." The 
 cow with the crumpled horn will then remind them of the 
 creature who, in the midst of this labyrinth, lived as a spider 
 in the centre of his web ; and the "maiden all forlorn" may 
 stand for Ariadne, or Adriane — (either name is given her by 
 Chaucer, as he chooses to have three syllables or two) — while 
 the gradual involution of the ballad, and necessity of clear- 
 
FOBS GLAVIGERA, 
 
 311 
 
 TTiindedness as well as clear utterance on the part of its 
 singer, is a pretty vocal imitation of the deepening labyrinth. 
 Theseus, being a pious hero, and the first Athenian knight 
 
 who cut his hair short in front, may not inaptly be repre- 
 sented by the priest all shaven and shorn ; the cock that 
 crew in the morn is the proper Athenian symbol of a pugna- 
 cious mind ; and the malt that lay in the house fortunately 
 
312 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGERA, 
 
 indicates the connection of Theseus and the Athenian power 
 with the mysteries of Eleusis, where corn first, it is said, 
 grew in Greece. And by the way, I am more and more 
 struck every day, by the singular Grecism in Shakspeare's 
 mind, contrary in many respects to the rest of his nature ; 
 yet compelling him to associate English fairyland with the 
 great Duke of Athens, and to use the most familiar of all 
 English words for land, " acre," in the Greek or Eleusinian 
 sense, not the English one ! 
 
 ** Between the acres of the rye, 
 These pretty country-folks do lie — 
 
 and again — *^ search every acre in the high grown field," 
 meaning " ridge," or crest," not " ager," the root of ag- 
 riculture." Lastly, in our nursery rhyme, observe that the 
 name of Jack, the builder, stands excellently for Dsedalus, 
 retaining the idea of him down to the phrase, " Jack-of-all- 
 Trades." Of this Greek builder you will find some account 
 at the end of my Aratra Pentelici : to-day I can only tell you 
 he is distinctively the power of finest human, as opposed 
 to Divine, workmanship or craftsmanship. Whatever good 
 there is, and whatever evil, in the labour of the hands, sepa- 
 rated from that of the soul, is exemplified by his history and 
 performance. In the deepest sense, he was to the Greeks, 
 Jack of all trades, yet Master of none ; the real Master of 
 every trade being always a God. His own special work or 
 craft was inlaying or dove-tailing, and especially of black in 
 white. 
 
 And this house which he built was his finest piece of invo- 
 lution, or cunning workmanship ; and the memory of it is 
 kept by the Greeks for ever afterwards, in that running bor- 
 der of theirs, involved in and repeating itself, called the 
 Greek fret, of which you will at once recognise the character 
 in these two pictures of the labyrinth of Daedalus itself, on 
 the coins of the place where it was built, Cnossus, in the 
 island of Crete ; and which you see, in the frontispiece, sur- 
 rounding the head of Theseus, himself, on a coin of the samo 
 city. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 313 
 
 Of course frets and returning lines were used in ornamen- 
 tation when there were no labyrinths — probably long before 
 labyrinths. A symbol is scarcely ever invented just when it 
 is needed. Some already recognised and accepted form or 
 thing becomes symbolic at a particular time. Horses had 
 tails, and the moon quarters, long before there were Turks ; 
 
 but the horse-tail and crescent are not less definitely symbolic 
 to the Ottoman. So, the early forms of ornament are nearly 
 alike, among all nations of any capacity for design : they put 
 meaning into them afterwards, if they ever come themselves 
 to have any meaning. Vibrate but the point of a tool against 
 an unbaked vase, as it revolves, set on the wheel, — you have 
 a wavy or zigzag line. The vase revolves once ; the ends of 
 the wavy line do not exactly tally when they meet ; you get 
 over the blunder by turning one into a liead, the other into 
 a tail, — and have a symbol of eternity — if, first, which is 
 wholly needful, you have an idea of eternity ! 
 
 Again, the free sweep of a pen at the finish of a large let- 
 ter has a tendency to throw itself into a spiral. There is no 
 particular intelligence, or spiritual emotion, in the production 
 of this line. A worm draws it with his coil, a fern with its 
 bud, and a periwinkle with his shell. Yet, completed in the 
 Ionic capital, and arrested in the bending point of the acan- 
 thus leaf in the Corintiiian one, it has become the primal ele- 
 ment of beautiful architecture and ornament in all the ages ; 
 and is eloquent with endless symbolism, representing the 
 power of the winds and waves in Athenian work, and of the 
 old serpent, which is the Devil and Satan, in Gothic work : 
 or, indeed, often enough, of both, the Devil being held prince 
 
314 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 of the power of the air — as in the story of Job, and the lovely 
 story of Buonconte of Montefeltro, in Dante : nay, in this 
 very tail of Theseus, as Chaucer tells it, — having got hold, 
 by ill luck, only of the later and calumnious notion that 
 Theseus deserted his saviour-mistress, he wishes him Devil- 
 speed instead of God-speed, and that, energetically — 
 
 ''A iwenty-dival way the wind him drive.'* 
 
 For which, indeed, Chaucer somewhat deserved, (for he ought 
 not to "have believed such things of Theseus,) the God of 
 Love's anger at his drawing too near the daisy. I will write 
 the pretty lines partly in modern spelling for you, that you 
 may get the sense better : — 
 
 I, kneeling by this flower, in good intent, 
 
 Abode, to know what all the people meant, 
 
 As still as any stone ; till at the last 
 
 The God of Love on me his eyen cast 
 
 And said, Who kneeleth there ? And I answered 
 
 Unto his asking. 
 
 And said, ^' Sir, it am I," and came him near 
 
 And salued him. — Quoth he, What dost thou here 
 
 So nigh mine own flower, so boldly ? 
 
 It were better worthy, truly, 
 
 A worm to nighen near my flower than thou." 
 
 And why. Sir," quoth I, an it like you ? " 
 
 For thou," quoth he, " art nothing thereto able, 
 It is my relike. digne, and delitable. 
 And thou my foe, and all my folk worriest. * 
 And of mine old servants thou missayest." 
 
 But it is only for evil speaking of ladies that Chaucer felt 
 his conscience thus pricked, — chiefly of Gressida ; whereas, 
 I have written the lines for you because it is the very curse 
 of this age that we speak evil alike of ladies and knights, 
 and all that made them noble in past days ; — nay, of saints 
 also ; and I have, for first business, next January, to say what 
 
 * Chaucer's real word means " warrest with all my folk ; " but it was 
 80 closely connected with weary" and "worry" in association of 
 sound, in his dajys, that I take the last as nearest the sense. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 315 
 
 I can for our own St. George, against the enlightened modem 
 American view of him, that he was nothing better than 
 a swindling bacon-seller (good enough, indeed, so, for us, 
 now ! ) 
 
 But to come back to the house that Jack built. You will 
 want to know, next, whether Jack ever did build it. I be^ 
 lieve, in veritable bricks and mortar — no ; in veritable lime- 
 stone and cave-catacomb, perhaps, yes ; it is no matter how ; 
 somehoio^ you see, Jack must have built it, for there is the 
 picture of it on the coin of the town. He built it, just as St. 
 George killed the dragon ; so that you put a picture of him 
 also on the coin of your town. 
 
 Not but that the real and artful labyrinth might have been, 
 for all we know. A very real one, indeed, was built by twelve 
 brotherly kings in Egypt, in two stories, one for men to live 
 in, the other for crocodiles ; — and the upper story was visi- 
 ble and wonderful to all eyes, in authentic times : whereas, 
 we know of no one who ever saw Jack's labyrinth : and yet, 
 curiously enough, the real labyrinth set the pattern of noth- 
 ing ; while Jack's ghostly labyrinth has set the pattern of 
 almost everything linear and complex, since ; and the pretty 
 spectre of it blooms at this hour, in vital hawthorn for you, 
 every spring, at Hampton Court. 
 
 Now, in the pictures of this imaginary maze, you are to 
 note that both the Cretan and Lucchese designs agree in be- 
 ing composed of a single path or track, coiled, and recoiled, 
 on itself. Take a piece of flexible chain and lay it down, 
 considering the chain itself as the path : and, without an in- 
 terruption, it will trace any of the three figures. (The two 
 Cretan ones are indeed the same in design, except in being, 
 one square, and the other round.) And recollect, upon tiiis, 
 that the word Labyrinth " properly means " rope- walk," or 
 
 coil-of-rope-walk," its first syllable being probably also tiie 
 same as our English name Laura," ' the path,' and its 
 method perfectly given by Chaucer in the single line — And, 
 for the house is crenkled to and fro." And on this, note 
 farther, first, that had the walls been real, instead of ghostly, 
 there would have been no difficulty whatever in getting 
 
316 
 
 FOBS CLAVIQERA, 
 
 either out or in, for you could go no other way. But if th« 
 walls were spectral, and yet the transgression of them made 
 your final entrance or return impossible, Ariadne's clue was 
 needful indeed. 
 
 Note, secondly, that the question seems not at all to have 
 been about getting in ; but getting out again. The clue, at 
 all events, could be helpful only after you had carried it in ; 
 and if the spider, or other monster in midweb, ate you, the 
 help in your clue, for return, would be insignificant. So that 
 this thread of Ariadne's implied that even victory over the 
 monster would be vain, unless you could disentangle yourself 
 from his web also. 
 
 So much you may gather from coin or carving : next, we 
 try tradition. Theseus, as I said before, is the great settler 
 or law-giver of the Athenian state ; but he is so eminently 
 as the Peace-maker, causing men to live in fellowship who 
 before lived separate, and making roads passable that were 
 infested bv robbers or wild beasts. He is the exterminator 
 of every bestial and savage element, and the type of human, 
 or humane power, which power 3'ou will find in this, and all 
 my other books on policy, summed in the terms, " Gentleness 
 and Justice." The Greeks dwelt chiefly in their thoughts on 
 tlie last, and Theseus, representing the first, has therefore 
 most difficulty in dealing with questions of punishment, and 
 criminal justice. 
 
 Now the justice of the Greeks was enforced by three great 
 judges, who lived in three islands, ^acus who lived in the 
 island of ^Egina, is the administrator of distributive, or * di- 
 viding ' justice ; which relates chiefly to property, and his 
 subjects, as being people of industrious temper, were once 
 ants ; afterwards called Ant-people, or * Myrmidons.' 
 
 Secondly, Minos, who lived in the island of Crete, was the 
 judge who punished crime, of whom presently ; finally, Rhad- 
 amanthus, called always by Homer golden," or "glowing" 
 Rhadamanthus, was the judge who rewarded virtue ; and he 
 lived in a blessed island covered with flowers, but which eye 
 of man hath not yet seen, nor has any living ear beard lisji 
 of waye on that shore. 
 
FORS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 317 
 
 For the very essence and primal condition of virtue is that 
 it shall not know of, nor believe in, any blessed islands, till 
 it firnd them, it may be, in due time. 
 
 And of these three judges, two were architects, but the 
 third only a gardener, ^acus helped the gods to build the 
 walls of Troy. Minos appointed the labyrinth in coils round 
 the Minotaur ; but Rhadamanthus only set trees, with golden 
 fruit on them, beside waters of comfort, and overlaid the 
 calm waves with lilies. 
 
 They did these things, I tell you, in very truth, cloud-hidden 
 indeed ; but the things themselves are with us to this day. 
 No town on earth is more real than that town of Troy. Her 
 prince, long ago, was dragged dead round the walls that 
 ^acus built ; but her princedom did not die with him. Only 
 a few weeks since, I was actually standing, as I told you, 
 with my good friend Mr. Parker, watching the lizards play 
 among the chinks in the walls built by JEacus, for his wan- 
 dering Trojans, by Tiber side. And, perhaps within memory 
 of man, some of you may have walked up or down Tower 
 Street, little thinking that its tower was also built by abacus, 
 for his wandering Trojans and their C;vsar, by Thames side: 
 and on Tower Hill itself — where I had my pocket picked only 
 the other day by some of the modern ^acidae — stands the 
 English Mint, ''dividing" gold and silver which yEacus, first 
 of all Greeks, divided in his island of yEgina, and struck into 
 intelligible money-stamp and form, that men might render 
 to Cagsai the thins^s which are Caesar's. 
 
 But the Minos labyrinth is more real yet ; at all events, 
 more real for us. And what it was, and is, as you have seen 
 at Lucca, you shall hear at Florence, where you are to learn 
 Dante's opinion upon it, and Sandro Botticelli shall draw 
 it for us. 
 
 That Hell, which so many people think the only place 
 Dante gives any account of (yet seldom know his account 
 even of that), was, he tells you, divided into upper, midmost, 
 and nether pits. You usually lose sight of this main division 
 of it, in the more complex one of the nine circles ; but re- 
 member, these are divided in diminishing proportion \ six of 
 
318 
 
 FORS CLAYIGERA. 
 
 them are the upper hell ; two, the midmost ; one, the lowest.* 
 You will find this a very pretty and curious proportion. Here 
 it is in labyrinthine form, putting the three dimensions at 
 right angles to each other, and drawing a spiral round them. 
 I show you it in a spiral line, because the idea of descent is 
 in Dante's mind, spiral (as of a worm's or serpent's coil) 
 
 throughout ; even to the mode of 
 Geryon's flight, " ruota e discende ; " 
 and Minos accordingly indicates which 
 circle any sinner is to be sent to, in a 
 most graphically labyrinthine manner, 
 by twisting his tail round himself so 
 many times, necessarily thus marking 
 the level. 
 
 The uppermost and least dreadful 
 hell, divided into six circles, is the hell 
 of those who cannot rightly govern 
 themselves, but have no mind to do 
 \ mischief to any one else. In the low- 
 j est circle of this, and within the same 
 ^ walls with the more terrible mid-hell, 
 whose stench even comes up and 
 reaches to them, are people who have not rightly governed 
 their thoughts: and these are buried for ever in fiery tombs, 
 and their thoughts thus governed to purpose ; which you, 
 my friends, who are so fond of freedom of thought, and free- 
 dom of the press, may wisely meditate on. 
 
 Then the two lower hells are for those who have wilfully 
 done mischief to other people. And of these, some do open 
 injury, and some, deceitful injury, and of these the rogues 
 are put the lower ; but there is a greater distinction in the 
 manner of sin, than its simplicity or roguery : — namely. 
 
 * The deepening orders of sin, in the nine circles, are briefly these, 
 — 1. Unredeemed nature ; 2. Lust ; 8. Gluttony ; 4. Avarice ; 5. Dis- 
 content ; 6. Heresy ; 7. Open violence ; 8. Fraudf ul violence ; 9. 
 Treachery. Bat they are curiously dove-tailed together,— serpent- 
 tailed, I should say, — by closer coil, not expanding plume. You shall 
 imderstand the joiner's work, next month. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 319 
 
 whether it be done in hot blood or in cold blood. The in- 
 jurious sins, done in hot blood — that is to say, under the 
 influence of passion — are in the midmost hell ; but the sins 
 done in cold blood, without passion, or, more accurately 
 contrary to passion, far down below the freezing point, are 
 put in the lowest hell : the ninth circle. 
 
 Now, little as you may think it, or as the friend thought 
 it, who tried to cure me of jesting the other day, I should 
 not have taken upon me te write this if I had not, in 
 
 some degree, been cured of jesting long ago ; and in the 
 same way that Dante was, — for in my poor and faltering path 
 I have myself been taken far enough down among the dimin- 
 ished circles to see this nether hell — the hell of Traitors ; and 
 to know, what people do not usually know of treachery, that 
 it is not the fraud, but the cold-hear tedness^ which is chiefly, 
 dreadful in it. Therefore, this nether Hell is of ice, not fire ; 
 and of ice that nothing can break. 
 
 Oh, ill-Btarred folk. 
 Beyond all others wretched, who abide 
 In Buch a mansion as scarce thought finds words 
 To speak of, better had ye here on earth 
 Been flocks, or mountain goats. 
 
 4c « « «c 
 
 I saw, before, and underneath my feet, 
 A lake, whose frozen j-urface liker seemed 
 To glass than water. Not so thick a veil 
 In winter e'er hath Austrian Danube spread 
 O'er his still course, nor Tanais, far remote 
 Under the chilling sky. Rolled o'er that mass 
 Had Taberuich or Pietrapana fallen 
 Not even its rim had creaked. 
 
 As peeps the frog. 
 Croaking above the wave, — what time in dreams 
 The village gleaner oft pursues her toil, — 
 Blue-pinched, and shrined in ice, the spirits stood. 
 Moving their teeth in shrill note, like the stork." 
 
 No more wandering of the feet in labyrinth like this, and 
 the eyes, once cruelly tearless, novV blincl with frozen tears. 
 But the midmost hell, for hot-blooded sinners, has other sort 
 
320 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 of lakes, — -as, for instance, you saw a little while ago, of hot 
 pitch, in which one bathes otherwise than in Serchio — (the 
 Serchio is the river at Lucca, and Pietrapana a Lucchese 
 mountain). But observe, — for here we get to our main work 
 again, — the great boiling lake on the Phlegethon of this 
 upper hell country is redj not black ; and its source, as well 
 as that of the river which freezes beneath, is in this island of 
 Crete ! in the Mount Ida, " joyous once with leaves and 
 streams." You must look to the passage yourselves — In- 
 ferno^ XIV. (line 120 in Carey) — for I have not room for it 
 now. The first sight of it, to Dante, is as "a little brook, 
 whose crimsoned wave Yet lifts my hair with horror." Virgil 
 makes him look at this spring as the notablest thing seen by 
 him in hell, since he entered its gate ; but the great lake of 
 it is under a ruinous mountain, like the fallen Alp through 
 which the iVdige foams down to Verona ; — and on the crest 
 of this ruin lies crouched the enemy of Theseus — the Mino- 
 taur : 
 
 ' ' And there. 
 At point of the disparted ridge, lay stretched 
 The infamy of Crete — at sight of us 
 It gnawed itself, as one mth rage distract. 
 To him my guide exclaimed, * Perchance thou deem'st 
 The King of Athens here.' " 
 
 Of whom and of his enemv, I have time to tell vou no more 
 to-day — except only that this Minotaur is the type or em- 
 bodiment of the two essentially bestial sins of Anger and 
 Lust ; — that both these are in the human nature, interwoven 
 inextricably with its chief virtue. Love, so that Dante makes 
 this very ruin of the Rocks of hell, on which the Minotaur is 
 couched, to be wrought on them at the instant when "the 
 Universe was thrilled with love," — (the last moment of the 
 Crucifixion) — and that the labyrinth of these passions is one 
 not fabulous, nor only pictured on coins of Crete. And the 
 right interweaving of Anger with Love, in criminal justice, 
 is the main question in earthly law, which the Athenian law- 
 giver had to deal with. Look, if you can, at my introduc- 
 tory Lectures at Oxford, p. 83 ; and so I must leave Theseus 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGERA, 
 
 321 
 
 for this time ; — in next letter, which will be chiefly on Christ- 
 mas cheer, I must really try to get as far as his vegetable soup. 
 
 As for -<^acus, and his coining business, we must even let 
 them alone now, till next year ; only I have to thank some 
 readers who have written to me on the subject of interest of 
 money (one or two complaining that I had dismissed it too 
 summarily, when, alas ! I am only at the threshold of it !), 
 and, especially, my reader for the press, who has referred me 
 to a delightful Italian book, Teoremi di Politica Cristiana, 
 (Naples, 1830), and copied out ever so much of it for me ; 
 and Mr. Sillar, for farther most useful letters, of which to- 
 day I can only quote this postscript : — 
 
 Please note that your next number of Fors Clavigera 
 ought to be in the hands of your readers on Friday, the 1st, 
 or Saturday, the 2nd, of November. The following day 
 being Sunday, the 3rd, there will be read in every church in 
 England, or in the world, where the Church Service is used, 
 the 15th Psalm, which distinctly declares the man who shall 
 ascend to God's holy hill to be him who, amongst other 
 things, has not put forth his money upon usury ; a verse 
 impiously ignored in most of the metrical versions of the 
 Psalms ; those adapted to popular tunes or popular preju- 
 dices." 
 
 I think, accordingly, that some of my readers may be glad 
 to have a sounder version of that Psalm ; and as the 14th is 
 much connected with it, and will be variously useful to us 
 afterwards, here they both are, done into verse by an Eng- 
 lish squire, — or his sister, for they alike could rhyme ; and 
 the last finished singing what her brother left unsung, the 
 Third Fors having early put seal on his lips. 
 
 PSALM {Dixit Insipieiis,) 
 
 The foolish man by flesh and fancy ledd, 
 His guilty hart with this fond thought hath fed : 
 There is noe God that raigneth. 
 
 And so thereafter he and all his mates 
 Do workes, which earth corrupt, and Heaven hates s 
 Not one that good reniaineth. 
 
 21 
 
523 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGEMA. 
 
 Even God him self sent down his piercing ey. 
 If of this clayy race he could espy 
 
 One. that his wisdome leameth* 
 
 And loe, he fiDds that all a strayeng went : 
 All plung'd in stincking filth, not one well bent, 
 Not one that God discemeth. 
 
 O maddnes of these folkes, thus loosly ledd I 
 These caniballs, who, as if they were bread, 
 Gods people do devower : 
 
 Nor ever call on God ; but they shall quake 
 More than they now do bragg, when he shall take 
 The just into his power. 
 
 Indeede the poore, opprest by you, you mock : 
 Their councells are your common jesting stock : 
 But God is their reeomfort. 
 
 Ah, when from Syon shall the Saver come 
 That Jacob, freed by thee, may glad become 
 And Israel full of comfort ? 
 
 PSALM XV. — {Dominey quis haUtaUU) 
 
 In tabernacle thine, O Lord, who shall remaine ? 
 
 Lord, of thy holy hill, who shall the rest obtain ? 
 
 Ev'n he that leades a life of uncorrupted traine, 
 
 Whose deeds of righteous hart, whose harty wordes be plain : 
 
 Who with deceitfuU tongue hath never us'd to faine ; 
 
 Nor neighboure hurtes by deede, nor doth with slander stain : 
 
 Whose eyes a person vile doth hold in vile disdain e. 
 
 Bat doth, with honour greate, the godly entertaine : 
 
 Who othe and promise given doth faithfully maintain, 
 
 Although some worldly losse thereby he may sustain ; 
 
 From bityng usury who ever doth refraine : 
 
 Who sells not guiltlesse cause for filthy love of gain, 
 
 Who thus proceedes for ay, in sacred mount shall raign. 
 
 You may not like this old English at first ; but, if you 
 can find anybody to read it to you yvho has an ear, its ca- 
 dence is massy and grand, more than that of most verse I 
 know, and never a word is lost. Whether you like it or not, 
 the sense of it is true, and the way to the sacred mount (of 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 323 
 
 which, mounts whether of Pity, or of Roses, are but shad- 
 ows,) told you for once, straight-forvvardly, — on which road 
 I wish you Godspeed. 
 
 Ever faithfully yours, 
 
 JOHN RUSKIN. 
 
 LETTER XXIV. 
 
 Corpus Ciiristi Coll., 
 
 November Wi, 1^1^. 
 
 My Friends, 
 
 I SHALL not call you so any more, after this Christmas ; 
 first, because things have chanced to me, of late, which have 
 made me too sulky to be friends with anybody ; secondly, 
 because in the two years during which I have been writing 
 these letters, not one of you has sent me a friendly word of 
 answer ; lastly, because, even if you xoere my friends, it 
 would be waste print to call you so, once a month. Nor shall 
 I sign myself " faithfully yours" any more ; being very far 
 from faithfully my own, and having found most other peo- 
 ple anything but faithfully mine. Nor shall I sign my name, 
 for I never like the look of it ; being, I apprehend, only 
 short for "Rough Skin," in the sense of " Pigskin ;" ( and 
 indeed, the planet under which I was born, Saturn, has su- 
 preme power over pigs,) — nor can I find historical mention 
 of any other form of the name, except one I made no refer- 
 ence to when it occurred, as that of the leading devil of four, 
 Red-skin — Blue-skin — and I forget the skins of the other two 
 — who performed in a religious play, of the fourteenth cen- 
 tury, which was nearly as comic as the religious earnest of our 
 own century. So that the letters will begin, henceforward, 
 without address ; and close without signature. You will 
 probably know whom they come from, and I don't in the 
 least care whom they go to. 
 
 I was in London, all day yesterday, wliere the weather was 
 as dismal as is its wont ; and, returning here by the evening 
 train, saw, with astonishment, the stars extricate themselves 
 
^24 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 from the fog, and the moon glow for a little while in her set- 
 ting, over the southern Berkshire hills, as I breathed on the 
 platform of the Reading station ; — (for there were six people 
 in the carriage and they had shut both windows). 
 
 When I got to Oxford, the sky was entirely clear ; the 
 great Bear was near the ground under the pole, and the 
 Charioteer higli over-head, the principal star of him as bright 
 as a gas-lamp. 
 
 It is a curious default in the stars, to my mind, that there 
 is a Charioteer among them \vithout a chariot, and a Waggon 
 with no waggoner ; nor any waggon, for that matter, except 
 the Bear's stomach ; but I have always wanted to know the 
 history of the absent Charles, who must have stopped, I sup- 
 pose to drink, while his cart went on, and so never got to be 
 stellified himself. I wish I knew ; but I can tell you less 
 about him than even about Theseus. The Charioteer's storv 
 is pretty, however : he gave his life for a kiss, and did not 
 get it ; got made into stars instead. It would be a dainty 
 tale to tell you under the mistletoe : perhaps I may have 
 time next year : to-day it is of the stars of Ariadne's crown 
 I want to speak. 
 
 But that giving one's life for a kiss, and not getting it, is 
 indeed a general abstract of the Greek notion of heroism, 
 and its reward ; and, by the way, does it not seem to you a 
 grave defect in the stars, at Christmas time, that all their 
 stories are Greek — not one Christian ? In all the east, and 
 all the west, there is not a space of heaven with a Christian 
 story in it ; the star of the Wise men having risen but once^ 
 and set, it seems, for ever ; and the stars of Foolish men, in- 
 numerable, but unintelligible, forming, I suppose, all across 
 the sky that broad way of Asses' milk ; while a few Greek 
 heroes and hunters, a monster or two, and some crustaceous 
 animals, occupy, here in the north, our heaven's compass, 
 down to the very margin of the illuminated book. A sky 
 quite good enough for us, nevertheless, for all the use we 
 make of it, either by night or day — or any hope we have of 
 getting into it — or any inclination we have, while still out of 
 it, to " take stars for our money." 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 325 
 
 Yet, with all deference to George Herbert, I will take 
 them for nothing of the sort. Money is an entirely pleasant 
 and proper thing to have, itself ; and the first shilling I ever 
 got in my life, I put in a pill-box, and put it under my pil- 
 low, and couldn't sleep all night for satisfaction. I couldn't 
 have done that with a star ; though truly the pretty sys- 
 tem of usury makes the stars drop down something else 
 than dew. I got a note from an arithmetical friend the 
 other day, speaking of the death of " an old lady, a cousin 
 of mine, who left — left, because she could not take it with 
 her — 200,000/. On calculation, I found this old lady who 
 has been lying bedridden for a year, was accumulating money 
 (^. e, the results of other people's labour), at the rate of 4d. 
 a minute ; in other words, she awoke in the morning ten 
 pounds richer than she went to bed." At which, doubtless, 
 and the like miracles throughout the world, the stars with 
 deep amaze, stand fixed with stedfast gaze : " for this is, in- 
 deed, a Nativity of an adverse god to the one you profess to 
 honour, with them, and the angels, at Christmas, by over- 
 eating yourselves. 
 
 I suppose that is the quite essential part of the religion 
 of Christmas ; and, indeed, it is about the most religious 
 thing you do in the year ; and if pious people would under- 
 stand, generally, that, if there be indeed any other God than 
 Mammon, He likes to see people comfortable, and nicely 
 dressed, as much as Mammon likes to see tliem fasting and 
 in rags, they might set a wiser example to everybody than 
 they do. I am frightened out of my wits, every now and then, 
 here at Oxford, by seeing something come out of poor peo- 
 ples's houses, all dressed in black down to the ground ; which, 
 (having been much thinking of wicked things lately), I at 
 first take for the Devil, and tlien find, to my extreme relief 
 and gratification, that it's a Sister of Charity. Indeed, the 
 only serious disadvantage of eating, and fine dressing, con- 
 sidered as religious ceremonies, whether at Christmas, or on 
 Sunday, in the Sunday dinner and , Sunday gown, — is that 
 you don't always clearly understand what the eating and 
 dressing signify. For example: why should Sunday be kept 
 
326 
 
 FORH CLAVIGEUA. 
 
 otherwise than Christinas, and be less merry ? Because it is 
 a day of rest, commemorating the fulfilment of God's easy 
 work, while Christmas is a day of toil, commemorating the 
 beginning of his difficult work ? Is that the reason ? Or 
 because Christmas commemorates His stooping to thirty 
 years of sorrow, and Sunday His rising to countless years of 
 joy ? Which should be the gladdest day of the two, think 
 you, on either ground ? Why haven't you Sunday panto- 
 mimes ? 
 
 It is a strait and sore question with me, for when I was a 
 child, I lost the pleasure of some three-sevenths of my life 
 because of Sunday ; for I always had a way of looking for- 
 ward to things, and a lurid shade was cast over the whole of 
 Friday and Saturday by the horrible sense that Sunday was 
 coming, and inevitable. Not that I was rebellious against 
 my good mother or aunts in any wise ; feeling only that we 
 were all crushed under a relentless fate ; which was indeed 
 the fact, for neither they nor I had the least idea what Holi- 
 ness meant, beyond what I find stated very clearly by Mr. 
 David — the pious author of " the Paradezeal system of Bot- 
 any, an arrangement representing the whole globe as a vast 
 blooming and fruitful Paradise," that " Holiness is a knowl- 
 edge of the Ho's." 
 
 My mother, indeed, never went so far as my aunt ; nor 
 carried her religion down to the ninth or glacial circle of 
 Holiness, by giving me a cold dinner ; and to this day, I am 
 apt to over-eat myself with Yorkshire pudding, in remem- 
 brance of the consolation it used to afford me at one o'clock. 
 Good Friday, also, was partly intermedled," as Chaucer 
 would call it, with light and shade, because there were hot- 
 cross-buns at breakfast, though we had to go to church after- 
 wards. And, indeed, I observe, happening to have under 
 my hand the account in the Daily Telegraph of Good Friday 
 at the Crystal Palace, in 1870, that its observance is for your 
 sakes also now intermedled " similarly, with light and shade, 
 by conscientious persons : for, in that year, " whereas in 
 former years the performances had been exclusively of a 
 religious character, the directors had supplemented their 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGEHA. 
 
 327 
 
 programme with secular amusements." It was, I suppose, 
 considered "secular" that the fountains should play (though 
 I liave noticed tiiat natural ones persist in that profane prac- 
 tice on Sunday also), and accordingly, " there was a very 
 abundant water-supply, while a brilliant sun gave many 
 lovely prismatic effects to the fleeting and changeful spray" 
 (not careful, even the sun, for his part, to remember how 
 once he became black as sackcloth of hair"). "A striking 
 feature presented itself to view in the shape of the large and 
 handsome pavilion of Howe and Cushing's American circus. 
 This vast pavilion occupies the whole centre of the grand 
 terrace, and was gaily decorated with bunting and fringed 
 with the show-carriages of the circus, which were bright 
 with gilding, mirrors, portraits, and scarlet panels. The out- 
 door amusements began " — (the English public always re- 
 taining a distinct impression that this festival was instituted 
 in the East) — " with an Oriental procession " — (by the way, 
 why don't we always call Wapping the Oriental end of Lon- 
 don ?) — of fifteen camels from the circus, mounted by negroes 
 wearing richly-coloured and bespangled Eastern costume. 
 The performances then commenced, and continued through- 
 out tlie day, the attractions comprising the trained wolves, 
 the wonderful monkeys, and tlie usual scenes in the circle." 
 
 There was darkness over all the earth until the ninth 
 hour." I often wonder, myself, how long it will be, in the 
 crucifixion afresh, which all the earth has now resolved upon, 
 crying with more unanimous shout than ever the Jews, "Not 
 this man, but Barabbas" — before the Ninth Hour comes. 
 
 Assuming, however, that, for the nonce, trained wolves 
 and wonderful monkeys are proper entertainments on Good 
 Friday, pantomimes on Boxing-day, and sermons on Sunday, 
 have you ever considered what observance mig'ht be due to 
 Saturday, — the day on whicli He " preached to tlie spirits in 
 prison*" ? for that seems to me quite the part of the three 
 days' work which most of us might first hope for a share in. 
 I don't know whether any of you perceive that your spirits 
 are in prison. I know mine is, and that I would fain have it 
 preached to, and delivered, if it be possible, For, however 
 
328 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGERA, 
 
 far and steep the slope may have been into the hell which 
 you say every Sunday that you believe He descended into, 
 there are places trenched deep enough now in all our hearts 
 for the hot lake of Phlegethon to leak and ooze into : and 
 the rock of their shore is no less hard than In Dante's 
 time. 
 
 And as your winter rejoicings, if they mean anything at 
 all, mean that you have now, at least, a chance of deliverance 
 from that prison, I will ask you to take the pains to under- 
 stand what the bars and doors of it are, as the wisest man 
 who has yet spoken of them tells you. 
 
 There is first, observe, this great distinction in his mind 
 between the penalties of the Hell, and the joy of Paradise. 
 The penalty is assigned to definite act of hand ; the joy, to 
 definite state of mind. It is questioned of no one, either in 
 the Purgatory or the Paradise, what he has done ; but only 
 what evil feeling is still in his heart, or what good, when 
 purified wholly, his nature is noble enough to receive. 
 
 On the contrary. Hell is constituted such by the one great 
 negative state of being without Love or Fear of God ; — 
 there are no degrees of that State ; but there are more or 
 less dreadful sins which can be done in it, according to the 
 degradation of the unredeemed Human nature. And men 
 are judged according to their works. 
 
 To give a single instance. The punishment of the fourth 
 circle in Hell is for the Misuse of Money, for having either 
 sinfully kept it, or sinfully spent it. But the pain in Purga- 
 tory is only for Laving sinfully Loved it : and the hymn of 
 repentance is, My soul cleaveth unto the dust ; quicken 
 thou me." 
 
 Farther, and this is very notable. You might at first 
 think that Dante's divisions were narrow and artificial in as* 
 signing each circle to one sin only, as if every man did not 
 variously commit many. But it is always one s*n, the 
 favourite, which destroys souls. That conquered, all others 
 fall with it ; that victorious, all others follow with it. 
 Nevertheless, as I told you, the joiner's w^ork, and inter- 
 woven walls of Dante's Inferno, marking double forms of sin, 
 
FOItS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 329 
 
 and their overlapping, as it were, when they meet, is one of 
 the subtlest conditions traceable in his whole design. 
 
 Look back to the scheme I gave you in last number. The 
 Minotaur, spirit of lust and anger, rules over the central hell. 
 But the sins of lust and anger, definitely and limitedly de- 
 scribed as such, are punished in the upper hell, in the second 
 and fifth circles. Why is this, think you ? 
 
 Have you ever noticed — enough to call it noticing seri- 
 ously — the expression, " fulfilling the desires of the flesh 
 and of the mind? " There is one lust and one anger of the 
 flesh only ; these, all men must feel ; rightly feel, if in tem- 
 perance ; wrongly, if in excess ; but even then, not neces- 
 sarily to the destruction of their souls. But there is another 
 lust, and another anger, of the heart ; and these are the 
 Furies of Phlegethon — wholly ruinous. Lord of these, on 
 the shattered rocks, lies couched the infamy of Crete. For 
 when the heart, as well as the flesh, desires what it should 
 not, and the heart, as well as the flesh, consents and kindles 
 to its wrath, the whole ipan is corrupted, and his heart's 
 blood is fed in its veins from the lake of fire. 
 
 Take for special example, this sin of usury with which we 
 have ourselves to deal. The punishment in the fourth circle 
 of the upper hell is on Avarice, not Usury. For a man 
 may be utterly avaricious, — greedy of gold — in an instinctive, 
 fleshly way, yet not corrupt his intellect. Many of the most 
 good-natured men are misers : my first shilling in the pill- 
 box and sleepless night did not at all mean that I was an ill- 
 natured or illiberal boy ; it did mean, what is true of me 
 still, that I should have great delight in counting money, and 
 laying it in visible heaps and rouleaux. I never part with a 
 new sovereign without a sigh : and if it were not that I am 
 afraid of thieves, 1 would positively and seriously, at this 
 moment, turn all I have into gold of the newest, and dig a 
 hole for it in my garden, and go and look at it every morn- 
 ing and evening, like the man in ^sop's Fables, or Silas 
 Marner : and where I think thieves will not break through 
 nor steal, I am always laying up for myself treasures upon 
 earth, with the most eager appetite : tliat bit of gold and 
 
330 
 
 FOnS CLAVIGEEA, 
 
 diamonds, for instance (lY. 46.), and the most gilded mas&i 
 books, and such like, I can get hold of ; the acquisition 
 of a Koran, with two hundred leaves richly gilt on both 
 sides, only three weeks since, afforded me real consolation 
 under variously trying circumstances. 
 
 Truly, my soul cleaves to the dust of such things. But I 
 have not so perverted my soul, nor palsied my brains, as to 
 expect to be advantaged by that adhesion. I don't expect, 
 because I have gathered much, to find Nature or man gather- 
 ing for me more : — to find eighteen-pence in my pill-box in 
 the morning, instead of a shilling, as a " reward for conti- 
 nence ; " or to make an income of my Koran by lending it to 
 poor scholars. If I think a scholar can read it, — (N.B., I 
 can't, myself,) — and would like to — and wdll carefully turn 
 the leaves by the outside edge, he is welcome to read it for 
 nothing : if he has got into the habit of turning leaves by 
 the middle, or of wetting his finger, and shuffling up the 
 corners, as I see my banker's clerks do with their ledgers, 
 for no amount of money shall he read it. (Incidentally, 
 note the essential vulgarism of doing anythmg in a 
 hurry.) 
 
 So that my mind and brains are in fact untainted and un- 
 warped by lust of money, and I am free in that resjject from 
 the power of the Infamy of Crete. 
 
 I used the words just above — ^Furies of Phlegethon. You 
 are beginning to know something of the Fates : of the Furies 
 also you must know something*. 
 
 The pit of Dante's central hell is reserved for those who 
 have actually committed malicious crime, involving merci- 
 lessness to their neighbour, or, in suicide, to themselves. 
 But it is necessary to serpent-tail this pit with the upper 
 hell by a district for insanity without deed ; the Fury w^hich 
 has brought horror to the eyes, and hardness to the heart, 
 and yet, having possessed itself of noble persons, issues in no 
 malicious crime. Therefore the sixth circle of the upper hell 
 is walled in, together with the central pit, as one grievous 
 city of the dead ; and at the gates of it the warders are 
 fiends, and the watchers Furies. 
 
FOnS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 331 
 
 Watchers^ observe, as sleepless. Once in their companion- 
 ship, 
 
 Nor poppy, nor maudragora, 
 Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, 
 Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep 
 Which thou ovved'st yesterday. 
 
 Sleepless and merciless ; and yet in the Greek vision of 
 them which -^schylus wrote, they are first seen asleep ; and 
 they remain in the city of Theseus, in mercy. 
 
 Elsewhere, furies that make the eyes evil and the heart 
 hard. Seeing Dante from their watch-tower, they call for 
 Medusa. *'So will we make flint of him" enamel," rather 
 — which has been in the furnace first, then hardened); but 
 Virgil puts his hands over his eyes. 
 
 Thus the upper hell is knitted to the central. The central 
 is half joined to the lower by the power of Fraud : only in 
 the central hell, though in a deeper pit of it, (Phlegethon 
 falls into the abyss in a Niagara of blood) Fraud is still 
 joined with human passion, but in the nether hell is passion- 
 ate no more ; the traitors have not natures of flesh or of fire, 
 but of earth ; and the earth-giants, the first enemies of 
 Athena, the Greek spirit of Life, stand about the pit, 
 speechless, as towers of war. In a bright morning, this last 
 midsummer, at Bologna, I was standing in the shade of the 
 tower of Garisenda, which Dante says they were like. The 
 sun had got just behind its battlements, and sent out rays 
 round them as from behind a mountain peak, vast and grey 
 against the morning sky. I may be able to get some pict- 
 ure of it, for the January Fors, perhaps ; and perchance the 
 sun may some day rise for us from beliind our Towers of 
 Treacher3\ 
 
 Note but this farther, and then we will try to get out of 
 Hell for to-day. The divisions of the central fire are under 
 three creatures, all of them partly man, partly animal. The 
 Minotaur has a man's body, a bull's head, (which is precisely 
 the general type of the English nation to-day). The Centaur 
 Chiron has a horse's body ; a man's head and breast. The 
 
332 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 Spirit of Fraud, Geryon, lias a serpent's body, his face is 
 that of a just man, and his breast chequered like a lizard's, 
 with labyrinthine lines. 
 
 All these three creatures signify the mingling of a brutal 
 instinct with the human mind ; but, in the Minotaur, the 
 brute rules, the humanity is subordinate ; in the Centaur^ 
 the man rules, and the brute is subordinate ; in the third, 
 the man and the animal are in harmony ; and both false. 
 
 Of the Centaurs, Chiron and Nessus, one, the type of hu- 
 man gentleness, justice, and wisdom, stooping to join itself 
 with the nature of animals, and to be healed by the herbs of 
 the ground, — the other, the destruction of Hercules, — you 
 shall be told in the Fors of January : to-day I must swiftly 
 sum the story of Theseus. 
 
 His conquest of the Minotaur, the chief glory of his life, is 
 possible only to him through love, and love's hope and help. 
 But he has no joy either of love or victory. Before he has 
 once held Ariadne in his arms, Diana kills her in the isle of 
 Naxos. Jupiter crowns her in heaven, where there is no fol- 
 lowino^ her. Theseus returns to Athens alone. 
 
 The ship which hitherto had carried the Minotaur's victims 
 only, bore always a black sail. Theseus had received from 
 his father a purple one, to hoist instead, if he returned vic- 
 torious. 
 
 The common and senseless story is that he forgot to hoist 
 it. Forgot ! A sail is so inconspicuous a part of a ship ! 
 and one is so likely to forget one's victory, returning, with 
 home seen on the horizon ! But he returned not victorious, 
 at least for himself ; — Diana and Death had been too strong 
 for him. He bore the black sail. And his father, when he 
 saw it, threw himself from the rock of Athens, and died. 
 
 Of which the meaning is, that we must not mourn for our- 
 selves, lest a worse thing happen to us, — a Greek lesson much 
 to be remembered by Christians about to send expensive or- 
 ders to the undertaker : unless, indeed, they mean by their 
 black vestments to tell the world that they think their friends 
 are in hell. If in heaven, with Ariadne and the gods, are we 
 to mourn ? And if they were fit for Heaven, are we, for 
 
FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 333 
 
 ourselves, ever to leave off mourning ? Yet Theseus, touch- 
 ing the beach, is too just and wise to mourn there. He sends 
 a herald to the city to tell his father he is safe ; stays on the 
 shore to sacrifice to the gods, and feast his sailors. He sac- 
 rifices ; and makes pottage for them there on the sand. The 
 herald returns to tell him his father is dead also. Such wel- 
 come has he for his good work, in the islands, and on the main. 
 
 In which work he persists, no less, and is redeemed from 
 darkness by Hercules, and at last helps Hercules himself in 
 his sorest need — as you shall hear afterwards. I must stop 
 to-day at the vegetable soup, — which you would think, 1 
 suppose, poor Christmas cheer. . Plum-pudding is an Egyp- 
 tian dish ; but have you ever thought how many stories were 
 connected with this Athenian one, pottage of lentils ? A 
 bargain of some importance, even to us, (especially as usu- 
 rers) ; and the healing miracle of Elisha ; and the vision of 
 Habakkuk as he was bearing their pottage to the reapers, 
 and had to take it far away to one who needed it more ; and, 
 chiefly of all, the soup of the bitter herbs, with its dipped 
 bread and faithful company, — " he it is to whom I shall give 
 the sop, when I have dipped it." The meaning of which 
 things, roughly, is, first, that we are not to sell our birth- 
 rights for pottage, though we fast to death ; hut are dili- 
 gently to know and keep them : secondly, that we are to 
 poison no man's pottage, mental or real : lastly, that we look 
 to it lest we betray the hand which gives us our daily bread. 
 
 Lessons to be pondered on at Christmas time over our pud- 
 ding ; and the more, because the sops we are dipping for each 
 other, and even for our own children, are not always the most 
 nourishing', nor are the rooms in which we make ready their 
 last supper always carefully furnished. Take, for instance, 
 this example of last supper — (no, I see it is breakfast) — in 
 Chicksand Street, Mile End : — 
 
 On Wednesday an inquest was held on the body of Annie 
 Redfern, aged twenty-eight, who was found dead in a cellar 
 at 5, Chicksand Street, Mile End, on the morning of last 
 Sundav. This unfortunate woman was a fruit-seller, and 
 
334 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEHA, 
 
 rented the cellar in which she died at Is, 9d. per week — her 
 only companion being a little boy, aged three years, of whom 
 she vvas the mother. It appeared from the evidence of the 
 surgeon who was summoned to see the deceased when her 
 body was discovered on Sunday morning that slie had been 
 dead some hours before his arrival. Her knees were drawn 
 up and her arms folded in such a position as to show that she 
 died with her child clasped in her arms. The room was very 
 dark, without any ventilation, and w^as totallv unfit for hu- 
 man habitation. The cause oi death was effusion of serum 
 into the pericardium, brough.t on greatly by living in such a 
 wretched dwellino*. The coroner said that as there were so 
 many of these wretched dwellings about, he hoped the jury- 
 men v>^ho were connected with the vestry would take care to 
 represent the case to the proper authorities, and see that the 
 place was not let as a dwelling again. This remark from the 
 coroner incited a juryman to reply, " Oh, if we were to do 
 that we might empty half the houses in London ; there are 
 thousands more like that, and worse." Some of the jurors 
 objected to the room being condemned ; the majority, how- 
 ever, refused to sign the papers unless this w^as done, and a 
 verdict was returned in accordance with the evidence. It 
 transpired that the body had to be removed to save it from 
 the rats. If the little child who lay clasped in his dead 
 mother's arms has not been devoured by these animals, he is 
 probably now in the workhouse, and will remain a burden on 
 the ratepayers, who unfortunately have no means of making 
 the landlord of the foul den that destroyed his mother answer- 
 able for his support. 
 
 I miss, out of the column of the Pall Mall for the 1st of 
 this month, one paragraph after this, and proceed to the next 
 but one, which relates to the enlightened notion among Eng- 
 lish young women, derived from Mr. J. Stuart Mill — that the 
 "career" of the Madonna is too limited a one, and that mod« 
 ern political economy can provide them, as the I^all Mall 
 observes, with much more lucrative occupations than that 
 of nursing the baby." But you must know, first, that the 
 Athenians always kept memory of Theseus' pot of vegetable 
 soup, and of his sacrifice, by procession in spring-time, bear- 
 ing a rod wreathed with lambs'-wool, and singing an Easter 
 carol, in these words : — 
 
FOBS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 833 
 
 "Fair staff, may tlie gods grant, by tliee, the bringing of 
 figs to us, and buttery cakes, and honey in bulging cups, and 
 the sopping of oil, and wine in flat cups, easy to lift, that 
 thou mayest " (meaning that we may, but not clear which is 
 which,) get drunk and sleep." 
 
 Which Mr. Stuart Mill and modern political economy have 
 changed into a pretty Christmas carol for English children, 
 lambs for whom the fair staff also brinos wine of a certain 
 
 o 
 
 sort, in flat cups, " that they may get drunk, and sleep." 
 Here is the next paragraph from the Pall Mall : — 
 
 One of the most fertile causes of excessive infant mortality 
 is the extensive practice in manufacturing districts of insidi- 
 ously narcotising young children that they may be the more 
 conveniently laid aside when more lucrative occupations pre- 
 sent themselves than that of nursing the baby. Hundreds 
 of gallons of opium in various forms are sold weekly in many 
 districts for this purpose. Nor is it likely that the practice 
 will be checked until juries can be induced to take a rather 
 severe view of the suddenly fatal misadventures which this 
 sort of chronic poisoning not unfrequently produces. It ap- 
 pears, however, to be very difficult to persuade them to look 
 upon it as other than a venial offence. An inquest was re- 
 cently held at Chapel Gate upon the body of an infant who 
 had died from the administration by its mother of about 
 twelve times the proper dose of laudanum. The bottle was 
 labelled carefully wuth a caution that ''opium should not be 
 given to children under seven years of age." In this case 
 five drops of laudanum were given to a baby of eighteen 
 months. The medical evidence was of a quite unmistakable 
 character, and the coroner in summing up read to the jury a 
 definition of manslaughter, and told them tliat "a lawful act 
 if dangerous, not attended with such care as would render 
 the probability of danger very small, and resulting in death, 
 would amount to manslaughter at the least. Then in tliis 
 case thev must return a verdict of manslauo^hter unless thev 
 could find any circumstance which would take it out of the 
 rule of law he had laid down to them. It was not in 
 evidence that the mother had used any caution at all in 
 administering the poison." Nevertheless, the jury re- 
 turned, after a short interval, the verdict of homicide by 
 misadventure. 
 
836 
 
 FOBS CLAYIGEUA. 
 
 Hush-a-bye, baby, upon the tree-top," my mother used 
 to sing to me ; and I remember the dawn of intelligence in 
 which I began to object to the bad rhyme which followed — 
 *^ when the wind blows, the cradle will rock." But the 
 Christmas winds must blow rudely, and warp the waters 
 askance indeed, which rock our English cradles now. 
 
 Mendelssohn's songs without w^ords have been, I believe, 
 lately popular in musical circles. We shall, perhaps, require 
 cradle songs with very few words, and Christmas carols with 
 very sad ones, before long ; in fact, it seems to me, we are 
 fast losing our old skill in carolling. There is a different 
 tone in Chaucer's notion of it (though this carol of his is in 
 spring-time indeed, not at Christmas): — 
 
 Then weut I forth on my right hand, 
 Down by a little path I found, 
 Of Mintes full, and Fennel green. 
 
 ♦ ♦ >i> « ♦ 
 
 Sir Mirth I found, and right anon 
 
 Unto Sir Mirth gan I gone. 
 
 There, where he was, him to solace : 
 
 And with him, in that happy place, 
 
 So fair folke and so fresh, had he, 
 
 That when I saw, I wondered me 
 
 From whence such folke might come, 
 
 So fair were they, all and some ; 
 
 For they were like, as in my sight 
 
 To angels, that be feathered bright. 
 
 These folk, of which I tell you so, 
 
 Upon a karole wenten tho,* 
 
 A ladie karoled them, that hight f 
 
 Gladnesse, blissful and light. 
 
 She could make in song such refraining 
 
 It sate her wonder well to sing, 
 
 Her voice full clear was, and full sweet, 
 
 She was not rude, nor unmeet, 
 
 But couth X enough for such doing, 
 
 As longeth unto karoUing ; 
 
 For she was wont, in every place, 
 
 To singen first, men to solace. 
 
 * Went then in measure of a carol-dance, 
 t Was called. X Skilful 
 
FOnS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 For singing most she gave her to, 
 No craft had she so lefe * to do. 
 
 Mr. Stuart Mill would have set her to another craft, I 
 fancy (not but that singing is a lucrative one, now-a-day, if 
 it be shrill enough) ; but you will not get your wives to sing 
 thus for nothing, if you send them out to earn their dinners 
 (instead of earning them yourself for them), and put their 
 babies summarily to sleep. 
 
 It is curious how our English feeling seems to be changed 
 also towards two other innocent kind of creatures. In nearly 
 all German pictures of the Nativity, (I have given you an 
 Italian one of the Magi for a frontispiece, this time), the 
 dove is one way or other conspicuous, and the little angels 
 round the cradle are nearly always, when they are tired, al- 
 lowed by the Madonna to play with rabbits. And in the 
 very garden in wliich Ladie Gladness leads her karol-dance, 
 " connis," as well as squirrels, are among the happy com- 
 pany ; frogs only, as you shall hear, not being allowed ; the 
 French says, no flies either, of the watery sort ! For the 
 path among the mint and fennel greene leads us into this 
 garden : — 
 
 The garden was hy measuring, 
 Right even and square in compasing : 
 It was long as it was large, 
 Of fruit had every tree his charge, 
 And many homely trees there were, f 
 That peaches, coineSjJ and apples bare, 
 Medlers^ plommes, pecres, chesteinis, 
 Cherise, of which many one faine § is, 
 With many a high laurel and pine 
 Was ranged clean all that gardene. 
 There might men Does and Roes see, 
 And of squirrels ful great plentee 
 From bough to bough alway leping ; 
 Connis there were also playing 
 And maden many a tourneying 
 Upon the fresh grass springing. 
 
 Fond. 
 
 f There were foreigfn trees besides. I insert bits here and there, 
 without putting stars, to interrupt the pieces given. 
 X Quinces. § Fond. 
 
 23 
 
338 
 
 FOES CLAVIQEEA. 
 
 In places saw I weiis there 
 In which no f rogges were. 
 There sprang the violet all new 
 And fresh pervinke, rich of hue, 
 And flowers yellow, white and rede, 
 Such plentj^ grew there ne-ver in mede, 
 Full gay was all the ground, and quaint, 
 And poudred, as men had it peint 
 With many a fresh and sundry flour 
 That castes up full good savour. 
 
 So far for an old English garden, or "pleasance/' and the 
 pleasures of it. Novr take a bit of description written this 
 year, of a modern English garden or pleasance, and the pleas* 
 ures of ity and newly invented odours : — 
 
 In a short time the sportsmen issued from the (new ?) hall, 
 and, accompanied by sixty or seventy attendants, bent their 
 steps towards that part of the park in wdiicli the old hall is 
 situate. Here were the rabbit covers — large patches of rank 
 fern, three or four feet in height, and extending over many 
 acres. The doomed rabbits, assiduously driven from the bur- 
 rows during the preceding w^eek by the keepers, forced from 
 their lodgings beneath the tree-roots by the sulfocating fumes 
 of sulphur, and deterred from returning thither by the appli- 
 cation of gas-tar to the runs," had been forced to seek shel- 
 ter in the fern patch ; and here they literally swarmed. At 
 the edge of the ferns a halt was called, and the head game- 
 keeper proceeded to arrange his assistants in the most ap- 
 proved "beating" fashion. The shooting party, nine in 
 number, including- the prince, distributed themselves in ad- 
 vance of the line of beaters, and the word "Forward !" was 
 given. Simultaneously the line of beaters moved ir^to the 
 cover, vigorously thrashing the long ferns with their stout 
 sticks, and giving vent to a variety of uncouth ejaculations, 
 which it w^as supposed were calculated to terrify the hidden 
 rabbits. Hardly had the beaters proceeded half-a-dozen yards 
 when the cover in front of them became violently agitated, 
 and rabbits were seen running in all directions. The quantity 
 of game thus started was little short of marvellous — the very 
 ground seemed to be alive. Simultaneously with the appear- 
 ance of the terrified animals the slaugliter commenced. Each 
 sportsman carried a double-barrelled breechloader, and an 
 attendant followed him closely, bearing an additional gun, 
 
F0R8 CLAVIOEllA, 
 
 339 
 
 ready loaded. The shooter discliarged both barrels of his 
 gun, in some cases with only the interval of a second or two, 
 and immediately exchanged it for a loaded one. Rabbits fell 
 in all directions. The warning cry of Rabbit !" from the 
 relentless keepers was heard continuously, and each cry was 
 as quickly followed by the sliarp crack of a gun — a pretty 
 sure indication that the rabbit referred to had come to an un- 
 timely end, as the majority of the sportsmen were crack shots. 
 
 Of course all this is quite natural to a sporting people who 
 have learned to like the smell of gunpowder, sulphur, and 
 gas-tar, better than that of violets and thyme. But, putting 
 the baby-poisoning, pigeon-shooting, and rabbit-shooting of 
 to-day in comparison with the pleasures of the German Ma- 
 donna, and her simple company ; and of Chaucer and his 
 carolling company : and seeing that the present effect of peace 
 upon earth, and well-pleasing in men, is that every nation 
 now spends most of its income in machinery for shooting the 
 best and bravest men, just when they were likely to have be- 
 come of some use to their fathers and mothers, I put it to 
 you, my friends all, calling you so, I suppose, for the last 
 time, (unless you are disposed for friendship with Ilerod in- 
 stead of Barabbas,) whether it would not be more kind, and 
 less expensive, to make the machinery a little smaller ; and 
 adapt it to spare opium now, and expenses of maintenance 
 and education afterwards, (besides no end of diplomacy) by 
 taking our sport in shooting babies instead of rabbits ? 
 
 Believe me. 
 
 Faithfully yours, 
 
 J.^^RUSKIN. 
 
 LETTER XXV. 
 
 Brantwood, 
 
 January 4^7i, 1873. 
 
 The Third Fors, having been much adverse to me, and more 
 to many who wish me well, during the whole of last year, has 
 turned my good and helpful printer adrift in the last month 
 
340 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 of it ; and, with that grave inconvenience to him, contrived 
 for me the minor one of being a fortnight late vs^ith my New 
 Year's letter. Under which provocation I am somewhat con- 
 soled this morning by finding in a cookery book, of date 1791, 
 written purely from practice, and dedicated to the Hon. 
 Lady Elizabeth Warburton, whom the author lately served 
 as housekeeper," a receipt for Yorkshire Goose Pie, with 
 which I think it will be most proper and delightful to begin 
 my economical instructions to you for the current year. I am, 
 indeed, greatly tempted to give precedence to the receipt 
 for making ^' Fairy Butter," and further disturbed by an ex- 
 treme desire to tell you how to construct an " Apple Float- 
 ing-Island ; " but will abide, nevertheless, by my Goose Pie. 
 
 " Take a large fat goose, split it down the back, and take 
 all the bones out ; bone a turkey and two ducks the same 
 way, season them very well with pepper and salt, with six 
 woodcocks ; lay the goose down on a clean dish, with the 
 skin-side down ; and lay the turkey into the goose, with the 
 skin down ; have ready a large hare, cleaned well, cut in 
 pieces, and stewed in the oven, with a pound of butter, a 
 quarter of an ounce of mace, beat fine, the same of white 
 pepper, and salt to your taste, till the meat will leave the 
 bones, and scum the butter off the gravy, pick the meat clean 
 off, and beat it in a marble mortar very fine, with the butter 
 3^ou took off, and lay it in the turkey ; take twenty-four 
 pounds of the finest flour, six pounds of butter, half-a-pound 
 of fresh rendered suet, make the paste pretty thick, and raise 
 the pie oval ; roll out a lump of paste, and cut it in vine- 
 leaves or what form you please ; rub the pie with the yolks 
 of eggs, and put your ornaments on the walls ; then turn the 
 hare, turkey, and goose upside down, and lay them in your 
 pie, with the ducks at each end, and the woodcocks on the 
 sides ; make your lid pretty thick, and put it on ; you may 
 lay flowers, or the shape of the fowls in paste, on the lid, and 
 make a hole in the middle of 3^our lid ; the walls of the pie 
 are to be one inch and a half higher than the lid ; then rub 
 it all over with the yolks of eggs, and bind it round with 
 threefold paper, and lay the same over the top ; it will take 
 
FORS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 341 
 
 four hours' baking in a brown-bread oven ; when it comes 
 out, melt two pounds of butter in the gravy that comes from 
 the hare, and pour it hot in the pie through a tun-dish ; close 
 it well up, and let it be eight or ten days before you cut it ; 
 if you send it any distance, make up the hole in the middle 
 with cold butter, to prevent the air from getting iu." 
 
 Possessed of these instructions, I immediately went to my 
 cook to ask how far we could faithfully carry them out. But 
 she told me nothinof could be done without a brown-bread 
 oven ; " which I shall therefore instantly build under the 
 rocks on my way down to the lake : and, if T live, we will 
 have a Lancashire goose-pie next Michaelmas. You may, 
 perhaps, think this affair irrelevant to the general purposes 
 of ' Fors Claviorera' : but it is not so bv anv means : on the 
 contrary, it is closely connected with its primary intentions ; 
 and, besides, may interest some readers more than weightier, 
 or, I should rather say, lighter and more spiritual matters. 
 For, indeed, during twenty-three months, I had been writing 
 to you, fellow-workmen, of matters affecting your best in- 
 terests in this world, and all the interests vou had anywhere 
 else : — explaining, as I could, wliat the shrewdest of you, 
 liitherto, have thought, and the best of you have done ; — 
 what the most selfish liave gained, and the most generous 
 have suffered. Of all tliis, no notice whatever is taken. In 
 my twenty-fourtli letter, incidentally, I mentioned the fact 
 of my being in a bad humour, (which I nearly always am, 
 and which it matters little to anybody whether I am or not, 
 so long as I don't act upon it,) and forthwith I got quite a 
 little mailcartful of consolation, reproof, and advice. Much 
 of it kind, — nearly all of it helpful, and some of it wise ; but 
 very little bearino- on matters in hand : an easfer Irish cor- 
 respondent offers immediately to reply to anything, "though 
 he has not been fortunate enough to meet with the book ; " 
 one working man's letter, for self and mates, is answered in 
 the terminal notes; — could not be answered before for want of 
 address; — another, from a south-country clergyman, could not 
 be answered an\'way, for he would not read any more, he said, 
 of such silly stuff as * Fors ' ; — but would have been glad to heai 
 
342 
 
 FOJiS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 of any scheme for giving people a sound practical education. 
 I fain would learn, myself, either from this practical Divine, or 
 any of his mates, what the ecclesiastical idea of a sound 
 practical education is ; — that is to say, v>^hat — in week-dav 
 schools ( — the teaching in Sunday ones being necessarily to 
 do no manner of work) — our clergy think that boys and 
 girls should be taught to practice, in order that, when grown 
 up, they may with dexterity perform the same. For indeed, 
 the constant object of these letters of mine, from their be- 
 ginning, has been to urge you to do vigorously and dex- 
 trously what was useful ; and nothing but that. And I have 
 told you of Kings and Heroes, and now am about to tell you 
 what I can of a Saint, because I believe such persons to have 
 done, sometimes, more useful things than you or I : begging 
 your pardon always for not addressing you as heroes, which 
 I believe you all think yourselves, or as kings, which I pre- 
 sume you all propose to be, or at least, if you cannot, to let 
 nobody else be. Come what may of such proposal, I wish 
 you would consider with me to-day what form of " sound 
 practical education," if any, would enable you all to be 
 Saints ; and whether, such form proving discoverable, you 
 would really like to be put through it, or whether, on the con- 
 trary, both the clergy and you mean, verily, and in your 
 hearts, nothing by " practical education " but how to lay one 
 penny upon another. Not but that it does my heart good 
 to hear modern divines exhorting to a^iy kind of practice — 
 for, as far as I can make out, there is nothing they so much 
 dread for their congregations as their getting into their 
 heads that God expects them to do anything, beyond killing 
 rabbits if they are rich, and being content with bad wages, 
 if they are poor. But if any virtue more than these, (and 
 the last is no small one) be indeed necessary to Saint-ship — 
 may we not prudently ask what such virtue is, and, at this 
 Holiday time, make our knowledge of the Hos more precise ? 
 Nay, in your pleading for perennial Holiday, — in your ten 
 hours or eight hours bills, might you not urge your point with 
 stouter conscience if you were all Saints, and the hours of rest 
 you demanded became a realization of Baxter's Saints' Rest ? 
 
FORS CLAVIGKRA. 
 
 Suppose we do rest, for a few minutes, from that process 
 of laying' one penny upon another, (those of us, at least, who 
 have learned the trick of it,) and look with some attention at 
 the last penny we laid on the pile — or, if we can do no bet- 
 ter, at the first of the pile we mean to lay. 
 
 Show me a penny — or, better, show me the three pages of 
 our British Bible — penny, shilling, and pound, and let us try 
 what we can read on them toofether. You see how rich thev 
 are in picture and legend : surely so practical a nation, in its 
 most valued Scriptures, cannot have written or pictured any- 
 thing but with discretion, and to the benefit of all beholders. 
 
 We begin with the penny ; — not that, except under pro- 
 test, I call such a thing as that a Penny ! Our farthings, 
 when we were boys, were as big as that ; and two-pence 
 filled our waistcoat pockets. Who, then, is this lady, whom 
 it represents, sitting, apparently, on tlie edge of a dish-cover ? 
 Britannia? Yes, — of course. But who is Britannia? and 
 what has she got on her head, in her hand, and on her seat ? 
 
 "Don't I know who Britannia is?" Not I; and much 
 doubt if you do ! Is she Great Britain, — or Little Britain ? 
 Is she England, Scotland, Ireland, Canada, and the Indies, — 
 or a small, dishonest, tailoring and engineering firm, with no 
 connection over the way, and publicly fined at the police 
 court for sneakingly supplying customers it had engaged not 
 to ? Is she a Queen, or an Actress, or a slave ? Is she a 
 Nation, mother of nations ; or a slimy polype, multiplying 
 by involuntary vivisection, and dropping half putrid pieces 
 of itself wherever it crawls or contracts ? In the world-feasts 
 of the Nativity, can she sit. Madonna-like, saying: " Behold, I, 
 and the children whom the Lord hath given me " ? Or are her 
 lips capable of such utterance — of any utterance — no more 
 the musical Rose of them cleft back into the lonof dumb 
 trench of the lizard's ; her motherhood summed in saying 
 that she makes all the world's ditches dirtier with her spawn ? 
 
 And what has she on her head, in her hand, or on that, — • 
 Shield, I believe it is meant for, — which she sits on the edge 
 of ? A most truly symbolic position ! For, you know, all those 
 ftrmour-plates and guns you p?-y for so pleasantly are indeed 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 made, wlien you look into the matter, not at all to defend 
 voLi against anybody — (no one ever ])retends to say distinctly 
 tliat the newest of them could protect you for twelve hours); 
 but they are made that the iron masters may get commission 
 on the iron, and the manufacturers commission on the manu- 
 facture. And so the Ironmongering and Manufacturing 
 Britannia does very literally sit upon her Shield : the cogni« 
 zance whereof, or — now too literally — the "Bearing," — so 
 obscured, becomes of small importance. Probably, in a little 
 while, a convenient cushion — or, what not — may be substi- 
 tuted for St. George's Cross ; to the public satisfaction. 
 
 I must not question farther what any of these symbols 
 may come to mean ; I will tell you, briefly, what they meant 
 once, and are yet, by courtesy, supposed to mean. 
 
 They where all invented by the Greeks ; and all, except 
 the Cross, some twelve hundred years before the first Christ- 
 mas ; they became intelligible and beautiful first about The- 
 seus' time. 
 
 The Helmet crest properly signifies the adoption by man 
 of the passions of pride and anger w^iich enable nearly all 
 the lower creatures to erect some spinous or plumose ridge 
 upon their heads or backs. It is curiously associated with 
 the story of the Spartan Phalanthus, the first colonist of 
 Tarentum, which might have been the port of an Italia rul- 
 ing the waves, instead of Britannia, had not the crest fallen 
 from the helmet of the Swabian prince, Manfred, in his 
 death-battle with Charles of Anjou. He had fastened it that 
 morning, he said, with his own hand, — you may think, if his 
 armourer had fastened it, it would have staid on, but kings 
 could do things with their own hands in those days ; — how- 
 beit^ it fell, and Manfred, that night, put off his armour for 
 evermore, and the evil French King reigned in his stead : 
 and South Italy has lain desert since that day, and so must 
 lie, till the crest of some King rise over it again, who will be 
 content with as much horse-hair as is needful for a crest, and 
 not wear it, as our English Squires have done lately (or per* 
 haps even the hair of an animal inferior to the horse), 
 on their heads, instead of their helmets. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 345 
 
 Of the trident in Britannia's hand, and why it must be a 
 trident, that is to say, have tiiree prongs, and no more ; and 
 in what use or significance it differs from other forks, (as foi 
 pitching, or toasting) — we will enquire at another time. Tako 
 up next the shilling, or, more to our purpose, tiie double shiU 
 ling, — get a new florin, and examine the sculpture and legend 
 on that. 
 
 The Legend, you perceive, is on the one side English, — on 
 the other Lf*,tin. The latter, I presume, you are not intended 
 to read, for not only it is in a dead language, but two words 
 are contracted, and four more indicated only by their first 
 letters. This arrangement leaves room for the ten decorative 
 letters, an M, and a D, and three Cs, and an L, and the sign 
 of double stout, and two I's ; of which ten letters the total 
 function is to inform you that the coin was struck this year, 
 (as if it mattered either to you or to me, when it was struck I) 
 But the poor fifth part of ten letters, preceding — the F and 
 D, namely — have for function to inform you that Queen Vic- 
 toria is the Defender of our Faith. Whicli is an all-important 
 fact to you and me, if it be a fact at all ; — nay, an all-impor- 
 tant brace of facts ; each letter vocal, for its part, with one. 
 F, that we have a Faith to defend ; 1), that our monarch can 
 defend it, if we chance to have too little to say for it our- 
 selves. For both which facts, Heaven be praised, if they be 
 indeed so, — nor dispraised by our shame, if they have ceased 
 to be so : only, if they be so, two letters are not enough to 
 assert them clearly ; and if not so, are more than enough to 
 lie with. On the reverse of the coin, however, the legend is 
 full, and clear. " One Florin." " One Tenth of a Pound." 
 Yes; that is all very practical and instructive. But do we 
 know either what a pound is, or what a florin or " Fiorino " 
 was, or why this particular coin should be called a Florin, or 
 whether we have any right to call any coin of England, now, 
 by that name ? And, by the way, how is it that I get con- 
 tinually reproved for writing above the level of the learning 
 of my general readers, when here I find the most current of 
 all our books written in three languages, of which one is 
 dead, another foreign, and the third written in defunct let* 
 
346 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 ters, so that anybody with two shillings in his pocket is sup 
 posed able to accept information conveyed in contracted 
 Latin, Roman numerals, old English, and spoiled Italian ? 
 
 How practical, and how sentimental, at once ! For indeed 
 we have no right, except sentimentally, to call that coin a 
 florin, — that is to say, a " flower (lily -flower) piece," or Flor^ 
 ence-piece. What have we any more to do with Lilies? Do 
 you ever consider how they grow — or care how they die ? 
 Do the very water-lilies, think you, keep white now, for an 
 hour after they open, in any stream in England ? And for 
 the heraldry of the coin, neither on that, nor any other, have 
 we courage or grace to bear the Fleur-de-Lys any more, it 
 having been once our first bearing of all. For in the first 
 quarter of our English shield we used to bear three golden 
 lilies on a blue ground, being the regal arms of France ; (our 
 great Kings being Frenchmen, and claiming France as their 
 own, before England). Also these Fleur-de-Lys were from 
 the beginning the ensigns of a King ; but those three Lions 
 which you see are yet retained for the arms of England on 
 two of the shields in your false florin, (false in all things, for 
 heaven knows, we have as little right to lions now as to lilies,) 
 " are deduced onely from Dukedomes : * I say deduced, be- 
 cause the Kings of England after the conquest did beare two 
 leopards (the ensigns of the Dukedome of Normandy) till the 
 time of Kino; Henrv the Second, who, accordino^ to the re- 
 ceived opinion, by marriage of Eleanor, daughter and heire 
 of the duke of Aquitaine and Guyon " (Guienne) " annexed 
 tlie Lyon, her paternail coate, being of the same Field, Metall, 
 and Forme with the Leopards, and so from thence forward 
 they were jointly marshalled in one Shield and Blazoned 
 three Lyons." Also " at the first quartering of these coats 
 by Edward the Third, question being moved of his title to 
 France, the King had good cause to put that coat in the 
 first ranke, to show his most undoubted Title to that King-- 
 dom, and therefore would have it the most perspicuous place 
 of his Escocheon." 
 
 But you see it is now on our shield no more, — we having 
 * Guillim, Ed. 1688. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 347 
 
 been beaten into cowardly and final resignation of it, at the 
 peace of Amiens, in George III.'s time, and precisely in the 
 first year of this supreme nineteenth century. He, as mon- 
 arch of England, being unable to defend our Lilies, and the 
 verbal instruction of the pacific angel Gabriel of Amiens, as 
 he dropped his lilies, being to the English accordingly, that 
 thenceforward they were to liate a Frenchman as they did 
 the Devil," which, as you know, was Nelson's notion of the 
 spirit in which England expected every man to do his duty. 
 
 Next to the three Lions, however (all of them, you find, 
 French), there is a shield bearing one Lion, " Rampant " — 
 that is to say, climbing like a vine on a wall. Remember 
 that the proper sense of the word "rampant " is "creeping," 
 as you say it of ground ivy, and such plants : and that a lion 
 rampant — whether British, or as this one Scotch, is not at 
 all, for his part, in what you are so fond of getting into — " an 
 independent position," nor even in a specifically leonine one, 
 but rather generally feline, as of a cat, or other climbing ani- 
 mal, on a tree ; whereas the three French Lions, or Lioncels, 
 are " passant-gardant," " passing on the look out," as beasts 
 of chase. 
 
 Round the rampant Scottish animal (1 can't find why the 
 Scotch took him for their type) you observe farther, a double 
 line, with — thouofh almost too small to be seen — fleur-de-Lvs 
 at the knots and corners of it. This is the tressure, or bind- 
 ing belt, of the great Cliarles, who has really been to both 
 English and Scottisli lions what that absent Charles of the 
 polar skies must, 1 suppose, have been to their Bear, and who 
 entirely therefore deserves to be stellified by British astrono- 
 mers. 
 
 The Tressure, heraldically, records alliance of that Charle- 
 maorne with the Scottish Kins: Achaius, and the vision bv the 
 Scottish army of St. Andrew's cross — and the adoption of 
 the same, with the Thistle and Rue, for their national de- 
 vice ; of all which the excellent Scotch clergyman and his- 
 torian, Robert Henry, giving no particular account, prefers 
 to note, as an example of such miraculous appearances in 
 Scotland, the introduction, by King Kenneth, the son of Al- 
 
348 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 pine, of a shining figure clothed in the skins of dried fish, 
 which shone in the dark," to his nobility and councillors, to 
 give them heavenly admonitions after they had composed 
 themselves to rest." Of course a Presbyterian divine must 
 Iiave more pleasure in recording a miracle so connected with 
 the existins: national interests of the herrinsf and salmoni fish- 
 eries, than the tradition of St. Andrew's cross ; and that 
 tradition itself is so confused among Rodericks, Alpines, and 
 Ferguses, that the ' Lady of the Lake ' is about as trust- 
 worthy historical readinor. But St. x\ndrew's Cross and the 
 Thistle — (I don't know when the Rue, much the more hon- 
 ourable bearing of the two, was dropped) — are there, you see, 
 to this day ; and you must learn their story — but I've no 
 time to go into that, now. 
 
 For England, the tressure really implies, though not in 
 heraldry, more than for Scotland. For the Saxon seven 
 kingdoms had fallen into quite murderous anarchy in Charle- 
 magne's time, and especially the most religious of them, 
 Northumberland ; which then included all the country be- 
 tween the Frith of Forth and the Cheviots commanded bv 
 the fortress of Edwin's Burg, (fortress now always standing 
 in a rampant manner on its hind-legs, as the Modern Athens). 
 But the pious E^dwin's spirit had long left his burg, and the 
 state of the whole district from which the Saxon angels — 
 (non Angli) — had gone forth to win the pity of Rome, was 
 so distracted and hopeless that Charlemagne called them 
 
 worse than heathens," and had like to have set his hand to 
 exterminate them altogether ; but the Third Fors ruled it 
 otherwise, for luckily, a West Saxon Prince, Egbert, being 
 driven to Charles's court, in exile, Charles determined to 
 make a man of him, and trained him to such true knight- 
 liood, that, recovering the throne of the West Saxons, the 
 French-bred youth conquered the Heptarchy, and became the 
 first King of "England" {all England) ; — and the Grand- 
 father of Alfred. 
 
 Such belt of lilies did the French chivalry bind us with \ 
 the tressure " of Charlemagne. 
 
 Of the fourth shield, bearing the Irish Harp, and the har- 
 
FORS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 349 
 
 tnonious psalmody of which that instrument is significant, I 
 have no time to speak to-day ; nor of the vegetable heraldry 
 between the shields ; — but before you lay the florin down I 
 must advise you that the very practical motto or war-cry 
 which it now bears — "one tenth of a pound," was not 
 anciently the motto round the arms of England, that is to 
 say, of English kings^ (for republican England has no shield) ; 
 but a quite different one — to wit — "Accursed (or evil-spoken 
 of, maledictus, opposed to well-spoken of, or benedictus,) be 
 He who thinks Evil ; " and that this motto ought to be writ- 
 ten on another Tressure or band than Charlemagne's, sur- 
 rounding the entire shield — namely, on a lady's garter ; 
 specifically the garter of the most beautiful and virtuous 
 English lady, Alice of Salisbury, (of whom soon) ; and that 
 without this tressure and motto, the mere shield of Lions is 
 but a poor defence. 
 
 For this is a very great and lordly motto ; marking the ut- 
 most point and acme of honour, w^hich is not merely in 
 doing no evil, but in thinking none ; and teaching that the 
 first — as indeed the last — nobility of Education is in the rule 
 over our Thoughts, on which matter, I must digress for a 
 minute or two. 
 
 Among the letters just received by me, as I told you, is 
 one from a working man of considerable experience, which 
 laments that, in his part of the country, " literary institutes 
 are a failure." 
 
 Indeed, your literary institutes must everywhere fail, as 
 long as you think that merely to buy a book, and to know your 
 letters, will enable yo\i to read the book. Not one word of 
 any book is readable by you except so far as your mind is one 
 with its author's, and not merely his words like your words, 
 but his thouo^hts like vour thouofhts. 
 
 For instance, the other day, at a bookstall, I bought a 
 shilling Shakespeare. To such degree of wealth, ingenuity, 
 and literary spirit, has the nineteenth century reached, that 
 it has a shilling to spare for its Shakespeare — can produce 
 its Shakespeare in a pocketable shape for that sum — and is 
 ready to invest its earnings in a literature to that extent 
 
350 
 
 FOBS GLAVIOERA. 
 
 Good. You have now your Shakespeare, complete, in your 
 pocket ; you will read the greatest of dramatic authors at 
 your leisure, and form your literary taste on that model. 
 
 Suppose we read a line or two together then, you and I; — • 
 it may be, that cannot, unless you help me. 
 
 ** And there, at Venice, gave 
 His body to that pleasant country^s earth, 
 And his pure soul unto his Captain, Christ, 
 Under whose colours he had fought so long." 
 
 What do you suppose Shakespeare means by calling Venice 
 a " pleasant " country ? What sort of country was, or would 
 have been, pleasant to him? The same that is pleasant to 
 you, or another kind of country ? Was there any coal in 
 that earth of Venice, for instance ? Any gas to be made out 
 of it ? Any iron ? 
 
 Again. What does Shakespeare mean by a " pure " soul, 
 or by Purity in general? How does a soul become pure, or 
 clean, and how dirty ? Are you sure that your own soul is 
 pure ? if not, is its opinion on the subject of purity likely to 
 he the same as Shakespeare's ? And might you not just as 
 well read a mure soul, or demure, or a scure soul, or obscure, 
 as a pure soul, if you don't know what Shakespeare means 
 by the word ? 
 
 Again. What does Shakespeare mean by a captain, or 
 head-person ? What were his notions of head-sliip, shoulder- 
 ship, or foot-ship, either in human or divine persons? Have 
 you yourselves ever seen a captain, think you — of the true 
 quality ; (see above, XXIT. 299 ;) and did you know him 
 when you saw him ? 
 
 Or again. What does Shakespeare mean by colours ? 
 The ^'gaily decorative bunting" of Howe and Cushing's 
 American Circus ? Or the banners with invigorating in- 
 scriptions concerning Temperance and Free-trade, under 
 w^hich you walk in procession, sometimes, after a band ? Or 
 colours more dim and tattered than these ? 
 
 What he does mean, in all these respects, we shall best 
 understand by reading a little bit of the history of one of 
 those English Squires, named above, for our study ; (XXII, 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 299,) Edward III. of England, namely ; since it was he who 
 first quartered our arms for us ; whom I cannot more honour- 
 ably first exhibit to you than actually fighting under cap- 
 tainship and colours of his own choice, in the fashion Shake- 
 speare meant. 
 
 Under captainship, mark you, though himself a King, and 
 a proud one. Which came to pass thus : "When the King 
 of England heard these news " (that Geoffrey of Chargny 
 was drawing near his dear town of Calais, and that Amery 
 of Pavia, the false Lombard, was keeping him in play.) 
 "then the King set out from England with 300 men at 
 armSj and 600 archers, and took ship at Dover, and by 
 vespers arrived at Calais, and put his people in ambush in 
 the castle, and was with them himself. And said to the Lord 
 de Manny : ^Master Walter, I will that you should be the 
 head in this need, for I and my son will figlit under your 
 banner.'* Now My Lord Geoffrey of Chargny had left 
 Arras on the last day of December, in the evening, with all 
 his gens-d'-armes, and came near Calais about one in the 
 morning, — and he said to his knights f *Let the Lombard 
 open the gates quickly — he makes us die of cold.' 'In God's 
 name,' said Pepin de Werre, * the Lombards 
 are cunning folks ; — he will look at your 
 florins first, to see that none are false.'" 
 (You see how important this coin is ; here 
 is one engraved for you therefore — pure 
 Florentine gold — that you may look at it 
 honestly, and not like a Lombard.) " And at 
 these words came the King of England, and his son at his 
 side, under the banner of Master Walter de Manny ; and 
 there were other banners with them, to wit, the Count of 
 Stafford's, the Count of Suffolk's, My Lord John de Mon- 
 tagu's, My Lord Beauchamp's, and the Lord de la Werre's, 
 
 * The reason of this honour to Sir Walter was that he had been the 
 first English knight who rode into France after the king had quartered 
 the Fleur-de-Lys. 
 
 f I omit much, without putting stars, in these bits of translation. By 
 the way, in last ' Fors.' p. '387, noto, for "insert,*' read ''omit.** 
 
FOBS CLAVIGEJRA. 
 
 and no more, that clay. When the French saw them como 
 out, and heard the cry, ' Manny, to the rescue,' they knew 
 they were betrayed.* Then said Master Geoffrey to his 
 people, * Lords, if we fly, we are lost ; it is best to light 
 with good will ; — hope is, we may gain the day.' *By St. 
 George,' said the English, ^ you say true, and evil be to him 
 who flies.' Whereupon they drew back a little, being too 
 crowded, and dismounted, and let their horses go. And the 
 King of England, under the banner of Master Walter de 
 Manny, came with his people, all on foot, to seek his 
 enemies ; who were set close, their lances cut short by five 
 feet, in front of them " (set with the stumps against the 
 ground and points forward, eight or ten feet long, still, 
 though cut short by five). At the first coming there was 
 hard encounter, and the King stopped under" (opposite) 
 ^' My Lord Eustace of Ribaumont, who was a strong and 
 brave chevalier. And he fought the King so long that it 
 was a wonder ; yes, and much pleasure to see. Then they 
 all joined battle," (the English falling on, I think, because 
 the King found he had enough on his hands, though with- 
 out question one of the best knights in Europe,) " and 
 there was a great coil, and a hard, — and there fought well, 
 of the French, My Lord Geoffrey of Chargny and My Lord 
 John of Landas, and My Lord Gawain of Bailleul, and the 
 Sire of Cresques ; and the others ; but My Lord Eustace of 
 Ribaumont passed all, — who that day struck the King to his 
 knees twice ; but in the end gave his sword to the King, 
 saying, ' Sire Chevalier, I render me your prisoner, for the 
 day must remain to the English.' For by that time they 
 were all taken or killed who were with My Lord Geoffrey of 
 Chargny ; and the last who was taken, and who had done 
 most, was Master Eustace of Ribaumont. 
 
 " So when the need f was past, the King of England drew 
 
 * Not unfairly ; only having to fight for their Calais instead of get- 
 ting in for a bribe. 
 
 f Besogne. ** The thing that has to be done " — word used still in house- 
 hold service, but impossible to translate ; we have no such concentrated 
 one in English. 
 
FOBS CLAVTOERA. 
 
 353 
 
 back into Calais, into the castle ; and made be brought all 
 the prisoner-knights thither. Awdi then the French knew 
 that the King of England had been in it, in person, under 
 the banner of Master Walter de Manny. So also the KinGT 
 sent to say to them, as it was the New-year's night, he would 
 give them all supper in his castle of Calais. So when the 
 supper time came," (early afternoon, 1st January, 1349) the 
 King and his knights dressed themselves, and all put on new 
 robes ; and the French also made themselves greatly splendid, 
 for so the King wished, though they were prisoners. The 
 King took seat, and set those knights beside him in much 
 honour. And the gentle * Prince of Wales and the knights 
 of England served them, at the first course ; and at the 
 second course, went away to another table. So they were 
 served in peace, and in great leisure. When they had supped 
 they took away the tables ; but the King remained in the 
 hall between those French and EnMish knio^hts : and he was 
 bareheaded; only wearing a chaplet of pearls.f And he 
 began to go from one to another ; and when he addressed 
 himself to Master Geoffrey of Chargny, he altered counte- 
 nance somewhat, and looking askance at him, said, * Master 
 Geoffrey, — I owe you by right, little love, when you would 
 have stolen by night what had cost me so dear. So glad and 
 joyous I am, that I took you at the trial.' At these words 
 he passed on, and let Master Geoffrey alone, who answered 
 no word ; and so came the King to Master Eustace of Ribau- 
 raont, to whom he said joyously, ' Master Eustace, you are 
 the chevalier whom in all the world I have seen most valiantlv 
 attack his enemy and defend his body : neither did I ever find 
 in battle any one who gave me so much work, body to 
 body, as you did to-day. So I give you the prize of the day. 
 and that over all the knights of my own court, by just sen- 
 
 * The passage is entirely spoiled in Johnes* translation by the use of 
 the word 'gallant' instead of 'gentle' for the French *gentil.' The 
 boy was not yet nineteen, (born at Woodstock, June 15, 1330,) and his 
 father thirty-six : fancy how pretty to see the one waiting on the other, 
 with the French knights at his side. 
 
 f Sacred fillet, or diadema,'' the noblest, as the most ancient, crown. 
 88 
 
354 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEUA, 
 
 tence.' Thereupon the King took off the chaplet, that he 
 wore, (which was good and rich,) and put it on the head of 
 My Lord Eustace ; and said, ' My Lord Eustace, I give you 
 this chaplet, for that you have been the best fighter to-day 
 of all those without or within, and I pray you that you wear 
 it all this year for the love of me. I know well that you are 
 gay, and loving, and glad to be among dames and damsels. 
 So therefore say to them whither-soever you go, that I gave 
 it you ; and so I quit you of your prison, and you may set 
 forth to-morrow if it please you.' " 
 
 Now, if you have not enjoyed this bit ^f historical study, 
 I tell you frankly, it is neither Edward the Third's fault, nor 
 Froissart's, nor mine, but your own, for not having cheer- 
 fulness, loyalty, or generosity enough in you to understand 
 what is going on. But even supposing you have these, and 
 do enjoy the story as now read, it does not at ail follow that 
 you would enjoy it at your Literary Institute. There you 
 would find, most probably, a modern abstract of the matter 
 given in polished language. You would be fortunate if you 
 chanced on so good a history as Robert Henry's above referred 
 to, which I always use myself, as intelligent, and trustworthy 
 for general reference. But hear his polished account of this 
 supper at Calais. 
 
 " As Edward was a great admirer of personal valour, he 
 ordered all the French knights and gentlemen to be feasted 
 by the Prince of Wales, in the great hall of the castle. The 
 king entered the hall in the time of the banquet, and discov- 
 ered to his prisoners that he had been present in the late 
 conflict, and was the person who had fought hand to hand 
 with the Sieur Ribaumont. Then, addressing himself to that 
 gentleman, he gave him his liberty, presented him with a 
 chaplet adorned with pearls, which he desired him to wear ioi 
 his sake, and declared him to be the most expert and valor- 
 ous knight with whom he had ever engaged." 
 
 Now, supposing you can read no other history than sucb 
 as this, you had — with profoundest earnestness I say it — in- 
 finitely better read none. It is not the least necessary ii 
 you to know anything about Edward III. ; but quite neces* 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 355 
 
 saiy for you to know something vital and real about some- 
 body ; and not to have polished language given you instead 
 of life. " But you do enjoy it, in Froissart ? " And you 
 think it would have been, to you also, a pleasure to see " 
 that fight between Edward and the Sieur de Ribaumont ? So 
 be it : now let us compare with theirs, a piece of modern 
 British fighting, done under no banner, and in no loyalty nor 
 obedience, but in the independent spirit of freedom, and yet 
 which, I think, it would have been no pleasure to any of us 
 to see. As we compared before, loyal with free justice, so 
 let us now compare loyal wuth free fighting. The most active 
 of the contending parties are of your own class, too, I am 
 sorry to say, and that the Telegraph (16th Dec.) calls them 
 many hard names ; but I can't remedy this without too many 
 inverted commas. 
 
 Four savages — four brute beasts in human form we should 
 rather say — named Slane, Rice, Hays, and Beesley, rang- 
 ing in age between thirty-two and nineteen years, have 
 been sentenced to death for the murder on the 6th of Novem- 
 ber last, at a place called Spennymoor, of one Joseph Waine, 
 The convicts are Irishmen, and liad been working as puddlers 
 in the iron foundries. The principal offender was the ruffian 
 Slane, who seems to have had some spite against the de- 
 ceased, a very sober, quiet man, about forty years of age, 
 who, with his wife and son, kept a little chandler's shop at 
 Spennymoor. Into this shop Slane came one night, grossly 
 insulted Waine, ultimately dragged him from the shop into 
 a dark passage, tripped him up, holding his head between 
 his legs, and then whistled for his three confederates. When 
 Rice, Hays, and Beesley appeared on the scene, they were 
 instructed by the prime savage to hold Waine down — the 
 wretch declaring, "If I get a running kick at him, it shall be 
 his last." The horrible miscreant did get a running kick" 
 — nay, more than a dozen — at his utterly powerless victim ; 
 and when Slane's strength was getting exhausted, the other 
 three wretclies set upon Waine, kicking liim in the body 
 with their hob-nailed boots, while the poor agonized wife 
 strove vainly to save her husband. A lodger in the house, 
 named Wilson, at last interfered, and the savages ran away. 
 The object of their brutality lived just twenty-five minutes 
 after the outrage, and the post-mortem examination showed 
 
356 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 that all the organs were perfectly healthy, and that death 
 could only have arisen from the violence Inflicted on Waine 
 by these fiends, who were plainly identified by the widow 
 and her son. It may be noticed, however, as a painfully 
 significant circumstance, that the lodger Wilson, who was 
 likewise a labouring man, and a most important witness for 
 the prosecution, refused to give evidence, and, before the 
 trial came on, absconded altogether. 
 
 Among the epithets bestowed by the Telegraphy — very 
 properly, but unnecessarily — on these free British Operatives, 
 there is one which needs some qualification ; — that of " Mis- 
 creant," or " Misbeliever," which is only used accurately of 
 Turks or other infidels, whereas it is probable these Irish- 
 men were zealously religious persons, Evangelical or Catholic. 
 But the perversion of the better faith by passion is indeed 
 a worse form of "misbelieving" than the obedient keeping 
 of a poorer creed ; and thus the word, if understood not of 
 any special heresy, but of powerlessness to believe, with 
 strength of imagination, in anything^ goes to the root of the 
 matter ; which I must wait till after Christmas to dig for, 
 having much else on my hands. 
 
 ^Uh December, 1872, 8, Morning, 
 
 The first quiet and pure light that has risen this many a 
 day, was increasing through the tall stems of the trees of our 
 garden, which is walled by the walls of old Oxford ; and a 
 bird, — ( I am going to lecture on ornithology next term, but 
 don't know what bird, and couldn't go to ask the gardener,) 
 singing steady, sweet, momentary notes, in a way that would 
 have been very pleasant to me, once. And as I was breath- 
 ing out of the window, thrown up as high as I could, (for my 
 servant had made me an enormous fire, as servants alwavs do 
 on hot mornings,) and looking at the bright sickle of a 
 moon, fading as she rose, the verse came into my mind, — I 
 don't in the least know why, — " Lifting up holy hands, with- 
 out wrath and doubting ; " — which chanced to express in the 
 most precise terms, what I want you to feel, about Edward 
 IIL's fighting, (though St. Paul is speaking of prayer, not of 
 
FOMS GLAVIGEEA, 
 
 357 
 
 fighting, but it's all the same ;) as opposed to this modern 
 British fighting, which is the lifting up of unholy hands, — 
 feet, at least, — in wrath, and doubting. Also, just the minute 
 before, I had upset my lucifer-matcli box, a nasty brown tin 
 thing, containing, — as the spiteful Third Fors w^ould have it 
 — just two hundred and sixt3'-six wax matches, half of which 
 being in a heap on the floor, and the rest all at cross-pur- 
 poses, had to picked up, put straight and repacked, and at 
 my best time for other work. During this operation, neces- 
 sarily deliberate, I was thinking of my correspondent's query, 
 (see terminal notes,) respecting what I meant by doing any- 
 thing "in a hurry." I mean essentially doing it in hurry of 
 mi?id, — doubting" whether we are doing it fast enough, — 
 not knowing exactly how fast we can do it, or liow slowly it 
 7nust be done, to be done well. You cannot pack a lucifer- 
 box, nor make a dish of stir-about, nor knead a brown loaf, 
 but with patience ; nor meet even the most pressing need 
 but with coolness. Once, when mv father was comin<r homo 
 from Spain, in a merchant sliip, and in mid-bay of Biscay, 
 tlie captain and passengers being at dinner, the sea did 
 something or other to the ship which showed tiiat the steers- 
 man was not minding what he was about. The captain 
 jumped straight over the table, went on deck, and took tl;e 
 helm. Now I do not mean that he ought to have gone 
 round the table, but that, if a good captain, as he took the 
 wheel, he would not miss his grasp of the spokes by snatch- 
 ing at them an instant too soon. 
 
 And you will find that St. Paul's ''without doubting" — 
 for which, if you like, you may substitute, " by, or in, faith," 
 covers nearly every definition of right action — and also that 
 it is not possible to have this kind of faith unless one can 
 add — as he does — " havinor faith and a orood conscience." It 
 does not at all follow that one must be doing a right thing ; 
 that will depend on one's sense and information ; but one 
 must be doing deliberately a thing we entirely suppose to be 
 right, or we shall not do it becomingly. 
 
 Thus, observe, I enter into no question at present as to the . 
 absolute rightness of King Edward's fighting, which caused, 
 
358 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEEA, 
 
 that day, at Calais, the deaths of more than four hundred 
 innocent men ; nor as to the absolute wrongness of the four 
 Irishmen's fighting, which causes only the death of one, ( — who 
 also may, for aught I know, have done something really 
 seeming evil to the dull creatures) — hut there is no doubt that 
 the Kinof fouofht whollv without wrath, and without doubt- 
 ing his Tightness ; and they w^ith vile wrath and miserable 
 consciousness of doing wrong ; and that you have in the two 
 scenes, as perfect types as I can put before you of entirely 
 good ancient French breeding, and entirely bad modern 
 British breeding. 
 
 Breeding ; — observe the word ; I mean it literally ; involv- 
 ing first the race — and then the habits enforced in youth : 
 entirely excluding intellectual conclusions. The " breeding " 
 of a man is what he gets from the Centaur Chiron ; the 
 "beastly " part of him in a good sense ; — that which makes 
 him courageous b}^ instinct, true by instinct, loving by in- 
 stinct, as a Dog is ; and therefore felicitously above or below 
 (whichever you like to call it,) all questions of philosophy 
 and divinity. 
 
 And of both the Centaur Chiron, and St. George, one, the 
 typical Greek tutor of gentlemen, and the other, the type of 
 Christian gentlemen, I meant to tell you in this letter ; and 
 the Third Fors won't let me, yet, and I scarcely know when ; 
 for before we leave King Edward, lest you should suppose I 
 mean to set him up for a saint instead of St. George, you must 
 hear the truth of his first interview w^ith Alice of Salisbury, 
 — (he had seen her married, but not noticed her then, particu- 
 larly,) — wherein you will see him becoming doubtful, and of 
 little faith, or distorted faith, " miscreant ; " but the lady 
 Alice no wise doubtful ; wherefore she becomes worthy to 
 give the shield of England its tressure " and St. George's 
 company their watchword, as aforesaid. 
 
 But her story must not be told in the same letter with that 
 of our modern British courage ; and now that I think of it, 
 St. George's had better be first told in February, when, I hope, 
 some crocuses will be up, and an amaryllis or two, St. George 
 having much interest in both. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 359 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 In an interesting letter for self and mates " a Manchester working 
 man asks me the meaning of ^'Fors Clavigera " (surely enough ex- 
 plained in II. 16 ?) and whether I mean by vulgarity ''commonness," 
 and why I say that doing anything in a hurry is vulgar. I do not mean 
 by vulgarity, commonness. A daisy is common ; and a baby, not un- 
 common. Neither are vulgar. Has my correspondent really no per- 
 ception of the difference between good breeding and vulgarity ? — if he 
 will tell me this, I will try to answer him more distinctly : meantime, 
 if in the Salford Library there is a copy of my Modern Painters, let 
 him look at Vol. V., Part IX., Chap. VII. 
 
 He says also that he and his mates mmt do many things in a hurry. 
 
 I know it. But do they suppose such compulsion is a law of Heaven ? 
 or that, if not, it is likely to last ? 
 
 I was greatly pleased V)y Mr. Affleck's letter, and would have told him 
 so ; only he gave me his address in Gordon Street, without telling me 
 of what town. His post-mark was Galashiels, which I tried, and Edin- 
 burgh ; but only with embarrassment to Her Majesty's service. 
 
 Another communication, very naive and honest, came from a Repub- 
 lican of literary tastes, who wished to assist me in the development of 
 my plans in ' Fors ; ' and, in the course of resulting correspondence, 
 expressed his willingness to answer any questions I might wish to put 
 to him. I answered that I imagined myself, as far as I thought need- 
 ful for me, acquainted with his opinions; but that perhaps he might 
 wish to know something more definite about mine, and that if he liked 
 to pat any questions to me, I would do my best to reply intelligibly. 
 Whereupon, apparently much pleased, he sent mo the following eleven 
 interrogations, to each of which I have accordingly given solution, to 
 the best of my ability. 
 
 1. " Can the world — its oceans, seas, lakes, rivers, continents, islands, 
 or portions thereof, be rightfully treated by human legislators as the 
 * private property ' of individuals ? " 
 
 Alls. Certainly. Else would man be more wretched than the beasts, 
 who at least have dens of their own. 
 
 2. " Should cost be the limit of price ? 
 
 Am. It never was, and never can be. So we need not ask whether 
 it should be. 
 
360 
 
 FOBS clavioeha. 
 
 8. Can one man rightfully tax another man ? " 
 Ans. By all means. Indeed, I have seldom heard of anybody wha 
 would tax himself. 
 
 4. Can a million men rightfully tax other men ? " 
 
 Ans. Certainly, when the other men are not strong enough to tax the 
 million. 
 
 5. Should not each adult inhabitant of a country (who performs ser- 
 vice equivalent in value to his or her use of the service of other inhabi- 
 tants) have electoral rights granted equal to those granted to any other 
 inhabitant?" 
 
 A71S, Heaven forbid ! It is not everybody one would set to choose a 
 horse, or a pig. How much less a member of Parliament ? 
 
 6. ''Is it not aD injustice for a State to require or try to enforce, 
 allegiance to the State from self-supporting adults, who have never 
 been permitted to share in the framing or endorsing of the laws they 
 are expected to obey?" 
 
 Ans. Certainly not. Laws are usually most beneficial in operation 
 on the people who would have most strongly objected to their enact- 
 ment. 
 
 7. " The Parliament of this country is now almost exclusively com- 
 posed of representatives of the classes whose time is mostly occupied 
 in consuming and destroying. Is this statement true ? If true — is it 
 right that it should be so ? " 
 
 Ans. The statement is untrue. A railway navvy consumes, usually, 
 about six times as much as an average member of Parliament ; and I 
 know nothing which members of Parliament kill, except time, which 
 other people would not kill, if they were allowed to. It is the Par- 
 liamentary tendency to preservation, rather than to destruction, which 
 I have mostly heard complained of. 
 
 8. '' The State undertakes the carriage and delivery of letters. Would 
 it be just as consistent and advisable for the State to undertake the 
 supply of unadulterated and wholesome food, clean and healthy dwell- 
 ings, elementary, industrial, and scientific instruction, medical assist- 
 ance, a national paper money, and other necessities ? " 
 
 Ans. All most desirable. But the tax-gatherers would have a busy 
 life of it ! 
 
 9. ' ' Should not a State represent the co-operation of all the people 
 of a country, for the benefit of all ? " 
 
 Ans. You mean, I suppose, by ' * a State the Government of a State. 
 The Government cannot "represent'* such co-operation; but can en- 
 force it, and should. 
 
 10. ''Is the use of scarce metals as material of which to make ' cur- 
 rency,' economical and beneficent to a nation ? '* 
 
 Ans, No; but of ten necessary : Mimera Puher is chsi^, iii, 
 
 11. '* Is that a right condition of a people, their laws, and theil 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 361 
 
 money which makes ' interest ' for use of money legal nnd possible to 
 obtain ? " 
 
 Ana, See Fors Clamgera^ throughout, which indeed I have written to 
 save you the trouble of asking questions on such subjects. 
 
 It might be well if my Republican correspondent, for his own benefit, 
 would write down an exact definition of the following terms used by 
 him : — 
 
 1. ** Private property.*' 
 
 2. **Tax." 
 
 3. Stale." 
 
362 
 
 FOES CLAVIGERA. 
 
 LETTER XXVI. 
 
 Brantwood, Conistox, 
 
 Zrd January, 1873, 
 
 "By St. George," said the English, you say true 1" 
 
 If, by the same oath, the English could still, now-a-days, 
 both say and do true, themselves, it would be a merrier Eng- 
 land. I hear from those of my acquaintance who are un- 
 happy enough to be engaged in commercial operations, that 
 their correspondents are "failing in all directions." 
 
 Failing ! What business has anybody to fail ? 
 
 I observe myself to be getting into the habit of always 
 thinking the last blockheadism I hear, or think of, the big- 
 gest. But this system of mercantile credit, invented simply 
 to give power and opportunity to rogues, and enable them 
 to live upon tiie wreck of honest men — was ever anything 
 like it in the world before? That the wretched, impatient, 
 scrambling idiots, calling themselves commercial men, for- 
 sooth, should not be able so much as to see this plainest of 
 all facts, that any given sum of money will be as serviceable 
 to commerce in the pocket of the seller of the goods, as of 
 the buyer ; and that nobody gains one farthing by " credit " 
 in the long run. It is precisely as great a loss to commerce 
 that every seller has to wait six montlis for his money, as it 
 is a gain to commerce that every buyer should keep his 
 money six months in his pocket. In reality there is neither 
 gain nor loss — except by roguery, when the gain is all to the 
 rogue, and the loss to the true man. 
 
 In all wise commerce, payment, large or small, should be 
 over the counter. If you can't pay for a thing — don't buy 
 it. If you can't get paid for it — don't sell it. So, you will 
 have calm days, drowsy nights, all the good business you 
 have now, and none of the bad. 
 
 (Just as I am correcting this sheet I get a lovely illumi- 
 nated circular, printed in blue and red, from Messrs. Howdl, 
 
FOns fJJ.AVIGERA. 
 
 3(53 
 
 James, and Co., silk mercers, (Scc, to the Royal Family, 
 which respectfully announces that their half yearly clearance 
 sale 
 
 and continues one month, and that the whole op the 
 
 VALUABLE STOCK WILL BE COMPLETELY OVERHAULED, AND 
 LARGE PORTIONS SUBJECTED TO SUCH REDUCTIONS IN PRICE, 
 AS WILL ENSURE THEIR BEING DISPOSED OF PRIOR TO THE 
 COMMENCEMENT OF THE APPROACHING SPRING SEASON. EaCH 
 DEPARTMENT WILL PRESENT SPECIAL ATTRACTIONS IN THE 
 WAY OF BARGAINS, AND LADIES WILL HAVE AN OPPORTUNITY 
 OF PURCHASING THE HIGHEST CLASS OF GOODS AT PRICES 
 QUITE AS LOW AS THOSE OF INFERIOR MANUFACTURE. What 
 
 a quite beautiful and generally satisfactory commercial ar- 
 rangement, most obliging H. and J.!) 
 
 If, however, for the nonce, you chance to have such 
 a thing as a real "pound" in your own pocket, besides the 
 hypothetical pounds you have in otiier people's — put it on 
 the table, and let us look at it together. 
 
 As a piece of mere die-cutting, that St. George is one of 
 the best bits of work we have on our money.* But as a de- 
 sign, — how brightly comic it is I The horse looking ab- 
 stractedly into the air, instead of where precisely it would 
 have looked, at the beast between its legs : St. George, with 
 nothing but his helmet on, (being the last piece of armour 
 he is likely to want,) putting his naked feet, at least his 
 feet shovying their toes through the buskins, well forward, 
 that the dragon may with the greatest convenience get a 
 bite at them ; and about to deliver a mortal blow at him 
 with a sword which cannot reach him by a couple of yards, 
 — or, I think, in George III.'s piece, — with a field-marshal's 
 truncheon. 
 
 Victor Carpaccio had other opinions on the likelihood of 
 matters in this battle. His St. George exactly reverses the 
 
 * The best is on George III. 's ponnd. 1820, the most finished in work 
 on George IV.'s crowu-piece, 1821. 
 
864 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 practice of ours. He rides armed, from shoulder to heel, in 
 proof — but without his helmet. For the real difficulty in 
 dragon-tights, as you shall hear, is not so much to kill your 
 dragon, as to see him ; at least to see him in time, it being 
 too probable that he will see you first. Garpaccio's St. 
 George will have his eyes about him, and his head free to 
 turn this way or that. He meets his dragon at the gallop- — 
 catches him in the mouth with his lance — carries him back- 
 wards off his forefeet, with the spear point out at the back of 
 his neck. But Victor Carpaccio had seen knights tilting ; and 
 poor Pistrucci, who designed this St. George for us, though 
 he would have been a good sculptor in luckier circumstances, 
 liad only seen them presenting addresses as my Lord Mayor, 
 and killing turtle instead of dragon. 
 
 And, to our increasing sorrow, modern literature is as un- 
 satisfactory in its picturing of St. George as modern art. 
 Here is Mr. Emerson's bas-relief of the Saint, given in his 
 " English Traits," a book occasionally wise, and always 
 observant as to matters actually proceeding in the world ; 
 but thus, in its ninth chapter, calumnious of our Georgia 
 faith : 
 
 "George of Cappadocia, born at Epiphania in Cilicia, was 
 a low parasite, who got a lucrative contract to supply the 
 army with bacon. A rogue and informer ; he got rich, and 
 was forced to run from justice. He saved his money, em- 
 braced Arianism, collected a library, and got promoted by a 
 faction to the episcopal throne of Alexandria. When Julian 
 came, a.d. 361, George was dragged to prison. The prison 
 was burst open by the mob, and George was lynched, as he 
 deserved. And this precious knave became, in good time, 
 Saint George of England — patron of chivalry, emblem of 
 victory and civility, and the pride of the best blood of the 
 modern world ! " 
 
 Here is a goodly patron of our dainty doings in Hanover 
 Square ! If all be indeed as our clear-sighted, unimaginative, 
 American cousin tells us. But if all be indeed so, what con- 
 clusion would our American cousin draw from it ? The sen- 
 tence is amusing — the facts {if facts) surprising. But what 
 
FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 3G5 
 
 is to follow? Mr. Emerson's own conclusion is ''that nature 
 trips us up when we strut." But that is, in the first place, 
 untrue absolutely, for Nature teaches all cock-sparrows, and 
 their like, (who are many) to strut ; and never without whole- 
 some effect on the minds of hen-sparrows, and their like, 
 who are likewise many. But in its relative, if not absolute, 
 truth, is this the conclusion here wisely to be gathered ? Are 
 " chivalry, victory, civility, and the pride of the best blood 
 of the modern world," generally to be described as " strut- 
 ting " ? And is the discovery of the peculations of George 
 of Cilicia a wholesome reproof, administered by Nature, to 
 those unnatural modes of thinkinof and feelino^ ? 
 
 Mr. Emerson does not think so. No modern person has 
 truer instinct for heroism than he : nay, he is the only man 
 I know of, among all who ever looked at books of mine, who 
 had nobleness enough to understand and believe the story of 
 Turner's darkening his own j)icture that it might not take 
 the light out of Lawrence's. The level of vulgar English 
 temper is now sunk so far below the power of doing such a 
 thing, that I never told tlie story yet, in general society, 
 without being met by instant and obstinate questioning of 
 its truth, if not by quiet incredulity. But men with tlie 
 pride of the best blood of England" can believe it ; and Mr. 
 Emerson believes it. And yet this chivalry, and faith, and 
 fire of heart, recognised by him as existent, confuse them- 
 selves in his mind with effete Gothic tradition ; and are all 
 " tripped up " by liis investigation, itself superficial, of the 
 story of St. George. In quieter thought, he would have felt 
 that the chivalry and victory, being themselves real, must 
 have been achieved, at some time or another, by a real chev- 
 alier and victor, — nay, by thousands of chevaliers and victors. 
 That instead of one St. George, there must have been armies 
 of St. Georges ; — that this vision of a single Knight was as 
 securelv the svmbol of kniVhts innumerable, as the one 
 Dragon of sins and trials innumerable ; and no more de- 
 pended for its vitality, or virtue, on the behaviour of George 
 of Cilicia than the terror of present temptation depends on 
 the natural history of the rattlesnake. And farther, being 
 
300 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 an American, he should have seen that the fact of the Chria 
 tian world's having made a bishop of a speculating bacon' 
 seller, and afterwards kept reverent record of this false St, 
 George, but only obscure record of its real St. Georges, v/aa 
 by no means an isolated fact in the history of the Christian 
 world, — but rather a part of its confirmed custom and " prac^ 
 tical education ; " and that, only the other day, St. James 
 Fiske, canonised tearfully in America, and bestrewn with 
 tuberoses and camellias, as above described, (XV. 208), was a 
 military gentleman of exactly the type of the Cilician St 
 George. 
 
 Farther. How did it never occur to Mr. Emerson that, 
 whether his story of the bookcollecting bishop were true or 
 not, it was certainly not the story told to Coeur-de-Lion, or 
 to Edward III. when they took St. George for their Master? 
 No bookcollecting episcopal person, had he been ever so much 
 a saint, would have served them to swear by, or to strike by. 
 They must have heard some other story ; — not, perhaps, one 
 written down, nor needing to be written. A remembered 
 stor}^ — yet, probably, a little truer than the written one ; 
 and a little older. 
 
 It is above all, strange that the confusion of his own first 
 sentence did not strike him, " George of Cappadocia, born in 
 Cilicia." It is true that the bacon-selling and bookcollecting 
 Arian Bishop was born in Cilicia, and that this Arian Bishop 
 was called George. But the Arians only contrived to get 
 this Bishop of theirs thought of as a saint at all, because 
 there was an antecedent St. George, with whom he might bo 
 confused ; a St. George, indeed of Cappadocia;" and as it 
 chanced that their own bishop came out of Cappadocia to his 
 bishopric, very few years after his death sufficed to render the 
 equivocation possible. But the real St. George had been 
 martyred seventy years before, a.d. 290, whereas the i^rian 
 bishop was killed in 361. And this is the story of the real 
 St. George, which filled the heart of the early Christian church, 
 and was heard by Coeur-de-Lion and by Edward III., some- 
 what in this following form, it, luckily for us^ having been at 
 least once fairly written out, in the tenth century, by the best 
 
FOn^^ CLAVTGERA. 
 
 367 
 
 Eastern scholar who occupied himself with the history of 
 Saints. I give you an old English translation of it, rather 
 than my own, from p. 132 of the *^ Historie of that most fa- 
 mous Saint and Souldier of Christ Jesus, St. George of Cap- 
 padocia, asserted from the fictions of the middle ages of the 
 Church, and opposition of the present, by Peter Heylyn ; 
 printed in London for Henry Seyle, and to be sold at his 
 shop the signe of the Tyger's head in St, Paul's Church- 
 yard, 1631." 
 
 " St. George was born in Cappadocia, of Christian parents, 
 and those not of the meanest qualitie : by w^hom hee was 
 brought up in true Religion, and the feare of God. Hee was 
 no sooner past his Childhood, but hee lost his father, bravely 
 encountring with the enemies of Christ ; and thereupon de- 
 parted with his afflicted Mother into Palestine, whereof she 
 "was a native ; and where great fortunes and a faire inherit- 
 ance did fall unto him. Thus qualified in birth, and being 
 also of an able bodie, and of an age fit for employment in the 
 warres, hee was made a Colonell." (This word is explained 
 above, XV. 208.) " In which employment hee gave such tes- 
 timonies of his valour, and behav'd himselfe so nobly ; that 
 forthwith Diocletian, not knowing yet that hee was a Chris- 
 tian, advanc'd him to the place and dignitie of his Councell 
 for the warres ; (for so on good authoritie I have made bold 
 to render * Comes' in this place and time). About this time 
 his Mother dyed : and hee, augmenting the heroicke resolu- 
 tions of his mind, with the increase of his revenue, did pres- 
 ently applie himselfe unto the Court and service of his 
 Prince ; his twentieth yeere being even then compleat and 
 ended." 
 
 " But Diocletian being soon after compelled into his per- 
 secution of the Christians " (Heylyn now gives abstract of 
 his author,) and warrants granted out unto the officers and 
 rulers of the Provinces to speed the execution, and that done 
 also in frequent senate, the Emperour there liimself in per- 
 son, St. George, though not yet sainted, could continue no 
 longer, but there exposed himself unto their fury and his 
 owne glory : " (Translation begins again.) 
 
368 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 When therefore George, even in the first beginnings^ 
 had observ'd the extraordinarie cruelty of these proceedings^ 
 hee presently put off his military habiliments, and, making 
 dole of all his substance to the poore, on the third Session ot 
 the Senate, when the Imperiall decree was to be verified, 
 quite voide of feare, he came into the Senate-house, and 
 spake unto them in this manner. 'How long, most noble 
 Emperour and you Conscript Fathers, will you augment your 
 tyrannies against the Ciiristians ? How long will you enact 
 unjust and cruell Lawes against them, compelling those which 
 are aris^ht instructed in the faith, to follow that Relio-ion, of 
 whose truth your selves are doubtfull. Your Idols are no 
 Gods, and I am bold to say againe, they are not. Be not 
 3^ou longer couzned in the same errour. Our Christ alone is 
 God, he only is the Lord, in the glory of the Father. 
 Eyther do you therefore acknowledge that Religion which 
 undoubtedly is true : or else disturbe not them by your 
 raging follies, which would willingly embrace it. This said, 
 and all the Senate wonderfully amazed at the free speech 
 and boldnesse of the man ; " (and no wonder ; — my own 
 impression is indeed that most martyrs have been made away 
 with less for their faith than their incivility. I have always 
 a lurking sympathy with the Heathen ;) " they all of them 
 turn'd their eyes upon the Emperour, expecting what hee 
 would reply : who beckoning to Magnentius, then Consull, 
 and one of his speciall Favourites, to returne an answere ; hee 
 presently applyed himselfe to satisfie his Prince's pleasure." 
 
 " Further " (says Heylyn) " we will not prosecute the 
 storie in our Authors words, which are long and full of 
 needlesse conference ; but will briefly declare the substance 
 of it, which is this. Upon St. George's constant profession 
 of his Faith, they wooed him first with promises of future 
 honours, and more faire advancements : but finding him un- 
 moveable, not to be wrought upon with words, they tried 
 him next with torments : not sparing anything which might 
 expresse their cruelty, or enoble his affliction. When they 
 saw ail was fruitlesse, at last the fatall Sentence was pro- 
 nounced against him in this manner : that, beeing had againe 
 
FOES CLAVIGERA, 
 
 369 
 
 to prison, liee should the following day be drawne through 
 the City and beheaded. 
 
 " Which sentence was accordingly performed, and George 
 invested with the glorious Crowne of Martyrdome upon the 
 23. day of April, Anno Domini nostri, 290." 
 
 That is St. George's true " story, how far literally true 
 is of no moment ; it is enough for us that a young soldier, 
 in early days of Christianity, put off his armour, and gave 
 up his soul to his Captain, Christ : and that his death did 
 so impress the hearts of all Christian men who heard of it, 
 that gradually he became to them the leader of a sacred 
 soldiership, which conquers more than its mortal enemies, 
 and prevails against the poison, and the shadow, of Pride, 
 and Deatli. 
 
 And above all, his putting off his knight's armour, espe- 
 cially the military belt, as then taking service with Christ 
 instead of the Roman Emperor, impressed the minds of the 
 later Christian knights ; because of the law referred to by 
 St. Golden-Lips, (quoted by lleylyn farther on) No one, 
 who is an officer would dare to appear without his zone and 
 mantle before him who wears tlie diadem." So that having 
 thus voluntarilv humbled himself, he is thoucjht of as chieflv 
 exalted among Christian soldiers, and called, not only " the 
 great Martyr," but the Standard-Bearer," (Tropeeophorus.) 
 Whence he afterwards becomes the knight bearing the bloody 
 cross on the argent field, and the Captain of Christian war. 
 
 The representation of all his spiritual enemies under the 
 form of the Dragon was simply the natural habit of the 
 Greek mind ; the stories of Apollo delivering Latona from 
 the Python, and of Perseus delivering Andromeda from the 
 sea monster, had been as familiar as the pitcher and wine- 
 cups they had been painted on, in red and black, for a thou- 
 sand years before : and the name of St. George, the " Earth- 
 worker," or " Husbandman," * connected him instantly, in 
 
 * More properly * named from the husbandman/ Thus Lycus is 'a 
 wolf,' Lycius, named from the * wolf,' or ' wolfish.' So, Georgus ia 
 'a husbandman,' Georgius, * named from the husbandman,' or ' hus- 
 bamdmanish.' 
 
 24 
 
370 
 
 FOBS CLAVIQERA, 
 
 Greek thoughts, not only with the ancient dragon, Erich- 
 thonius, but with the Spirit of agriculture, called " Thrice* 
 warrior " to whom the dragon was a harnessed creature o{ 
 toil. Yet, so far as I know, it was not until the more strictly 
 Christian tradition of the armed archangel Michael confused 
 its symbolism with that of the armed saint, that the dragon 
 enters definitely into the story of St. George. The authori- 
 tative course of Byzantine painting, sanctioned and restricted 
 by the Church in the treatment of every subject, invariably 
 represents St. George as the soldier Martyr, or witness, before 
 Diocletian, never as victor over the dragon : * his story, as the 
 painters tell it, corresponds closely with that of St. Catherine 
 of Sinai ; f and is, in the root of it, truth, and in the branch- 
 ing of it, beautiful dream, of the same wild and lovely char- 
 acter. And we might as well confuse Catherine of Sinai 
 with Catherine of Siena, (or for that matter, Catherine de Me- 
 dicis !) as St. George of the Eastern Church with George the 
 Arian. And this witness of painting remains simple and 
 unbroken, down to the last days of Venice. St. Mark, St. 
 Nicholas, and St. George are the three saints who are seen, 
 in the vision of the Fisherman, delivering Venice from the 
 fiends. St. George, first "of the seaweed," has three other 
 churches besides in Venice ; and it will be the best work J 
 
 * See the complete series of subjects as given by M. Didron in his 
 ** Iconographie Chretienne " (8vo. Paris, 1845, p. 369), and note the 
 most interesting trace of the idea of Triptolemus, in the attendant 
 child with the water-pitcher behind the equestrian figures of the 
 Saint. 
 
 f You will find that in my 19th letter, p. 256, I propose that our St. 
 George's company in England shall be under the patronage also of St 
 Anthony in Italy. And in general, we will hold ourselves bound to 
 reverence, in one mind, with Carpuccio and the good Painters and Mer- 
 chants of Venice, the eight great Saints of the Greek Church, — namely 
 (in the order M. Didron gives them) — the Archangel Michael, the Pre- 
 cursor (John Baptist), St. Peter, St. Paul, St. Nicholas, St. George, Ste. 
 Catherine of Sinai, and St. Anthony, these being patrons of our chief 
 occupations, (while, over our banking operations we will have for pa- 
 tron or principal manager, the more modern Western Saint, Francis of 
 Assisi ;) meaning always no disrespect to St. Jerome or Ste. Cecilia, i» 
 case we need help in our literature or music. 
 
FOBS GLAVIQERA, 
 
 371 
 
 have ever done in this broken life of mine, if I can someday 
 show you, however dimly, how Victor Carpaccio has painted 
 him in the humblest of these, — the little chapel of St. George 
 on the ''Shore of the Slaves." There, however, our dragon 
 does not fail us, both Carpaccio and Tintoret having the 
 deepest convictions on that subject ; — as all strong men must 
 have ; for the Dragon is too true a creature, to all such, 
 spiritually. That it is an indisputably living and venomous 
 creature, materially, has been the marvel of the world, inno- 
 cent and guilty, not knowing what to think of the terrible 
 worm ; nor whether to worship it, as the Rod of their law- 
 giver, or to abhor it as the visible symbol of the everlasting 
 Disobedience. 
 
 Touching which mystery, you must learn one or two main 
 facts. 
 
 The word 'Dragon,' means "the Seeing Creature,'' and I 
 believe the Greeks had the same notion in their other word 
 for a serpent, " ophis." There were many other creeping, 
 and crawling, and rampant things ; the olive stem and the 
 ivy were serpentine enough, blindly ; but here was a creep- 
 ino: thino- that saw ! 
 
 The action of the cobra, with its lifted and levelled head, 
 and the watchfulness of the coiled viper impressed the 
 Egyptians and Greeks intensely. To tiie Egyptian the 
 serpent was awful and sacred, and became the ornament on 
 the front of the King's diadems (though an evil spirit also, 
 when not erect). The Greeks never could make up their 
 minds about it. All human life seems to them as the story 
 of Laocoon. The fiery serpents slay us for our wisdom and 
 fidelity ; — then writhe themselves into rest at the feet of the 
 Gods. 
 
 The Egyptians were at the same pause as to their Nile 
 Dragon, for whom I told you they built their labyrinth. 
 '* B'or in the eyes of some of the Egyptians, the crocodiles 
 are sacred : but bv others thev are held for enemies. And 
 it is they who dwell by the Lake Moeris, who think them 
 greatly sacred. Every one of these lake people has care of 
 his own crocodile, taught to be obedient to the lifting of 
 
372 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEEA, 
 
 finger. And they put jewels of enamel and gold into their 
 ears, and bracelets on their forefeet, and feed them with the 
 sacred shew-bread daily, and attend upon them, that they 
 may live beautiful lives ; and, when they die, bury them, 
 embalmed, in holy tombs.'' (Thus rehgioii, as a pious friend, 
 1 observe, writes in a Devonshire paper the other day, leads 
 to the love of Nature !) " But they of the city Elephantine 
 eat their crocodiles, holding them nowise sacred. Neither do 
 they call them crocodiles, but champsse ; it is the lonians 
 who call them ^crocodiles,' because they think them like 
 the little crocodiles that live in the dry stone walls." 
 
 I do not know if children generally have strong associative 
 fancy about words ; but when I was a child, that word 
 " Crocodile " always seemed to me very terrific, and I would 
 even hastily, in any book, turn a leaf in which it was printed 
 with a capital C. If anybody had but told me the meaning 
 of it — "a creature that is afraid of crocuses " ! 
 
 That, at least, is all I can make of it, now ; though I can't 
 understand how this weakness of the lizard mind was ever 
 discovered, for lizards never see crocuses, that I know of. 
 The next I meet in Italy, (poor little, glancing, panting, 
 things, — I miss them a little here from my mossy walls) — 
 shall be shown an artificial crocus, Paris-made ; we will see 
 what it thinks of it ! But however it came to be given, for 
 the great Spirit-Lizard, the name is a good one. For as the 
 wise German's final definition of the Devil (in the second 
 part of Faust) is that he is afraid of Roses, so the earliest 
 and simplest possible definition of him is that in spring time 
 he is afraid of crocuses ; which I am quite sure, both our 
 farmers and manufacturers are now, in England ; to the ut- 
 most. On the contrary, the Athenian Spirit of Wisdom 
 was so fond of crocuses that she made her own robe crocus- 
 colour, before embroidering it with the wars of the Giants 
 she being greatly antagonistic to the temper which dresses 
 sisters of charity in black, for a crocus-colour dress was much 
 the gayest — not to say the giddiest — thing she could possi' 
 blv wear in Athens. 
 
 And of the crocus, vernal, and autumnal, more properly 
 
FOUS CLA VIGEIIA. 
 
 373 
 
 the enchanted herb of Colchis, (see, by the way, White's 
 History of Selhorne at the end of its 41st letter) I must tell 
 yon somewhat more in next letter ; meantime, look at the 
 saffron crest in the centre of it, carefully, and read, with 
 some sympathy, if you can, this true story of a crocus, which 
 being told me the other day by one who, whether I call him 
 friend or not, is indeed friendly to me, and to all whom he 
 can befriend, I begged him to write it for your sakes, which 
 he has thus orraciouslv done : — 
 
 A STORY OF A FLOWER. 
 
 "It is impossible to describe the delight which I took in 
 my first flower, yet it was only a poor peeky, little sprouting 
 crocus. Before I begin the story, I must, in two lines, make 
 known my needy state at the time when I became the owner 
 of the flower. I was in my eleventh year, meanly clothed, 
 plainly fed, and penniless ; an errand boy in receipt of one 
 shilling and sixpence a week, which sum I consumed in 
 bread and shoe leather. Yet I was happy enough, living in 
 a snusT cotta<re in the suburbs of Oxford, within siofht of its 
 towers, and within hearing of its bells. In the back yard of 
 my home were many wonders. The gable end of a barn was 
 mantled with ivy, centuries old, and sparrows made their 
 home in its leafage ; an ancient wall, old as the Norman 
 tower at the other end of the town, was rich in gilly-flowers ; 
 a wooden shed, with red tiles, was covered by a thriving 
 * tea tree,' so we called it, which in summer was all blossom, 
 pendant mauve coloured blossoms. This tree managed to in- 
 terlace its branches among the tiles so effectively as in the 
 end to lift off the whole roof in a mass, and poise it in the 
 air. Bees came in swarms to sip honey at the blossoms : I 
 noted civilised hive bees, and large ones whose waxen ceils 
 were hidden in mossy banks in the woods — these had crimson 
 and saffron tinted bodies, or, for variety, hairy shapes of 
 sombre green and black. I was never weaiy of my wall- 
 flowers, and bees, and butterflies. But, so it is, I happened 
 one day to get a glimpse of a college garden about the end 
 of February, or the beginning of March, when its mound of 
 
374 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 venerable elms was lit up with star-like yellow flow^ers. The 
 dark earth was robed as with a bright garment of imperial, 
 oriental splendour. It was the star-shaped aconite, as I be- 
 lieve, but am not sure, whose existence in flower is brief, but 
 glorious, when beheld, as I beheld it, in masses. Hence- 
 forth, if Old Fidget, the gardener, was not at the back gate 
 
 of St. J I peeped though the keyhole at my yellow 
 
 garden bed, which seemed flooded with sunlight, only 
 broken by patches of rich black earth, which formed strange 
 patterns, such as we see on Japanese screens of laquer and 
 bronze, only that the flowers had a glory of their own. 
 Well, I looked through the keyhole every time I passed, and 
 that was four times daily, and always with increased in- 
 terest for my flowering aconite. But oh ! trouble upon 
 trouble, one day I found the keyhole stopt, and there was 
 an end of m}^ daily joy, and of the interest which had been 
 awakened in me, in a new way, for the wonders of nature. 
 My love of flowers, however, increased, and I found means to 
 feed my love. I had often observed Old Fidget, the head 
 gardener, and his mates, bring out wheelbarrow loads of ref- 
 use from the shrubbery and flower beds, and throw them in 
 a heap along the garden wall without, where a long, deep 
 trench had become the well-known receptacle for rubbish. 
 Such places were common in town suburbs in those days. 
 The rubbish consisted of cuttings of shrubs and plants, and 
 rakings of flower-borders, but more bountifully, of elm 
 leaves, and the cast off clothing of chestnut trees, which 
 soon lay rotting in flaky masses, until I happened to espy a 
 fragment of a bulb, and then, the rubbish of the garden, 
 which concealed sprouting chestnuts, knew no rest. I went, 
 one holiday, and dug deep, with no other implement than 
 my hands, into this matted mass. I laboured, till at length, 
 in a mass of closely pressed leaves, I came upon a perfect 
 crocus. It lay like a dead elfin infant in its forest grave. I 
 was enchanted, and afraid to touch it, as one would fear to 
 commit a piece of sacrilege. It lay in its green robes, 
 which seemed spun from dainty silken threads unsoiled by 
 mortal hands. Its blossom of pale flesh tint lay conceal<^^ 
 
FORS CLA VIGERA, 
 
 375 
 
 within a creamy opalescent film, which seemed to retive and 
 live when the light penetrated the darksome tomb, contrast- 
 ing with the emerald robes, and silken, pliant roots. At 
 length I lifted the flower from its bed, and carried it to my 
 garden plot with breathless care. My garden plot, not much 
 larger than a large baking dish, was enclosed by broken tiles, 
 a scrubby place, unsuited to my newly discovered treasure. 
 I broke up the earth and pulverised it with my fingers, but 
 its coarseness was incurable. I abandoned it as I thought 
 of some mole hills in a neighbouring copse, and soon my plot 
 was filled deeply with soft sandy soil, fit for my flower. 
 And then came the necessity of protecting it from the 
 searching March winds, which I did effectually by covering 
 it with a flower pot, and the season wore on, and soft, mild 
 days set in apace, and my flower, which was ever upper- 
 most in my thoughts, whether sleeping or waking, began to 
 show signs of life, as day by day I permitted the sun to look 
 at it, until at length, one sunny, silent, Sunday morning, it 
 opened its glowing, golden, sacramental cup, gleaming like 
 light from heaven — dropt in a dark place, living light and 
 fire. So it seemed to my poor vision, and I called the house- 
 bold and the neighbours from their cares to share my rapt- 
 ure. But alas ! my dream w^as ended ; the flower had no 
 fascination for those who came at my call. It was but a 
 yellow crocus to them — some laughed, some tittered, some 
 jeered me, and old Dick Willis, poor man, who got a crust 
 by selling soft water by the pail, he only rubbed his dim 
 eyes, and exclaimed in pity, * God bless the poor boy ! ' " 
 
 Little thinking how much he was already blessed, — he — 
 and his flower ! 
 
 For indeed Crocus and Carduus are alike Benedict flowers, 
 if only one knew God's gold and purple from the Devil's, 
 which, with St. George's help, and St. Anthony's, — the one 
 well knowing the flowers of the field, and the other those oi 
 the desert, — we will try somewhat to discern. 
 
376 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 LETTER XXVII. 
 
 Brantwood, 
 
 21th January^ 1873. 
 
 "If it were not so, I would have told you." 
 
 I read those strange words of St. John's gospel this morn- 
 ing, for at least the thousandth time ; and for the first time, 
 that I remember, with any attention. It is difficult, if not 
 impossible, to attend rightly without some definite motive, 
 or chance-help, to words which one has read and re-read till 
 every one of them slips into its place unnoticed, as a familiar 
 guest, — unchallenged as a household friend. But the Third 
 Fors helped me, to-day, by half effacing the n in the word 
 Mona, in the tenth century MS. I was deciphering ; and 
 making me look at the word, till I began to think of it, and 
 wondered. You may as well learn the old meaning of that 
 pretty name of the isle of Anglesea. " In my father's house," 
 says Christ, " are many monas," — remaining-places — " if it 
 were not so, I would have told you." 
 
 Alas, had He but told us more clearly that it was so ! 
 
 I have the profoundest sympathy with St. Thomas, and 
 would fain put all his questions over again, and twice as 
 many more. "We know not whither Thou goest." That 
 Father's house, — where is it ? These " remaining-places," 
 how are they to be prepared for us ? — how are we to be pre- 
 pared for them ? 
 
 If ever your clergy mean really to help you to read your 
 Bible, — the whole of it, and not merely the bits which tell 
 you that you are miserable sinners, and that you needn't 
 mind, — they must make a translation retaining as many as 
 possible of the words in their Greek form, which you may 
 easily learn, and yet which will be quit of the danger of be- 
 coming debased by any vulgar English use. So also, the same 
 word must always be given when it is the same ; and not in 
 
FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 377 
 
 one place, translated " mansion," and in another " abode.'' 
 (Compare verse 23 of this same chapter.*) Not but that 
 mansion " is a very fine Latin word, and perfectly correct, 
 (if only one knows Latin,) but I doubt not that most parish 
 children understand by it, if anything, a splendid house with 
 two wings, and an acre or two of offices, in the middle of a 
 celestial park ; and suppose that some day or other they are 
 all of them to live in such, as well as the Squire's children ; 
 whereas, if either ^' mona," or remaining" were put in both 
 verses, it is just possible that sometimes both the Squire and 
 the children, instead of vaguely hoping to be lodged some 
 day in heaven by Christ and His Father, might take notice 
 of their offer in the last verse I have quoted, and get ready 
 a spare room both in the mansion and cottage, to offer Christ 
 and His Father immediately, if they liked to come into lodg- 
 ings on earth. 
 
 I was looking over some of my own children's books the 
 other day, in the course of rearranging the waifs and strays 
 of Denmark Hill at Brantwood ; and came upon a catechism 
 of a very solemn character on the subject of the County of 
 Kent. It opens by demanding the situation of Kent then, 
 the extent of Kent, — the population of Kent, and a sketch 
 of the history of Kent ; in which I notice with interest that 
 hops were first grown in Kent in 1524, and petitioned against 
 as a wicked weed in 1528. Then, taking up the subject in 
 detail, inquiry is made as to "the situation of Dover"? To 
 which the ortiiodox reply is that Dover is pleasantly situated 
 on that part of the island of Great Britain nearest the Con- 
 tinent, and stands in a valley between stupendous hills. To 
 the next question, What is the present state of Dover?" 
 the well-instructed infant must answer, ''That Dover con- 
 sists of two parts, the up]>cr, called the Town, and the lower, 
 the Pier ; and that they are connected by a long narrow 
 street, which, from tlie rocks tiiat hang over it, and seem to 
 
 * **If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will 
 love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.'* 
 ^xxx mona, — as in the 2nd veise (John xiv.). 
 
378 
 
 FOES CLAVIGERA. 
 
 threaten the passenger with destruction, has received the 
 name of Snaregate Street." The catechism next tests the 
 views of the young respondent upon the municipal gov- 
 ernment of Dover, the commercial position of Dover ; and 
 the names of the eminent men whom Dover has produced; and 
 at last, after giving a proper account of the Castle of Dovef 
 and the two churches in Dover, we are required to state 
 whether there is not an interesting relic of antiquity in the 
 vicinity of Dover ; upon which, we observe that, about two 
 miles north-west from Dover, are the remains of St. Rada- 
 gune's Abbey, now converted into a farm-house ; and finally, 
 to the crucial interrogation — " What nobleman's seat is near 
 Dover ? " we reply, with more than usual unction, that ^' In 
 the Parish of Waldershaw, five miles and a half from Dover, 
 is Waldershaw Park, the elegant seat of the Earl of Guild- 
 ford, and that the house is a magnificent structure, situated 
 in a vale, in the centre of a well wooded Park." Whereat I 
 stopped reading ; first, because St. Radagune's Abbey, 
 though it is nothing but walls with a few holes through 
 them by which the cows get in for shelter on windy days, 
 was the first remaining " of Antiquity I ever sketched, 
 when a boy of fourteen, spending half my best BB pen- 
 cil on the ivy and the holes in the walls ; and, secondly, the 
 tone of these two connected questions in the catechism 
 marks exactly the curious period in the English mind when 
 the worship of St. Radagune was indeed utterly extinct, so 
 that he7' once elegant mansion becomes a farm-house, as in 
 that guise fulfilling its now legitimate function : — but the wor- 
 ship of Earls of Guildford is still so flourishing that no idea 
 would ever occur to the framers of catechism that the elegant 
 seats of these also were on the wav to become farmhouses. 
 
 Which is nevertheless surely the fact : — and the only real 
 question is whether St. Radagune's mansion and the Earl of 
 Guildford's are both to be farm-houses, or whether the state 
 of things at the time of the Dover Catechism may not be ex- 
 actly reversed, — and St. Radagune have her mansion and 
 park railed in again, while the Earl's walls shelter the cows 
 on windy days. For indeed, from the midst of the tumuh 
 
FOES CLAVIOERA. 
 
 379 
 
 and distress of nations, fallen wholly Godless and lordless, 
 perhaps the first possibility of redemption may be by clois- 
 tered companies, vowed once more to the service of a divine 
 Master, and to the reverence of His saints. 
 
 You were shocked, I suppose, by my catalogue, in last 
 Fors, of such persons, as to be revered by our own Company. 
 But have you ever serioush'" considered what a really vital 
 question it is to you whether St. Paul and St. Pancras, (not 
 that I know myself at tl>is moment, who St. Pancras was, — 
 but I'll find out for next Fors,) — St. George and St. Giles, 
 St. Bridget and St. Helen, are really only to become the spon- 
 sors of City parishes, or whether you mean still to render 
 them anv gratitude as the first teachers of what used to be 
 called civilisation ; nay whether there may not even be, irre- 
 spective of what we now call civilisation — namely, coals and 
 meat at famine prices, — some manner of holy living and dy- 
 ing, of lifting holy hands without wrath, and sinking to 
 blessed sleep without fear, of which these persons, however 
 vaguely remembered, have yet been the best patterns the 
 world has shown us. 
 
 Don't think that I want to make Roman Catholics of you, 
 or to make anything of you, except honest people. But as 
 for the vulgar and insolent Evangelical notion, that one 
 should not care for the Saints, — nor pray to them — Mercy on 
 us ! — do the poor wretches fancy that God wouldn't be thank- 
 ful if they would pray to anybody, for what it was right they 
 should have ; or that He is piqued, forsooth, if one thinks 
 His servants can help us sometimes, in our paltry needs. 
 
 " But they are dead, and cannot help us, nor hear ! '* 
 
 Alas ; perchance — no. What would I not give to be so 
 much a heretic as to believe the Dead could hear ! — but are 
 there no living Saints, then, who can help you ? Sir C. Dilke^ 
 or Mr. Beales, for instance ? and if vou don't believe there 
 are any parks or monas abiding for you in heaven, may you 
 not pull down some park railings here, and — hold public 
 meetings in them, of a Paradisiacal character ? 
 
 Itideed, that pulling down of the Picadilly railings was a 
 significant business. Park," if you will look to 3'onr John- 
 
380 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOEEA. 
 
 son, you will find is one of quite the oldest words in Europe ; 
 vox antiquissima, a most ancient word, and now a familiar 
 one among active nations. French, Pare, Welsh, the same, 
 Irish, Pairc, being*" a piece of ground enclosed and stored 
 with wild beasts of chase. Man wood, in his Forest Law, 
 defines it thus, "A park is a place for privilege for wild beasts 
 of venery, and also for other wild beasts that are beasts of the 
 forest and of the chase, and those wild beasts are to have a 
 firm peace and protection there, so that no man may hurt or 
 chase them within the park, without licence of the owner : a 
 park is of another nature than either a chase or a w^arren ; 
 for a park 77iust be eiiclosedy and may not lie open — if it does, 
 it is a good cause of seizure into the King's hands." Or into 
 King Mob's, for parliamentary purposes — and how monstrous, 
 you think, that such pleasant habitations for vs^ild beasts 
 should still be walled in, and in peace, while you have no room 
 to — speak in, — I had liked to have said something else than 
 speak — but it is at least polite to you to call it * speaking.' 
 
 Yes. I have said so, myself, once or twice ; — nevertheless 
 something is to be said for the beasts also. What do you 
 think they were made for ? All these spotty, scaly, finned, 
 and winged, and clawed things, that grope between you and 
 the dust, that flit between vou and the skv. These motes 
 in the air — sparks in the sea — mists and flames of life. The 
 flocks that are your wealth — the moth that frets it away. 
 The herds upon a thousand hills, — the locust, — and the worm, 
 and the wandering plague whose spots are worlds. The 
 creatures that mock you, and torment. The creatures that 
 serve and love you, (or would love if they might,) and obey. 
 The joys of the callow nests and burrowed homes of Earth. 
 The rocks of it, built out of its own dead. What is tlie 
 meaning to you of all these, — what their worth to you ? 
 
 No worth, you answer, perhaps ; or the contrary of worth. 
 In fact, you mean to put an end to all that. You will keep 
 pigeons to shoot — geese to make pies of — cocks for fighting 
 — horses to bet on — sheep for wool, and cows for cheese. 
 As to the rest of the creatures, you owe no thanks to Noah ; 
 and would fain, if you could, order a special deluge for their 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 381 
 
 benefit ; failing that, you will at all events get rid of th6 
 useless feeders as fast as possible. 
 
 Indeed, there is some difficulty in understanding why some 
 of them were made. I lost great part of my last hour for 
 reading, yesterday evening, in keeping my kitten's tail out 
 of the candles, — a useless beast, and still more useless tail — 
 astonishing and inexplicable even to herself. Inexplicable, 
 to me, all of them — heads and tails alike. " Tiger — tiger — 
 burning bright " — is this then all you were made for — this 
 ribbed hearthrug, tawny and black ? 
 
 If only the Rev. James McCosh were here ! His book is ; 
 and I'm sure I don't know how^ but it turns up in rearrang- 
 ing my library. Method of the Divine Government Physi- 
 cal and Moral." Preface begins. " We live in an age in 
 which the reflecting portion of mankind are much addicted 
 to the contemplation of the works of Nature. It is the ob- 
 ject of the author in this Treatise to interrogate Nature with 
 the view of making her utter her voice in answer to some of 
 the most important questions which the inquiring spirit of 
 man can put." Here is a catechumen for you ! — and a 
 catechist ! Nature with her hands behind her back — Per- 
 haps Mr. McCosh would kindly put it to her about the tiger. 
 Farther on, indeed, it is stated that the finite cannot com- 
 prehend the infinite, and I observe that the author, with the 
 shrinking modesty characteristic of the clergy of his persua- 
 sion, feels that even the intellect of a McCosh cannot, with- 
 out risk of error, embrace more than the present method of 
 the Divine management of Creation. Wherefore " no man," 
 he says, "should presume to point out all the ways in which 
 a God of unbounded resources might govern the universe." 
 
 But the present way — (allowing for the limited capital,) — 
 we may master that, and pay our compliments to God upon 
 it ? We will hope so ; in the meantime I can assure you, this 
 creation of His will bear more looking at than you have given, 
 yet, however addicted you may be to the contemplation of 
 Nature ; (though I suspect you are more addicted to the 
 tasting of her,) and that if instead of being in such a hurry 
 to pull park railings down, you would only beg the owners to 
 
382 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 put them to their proper use, and let the birds and beasts, 
 which were made to breathe English air as well as you, take 
 shelter there, you would soon have a series of National Mu- 
 seums more curious than that in Great Russell Street ; and 
 with something better worth looking at in them than the sa- 
 cred crocodiles. Besides, you might spare the poor beasts a 
 Httle room on earth, for charity, if not for curiosity. They 
 have no mansions preparing for them, elsewhere. 
 
 What ! you answer ; indignant, — " All that good land 
 given up to beasts ! " Have you ever looked how much or 
 little of England is in park land ? I have here, by me, Hall's 
 Travelling Atlas of the English Counties ; which paints con- 
 veniently in red the railroads, and in green the parks (not 
 conscious, probably — the colourist — of his true expression of 
 antagonism by those colours). 
 
 The parks lie on the face of each county like a few crumbs 
 on a plate ; if you could turn them all at once into corn land, 
 it would literally not give you a mouthful extra of dinner. 
 Your dog, or cat, is more costly to you, in proportion to your 
 private means, than all these kingdoms of beasts would be to 
 the nation. 
 
 " Cost what they might, it would be too much " — think 
 you ? You will not give those acres of good land to keep 
 beasts ? 
 
 Perhaps not beasts of God's making ; but how many acres 
 of good land do you suppose then, you do give up, as it is, to 
 keep beasts He never made, — never meant to be made, — the 
 beasts you make of yourselves ? 
 
 Do you know how much corn land in the United King- 
 dom is occupied in supplying you with the means of getting 
 drunk ? 
 
 Mind, I am no temperance man. You should all have as 
 much beer and alcohol as was good for you if I had my way. 
 But the beer and alcohol which are 7iot good for you, — which 
 are the ruin of so many of you, suppose you could keep the 
 wages you spend in that liquor in the savings bank, and left 
 the land, now tilled to grow it for you, to natural and sober 
 beasts ? — Do you think it would be false economy ? — Why, 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGEBA, 
 
 383 
 
 you might have a working- men's park for nothing, in every 
 county, bigger than the queen's ! and your own homes all the 
 more comfortable. 
 
 1 had no notion myself, till the other day, what the facts 
 were, in this matter. Get if you can. Professor Kirk's " So-= 
 cial Politics," (Hamilton, Adams & Co.) and read, for a 
 beginning, his 21sfc chapter, on land and liquor ; and then, 
 as you have leisure, all the book, carefully. Not that he 
 would help me out with my park plan ; he writes with the 
 simple idea that the one end of humanity is to eat and drink j 
 and it is interesting to see a Scotch Professor thinking the 
 lakes of his country were made to be " Reservoirs/' and par- 
 ticularly instancing the satisfaction of tliirsty Glasgow out of 
 Loch Katrine ; so that, henceforward, it will be proper in 
 Scotch economical circles not to speak of the Lady of the 
 Lake, but of the Lady of the Reservoir. Still, assuming that 
 to eat and drink is the end of life, the Professor shows you 
 clearly how much better this end may be accomplished than 
 it is now. And the broad fact which he brings out concern- 
 ing your drink is this ; that about one million five hundred 
 thousand acres of land in the United Kingdom are occupied 
 in producing strong liquor (and I don't see that he has in- 
 cluded in this estimate what is under the wicked weeds of 
 Kent ; it is curious what difficulty people always seem to 
 have in putting anything accurately into sliort statement). 
 The produce of this land, which is more than all the arable 
 for bread in Scotland, after being manufactured into drink, 
 is sold to you at the rates, — the spirits, of twenty-seven shil- 
 lings and sixpence for two shillings *-worth ; and the beer, 
 of two shillings for threepence-halfpenny-worth. The sum 
 you spend in these articles, and in tobacco, annually, is 
 
 ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SIX MILLIONS OF POUNDS ; on 
 
 which the pure profit of the richer classes, (putting the lower 
 alehouse gains aside) is, roughly, a hundred millions. That 
 is the way the rich Christian Englishman provides against 
 the Day of Judgment, expecting to hear his Master say to 
 him, I was thirsty — and ye gave me drink — Two shillings'- 
 worth for twenty-seven and sixpence." 
 
384 
 
 FORS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 Again ; for the matter of lodging. Look at the Professor's 
 page 73. There you find that in the street dedicated in 
 Edinburgh to the memory of the first Bishop of Jerusalem, 
 in No. 23, there are living 220 persons. In the first floor of 
 it live ten families, — forty-nine persons ; in the second floor, 
 nine families — fifty-four persons — and so on ; up to six floors, 
 the ground floor being a shop ; so that the whole 220 per- 
 sons in the building are without one foot of the actual surface 
 of the land on which to exist." 
 
 " In my Father's house," says Christ, are many man- 
 sions." Verily, that appears to be also the case in some of 
 His Scotch Evangelical servants' houses here. And verecund 
 Mr. McCosh, w^ho will not venture to suggest any better ar- 
 rangement of the heavens, — has he likewise no suggestion to 
 offer as to the arrangement of No. 23, St. James's Street ? 
 
 " Whose fault is it ? " do you ask ? 
 
 Immediately, the fault of the landlords *, but the land- 
 lords, from highest to lowest, are more or less thoughtless and 
 ignorant persons, from whom you can expect no better. The 
 persons really answerable for all this are your two professed 
 bodies of teachers ; namely, the writers for the public press, 
 and the clergy. 
 
 Nearly everything that I ever did of any use in this world 
 has been done contrary to the advice of my friends ; and as 
 my friends are unanimous at present in begging me never to 
 write to newspapers, I am somewhat under the impression 
 that I ought to resign my Oxford professorship, and try to 
 get a sub-editorship in the Telegraph, However, for the 
 present, I content myself with my own work, and have sus- 
 tained patiently, for thirty years, the steady opposition of 
 the public press to whatever good was in it, (said Telegraph 
 always with thanks excepted) down to the article in the 
 Spectator of August 13th, 1870, which, on my endeavour to 
 make the study of art, and of Greek literature, of some avail 
 in Oxford to the confirmation of right principle in the minds 
 of her youth, instantly declared that, the artistic perception 
 and ikill of Greece were nourished by the very lowness of 
 h*£i ethical code, by her lack of high aims, by her freedom 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 385 
 
 from all aspirations after moral good, by her inability even 
 to conceive a Hebrew tone of purity, by the fact that she 
 lived without God, and died without hope." 
 
 "High aims" are explained by the Spectator, in another 
 place, to consist in zeal for the establishment of cotton mills. 
 And the main body of the writers for the public press are 
 also — not of that opinion — for they have no opinions ; but 
 they get their living by asserting so much to you. 
 
 Against which testimony of theirs, you shall hear, to-day, 
 the real opinion of a man of whom Scotland once was proud ; 
 the man who first led her to take some notice of that same 
 reservoir of hers, which Glasgow, — Clyde not being deep 
 enough for her drinking, or perhaps, (see above, XVI. 222) 
 not being now so sweet as stolen waters, — cools her tor- 
 mented tongue with. 
 
 "The poor laws into which you have ventured for the love 
 of the country, form a sad quagmire. They are like John 
 Bunyan's Slough of Despond, into which, as he observes, 
 millions of cart loads of good resolutions have been thrown, 
 without perceptibly mending the wa}'. From what you 
 say, and from what I have heard from others, there is a 
 very natural desire to trust to one or two empirical remedies, 
 such as general systems of education, and so forth. But a 
 man with a broken constitution might as well put faith in 
 Spilsburg or Godbold. It is not the knowledge, but the 
 use which is made of it, that is productive of real benefit. 
 
 There is a terrible evil in England to which we are stran« 
 gers " (some slight acquaintance has been raked up since, 
 Sir Walter,) " the number, to wit, of tippling houses, where 
 the labourer, as a matter of course, spends the overplus of 
 his earnings. In Scotland there are few ; and the Justices 
 are commendably inexorable in rejecting all application for 
 licences where there appears no public necessity for granting 
 them. A man, therefore, cannot easily spend much money 
 in liquor^, since he must walk three or four miles to the place 
 of suction, and back again, which infers a sort of malice pre- 
 pense of which few are capable ; and the habitual opportu* 
 nity of indulgence not being at baud, the habits of intemper^ 
 25 
 
386 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGBEA. 
 
 ance, and of waste connected with it, are not acquired. li 
 financiers would admit a general limitation of the ale-houses 
 over England to one-fourth of the number, I am convinced 
 you would find the money spent in that manner would re- 
 main with the peasant, as a source of self-support and inde- 
 pendence. All this applies chiefly to the country ; in towns, 
 and in the manufacturing districts, the evil could hardly be 
 diminished by such regulations. There would perhaps, be no 
 means so effectual as that (which will never be listened to) of 
 taxing the manufactures according to the number of hands 
 which they employ on an average, and applying the produce 
 in maintaining the manufacturing poor. If it should be al- 
 leged that this would injure the manufacturers, I would 
 boldly reply, — * And why not injure, or rather limit, specula- 
 tions, the excessive stretch of which has been productive of 
 so much damage to the principles of the country, and to the 
 population, whom it has, in so many respects, degraded and 
 demoralized ? ' For a great many years, manufacturers, 
 taken in a general point of view, have not partaken of the 
 character of a regular profession, in which all who engaged 
 with honest industry and a sufficient capital might reason- 
 ably expect returns proportional to their advances and labour, 
 — but have, on the contrary, rather resembled a lottery, in 
 which tlie great majority of the adventurers are sure to be 
 losers, although some may draw considerable advantage. 
 Men continued for a great many years to exert themselves, 
 and to pay extravagant wages, not in hopes that there could 
 be a reasonable prospect of an orderly and regular demand 
 for the goods they wrought up, but in order that they might 
 be the first to take advantage of some casual opening which 
 might consume their cargo, let others shift as they could. 
 Hence extravagant wages on some occasions ; for these ad- 
 venturers who thus played at hit or miss, stood on no scruples 
 while the chance of success remained open. Hence, also, the 
 stoppage of work, and the discharge of the workmen, when 
 the speculators failed of their object. All this while the 
 country was the sufferer ; — for whoever gained, the result^ 
 being upon the whole a loss, fell on the nation^ together with 
 
FORS GLA VIOERA, 
 
 387 
 
 the task of maintaining a poor, rendered effeminate and vicious 
 by over-wages and over-living, and necessarily cast loose 
 upon society. I cannot but think that the necessity of mak- 
 ing some fund beforehand, for the provision of those whom 
 they debauch, and render only fit for the almshouse, in prose- 
 cution of their own adventures, though it operated as a 
 check on the increase of manufacturers, would be a measure 
 just in itself, and beneficial to the community. But it would 
 never be listened to ; — the weaver's beam, and the sons of 
 Zeruiah, would be too many for the proposers. 
 
 " This is the eleventh of August ; Walter, happier than he 
 will ever be again, perhaps, is preparing for the moors. He 
 has a better dog than Trout, and rather less active. Mrs. 
 Scott and all our family send kind love. Yours ever. W. S." 
 
 I have italicised one sentence in this letter, written in the 
 year 1817 (what would the writer have thought of the state 
 of things now ?) — though I should like, for that matter, to 
 italicise it all. But that sentence touches tiie root of the 
 evil which I have most at heart, in these letters, to show 
 you ; namely, the increasing poverty of the country through 
 the enriching of a few. I told you, in the first sentence of 
 them, that the English people was not a rich people ; that it 
 " was empty in purse — empty in stomach." The day before 
 yesterday, a friend, who thinks my goose pie not an economi- 
 cal dish ! sent me a penny cookery book, a very desirable 
 publication, which I instantly sate down to examine. It 
 starts with the great principle that you must never any more 
 roast your meat, but always stew it ; and never have an 
 open fire, but substitute, for the open fire, close stoves, all 
 over Enorland. 
 
 Now observe. There was once a dish, thought peculiarly 
 English — Roast Beef. And once a place, thought peculiarly 
 English — the Fireside. These two possessions are now too 
 costly for you. Your England, in her unexampled pros- 
 perity, according to the Morning Post^ can no longer afford 
 either her roast beef — or her fireside. She can only afford 
 boiled bones, and a stove-side. 
 
 Well. Boiled bones are not so bad things, neither. I 
 
3SS 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 know something more about them than the writer of the 
 penny cookery book. Fifty years ago, Count Rumford per- 
 fectly ascertained the price, and nourishing power, of good 
 soup ; and I shall give you a recipe for Theseus' vegetable 
 diet, and for Lycurgus' black and Esau's red pottage, for 
 your better pot-luck. But what next ? 
 
 To-day, you cannot aiford beef — to-morrow, are you sure 
 that you will be still able to afford bones ? If things are to 
 go on thus, and you are to study economy to the utmost, I 
 can beat the author of the penny cookery book even on that 
 ground. What say you to this diet of the Otomac Indians ; 
 persons quite of our present English character? "They 
 have a decided aversion to cultivate the land, and live almost 
 exclusively on hunting and fishing. They are men of a very 
 robust constitution, and passionately fond of fermented 
 liquors. While the waters of the Orinoco are low, they sub- 
 sist on fish and turtles, but at the period of its inundations, 
 (when the fishing ceases) they eat daily during some months, 
 three-quarters of a pound of clay, slightly hardened by 
 fire " * — (probably stewable in your modern stoves with 
 better effect.) — ''Half, at least," (this is Father Gumilla's 
 statement, quoted by Humboldt) "of the bread of the Oto- 
 macs and the Guamoes is clay — and those who feel a 
 weight on their stomach, purge themselves with the fat of 
 the crocodile, which restores their appetite, and enables 
 them to continue to eat pure earth." "I doubt" — Hum- 
 boldt himself goes on, "the manteca de caiman being a 
 purgative. But it is certain that the Guamoes are very 
 fond, if not of the fat, at least of the flesh, of the crocodile.'* 
 
 We have surely brickfields enough to keep our clay from 
 ever rising to famine prices, in any fresh accession of pros- 
 perity ; — and though fish can't live in our rivers, the muddy 
 waters are just of the consistence crocodiles like : and, at 
 Manchester and Rochdale, I have observed the surfaces of 
 the streams smoking, so that we need be under no concern 
 as to temperature. I should think you might produce in 
 
 ^ Humboldt, Personal Narrative, London, 1887, vol. v., p. 640 et seq 
 I quote, as always, accurately, but missing the bits I don't want. 
 
FOBS GLAVIQERA, 
 
 389 
 
 them quite " streaky " crocodile, — fat and flesh concordant, 
 . — St. George becoming a bacon purveyor, as well as seller, 
 and laying down his dragon in salt ; (indeed it appears, by 
 an experiment made in Egypt itself, that the oldest of hu- 
 man words is Bacon ;) potted crocodile will doubtless, also, 
 from countries unrestrained by religious prejudices, be im- 
 ported, as the English demand increases, at lower quota- 
 tions ; and for what you are going to receive, the Lord make 
 you truly thankful. 
 
390 
 
 Ji'OJiS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 I HOPE, in future, to arrange the publishing and editing of Fors^ 
 so that the current number may always be in my readers' hands on the 
 first of the month : but I do not pledge myself for its being so. In case 
 of delay, however, subscribers may always be secure of its ultimate de- 
 livery, as they would at once receive notice in the event of the non^ 
 continuance of the work. I find index-making more difficult and tedious 
 than I expected, and am besides bent at present on some Robinson 
 Crusoe operations of harbour- digging, which greatly interfere with lit- 
 erary work of every kind ; but the thing is in progress. 
 
 I cannot, myself, vouch for the facts stated in the following letter, 
 but am secure of the writer's purpose to state them fairly, and grateful 
 for his permission to print his letter : — 
 
 1, St. Swithin's Lane, 
 
 London, E. (7., Uh February, 1873. 
 My Dear Mr. Ruskin, — I have just finished reading your Munera 
 Puheris, and your paragraph No. 160 is such a reflex of the experience 
 I have of City business that I must call your attention to it. 
 
 I told you that I was endeavouring to put into practice what you are 
 teaching, and thus our work should be good work, whether we live or 
 die. 
 
 I read in the Quarterly Journal of Science that the waste of the Metro- 
 politan sewage is equivalent to three million quartern loaves floating 
 down the Thames every day. I read in the papers that famine fever 
 has broken out in the Metropolis. 
 
 I have proved that this bread can be saved, by purifying sewage, and 
 gvowiog such corn with the produce as amazes those who have seen 
 it, I have proved this so completely to capitalists that they have spent 
 25,000^. in demonstrating it to the Metropolitan Board of Works. 
 But nothing of this work will pay.' * 
 
 We have never puffed, we have never advertised, and hard work I 
 have had to get the Board of Directors to agree to this modest proced- 
 ure — nevertheless they have done so. 
 
 Now, there is a band of conspirators on the Stock Exchange bound to 
 destroy the Company, because, like Jezebel, they have sold a vineyard 
 that does not belong to them— in other words, they have sold 'heirs,' 
 and they cannot fulfil their contract without killing tlie Company, or 
 terrifying the shareholders into parting with their property. 
 
 ♦ The saying is only quoted in MuTiera Pulveris to be denied, the reader must observe. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 391 
 
 No stone is left unturned to thwart our work, and if you can take the 
 trouble to look at the papers I send you, you will see what our work 
 would be for the country, and how it is received. 
 
 We are now to be turned out of Crossness, and every conceivable mis- 
 chief will be made of the fact. 
 
 I have fought the fight almost single-handed. I might have sold out 
 and retired from the strife long ago, for our shares were 800 per cent, 
 premium, but I prefer completing the work I have begun, if I am al- 
 lowed. 
 
 From very few human beings have I ever received, nor did I expect, 
 anything but disapproval, for this effort to discountenance the City's 
 business way of doing tbings, except Alfred Berwick, and my Brother, 
 R. S. Sillar ; but we have been repeatedly told that we must abandon 
 these absurd principles. 
 
 However, with or without encouragement, I shall work on, though 1 
 have to do it throug-h a mass of moral filth and corruption, compared 
 with which a geuuine cesspit is good company. 
 
 Believe me sincerely yours, 
 
 W. C. Sillar. 
 
 The third Fors puts into my hand, as I correct the press, a cutting 
 from the Pall Mall Gazette of September 13th, 18G9, which aptly illus- 
 trates the former ''waste" of sewage referred to by Mr. Sillar : — 
 
 *' We suffer much from boards of guardians and vestries in and 
 about London, but what they must suffer in remote parts of the coun- 
 try may be imagined rather than described. At a late meeting of the 
 Lincoln board of guardians Mr. ]\Iantle gave a description of a visit he 
 paid with other gentlemen to the village of Scotherne. What they saw 
 he said he should never forget. The village was full of fever cases, and 
 no wonder. The beck was dried up and the wells were filled with sew- 
 age matter. Tbey vvent to one pump, and found the water emitted an 
 unbearable stench. He (Mr. Mantle) asked a woman if she drank the 
 water from the well, and she replied that she did, but that it stank a 
 bit ; and there could be no doubt about that, for the well was full of 
 'pure' sewage matter. They went to another house, occupied by a 
 widow with five childien, the head of the family having died of fever 
 last year. This family were now on the books of the union. The 
 house was built on a declivity ; the pigsty, privy, vault, ard cesspool 
 were quite full, and after a shower of rain the contents were washed up 
 to and past the door. Tho family was in an emaciated state, and one 
 of the children was suffering from fever. After inspecting that part of 
 the village they proceeded to the house of a man named Harrison, who. 
 ^ with his wife, was laid up with fever ; both man and wife were buried 
 * in one grave yesterday week, leaving five children to bo supported by 
 the union. When visited the unfortunate couple were in the last stage 
 of fever, and the villagers had such a dread of the disease that none of 
 them would enter the house, and the clergyman and relieving officer 
 had to administer the medicine themselves. Harrison was the best 
 workman in the parish. The cost to the union hns already been 12Z., 
 and at the lowest computation a cost of GOO^ would fall upon the uniori 
 for maintaining the children, aud probably they might remain ]iauper8 
 for life. This amount would have been sufl&cient to drain the parish. ' 
 
FOBS CLAVIQERA. 
 
 LETTER XXVIIL 
 
 Brantwood, 
 
 2Wi Feb., 1873. 
 
 I WAS again stopped by a verse in St. John's gospel this 
 morning, not because I had not thought of it before, often 
 enough ; but because it bears much on our immediate busi- 
 ness in one of its expressions, — " Ye shall be scattered, every 
 man to his own." 
 
 His own what ? 
 
 His own property, his own rights, his own opinions, his 
 own place, I suppose one must answer ? Every man in his 
 own place ; and every man acting on his own opinions ; and 
 every man having his own way. Those are somewhat your 
 own notions of the rightest possible state of things, are they 
 not ? 
 
 And you do not think it of any consequence to ask what 
 sort of a place your own is ? 
 
 As for instance, taking the reference farther on, to the one 
 of Christ's followers who that night most distinctly of all 
 that were scattered, found his place, and stayed in it, — 
 " This ministry and Apostleship, from which Judas by trans- 
 gression fell, that he might go to his own place."^^ What 
 sort of a place ? 
 
 It should interest you, surely, to ask of such things, since 
 you all, whether you like them or not, have your own places ; 
 and whether you know them or not, your own opinions. It 
 is too true that very often you fancy you think one thing, 
 when in reality, you think quite another. Most Christian 
 persons, for instance, fancy they would like to be in heaven. - 
 But that is not their real opinion of the place at all. See 
 how grave they will look, if their doctor hints to them that 
 there is the least probability of their soon going there. 
 
 And the ascertaining what you really do think yourself, 
 and do not merely fancy you think, because other people have 
 said so \ as also the ascertaining, if every man had indeed to 
 
FOnS CLAVIGKUA. 
 
 393 
 
 go to his own place, what place he would verily have to go 
 to, are most wholesome mental exercises ; and there is no 
 objection whatever to your giving weight to that really pri- 
 vate opinion," and that really individual right." 
 
 But if you ever come really to know either what you think, 
 or what you deserve, it is ten to one but you find it as much 
 the character of Prudence as of Charity, that she " seeketh 
 not her own." For indeed that same apostle, who so accu- 
 rately sought his own, and found it, is, in another verse, 
 called the " Son of Loss." " Of them whom thou gavest me, 
 have I lost none, but the Son of Loss," says Christ (your 
 unlucky translation, again, quenches the whole text by its 
 poor Latinism — perdition.") Might it not be better to lose 
 your place, than to find it, on such terms ? 
 
 But, lost or found, what do you think is your place at this 
 moment ? Are you minded to stay in it, if you are in it ? 
 Do you know where it is, if you are out of it ? What sort 
 of creatures do you think yourselves ? How do those you 
 call your best friends think of you, when they advise you to 
 claim your just place in the world ? 
 
 I said, two letters back, that we would especially reverence 
 eight saints, and among them St. Paul. I was startled to 
 hear, only a few days afterwards, that the German critics 
 have at last positively ascertained that St. Paul was Simon 
 Magus ; — but I don't mind w^hether he was not ; — if he was, 
 we have got seven saints and one of the Magi, to reverence, 
 instead of eight saints ; — plainly and practically, whoever 
 wrote the 13th of 1st Corinthians is to be much respected 
 and attended to ; not as the teacher of salvation by faith, 
 still less of salvation by talking, nor even of salvation by 
 almsgiving or martyrdom, but as the bold despiser of faith, 
 talk-gift, and burning, if one has not love. Whereas this 
 age of ours is so far contrary to any such Pauline doctrine 
 that, without especial talent either for faith or martyrdom, 
 and loquacious usually rather with the tongues of men than 
 of angels, it nevertheless thinks to get on, not merely with- 
 out love of its neighbour, but founding all its proceedings on 
 the precise contrary of that, — love of its self, and the seeking 
 
394 
 
 FOES GLAVIGERA, 
 
 of every man for his own, — I should say of every beast foi 
 its own ; for your modern social science openly confesses that 
 it no longer considers you as men, but as having the nature 
 of Beasts of prey ; * which made me more solicitous to explain 
 to you the significance of that word " Park" in my last let- 
 ter ; for indeed you have already pulled down the railings of 
 those small green spots of park to purpose — and in a very 
 solemn sense, turned all England into a Park. Alas ; — if it 
 were but even so much. Parks are for beasts of the field, 
 which can dwell together in peace ; — but you have made 
 yourselves beasts of the Desert, doleful creatures, for whom 
 the grass is green no more, nor dew falls on lawn or bank ; 
 no Howlers for you — not even the bare and quiet earth to lie 
 down on, but only the sand-drift, and the dry places which 
 the very Devils cannot rest in. Here and there, beside our 
 sweet English waters, the sower may still send forth the feet 
 of the ox and the ass ; but for mm with ox's heads, and ass's 
 heads, — not the park, for these ; by no manner of means, the 
 Park ; but the everlasting Pound. Every man and beast 
 being in their own place, that you choose for yours. 
 
 I have given you therefore, this month, for frontispiece, 
 the completest picture I can find of that pound or labyrinth 
 which the Greeks supposed to have been built by Daedalus, 
 to enclose the bestial nature, engrafted on humanity. The 
 Man with the Bull's head. The Greek Daedalus is the power 
 of mechanical as opposed to imaginative art ; and this is the 
 kind of architecture which Greeks and Florentines alike 
 represent him as providing for human beasts. Could any- 
 thing more precisely represent the general look of your 
 architecture now ? When I come down here, to Coniston, 
 through Preston and Wigan, it seems to me that I have seen 
 that thing itself, only built a little higher, and smoking, or 
 else set on its side, and spinning round, a thousand times 
 over in the course of the day. 
 
 Then the very writing of the name of it is so like your 
 modern education ! You miss the first letter of your lives ; 
 and begin wnth A for apple-pie, instead of L for love ; and 
 
 * See terminal notefj. 
 
FORS CLAVJGERA, 
 
 395 
 
 the rest of the writing is — some little — some big — some 
 turned the wrong way ; and the sum of it all to you Per- 
 plexity. " Abberinto." 
 
 For the rest, the old Florentine engraver took the story as 
 it ran currently, that Theseus deserted Ariadne (but, indeed, 
 she was the letter L lost out of his life), and besides, you 
 know if he ever did do anything wrong, it was all Titania'a 
 fault, 
 
 ** Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering night 
 And make him with fair ^gle break his faith, 
 With Ariadne and Antiopa?*' 
 
 If you have young eyes, or will help old ones with a mag- 
 nifying glass, you will find all her story told. In the front, 
 Theseus is giving her his faith ; their names, TESEO . 
 ADRIANNA, are written beneath them. He leans on his 
 club reversed. She brings him three balls of thread, in case 
 one, or even two, should not be long enough. His plumed 
 cap means earthly victor}^ ; her winged one heavenly power 
 and hope. Then, at the side of the arched gate of the laby- 
 rinth, Theseus has tied one end of the clue to a ring, and you 
 see his back and left leg as he goes in. And just above, as 
 the end of the adventure, he is sailing away from Naxos 
 with his black sail. On the left is the isle of Naxos, and 
 deserted Ariadne waving Theseus back, witli her scarf tied 
 to a stick. Theseus not returning, she throws herself into 
 the sea ; you can see her feet, and her hand, still with the 
 staff in it, as she plunges in, backwards. Whereupon, 
 winged Jupiter, GIOVE, comes down and lifts her out of the 
 sea ; you see her winged head raised to him. Then he carries 
 her up to heaven. He holds her round the waist, but, 
 strangely, she is not thinking of Jupiter at all, but of some- 
 thing above and more than Jupiter ; her hands and head 
 raised, as in some strong desire. But on the right, there is 
 another fall, without such rising. Theseus' father throws 
 himself into the sea from the wall of Athens, and you see his 
 feet as he goes in ; but there is no God to lift him out of the 
 waves. He stays, in his plaoe, as Ariadne in hers. 
 
396 
 
 FOES CLAVIGEliA. 
 
 " Such an absurd old picture, or old story, you never saw 
 or heard of ? The very blaze of fireworks, in which Jupiter 
 descends, drawn with black sparks instead of white ! the 
 whole point of the thing, ' terrific combat,' missed out of the 
 play ! and nothing, on the whole, seen, except people's legs, 
 as in a modern pantomime, only not to so much advantage." 
 
 That is what you think of it ? Well, such as it is, that is 
 fine art " (if you will take my opinion in my own business); 
 and even this poor photograph of it is simply worth all the 
 illustrations in your Illustrated News, or Illustrated Times, 
 from one year's end to another. Worth them all — nay, 
 there is no comparison, for these illustrated papers do you 
 definite mischief, and the more you look at them, the worse 
 for you. Whereas, the longer you look at this, and think of 
 it, the more good you will get. 
 
 Examine, for instance, that absurdly tall crest of Theseus. 
 Behind it, if you look closely, you will see that he also has 
 the wings of hope on his helmet ; but the upright plumes 
 nearly hide them. Have you never seen anything like them 
 before ? They are five here, indeed ; but you have surely 
 met with them elsewhere, — in number. Three — those curling, 
 upright plumes ? 
 
 For that Prince who waited on his father and the French 
 Knights in the castle of Calais, bears them in memory of the 
 good knight and king who fought sightless at Cressy ; whose 
 bearings they were, with the motto which you know so well, 
 yet are so little minded to take for your own, " I serve." 
 Also the cap of the Knights of St. George has these white 
 plumes " of three falls," but the Prince of Wales more fitly, 
 because the meaning of the ostrich feather is order and rule; 
 for it was seen that, long and loose though the filaments 
 seemed, no wind could entangle or make them disorderly. 
 " So this plume betokeneth such an one as nothing can 
 disturb his mind or disquiet his spirits, but is ever one and 
 the same." Do you see how one thing bears out and fulfils 
 another, in these thoughts and symbols of the despised 
 people of old time? Do you recollect Froissart's words of 
 the New Year's Feast at Calais ? 
 
FORS CLA VIGERA. 
 
 397 
 
 " So they were served in peace, and in great leisure." 
 
 You have improved that state of things, at any rate. 1 
 must say so much for you, at Wolverton and Rugby, and 
 such other places of travellers' repose. 
 
 Theseus then, to finish with him for this time, bears these 
 plumes specially as the Institutor of Order and Law at 
 Athens ; the Prince or beginner of the State there ; and 
 your own Prince of Wales bears them in like manner as the 
 beginner of State with us, (the mocking and purposeful law- 
 lessness of Henry the Fifth when Prince, yet never indeed 
 violating law, or losing self-command, is one of the notablest 
 signs, rightly read, in the world's history). And now I want 
 you to consider with me very carefully the true meaning of 
 the words he begins his State with : — 
 
 " I serve." 
 
 You have, I hope, noticed that throughout these letters 
 addressed to you as workmen and labourers, — though I have 
 once or twice ventured to call myself your fellow-workman, 
 I have oftener spoken as belonging to, and sharing main 
 modes of thought witli, those who are not labourers, but 
 either live in various ways by their wits — as lawyers, authors, 
 reviewers, clergymen, parliamentary orators, and the like — 
 or absolutely in idleness on the labour of others, — as the rep- 
 resentative Squire. And, broadly speaking, I address you 
 as workers, and speak in the name of the rest as idlers, thus 
 not estimating the mere wit-work as v/ork at all : it is al- 
 ways play, when it is good. 
 
 Speaking to you, then, as workers, and of myself as an 
 idler, tell me honestly whether you consider me as address- 
 ing my betters or my worses ? Let us give ourselves no airs 
 on cither side. Which of us, do you seriously think, you or 
 I, are leadirjg the most honourable life ? Would you like to 
 lead my life rather than your own ; or, if you couldn't help 
 finding it pleasanter, would you be ashamed of yourselves 
 for leading it ? Is your place, or mine, considered as cure 
 and sinecure, the better ? And are either of us legitimately 
 in it ? I would fain know your own real opinion on these 
 things. 
 
398 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 But note further : there is another relation between ua 
 than that of idler and labourer ; the much more direct one 
 of Master and Servant. I can set you to any kind of work 
 I like, whether it be good for you or bad, pleasant to you or 
 painful. Consider, for instance, what I am doing at this 
 very instant — half-past seven, morning, 25th February, 1873, 
 It is a bitter black frost, the ground deep in snow, and more 
 falling. I am writing comfortably in a perfectly warm 
 room ; some of my servaiUs were up in the cold at half-past 
 five to get it ready for me ; others, a few days ago, were 
 digging my coals near Durliam, at the risk of their lives ; 
 an old woman brought me my watercresses through the snow 
 for breakfast yesterday ; another old woman is going two 
 miles through it to-day to fetch me my letters at ten o'clock. 
 Half-a-dozen men are building a wall for me, to keep the 
 sheep out of my garden, and a railroad stoker is holding his 
 own ao:ainst the north wind, to fetch me some Brobdio-nao: 
 raspberry plants* to put in it. Somebody in the east-end of 
 London is making boots for me, for I can't wear those I have 
 much longer ; a washerwoman is in suds, somewhere, to get 
 me a clean shirt for to-morrow ; a fisherman is in dangerous 
 weather, somewhere, catching me some fish for Lent ; and 
 my cook will soon be making me pancakes, for it is Shrove 
 Tuesday. Having written this sentence, I go to the fire, 
 ■warm my fingers, saunter a little, listlessly, about the room, 
 and grumble because I can't see to the other side of the lake. 
 
 And all these people, my serfs or menials, who are under- 
 going any quantity or kind of hardship I choose to put on 
 them, — all these people, nevertheless, are more contented 
 than I am ; I can't be happy, not I, — for one thing, because 
 I haven't got the MS. Additional, (never mind what number), 
 in the British Museum, which they bought in 1848, for two 
 hundred pounds, and I never saw it ! And have never bee« 
 easy in my mind, since. 
 
 But perhaps it is not the purpose of Heaven to make re* 
 fined personages, like me, easy in our minds ; we are sup- 
 
 * See Mis3 Edgeworth's Story, Forgive and Forget," in the 
 
 Parents Assistant. 
 
FOBS CLAYIGERA. 
 
 399 
 
 posed to be too grand for that. Happy, or easy, or other- 
 wise, am 1 in my place, think you ; and you, my serfs, in 
 yours ? 
 
 You are not serfs," say you, but free-born Britons ? 
 Much good may your birth do you. What does your birth 
 matter to me, since, now that you are grown men, you must 
 do whatever I like, or die by starvation ? " Strike ! " — 
 will you? Can you live by strikiiig? And when you are 
 forced to work again, will not your masters choose again, as 
 they have chosen hitherto, what work you are to do ? Not 
 serfs ! — it is well if you are so much as that ; a serf would 
 know what o'clock he had to go to his work at ; but I find 
 that clocks are now no more comprehensible in England than 
 in Italy, and you also have to be " whistled for like dogs," 
 all over Yorkshire — or rather buzzed for, that being the 
 appropriate call to business, of due honey-making kind. 
 
 Hark," says an old Athenian, according to Aristophanes, 
 "how the nightingale has filled the thickets with honey" 
 (meaning, with music as sweet). In Yorkshire, your steam- 
 nightingales fill the woods with — Buzz ; and for four miles 
 round are audible, summoning you — to your pleasure, I sup- 
 pose, my free-born ? ^ 
 
 It is well, I repeat, if you are so much as serfs. A serf 
 means a ^' saved person " — the word comes first from a Greek 
 one, meaning to drag, or drag away into safety, (though 
 captive safety), out of the slaughter of war. But alas, the 
 trades most of you are set to now-a-days have no element 
 of safety in them, either for body or soul. They take thirty 
 years from your lives here ; — what they take from your lives 
 hereafter, ask your clergy. I have no opinion on that 
 matter. 
 
 But I used another terrible word just now — menial." 
 The modern English vulgar mind has a wonderful dread of 
 doing anything of that sort I 
 
 I suppose there is scarcely another word in the language 
 which people more dislike having applied to them, or of 
 which they less understand the application. It comes from 
 a beautiful old Cbauoerian word, uieinio,'' or many, signify- 
 
400 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 ing the attendant company of any one worth attending to ; 
 the disciples of a Master, scholars of a teacher, soldiers of a 
 leader, lords of a King. Chaucer says the God of Love 
 came, in the garden of the Rose, with " his many ; " — in the 
 court of the King of Persia spoke a Lord, one " of his 
 many." Therefore there is nothing in itself dishonourable 
 in being menial — the only question is — whose many you be- 
 long to, and whether he is a person worth belonging to, or 
 even safe to be belonged to ; also, there is somewhat in the 
 cause of your following ; if you follow for love, it is good to 
 be menial — if for honour, good also ; — if for ten per cent. — 
 as a railroad company follows its Director, it is not good to 
 be menial. Also there is somewhat in the manner of follow- 
 ing ; if you obey your Task-master's eye, it is well ; — if only 
 his whip, still, well ; but not so well : — but, above all, or be- 
 low all, if you have to obey the whip as a bad hound, because 
 you have no nose, like the members of the present House of 
 Commons, it is a very humble form of menial service indeed. 
 
 But even as to the quite literal form of it, in house or do- 
 mestic service, are you sure it is so very disgraceful a state 
 to live in ? 
 
 Among the people whom one must miss out of one's life, 
 dead, or worse than dead, by the time one is 54, I can only 
 say, for my own part, that the one I practically and truly 
 miss most, next to father and mother, (and putting losses of 
 imaginary good out of the question,) was a " menial," my 
 father's nurse, and mine. She was one of our many — (our 
 many being always but few) — and, from her girlhood to her 
 old age, the entire ability of her life was given to serving us. 
 She had a natural gift and specialty for doing disagreeable 
 things ; above all, the service of a sick-room ; so that she 
 was nev^er quite in her glory unless some of us were ill. She 
 had also some parallel specialty for saying disagreeable 
 things ; and might be relied upon to give the extremely dark- 
 est view of any subject, before proceeding to ameliorative 
 action upon it. And she had a very creditable and repub* 
 lican aversion to doing immediately, or in set terms, as she 
 was bid ; so that when my mother and she got old together, 
 
FORS CLAVIOEBA. 
 
 m 
 
 and my mother became very imperative and particular about 
 having her tea-cup set on one side of her little round table, 
 Anne would observantly and punctiliously put it always on 
 the other ; which caused my mother to state to me, every 
 morning after breakfast, gravely, that, if ever a woman in 
 this world was possessed by the Devil, Anne was that woman. 
 But in spite of these momentary and petulant aspirations to 
 liberty and independence of character, poor Anne remained 
 verily servile in soul all her days ; and was altogether occu- 
 pied from the age of 15 to 72, in doing other people's wills 
 instead of her own, and seeking other people's good instead 
 of her own : nor did I ever hear on any occasion of her doing 
 harm to a human being, except by saving two hundred and 
 some odd pounds for her relations ; in consequence of which 
 some of them, after her funeral, did not speak to the rest for 
 several m.onths. 
 
 Two hundred and odd pounds ; — it might have been more ; 
 but T used to hear of little loans to the relations occasionally ; 
 and besides, Anne would sometimes buy a quite unjustifiably 
 expensive silk gown. People in her station of life are always 
 so improvident. Two hundred odd pounds at all events siie 
 had laid bv, in her fiftv-scven voars of unselhsh labour. Ac- 
 tually twenty ten pound notes. 1 heard the other day, to my 
 great satisfaction, of the approaching marriage of a charming 
 girl ; — but to my dissatisfaction, that the approach was slow. 
 *^ We can't marry yet" — said she ; — "you know, we can't 
 possibly marry on five hundred a year." People in that sta- 
 tion of life are always so provident. 
 
 Two hundred odd pounds, — that was what the third Fors, 
 in due alliance with her sisters, thought fit to reward our 
 Anne with, for fifty years of days' work and nights' watch- 
 ing ; and what will not a dash of a pen win, sometimes in 
 the hands of superior persons ! Surely the condition must be 
 a degraded one which can do no better for itself than this ? 
 
 And yet, have you ever taken a wise man's real opinion on 
 this matter? You are not fond of hearing opinions of wise 
 men ; you like your anonymous penny-a-liners' opinions bet- 
 ter. But do you think you C(mld tolerantly receive that of 
 f6% 
 
402 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEMA. 
 
 a moderately and popularly wise man — such an one as Charles 
 Dickens, for example ? Have you ever considered seriously 
 what his opinion was, about " Dependants " and "Menials" ? 
 He did not perhaps quite know what it was himself ; — it 
 needs wisdom of stronger make than his to be sure of 
 what it does think. He would talk, in his moral passages? 
 about Independence, and Self-dependence, and making one's 
 way in the world, just like any hack, of the JEatanswill In^ 
 dependent. But which of the people of his imagination, of 
 his own true children, did he love and honour most ? Who 
 are your favourites in his books — as they have been his ? 
 Menials, it strikes me, many of them. Sam, Mark, Kit, 
 Peggotty, Mary-my-dear, — even the poor little Marchioness ! 
 I don't think Dickens intended you to look upon any of them 
 disrespectfully. Or going one grade higher in his society, 
 Tom Pinch, Newman Noggs, Tim Linkinwater, Oliver Twist 
 • — how independent, all of them ! Very nearly menial, in 
 soul, if they chance on a good master ; none of them brilliant 
 in fortune, nor vigorous in action. Is not the entire testi- 
 mony of Dickens, traced in its true force, that no position is 
 so good for men and women, none so likely to bring out their 
 best human character, as that of a dependant, or menial ? 
 And yet with your supreme modern logic, instead of enthusi- 
 astically concluding from his works " let us all be servants," 
 one would think the notion he put in your heads was quite 
 the other, let us all be masters," and that you understood 
 his ideal of heroic English character to be given in Mr. Peck- 
 sniff or Sir Mulberry Hawk ! 
 
 Alas ! more's the pity, you cannot all be dependants and 
 menials, even if you were w^ise enough to wish it. Somebody 
 there must be to be served, else there could be no service. 
 And for the beatitudes and virtues of Masterhood, I must 
 appeal to a wiser man than Dickens — but it is no use enter- 
 ing on that part of the question to-day; in the meantime, 
 here is another letter of his, (you have had one letter already 
 in last Fors^) just come under my hand, which gives you a 
 sketch of a practical landlord, and true Master, on which you 
 may meditate with advantage : — 
 
FOliS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 403 
 
 " Here, above all, we had the opportunity of seeing in what 
 universa] respect and comfort a gentleman's family may live 
 in that country, and in far from its most favoured district ; 
 provided only they live there habitually and do their duty as 
 the friends and guardians of those among w^hom Providence 
 has appointed their proper place. Here we found neither 
 mud hovels nor naked peasantry, but snug cottages and 
 smiling faces all about. Here there was a very large school 
 in the village, of which masters and pupils were, in nearly 
 equal proportion, Protestants and Roman Catholics, the Prot- 
 estant Squire himself making it a regular part of his daily 
 business to visit the scene of their operations, and strengthen 
 authority and encourage discipline by personal superintend- 
 ence. Here, too, we pleased ourselves with recognising some 
 of the sweetest features in Goldsmith's picture of ' Sweet 
 Auburn ! loveliest village of the plain;' and, in particular, 
 we had 'the playful children just let loose from sciiool' in 
 perfection. Mr. Edgeworth*s paternal heart delighted in let- 
 ting them make a play-ground of his lawn ; and every even- 
 ing, after dinner, we saw leap-frog going on with the highest 
 spirit within fifty yards of the drawing-room windows, while 
 fathers and mothers, and their aged parents also, were 
 grouped about among the trees watching the sport. It is a 
 curious enough coincidence that Oliver Goldsmith and Maria 
 Edgeworth should both have derived their early love and 
 knowledsre of Irish character and manners from the same 
 identical district. He received part of his education at this 
 very school of Edgeworthstown ; and Pallasmore (the * locus 
 cui nomen est Pallas' of Johnson's epitaph), the little hamlet 
 where the author of the Vicar of Wtikefield first saw the 
 light, is still, as it was in his time, the property of the Edge- 
 worths." 
 
 Strengthen authority," enforce discipline ! " What ugly 
 expressions these ! and a " whole hamlet," though it he a little 
 one, " the property of the Edgevvorths " ! How long are such 
 things yet to be? thinks my Republican correspondent, I 
 suppose, from whom, to my regret, I have had no further 
 dispatch since 1 endeavoured to answer his interroga- 
 
404 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOERA, 
 
 tions.* Only, note further respecting this chief question of 
 the right of private property, that there are two kinds of 
 ownership, which the Greeks wisely expressed in two differ- 
 ent ways : the first, Avith the word which brought me to a 
 pause in St. John's Gospel, " idios," signifying the way, for 
 instance, in which a man's opinions and interests are his own ; 
 ^'idia," so tliat by persisting in them, independently of the 
 truth, which is above opinion, and of the public interest, which 
 is above private, he becomes what we very properly, borrow- 
 ing the Greek word, call an ^ idiot.' But their other phrase 
 expresses the kind of belonging which is nobly won, and is 
 truly and inviolably ours, in which sense a man may learn 
 the full meaning of the word " Mine" only once in his life, — 
 happy he who has ever so learnt it. I was thinking over the 
 prettiness of the word in that sense, a day or two ago, and 
 opening a letter, mechanically, when a newspaper clipping 
 dropped out of it (I don't know from what paper), contain- 
 ing a quotation from the Cornhill Magazine setting forth 
 the present privileges of the agricultural labourer attained 
 for him by modern improvements in machinery, in the fol- 
 lowing terms : — 
 
 " An agricultural labourer, from forty to forty-five years 
 of age, of tried skill, probity, and sobriety, with 200 pounds 
 in his pocket, is a made man. True, he has had to forego 
 the luxury of marriage ; but so have his betters." 
 
 And I think you may be grateful to the Third Fors for 
 this clipping ; which you see settles, in the region of Corn- 
 hill, at least, the question whether you are the betters or the 
 worses of your masters. Decidedly the worses, according to 
 the Cornhill, Also, exactly the sum which my old nurse 
 had for her reward at the end of her life, is, you see, to be 
 the agricultural labourer's reward in the crowning triumph 
 of his ; — provided always that he has followed the example 
 of his betters on the stock exchange and in trade, in the 
 observance of the strictest probity ; — that he be entirely 
 
 * 2lKt March ; one just received, interesting, and to be answered 
 next month. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 405 
 
 skilful ; — not given to purchasing two shillings' worth of 
 liquor for twenty-seven and sixpence, — and finally, until the 
 age of forty-five, has dispensed with the luxury of marriage. 
 
 I have just said I didn't want to make Catholics of you ; 
 but truly I think your Protestantism is becoming too fierce 
 in its opposition to the Popedom. Cannot it be content with 
 preaching the marriage of the clergy, but it must preach also 
 the celibacy of the laity ? 
 
 And the moral and anti-Byronic Mrs. B. Stowe, who so 
 charmingly and pathetically describes the terrors of slavery, 
 as an institution which separates men from their wives, and 
 mothers from their children ! Did she really contemplate, 
 among the results contributed to by her interesting volumes, 
 these ultimate privileges of Liberty, — that the men, at least 
 under the age of forty-five, are not to have any wives to be 
 separated from ; and that the women, who under these cir- 
 cumstances have the misfortune to become mothers, are to 
 feel it a hardship, not to be parted from their children, but 
 to be prevented from accelerating the parting with a little 
 soothing syrup ? 
 
406 
 
 FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 I HAVE kept by me, and now reprint from the Pall Mall Gazette ol 
 July 6th, 1868, the following report of a meeting* held on the Labour 
 Question by the Social Science Association in the previous week. It 
 will be seen that it contains confirmation of my statement in p. 394 of 
 the text. The passage I have italicised contains the sense of the views 
 then entertained by the majority of the meeting. I think it desirable 
 also to keep note of the questions I proposed to the meeting, and of 
 the answers given in the Gazette. I print the article, therefore, en- 
 tire : — 
 
 THE SOCIAL SCIENCE ASSOCIATION ON THE LABOUR 
 
 QUESTION 
 
 THER15 would be something touching in the way in which people dis- 
 cuss the question of labour and wages, and in the desperate efforts 
 made by Mr. Gladstone and other persons of high position to make 
 love to the workmen, if there was not almost always a touch of absurd- 
 ity in such proceedings. Mr. Gladstone, in particular, never approaches 
 such subjects without an elaborate patting and stroking of the working 
 man, which is intelligible only upon the assumption that prima facie 
 the labourer and the gentlemen are natural enemies, and that they 
 must be expected to regard each other as such, unless the higher class 
 approaches the lower with the most elaborate assurances of good will 
 and kindness. Such language as the following appears to us very ill- 
 judged. After condemning in strong terms the crimes committed by 
 some trade unions, Mr. Gladstone went on to say : — '''' Some things the 
 working men required at their hands. In the first place, it was re- 
 quired that they should be approached in a friendly spirit, that they 
 should feel that they were able to place confidence in their good inten- 
 tions, that they should be assured that they were not approached in the 
 spirit of class, but in the spirit of men who were attached to the truth," 
 &c. &c. What can be the use of this sort of preaching ? Does any 
 human being suppose that any kind of men whatsoever, whether work- 
 ing men or idle men, are indifferent to being approached in an un- 
 friendly spirit, or are disposed to deal with people whom they believe 
 to entertain bad intentions towards them, or to be utterly indifferent to 
 their interests, or to be actuated by interests opposed to their ov/c If 
 
FORS C.'.A ViGERA. 
 
 407 
 
 Such protestations always appear to us either prosy, patronising, or in- 
 sincere. No one suspects Mr. Gladstone of insincerity, but at times he 
 is as prosy as a man must be, who, being already fully occupied with 
 politics, will never miss an opportunity of doing a little philanthropy 
 and promoting peace and good will between different classes of the 
 community. Blessed no doubt are the peacemakers, but at times they 
 are bores. 
 
 After Mr. Gladstone's little sermon the meeting proceeded to discuss 
 a variety of resolutions about strikes, some of which seem very unim- 
 portant. One piece of mgoroics good sense enlivened the discussion, and 
 appears to us to sum vp pretty nearly all that can he said upon the uhole 
 subject of strikes. It was uttered by Mr. Applegarth^ who observed that 
 ''^no sentiment ought to be brought into the subject. The employers were 
 like the employed in trying to get as much as possible for as little as tliey 
 CxAild.'*'* Add to this tlie obvious gualification that even in dnving a bar- 
 gain it is possible to insist too strongly upon your own inter est , and that 
 it never can be in the interest either of masters or of men that the profits 
 of any given trade to the capitalist sJcould be permanently depi'essed much 
 below the avei'age profits of other trades^ and nearly all that can be said 
 upon the subject will have been said. If, instead of meeting together 
 and kissing each other in public, masters and men would treat each 
 other simply as civilised and rational beings who have to drive a bar- 
 gain, and who have a common interest in producing the maximum of 
 profit, though their interests in dividing it when it is produced are con- 
 flicting, they would get on much better together. People can buy and 
 sell all sorts of other things without either quarrelling or crying over 
 the transaction, and if they could only see it there is no reason why 
 they should not deal in labour just as coolly. 
 
 The most remarkable feature of the evening was the attack made by 
 Mr. Ruakin on this view of the subject. Replying to Mr. Dering, who 
 had said that whenever it was possible men would seek their own Ie 
 tercsts even at the expense of other classes,'- he obser\'ed * that many 
 students of political economy '* looked upon man as a predator}' animal, 
 while man on the contrary was an affectionate animal, and until the 
 mutual interest of classes was based upon affection, difficulties must 
 continue between those classes." There are, as it appears to us, sev- 
 eral weak points in this statement. One obvious one is that most ani- 
 mals are both predatory and affectionate. Wolves will play together, 
 herd together, hunt together, kill sheep together, and yet, if one wolf is 
 wounded, the rest will eat him up. Animals, too, which as between 
 each other are highly affectionate, are predatory to the last degree as 
 
 ♦ I observed nothing of the kind. It was the previouH speaker (unknown to me, but, 
 according to the Pall Mal\ Mr. Dering) who not merely " observed " but positively af- 
 firmed, as the only groundwork of sound political economy, that the nature of man wa» 
 that of a beast of prey, to all hie follows. 
 
408 
 
 FOBS GLAVIQERA. 
 
 against creatures of a different species or creatures of their own species 
 Avho have got something which they want. Hence, if men are actuated 
 to some extent at some times, aad towards some persons, by their affec- 
 tions, and to a different extent at other times towards the same or 
 other ijersous by their predatory instincts, they would resemble othet 
 animals. Mr. Ruskin's opposition between the predatory and affection- 
 ate animal is thus merely imag-inary. Apart from this the description 
 of a man as "an affectionate animal" appears to us not merely incom- 
 plete but misleading. Of course the affections are a most important 
 branch of human nature, but they are by no means the whole of it. A 
 very large department of human nature is primarily self -regarding. A 
 man eats and drinks because he is hungry or thirsty, and he buys and 
 sells because he wants to get gain. These are and always will be his 
 leading motives, but they are no doubt to a certain extent counteracted 
 in civilised life by motives of a different kind. No man is altogether 
 destitute of regard for the interests and wishes of his neighbours, and 
 almost every one will sacrifice something more or less for the gratifica- 
 tion of others. Still, self-interest of the most direct unmistakable kind 
 is the great leading active principle in many departments of life, and in 
 particular in the trading department ; to deny this is to shut one's eyes 
 to the sun at noonday. To try to change is like trying to stop the revo- 
 lution of the earth. To call it a ^' predatory" instinct is to talk at ran- 
 dom. To take from a man by force what he possesses is an essentially 
 different thing from driving the hardest of hard bargains with him. 
 Every bargain is regarded as an advantage by both parties at the time 
 when it is made, otherwise it would not be made at all. If I save a 
 drowning man's life on conditicn that he will convey to me his whole 
 estate, he is better off than if I leave him to drown. My act is certainly 
 not affectionate, but neither is it predatory. It improves the condition 
 of both parties, and the same is true of all trade. 
 
 The most singular part of Mr. Ruskin's address consisted of a cate- 
 chism which appears to us to admit of very simple answers, which we 
 will proceed to give, as the questions were received with much ap- 
 plause," though we do not appreciate their importance. They are aa 
 follows : — 
 
 Question. — " 1. It is stated in a paper read before the jurisprudence 
 section of the National Association for the Promotion of Social Science, 
 and afterwards published at their office, that * without the capitalist 
 labour could accomplish nothing,' (p. 4). But for long periods of time 
 in some parts of the world the accumulation of money was forbidden, 
 and in others it was impossible. Has labour never accomplished any. 
 thing in such districts ? '* 
 
 Answer. — Capital is not merely **an accumulation of money." It 
 is a general name for the whole stock by and out of which things are 
 made. Labour never accomplished anything without materials oi 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 409 
 
 anything important without tools, and materials and tools are capi- 
 tal. 
 
 Question. — "2. Supposini^ that in the present state of England the 
 capital is necessary, are capitalists fco ? In other words, is ic needful 
 for right operation of capital that it should be administered under the 
 arbitrary power of one person ? " 
 
 Answer. — Yes, it is, unless you do away with the institution of pri- 
 vate property. It is necessary for the right operation of capital that 
 some one or other should have arbitrary power over it, and that arbi- 
 trary power must either be lodged in individuals, who thereupon become 
 capitalists, or else in the public or its representatives, in which case 
 there is only one capitalist — the State. 
 
 Question.—'' ' 3, Whence is all capital derived ? " 
 
 Answer. — From the combination of labour and material. 
 
 Question. — 4. If capital is spent in paying wages for labour or manu- 
 facture which brings no return (as the labour of an acrobat or manufact- 
 urer of fireworks), is such capital lost or not ? and if lost, what is the 
 effect of such loss on the future wages fund?" 
 
 Ans7jDer. — In the case supposed the capital ceases to exist as capital, 
 and the future wages fund is diminished to that extent ; but see the 
 next answer. 
 
 Question. — 5. If under such circumstances it is lost, and cai^. only 
 be recovered (much more recovered with interest) when it has been 
 spent in wages for productive labour or manufacture, what labours 
 and manufactures are productive, and what are unproductive ? Do all 
 capitalists know the difference, and are they always defeirous to em 
 ploy men in productive labours and manufactures, and in these only ? " 
 
 Atmcer. — Generally speaking, productive labour ans labour which 
 produces useful or agreeable results. Probably no paid labour is abso- 
 lutely unproductive ; forinstance, the feats of the acrobat and the fire- 
 works amuse the spectators. Capitalists in general desire to employ 
 men in labours and manufactures which produce gain to the capitalists 
 themselves. The amount of the gain depends on the relation between 
 the demand for the product and the cost of production, and the demand 
 for the product depends principally on the extent to which it is useful 
 or agreeable, that is, upon the extent to which the labour is pro- 
 ductive or unproductive. In this indirect way capitalists are generally 
 desirous to employ men in productive labours and manufactures, and in 
 them only. 
 
 Question. — " 0. Considering the unemployed and purchasing public 
 as a great capitalist, employing the workmen and their masters both, 
 what results happen finally to this purchasing public if it employs all its 
 manufacturers in productive labour? and what if it employs them all in 
 productive labour : " 
 
 Answer. — This is not the light in which we should consider the un- 
 
410 
 
 PORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 employed and purchasing- public. " But if they are all to be congidered 
 in that light, it is obvious that the result of employing all manufact- 
 urers in doing what is useless or disagreeable would be general misery, 
 and vice versa. 
 
 Question. — 7. If there are thirty workmen, ready to do a day'n 
 work, and there is only a day's work for one of them to do, what is the 
 effect of the natural laws of wages on the other twenty-nine?" 
 
 A7i8wer, — The twenty -nine must go without work and wages, but the 
 phrase ** natural law" is not ours. 
 
 Question. — 8. {a.) Is it a natural law that for the same quantity or 
 piece of work, wages should be sometimes high, sometimes low? {b.) 
 With what standard do we properly or scientifically compare them, in 
 calling them high or low? {c.) and what is the limit of their possible 
 lowness under natural laws ? ^ 
 
 Answer, — {a. ) It is an inevitable result from the circumstances in 
 which mankind are placed, if you call that a natural law. 
 
 {b.) High wages are wages greater than those which have been usually 
 paid at a given time and place in a given trade ; low wages are the re- 
 verse. There is no absolute standard of wages. 
 
 (c.) The limit of the possible lowness of wages is the starvation of 
 the workman. 
 
 Question. — 9. In what manner do natural laws affect the wages of 
 officers under Government in various countries ? " 
 
 Answer. — ^. In endless ways, too long to enumerate. 
 
 Question. — " 10. 'If any man will not work, neither should he eat/ 
 Does this law apply to all classes of society ? '* 
 
 Answer. — 10. No ; it does not. It is not a law at all, but merely a 
 striking way of saying that idleness produces want. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 LETTER XXIX. 
 
 Brai^twood, 
 AprU 2, 1873. 
 
 It is a bright morning, the first entirely clear one I have 
 seen for months ; such, indeed, as one used to see, before 
 England was civilised into a blacksmith's shop, often enough 
 in the sweet spring-time ; and as, perhaps, our children's 
 children may see often enough again, when their coals are 
 burnt out, and they begin to understand that coals are not 
 the source of all power Divine and human. In the meantime, 
 as I say, it is months since I saw the sky, except throuigh 
 smoke, or the strange darkness brought by blighting wind 
 (VIII. 101), and if such weather as this is to last, I shall begin 
 to congratulate myself, as the Daily News does its readers, 
 on the "exceptionally high price of coal," indicating a most 
 satisfactory state of things, it appears, for the general 
 wealth of the country, for, says that well-informed journal, 
 on March 3rd, 1873, The net result of the exceptionally 
 high price of coal is in substance this, that the coal owners 
 and workers obtain an unusually large share in the distribu- 
 tion of the gross produce of the community, and the real 
 capital of the community is increased!'''^ 
 
 This great and beautiful principle must of course apply to 
 a rise in price in all other articles, as well as in coals. Accord- 
 ingly, whenever you see the announcement in any shops, or 
 by any advertising firm, that you can get something there 
 cheaper than usual, remember, the capital of the community 
 is being diminished ; and whenever you have reason to think 
 that anybody has charged you threepence for a twopenny 
 article, remember that, according to the Daily A cvas*, *^ the 
 real capital of the community is increased." And as I be- 
 lieve you may be generally certain, in the present state of 
 trade, of being charged even as much as twenty-seven pence 
 for a twopenny article, the capital of the community must 
 be increasing very fast indeed. Holding these enlightened 
 
41^ F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 views on the subject of the prices of things, the Dailp 
 News cannot be expected to stoop to any consideration of 
 their uses. But there is another net result " of the high 
 price of coal, besides the increase of the capital of the com« 
 munity, and a result which is more immediately your affair, 
 namely, that a good many of you will die of cold. It may 
 console you to reflect that a great many rich people will at 
 least feel chilly, in economical drawing-rooms of state, and 
 in ill-aired houses, rawly built on raw ground, and already 
 mouldy for want of fires, though under a blackened sky. 
 
 What a pestilence of them, and unseemly plague of 
 builders' work — as if the bricks of Egypt had multiplied 
 like its lice, and alighted like its locusts — has fallen on the 
 suburbs of loathsome London ! 
 
 The road from the village of Shirley, near Addington, 
 where my father and mother are buried, to the house they 
 lived in when I was four years old, lay, at that time, through 
 a quite secluded district of field and wood, traversed here 
 and there by winding lanes, and by one or two smooth mail- 
 coach roads, beside which, at intervals of a mile or two, 
 stood some gentleman's house, with its lawn, gardens, 
 offices, and attached fields, indicating a country life of long 
 continuance and quiet respectability. Except such an one 
 here and there, one saw no dwellings above the size of 
 cottages or small farmsteads ; these, wood-built usually, and 
 thatched, their porches embroidered with honeysuckle, and 
 their gardens with daisies, their doors mostly ajar, or with a 
 half one shut to keep in the children, and a bricked or tiled 
 footway from it to the wicket gate, — all neatly kept, and 
 vivid with a sense of the quiet energies of their contented 
 tenants, — made the lane-turnings cheerful, and gleamed in 
 half-hidden clusters beneath the slopes of the woodlands at 
 Sydenham and Penge. There were no signs of distress, of 
 effort, or of change ; many of enjoyment, and not a few of 
 wealth beyond the daily needs of life. That same district ia 
 now covered by, literally, many thousands of houses built 
 within the last ten years, of rotten brick, with various iron 
 devices to hold it together. They, every one, have a draw* 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA 
 
 413 
 
 ing-room and clining-room, transparent from back to front, 
 so that from the road one sees the people's heads inside, 
 clear against the light. They have a second story of bed- 
 rooms, and an underground one of kitchen. They are fast- 
 ened in a Siamese-twin manner together by their sides, 
 and each couple has a Greek or Gothic portico shared be- 
 tween them, with magnificent steps, and highly ornamented 
 capitals. Attached to every double block are exactly similar 
 double parallelograms of garden, laid out in new gravel and 
 scanty turf, on the model of the pleasure grounds in the 
 Crystal Palace, and enclosed by high, thin, and pale brick 
 walls. The gardens in front are fenced from the road with 
 an immense weight of cast-iron, and entered between two 
 square gate-posts, with projecting stucco cornices, bearing 
 the information that the eligible residence within is Morti- 
 mer House or Montague Villa. On the other side of the 
 road, w^hich is laid freshly down with large flints, and is deep 
 at the sides in ruts of yellow mud, one sees Burleigh House, 
 or Devonshire Villa, still to let, and getting leprous in 
 patches all over the fronts. 
 
 Think what the real state of life is, for the people who are 
 content to pass it in such places ; and wliat the people 
 themselves must be. Of the men, their wives, and children, 
 who live in any of those houses, probably not the fifth part 
 are possessed of one common manly or womanly skill, knowl- 
 edge, or means of happiness. The men can indeed write, and 
 cast accounts, and go to tow^i every day to get their living 
 by doing so ; the women and children can perhaps read 
 story-books, dance in a vulgar manner, and play on the 
 piano with dull dexterities for exhibition ; but not a mem- 
 ber of the whole family can, in general, cook, sweep, knock 
 in a nail, drive a stake, or spin a thread. They are stiil less 
 capable of finer work. They know nothing of painting, 
 sculpture, or architecture ; of science, inaccurately, as much 
 as may more or less account to them for Mr. Pepper's ghost, 
 and make them disbelieve in the existence of any other 
 ghost but that, particularly the Holy One : of books, they 
 read MdcmUlan^s Magazhie on week days, and Good 
 
414 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 Wbi'ds on Sundays, and are entirely ignorant of all the 
 standard literature belonging to their own country, or to 
 any other. They never think of taking a walk, and, the 
 roads for six miles round them being ankle deep in mud and 
 flints, they could not if they would. They cannot enjoy their 
 gardens, for they have neither sense nor strength enough 
 to work in them. The women and girls have no pleasures 
 but in calling on each other in false hair, cheap dresses of 
 gaudy stuffs, machine made, and high-heeled boots, of which 
 the pattern was set to them by Parisian prostitutes of the 
 lowest order : the men have no faculty beyond that of cheat- 
 ing in business ; no pleasures but in smoking or eating ; 
 and no ideas, nor any capacity of forming ideas, of anything 
 that has yet been done of great, or seen of good, in this 
 world. 
 
 That is the typical condition of five-sixths, at least, of the 
 " rising " middle classes about London — the lodgers in those 
 damp shells of brick, which one cannot say they inhabit, nor 
 call their " houses ; " nor theirs " indeed, in any sense ; 
 but packing-cases in which they are temporarily stored, for 
 bad use. Put the things on wheels (it is already done in 
 America, but you must build them stronger first), and they 
 are mere railway vans of brick, thrust in rows on the siding ; 
 vans full of monkeys that have lost the use of their legs. 
 The baboons in Regent's Park — with Mr. Darwin's pardon — 
 are of another species ; a less passive, and infinitely wittier 
 one. Here, behold, you have a group of gregarious creatures 
 that cannot climb, and are entirely imitative, not as the apes, 
 ocasionally, for the humour of it, but all their lives long ; 
 the builders trying to build as Christians did once, though 
 now swindling on every brick they lay ; and the lodgers to 
 live like the Duke of Devonshire, on the salaries of railroad 
 clerks. Lodgers, do I say ! Scarcely even that. Many a 
 cottage, lodged in but for a year or two, has been made a 
 true home, for that span of the owner's life. In my next 
 letter but one, I hope to give you some abstract of the 
 man's life whose testimony I want you to compare with 
 that of Dickens, as to the positions of Master and Servant ; 
 
F0R8 GLAVIOERA. 
 
 415 
 
 meantime compare with what you may see of these railroad 
 homes, this incidental notice by him of liis first one: 
 
 AVhen we approached that village (Lasswade), Scott, who 
 had laid hold of my arm, turned along the road in a direction 
 not leading to the place where the carriage was to meet us. 
 After walking some minutes towards Edinburgh, I suggested 
 that we were losing the scenery of the Esk, and, besides, 
 had Dalkeith Palace yet to see. 
 
 ''*Yes,' said he, 'and I have been bringing you where 
 there is little enough to be seen, only that Scotcli cottage 
 (one by the roadside, with a small garth) ; but, though not 
 worth looking at, I could not pass it. It was our first coun- 
 try house when newly married, and many a contrivance we 
 had to make it comfortable. I made a dining-table for it 
 with my own hands. Look at these two miserable willow 
 trees on either side the gate into the enclosure ; they are 
 tied together at the top to be an arcli, and a cross made of 
 two sticks over them is not yet decayed. To be sure, it is not 
 much of a lion to show a stranger ; but I wanted to see it again 
 myself, fori assure you that after I had constructed it, mamma 
 (Mrs. Scott) and I both of us thought it so fine, we turned out 
 to see it by moonlight, and walked backwards from it to the 
 cottage door, in admiration of our own magnificence and its 
 picturesque effect. I did want to see if it was still there.' " 
 
 I had scarcely looked out this passage for you when I re- 
 ceived a letter from the friend who sent me the penny cook- 
 ery book, incidentally telling me of the breaking up of a 
 real home. I have obtained her leave to let you read part 
 of it. It will come with no disadvantage, even after Scott's, 
 recording as it does tlie same kind of simple and natural life, 
 now passing so fast away. The same life, and also in the 
 district which, henceforward, I mean to qall **Sir Walter's 
 Land definable as the entire breadth of Scots and English 
 ground from sea to sea, coast and isle included, between 
 Schehallien on the north, and Ingleborough on the south. 
 (I have my reasons, though some readers may doubt them, 
 for fixing the limit south of Skye, and north of Ashby-de* 
 lu-Zouche.) Within this district, then, but J shall not say in 
 
416 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 what part of it, the home my friend speaks of stood. In 
 many respects it was like the "Fair-ladies" in JRed GaiinU 
 let ; as near the coast, as secluded, and in the same kind 
 of country ; still more like, in its mistress's simple and loyal 
 beneficence. Therefore, because I do not like leaving a blank 
 for its name, I put " Fair-ladies " for it in the letter, of which 
 the part I wish you to see begins thus : — 
 
 Please let me say one practical thing. In no cottage is 
 there a possibility of roasting more than a pound of meat, if 
 any ; and a piece of roast beef, such as you or I understand 
 by the word, costs ten shillings or twelve, and is not meant 
 for artisans. I never have it in this house now, except when 
 it is full. I have a much sadder example of the changes 
 
 wrought by modern wages and extravagance. Miss , who 
 
 had her house and land for her home-farm expenses (or rather 
 
 produce), and about hundred a year ; who entertained 
 
 for years all her women and children acquaintances ; trained 
 a dozen young servants in a year, and was a blessing to the 
 country for miles round ; writes me word yesterday that she 
 liopes and intreats that we will go this summer to Fair-ladies, 
 as it is the last. She says the provisions are double the price 
 thev used to be — the waoes also — and she cannot even work 
 her farm as she used to do ; the men want beer instead of 
 milk, and won't do half they used to do ; so she must give it 
 up, and let the place, and come and live by me or some one to 
 comfort her, and Fair-ladies will know her no more. I am so 
 sorry, because I think it such a loss to the wr^etched people 
 who drive her away. Our weekly bills are double what they 
 used to be, yet every servant asks higher wages each time 1 
 engage one ; and as to the poor people in the village, they 
 are not a bit better off — they eat more, and drink more, and 
 learn to think less of religion and all that is good. One 
 thing I see very clearly, that, as the keeping of Sunday is 
 being swept away, so is their day of rest going with it. Of 
 course if no one goes to worship God one day more tlian 
 another,* what is the sense of talking about the Sabbath ? 
 
 * My dear friend, I can't bear to interrupt your pretty letter; but, 
 indeed, one should not worship God on one day more, or less^ than on 
 
FORS CLAVIGEliA, 
 
 417 
 
 If a.ll the railway servants, and all the post-office, and all the 
 museum and art-collection servants, and all the refreshment 
 places, and other sorts of amusement, servants are to work 
 on Sunday, why on earth should not the artisans, who are as 
 selfish and irreligious as any one ? No ! directly I find every 
 one else is at work, 1 shall insist on the baker and the butcher 
 calling for orders as usual. (Quite right, my dear.) The re- 
 sult of enormous wages will be that I rely more on my own 
 boys for carpentering, and on preserved food, and the cook 
 ""^and butcher will soon be dismissed." 
 
 My poor little darling, rely on your own boys for carpen- 
 tering by all means ; and grease be to their elbows — but you 
 shall have something better to rely on than potted crocodile, 
 in old England, yet, — please the pixies, and pigs, and St. 
 George, and St. Anthony. 
 
 Nay, we will have also a blue-aproned butcher or two still, 
 to call for orders ; they are not yet extinct. We have not 
 even reached the preparatory phase of steam-butcher-boys, 
 riding from Buxton for orders to Bakewell, and from Ba'.ce- 
 well for orders to Buxton ; and paying dividends to a Steam- 
 Butcher's-boy-Company, Not extinct yet, and a kindly 
 race, for the most part, " He told me," (part of another 
 friend's letter, speaking of his butcher,) "his sow had four- 
 teen pigs, and could only rear twelve, the other two, Ke 
 said, he was feeding with a spoon. I never could bear, he 
 said, to kill a young animal because he was one too many.'* 
 Yes ; that is all very well when it's a pig ; but if it be- - 
 Wait a minute ; — I must go back to Fair-ladies, before I 
 finish my sentence. 
 
 For note very closely what the actual facts are in this short 
 letter from an English housewife. 
 
 She in the south, and the mistress of Fair-ladies in the 
 north, both find "their weekly bills double what they used 
 to be ;" that is to say, they are as poor again as they were, 
 and they have to pay higher wages, of course, for now all 
 wages buy so much less. I have too long, perhaps, put 
 
 another ; and one should rest when one needs rest, whether on Sunday 
 or Saturday. 
 
 27 
 
418 
 
 FOnS (JLAVIGERA, 
 
 C[uestions to you which I knew you could not answer, partly 
 in the hope of at least making you think, and partly because 
 I knew you would not believe the true answer, if I gave it. 
 But, whether you believe me or not, I must explain the 
 meaning of this to 3^ou at once. The weekly bills are double, 
 because the greater part of the labour of the people of Eng- 
 land is spent unproductively ; that is to say, in producing 
 iron plates, iron guns, gunpowder, infernal machines, infernal 
 fortresses floating about, infernal fortresses standing still, in- 
 fernal means of mischievous locomotion, infernal lawsuits, 
 infernal parliamentary elocution, infernal beer, and infernal 
 gazettes, magazines, statues, and pictures. Calculate the 
 labour spent in producing these infernal articles annually, 
 and put against it the labour spent in producing food ! The 
 only wonder is, that the weekly bills are not tenfold instead 
 of double. For this poor housewife, mind you, cannot feed 
 her children with any one, or any quantity, of these infernal 
 articles. Children can only be fed with divine articles. 
 Their mother can indeed get to London cheap, but she has 
 no business there ; she can buy all the morning's news for a 
 halfpenny, but she has no concern with them ; she can see 
 Gustave Dore's pictures (and she had better see the devil), 
 for a shilling ; she can be carried through any quantity of 
 filthy streets on a tramway for threepence ; but it is as much 
 as her life's worth to walk in them, or as her modesty's worth 
 to look into a print shop in them. Nay, let her have but to 
 go on foot a quarter of a mile in the West End, she dares 
 not take her purse in her pocket, nor let her little dog fol- 
 low her. These are her privileges and facilities, in the capi- 
 tal of civilization. But none of these will bring meat or 
 flour into her own village. Far the contrary ! The sheep 
 and corn which the fields of her village produce are carried 
 away from it to feed the makers of Armstrong guns. And 
 her weekly bills are double. 
 
 But you, forsooth, you think, with your beer for milk, are 
 better off. Read pages 23 to 26 of my second letter over 
 again. And now observe farther : — 
 
 The one first and absolute question of all economy is — What 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 419 
 
 are you making ? Are you making Hell's article, or Heaven's ? 
 — gunpowder, or corn ? 
 
 There is no question whether you are to have work or not. 
 The question is, what work. This poor housewife's mutton 
 and corn are given you to eat. Good. Now, if you, with 
 your day's work, produce for her, and send to her, spices, or 
 tea, or rice, or maize, or figs, or any other good thing, — that 
 is true and beneficent trade. But if you take her mutton 
 and corn from lier, and send her back an Armstrong gun, 
 what can she make of that ? But you can't grow figs and 
 spices in England, you say ? No, certainly, and therefore 
 means of transit for produce in England are little necessary. 
 Let my poor housewife keep her slieep in her near fields, and 
 do you — keep sheep at Newcastle — and the weekly bills will 
 not rise. But you forge iron at Newcastle ; then you build 
 an embankment from Newcastle to my friend's village, where- 
 upon you take her sheep from her, suffocating half of them 
 on the way ; and you send her an Armstrong gun back ; or, 
 perhaps not even to her, but to somebody who can fire it 
 down your own throats, you jolterheads. 
 
 No matter, you say, in the meantime, we eat more, and 
 drink more ; the housewife herself allows that. Yes, I 
 have just told you, her corn and sheep all are sent to you. 
 But how about other people ? I will finish my sentence 
 now, paused in above. It is all very well to bring up creatures 
 with a spoon, when they are one or two too many, if the}'' 
 are useful things like pigs. But how if they be useless 
 things like young ladies ? You don't \vant any wives, I un- 
 derstand, now, till you are forty-five ; what in the world will 
 you do with your girls ? Bring them up with a spoon, to 
 that enchantino^ a«re ? 
 
 " The girls may shift for themselves." Yes, — they may, 
 certainly. Here is a picture of some of them, as given by the 
 Telegraph of March 18th, of the present year, under Lord 
 Derby's new code of civilization, endeavouring to fulfil Mr. 
 John Stuart Mill's wishes, and procure some more lucrative 
 occupation than that of nursing the baby : — 
 
 " After all the discussions about woman's sphere and 
 
420 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIQEEA. 
 
 woman's rights, and the advisability of doing something to 
 redress the inequality of position against which the fair sex, 
 by the medium of many champions, so loudly protests and so 
 constantly struggles, it is not satisfactory to be told what 
 liappened at Cannon-row two days last week. It had been 
 announced that the Civil Service Commissioners would re- 
 ceive applications personally from candidates for eleven va- 
 cancies in the metropolitan post-offices, and in answer to this 
 notice, about 2,000 young women made their appearance. 
 The building, the courtyard, and the street v/ere blocked by 
 a dense throng of fair applicants ; locomotion was impossible, 
 even with the help of policemen ; windows were thrown up 
 to view the sight, as if a procession had been passing that 
 way ; traffic w^as obstructed, and nothing could be done for 
 hours. We understand, indeed, that the 23ublished accounts 
 by no means do justice to the scene. Many of the applicants, 
 it appears, were girls of the highest respectability and of un- 
 usually good social position, including daughters of clergy- 
 men and professional men, w^ell connected, well educated, 
 tenderlv nurtured : but nevertheless, driven bv the 7^es an- 
 gustCB which have caused many a heart-break, and scattered 
 the members of many a home, to seek for the means of inde- 
 pendent support. The crowd, the agitation, the anxiety, the 
 fatigue, proved too much for many of those who attended ; 
 several fainted away ; others went into violent hysterics ; 
 others, despairing of success, remained just long enough to 
 be utterly worn out, and then crept off, showing such traces 
 of mental anguish as we are accustomed to associate with the 
 most painful bereavements. In the present case, it is stated, 
 the Commissioners examined over 1,000 candidates for the 
 sleven vacancies. This seems a sad waste of power on both 
 sides, when, in all probability, the first score supplied thereq. 
 uisite number of qualified aspirants." 
 
 Yes, my pets, I am tired of talking to these workmen, who 
 never answer a word ; I will try you now — for a letter or 
 two — but I beg your pardon for calling you pets, — my 
 " qualified aspirants " I mean (Alas ! time was when the 
 qualified aspiration was on the bachelor's side). Here you 
 
FOltS CLAVIOEBA. 
 
 421 
 
 liave got all you want, I hope ! — liberty enough, it seems— 
 if only the courtyard were bigger ; equality enougii — no dis- 
 tinction made between young ladies of the highest, or the 
 lowest, respectability ; rights of women generalh' claimed, 
 you perceive ; and obtained without opposition from ab- 
 surdly religious, moral, or chivalric persons. You have got 
 no God, now, to bid you do anything you don't like ; no hus- 
 bands, to insist on having their own way — (and much of it 
 they got, in the old times — didn't they ?) — no pain nor peril 
 of childbirth ; — no bringing up of tiresome brats. Here is 
 an entirely scientific occupation for you ! Such a beautiful 
 invention this of Mr. Wheatstone's ! and I hope you all un- 
 derstand the relations of positive and negative electricity. 
 Now you may " communicate intelligence " by telegraph. 
 Those wretched girls that used to write love-letters, of which 
 their foolish lovers would count the words, and sometimes be 
 thankful for — less than twenty — how they would envy you 
 if they knew. Only the worst is, that this beautiful inven- 
 tion of Mr. Wheatstone's for talking miles off, won't feed 
 people in the long run, my dears, any more than the old in- 
 vention of tlie tongue, for talking near, and you'll soon begin 
 to think that was not so bad a one, after all. But you can't 
 live by talking, thougli you talk in the scientificalest of man- 
 ners, and to the other side of the world. All the telegraph 
 wire over the earth and under the sea, will not do so much 
 for you, my poor little qualified aspirants, as one strong 
 2ieedle with thimble and thread. 
 
 You do sometimes read a novel still, don't you, my scien- 
 tific dears ? I wish T could write one ; but I can't ; and 
 Georofe Eliot alvvavs makes them end so wretchedlv that 
 they're worse than none — so she's no good, neitlier. I must 
 even translate a foreign novelette, or nouvelette, which is to 
 my purpose, next month ; meantime I have chanced on a 
 little true story, in the journal of an Englishman, travelTing, 
 before the Revolution, in France, which shows you something 
 of the temper of the poor unscientific girls of tiiat day. Here 
 are first, however, a little picture or two which he gives in 
 the streets of Paris, and which I want all my readers to see ; 
 
422 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 they mark, what most Englishmen do not know, that the 
 beginning of the French Revolution, with what of good or 
 evil it had, was in English, not French, notions of "justice" 
 and ^Miberty." The writer is travelling wdth a friend, Mr. 
 
 B , who is of the Liberal school, and, " He and I went 
 
 this forenoon to a review of the foot-guards, by Marshal 
 Biron. There was a crowd, and we could with difficulty get 
 within the circle, so as to see conveniently. An old officer 
 of high rank touched some people who stood before us, say- 
 ing, ' Ces deux Messieurs sont des etrangers ; ' upon which 
 they immediately made way, and allowed us to pass. ' Don't 
 you think that was very obliging ? ' said I. ' Yes,' answered 
 he ; ' but, by heavens, it was very unjust.' 
 
 " We returned by the Boulevards, where crowds of citizens, 
 in their holiday dresses, were making merry ; the young 
 dancing cotillons, the old beating time to the music, and ap- 
 plauding the dancers. ' These people seem very happy,' said 
 
 I. ' Happy ! ' exclaimed B ; ' if they had common sense, 
 
 or reflection, they would be miserable.' * Why so ? ' ' Could 
 not the minister,' answered he, ' pick out half-a-dozen of them 
 if he pleased, and clap them into the Bicetre ? ' ' That is 
 true, indeed,' said I ; *that is a catastrophe whicli, to be sure, 
 may very probably happen, and yet I thought no more of it 
 than they.' 
 
 " We met, a few days after he arrived, at a French house 
 where we had been both invited to dinner. There was an 
 old lady of quality present, next to whom a young officer 
 was seated, who paid her the utmost attention. He helped 
 her to the dishes she liked, filled her glass with wine or water, 
 and addressed his discourse particularly to her. ' What a 
 
 fool,' says B , ' does that young fellow make of the poor 
 
 old woman ! if she were my mother, d — n me, if I would not 
 call him to an account for it.' 
 
 ^'Though B understands French, and speaks it better 
 
 than most Englishmen, he had no relish for the conversation, 
 soon left the company, and has refused all invitations to din- 
 ner ever since. He generally finds some of our countrymen, 
 who dine and pass the evening with him at the Pare Ro3^al. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 423 
 
 "After the review this day, we continued together, and 
 being both disengaged, I proposed, by way of variety, to 
 dine at the public ordinary of the Hotel de Bourbon. He 
 did not like this much at first. ' I shall be teased,' says he, 
 with their confounded ceremony ; ' but on my observing that 
 we could not expect much ceremony or politeness at a public 
 ordinary, he agreed to go. 
 
 " Our entertainment turned out different, however, from 
 my expectations and his wishes. A marked attention was 
 paid us the moment we entered ; everybody seemed inclined 
 to accommodate us with the best places. They helped us 
 first, and all the company seemed ready to sacrifice every 
 convenience and distinction to the strangers ; for, next to 
 that of a lady, the most respected character at Paris is that 
 of a stranger. 
 
 " After dinner, B and I walked into the gardens of 
 
 the Palais Royal. 
 
 " * There was nothing real in all the fuss those people made 
 about us,' says he. 
 
 " ' I can't help thinking it something,' said T, * to be treated 
 with civility and apparent kindness in a foreign country, by 
 strangers who know nothing about us, but that we are Eng- 
 lishmen, and often their enemies.'*' 
 
 So much for the behaviour of old Paris. Now for our 
 country story. I will not translate the small bits of French 
 in it ; my most entirely English readers can easily find out 
 what they mean, and they must gather what moral they may 
 from it, till next month, for I have no space to comment on it 
 in this letter. 
 
 " My friend F called on me a few days since, and as 
 
 soon as he understood that I had no particular engagement, 
 he insisted that I should drive somewhere into the coun- 
 try, dine tete-d-tete with him, and return in time for the 
 play. 
 
 " When we had driven a few miles, I perceived a genteel- 
 looking young fellow, dressed in an old uniform. He sat 
 under a tree on the grass, at a little distance from the road, 
 and amused himself by playing on the violin. As we came 
 
424 
 
 FOIiS CLA VIGEUA, 
 
 nearer we perceived he had a wooden leg, part of which lay 
 in fragments by his side. 
 
 ^* ' What do you do there, soldier ? ' said the Marquis. ' I 
 am on my way home to my own village, mon officier,' said 
 the soldier. ' But, my poor friend,' resumed the Marquis, 
 ' you will be a furious long time before you arrive at your 
 journey's end, if you have no other carriage besides these,' 
 pointing at the fragments of his wooden leg. wait for 
 my equipage and all my suite,' said the soldier, ' and I am 
 greatly mistaken if I do not see them this moment coming 
 down the hill.' 
 
 ^' We saw a kind of cart, drawn by one horse, in which was 
 a woman, and a peasant who drove the horse. While they 
 drew near, the soldier told us he had been wounded in Cor- 
 sica — that his leg had been cut off — that before setting out 
 on that expedition, he had been contracted to a young 
 woman in the neighbourhood — that the marriage had been 
 postponed till his return ; — but when he appeared with a 
 wooden leg, that all the girl's relations had opposed the match. 
 The girl's mother, who was her only surviving parent when 
 he began his courtship, had always been his friend ; but she 
 had died while he was abroad. The young woman herself, 
 however, remained constant in her affections, received him 
 with open arms, and had agreed to . leave her relations, and 
 accompany him to Paris, from whence they intended to set 
 out in a diligence to the town where he was born, and where 
 his father still lived. That on the way to Paris his wooden 
 leg had snapped, which had obliged his mistress to leave him, 
 and go to the next village in quest of a cart to carry him 
 thither, where he would remain till such time as the carpen- 
 ter should renew his leg. ' C'est un malheur,' concluded the 
 soldier, * mon officier, bientot repare — et voici mon amie ! ' 
 
 " The girl sprung before the cart, seized the outstretched 
 hand of her lover, and told him, with a smile full of affection, 
 that she had seen an admirable carpenter, who had promised 
 to make a leg that would not break, that it would be ready 
 by to-morrow, and that they might resume their journey as 
 soon after as they pleased. 
 
FOBS CLA Via ERA, 
 
 42^ 
 
 "The soldier received his mistress's compliment as it de- 
 served. 
 
 " She seemed about twenty years of age, a beautiful, fine* 
 shaped girl — a brunette, whose countenance indicated senti* 
 timent and vivacity. 
 
 ' You must be much fatigued, my dear,' said the Marquis, 
 * On ne se fatigue pas. Monsieur, quand on travaille pour ce 
 qu'on aime,' replied the girl. The soldier kissed her hand 
 with a gallant and tender air. ' Allons,' continued the Mar- 
 quis, addressing himself to me ; 'this girl is quite charming 
 — her lover has tlie appearance of a brave fellow ; th^y have 
 but three legs betwixt them, and we have four ; — if you have 
 no objection, they shall have the carriage, and we will follow 
 on foot to the next village, and see what can be done for 
 these lovers.' I never agreed to a proposal with more pleas- 
 ure in my life. 
 
 The soldier began to make difficulties about entering into 
 the vls-d-vls, * Come, come, friend,' said the Marquis, *I am 
 a colonel, and it is your duty to obey : get in without more 
 ado, and your mistress shall follow.' 
 
 " ' Entrons, mon bon ami,' said the girl, * since these 
 gentlemen insist upon doing us so much lionour.' 
 
 "*A girl like you would do honour to the finest coach in 
 France. Nothing could please me more than to have it in 
 my power to make you happy,' said the Marquis. ' Laissez- 
 moi faire, mon colonel,' said the soldier. * Je suis heureuse 
 comme une reine,' said Fanchon. Away moved the chaise, 
 and the Marquis and I followed. 
 
 * Voyez vous, combien nous sommes heureux nous autres 
 Fran9ois, a bon march^,' said the Marquis to me, adding with 
 a smile, * le bonheur, a ce qu'on m'a dit, est plus cher en 
 Angleterre.' * But,' answered I, * how long will this last with 
 these poor people ? ' * Ah, pour le coup,' said he, * voila une 
 reflexion bien x\ngloise ; ' — that, indeed, is what I cannot 
 tell ; neither do I know how long you or I may live ; but I 
 fancy it would be great folly to be sorrowful through life, 
 because we do not know how soon misfortunes may come, 
 and because we are quite certain that death is to come at last. 
 
426 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 "When we arrived at the inn to which we had ordered the 
 postillion to drive, we found the soldier and Fanchon. 
 After having ordered some victuals and wine, * Pray,' said 1 
 to the soldier, ' how do 3^ou propose to maintain your wife 
 and yourself? ' ' One who has contrived to live for five years 
 on soldier's pay,' replied he, 'can have little difficulty for the 
 rest of his life. I can play tolerably well on the fiddle,' added 
 he, * and perhaps there is not a village in all France of the size, 
 where there are so many marriages as in that in which we are 
 going to settle ; I shall never want employment.' * And V 
 said Fanchon, ' can weave hair nets and silk purses, and 
 mend stockings. Besides, my uncle has two hundred livres 
 of mine in his hands, and although he is brother-in-law to 
 the bailiff, and volontiers brutal, yet I will make him pay 
 it every sous.' ' And I,' said the soldier, ' have fifteen 
 livres in my pocket, besides two louis that I have lent to 
 a poor farmer to enable him to pay taxes, and which he 
 will repay me when he is able.' 
 
 " ' You see. Sir,' said Fanchon to me, ' that we are not 
 objects of compassion. May we not be happy, my good 
 friend (turning to her lover with a look of exquisite ten- 
 derness), if it be not our own fault?' * If you are not, ma 
 douce amie !' said the soldier with great warmth, 'je serai 
 bien ^ plaindrc' " 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 427 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 As the circulation of Fors increases, the correspondence connected 
 with it must of course, and that within no long time, become unman - 
 ageable, except by briefest reference to necessary points in letters of 
 real value ; many even of such may not be acknowledged, except with 
 the general thanks which I render in advance to all who write either 
 with the definite purpose of helping me, or of asking explanation of 
 what I have said. 
 
 A letter of great interest has thus lain by me since Christmas, though 
 the writer would know I had received it by my instant use of the book 
 he told Kie of, — Professor Kirk's. With reference to the statements 
 therein made respecting the robbing of the poor by the rich, through 
 temptation of drink, the letter goes on : — 
 
 But to niy mind the enquiry does not reach deep enough. I would 
 know, first, why it is that the workers have bo little control over their 
 appetites in this direction ? {a) and what the remedy ? secondly, why 
 is it that those who wish to drain the working men are permitted to 
 govern them ? {h) and what the remedy ? (c) 
 
 The answers to each questien will, I think, V)o found to be nearly 
 related. 
 
 **The possibility of a watchful and exacting:, yet respected, govern- 
 ment within a government, is well shown by the existence and disci- 
 pline of the Society of Friends, of which I am a member. Our society 
 is, no doubt, greatly injured by narrow views of religious truth ; yet 
 may it not be that their change from an agricultural to a trading 
 people has done the most to sap the vital strength of their early days V 
 But the tree is not without good fruit yet. A day or two ago the fol- 
 owing sentence was extracted by me from a newspaper notice of the 
 death of Robert Charleton, of Bristol : — 
 
 *In him the poor and needy, the oppressed, the fallen and friend 
 less, and the lonely sufferer, ever had a tender and faithful friend. 
 When in trade, he was one of the best employers England could boast. 
 He lived for his people, rather than expected them to live for him; 
 and when he did not derive one penny profit from his factory, but rather 
 lost by it, he still kept the business going, for the sake of his work- 
 people'" (rf). 
 
 The answers to my correspondent's questions are very simple {a) The 
 workers have in general much more control over their appetites than 
 idle people. But as they are for the most part hindered by their occu- 
 
428 
 
 F0R8 CLAYIGERA. 
 
 pation from all rational, and from the best domestic, pleasures, and as 
 manual work naturally makes people thirsty, what can they do but 
 drink? Intoxication is the only Heaven that, practically, Christian 
 England ever displays to them. But see my statements on this point 
 in the fourth lecture in the Crown oj Wild Olive^ when I get it out ; 
 (the unfinished notes on Frederick keeping it back a while), {h) Because, 
 as the workingmen have been for the last fifty years taught that one 
 man is as good as another, they never think of looking for a good man 
 to govern them ; and only those who intend to pillage or cheat them will 
 ever come forward of their own accord to govern them ; or can succeed 
 in doing so, because as long as they trust in their own sagacity, any 
 knave can humbug them to the top of his bent ; while no wise man can 
 teach them anything whatever, contrary to their immediate notions. 
 And the distrust in themselves, which would make them look for a real 
 leader, and believe him, is the last sensation likely to occur to them at 
 present ; (see my republican correspondent s observations on election, in 
 the next letter.) [c) My correspondent twice asks what is the remedy? 
 I believe none, now, but the natural one ; — namely, some of the forms of 
 ruin which necessarily cut a nation of blockheads down to the ground, 
 and leave it, thence to sprout again, if there be any life left for it in the 
 earth, or lesson teachable to it by adversity. But, through whatever 
 catastrophes, for any man who cares for the right and sees it, his own 
 duty in the wreck is always clear — to keep himself cool and fearless, and 
 do what is instantly serviceable to the people nearest him, and the best 
 lie can, silently, for all. Cotton in one*s ears may be necessary — for 
 we are like soon to have screaming enough in England, as in the wreck 
 of the Northfleet, if that would do any good, {d) Yes, that is all very 
 fine ; but suppose that keeping useless work going on, for the sak6 
 of the work-people, be not the wisest thing to do for the sake of 
 other people ? Of this hereafter. The sentence respecting the cor- 
 rupting power of trade, as opposed to agriculture, is certainly right, 
 and very notable. 
 
 Perhaps some of my readers may be surprised at my giving Fpace 
 to the following comments of my inquisitive Republican acquaintance 
 on my endeavours to answer his questions. But they are so character- 
 istic of the genius of Republicanism, that I esteem them quite one of 
 the best gifts of the Third ** Fora" to us : also, the writer is sincere, 
 and might think, if I did not print his answers, that I treated him un- 
 fairly. I may afterwards take note of some points in them, but have 
 no time this month. 
 
 We are all covetous. I am ravenously covetous of the means to 
 speak in such type and on such paper as you can buy the use of. * Oh 
 that mine enemy would ' give me the means of employing such a 
 printer as you can employ ! " (Certainly, he could do nothing worse 
 for you !) 
 
FORS OLA VIGERA. 
 
 429 
 
 " I find you have published my questions, and your criticism there- 
 on. I thank you for your * good will to man,' but protest against the 
 levity of your method of dealing with politics. 
 
 ''You assume that you understand me, and that I don't understand 
 myself or you. I fully admit that 1 don't understand you or myself, an i 
 I declare that neither do you understaiid me. But I will pass hyper- 
 criticism (and, by the -by, I am not su e that I know what that com- 
 pound word means ; you will know, of course, for me) and tackle 
 your ' Answers.' 
 
 ''1. You evade the meaning — the question, — for I cannot think you 
 mean that the ' world,' or an ' ocean,' can be rightfully regarded by 
 legislators as the private property of ' individuals.' 
 
 2. * It never was, and never can be.' The price of a cocoanut was 
 the cost of labour in ciimbmg the tree ; the climber ate the nut. 
 
 *' 3. What do you understand by a * tax' ? The penny paid for the 
 conveyance of a letter is not a tax. Lord Somf-boiy says I must jierish 
 of hunger, or pay him for permission to dig in the land on whicli I was 
 born. He taxes me that he may live without labouring, and do you 
 say ' of course,' 'quite rightfully' ? 
 
 "4.? 
 
 " 5. You may choose a pig or horse for yourself, but I claim the 
 right of choosing mine, even though you know that you could choose 
 better animals for me. By your system, if logically carried out, we 
 should have no elections, but should have an emperor of the world, — 
 the man who knew himself to be the most intelligent of all. I suppose 
 you should be allowed to vote ? It is Eomebody else who must have no 
 political voice ? Where do you draw the line ? Just below John 
 Ruskin ? * Is a man so little and his polish so much ? Men and women 
 must vote, or must not submit. I have bought but little of the polish 
 sold at schools ; but, ignorant as I am, I would not yield as the * sub- 
 ject' of thirty million Ruskins, or of the king they might elect without 
 consulting me. You did not let either your brain or your heart speak 
 when you answered that question. 
 
 ^'6. * Beneficial. ' I claim the right of personal judgment, and I 
 would grant the exercise of that right to every man and woman. 
 
 "7. 'Untrue.' Untrue. Lord Somebody consumes, with the aid 
 of a hundred men and women, whom he keeps from productive in- 
 dustry, as much as would Bui!ice to maintain a hundred families. A 
 hundred— yes, a thousand navvies. ' Destroying' ? Did you forget that 
 so many admirals, generals, colonels, and captains, were your law- 
 :aakcrs? Are they not professional destroyers? I could fill your pages 
 with a list of other destructive employments of your legislators. 
 
 "8. His the tax gatherer too busy a time of it to attend to the 
 duties added by the establishment of a National Post Office ? W^e re- 
 move a thousand toll-bars, and collect the assessment annually with 
 economy. We eat now, and are poisoned, and pay dearly. The buyers 
 and sellers of bread ' have a busy time of it.' 
 
 9. Thank you for the straightforwardness. But I find you ask me 
 what I mean by a ' State.' I meant it as you accepted it, and did not 
 think it economical to bother you or myself with a page of incomplete 
 definitions. 
 
 * My corresponflent will pt^rbaps be snn>riaed to henr that I h«ve never in my life voted 
 
 for any cuudidalo tor Parliixinent, a.iv\ that t nevi^r uieuu to. 
 
430 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 ** 10. ' See Munera Pulveris! ' And, ye ' workmen and labourers,* 
 go and consult the Emperor of China. 
 
 You speak of a king who killed 'without wrath^ and without 
 doubting his Tightness,' and of a collier who killed with * consciousness.' 
 Glorious, ignorant brute of a king ! Degraded, enlightened collier ! It 
 is enough to stimulate a patriot to bum all the colleges and libraries. 
 Much learning makes us ignoble ! No ! it is the much labour and the 
 bad teaching of the labourer by those who never earned their food by 
 the sweat of their own brow," 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA 
 
 LETTERS 
 
 w> the workmen and labourers of great brh ajk 
 
 Volume 11. 
 
FORS CLAYIGERA 
 
 LETTER XXX. 
 
 Brantwood, 
 
 April 19, 1873. 
 
 On the thirteenth shelf of the south bookcase of my home- 
 library, stand, first, Kenelm Digby's Broad Stone of Hon- 
 our, then, in five volumes, bound in red, tlie history of the 
 ingenious gentleman, Don Quixote of La Mancha ; " and 
 then, in one volume, bound in green, a story no less pathetic, 
 called the Mirror of Peasants. 
 
 Its author does not mean the word " mirror " to be under- 
 stood in the sense in which one would call Don Quixote the 
 " Mirror of Chivalry ; " but in that of a glass in which a man 
 — beholding his natural heart, may know also the hearts of 
 other men, as, in a glass, face answers to face. 
 
 The author of this story was a clergyman ; but employed 
 the greater part of his day in writing novels, having a gift 
 for that species of composition as well as for sermons, and 
 observing, though he gave both excellent in their kind, that 
 his congregation liked their sermons to be short, and his 
 readers, their novels to be long. 
 
 Among them, however, were also many tiny novelettes, of 
 which, young ladies, I to-day begin translating for you one 
 of the shortest ; hoping that you will not think the worse of 
 it for being written by a clergyman. Of this author I will 
 only say, that, though I am not prejudiced in favour of per- 
 sons of bis profession, I think him the wisest man, take him 
 
4 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 all in all, with whose writings I am acquainted ; chiefly be- 
 cause he showed his wisdom in pleasant and unappalling 
 ways ; as for instance, by keeping, for the chief ornament 
 of his study (not being able to afford expensive books), one 
 book beautifully bound, and shining with magnificence of 
 golden embossing ; this book of books being his register 
 out of whioh he read, from the height of his pulpit, the 
 promises of marriage. " Dans lequel il lisait, du haut de la 
 chaire, les promesses de mariage." 
 
 He rose always early ; breakfasted himself at six o'clock ; 
 and then got ready with his own hands the family breakfast, 
 liking his servants better to be at work out of doors : wrote 
 till eleven, dined at twelve, and spent the afternoon in his 
 parish work, or in his fields, being a farmer of shrewdest and 
 most practical skill ; and through the Sundays of fifteen 
 years, never once was absent from his pulpit. 
 
 And now, before I begin my little story, which is a trans- 
 lation of a translation, for the original is German, and I can 
 only read French, I must say a few serious words as to the 
 sense in which I wish you to receive what religious instruction 
 this romantic clergyman may sometimes mingle with his 
 romance. He is an Evangelical divine of the purest type. 
 It is therefore primarily for my Evangelical readers that I 
 translate this or others of his tales ; and if they have read 
 either former letters of Fors or any of my later books, 
 they must know that I do not myself believe in Evangelical 
 theology. But I shall with my best care, represent and 
 enforce this clergyman's teaching to my said Evangelical 
 readers, exactly as I should feel it my duty, if I were talk- 
 ing to a faithful Turk, to represent and enforce to him any 
 passage of the Koran which was beyond all question true, 
 in its reference to practical life ; and with the bearings of 
 which I was more familiar than he. For I think that our 
 common prayer that God " would take away all ignorance, 
 hardness of heart, and contempt of His word, from all Jews, 
 Turks, infidels, and heretics," is an entirely absurd one. I 
 do not think all Jews have hard hearts ; nor that all infidels 
 would despise God's word, if only they could hear it ; nor 
 
FOnS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 5 
 
 do I in the least know whether it is my neighbour or m^^self 
 who is really the heretic. But I pray that prayer for myself 
 as well as others ; and in this form, that God would make 
 ail Jews honest Jews, all Turks honest Turks, all infidels 
 honest infidels, and all Evangelicals and heretics honest 
 Evangelicals and heretics ; that so these Israelites in whom 
 there is no guile, Turks in whom there is no guile, and so on, 
 may in due time see the face, and know the power, of the 
 King alike of Israel and Esau. Now therefore, 3'oung ladies, 
 I beg you to understand that I entirely sympathize with this 
 Evangelical clergyman's feelings because I know him to be 
 honest : also, that I give you of his teaching what is univer- 
 sally true : and that you may get the more good from his 
 story, I will ask you first to consider with yourselves what 
 St. James means by saying in the eighth verse of his general 
 Epistle, " Let the brother of low degree rejoice in that he is 
 exalted, but the rich in that he is made low ; " and if you 
 find, as you generally will, if you think seriously over any 
 verse of your Bibles whatsoever, that you never have had, 
 and are never likely to have, the slightest idea what it means, 
 perhaps you will permit me to propose the following expla- 
 nation to you. That while both rich and poor are to be con- 
 tent to remain in their several states, gaining only by the 
 due and natural bettering of an honest man's settled life ; if, 
 nevertheless, any chance should occur to cause sudden differ- 
 ence in either of their positions, the poor man might wisely 
 desire that it should be some relief from the immediate press- 
 ure of poverty, while the rich should esteem it the surest 
 sign of God's favour, if, without fault of his own, he were 
 forced to know the pain of a lower condition. 
 
 I have noticed, in Sesame and Lilies, § 2, the frantic fear 
 of the ordinary British public, lest they should fall below 
 their proper " station in life." It appears that almost the 
 only real sense of duty remaining now in the British con- 
 science is a passionate belief in the propriety of keeping 
 up an appearance ; no matter if on other people's money, 
 so only that there be no signs of their coming down in the 
 world. 
 
6 
 
 FGRS CLA VIGERA, 
 
 I sti^iild be very glad therefore if any of my young lady 
 readers who consider themselves religious persons, would in- 
 form me whether they are satisfied with my interpretation of 
 the text ; and if so, then how far they would consent, with- 
 out complaining, to let God humble them, if He wished to V 
 If, for instance, they would, without pouting, allow Him to 
 have His way, even to the point of forcing them to gain 
 their bread by some menial service, — as, suppose, a house- 
 maid's ; and whether they would feel aggrieved at being 
 made lower housemaid instead of upper. If they have read 
 their Bible to so good purpose as not to care which, I hope 
 the following story may not be thought wholly beneath their 
 attention ; concerning, as it does, the housemaid's principal 
 implement ; or what (supposing her a member of St. George's 
 company) we may properly call her spear, or weapon of 
 noble war. 
 
 THE BROOM MERCHANT. 
 
 Brooms are, as we know, among the imperious necessities 
 of the epoch ; and in every household, there are many needful 
 articles of the kind which must be provided from day to day, 
 or week to week ; and which one accordingly finds, every- 
 where, persons glad to supply. But we pay dailv less and 
 less attention to these kindly disposed persons, since we have 
 been able to get the articles at their lowest possible price. 
 
 Formerly it was not thus. The broom merchant, the egg 
 merchant, the sand and rottenstone merchant, were, so to 
 speak, part of the family ; one was connected with them by 
 very close links ; one knew the day on which each would 
 arrive ; and according to the degree of favour they were in, 
 one kept something nice for their dinner ; and if by any 
 chance, they did not come to their day, they excused them- 
 selves, next time, as for a very grave fault indeed. They 
 considered the houses which they supplied regularly, as the 
 stars of their heaven, — took all the pains in the world to 
 serve them well, — and, on quitting their trade for anything 
 more dignified, did all they could to be replaced either by 
 their children, or by some cousin, or cousine. There was thus 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 7 
 
 a reciprocal bond of fidelity on one side, and of trust on the 
 other, which unhappily relaxes itself more and more every 
 day, in the measure that also family spirit disappears. 
 
 The broom merchant of Rychisvvyl was a servant of this 
 sort ; he whom one regrets now, so often at Berne, — whom 
 everybody was so fond of at Thun ! The Saturday miglit 
 sooner have been left out of the almanack, than the broom-man 
 not appear in Thun on the Saturday. He had not always been 
 the broom-man ; for a long time he had only been the broom- 
 boy ; until, in the end, the boy had boys of his own, who put 
 themselves to push his cart for him. His father, who had 
 been a soldier, died early in life ; the lad was then very young, 
 and his mother ailing. His elder sister had started in life 
 many a day before, barefoot, and had found a place in help- 
 ing a woman who carried pine-cones and turpentine to Berne. 
 When she had won her spurs, that is to say, shoes and stock- 
 ings, she obtained advancement, and became a governess, of 
 poultry, in a large farm near the town. Her mother and 
 brother were greatly proud of her, and never spoke but with 
 respect of their pretty Babeli. Hansli could not leave hi.« 
 mother, who had need of his help, to fetch her wood, and the 
 like. They lived on the love of God and good people ; but 
 badly enough. One day, the farmer they lodged with says 
 to Hansli : 
 
 " My lad, it seems to me you might try and earn something 
 now ; you are big enough, and sharp enough." 
 
 "I wish I could," said Hansli ; "but I don't know how." 
 
 " I know something you could do," said the farmer. " Set 
 to work to make brooms ; there are plenty of twigs on my wil- 
 lows. I only get them stolen as it is ; so they shall not cost 
 you much. You shall make me two brooms a year of them." * 
 
 "Yes, that would be very fine and good," said Hansli ; 
 " but where shall I learn to make brooms ? " 
 
 " Pardieu,f there's no such sorcery in the matter," said the 
 farmer. " I'll take on me the teaching of you ; many a year 
 
 * Far wiser than letting him gather them as valueless, 
 f Not translateable. In French, it has the form of a passionate oath, 
 but the spirit of a gentle one. 
 
8 
 
 FOMS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 now I've made all the brooms we use on the farm myself, 
 and I'll back m^^self to make as good as are made ; * you'll 
 want few tools, and may use mine at first." 
 - All which was accordingly done ; and God's blessing came 
 on the doing of it. Hansli took a fancy to the work ; and 
 the farmer was enchanted with Hansli. 
 
 " Don't look so close ; f put all in that is needful, do the 
 thing well, so as to show people they may put confidence in 
 you. Once get their trust, and your business is done," said 
 alwa>'s the farmer, J and Hansli obeyed him. 
 
 In the beginning, naturally, things did not go very fast ; 
 nevertheless he placed § what he could make ; and as he be- 
 came quicker in the making, the sale increased in proportion. 
 Soon, everybody said that no one had such pretty brooms as 
 the little merchant of Rychiswyl ; and the better he succeeded, 
 the harder he worked. His mother visibly recovered liking for 
 life. Now the battle's won," said she ; " as soon as one can 
 gain one's bread honourably, one has the right to enjoy one- 
 self, and what can one want more ?" Always, from that time, 
 she had, every day, as much as she liked to eat ; nay, even 
 every day there remained something over for the next : and 
 she could have as much bread as she liked. Indeed, Hansli 
 very often brought her even a little white bread back from 
 the town, whereupon || how happy did she not feel herself ! 
 and how she thanked God for having kept so many good 
 things for her old days. 
 
 On the contrary, now for a little while, Hansli was looking 
 cross and provoked. Soon he began actually to grumble. 
 
 Things could not go on much longer that way ; he could 
 not put up with it." When the farmer at last set himself to 
 
 * Head of house doing all he can do well^ himself. If he had not had 
 time to make the brooms well, he would have bought them. 
 
 f Do not calculate so closely how much you can afford to give for the 
 price. 
 
 X^oi meaning you can cheat them afterwards," but that the cus- 
 tomer would not leave him for another broom-maker. 
 § Sold. 
 
 I Aussi '* aUo^ how happy she felt. Aussi is untranslateable in this 
 pretty use; so hereafter I shall put it, as an English word, in its place« 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 9 
 
 find out what that meant, Hansli declared to him that he had 
 too many brooms to carry ; and could not carry tliem, and 
 that even when the miller took them on his cart, it was very 
 inconvenient, and that he absolutely wanted a cart of his own, 
 but he hadn't any money to buy one, and didn't know any- 
 body who was likely to lend him any. You are a gaby,"* 
 said the peasant. Look you, I won't have you become one 
 of those people who think a thing's done as soon as they've 
 dreamt it. That's the way one spends one's money to make 
 the fish go into other people's nets. You want to buy a cart, 
 do you ? why don't you make one yourself ? " 
 
 Hansli put himself,f to stare at the farmer with his mouth 
 open, and great eyes. 
 
 " Yes, make it yourself : you will manage it, if you make 
 up your mind," went on the farmer. " You can chip wood 
 well enough, and the wood won't cost you much — what I 
 haven't, another peasant will have ; and there must be old 
 iron about, plenty, in the lumber-room. I believe there's 
 even an old cart somewhere, which you can have to look at — 
 or to use, if you like. Winter will be here soon ; set your- 
 self to work, and by the spring all will be done, and you 
 won't have spent a threepenny piece, J for you may pay the 
 smith too, with brooms, or find a way of doing without him 
 — who knows ? " 
 
 Hansli began to open his eyes again. " I make a cart ! — 
 but how ever shall I ? — I never made one." " Gaby," answered 
 the farmer, "one must make everything once the first time. 
 Take courage, and it's half done. If people took courage 
 solidly, there are many now carrying the beggar's wallet, who 
 would have money up to their ears, and good metal, too." 
 Hansli was on the point of asking if the peasant had lost his 
 
 * Nigaud, " Good for nothing but trifles ; worthless, but without sense 
 of vice ; (vaut-rien, means viciously worthless). The real sense of this 
 word here would be Handless fool," but said good-humouredlj. 
 
 f Se mit a regarder. I shall always translate such passages with the 
 literal idiom — put himself. 
 
 X A single batz, about three halfpence in bad silver, flat struck: I 
 shall use the word without translating henceforward. 
 
10 
 
 FORS CLAYIGERA, 
 
 head. Nevertheless, he finished by biting at the notion *, 
 and entering into it little by little, as a child into cold water. 
 The peasant came now and then to help him ; and in spring 
 the new cart was read}'', in such sort that on Easter Tuesday 
 Hansli conducted it,* for the first time, to Berne, and the 
 following Saturday to Thun, also for the first time. The joy 
 and pride that this new cart gave him, it is difficult to form 
 anything like a notion of. If anybody had proposed to give 
 him the Easter ox for it, that they had promenaded at Berne 
 the evening before, and which weighed w^ell its twenty-five 
 quintals, he wouldn't liave heard of such a thing. It seemed 
 to him that everybody stopped as they passed, to look at his 
 cart ; and, whenever he got a chance, he put himself to ex- 
 plain at length what advantages that cart had over every 
 other cart that had yet been seen in the world. He asserted 
 very gravely that it went of itself, except only at the hills ; 
 where it was necessary to give it a touch of the hand.f A 
 cookmaid said to him that she would not have thought him 
 so clever ; and that if ever she wanted a cart, she would 
 give him her custom. That cookmaid, always, afterwards, 
 when she bought a fresh supply of brooms, had a present of 
 two little ones into the bargain, to sweep into the corners of 
 the hearth with ; things which are very convenient for maids 
 who like to have everything clean even into the corners ; and 
 who always wash their cheeks to behind their ears. It is 
 true that rnaids of this sort are thin-sprinkled enough. J 
 
 From this moment, Hansli began to take good heart to his 
 work : his cart was for him his farm ; § he worked with real 
 joy ; and joy in getting anything done is, compared to ill- 
 
 * Pushed it. No horse wanted. 
 
 f Coup de main, a nice French idiom meaning the stroke of hand as 
 opposed by that of a senseless instrument. The phrase Takingf a 
 place by a coup de main " regards essentially not so much the mere 
 difference between sudden and long assault, as between assault with 
 flesh or cannon. 
 
 X Assez clair semees. 
 
 § He is now a capitalist, in the entirely wholesome and proper 
 sense of the word. See answer of Pall Mall Gazette^ driven to have re* 
 course to the simple truth, to my third question in last Fors, 
 
FORS CLAVIQERA. 
 
 IJ 
 
 humour, what a sharp hatchet is to a rusty one, in cutting 
 wood. The fanners of Rychiswyl were delighted with the 
 boy. There wasn't one of them who didn't say, " When you 
 want twigs, you've only to take tliem ifi my field ; but don't 
 damage the trees, and think of the wife sometimes ; women 
 use so many brooms in a year that the devil couldn't serve 
 them." Hansli did not fail ; also was he in great favour with 
 all the farm-mistresses. They never had been in the way of 
 setting any money aside for buying brooms ; they ordered 
 their husbands to provide them,* but one knows how things 
 go, that way. Men are often too lazy to make shavings,f 
 how much less brooms ! — aussi the women were often in a 
 perfect famine of brooms, and the peace of the household 
 had greatly to suffer for it. But now, Hansli was there be- 
 fore one had time to think ; and it was very seldom a 
 paysanne J was obliged to say to him ! Hansli, don't forget 
 us, we're at our last broom." Besides tlie convenience of 
 this, Hansli's brooms were superb — very different from the 
 wretched things which one's grumbling husband tied up 
 loose, or as rough and ragged as if they had been made of oat 
 straw. Of course, in these houses, Hansli gave his brooms 
 for nothing ; yet they were not the worst placed pieces of 
 his stock ; for, not to s])eak of the twigs given him gratis, 
 all the year round he was continually getting little presents, 
 in bread and milk, and such kinds of things, which a paysanne 
 has always under her liand, and which she gives without 
 looking too close. Also, rarely one churned butter without 
 saying to hini, Hansli, we beat butter to-morrow ; if you 
 like to bring a pot, you shall have some of the beaten." § 
 
 * See above, the first speech of the fanner to Hansli, Many's the 
 year now," etc. It would be a sname for a well-to-do farmer to have 
 to buy brooms ; it is only the wretched townspeople whom Hausli 
 counts on for cuat. m. 
 
 f Copeaux, I don't understand this. 
 
 X The mistress of a farm ; paysan, the master, I shall use paysanne, 
 after this, without translation, and peasant, for paysan; rarely want- 
 ing the word in our general sense. 
 
 S * Du battu," I don't know if ifc means the butter, or the butter- 
 milk. 
 
12 
 
 F0R8 OLAVIOERA. 
 
 And as for fruit, he had more than he could eat of it ; so 
 that it could not fail, things going on in this way, that Hans 
 should prosper ; being besides thoroughly economical. If he 
 spent as much as a batz on the day he went to the town, it 
 was the end of the world.* In the morning, his mother took 
 care he had a good breakfast, after which he took also some- 
 thing in his pocket, without counting that sometimes here, 
 and sometimes there, one gave him a morsel in the kitchens 
 where he was well known ; and finally he didn't imagine that 
 he ought always to have something to eat, the moment he 
 had a mind to it. 
 
 I am very sorry, but find there's no chance of my getting the 
 romantic part of my story rightly into this letter ; so I must 
 even leave it till August, for my sketch of Scott's early life is 
 promised for July, and I must keep my word to time more 
 accurately than hitherto, else, as the letters increase in num- 
 ber, it is too probable I may forget what I promised in them; 
 not that I lose sight even for a moment of my main purpose; 
 but the contents of the letters beinof absolutelv as the third 
 ''Fors" may order, she orders me here and there so fast 
 sometimes that I can't hold the pace. This unlucky index, 
 for example ! It is easy enough to make an index, as it is to 
 make a broom of odds and ends, as rough as oat straw ; but 
 to make an index tied up tight, and that will sweep well into 
 corners, isn't so easy. Ill-tied or well, it shall positively be 
 sent with the July number (if I keep my health), and will be 
 only six months late then ; so that it will have been finished 
 in about a fourth of the time a lawyer would have taken to 
 provide any document for which there was a pressing neces- 
 sity. 
 
 In the meantime, compare the picture of country life in 
 Switzerland, already beginning to show itself in outline in 
 our story of the broom-maker, with this following account of 
 the changes produced by recent trade in the country life of 
 the island of Jersey. It is given me by the correspondent 
 who directed me to Professor Kirk's book ; (see the notes in. 
 
 * Le bout du monde," meauing, he never thought of going an^ 
 farther. 
 
FORS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 13 
 
 fast letter,) and is in every point of view of the highest 
 value. Compare especially the operations of the great uni- 
 versal law of supply and demand in the article of fruit, as 
 they affect the broom-boy, and my correspondent ; and con- 
 sider for yourselves, how far that beautiful law may affect, 
 in time to come, not your pippins only, but also your cheese ; 
 and even at last your bread. 
 
 I give this letter large print; it is quite as important as 
 anytbmg I have myself to say. The italics are mine. 
 
 Mont X l*Abbe, Jersey, 
 
 Apra 17, 1873. 
 
 Dear Master, — The lesson I have gathered here in Jersey 
 as to the practical working of bodies of small landowners, 
 is that they have three arch-enemys to their life and well- 
 being. First, the covetousness that, for the sake of money- 
 increase, permits and seeks that great cities should drain the 
 island of its life-blood — their best men and their best food or 
 means of food ; secondly, love of strong drink and tobacco ; 
 and thirdly, (for these two last are closely connected,) want 
 of true recreation. 
 
 The island is cut up into small properties or holdings, a 
 very much larger proportion of these being occupied and cul- 
 tivated by the owners themselves than is the case in England. 
 Consequently, as I think, the poor do not suffer as much as in 
 England. Still the times have altered greatly for the worse 
 within tiie memory of every middle-aged resident, and the 
 change has been wrought chiefly by the regular and frequent 
 commxtnicatioa with London and Paris, but more especially 
 the first, which in the matter of luxuries of the table, has a 
 maw insatiableJ^ Thus the Jersey farmer finds that, by de- 
 voting his best labour and land to the raising of potatoes 
 sufficiently early to obtain a fancy price for them, very large 
 money-gains are sometimes obtained, — subject also to large 
 risks ; for spring frosts on the one hand, and being out- 
 stripped by more venturous farmers on the other, are the 
 Jersey farmers' Scylla and Charybdis. 
 
 Now for the results. Land, especially that with southern 
 aspect, has increased marvellously in price. Wages have 
 also risen. Li many employments nearly doubled. Twenty 
 
 * Compare if you can get at the book in any library, my article 
 on '* Home and ite Economies " in the Conienvporary liedew for May. 
 
14 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 years ago a carpenter obtained Is. 8c?. per clay. Now he gets 
 35.; and field labourers' wages have risen nearly as much in 
 proportion. J3itt food and lodging' have much more than 
 doubled. Potatoes for ordinary consumption are now from 
 25. 6c?. to 35. 6c?. per cabot (40 lb.); here I put out of court 
 the early potatoes, which bring, to those who are fortunate 
 in the race, three times that price. Fifteen years ago the 
 regular price for the same quantity was from 5c?. to 8c?. 
 Butter is now Is, 4c?. per lb. Then it was 6c?.; and milk of 
 course has altered in the same proportion. Fruit, which 
 formerly could he had in lavish^ nay, almost fabidous abun- 
 dance, is now dearer than in London, In fact I, who am es- 
 sentially a frugivorous animal, have found myself unable to 
 indulge in it, and it is only at very rare intervals to be 
 found in any shape at my table. All work harder, and all 
 fare worse ; but the poor specially so. The well-to-do pos- 
 sess a secret solace denied to them. It is found in the 
 " share market." I am told by one employed in a banking 
 house and finance " business here, that it is quite wonderful 
 how fond the Jersey farmers are of Turkish bonds, Grecian 
 and Spanish coupons. Shares in mines seem also to find 
 favour liere. My friend in the banking house tells me that 
 he was once induced to try his fortune in that way. To be 
 cautious, lie invested in four different mines. It was perhaps 
 fortunate for him that he never received a penny of his 
 money back from any one of the four. 
 
 Another mode by which the earnings of the saving and in- 
 dustrious Jerseyman find their w^ay back to London or Paris 
 is the uncalculated, but not unfrequent, advent of a spend- 
 thrift among the heirs of the family. I am told that the 
 landlord of the house I live in is of this stamp, and that two 
 years more of the same rate of expenditure at Paris that he 
 now uses, will bring him to the end of his patrimony. 
 
 But what of the stimulants, and the want of recreation ? 
 I have coupled these together because I think that drink- 
 ing is an attempt to find, by a short and easy way, the re- 
 ward of a true recreation ; to supply a coarse goad to the 
 wits, so that there may be forced or fancied increase of play 
 to the imagination, and to experience, with this, an agreeable 
 physical sensation. I think men will usually drink to get the 
 fascinating" combination of the two. True recreation is the 
 cure, and this is not adequately supplied here, either in kind 
 or degree, by tea-meetings and the various religious "ser- 
 vices," which are almost the only social recreations (no ir- 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGEHA, 
 
 15 
 
 reverence intended by thus classing them) in use among the 
 country folk of Jersey. 
 
 But I had better keep to my facts. The deductions I can 
 well leave to my master. 
 
 Here is a fact as to the vrorking of the modern finance 
 system here. There is exceedingly little gold coin in the 
 island ; in place thereof vre use one-pound notes issued by 
 the banks of the island. The j^rincipal bank issuing these^ 
 and also possessi7ig by far the largest list of depositors^ has 
 just failed. Liabilities, as estimated by the accoimtaiits, not 
 less than £332,000 / assets calcidated by the same authorities 
 not exceeding £34,000. The whole island is thrown into 
 the same sort of catastrophe as English merchants bv the 
 Overend-Gurney failure. Business in the town nearly at 
 a stand-still, and failures of tradesmen taking place one 
 after another, with a large reserve of the same in prospect. 
 But as the country people are as hard at work as ever, and 
 the panic among the islanders has hindered in nowise the 
 shooting of the blades through the earth, and general 
 bursting forth of buds on the trees, I begin to think the 
 island may survive to find some other chasm for their accu- 
 mulations. Unless indeed the champion slays the drairon 
 first. [As far as one of the unlearned may have an opinion, 
 I strongly object both to " Rough skin,"^and "Red skin,'' 
 as name derivations. There have been useful words de- 
 rived from two sources, and I shall hold that the Latin 
 prefix to the Saxon kin establishes a sort of relationship with 
 St. George.] 
 
 I am greatly flattered by my correspondent's philological 
 studies ; but alas, his pretty result is untenable : no deriva- 
 tion can stand astride on two languages ; also, neither he, 
 nor any of my readers, must think of me as setting myself 
 up either for a champion or a leader. If they will look 
 back to the first letter of this book, they will find it is ex- 
 pressly written to quit myself of public responsibility in pur- 
 suing my private work. Its purpose is to state clearly what 
 must be done by all of us, as we can, in our place ; and to 
 fulfil what duty I personally acknowledge to the State ; also 
 I have promised, if I live, to show some example of what I 
 know to be necessary, if no more able person will show it 
 first 
 
16 
 
 FOES CLAVIGERA, 
 
 That is a very different thing from pretending to lead 
 ership in a movement which must one day be as wide as the 
 world. Nay, even my marching days may perhaps soon be 
 over, and the best that I can make of myself be a faithful 
 signpost. But wliat I am, or what I fail to be, is of no 
 moment to the cause. The two facts which I have to teach, 
 or sign, though alone, as it seems, at present, in the signa- 
 ture, that food can only be got out of the ground, and 
 happiness only out of honesty, are not altogether depend- 
 ent on any one's championship, for recognition among man- 
 kind. 
 
 For the present, nevertheless, these two important pieces 
 of information are never, so far as I am aware, presented in 
 any scheme of education either to the infantine or adult 
 mind. And, unluckily, no other information whatever, with- 
 out acquaintance with these facts, can produce either bread 
 and butter, or felicity. I take the following four questions, 
 for instance, as sufficiently characteristic, out of the seventy- 
 eight, proposed, on their Fifth subject of study, to the chil- 
 dren of St. Matthias' National School, Granby Street, Bethnal 
 Green, (school fees, twopence or threepence a week,) by way 
 of enabling them to pass their First of May pleasantly, in 
 this blessed year 1873. 
 
 1. Explain the distinction between an identity and an equa- 
 
 tion, and give an easy example of each. Show that if 
 a simple equation in x is satisfied by two different values 
 of a;, it is an identity. 
 
 2. In what time will a sum of money double itself if in- 
 
 vested at 10 j^er cent, per annum, compound interest? 
 
 3. How many different permutations can be made of the 
 
 letters in the word ChilUamooMah ? How many if 
 arranged in a circle, instead of a straight line? And 
 how many different combinations of them, two and two, 
 can be made ? 
 
F0R8 GLAVIGERA. 
 
 17 
 
 4. Show that if a and /5 be constant, and <^ and X variable 
 
 and if 
 
 cos^ a cos^ /3 (tan^ a cos^ \ + tan^ ^ sin^ X) 
 tan'^ a cos'* ^ cos'* X + tan'^ P cos* a sin' X 
 
 sin'^ tt cos^ <f> + sin* )S sin® <^ 
 tan* tt cos* <^ -f tan* sin* <^ 
 
 thencos' )8 tan <^ = cos* a tan* X, unless a =: /3 n w, 
 
 I am bound to state that I could not answer any one of 
 these interrogations myself, and that my readers must there- 
 fore allow for the bias of envy in the expression of my 
 belief that to have been able to answer the sort of questions 
 which the First of May once used to propose to English 
 children, — whether they knew a cowslip from an oxlip, and 
 a blackthorn from a white, would have been incomparably 
 more to the purpose, both of getting their living, and liking it. 
 Vol. IL—Z 
 
.18 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 The following expression of the wounded feelings of the Daily News 
 is perhaps worth preserving : 
 
 Mr. Raskin's Fors Clamgera has alreadj become so notorious as a 
 curious magazine of the blunders of a man of genius who has travelled 
 out of his province, that it is perhaps hardly worth while to notice any 
 fresh blunder. No one who writes on financial subjects need be at all 
 surprised that Mr. Ruskin funnily misinterprets what he has said, and 
 we have ourselves just been the victim of a misinterpretation of the 
 mrt. Mr. Ruskin quotes a single sentence from an article which ap- 
 peared in our impression of the 8d of March, and places on it the in- 
 terpretation that • whenever you have reason to think that anybody has 
 charged you threepence for a twopenny article, remember that, accord- 
 ing to the Daily Neics, the real capital of the community is increased.' 
 We need hardly tell our readers that we wrote no nonsense of that kind. 
 Our object was to show that the most important effect of the high 
 price of coal was to alter the distribution of the proceeds of production 
 in the community, and not to diminish the amount of it ; that it was 
 quite possible for real production, which is always the most important 
 matter in a question of material wealth, to increase, even with coal at 
 a high price ; and that there was such an increase at the lime we were 
 writing, although coal was dear. These are certainly very different 
 propositions from the curious deduction, which Mr. Ruskin makes from 
 a single short sentence in a long article, the purport of which was clear 
 enough. There is certainly no cause for astonishment at the blunders 
 which Mr. Ruskin makes in political economy and finance, if his method 
 is to rush at conclusions without patiently studying the drift of what 
 he reads. Oddly enough, it may be added, there is one way in which 
 dear coal may increase the capital of a country like England, though 
 Mr. Ruskin seems to think the thing impossible. We are exporters of 
 coal, and of course the higher the price the more the foreigner has to 
 pay for it. So far, therefore, the increased price is advantageous, 
 although on balance, every one knows, it is better to have cheap coal 
 than dear." 
 
 Let me at once assure the editor of the Dai^y News that I meant him 
 no disrespect in choosing a ' long ' article for animadversion. I had 
 imagined that the length of his articles was owing rather to his sense 
 of the importance of their subject than to the impulsiveness and rash 
 splendour of his writing. I feel, indeed, how much the consolation it 
 conveys is enhanced by this fervid eloquence ; and even when I had 
 my pocket picked the other day on Tower Hill, it might have soothed 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 19 
 
 my ruffled temper to reflect that, in the beautiful language of the 
 Daily News^ the most important effect of that operation was to alter 
 the distribution of the proceeds of production in the community, and 
 not to diminish the amount of it.'' But the Editor ought surely to be 
 grateful to me for pointing out that, in his present state of mind, he 
 may not only make one mistake in a long letter, but two in a short 
 one. Their object, declares the Daily News^ (if I would but have 
 taken the pains to appreciate their efforts, ) ' ' was to show that it was 
 quite possible for real production to increase, even with coal at a high 
 price. ' It is quite possible for the production of newspaper articles to 
 increase, and of many other more useful things. The speculative pub- 
 lic probably knew, without the help of the Daily News, that they might 
 still catch a herring, even if they could not broil it. But the rise of 
 price in coal itself was simply caused by the diminution of its produc- 
 tion, or by rogfuery. 
 
 Again, the intelligent journal observes that '*dear coal may increase 
 the capital of a country like England, because we are exporters of coal, 
 and the higher the price, the more the foreigner has to pay for it." 
 We are exporters of many other articles besides coal, and foreigners 
 are beginning to be so foolish, finding the prices rise, as, instead of 
 
 having more to pay for them," never to buy them. The Daily Ne\C4y 
 however, is under the impression that over- instead of under-selling, is 
 the proper method of competition in foreign markets, which is not a 
 received view in economical circles. 
 
 I observe that the Daily News, referring with surprise to the conclu- 
 sions which unexpectedly, though incontrovertibly, resulted from their 
 euthusiastic statement, declare they need hardly tell their readers they 
 *' wrote no nonsense of that kind.'' But I cannot but feel, after their 
 present better-considered effusion, that it would be perhaps well on 
 their part to warn their readers how many other kinds of nonsense they 
 will in future be justified in expecting. 
 
20 
 
 FORS CLAVIOEMA. 
 
 LETTER XXXI. 
 
 Of the four great English tale-tellers whose dynasties have 
 set or risen within my own memory — Miss Edgeworth, Scott, 
 Dickens, and Thackeray — I find myself greatly at pause in 
 conjecturing, however dimly, what essential good has been 
 effected by them, though they all had the best intentions. 
 Of the essential mischief done by them, there is, unhappily, 
 no doubt whatever. Miss Edgeworth made her morality so 
 impertinent that, since her time, it has only been with fear 
 and trembling that any good novelist has ventured to show 
 the slightest bias in favour of the Ten Commandments. 
 Scott made his romance so ridiculous, that, since his day, one 
 can't help fancying helmets were always pasteboard, and 
 horses were always hobby. Dickens made everybody laugh, 
 or cry, so that they could not go about their business till 
 they had got their faces in wrinkles ; and Thackeray settled 
 like a meatfly on whatever one had got for dinner, and made 
 one sick of it. 
 
 That, on the other hand, at least Miss Edgeworth and 
 Scott have indeed some inevitable influence for good, I am 
 the more disposed to think, because nobody now will read 
 them. Dickens is said to have made people good-natured. 
 If he did, I wonder what sort of natures they had before ! 
 Thackeray is similarly asserted to have chastised and re- 
 pressed flunkeydom — which it greatly puzzles me to hear, 
 because, as far as I can see, there isn't a carriage now left in 
 all the Row with anybody sitting inside it : the people who 
 ought to have been in it are, every one, hanging on behind, 
 the carriaore in front. 
 
 What good these writers have done, is therefore, to me, I 
 repeat, extremely doubtful. But what good Scott has in 
 him to do, I find no words full enouofh to tell. His ideal of 
 honour in men and women is inbred, indisputable ; fresh as 
 the air of his mountains ; firm as their rocks. His concep- 
 
lioRiS CLAY Hi ERA. 
 
 21 
 
 tion of purity in woman is even higher tlian Dante's ; his 
 reverence for the filial relation, as deep as Virgil's ; sym- 
 pathy universal ; — there is no rank or condition of men of 
 which he has not shown the loveliest aspect ; his code of moral 
 principle is entirely defined, yet taught with a reserved sub- 
 tlety like Nature's own, so that none but the most earnest 
 readers perceive the intention : and his opinions on all prac- 
 tical subjects are final ; the consummate decisions of accurate 
 and inevitable common sense, tempered by the most graceful 
 kindness. 
 
 That he had the one weakness — I will not call it fault — of 
 desiring to possess more and more of the actual soil of the 
 land which was so rich to his imagination, and so dear to 
 his pride ; and that by this postern-gate of idolatry, entered 
 other taints of folly and fault, punished by supreme misery, 
 and atoned for by a generosity and solemn courage more 
 admirable than the unsullied wisdom of his happier days, I 
 have ceased to lament : for all these things make him only 
 the more perfect to us as an example, because he is not ex- 
 empt from common failings, and has his appointed portion 
 in common pain. 
 
 I said we were to learn from him the true relations of 
 Master and Servant ; and learning these, there is little left 
 for us to learn ; but, on every subject of immediate and vital 
 interest to us, we shall ?ynd^ as we study his life and words, 
 that both are as authoiitative as thev are clear. Of his im- 
 partiality of judgment, I think it is enough, once for all, to 
 bid you observe that, though himself, by all inherited disposi- 
 tion and accidental circumstances, prejudiced in favour of 
 the Stuart cause, the aristocratic character, and the Catholic 
 religion, — the only perfectly noble character in his first novel 
 is that of a Hanoverian colonel,* and the most exquisitely 
 
 * Colonel Talbot, in Waverley ; I need not, surely, nametlie other : — 
 note only that, in speaking of heroism, I never admit into the field of com- 
 parison the merely stage-ideals of impcssible virtue and fortune — (Ivan- 
 hoe, Sir Kenneth, and the like) — but only persons whom Scott meant 
 to be real. Observe also that with Scott, as with Titian, you must 
 often expect the most tender pieces of completion in subordinate 
 characters. 
 
22 
 
 FOnS CLAVIGEEA, 
 
 finished and heroic character in all his novels, that of a Pres- 
 byterian milkmaid. 
 
 But before I press any of his opinions — or I ought rather 
 to say, knowledges — upon you, I must try to give you some 
 idea of his own temper and life. His temper, I say ; the 
 mixture of clay, and the fineness of it, out of which the Pot- 
 ter made him ; and of his life, what the power of the third 
 Fors had been upon it, before his own hands could make or 
 mar his fortune, at the turn of tide. I shall do this merely 
 by abstracting and collating (with comment) some passages 
 out of Lockhart's life of him ; and adding any elucidatory 
 pieces which Lockhart refers to, or which I can find my- 
 self, in his own works, so that you may be able to read 
 them easily together. And observe, I am not writing, or at* 
 tempting to write, another life of Scott ; but only putting 
 toofether bits of Lockhart's life in the order which mv side- 
 notes on the pages indicate for my own reading ; and I shall 
 use Lockhart's words, or my own, indifferently, and without 
 the plague of inverted commas. Therefore, if anything is 
 Avrong in my statement, Lockhart is not answerable for it; but 
 my own work in the business will nevertheless be little more 
 than what the French call putting dots on the i's, and adding 
 such notes as may be needful for our present thought. 
 
 Sir Walter was born on the loth August, 1771, in a house 
 belonging to his father, at the head of the College Wynd, Ed- 
 inburgh. The house was pulled down to make room for the 
 northern front of the New College ; and the wise people of 
 Edinburgh then built, for I don't know how many thousand 
 pounds, a small vulgar Gothic steeple on the ground, and 
 called it the " Scott Monument." There seems, however, to 
 have been more reason than usual for the destruction of the CoU 
 lege Wynd, for Scott was the first survivor of seven children 
 born in it to his father, and appears to have been saved only 
 by the removal to the house in George's Square,* which his 
 
 * I beg ray readers to observe that I never flinch from stating a fact 
 that tells against me. This George's Square is in that New Town of 
 Edinburgh which I said, in the first of these letters, I should like tode- 
 fltroy to the ground. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 23 
 
 father always afterwards occupied ; and by being also sent 
 soon afterwards into the open country. He was of the pu- 
 rest Border race — seventh in descent from Wat of Harden 
 and the Flower of Yarrow. Here are his six ancestors, from 
 the sixteenth century, in order : — 
 
 1. Walter Scott (Auld Wat) of Harden, 
 
 2. Sir William Scott of Harden. 
 
 3. Walter Scott of Raeburn. 
 
 4. Walter Scott, Tutor of Raeburn. 
 
 5. Robert Scott of Sandy-Knowe. 
 
 6. Walter Scott, citizen of Edinburgh. 
 
 I will note briefly what is important respecting each of 
 these. 
 
 I. Wat of Harden. Harden means ' the ravine of hares.' 
 It is a glen down which a little brook flows to join the river 
 Borthwick, itself a tributary of the Teviot, six miles west 
 of Hawick, and just opposite Branxholm. So long as Sir 
 Walter retained his vigorous habits, he made a yearly pil- 
 grimage to it, with whatever friend happened to be his guest 
 at the time.* 
 
 Wat's wife, Mary, the Flower of Yarrow, is said to have 
 chiefly owed her celebrity to the love of an English captive 
 — a beautiful child whom she had rescued from the tender 
 mercies f of Wat's moss-troopers, on their return from a 
 Cumberland foray. The youth grew up under her protec- 
 tion, and is believed to have written both the words and 
 music of many of the best songs of the Border. \ 
 
 This story is evidently the germ of that of the Xay of 
 the Last Minstrel^ only the captivity is there of a Scottish 
 
 ♦ Lockhart's Life, 8vo. Edinburgh : Cadell, 1837. Vol. i. p. 65. In 
 my following foot-notes I shall only give volume and page — the book 
 being understood. 
 
 f i. 67. What sort of tender mercies were to be expected ? 
 
 X His name unknown, according to Leyden, is perhaps discoverable ; 
 but what songs ? Though composed by an Englishman, have they the 
 special character of Scottish music? 
 
24 
 
 FOltS CLAVIGEilA, 
 
 boy to the English. The lines describing Wat of Harden 
 are in the 4th canto, — 
 
 Marauding chief ; his sole delight 
 The moonlight raid, the morning fight. 
 Not even the Flower of Yarrow's charms, 
 In youth, might tame his rage for arms ; 
 And still in age he spurned at rest, 
 And still his brows the helmet pressed, 
 Albeit the blanched locks below 
 Were white as Dinlay's spotless snow." * 
 
 With these, read also the answer of the lady of Brank* 
 some, 23rd and 24th stanzas, — 
 
 ' Say to your lords of high emprize, 
 Who war on women and on boys, — 
 For the young heir of Branksome's line, 
 God be his aid ; and God be mine : 
 Through me, no friend shall meet his doom : 
 Here, while I live, no foe finds room.' 
 ♦ ♦ ♦ DC 
 
 Proud she looked round, applause to claim; 
 Then lightened Thirlstane's eye of flame ; 
 
 His bugle Watt of Harden blew. 
 Pensils f and pennons wide were flung. 
 To heaven the Border slogan rung, 
 
 ' St. Mary for the young Buccleugh ! ' " 
 
 Let us stop here to consider what good there may be in 
 all this for us. The last line, " St. Mary for the young Buc- 
 cleugh ! " probably sounds absurd enough to you. You have 
 nothing whatever to do, you think, with either of these per- 
 
 * Dinlay ; — where ? 
 
 f Pensil, a flag hanging down — * pensile.' Pennon, a stiff flag sus- 
 tained by a cross arm, like the broad part of a weathercock. Properly, 
 it is the stiff-set feather of an arrow. 
 
 Ny autres riens qui d'ore ne fust 
 Fors que les pennons, et le fust.'* 
 
 *' Romance of the Rose," of Love's arrows : Chaucer translates, 
 
 For all was gold, men might see, 
 Out-take the feathers and the tree." 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 25 
 
 soiiages. You don't care for any St. Mary ; and still less 
 for any, either young or old, Buccleugh ? 
 
 Well, I'm sorry for you: — but if you don't care for St. 
 Mary, the wife of Joseph, do you care at all for St. Mary- 
 x\nne, the wife of Joe? Have you any faith in the holiness 
 of your own wives, who are here, in flesh and blood? or do 
 you verily wish them, as Mr. Mill* would have it — sacrifice 
 all pretence to saintship, as to holy days — to follow "some 
 more lucrative occupation than that of nursing the baby"? 
 And you don't care for the young Buccleugh ? Cut away 
 the cleugh, then, and read the Buc backwards. Do you care 
 for your own cub as much as Sir Walter would have cared 
 for his own beast ? (see, farther on, how he takes care of 
 his wire-haired terrier. Spice), or as any beast cares for its 
 cub? Or do you send your poor little brat to make money 
 for you, like your wife ; as though a cock should send his 
 lien and chickens to pick up what they could for A/m / and 
 it were the usual law of nature that nestlings should feed the 
 parent birds ? If that be your way of liberal modern life, 
 believe me, the border faith in its Mary and its master, how- 
 ever servile, was not benighted in comparison. 
 
 But the border morals? "Marauding chief, whose sole 
 delight," etc. Just look for the passages indicated under 
 the word ^ theft' in my fine new index to the first two vol- 
 umes of Fors. I will come back to this point: for the pres- 
 ent, in order to get it more clearly into your minds, remem- 
 ber that the Flower of Yarrow was the chieftainess to whom 
 the invention of serving the empty dish with two spurs in it, 
 for hint to her husband that he must ride for his next dinner, 
 is first ascribed. Also, for com]')arison of the English cus- 
 toms of the same time, read this little bit of a letter of Lord 
 Northumberland's to Henry VIH. in 1533. f 
 
 * People would not have me speak any more harm of Mr. Mill, be- 
 cause he^s dead, T suppose ? Dead or alive, all's one to me, with mis- 
 chievous persons ; but alas ! how very grievously all's two to me, when 
 they are helpful and noble ones. 
 
 t Out of the first of Scott's notes to the Lay, but the note is bo long 
 that careless readers are sure to miss the points ; also I give modern 
 epelUng for greater ease. 
 
26 
 
 FOnS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 " Please it your most gracious Highness to be advertised 
 that my comptroller, with Raynold Carnaby, desired licence 
 of me to invade the realm of Scotland, to the annoyance of 
 your Highness's enemies, and so they did meet upon Mon- 
 day before night, at Warhope, upon North Tyne water, to 
 the number of 1,500 men : and so invaded Scotland, at the 
 hour of eight of the clock at night, and actively did set upon 
 a town * called Branxholm, where the Lord of Buccleugh 
 dwelleth, albeit that knight he was not at home. And so 
 tliey burnt the said Branxholm, and other towns, and kad 
 ordered themselves so that sundry of the said Lord Buc- 
 cleugh's servants, who did issue forth of his gates were taken 
 prisoners. They did not leave one house, one stack of 
 corn, nor one sheaf without the gate of the said Lord Buc- 
 cleugh unburnt ; and so in the breaking of the day receded 
 homeward. And thus, thanks be to God, your Highness's 
 subjects, about the hour of twelve of the clock the same day, 
 came into this, your Highness's realm, bringing with them 
 above forty Scotsmen prisoners, one of them named Scott, 
 of the surname and kin of the said Lord of Buccleuo^h. And 
 of his household they also brought three hundred nowte " 
 (cattle), " and above sixty horses and mares, keeping in safety 
 from loss or hurt all your said Highness's subjects." 
 
 They had met the evening before on the North Tyne 
 under Carter Fell ; (you will find the place partly marked 
 as " Plashett's coal-fields " in modern atlases ;) rode and 
 marched their twenty miles to Branxholm ; busied them- 
 selves there, as we hear, till dawn, and so back thirty miles 
 down Liddesdale, — a fifty miles' ride and walk altogether, 
 all finished before twelve on Tuesday : besides what pillag- 
 ing^ and burninof had to be done. 
 
 Now, but one more point is to be noticed, and we will get 
 on with our genealogy. 
 
 After this bit of the Earl's letter, you will better under- 
 stand the speech of the Lady of Buccleugh, defending her 
 castle in the absence of her lord, and with her boy taken 
 prisoner. And now look back to my 25th letter, for I want 
 you not to forget Alice of Salisbury. King Edward's first 
 sight of her was just after she had held her castle exactly in 
 
 * A walled group of houses : tynen, Saxon, to shut in (Johnson). 
 
FOliS CLAVIGEEA, 
 
 2: 
 
 this way, against a raid of the Scots in Lord Salisbury's ab- 
 sence. Edward rode night and day to help her ; and the 
 Scots besiegers, breaking up at his approach, this is what 
 follows, which you may receive on Froissart's telling as the 
 vital and effectual truth of the matter. A modern English 
 critic will indeed always and instantly extinguish this vital 
 truth ; there is in it something inherently detestable to 
 him ; thus the editor of Johnes' Froissart prefaces this very 
 story with " the romance — for it is nothing more." Now 
 the labyrinth of Crete, and the labyrnith of Woodstock, are 
 indeed out of sight ; and of a real Ariadne or Rosamond, a 
 blockhead might be excused for doubting ; but St. George's 
 Chapel at Windsor — (or Winde-Rose, as Froissart prettily 
 transposes it, like Adriane for Ariadne) is a very visible 
 piece of romance ; and the stones of it were laid, and the 
 blue riband which your queen wears on her breast is fast- 
 ened, to this day, by the hand of Alice of Salisbury. 
 
 " So the King came at noon ; and angry he was to find 
 the Scots gone ; for he had come in such haste that all his 
 people and horses were dead-tired and toiled. So every one 
 went to rest ; and the King, as soon as he was disarmed, 
 took ten or twelve knights with him, and went towards the 
 castle to salute the Countess, and see how the defence had 
 been made. So soon as the Lady of Salisbury knew of the 
 King's coming, she made all the gates be opened," (inmost 
 and outmost at once,) "and came out, so richly dressed, that 
 every one was wonderstruck at her, and no one could cease 
 looking at her, nor from receiving, as if they had been her 
 mirrors, the reflection of her great nobleness, and her great 
 beauty, and her gracious speaking and bearing herself. 
 When she came to the King, she bowed down to the earth, 
 over against him, in thanking him for his help, and brought 
 him to the castle, to delight him and honor him — as she 
 who well knew how to do it. Every one looked at her, even 
 to amazement, and the King himself could not stop looking 
 at her, for it seemed to him that in the world never was 
 lady who was so much to be loved as she. So they went 
 hand in hand into the castle, and the Lady led him first 
 
28 
 
 FOES CLAVIGEIiA. 
 
 into the great hall, and then into her own chamber, (what 
 the French now call a pouting-rooni, but the ladies of that 
 day either smiled or frowned, but did not pout,) which was 
 nobly furnished, as befitted such lady. And always the 
 King looked at the gentle Lady, so hard that she became 
 all ashamed. When he had looked at her a long while, he 
 went away to a window, to lean upon it, and began to think 
 deeply. The Lady went to cheer the other knights and 
 squires ; then ordered the dinner to be got ready, and the 
 room to be dressed. When she had devised all, and com- 
 manded her people what seemed good to her, she returned 
 with a gladsome face before the King," — in whose presence 
 we must leave her vet awhile, havino- other matters to attend 
 to. 
 
 So much for Wat of Harden's life then, and his wife's. 
 We shall get a little faster ou with the genealogy after this 
 fair start. 
 
 II. Sir William Scott of Harden. 
 
 Wat's eldest son ; distinguished by the early favor of 
 James VL 
 
 In his youth, engaging in a foray on the lands of Sir 
 Gideon Murray of Elibank, and being taken prisoner, Mur- 
 ray offers him choice between being hanged, or marrying the 
 plainest of his daughters. The contract of marriage, written 
 on the parchment of a drum, is still in possession of the 
 family of Harden.* 
 
 This is Lockhart's reading of the circumstances, and I 
 give his own statement of them in the note below. But his 
 assumption of the extreme plainness of the young lady, and 
 of the absolute worldly-mindedness of the mother, are both 
 examples of the modern manner of reading traditions, out 
 of which some amusemeift may be gathered by looking only 
 
 * i. 68. ' ' The indignant laird was on the point of desiring his prisoner 
 to say a last prayer, when his more considerate dame interposed milder 
 counsels, suggesting that the culprit was born to a good estate, and 
 that they had three unmarried daughters. Young Harden, it is said, 
 not without hesitation, agreed to save his life by taking the plainest of 
 the three off their hands." 
 
FORS CLAVrOEUA. 
 
 29 
 
 at them on the grotesque side, and interpreting that gro- 
 tesqueness ungenerously. There may, indeed, be farther 
 ground than Lockhart has thought it worth while to state 
 for his color of the facts ; but all that can be justly gathered 
 from those he has told is that, Sir Gideon having determined 
 the death of his troublesome neighbor. Lady Murray inter- 
 fered to save his life ; and could not more forcibly touch her 
 husband's purpose than by reminding him that hostility 
 might be better ended in alliance than in death. 
 
 Tiie sincere and careful affection which Sir William of 
 Harden afterwards shows to all his children by the Maid of 
 Elibank, and his naming one of them after her father, induce 
 me still farther to trust in the fairer reading of the tradition. 
 I should, indeed, have been disposed to attach some weight, 
 on the side of the vulgar story, to the curiously religious 
 tendencies in Sir William's children, which seem to point to 
 some condition of feeling in the mother, arisino: out of 
 despised life. Women are made nobly religious by the 
 possession of extreme beauty, and morbidly so by distressed 
 consciousness of the want of it ; but there is no reason for 
 insisting on this probability, since both the Christian and 
 surname of Sir Gideon Murray point to his connection with 
 the party in Scotland whicli was at this time made strong in 
 battle by religious faith, and melancholy in peace by religious 
 passion. 
 
 III. Walter Scott, first Laird of Raeburn ; third son of Sir 
 William and this enforced bride of Elibank. They had four 
 sons altogether ; the eldest, William, becomes the second 
 Sir William of Harden ; their father settled the lands of 
 Raeburn upon Walter ; and of Highchester on his second 
 son, Gideon, named after the rough father-in-law, of Elibank. 
 
 Now, about this time (1657), George Fox comes into 
 Scotland, boasting that as he first set his feet upon Scot- 
 tish ground he felt the seed of grace to sparkle about him 
 like innumerable sparks of fire." And he forthwith succeeds 
 in making Quakers of Gideon, Walter, and Walter's wife. 
 This is too much for Sir William of Harden, the eldest broth- 
 er, who not only remains a staunch Jacobite, but obtains 
 
30 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 order from tlie Privy Council of Scotland to imprison his 
 brother and brother's wife ; that they may hold no further 
 converse with Quakers, and also to ^' separate and take away 
 their children, being two sons and a daughter, from their 
 family and education, and to breed them in some convenient 
 plac§." Which is accordingly done ; and poor Walter, who 
 had found pleasantly conversible Quakers in the Tolbooth of 
 Edinburgh, is sent to Jedburgh, with strict orders to the 
 Jedburgh magistrates to keep Quakers out of his wa}^ The 
 children are sent to an orthodox school by Sir William ; and 
 of the daughter I find nothing further; but the two sons 
 both became good scholars, and were so effectually cured of 
 Quakerism, that the elder (I don't find his Christian name), 
 just as he came of age, was killed in a duel with Pringle of 
 Crichton, fought with swords in a field near Selkirk — ever 
 since called, from the Raeburn's death, "the Raeburn mead- 
 ow-spot ; " — and the younger, Walter, who then became 
 "Tutor of Raeburn," guardian to his infant nephew, 
 intrigued in the cause of the exiled Stuarts till he had lost 
 all he had in the world — ran a narrow risk of beinjr hano^ed 
 — was saved by the interference of Anne, Duchess of Buc- 
 cleugh — founded a Jacobite club in Edinburgh, in which the 
 conversation is said to have been maintained in Latin — and 
 wore his beard undipped to his dying day, vowing no razor 
 should pass on it until the return of the Stuarts, whence he 
 held his border name of " Beardie." 
 
 It is only when we remember how often this history must 
 have dwelt on Sir Walter's mind that we can understand the 
 tender subtlety of design with which he has completed, even 
 in the weary time of his declining life, the almost eventless 
 story of Medgamitlet, and given, as we shall presently see 
 in connection with it, the most complete, though disguised, 
 portion of his own biography. 
 
 IV. Beardie. I find no details of Beardie's life given by 
 Scott, but he was living at Leasudden when his landlord, 
 Scott of Harden,* living at Mertoun House, addressed to 
 
 * Eldest son, or grandson, of Sir William Scott of Harden, the 
 second in our genealogy. 
 
FORS CLAVIGEJIA, 
 
 31 
 
 him the lines given in the note to the introduction to the 
 sixth canto of Marmio?i, in which Scott himself partly 
 adopts the verses, writing from Mertoun House to Richard 
 Heber. 
 
 *' For course of blood our proverbs dream, 
 la warmer than the mountain stream. 
 And thus my Christmas still I hold 
 Where my great-grandsire came of old,* 
 * With amber beard and flaxen hair, 
 And reverend apostolic air, 
 The feast and holytide to share, 
 And mix sobriety with wine, 
 And honest mirth with thoughts divine.* 
 Small thought was his, in after-time. 
 E'er to be hitched into a rhyme. 
 The simple sire could only boast 
 That he was loyal to his cost. 
 The banished race of kings revered, 
 And lost his hand — but kept his beard, — " 
 
 "a mark of attachment," Scott adds in his note, "which I 
 suppose had been common during Cromwell's usurpation ; 
 for in Cowley's Cutter of Coleman Street one drunken cava- 
 lier upbraids another that when he was not able to pay a 
 barber, he affected to Svear a beard for the King.'" 
 
 Observe, here, that you must always be on your guard, in 
 reading Scott's notes or private letters, against his way of 
 kindly laughing at what he honours more deeply than he 
 likes to confess. The house in which Beardie died was still 
 standing wLen Sir Walter wrote his autobiography, (1808), 
 at the north-east entrance of the churchyard of Kelso. 
 
 He left three sons. Any that remain of the family of the 
 elder are long since settled in America (male heirs extinct). 
 James Scptt, well known in India as one of the original set* 
 tiers of Prince of Wales Island^ was a son of the youngest, 
 who died at Lasswade, in Midlothian (first mention of Scott's 
 Lasswade). 
 
 But of the second son, Scott's grandfather, we have to 
 learn much. 
 
 * Came, by Invitation from bis landlord, Scott of Harden. 
 
32 
 
 FORS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 V. Robert Scott of Saiidv-Knowe, second son of Beardie. 
 I cannot shorten Scott's own account of the circumstances 
 which determined his choice of life. 
 
 " My grandfather was originally bred to the sea, but being 
 shipwrecked near Dundee in his trial voyage, he took such a 
 sincere dislike to that element, that he could not be per- 
 suaded to a second attempt. This occasioned a quarrel be^ 
 tween him and his fatlier, who left him to shift for himselfo 
 Tlobert was one of those active spirits to whom this was no 
 misfortune. He turned Wiiig upon the spot, and fairly ab- 
 jured his father's })olitics and his learned poverty. His 
 chief and relative, Mr. Scott of Harden, gave him a lease of 
 the farm of Sandy-Knowe, comprehending the rocks in the 
 centre of which Smailholm or Sandy-Knowe Tower is situ- 
 ated. He took for his shepherd an old man called Hogg, 
 who willingly lent him, out of respect to his family, his 
 whole savings, about £30, to stock the new farm. AVith 
 this sum, which it seems was at the time sufficient for the 
 purpose, the master and servant * set off to purchase a stock 
 of sheep at Whitsun-tryste, a fair held on a hill near Wooler, 
 in Northumberland. The old shepherd went carefully from 
 drove to drove, till he found a hirsel likely to answer their 
 purpose, and then returned to tell his master to come up and 
 conclude the bargain. But what was his surprise to see him 
 galloping a mettled hunter about the race-course, and to find 
 he had expended the whole stock in this extraordinary pur- 
 chase ! Moses' bargain of green spectacles did not strike 
 more dismay into the Vicar of Wakefield's family than my 
 grandfather's rashness into the poor old shepherd. The 
 thing, however, was irretrievable, and they returned without 
 the sheep. In the course of a few days, however, my grand- 
 father, who was one of the best horsemen of his time, at- 
 tended John Scott of Harden's hounds on this same horse, 
 and displayed him to such advantage that he sold him for 
 double the original price. The farm was now stocked in 
 earnest, and the rest of mv ofrand father's career was that of 
 successful industry. He was one of the first who were active 
 * Here, you see, our subject beg-ius to purpose! 
 
FOnS CLAVIGEIIA. 
 
 Ml the cattle trade, afterwards carried to such an extent be- 
 tween the Highlands of Scotland and the leading counties 
 in England, and by his droving transactions acquired a con- 
 siderable sum of money. He was a man of middle stature, 
 extremely active, quick, keen, and fiery in his temper, stub- 
 bornly honest, and so distinguished for his skill in country 
 matters that he was the general referee in all points of dis- 
 pute which occurred in the neighbourhood. His birth being 
 admitted as gentle, gave liim access to the best society in 
 the county, and his dexterity in country sports, particularly 
 hunting, made him an acceptable companion in the field as 
 well as at the table." 
 
 Thus, then, between Auld Wat of Harden, and Scott's 
 grandfather, we have four generations, numbering approxi- 
 mately a hundred and fifty years, from 1580 to 1730,* and 
 in that time we have the great change in national manners 
 from stealing cattle to breeding and selling tiiem, which 
 at first might seem a change in the way of gradually in- 
 creasing" honesty. But observe that this Jirst cattle-dealer 
 of our line is stubbornly honest," a quality which it would 
 be unsafe to calculate upon in any dealer of our own days. 
 
 Do you suppose, then, that this honesty was a sudden and 
 momentary virtue — a lightning fiash of probity between the 
 two darknesses of Auld Wat's tliievinof and modern cozening:? 
 
 Not so. ^ That open tiueving had iio dishonesty in it 
 whatsoever. Far tiic contrary. Of all conceivable ways of 
 getting a living, except by actual digging of the ground, 
 this is precisely the honestest. All other gentlemanly pro- 
 fessions but this have a taint of dishonesty in them. Even 
 the best — the physician's — involves temptation to many 
 forms of cozening. How many second-rate mediciners have 
 lived, think you, on prescriptions of bread pills and r«se- 
 coloured water? — how many, even of leading physicians, owe 
 all their success to skill unaided by pretence? Of clergy- 
 men, how many preach wholly Avhat they know to be true 
 
 * I efive the round numbers for better remembering'. Wnt of Harden 
 married the Flower of Ynrrow in 15G7; Robert of Sandy-Knowe mar- 
 ried Barbara Haliburton in 1728. 
 Vol. II.- li 
 
Si 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 without fear of their congregations ? Of lawyers, of authorSj 
 of painters, what need we speak ? These all, so far as they 
 try to please the mob for their living, are true cozeners,— 
 unsound in the very heart's core. But Wat of Harden, 
 setting iTjy farm on fire, and driving off my cattle, is no 
 rogue. An enemy, yes, and a spoiler ; but no more a rogue 
 than the rock eagles. And Robert the first cattle-dealer's 
 honesty is directly inherited from his race, and notable as a 
 virtue, not in opposition to their character, but to ours. For 
 men become dishonest by occult trade, not by open rapine. 
 
 There are, nevertheless, some very definite faults in our 
 pastoral Robert of Sandy-Knowe, which Sir Walter himself 
 inherits and recognizes in his own temper, and which were 
 in him severely punished. Of the rash investment of the 
 poor shepherd's fortune we shall presently hear what Sir 
 Walter thought. Robert's graver fault, the turning Whig 
 to displease his father, is especially to be remembered in 
 connection with Sir Walter's frequent warnings against the 
 sacrifice to momentary passion of what ought to be the fixed 
 principles of youth. It has not been enough noticed that 
 the design of his first and greatest story is to exhibit and 
 reprehend, while it tenderly indicates the many grounds for 
 forgiving, the change of political temper under circumstances 
 of personal irritation. 
 
 But in the virtues of Robert Scott, far outnumbering his 
 failings, and above all in this absolute honesty and his con- 
 tentment in the joy of country life, all the noblest roots of 
 his grandson's character found their happy hold. 
 
 Note every syllable of the description of him given in the 
 introduction to the third canto of Marmion : 
 
 *' Still, with vain fondness, could I trace 
 Anew each kind familiar face 
 That brightened at our evening fire ; 
 From the thatched mansion's grey-haired sire, 
 Wise without learning, plain, and good, 
 And sprung of Scotland's gentler blood ; 
 WTiose eye in age, quick, clear, and keen. 
 Showed what in youth its glance had beeni 
 
FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 35 
 
 Whose doom discording neighbours sought. 
 Content with equity unbought, 
 To him, the venerable priest, 
 Our frequent and familiar guest. " 
 
 Note, I say, every word of this. The faces " brightened 
 at the evening fire," — not a patent stove; fancy the difference 
 in effect on the imagination, in the dark long nights of a Scot- 
 tish winter, between the flickering shadows of firelight, and 
 utter gloom of a room warmed by a close stove ! 
 
 "The thatched mansion's." — The coolest roof in summer, 
 warmest in winter. Amonsf the various mischievous thinors 
 done in France, apparently by the orders of Napoleon III., 
 but in reality by the foolish nation uttering itself through 
 his passive voice, (he being all his days only a feeble Pan's 
 pipe, or Charon's boatswain's whistle, instead of a true king,) 
 the substitution of tiles for thatch on the cottages of Picardy 
 was one of the most barbarous. It was to prevent fire, for- 
 sooth ! and all the while the poor peasants could not afford 
 candles, except to drip about over their church floors. See 
 above, 24, 31. 
 
 "Wise without learning." — By no means able, this border 
 rider, to state how many different arrangements may ,be 
 made of the letters in the word Chillianwaliah. He contrived 
 to exist, and educate his grandson to come to something, 
 without that information. 
 
 " Plain, and good." — Consider the value there is in tliat 
 virtue of plainness — legibility, shall we say ? — in the letters 
 of character. A clear-printed man, readable at a glance. 
 There are such things as illuminated letters of character also, 
 —beautifully unreadable ; but this legibility in the head of 
 a family is greatly precious. 
 
 " And sprung of Scotland's gentler blood." — I am not sure 
 if this is merely an ordinary expression of family pride, or 
 whether, which I rather think, Scott means to mark distinctly 
 the literal gentleness and softening of cliaracter in his grand- 
 father, and in the Lowland Scottish shepherd of his day, as 
 opposed to the still fiery temper of the Highland clans — the 
 blood being equally pure, but the race altogether softer and 
 
86 FORS CLA YIGERA,. 
 
 more Saxon. Even Auld Wat was fair-haired, and Beardie 
 has " amber beard and flaxen hair." 
 
 Whose doom discording" neighbours sought, 
 Content with equity uubought." — 
 
 Here you have the exactly right and wise condition of the 
 legal profession. 
 
 All good judging, and all good preacliing, must be given 
 gratis. Look back to what I have incidentally said of lawyers 
 and clergy, as professional — that is to say, as living by their 
 judgment, and sermons. You will perhaps now be able to 
 receive my conclusive statement, that all such professional 
 sale of justice and mercy is a deadly sin. A man may sell 
 the work of his hands, but not his equity, nor his piety. Let 
 him live by his spade ; and if his neighbours find him wise 
 enough to decide a dispute between them, or if he is in 
 modesty and simplicity able to give them a piece of pious 
 advice, let him do so, in Heaven's name, but not take a fee 
 for it. 
 
 Finally, Robert Scott is a cattle-dealer, yet a gentleman, 
 giving us the exact balance of right between the pride which 
 refuses a simple employment, and the baseness which makes 
 that simple employment disgraceful, because dishonest. Being 
 wholly upright, he can sell cattle, yet not disgrace his lineage. 
 We shall return presently to his house ; but must first com- 
 plete, so as to get our range of view within due limits, the 
 sketch of the entire ancestral line. 
 
 VI. Walter Scott, of George's Square, Edinburgh, Scott's 
 father, born 1729. 
 
 He was the eldest son of Robert of Sandy-Knowe, and had 
 three brothers and a sister, namely. Captain Robert Scott, in 
 East India Service ; Thomas Scott, cattle-dealer, following 
 his father's business ; a younger brother who died early, 
 (also) in East India Service ; and the sister Janet, whose part 
 in Scott's education was no less constant, and perhaps more 
 influential, than even his mother's. Scott's regard for one of 
 his Indian uncles, and his regret for the other's death, are 
 both traceable in the development of the character of Colonel 
 
FOliS CLAVIQEBA. 
 
 37 
 
 Mannering ; but of his uncle Thomas, and his aunt Jessie, 
 there is much more to be learned and thought on. 
 
 The cattle-dealer followed his fathers business prosper- 
 ously ; was twice married — first to Miss Raeburn, and then 
 to Miss Rutherford of Knowsouth — and retired, in his old 
 age, upon a handsome independence. Lockhart, visiting 
 him with Sir Walter, two years before the old man's death, 
 (he being then eighty-eight years old,) thus describes him : 
 
 " I thought him about the most venerable figure I had 
 ever set my eyes on, — tall and erect, with long flowing tresses 
 of the most silvery whiteness, and stockings rolled up over 
 his knees, after the fashion of three generations back. He 
 sat reading his Bible without spectacles, and did not, for a 
 moment, perceive that any one had entered his room ; but on 
 recognizing his nephew he rose with cordial alacrity, kissing 
 him on both cheeks, and exclaiming, * God bless thee, Walter, 
 my man ; thou hast risen to be great, but thou wast always 
 good.' His remarks were lively and sagacious, and delivered 
 with a touch of that humour which seems to have been shared 
 by most of the family. He had the air and manners of an 
 ancient gentleman, and must in his day have been eminently 
 handsome." * 
 
 Next read Sir Walter Scott's entry made in his copy of 
 the Haliburton Memorials : — 
 
 " The said Thomas Scott died at Monklaw, near Jedburgli, 
 at two of the clock, 27tli Januarv, 18'-23, in the 90th vear of 
 his life, and fully possessed of all his faculties. He read till 
 nearly the year before his death ; and being a great musician 
 on the Scotch pipes, had, when on his deathbed, a favourite 
 tune played over to him by his son James, that he might be 
 sure he left him in full possession of it. After hearing it, he 
 hummed it over himself, and corrected it in several of the 
 notes. The air was that called * Sour Plums in Galashiels.* 
 When barks and other tonics were given him during his last 
 illness, he privately spat them into his handkerchief, saying, 
 as he had lived all his life without taking doctors' drugs, he 
 wished to die without doing so." 
 
 No occasion whatever for deathbed repentances, you per- 
 
eS8 
 
 FOliS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 ceive, on the part of this old gentleman ; no particular care 
 even for the disposition of his handsome independence ; but 
 here is a bequest of which one must see one's son in full pos- 
 session — here is a thing to be well looked after, before setting 
 out for heaven, that the tune of " Sour Plums in Galashiels" 
 may still be played on earth in an incorrupt manner, and no 
 damnable French or English variations intruded upon the 
 solemn and authentic melody thereof. His views on the sub« 
 ject of Materia Medica are also greatly to be respected. 
 
 " I saw more than once," Lockhart goes on, " this respect- 
 able man's sister (Scott's aunt Janet), who had married her 
 cousin Walter, Laird of Raeburn, thus adding a new link to 
 the closeness of the family connection. She also must have 
 been, in her youth, remarkable for personal attractions ; as it 
 was, she dwells on my memory as the perfect picture of an 
 old Scotch lady, with a great deal of simple dignity in her 
 bearing, but with the softest eye and the sweetest voice, and 
 a charm of meekness and gentleness about every look and 
 expression. She spoke her native language pure and undi- 
 luted, but without the slightest tincture of that vulgarity 
 which now seems almost unavoidable in the oral use of a dia- 
 lect so long banished from courts, and which has not been 
 avoided by any modern writer who has ventured to intro- 
 duce it, with the exception of Scott, and I may add, speaking 
 generally, of Burns. Lady Raeburn, as she was universally 
 styled, may be numbered with those friends of early days 
 whom her nephew has alluded to in one of his prefaces as 
 preserving what we may fancy to have been the old Scotch 
 of Holyrood." 
 
 To this aunt, to his grandmother, his mother, and to the 
 noble and most wise Rector of the High School of Edin- 
 burgh, Dr. Adam, Scott owed the essential part of his " edu- 
 cation," which beofan in this manner. At ei^^hteen months 
 old his lameness came on, from sudden cold, bad air, and 
 other such causes. His mother's father. Dr. Rutherford, 
 advised sending him to the country; he is sent to his grand- 
 father's at Sandy-Knowe, where he first becomes conscious 
 of life, and where his grandmother and Aunt Janet beauti- 
 
FORS CLAYIGERA. 
 
 39 
 
 fully instruct, but partly spoil him. When he is eight years 
 old, he returns to, and remains in, his father's house at 
 George's Square. And now note the following sentence: — 
 
 " I felt the change from being a single indulged brat, to 
 becoming a member of a large family, rery severely ; for 
 under the gentle government of my kind grandmother, who 
 was meekness itself, and of my aunt, who, though of a high- 
 er temper, was exceedingly attached to me, 1 had acquired a 
 degree of license which could not be permitted in a large 
 family. I had sense enough, however, to bend my temper 
 to my new circumstances ; but such was the agony which I 
 internally experienced, that I have guarded against nothing 
 more, in the education of my own family, than against their 
 acquiring habits of self-willed caprice and domination." 
 
 The indulgence, however, no less than the subsequent dis- 
 cipline, had been indeed altogether wholesome for the boy, 
 he being of the noble temper which is the better for hav- 
 ing its way. The essential virtue of the training he had in 
 his grandfather's and father's house, and his aunt Jessie's at 
 Kelso, I will trace further in next letter. 
 
 LETTER XXXII. 
 
 I DO not know how far I shall be able in this letter to carry 
 you forward in the story of Scott's life ; let me first, there- 
 fore, map its divisions clearly ; for then, wherever we have 
 to stop, we can return to our point in fit time. 
 
 First, note these three great divisions — essentially those 
 of all men's lives, but singularly separate in his, — the days 
 of youth, of labour, and of death. 
 
 Youth is properly the forming time — that in which a man 
 makes himself, or is made, what he is for ever to he. Then 
 comes the time of labour, when, having become the best he 
 can be, he does the best he can do. Then the time of death, 
 which, in happy lives, is very short : but always a time. 
 The ceasing to breathe is only the end of death. 
 
40 
 
 FOnS OLA via ERA. 
 
 Scott records the beginning of his own in tlie following 
 entry in his diary, which reviews the life then virtually 
 ended: — 
 
 December ISth, 1825.* — What a life mine has been ! — 
 half educated, almost wholly neglected, or left to myself ; 
 stuffing my head with most nonsensical trash, and under-i 
 valued by most of my companions for a time ; getting for- 
 ward, and held a bold, clever fellow, contrary to the opinion 
 of all who thought me a mere dreamer; broken-hearted for 
 two years ; my heart handsomely pieced again, but the crack 
 will remain till my dying day. Rich and poor four or five 
 times : once on the verge of ruin, yet opened a new source 
 of wealth almost overflowing. Now to be broken in my 
 pitch of pride, f . . . 
 
 " Nobody in the end can lose a penny by me ; tliat is one 
 comfort. Men will think pride has had a fall. Let them in- 
 dulge in their own pride in thinking that my fall will make 
 them higher, or seem so at least. I have the satisfaction to 
 recollect that my prosperity has been of advantage to many, 
 and to hope that some at least will forgive my transient 
 wealth on account of the innocence of my intentions, and 
 my real wish to do good to the poor. Sad hearts, too, at 
 Darnick, and in the cottages of Abbotsford. I have half 
 resolved never to see the place again. How could 1 tread 
 my hall with such a diminished crest ? — how live a poor, in- 
 debted man, where I was once the wealthy, the honoured ? 
 I was to have gone there on Saturday, in joy and prosperity, 
 to receive my friends. My dogs will wait for me in vain. 
 It is foolish, but the thoughts of parting from these dumb 
 creatures have moved me more than any of the painful reflec- 
 tions I have put down. Poor things, I must get them kind 
 masters ! There mav be vet those who, lovinof me, may love 
 my dog because it has been mine. I must end these gloomy 
 forebodinofs, or I shall lose the tone of mind with which men 
 should meet distress. I feel my dogs' feet on my knees ; I 
 hear them whining, and seeking me everywhere." 
 
 He was fifty-four on the loth August of that year, and 
 spoke his last words — " God bless you all," — on the 21st 
 September, 1832; so ending seven years of death. 
 
 * Vol. vi., p. 164. 
 
 f Portion omitted short, and of no moment just now. I shall refei 
 to it afterwards. 
 
FOUS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 His youth, like the youth of all the greatest men, had been 
 long, and rich in peace, and altogether accumulative and 
 crescent. I count it to end with that pain which you see he 
 remembers to his dying day, given him by — Lilias Red- 
 gauntlet, in October, 1796. Whereon he sets himself to his 
 work, which goes on nobly for thirty years, lapping over a 
 little into the death-time* [Woodstock showing scarcely a 
 trace of diminution of power). 
 
 Count, therefore, thus: — 
 
 Youth, twenty-five years . . 1771 — 1796. 
 Labour-time, thirty years . . 1796 — 1826. 
 Death-time, seven years . . 1825 — 1832. 
 
 The great period of mid-life is again divided exactly in 
 the midst by the change of temper which made him accurate 
 instead of fantastic in delineation, and therefore habitually 
 write in prose rather than verse. The Lady of the Lake is 
 his last poem, (1810). Mokeby^ (1812) is a versified novel ; 
 the Lord of the Lsles is not so much. The steady legal and 
 historical work of 1810 — 1814, issuing in the Essay on 
 Scottish Judicature^ and the Life of Swift^ with prepara- 
 tion for his long-cherished purpose of an edition and Life 
 of Pope^\ ("the true deacon of the craft," as Scott often 
 called him,) confirmed, while they restrained and chastised, 
 his imaginative power ; and Waverley, (begun in 1805) was 
 completed in 1814. The apparently unproductive year of 
 accurate study, 1811, divides the thirty years of mid-life in 
 the precise centre, giving fifteen to song, and fifteen to his- 
 tory. 
 
 You may be surprised at my speaking of the novels as 
 history. But Scott's final estimate of his own work, given 
 in 1830, is a perfectly sincere and perfectly just one ; (re- 
 ceived, of course, with the allowance I have warned you al- 
 
 * The actual toil gone throngh by him is far greater during the last 
 years than before — in fact it is unceasing and mortal ; but I count only 
 as the true labour-time that which is healthy and fruitful. 
 
 t If my own life is spared a little longer, I can at least rescue Pope 
 from the hands of his present scavenger biographer; but alas, for 
 Scott's loving hand and noble thought, lost to him I 
 
42 
 
 FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 ways to make for his manner of reserve in expressing deep 
 feelings). He replied * tliat in what he had done for 
 Scotland as a writer, he was no more entitled to the merit 
 which had been ascribed to him than the servant who scours 
 the brasses to the credit of having made them ; that he had 
 perhaps been a good housemaid to Scotland, and given the 
 country a 'rubbing up;' and in so doing might have de- 
 served some praise for assiduity, and that was all." Dis- 
 tinguish, however, yourselves, and remember that Scott 
 always tacitly distinguishes, between the industry which 
 deserves praise, and the love which disdains it. You do not 
 praise Old Mortality for his love to his people ; you praise 
 him for his patience over a bit of moss in a troublesome 
 corner. Scott is the Old Mortality, not of tables of stone, 
 but of the fleshly tables of the heart. 
 
 We address ourselves to-day, then, to begin the analy- 
 sis of the influences upon him during the first period of 
 twenty-five years, during which he built and filled the treas- 
 ure-house of his own heart. But this time of youth I must 
 again map out in minor detail, that we may grasp it clearly. 
 
 1. From birth to three years old. In Edinburgh, a sickly 
 child; permanent lameness contracted, 1771 — 1774. 
 
 2. Three years old to four. Recovers health at Sandy- 
 Knowe. The dawn of conscious life, 1774 — 1775. 
 
 3. Four years old to five. At Bath, with his aunt, pass- 
 ing through London on the way to it. Learns to read, and 
 much besides, 1775—1776. 
 
 4. Five years old to eight. At Sandy-Knowe. Pastoral 
 life in its perfectness forming his character : (an important 
 though short interval at Prestonpans begins his interest in 
 seashore), 1776—1779. 
 
 5. Eight years old to twelve. School life, under the Rec- 
 tor Adams, at High School of Edinburgh, with his aunt Janet 
 to receive him at Kelso, 1779—1783. 
 
 6. Twelve years old to fifteen. College life, broken by ill- 
 ness, his uncle Robert taking good care of him at Rosebank, 
 1783—1786. 
 
 ♦ To the speech of Mr. Baillie of Jerviswoode ; vol. vii., p. 321. 
 
FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 43 
 
 7. Fifteen to twenty-five. Apprenticeship to his father, 
 and law practice entered on. Study of human life, and of 
 various literature in Edinburgh. His first fee of any im- 
 portance expended on a silver taper-stand for his mother. 
 1786—1796. 
 
 You have thus * seven ages ' of his youth to examine, one 
 by one ; and this convenient number really comes out with- 
 out the least forcing ; for the virtual, though not formal, ap- 
 prenticeship to his father — happiest of states for a good son 
 —continues through all the time of his legal practice. I 
 only feel a little compunction at crowding the Prestonpans 
 time together with the second Sandy-Knowe time ; but the 
 former is too short to be made a period, though of infinite 
 importance to Scott's life. Hear how he writes of it,* re- 
 visiting the place fifty 3^ears afterwards : 
 
 " I knew the house of Mr. Warroch, where we lived," (see 
 where the name of the Point of Warroch in Guy Mariner- 
 ing comes from !) " I recollected my juvenile ideas of dig- 
 nity attendant on the large gate, a black arch which lets out 
 upon the sea. I saw the Links where I arranged my shells 
 upon the turf, and swam my little skiff in the pools. Many 
 recollections of my kind aunt — of old George Constable — of 
 Dalgetty " (you know that name also, don't you?), " a virt- 
 uous half-pay lieutenant, who swaggered his solitary walk 
 on the parade, as he called a little open space before the 
 same port." (Before the black arch, Scott means, not the 
 harbour.) And he falls in love also there, first — as chil- 
 dren love." 
 
 And now we can begin to count the rosary of his youth, 
 bead by bead, 
 
 1st period — From birth to three years old. 
 
 I have hitherto said nothing to you of his father or mother, 
 nor shall I yet, except to bid you observe that they had been 
 thirteen years married when Scott was born ; and that his 
 mother was the daughter of a physician, Dr. Rutherford, 
 who had been educated under Boerhaave. This fact might 
 be carelessly passed by you in reading Lockhart ; but if you 
 
 ♦ Vol.vii.,p. 218. 
 
44 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 will take the pains to look through Johnson's life of Boer- 
 haave, you will see how perfectly pure and beautiful and 
 strong every influence was, which, from whatever distance, 
 touched the early life of Scott. 1 quote a sentence or two 
 from Johnson's closing account of Dr. Rutherford's master : — 
 
 There was in his air and motion something rough and 
 artless, but so majestic and great at the same time, that no 
 man ever looked upon him without veneration, and a kind of 
 tacit submission to the superiority of his genius. The vigour 
 and activity of his mind sparkled visibly in his eyes, nor was 
 it ever observed that any change of his fortune, or altera- 
 tion in his affairs, whether happy or unfortunate, affected 
 his countenance. 
 
 " His greatest pleasure was to retire to his house in the 
 country, where he had a garden stored with all the herbs 
 and trees which the climate would bear ; here he used to 
 enjoy his hours unmolested, and prosecute his studies with- 
 out interruption.'* * 
 
 The school of medicine in Edinburgh owed its rise to this 
 man, add it was by his pupil Dr. Rutherford's advice, as we 
 saw, that the infant Walter's life was saved. His mother 
 could not nurse him, and his first nurse had consumption. 
 
 * Not to break awaj from my text too long, I add one or two far- 
 ther points worth notice, here : — 
 
 *'Boerhaave lost none of his hours, but when he had attained one 
 science attempted another. He added physick to divinity, chemistry 
 to the mathematicks, and anatomy to botany. 
 
 He knew the importance of his own writings to mankind, and lest 
 he might, by a roughness and barbarity of style too frequent among 
 men of great learning, disappoint his own intentions, and make his 
 labours less useful, he did not neglect the politer arts of eloquence 
 and poetry. Thus was his learning at once various and exact, profound 
 and agreeable. 
 
 But his knowledge, however uncommon, holds in his character but 
 the second place ; his virtue was yet much more uncommon than his 
 learning. 
 
 " Being once asked by a friend, who had often admired his patience 
 under great provocations, whetber he knew what it was to be angry 
 and by what means he had so entirely suppressed that impetuous and 
 ungovernable passion, he answered, with the utmost frankness and sin- 
 cerity, that he was naturally quick of resentment, but that he had, by 
 daily prayer and meditation, at length attained to this mastery over 
 himself. » 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 45 
 
 To this, and the close air of the wynd, must be attributed 
 the strength of the childish fever which took away the use 
 of the right limb when he was eighteen months old. How 
 many of your own children die, think you, or are wasted 
 with sickness, from the same causes, in our increasing 
 cities ? Scott's lameness, however, we shall find, was, in the 
 end, like every other condition of his appointed existence, 
 helpful to him. 
 
 A letter from my dear friend. Dr. John Brown,* corrects 
 (to my great delight) a mistake about George's Square I 
 made in my last letter. It is not in the New Town, but in 
 what was then a meadow district, sloping to the south from 
 old Edinburgh ; and the air of it would be almost as healthy 
 for the child as that of the open country. But the change 
 to George's Square, thouiarh it checked the illness, did not 
 restore the use of the limb ; the bov wanted exercise as well 
 as air, and Dr. Rutherford sent him to his other grandfather's 
 farm. 
 
 II. 1774—1775. The first year at Sandy-Knowe. In this 
 year, note first his new nurse. The child had a maid sent 
 with him to prevent his being an inconvenience to the family. 
 This maid had left her heart behind her in Edinburgh (ill 
 trusted),f and went mad in the solitude ; — " tempted by the 
 devil," she told Alison Wilson, the liousekeeper, "to kill the 
 child and bury it in the moss.'' 
 
 " Alison instantly took possession of my person," says 
 Scott. And there is no more said of Alison in the auto- 
 biography. 
 
 But what the old larin-housekeeper must have been to the 
 child, is told in the most finished piece of all the beautiful 
 story of Old Mortality, Among his many beautifully in* 
 vented names, here is one not invented — very dear to him. 
 
 ' I wish to speak an instant with one Alison Wilson, who 
 resides here,' said Henry. 
 
 * She's no at hame the day,' answered Mrs. Wilson in 
 propria persona — the state of whose headdress perhaps in- 
 spired her with this direct mode of denying herself — 'and 
 
 ^ See terminal notes. f Autobiography, p. 15. 
 
46 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIOERA. 
 
 ye are but a mislear'd person to speer for her in sic a manner. 
 Ye might have had an M under your belt for Mistress Wilson 
 of Milnwood.' " Read on, if you forget it, to the end, that 
 third chapter of the last vohime of Old Mortality. The 
 story of such return to the home of childhood has been told 
 often; but never, so far as I have knowledge, so exquisitely. 
 I do not doubt that Elphin's name is from Sandy-Knowe 
 also; but cannot trace it. 
 
 Secondly, note his grandfathers' medical treatment of 
 him; for both his grandfathers were physicians, — Dr. Ruth- 
 erford, as we have seen, so professed, by whose advice he is 
 sent to Sandy-Knowe. There, his cattle-dealing grandfather, 
 true physician by diploma of Nature, orders him, whenever 
 the day is fine, to be carried out and laid down beside the 
 old shepherd among the crags or rocks around which he fed 
 his sheep. "The impatience of a child soon inclined me to 
 struggle with my infirmity, and I began by degrees to stand, 
 to walk, and to run. Although the limb affected was much 
 shrunk and contracted, my general health, which was of 
 more importance, was much strengthened by being fre- 
 quently in the open air; and, in a word, I, loho in a city had 
 probably been coyidemned to hopeless and helpless decrepitude^ 
 (italics mine,) was now a healthy, high-spirited, and, my 
 lameness apart, a sturdy child, — non sine dis animosus in- 
 fans." 
 
 This, then, is the beginning of Scott's conscious existence, 
 — laid down beside the old shepherd, among the rocks, and 
 among the sheep. " He delighted to roll about in the grass 
 all day long in the midst of the flock, and the sort of fellow- 
 siiip he formed with the sheep and lambs impressed his mind 
 with a decree of affectionate feelino- towards them which 
 lasted throughout life." * 
 
 Such cradle, and such companionship, Heaven gives its 
 favourite children. 
 
 In 1837, two of the then maid-servants of Sandy-Knowe 
 were still living in its neighbourhood ; one of them, " Tibby 
 
 *His own words to, Mr. Skene of Rubislaw, vol. 1, p. 88, spoken while 
 Turner v/as sketching Smailhclm Tower, vol. vii. , p. 302« 
 
FORS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 47 
 
 Hunter, remembered the child Scott's coming, well. The 
 young ewe-milkers delighted, she says, to carry him about 
 on their backs among the crags ; and he was * very gleg 
 (quick) at the uptak, and soon kenned every sheep and lamb 
 by head-mark as well as any of them.' His great pleasure, 
 however, was in the society of the * aged hind' recorded in 
 the epistle to Erskine. * Auld Sandy Ormistoun,' called, 
 from the most dignified part of his function, *the cow-bailie,' 
 had the chief superintendence of the flocks that browsed 
 upon 'the velvet tufts of loveliest green.' \i the child saw 
 him in the morning, he could not be satisfied unless the old 
 man would set him astride on his shoulder, and take him to 
 keep him company, as he lay watching his charge. 
 
 The cow-bailie blew a particular note on his whistle 
 which signified to the maid-servants in the house below 
 when the little boy wished to be carried home again." 
 
 " Every sheep and lamb by head-mark ; " — that is our first 
 lesson; not an easy one, you will find it, if you try the flock 
 of such a farm. Only yesterday (I2th July, 1873,) I saw the 
 dairy of one half filled witli the ' berry-bread' (large flat-baked 
 cakes enclosing layers of gooseberries) prepared by its mis- 
 tress for her shearers ; — the flock being some six or seven 
 hundred, on Coniston Fells. 
 
 That is our first lesson, then, very utterly learned 'by 
 heart.' This is our second, (marginal note on Sir Walter's 
 copy of Allan Ramsay's Tea-tahle Miscellany^ ed. 1724): 
 "This book belonged to my grandfather, Robert Scott, and 
 out of it I was taught ' Hardiknute * by heart before I could 
 read the ballad myself. It was the first poem I ever learnt, 
 the last I shall ever forget." * He repeated a great part of 
 it, in the forests of La Cava, in -the spring of the year in 
 
 ^ The Ballad of Hardiknute is only a fragment — but one consisting 
 of forty-two stanzas of eight lines each. It is the only heroic poem in 
 the MisceUany of which— and of the poem itself — more hereafter. The 
 first four lines are ominous of Scott's own life ; — 
 
 Stately stept he East the wa', 
 
 And stately stept he West ; 
 Full seventy years he now had seen, 
 
 With scarce seven years of rest." 
 
48 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 which he died ; and above the lake Avernus, a piece of the 
 sons: of the ewe-milkers : — 
 
 •* Up the craggy mountain, and down the mossy glen, 
 We canna' go a-milking, for Charlie and his men." 
 
 These I say, then, are to be your first lessons. The love, 
 and care, of simplest living creatures ; and the remembrance 
 and honour of the dead, with the workmanship for them oi 
 fair tombs of song. 
 
 The Border district of Scotland was at this time, of all 
 districts of the inhabited world, pre-eminently the singing 
 country, — that which most naturally expressed its noble 
 thoughts and passions in song. 
 
 The easily traceable reasons for this character are, I think, 
 the following ; (many exist, of course, untraceably). 
 
 First, distinctly pastoral life, giving the kind of leisure 
 which, in all ages and countries, solaces itself with simple 
 music, if other circumstances are favourable, — that is to 
 say, if the summer air is mild enough to allow repose, 
 and the race has imagination enough to give motive to 
 verse. 
 
 The Scottish Lowland air is, in summer, of exquisite clear- 
 ness and softness, — the heat never so great as to destroy 
 energy, and the shepherd's labour not severe enough to oc- 
 cupy wholly either mind or body. A Swiss herd may have 
 to climb a hot ravine for thousands of feet, or cross a diffi- 
 cult piece of ice, to rescue a lamb, or lead his flock to an iso- 
 lated pasture. But the borderer's sheep-path on the heath 
 is, to his strong frame, utterly without labour or danger ; 
 he is free-hearted and free-footed all the summer day long ; 
 in winter darkness and snow finding yet enough to make him 
 grave and stout of heart. 
 
 Secondly, the soldier's life, passing gradually, not in cow- 
 ardice or under foreign conquest, but by his own increasing 
 kindness and sense, into that of the shepherd ; thus, without 
 humiliation, leaving the war-wounded past to be recalled for 
 its sorrow and its fame. 
 
FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 49 
 
 Third!}, the e^itreme sadness of that past itself : giving 
 pathos and awe to all the imagery and power of Nature. 
 
 Fourthly, (this a merely physical cause, yet a very 
 notable one,) the beauty of the sound of Scottish streams. 
 
 I know no other waters to be compared with them ; — such 
 streams can only exist under very subtle concurrence of rock 
 and climate. There must be much soft rain, not (habitually) 
 tearing the hills down with floods ; and the rocks must break 
 irregularly and jaggedly. Our English Yorkshire shales and 
 limestones merely form — carpenter-like — tables and shelves 
 for the rivers to drip and leap from ; while the Cumberland 
 and Welsh rocks break too boldly, and lose the multiplied 
 chords of musical sound. Farther, the loosely-breaking rock 
 must contain hard pebbles, to give the level shore of white 
 shingle, through which the brown water may stray wide, in 
 rippling threads. The fords even of English rivers have 
 given the names to half our prettiest towns and villages ; — 
 (the difference between ford and bridge curiously — if one 
 may let one's fancy loose for a moment — characterizing the 
 difference between the baptism of literature, and the edifica- 
 tion of mathematics, in our two great universities) ; — but 
 the pure crystal of the Scottish pebbles,* giving the stream 
 its gradations of amber to the edge, and the sound as of 
 " ravishing division to the lute," make the Scottish fords the 
 happiest pieces of all one's day walk. " The farm-house it- 
 self was small and poor, with a common kailyard on one flank, 
 and a staring barn of the doctor's (* Douglas*) erection on the 
 other ; while in front appeared a filthy pond, covered with 
 ducks and duckweed, f from which the whole tenement liad 
 derived the unharmonious designation of ' Clarty Hole.' But 
 the Tweed was everything to him : a beautiful river, flowing 
 
 * Lockhart, in the extract just below, calls them milk-white.'* Thia 
 is exactly right of the pale bluish translucent quartz, in which the 
 a<jatescent veins are just traceable, and no more, out of the trap rocks; 
 but the gneissitic hills give also exquisitely brilliant pure white and 
 cream-coloured quartz, rolled out of their vein stones. 
 
 f With your pardon, Mr. Lockhart, neither ducks nor duckweed are 
 in the least derogatory to the purity of a pool. 
 Vol. II.— 4 
 
50 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 broad and bright over a bed of milk-white pebbies, unless 
 where, here and there, it darkened into a deep pool, over 
 hung as yet only by the birches and alders which had sur- 
 vived the statelier growth of the primitive forest ; and the 
 first hour that he took possession he claimed for his farm the 
 name of the adjoining ford."* With the murmur^ whisper, 
 and low fall of these streamlets, unmatched for mystery aiid 
 sweetness, we must remember also the variable, but seldom 
 wild, thrilling of the wind among the recesses of the glens ; 
 and, not least, the need of relief from the monotony of 
 occupations involving some rhythmic measure of the beat 
 of foot or hand, during the long evenings at the hearth- 
 side. 
 
 In the rude lines describing such passing of hours quoted 
 by Scott in his introduction to the Border Minstrelsy ^ \ you 
 find the grandmother spinning, with her stool next the 
 hearth, — "for she was old, and saw right dimly " (fire-light, 
 observe, all that was needed even then ;) " she spins to make 
 a web of good Scots linen," (can you show such now, from 
 your Glasgow mills?) The father is pulling hemp (or beat- 
 ing it). The only really beautiful piece of song which 1 
 heard at Verona, during several months' stay there in 1869, 
 was the low chant of girls unwinding the cocoons of the 
 silkworm, in the cottages among the olive-clad hills on the 
 north of the city. Never any in the streets of it ; — there, 
 only insane shrieks of Republican populace, or senseless 
 dance-music, played by operatic-military bands. 
 
 And one of the most curious points connected with the 
 study of Border-life is this connection of its power of song 
 either with its industry or human love, but never with the 
 religious passion of its " Independent " mind. The definite 
 subject of the piper or minstrel being always war or love, 
 (peasant love as much honoured as the proudest,) his feeling 
 is steadily antagonistic to Puritanism ; and the discordance 
 
 * Vol. ii., p. 358; compare ii., TO. *' If it peemed possible to 
 scramble through, he scorned to go ten yards about, and in fact pre- 
 ferred the ford," etc. 
 
 t 8vo, 1806, p. 119. 
 
FORS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 61 
 
 of Scottish modern psalmody is as unexampled among civil- 
 ized nations as the sweetness of their ballads — shepherds' or 
 ploughmen's (the plough and pulpit coming into fatalest op- 
 position in Ayrshire) ; so that Wandering Willie must, as a 
 matter of course, head the troop of Redgauntlet's riotous 
 fishermen with Merrily danced the Quaker's wife." And 
 see Wandering Willie's own description of his gudesire : 
 " A rambling, rattling chiel he had been, in his young days, 
 and could play weel on the pipes ; — he was famous at 
 * Hoopers and Girders ;' a' Cumberland could not touch him 
 at * Jockie Lattin ; ' and he had the Hnest finger for the back- 
 lilt between Berwick and Carlisle ; — the like o' Steenie was 
 na the sort they made Whigs o'." And yet, to this Puritan 
 element, Scott owed quite one of the most noble conditions 
 of his mental life. 
 
 But it is of no use trying to get on to his aunt Janet in 
 this letter, for there is yet one thing I have to explain to you 
 before I can leave you to meditate, to purpose, over that 
 sorrowful piece of Scott's diary with which it began. 
 
 If you had before any thoughtful acquaintance with his 
 general character, or with his writings, but had not studied 
 this close of his life, you cannot but iiave read with surprise, 
 in the piece of the diary I quoted, the recurring sentences 
 showing the deep wounds of his pride. Your impression of 
 him was, if thoughtfully received, that of a man modest and 
 self-forgetful, even to error. Yet, very evidently, the bitterest 
 pain under his fallen fortune is felt by his pride. 
 
 Do you fancy the feeling is only by chance so strongly ex- 
 pressed in that passage ? 
 
 It is dated 18th December. Now read this : — 
 
 February 5t/i, 1826. — Missie was in the drawing-room, 
 and overheard William Clerk and me laughing excessively 
 at some foolery or other in the back room, to her no small 
 surprise, which she did not keep to herself. But do people 
 suppose that he was less sorry for his poor sister, or I for my 
 lost fortune ? If I have a very strong passion in the world, 
 it is pride ; and that never hinged upon world's gear, which 
 was always, with me — Light come, light go." 
 
52 
 
 FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 You will not at first understand the tone of this last piece 
 in which two currents of thought run counter, or, at least, 
 one with a back eddy ; and you may think Scott did not 
 know himself, and that his strongest passion was not pride ; 
 and that he did care for world's gear. 
 
 Not so, good reader. Never allow your own conceit lo 
 betray you into that extremest folly of thinking that you 
 can know a great man better than he knows himself. Ho 
 may not often wear his heart on his sleeve for you ; but 
 when he does, depend upon it, he lets you see deep, and see 
 true. 
 
 Scott's ruling passion loas pride ; but it was nobly set — 
 on his honour, and his courage, and his quite conscious in- 
 tellectual power. The apprehended loss of honour, — the 
 shame of what he thinks in himself cowardice, — or the fear 
 of failure in intellect, are at any time overwhelming to him. 
 But now, he felt that his honour was safe ; his courage was, 
 even to himself, satisfying ; his sense of intellectual power 
 undiminished ; and he had therefore recovered some peace 
 of mind, and power of endurance. The evils he could not 
 iiave borne, and lived, have not been inflicted on him, and 
 could not be. He can laugh again with his friend ; — *'but 
 do people suppose that he was less sorry for his poor sister, 
 or I for my lost fortune ? " 
 
 What is this loss, then, which he is grieving for — as for a 
 lost sister ? Not world's gear, " which was always, with me, 
 Light come, light go." 
 
 Somethino: far other than that. 
 
 Read but these three short sentences more,* out of the 
 entries in December and January : — 
 
 My heart clings to the place I have created : there is 
 scarce a tree on it that does not owe its being to me." 
 
 " Poor Will Laidlaw — poor Tom Purdie — such news will 
 wring your hearts ; and many a poor fellow besides, to whom 
 my prosperity was daily bread." 
 
 I have walked my last on the domains I have planted, 
 sate the last time in the halls I have built. But death would 
 
 ♦ Vol. vii., pp. 164, 166, 196. 
 
FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 53 
 
 have taken them from me if misfortune had spared them. — 
 My poor people, whom I loved so well ! " 
 
 Nor did they love him less. You know that his house was 
 left to him, and that his " poor people " served him until his 
 death — or theirs. Hear now how they served. 
 
 "The butler," says Lockhart, visiting Abbotsford in 1827. 
 "instead of being the easy chief of a large establishment, 
 was now doing half the work of the house, at probably half 
 his former wages. Old Peter, who had been for five-and- 
 twenty years a dignified coachman, was now plougliman-in- 
 ordinary, only putting his horses to the carriage upon high 
 and rare occasions ; and so on with all the rest that re- 
 mained of the ancient tj^ain. And all, to my view, seemed 
 happier than they had ever done before. Their good con- 
 duct had given every one of them a new elevation in liis own 
 mind ; and yet their demeanour had gained, in place of 
 losing, in simple humility of observance. The great loss was 
 that of William Laidlaw, for whom (the estate being all but 
 a fragment in the liands of the trustees and their agent) there 
 was now no occupation here. The cottage which his taste 
 had converted into a loveable retreat had found a rent-pay- 
 ing tenant ; and he was living a dozen miles off, on the farm 
 of a relation in the Vale of Yarrow. Every week, however, 
 he came down to have a ramble with Sir Walter over their 
 old haunts, to hear how the pecuniary atmosphere was dark- 
 ening or brightening, and to read, in every face at Abbots- 
 ford, that it could never be itself again until circumstances 
 should permit his re-establishment at Kaeside. 
 
 " All this warm and respectful solicitude must have had 
 a preciously soothing influence on the mind of Scott, who 
 may be said to have lived upon love. No man cared less 
 about popular admiration and applause ; but for the least 
 chill on the affection of anv near and dear to him, he had 
 the sensitiveness of a maiden. I cannot forget, in partic- 
 ular, how his eyes sparkled when he first pointed out to me 
 Peter Mathieson guiding the plough on the haugh. * Egad,' 
 said he, * auld Pepe ' (this was the children's name for their 
 good friend), 'auld Pepe's whistling at his darg. The hon- 
 est fellow said a yoking in a deep field would do baith him 
 and the blackies good. If things get round with me, easy 
 shall be Pepe's cushion.' " 
 
 You see there is not the least question about striking for 
 
54 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIQEEA. 
 
 wages on the part of Sir Walter^s servants. The law of 
 supply and demand is not consulted, nor are their wages de- 
 termined by the great principle of competition — so rustic and 
 absurd are they ; not but that they take it on them some- 
 times to be masters instead of servants : — 
 
 March 21. — Wrote till twelve, then out upon the 
 heights, and faced the gale bravely. Tom Purdie was not 
 with me ; he ivould have obliged me to keep the sheltered 
 ground,^'' * 
 
 You are well past all that kind of thing, you think, and 
 know better how to settle the dispute between Capital and 
 Labour. 
 
 " What has that to do with domestic servants ? " do you 
 ask ? You think a house with a tall chimney, and two or 
 three hundred servants in it, is not properly a house at all ; 
 that the sacred words, Domus, Duomo, cannot be applied to 
 it ; and that Giotto, would have refused to build a Buzzino- 
 Tower, by way of belfry, in Lancashire ? 
 
 Well, perhaps you are right. If you are merely unlucky 
 Williams — borrowing colossal planes — instead of true ser- 
 vants, it may well be that Pepe's own whistling at his darg 
 must be very impossible for you, only manufactured whist- 
 ling any more possible. Which are you ? Which will you 
 be? 
 
 I am afraid there is little doubt which you are ; — but there 
 is no doubt whatever which you would like to be, whether 
 you know your own minds or not. You will never whistle 
 at your dargs more, unless you are serving masters whom you 
 can love. You may shorten your hours of labour as much 
 as you please ; — no minute of them will be merry, till you 
 are serving truly : that is to say, until the bond of constant 
 relationship — service to death — is again established between 
 your masters and you. It has been broken by their sin, but 
 may yet be recovered by your virtue. All the best of you 
 cling to the least remnant or shadow of it. I heard but the 
 other day of a foreman, in a large house of business, dis- 
 
 * Vol. vii. p. 9. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 charged at a week's warning on account of depression in 
 trade, — who thereupon went to one of the partners, and 
 showed him a letter which he had received a year before, 
 ofTering him a situation with an increase of his salary by 
 more than a third ; which offer he had refused without so 
 much as telling his masters of its being made to him, that he 
 might stay in the old house. He was a Scotchman — and 1 
 am glad to tell the story of his fidelity with that of Pepe 
 and Tom Purdie. I know not how it may be in the south ; 
 but I know that in Scotland, and the northern Border, there 
 still remains something of the feeling which fastened the 
 old French word ' loial ' among the dearest and sweetest of 
 their familiar speech ; and that there are some souls yet 
 among them, who, alike in labour or in rest, abide in, or will 
 depart to, the Land of the Leal. 
 
 ** Sire, moult meplaist vostre escdle 
 Et vo liable comeil loial^ 
 Ne du trespasser iVay entente; 
 Sans lui iCaray ne hien ne mat. 
 Amours ce vovloir me presente, 
 
 Qui veult que tout mon appareU 
 S&it mis d servir soir et main 
 Loiaute^ et moult me m^i'veil 
 Comment Tioms a le cucr si min 
 Qu^ii a dfausette reclaim,** 
 
 I 
 
S6 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGEEA. 
 
 NOTES AND COERESPONDENCE. 
 
 I HAVE been making not a few mistakes in Fors lately ; and, indeed, 
 am careless enough in it, not solicitous at all to avoid mistakes ; for be- 
 ing entirely sure of my main ground, and entirely honest in purpose, I 
 know that I cannot make any mistake which will invalidate my work, 
 and that any chance error which the third Fors may appoint for me, ia 
 often likely to bring out, in its correction, more good than if I had 
 taken the pains to avoid it. Here, for instance, is Dr. Brown's letter, 
 which I should not have had, but for my having confused George's 
 Street with George's Square, and having too shortly generalised my 
 experience of modern novel readers ; and it tells me, and you, some- 
 thing about Scott and Dickens which is of the greatest use. 
 
 My dear Friend, — I am rejoiced to see you upon Scott. It will be 
 a permanent good, your having broken this ground. But you are wrong 
 in two things — George's Square is not in the detestable New Town, ili 
 is to the south of the very Old Town, and near the Meadows. 
 
 Then you say 'nobody now will read them' (Miss Edge worth and 
 Sir Walter), She is less read than I think she should be, but he is 
 enormously read — here and in America. 
 
 In the twelve months ending June, 187;3, Adam Black and his soni 
 have sold over 250,000 Waverleys, and 1 know that when Dickens— 
 that great master of fun and falsetto — went last to America, and there? 
 was a fury for him and his books, the sale of them only touched for a 
 short time the ordinary sale of the Scott Novels, and subsided im- 
 mensely, soon, the Scotts going steadily on increasing. Our young 
 * genteel ' girls and boys, I fear, don't read them as the same class did 
 thirty years ago, but the readers of them, in the body of the people, 
 are immense, and you have only to look at the four or five copies of th(r 
 whole set in our public libraries to see how they are being read. That 
 is a beautiful drawing of Chantrey's, and new tome, — very like, having 
 the simple, childlike look which he had. The skull is hardly high 
 enough." 
 
 A subsequent letter tells me that Dinlay is a big hill in Liddesdale ; 
 and enclosed (search for it being made) the tune of ''Sour Plums in 
 Galashiels," of which I will only at present bid you farther observe that 
 it is the first touch of the auld breadwinner" that Wandering Willie 
 plays to Darsie. 
 
 Another valued correspondent reminds me that people might get hold 
 
F0R8 GLAVIOERA. 
 
 57 
 
 of my having spoken, a good many numbers back, of low sunshine at 
 six o'clock on an October morning; " and truly enough it must have 
 been well on towards seven. 
 
 A more serious, but again more profitable, mistake, was made in the 
 June Fors^ by the correspondent (a working man) who sent me the ex- 
 amination paper, arranged from a Kensington one, from which I 
 quoted the four questions, — who either did not know, or did nob 
 notice, the difference between St. Matthew and St. Matthias. The 
 paper had been set in the schools of St. Matthew, and the chairman 
 of the committee of the schools of St. Matthias wrote to me in violent 
 indignation — little thinking how greatly pleased I should be to hear 
 of any school in which Kensington questions were not asked, — or if 
 asked, were not likely to be answered. 
 
 I find even that the St. Matthias children could in all probability answer 
 the questions I proposed as alternative, — for they have liower shows, 
 and prizes presented by Bishops, and appear to be quite in an exem- 
 plary phase of education : all of which it is very pleasant to me to 
 learn. (Apropos of the equivoque between St. 3Iatlhew and St. 
 Matthias, another correspondent puts me in mind of the promise I 
 made to find out for you who St. Pancras was. I did ; but did not 
 much care to tell you — for I had put him with St. Paul only because 
 both their names began with P ; and found that he was an impertinent 
 youth of sixteen, who ought to have been learning to ride and swim, 
 and took to theology instead, and was made a martyr of, and had that 
 mock-Greek church built to his Christian honour in Mary-le-bone. I 
 have no respect whatever for boy or girl martyrs ; — we old men know 
 the value of the dregs of life : but young people will throw the whole 
 of it away for a freak, or in a pet at losing a toy.) 
 
 I suppose I shall next have a fiery letter abjuring Kensington from 
 the committee of the schools of St. Matthew : — nothing could possibly 
 give me greater pleasure. I did not, indeed, intend for some time to 
 give you any serious talk about Kensington, and then I meant to give 
 it yoa in large print — and at length ; but as this matter has been 
 * forced ' upon me (note the power of the word Fors in the first syllable 
 of that word) I will say a word or two now. 
 
 I have lying beside me on my table, in a bright orange cover, the 
 seventh edition of the ^ Young Mechanic's Instructor; or, Workman's 
 Guide to the various Arts connected wnth the Building Trades ; showing 
 how to strike out all kinds of Arches and Gothic Points, to set out and 
 construct Skew Bridges ; with numerous Illustrations of Foundations, 
 Sections, Elevations, etc. Receipts, Rules, and Instructions in the art 
 of Casting, Modelling, Carving, Gilding, Dyeing, Staining, Polishing, 
 Bronzing, Lacquering, Japanning, Enamelling, Gasfitting, Plumbing, 
 Glazing, Painting, etc. Jew.^ller's Secrets, Miscellaneous Receipts, 
 Useful Tables, etc., and a variety of useful information designed spe« 
 
58 
 
 FORS CLAVIOEBA. 
 
 cially for the Working Mechanic. — London : Brodie and Middleton, 79, 
 Long Acre ; and all Booksellers in Town and Country. Price, 2s. M/ 
 From pages 11, 20, and 21 of the introduction to this work, 1 
 quote the following observations on St. Paul's, the Nineveh sculptures, 
 and the Houses of Parliament. 
 
 I. OF ST. PAUL'S. 
 
 *• Since London was first built, which we are led to believe was 
 about the year 50, by the E-omans, there has not been a more magnifi- 
 cent building erected in it than St. Paul's— this stupendous edifice 
 which absorbs the attention, and strikes with wonder all who behold 
 it, was founded by Ethelbert, the fifih King of Kent, in the year 604 
 A.D. And it is certain that since the completion of this building suc- 
 ceeding generations have made no progress in the construction of public 
 buildings." 
 
 II. OF THE NINEVEH SCULPTURES. 
 
 *' There is one feature in the Nineveh sculptures which most beau- 
 tifully illustrates and corroborates the truth of the Scriptures ; any per- 
 son who has carefully read the Scriptures and has seen the Nineveh 
 sculptures, cannot fail to see the beautiful illustration ; it will be remem- 
 bered that the king is spoken of in many places as riding in his char- 
 iot, and of the king's armour-bearer following him to the battle. In 
 the Nineveh sculptures you will see the fact exemplified — the king in 
 his chariot, and his armour-bearer defending him with his shield." 
 
 IIL OF THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT. 
 
 Of all the Gothic buildings that we have in our country, both of 
 ancient and modern date, the Houses of Parliament are the best and 
 most elaborate ; the first step of its grandeur is, that it stands parallel 
 to the majestic stream of the River Thames, and owing to its proximate 
 distance to the river, there is no thoroughfare between it and the 
 water ; its open situation gives it a sublime view from the opposite 
 side ; but especially from Westminster Bridge its aspect is grand and 
 magnificent in the extreme. Its superb tracery glitters in the distance, 
 in the sight of the spectator, like the yellow autumnal foliage of some 
 picturesque grove, which beautifies the verdant valleys and bedecks 
 the silvery hills. The majestic figures in their stately order, encan- 
 opied in their Gothic palaces, bring to our remembrance the noble pa- 
 triarchs of old, or the patriots of recent days. Its numerous pinnacles, 
 turrets, and towers, rise up into the smoky and blue atmosphere like 
 forest trees, which will stand as an everlasting memento of the great 
 and noble-minded generation who raised this grand and magnificent 
 structure, so that after-generations may say, ' Surely our forefathers 
 were great and illustrious men, that they had reached the climax 
 of human skill, so that we cannot improve on their superb and princely 
 buildings.' " 
 
 These three extracts, though in an extreme degree, are absolutely 
 and accurately characteristic of the sort of mind, unexampled in any 
 
F0R8 GLAVIGEBA. 
 
 former ages for its conceit, its hypocrisy, and its sevenfold — or rather 
 seventy times sevenfold — ignorance, the dregs of corrupted knowl- 
 edge, which modern art- teaching, centralized by Kensington, produces 
 in our workmen and their practical ' guides.' How it is produced, and 
 how the torturing examinations as to the possible position of the let- 
 ters in the word Chillianwallah, and the collection of costly objects of 
 art from all quarters of the world, end in these conditions of fpara- 
 lysed brain and corrupted heart, I will show you at length in a future 
 letter. 
 
60 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 LETTER XXXIIL 
 
 1 FIND same of my readers are more interested in the last 
 two numbers of Foi^s than I want them to be. 
 
 "Give up your I^hrs altogether, and let us have a life of 
 Scott," they sa}^ 
 
 They must please to remember tliat T am only examining 
 the conditions of the life of this wise man, that they may 
 learn how to rule their own lives, or their children's, or their 
 servants' ; and, for the present, with this particular object, 
 that they may be able to determine, for themselves, whether 
 ancient sentiment, or modern common sense, is to be the 
 rule of life, and of service. 
 
 I beg them, therefore, to refer constantly to that sum- 
 mary of modern common sense given by Mr. Applegarth, 
 and quoted with due commendation by the Pall Mall Ga- 
 zeiie (above, XXYIIL, 407):— 
 
 " One piece of vigorous good sense enlivened the discus- 
 sion. It was uttered by Mr. Applegarth, who observed that 
 ^ no sentiment ought to be brought into the subject.'" 
 
 No sentiment, you observe, is to be brought into your do- 
 ing, or your whistling, according to Mr. Applegarth. 
 
 And the main purpose of Fors is to show you that there 
 is, sometimes, in weak natural whistling quite as much virtue 
 as in vigorous steam whistling. But it cannot show you 
 this without explaining what your darg, or 'doing,' is ^ 
 which cannot be shown merely by writing pleasant biogra- 
 phies. You are always willing enough to read lives, but 
 never willing to lead them. For instance, those few sen- 
 tences, almost casually given in last Fors, about the Scottish 
 rivers, have been copied, I see, into various journals, as if 
 they, at any rate, w^ere v/orth extract from the much useless 
 matter of my books. Scotchmen like to hear their rivers 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 61 
 
 talked about, it appears ! But when last I was up Huntly 
 Burn wav, there was no burn there. It had all been drawn 
 off to somebody's ^ works ; ' and it is painful for me, as au 
 author, to reflect that, "of all polluting liquids belonging to 
 this category (liquid refuse from manufactories), the dis- 
 charges from paper works are the most difficult to deal 
 with." 
 
 At Edinburgh there is a railroad station instead of tiie 
 North Loch ; the water of Leith is — well, one cannot say in 
 civilised company what it is ; f and at Linlithgow, of all tlie 
 palaces so fair, — built for a royal dwelling, etc., — the oil, 
 (paraffin,) floating on the streams, can be ignited, burning 
 with a large flame.J 
 
 My good Scottish friends, had you not better leave off 
 pleasing yourselves with descriptions of your rivers as they 
 were, and consider what your rivers are to be? For I cor- 
 rect my derivation of Clarty Hole too sorrowfully.§ It is 
 the Ford that is clarty now — not the Hole. 
 
 To return to our sentimental work, however, for a while. 
 I left in my last letter one or two of the most interesting 
 points in the first year at Sandy-Knovve unnoticed, because 
 I thought it best to give you, by comparison with each 
 other, some idea of the three women who, as far as educa- 
 tion could do it, formed the mind of Scott. His masters 
 only polished and directed it. His mother, grandmother, 
 and aunt welded the steel. 
 
 Hear first this of his mother. (Lockhart, vol. i., p. 78.) 
 
 " She had received, as became the daughter of an emi- 
 nently learned physician, the best sort of education then 
 bestowed on young gentlewomen in Scotland. The poet, 
 speaking of Mrs. Euphemia Sinclair, the mistress of the 
 school at which his mother was reared, to the ingenious 
 local antiquary, Mr. Robert Chambers, said that ahe must 
 
 * Fourth Report of Rivers Pollufion Commission, p. 52, 
 I See Analysis of Wator of Leith, the Foul Burn, and Pow Burn, 
 earae Report, p. 21. 
 
 :j:Samc Report; so also the River Almond, pp. 22-45. 
 § See terminal Notes. 
 
62 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 have been possessed of uncommon talents for education, as 
 all her young ladies were, in after-life, fond of reading, wrote 
 and spelled admirably, were well acquainted with history 
 and the belles lettres, without neglecting the more homely 
 duties of the needle and accompt-book, and perfectly well- 
 bred in society.' Mr. Chambers adds, 'Sir Walter further 
 communicated that his mother, and many others of Mrs. 
 Sinclair's pupils, were sent afterwards to be finished offhj 
 the Honourable Mrs. Ogilvie, a lady who trained her young 
 friends to a style of manners ^vhich would now be consid- 
 ered intolerably stiff.' Such was the effect of this early 
 training upon the mind of Mrs. Scott, that even when she 
 approached her eightieth year, she took as much care to 
 avoid touching her chair with her back, as if she had still 
 been under the stern eye of Mrs. Ogilvie." 
 
 You are to note in this extract three things. First, the 
 singular influence of education, given by a master or mis- 
 tress of real power. " All her young ladies " {all, Sir Wal- 
 ter ! do you verily mean this ?) fond of reading," and so 
 forth. 
 
 Well, I believe that, with slight exception, Sir Walter 
 did mean it. He seldom wrote, or spoke, in careless gener- 
 alisation. And I doubt not that it is truly possible, by first 
 insisting on a girl's really knowing how to read, and then 
 by allowing her very few books, and those absolutely whole- 
 some, — and not amusing ! — to give her a healthy appetite 
 for reading. Spelling, I had thought was impossible to 
 many girls ; but perhaps this is only because it is not early 
 enough made a point of : it cannot be learned late. 
 
 Secondly : T wish Mr. Chambers had given us Sir Walter's 
 words, instead of only the substance of what he "further 
 communicated." But you may safely gather what I want 
 you to notice, that Sir Walter attributes the essentials of 
 good breeding to the first careful and scholarly mistress ; 
 and only the formality, which he somewhat hesitatingly ap- 
 proves, to the finishing hand of Mrs. Ogilvie. He would 
 have paid less regard to the opinion of modern society on 
 such matters, had he lived to see our languid Paradise of 
 sofas and rocking-chairs. The beginning, and very nearly 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 6a 
 
 the end, of bodily education for a girl, is to make sure that 
 she can stand, and sit, upright ; the ankle vertical, and firm 
 as a marble shaft ; the waist elastic as a reed, and as unfa- 
 tiguable. I have seen my own mother travel from sunrise 
 to sunset, in a summer's day, without once leaning back in 
 the carriao^e. 
 
 Thirdly : The respectability belonging in those days to 
 the profession of a schoolmistress. In fact, I do not myself 
 think that any old lady can be respectable, unless she is one, 
 whether she be paid for her pupils or not. And to deserve 
 to be one, makes her Honourable at once, titled or un- 
 titled. 
 
 This much comes, then, of the instructions of Mrs. Sinclair 
 and Mrs. Ogilvie, and why should not all your daughters be 
 educated by Honourable Mrs. Ogilvies, and learn to spell, 
 and to sit upright ? Then they will all have sons like Sir 
 Walter Scott, you think ? 
 
 Not so, good friends. Miss Rutherford had not wholly 
 learned to sit upright from Mrs. Ogilvie. She had some 
 disposition of her own in that kind, dilTerent from the other 
 pupils, and taught in older schools. Look at the lines in the 
 Lay, where Conrad of Wolfenstein, 
 
 * ' lu humour highly crossed 
 About some steeds his band had lost, 
 High words to words succeeding still. 
 Smote with his gauntlet stout Hunthill ; 
 A hot and hardy Rutherford, 
 Whom men call Dickon Draw- the-S word. 
 Stem Rutherford right little said, 
 But bit his glove, and shook his head. — 
 A fortnight thence, in Inglewood, 
 Stout Conrad, cold and drenched in blood. 
 His bosom gored with many a wound, 
 Was by a woodman's lyme-dog * found ; 
 Unknown the manner of his death. 
 Gone was his brand, both sword and sheath ; 
 But ever from that time, 'twas said 
 That Dickon wore a Cologne blade.'* 
 
 * Blood-hound, liora ' lym,' Saxon for leash. 
 
64 
 
 FOBS GLAVIQERA. 
 
 Such the race, — such the school education, — of Scott'a 
 mother. Of her home education, you may judge by what 
 she herself said of her father to her son's tutor (whose ex- 
 quisitely grotesque letter, for the rest, vol. i., p. 108,) is 
 alone enough to explain Scott's inevitable future perception 
 of the weakness of religious egotism. 
 
 Mrs. Scott told me that, when prescribing for his pa- 
 tients, it was Dr. Rutherford's custom to offer up, at the 
 same time, a prayer for the accompanying blessing of heav- 
 en, — a laudable practice, in which, I fear, he has not been 
 generally imitated by those of his profession." 
 
 A very laudable practice indeed, good Mr. Mitchell ; per- 
 haps even a useful and practically eflicacious one, on occa- 
 sion ; at all events one of the last remains of noble Puritan- 
 ism, in its sincerity, among men of sound learning. 
 
 For Dr. Rutherford was also an excellent linguist, and, 
 according to the custom of the times, delivered his prelec- 
 tions to the students in Latin, (like the conversation in 
 Beardie's Jacobite Club). Nowadays, you mean to have no 
 more Latin talked, as I understand ; nor prayers said. Pills 
 — Morison's and others — can be made upon cheaper terms, 
 you think, — and be equally salutary ? 
 
 Be it so. In these ancient manners, however, Scott's 
 mother is brought up, and consistently abides ; doubtless, 
 having some reverence for the Latin tongue, and much faith 
 in the medicine of prayer ; — having had troubles about her 
 soul's safety also ; perhaps too solicitous, at one time, on 
 that point ; but being sure she has a soul to be solicitous 
 about, which is much ; obedient herself to the severest laws 
 of morality and life ; mildly and steadily enforcing them on 
 her children ; but naturally of light and happy temper, and 
 with a strong turn to study poetry and works of imagina- 
 tion, 
 
 I do not say anything of his father till w^e come to the ap- 
 prenticeship, — except only that he was no less devout than his 
 mother, and more formal. Of training which could be known 
 or remembered, neither he nor the mother give any to their 
 boy until after the Sandy-Knowe time. But how of the-un- 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 65 
 
 remembered training? When do you suppose the education 
 of a child begins ? At six months old it can answer smile 
 with smile, and impatience with impatience. It can observe, 
 enjoy, and suffer, acutely, and, in a measure, intelligently. 
 Do you suppose it makes no difference to it that the order 
 of the house is perfect and quiet, the faces of its father and 
 mother full of peace, their soft voices familiar to its ear, and 
 even those of strangers, loving ; or that it is tossed from 
 arm to arm, among hard, or reckless, or vain-minded persons, 
 in the gloom of a vicious household, or the confusion of a 
 gay one? The moral disposition is, I doubt not, greatly 
 determined in those first speechless years. I believe espe- 
 cially that quiet, and the withdrawal of objects likely to dis- 
 tract, by amusing, tlie child, so as to let it fix its attention 
 undisturbed on every visible least thing in its domain, is 
 essential to the formation of some of the best powers of 
 thought. It is chiefly to this quietude of his own home that 
 I ascribe the intense perceptiveness and memory of the three- 
 years'-old child at Sandy-Knowe ; for, observe, it is in that 
 first year he learns his Hardiknute ; by his aunt's lielp he 
 learns to read at Bath, and can cater for himself on his re- 
 turn. Of this aunt, and her mother, we must now know 
 what we can. You notice the difference which Scott him- 
 self indicates between the two : " My grandmother, who 
 was meekness itself, and my aunt, who was of a higher tem- 
 per." Yet his grandmother, Barbara Ilaliburton, was de- 
 scended from the so-called, in speciality of honor, * Standard- 
 bearer' of the Douglases; and Dryburgh Abbey was part 
 of her family's estate, they having been true servants to the 
 monks of it, once on a time. Here is a curious little piece 
 of lecture on the duties of master and servant, — Royal 
 Proclamation on the 8th of May, 1535, by James the Fifth : * 
 " Whereas we, having been advised, and knowing the said 
 gentlemen, the Halliburtons, to be letd and true honest men, 
 long servants unto the saide abbeye, for the saide landis, 
 stout men at armes, and goode borderers against Ingland ; 
 and doe therefore decree and ordaine, tliat tliey shall be re- 
 * Introductiou to Border Minstrelsy^ p. 86. 
 Vol. 11.-5 
 
66 
 
 FOBS CLAVIQERA. 
 
 possess'd, and bruik and enjoy the landis and steedings they 
 had of the said abbeye, i^aying the use and wonte : and that 
 they sail be goode servants to the said venerabil father, like 
 as they and their predecessours were to the said venerabil 
 father, and his predecessours, and he a good master to 
 them." The Abbot of Dryburgh, however, and others in 
 such high places, having thus misread their orders, and taken 
 on themselves to be masters instead of ministers, the Ref- 
 ormation took its course ; and Dryburgh claims allegiance 
 no more — but to its dead. 
 
 You notice the phrase, ''good borderers against England." 
 Lest I should have to put it off too long, I may as well, in 
 this place, let you know the origin of the tune which Scott s 
 uncle was so fond of. From the letter of one of his friends 
 to Dr. Brown I gratefully take the following passage : — 
 
 " In the fourteenth century some English riders were 
 slaking their thirst on the banks oi the Tweed, nearly op- 
 posite Cartley Hole, — now Abbotsford, — where wild plums 
 grew. The borderers came down upon them unexpectedly, 
 and annihilated them, driving some into the Tweed, at a 
 place called the Englishman's Dyke. The borderers accord- 
 ingly thought their surprise sourer fruit to the invaders than 
 the plums they went to pluck, and christened themselves by 
 the soubriquet of ' Sour Plums in Galashiels,' which gave a 
 text for the song and tune, and a motto for the arms of the 
 town of Galashiels." 
 
 There is something to think of for you, when next you 
 see the blackthorn blow, or the azure bloom spread on its, 
 bossed clusters oi fruit. I cannot find any of the words of 
 the song ; but one beautiful stanza of the ballad of Cos- 
 patrick may at least serve to remind you of the beauty of 
 the Border in its summer time : — 
 
 ** For to the greenwood I maun gae 
 To pu* the red rose and the slae, 
 To pu' the red rose and the thyme, 
 To deck my mother's bour and mine." 
 
 " Meekness itself," and yet possibly with some pride in 
 her also, this Barbara, with the ruins of her Dryburgh still 
 
FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 67 
 
 seen grey above the woods, from the tower at whose foot 
 her grandchild was playing. So short the space he had to 
 travel, when his lameness should be cured, — the end of all 
 travel already in sight ! 
 
 Some pride in her, perhaps : you need not be surprised 
 lier grandchild should have a little left. 
 
 " Many a tale" (she told him) "of Watt of Harden, Wight 
 Willie of Aikwood (Oakwood), Jamie Tellfer of the fair 
 Dodhead, and other heroes — merry men, all of the persuasion 
 and calling of Robin Hood and Little Joiin. A more recent 
 hero, but not of less note, was the celebrated De'il of Little 
 Dean, whom she well remembered, as he had married her 
 mother's sister. Of this extraordinary person I learned 
 many a story — grave and gay, comic and warlike " — (dearest, 
 meek, grandmamma !) 
 
 " Two or three old books which lay in the window-seat 
 were explored for my amusement in the tedious winter 
 days. Aittomathes * and Ramsay's Tea-table Miscellany 
 were my favourites, although, at a later period, an odd 
 volume of Josephus's Wars of the Jexcs divided my par- 
 tiality." 
 
 " Two or three old books in the window-seat," and "an odd 
 volume of Josephus." How entertaining our farm library ! 
 (with the Bible, you observe ;) and think how^ much matters 
 have changed for the better : your package down from Mu- 
 die's monthly, with all the new magazines, and a dozen of 
 novels ; Good Words — as many as you choose, — and Pro- 
 fessor Tyndall's last view^s on the subject of the Regelation 
 of Ico. (Respecting w'hich, for the sake of Scott's first love, 
 and for the sake also of mv own first love — which was of 
 snow, even more than water, — I have a few words to say to 
 Professor Tyndall, but they must be for next month, as they 
 will bitterly interrupt our sentimental proceedings.) 
 
 * " The Capacity and Extent of the Human Undemtaiicling ; exempli- 
 fied in the extraordinary case of Automathes, a young nobleman who 
 was accidentally left in his infancy upon a desolate island, and con 
 tinned nineteen years in that solitary state, separate from all human 
 society. ' By John Kirkby. 1745. Small 8vo. 
 
68 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 Nay — with your professional information that when ice 
 breaks you can stick it together again, you have also im- 
 aginative literature of the rarest. Here — instead of Ram- 
 say's Tea-table Miscellany, with its Hardiknute and other 
 ballads of softer tendency, — some of them not the best of 
 their kind, I admit, — here you have Mr. Knatchbull-Hugues- 
 sen, M.P.'s, Tales at Tea-timey^ dedicated to the schoolroom 
 teapot, in which the first story is of the " Pea Green Nose," 
 and in which (opening at random) I find it related of some 
 Mary of our modern St. Mary's Lochs, that " Mary stepped 
 forward hastily, when one of the lobsters sprang forward, 
 and seized her arm in his claw, saying, in a low, agitated 
 tone of voice," etc. etc. 
 
 You were better off, little as you think it, with that poor 
 library on the window-seat. Your own, at worst, though 
 much fingered and torn ; — your own mentally, still more ut- 
 terly ; and though the volume be odd, do you think that, by 
 any quantity of reading, you can make your knowledge of 
 history, even ? 
 
 You are so proud of having learned to read too, and I 
 warrant you could not read so much as Barbara Ilaliburton's 
 
 * It is impossible to concentrate the vulgar modern vices of art and 
 literature more densely than has been done in this — in such kind, docu- 
 mental — book. Here is a description of the * Queen of the Flowers' 
 out of it, which is so accurately characteristic of the * imagination ' of 
 an age of demand and supply, that I must find space for it in small 
 print. She appears in a wood in which '*here and there was a mul- 
 berry tree disporting itself among the rest. (Has Mr. Huguessen, M. P. , 
 ever seen a mulberry tree, or read as much of Pyramus and Thisbe as 
 Bottom ?) 
 
 " The face was the face of a lady, and of a pretty, exceedingly good- 
 humoured lady too ; but the hair which hung down around her head '* 
 — (the author had better have written hung up) — " was nothing more 
 or less than festoons of roses, — red, lovely, sweet-scented " (who would 
 have thought it !) "roses ; the arms were apparently entirely composed 
 of cloves and " (allspice? no) carnations; the body was formed of a 
 multitude of various flowers — the most beautiful you can imagine, and 
 a cloak of honeysuckle and sweetbriar was thrown carefully over the 
 Bhoulders." (Italics mine — care being as characteristic of the growth 
 of the honeysuckle as disport is that of the mulberry.) 
 
FOBS GLAVIOEUA. 
 
 69 
 
 shield : Or, on a bend azure, three mascles of the first ; in 
 the second quarter a buckle of the second. I meant to have 
 engraved it, but shall never get on to aunt Jessie at this rate. 
 
 "My kind and affectionate aunt. Miss Janet Scott, whose 
 memory will ever be dear to me, used to read these works to 
 me, with admirable patience, until I could repeat long pas- 
 sages by heart." 
 
 Why admirable. Sir Walter? Surely she might have 
 spent her time more usefully — lucratively at least — than in 
 this manner of 'nursing the baby.' Might you not have 
 been safely left, to hunt up llardiknute, in maturer years, for 
 yourself ? 
 
 By no manner of means. Sir Walter thinks ; and justly. 
 With all his gifts, but for tliis aunt Janet, — for his mother, — 
 and for Lilias Redgauntlet, — he had assuredly been only a 
 hunting laird, and the best story-teller in the Lothians. 
 
 We scarcely ever, in our study of education, ask this most 
 essential of all questions about a man, What paile?ice had 
 his mother or sister with him ? 
 
 And most men are apt to forget it themselves. Pardon 
 me for speaking of myself for a moment ; (if ] did not know 
 things by my own part in them, I would not write of them at 
 all). You know that people sometimes call me a good writer : 
 others like to hear me speak. I seldom mis-spell or mis-pro- 
 nounce a word, grossly ; and can generally say what I want 
 to say. Well, my own impression about this power, such as 
 it may be, is that it was born with me, or gradually gained 
 by my own study. It is only by deliberate effort that I recall 
 the long morning hours of toil, as regular as sunrise, — toil on 
 both sides equal, — by which, year after year, my mother 
 forced me to learn all the Scotch paraphrases by heart, and 
 ever so many chapters of the Bible besides, (the eighth of 1st 
 Kings being one, — try it, good reader, in a leisure hour ! ) 
 allowing not so much as a syllable to be missed or misplaced ; 
 while every sentence was required to be said over and over 
 again till she was satisfied with the accent of it. I recollect 
 
70 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 a struggle between us of about three weeks, concerning tha 
 accent of the ''of " in the lines 
 
 Shall any following' spring revive 
 The ashes of the urn ? " 
 
 I insisting, partly in childish obstinacy, and partly in true 
 instinct for rhythm (being wholly careless on the subject 
 both of urns and their contents), on reciting it, ''The ashes 
 of the urn." It was not, I say, till after three wrecks' la- 
 bour, that my mother got the accent laid upon the ashes, 
 to her mind. But had it taken tliree vears, she would have 
 done it, having once undertaken to do it. And, assuredly, 
 had she not done it, I had been simply an avaricious picture 
 collector, or perhaps even a more avaricious money collector, 
 to this day ; and had she done it wrongly, no after-study 
 would ever have enabled me to read so much as a single line 
 of verse. 
 
 It is impossible, either in history or biography, to arrange 
 what one wants to insist upon w^holly by time, or wholly by 
 rational connection. You must observe that the visit to 
 England, of which I am now going to speak, interrupts, with 
 a brilliant display of pyrotechnic light, the steady burning of 
 the stars above Scott's childhood. From the teaching of hia 
 aunt, before he could read, I should like, for several reasons, 
 to go on at once to the teaching of his mother, after he 
 could read ; but I must content myself, for the moment, with 
 adding the catalogue of mamma's library to that of aunt 
 Jessie's. On the window-seat of Sandy-Knowe — only to be 
 got at the pith of by help of auntie — we had the odd volume 
 of Josephus, Automathes, and two or three old books not 
 named. A year later, mamma provides for us — now scholars 
 ourselves — Pope's Homer, Allan Ramsay's Eve7^green, and, 
 for Sundays, Bunyan, Gesner's Death of Abel, and Rowe's 
 (Mrs.) betters from the Other 'World, But we have made our 
 grand tour in the meantime, and have some new ideas of this 
 world in our head ; of w^hich the reader must now consider. 
 
 " I was in my fourth year when my father was advised 
 that the Bath waters might be of some advantage to my 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 71 
 
 lameness. My affectionate aunt — although such a journey 
 promised to a person of her retired habits anything but 
 pleasure or amusement — undertook as readily to accompany 
 me to the wells of Bladud, as if she had expected all the de- 
 light that ever the prospect of a watering-place held out to 
 its most impatient visitants." 
 
 And why should she not ? Does it not seem somewhat 
 strange to you, from what you know of young, or even 
 middle-aged, aunt Jessies of the present day, that Miss Scott 
 should look upon the journey to Bath as so severe a piece of 
 self-denial ; and that her nephew regards her doing so as 
 a matter of course? 
 
 How old was aunt Jessie, think you ? Scott's father, the 
 eldest of a large family, was born in 1729, — in this year, 
 therefore, was forty-six. If we uncharitably suppose Miss 
 Jessie the next oldest, she would be precisely of the age of 
 Mrs. Tabitha Bramble ; and one could fancy her, it seems to 
 me, on the occasion of this unforeseen trip to the most fashion- 
 able watering-place in England, putting up her rose-collard 
 neglegay with green robins, and her bloo quilted petticot," 
 without feeling herself in the position of a martyr led to the 
 stake. But aunt Jessie must really have been much younger 
 than Mrs. Tabitha, and have had the advantage of her in 
 other particulars besides spelling. She was afterwards mar- 
 ried, and when Lockhart saw her (1820?) — forty years or 
 so after tliis — had still " the softest eye and the sweetest 
 voice." And from the thatched mansion of the moorland, 
 Miss Jessie feels it so irksome and solemn a duty — does 
 she? — to go to "the squares, the circus, and the parades, 
 which put 2/ow" (Miss Lydia Melford) "in mind of the 
 sumptuous palaces represented in prints and pictures ; 
 and the new buildings, such as Prince's Row, Harlequin's 
 Row, Bladud's Row, and twenty other rows besides," — not 
 to speak of a real pump in a pump-room, with a handle to it^ 
 and other machinery, instead of the unpumped Tweed ! 
 
 Her nephew, however, judges her rightly. Aunt Jessie 
 could give him no truer proof of faithful affection than in 
 
72 
 
 FOBS CLAVIQERA, 
 
 Ihe serenity with which she resolves to take him to this 
 centre of gaiety. 
 
 Whereupon, you are to note this, that the end of all right 
 education for a woman is to make her love her home better 
 than any other place ; that she should as seldom leave it as 
 a queen her queendom ; nor ever feel entirely at rest but 
 within its threshold. 
 
 For her boy, however, there are things to be seen in Bath, 
 and to be learned. acquired the rudiments of reading 
 
 from an old dame near our lodgings, and I had never a more 
 regular teacher, though I think 1 did not attend her more 
 than a quarter of a year. An occasional lesson from my aunt 
 supplied the rest." Yes, little Walter. If we indeed have 
 a mind to our book, that is all the teaching we want ; we 
 shall perhaps get through a volume or two in time. 
 
 " The circumstances I recollect of my residence in Bath 
 are but trifling ; yet I never recall them without a feeling of 
 pleasure. The beauties of the Parade (which of them I 
 know not), with the river Avon winding around it, and the 
 lowing of the cattle from the opposite hills, are warm in my 
 recollection, and are only rivalled by the splendours of a toy- 
 shop somewhere near the Orange Grove. I had acquired, I 
 know not by what means, a kind of superstitious terror for 
 statuarv of all kinds. No ancient Iconoclast or modern Cal- 
 Annist could have looked on the outside of the Abbey Church 
 (if I mistake not, the principal church at Bath is so called,) 
 with more horror than the image of Jacob's ladder, with all 
 its angels, presented to my infant eye. My uncle* effect- 
 ually combated my terrors, and formally introduced me to a 
 statue of Neptune, which perhaps still keeps guard at the 
 side of the Avon, where a pleasure-boat crosses to Spring 
 Gardens." 
 
 " A sweet retreat " — Spring Gardens (again I quote Miss 
 Lydia) — " laid out in walks, and ponds, and parterres of 
 flowers, and hard by the Pamprom is a coffee-house for the 
 ladies, but my aunt says young girls are not admitted, inas- 
 much as the conversation turns upon politics, scandal, phi« 
 
 * Robert, who comes to visit them in Bath, to little Walter's great joj. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 73 
 
 losophy, and other subjects above our capacity." Is aunt 
 Janet old enough and clever enough for tlie company, I 
 wonder ? And Walter — what toys did he mostly covet in 
 the Orange Grove ? 
 
 The passage about the effect of sculpture upon him is in- 
 tensely interesting to me, partly as an indication of the state 
 of his own nascent imagination, partly as illustrative of the 
 power of religious sculpture, meant to terrify, on the minds 
 of peasant children of high faculty. But I cannot dwell on 
 this point here : I must get on to his first sight of a play. 
 The third Fors — still favourable to him — appoints it to be 
 "As you like it." 
 
 A never-to-be-forgotten delight, influencing him in his 
 whole nature thenceforward. It is uncle Robert's doing this, 
 aunt Jessie having been probably doubtful on the matter, 
 but irresistibly coaxed. Uncle Robert has much to answer 
 for ! How much, I can't tell you to-day ; nor for a while 
 now, for I have other matters on hand in the next Fors or 
 two — Glacier theory, and on the road to it I must not let 
 you forget the broom-market between Berne and Thun ; and 
 I've got to finish my notes on Friedrich and his father, who 
 take more noticing than I expected ; besides that I've 
 Friedrich II. of Germany to give some account of ; and all 
 my Oxford work besides. I can only again and again beg the 
 many valued correspondents whose letters I must abruptly 
 answer, to remember that not one word on any of these sub- 
 jects can be set down without care ; and to consider what 
 the length of a day is, under existing solar arrangements. 
 
 Meantime, here is a point for you to think of. The boy 
 interrupts the first scene of the play by crying aloud, " An't 
 they brothers?" — (the third Fors had appointed for him that 
 one day he should refuse to speak to his own ;) — and long 
 remembers the astonishment with which he "looked upon 
 the apathy of the elder part of our company, who, having 
 the means, did not spend every evening at the theatre." 
 
 How was it that he never could write a Play ? 
 
H F0R8 CLAVIQERA. 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 I HAVE mislaid, just when I wanted it, a valuable letter, which gave 
 me the first name of Abbotsford accurately, — Clarty Hole being only a 
 corruption of it, and the real name bearing no such sense. I shall come 
 upon it some time or other : meantime, my Scottish readers must not 
 suppose I mean that the treatment of rivers is worse in North than in 
 South Britain, — only they have prettier streams in Scotland to float 
 their paraffin, or other beautiful productions of modern art, or nature, 
 on the top of. We had one or two clear streams in Surrey, indeed ; 
 but as I was investigating the source of one of them, only the other 
 day, I found a police office had been built over it, and that the authori- 
 ties had paid five hundred pounds to construct a cesspool, with a huge 
 iron cylinder conducting to it, through the spring. Excavating, I found 
 the fountain running abundantly, round the pipe. 
 
 The following paragraph, and the two subjoined letters, appeared in 
 the same impression of the Daily Telegra'ph^ on the 12th January, 187J. 
 I wish to preserve them in Fors ; and I print them in this number, be- 
 cause the succession of the first four names in the statement of the 
 journal, associated with that of the first magistrate of the City of Lon- 
 don, in connection with the business in hand that day, is to me the most 
 pleasant piece of reading— and I think must be to all of us among the 
 most significant — that has lately met our eyes in a public print ; and it 
 means such new solemn league and covenant as Scott had been fain to 
 see. My letter about the Italian streams may well follow what I have 
 said of Scottish ones. 
 
 The French Appeal to England. 
 
 We are happy to announce further contributions to the fund which 
 is being raised in response to the appeal of the Bishop of Versailles and 
 the clergy of the Seine-et-Oise department ; and also to state that, in 
 addition to those influential persons whom we named yesterday as being- 
 ready to serve on a committee, two other gentlemen of high official and 
 social position have consented to join the body. The list at present is 
 as follows : The Lord Bishop of London; Dr. Manning, Roman Catholic 
 Archbishop of Westminster ; the Rev. Dr. Brock, the Baptist minister ; 
 Mr. Alfred de Rothschild; and the Lord Mayor, who has courteously 
 placed the Mansion House at the service of the committee. Besides 
 these names, the members of the ' Paris Food Fund,' as will be seen 
 from the subjoined letter, propose to join the more comprehensive or- 
 ganization. 
 
FOBS GLAVIGEUA. 
 
 75 
 
 To the Editor of the Daily Telegraph. 
 
 Sir, — Acting on your suggestion that the ' Paris Food Fund,' which 
 I yesterday described to you, might be advantageously united with that 
 which has been suggested by the Bishop of Versailles, I beg to say that 
 Archbishop Manning, Professor Huxley, Sir John Lubbock, and Mr. 
 Ruskin will with myself, have great pleasure in forming part of such a 
 public committee as you have advised, and in placing the subscription? 
 already sent to us at its disposal. 
 
 I am, sir, ycui obedient servant, 
 
 Jan. 11/* James T. Knowles.'* 
 
 Daily Telegraphy Jan. 12, 1871. 
 
 Roman Inundations. 
 
 To the Editor of the Daily Telegraph. 
 
 Sir, — May I ask you to add to your article on the inundation of the 
 Tiber some momentary invitatiou to your r^^aders to think with Horace 
 rather than to smile with him V 
 
 " In the briefest and proudest words he wrote of himself, he thought 
 of his native land chiefly as divided into the two districts of violent and 
 scanty waters : 
 
 Dicar, qua violens obstrepit Aulidus, 
 
 Et qua, pauper aqu£o, Daunus agrestium 
 
 Regnavit populorum. 
 
 Now the anger and power of that taunformiA Avfifins is precisely 
 because regnn Dduiii prce fin it— because it fl jwh past the poor kingdoms 
 which it should enrich. Stay it there, and it is treasure instead of ruin. 
 And so also with Tiber and Eridanus. They are so much gold, at their 
 Kources, — they are so much death, if they once break down unbridled 
 into the plains. 
 
 At the end of your report of the events of the inundation, it is said 
 that the King of Italy expressed * an earnest desire to do something, as 
 far as science and industry could effect it, to prevent or mitigate inun- 
 dations for the future.' 
 
 Now, science and industry can do, not 'something,' but everything; 
 and not merely to miLi«j:ate inundations — and, deadliest of inundations, 
 because perpetual — maremmas ; but to change them into national banks 
 instead of debts. 
 
 " The first thing the King of any country has to do is to manage the 
 streams of it. 
 
 "If he can manage the streams, he can also the people ; for the 
 people also form alternately torrent and maremma, in pestilential fury 
 or pestilential idleness. They also will change into living streams of 
 men, if their Kings literally ' lead them forth beside the waters of com- 
 fort.' Half the money 'ost by this inundation of Tiber, spent rightly on 
 the hill-sides last summer, would have changed every wave of it into so 
 much fruit and foliage in spring, where now iht^y will be only burning 
 rock. And the men who have been killed within the 1 st two months, 
 and whose work, and the money spent in doing it. have filled Europe 
 with vuisery which fifty years will not efface, had they been set at tho 
 
76 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGERA 
 
 same cost to do good instead of evil, and to save life instead of destroy 
 it, might, by this 10th of January, 1871, have embanked every danger* 
 ous stream at the roots of the Rhine, the Rhone, and the Po, and left 
 to Germany, to France, and to Italy an inheritance of blessing for cen- 
 turies to come — they and their families living all the while in brightest 
 happiness and peace. And now ! Let the Red Prince look to it ; red 
 inundation bears also its fruit in time. 
 
 ** I am, sir, your obedient servant, 
 Jan. 10." John Ruskiw/' 
 
 Daily Tdegraph^ Jan. 12, 187L 
 
FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 71 
 
 LETTER XXXIV. 
 
 Love, it is a wrathful peace, 
 A free acquittance, without release. 
 And truth with falsehood all a-fret, 
 And fear within secureness set ; 
 In heart it is despairing hope ; 
 And full of hope, it is vain hope. 
 Wise madness and wild reasonne, 
 And sweet danger, wherein to 
 droune. 
 
 A heavy burden, light to bear ; 
 A wicked way, away to wear. 
 It is discordance that can accord, 
 And accordance to discord ; 
 It is cunning without science, 
 Wisdom without sapience, 
 Wit without discretion, 
 Having, without possession, 
 And health full of malady. 
 And charity full of envy, 
 And restraint full of abundance, 
 And a greedy suffisaunce. 
 
 ■X- * * * 
 
 Mesment de ceste amour 
 Li plus sages n'y sceunt tour 
 Maiz ou entent je te diray 
 Une adt (outre) amour te descriray 
 De celle veuil je que pour t'ame 
 Tu aimes la tres-doulce dame. 
 Si com dist la ste cpcripture 
 Amours est fors, amours est dure, 
 A^monrs soustient, amours endure. 
 Amours revient, et tousjours dure ; 
 Amours met en amer sa cure ; 
 Amours loyal, amours seure 
 Bert, et de servise nacure. 
 Amours fait de propre commun, 
 Amours fait de deux cuers un ; 
 
 * See firt-t te 
 
 Delight right full of heaviness, 
 And drearihood, full of gladness ; 
 Bitter sweetness, and sweet error. 
 Right evil savoured good savour ; 
 Sin, that pardon hath within. 
 And pardon, spotted outside with 
 sin : 
 
 A pain also it is joyous. 
 
 And cruelty, right piteous ; 
 
 A strength weak to stand upright, 
 
 And feebleness full of might ; 
 
 Wit unadvised, sage foUie, 
 
 And joy full of tormentry. 
 
 A laughter it is, weeping aye ; 
 
 Rest, that travaileth night and day; 
 
 Also a sweet Hell it is, 
 
 And a sorrowful Paradise ;* 
 
 A pleasant gaol, and an easy prison. 
 
 And full of froste, summer season; 
 
 Prime-time, full of froste's white. 
 
 And May devoid of all delight. 
 4t m m 
 
 Amours enchace, ce me semble, 
 Amours rent cuers, amours lea 
 emble, 
 
 Amours despiece, amours refait, 
 Amours fait paix, amours fait plait, 
 Amours fait bel, amours fait lait, 
 Toutes heures quant il lui plaist 
 Amours attrait, amours estrange 
 Amours fait de prive estrange ; 
 Amoursseurprent, amours emprent; 
 Amours reprent, amours esprent, 
 II n*est riens qu'amours ne face ; 
 Amours tolt cuer,amour8 tolt grace, 
 Amours delie, amours enlace. 
 Amours ocist, amours efface, 
 
 uinal note. 
 
T8 
 
 FOBS CLA VIGERA. 
 
 Amours ne craint ne pic ne mace : 
 Amoura fisb Dieu venir en place, 
 Amours lui fist ure (notre) char 
 
 prendre, 
 Amours le fist devenir mendre, 
 Amours le fist en la croix pendre, 
 
 Amours le fist illec extend re, 
 Amours le fist le coste fendre, 
 Amours le fist les maulx reprendre* 
 Amours lui fist les bons aprendre. 
 Amours le fist a nous venir, 
 Amours nous fait a lui tenir. 
 
 These descriptions of the two kinds of noble love are botW 
 given in the part of the Romance of the Rose which was 
 written by Jean de Meung.* Chaucer translated the first, 
 and I have partly again translated his translation into more 
 familiar English. I leave the original French of the other 
 for you to work at, if ever you care to learn French ; — the 
 first is all that I want you to read just now ; but they should 
 not be separated, being among the most interesting expres- 
 sions extant of the sentiment of the dark ages, which Mr. 
 Applegarth is desirous of eliminating from modern business. 
 
 The two great loves, — that of husband and wife, repre- 
 senting generally the family affections, and that of mankind, 
 to which, at need, the family affection must be sacrificed, — 
 include, rightly understood, all the noble sentiments of hu- 
 manity. Modern philosophy supposes these conditions of 
 feeling to have been always absurd, and at present, happily, 
 nearly extinct; and that the only proper, or, in future, pos- 
 sible, motives of human action are the three wholly unsenti- 
 mental desires, — the lust of the flesh, (hunger, thirst, and 
 sexual passion), the lust of the eyes, (covetousness), and the 
 pride of life, (personal vanity). 
 
 Thus, in a recent debate on the treatment of Canada,*)* Sir 
 C. Adderley deprecates the continuance of a debate on a 
 question "purely sentimental." I doubt if Sir C. Adderley 
 knew in the least what was meant by a sentimental ques- 
 tion. It is a purely " sentimental question," for instance, 
 whether Sir C. Adderley shall, or shall not, eat his mother, 
 instead of burying her. Similarly, it is a purely sentimental 
 
 * Or Mehun, near Beau^ency, Loire. 
 
 f On Mr. M'Fie's motion for a committee to consider the relatione 
 that subsist between the United Kingdom and the Colonies. On thfi 
 varieties of filial sentiment, compare Herodotus, iii. 38 ; iv, 26. 
 
FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 79 
 
 question, whether, in the siege of Samaria, the mother who 
 boiled her son and ate him, or the mother who hid her son, 
 was best fulfilling her duty to society. Similarly, the rela- 
 tions of a colony to its mother-country, in their truth and 
 depth, are founded on purely parental and filial instincts, 
 which may be either sentimental or bestial, but must be one 
 or the other. Sir Charles probably did not know that the 
 discussion of every such question must therefore be either 
 sentimental or bestial. 
 
 Into one or other, then, of these two forms of sentiment, 
 conjugal and family love, or compassion, all human happiness, 
 properly so called, resolves itself ; but the spurious or coun- 
 ter-happiness of lust, covetousness, and vanity being easily 
 obtained, and naturally grasped at, instead, may altogether 
 occupy the lives of men, without ever allowing them to know 
 what happiness means. 
 
 But in the use I have just made of the word * compassion,' 
 I mean something very different from what is usually under- 
 stood by it. Compassion is the Latin form of the Greek 
 word * sympathy' — the English for both is 'fellow-feeling' ; 
 and the condition of delight in characters higher than our 
 own is more truly to be understood by the word 'compassion' 
 than the pain of pity for those inferior to our own ; but in 
 either case, the imaginative understanding of the natures of 
 others, and the power of putting ourselves in their place, is 
 the faculty on which the virtue depends. So that an unim- 
 aginative person can neither be reverent nor kind. The main 
 use of works of fiction, and of the drama, is to supply, as far 
 as possible, the defect of this imagination in common minds. 
 But there is a curious difference in the nature of these works 
 themselves, depeiident on the degree of imaginative power 
 of the writers, which I must at once explain, else T can 
 neither answer for you my own question put in last Fbrs, 
 why Scott could not write a play, nor show you, which is 
 my present object, the real nature of sentiment. 
 
 Do you know, in the first place, wliat a play is ? or what 
 a poem is ? or what a novel is? That is to say, do you know 
 the perpetual and necessary distinctions in literary aim which 
 
80 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 have brought these distinctive names into use ? You had 
 better first, for clearness' sake, call all the three * poems,' for 
 all the three are so, when they are good, whether written 
 in verse or prose. All truly imaginative account of man is 
 poetic ; but there are three essential kinds of poetry, — one 
 dramatic, one lyric, and one epic. 
 
 Dramatic poetry is the expression by the poet of other 
 people's feelings, his own not being told. 
 
 Lyric poetry is the expression by the poet of his own 
 feelings. 
 
 Epic poetry is account given by the poet of other people's 
 external circumstances, and of events happening to them, 
 with only such expression either of their feelings, or his own, 
 as he thinks may be conveniently added. 
 
 The business of Dramatic poetry is therefore with the heart 
 essentially ; it despises external circumstance. 
 
 Lyric poetry may speak of anything that excites emotion 
 in the speaker ; while Epic poetry insists on external circum- 
 stances, and no more exhibits the heart-feeling than as it 
 may be gathered from these. 
 
 For instance, the fight between the Prince of Wales and 
 Hotspur, in Henry the Fourth, corresponds closely, in the 
 character of the event itself, to the fight of Fitz-James with 
 Roderick, in the Lady of the Lake, But Shakespeare's 
 treatment of his subject is strictly dramatic ; Scott's, strictly 
 epic. 
 
 Shakespeare gives you no account whatever of any blow 
 or wound : his stage direction is, briefly, Hotspur is 
 wounded, and falls." Scott gives you accurate account of 
 every external circumstance, and the finishing touch of botan- 
 ical accuracy, — 
 
 Down came the blow ; but in the heath 
 The erring blade found bloodless sheath," — 
 
 makes his work perfect, as epic poetry. And Scott's work 
 is always epic, and it is contrary to his very nature to treat 
 any subject dramatically. 
 
 That is t'he technical distinction, then, between the three 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 SI 
 
 modes of work. But the gradation of power in all three de- 
 pends on the degree of imagination with which the writer 
 can enter into the feelings of other people. Whether in ex- 
 pressing theirs or his own, and whether in expressing their 
 feelings only, or also the circumstances surrounding them, 
 his power depends on his being able to feel as they do ; in 
 other words, on his being able to conceive character. And 
 the literature which is not poetry at all, which is essentially 
 unsentimental, or anti-poetic, is that which is produced by 
 persons who have no imagination ; and whose merit (for of 
 course I am not speaking of bad literature) is in their wit or 
 sense, instead of their imagination. 
 
 The most prosaic, in this sense, piece I have ever myself 
 examined, in the literature of any nation, is the Henriade 
 of Voltaire. You may take that as a work of a man whose 
 head was as destitute of imaginative power as it is possible 
 for the healthy cerebral organization of a highly developed 
 mammalian animal to be. The description of the storm which 
 carries Henry to Jersey, and of the hermit in Jersey " que 
 Dieu lui fit connaitre," and who, on that occasion, " au bord 
 d'une onde pure, offre un festin champetre," cannot be 
 rivalled, for stupor in conceptive power, among printed books 
 of reputation. On the other hand, Voltaire's wit, and reason- 
 ing faculties, are nearly as strong as his imagination is weak. 
 His natural disposition is kind ; his sympathy therefore is 
 sincere with any sorrow that he can conceive ; and his indig- 
 nation great against injustices of which he cannot compre- 
 hend the pathetic motives. Now notice further this, which 
 is very curious, and to me inexplicable, but not on that ac- 
 count less certain as a fact. 
 
 The imaginative power always purifies ; the want of it 
 therefore as essentially defiles ; and as the wit-power is apt 
 to develop itself through absence of imagination, it seems as 
 if wit itself had a defiling tendency. In Pindar, Homer, 
 Virgil, Dante, and Scott, the colossal powers of imagination 
 result in absolute virginal purity of thought. The defect of 
 imagination and the splendid rational power in Pope and 
 Horace associate themselves — it is difficult to say in what 
 Vol. II.— 6 
 
82 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 decided measures — with foulness of thought. The Candide o! 
 Voltaire, in its gratuitous filth, its acute reasoning, and its 
 entire vacuity of imagination, is a standard of what may 
 perhaps be generally and fitly termed * fimetic literature,* 
 still capable, by its wit, and partial truth, of a certain 
 service in its way. But lower forms of modern literature 
 and art — Gustave Dore's paintings, for instance, — are the 
 corruption, in national decrepitude, of this pessimist method 
 of thought ; and of these, the final condemnation is true — • 
 they are neither fit for the land, nor yet for the dunghill. 
 
 It is one of the most curious problems respecting mental 
 government to determine how far this fimetic taint must 
 necessarily affect intellects in which the reasoning and im- 
 aginative powers are equally balanced, and both of them 
 at high level, — as in Aristophanes, Shakespeare, Chaucer, 
 Moliere, Cervantes, and Fielding ; but it always indicates 
 the side of character which is unsympathetic, and therefore 
 unkind ; (thus Shakespeare makes lago the foulest in 
 thought, as cruelest in design, of all his villains,) but which, 
 in men of noble nature, is their safeguard against weak en- 
 thusiasms and ideals. It is impossible, however, that the 
 highest conditions of tenderness in affectionate conception 
 can be reached except by the absolutely virginal intellect. 
 Shakespeare and Chaucer throw off, at noble work, the 
 lower part of their natures as they would a rough dress ; 
 and you may also notice this, that the power of conceiving 
 personal, as opposed to general, character, depends on this 
 purity of heart and sentiment. The men who cannot quit 
 themselves of the impure taint, never invent character, 
 properly so called ; they only invent symbols of common 
 humanity. Even Fielding's Allworthy is not a character, 
 but a type of a simple English gentleman ; and Squire 
 Western is not a character, but a type of the rude English 
 squire. But Sir Roger de Coverley is a character, as well as 
 a type ; there is no one else like him ; and the masters of 
 Tullyveolan, Ellangowan, Monkbarns, and Osbaldistone Hall, 
 are all, whether slightly or completely drawn, portraits, not 
 mere symbols. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 83 
 
 The little piece which I shall to-day further translate for 
 you from my Swiss novel is interesting chiefly in showing 
 the power with which affectionate and sentimental imagina- 
 tion may attach itself even to inanimate objects, and give 
 them personality. But the works of its writer generally 
 show the most wholesome balance of the sentimental and 
 rational faculty I have ever met with in literature ; — the part 
 of Gotthelf 's nature which is in sympathy with Pope and 
 Fielding enables him to touch, to just the necessary point, 
 the lower grotesqueness of peasant nature, while his own 
 conception of ideal virtue is as pure as Wordsworth's. 
 
 But I have only room in tKis Fors for a very little bit 
 more of the broom-maker. I continue the last sentence of 
 it from page 12 of Letter XXX.: — 
 
 And then IJansli always knew that as soon as he got 
 home there would be enough to eat ; — his mother saw faith- 
 fully to that. She knew the difference it makes whether a 
 man finds something ready to eat, when he comes in, or not. 
 He who knows there will be something at home, does not 
 stop in the taverns ; he arrives with an empty stomach, and 
 furnishes it, highly pleased with all about him ; but if he 
 usually finds nothing ready when at home, he stops on the 
 road, comes in when he has had enough or too much ; and 
 grumbles right and left. 
 
 "Hansli was not avaricious, but economical. For things 
 really useful and fit, lie did not look at the money. In all 
 matters of food and clothes, he wished his mother to be 
 thoroughly at ease. He made a good bed for himself ; and 
 when he had saved enough to buy a knife or a good tool, he 
 was quite up in the air. He himself dressed well, not ex- 
 pensively, but solidly. Any one with a good eye knows 
 quickly enough, at the sight of houses or of people, whether 
 they are going. up or down. As for Hansli, it was easy to 
 see he was on his way uj) — not that he ever put on an\^thing 
 fine, but by his cleanliness and the careful look of his things : 
 aussi, everybody liked to see him, and was very glad to 
 know that he prospered thus, not by fraud, but by work. 
 With all that, he never forgot his prayers. On Sunday he 
 made no brooms : in the morning he went to the sermon,* 
 
 * Much the most important part of the service in Protestant Switzer- 
 land, and a less formal one than in Scotland. 
 
84 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 and in the afternoon he read a chapter of the Bible to his 
 mother, whose sight was now failing. After that he gave 
 himself a personal treat. This treat consisted in bringing 
 out all his money, counting it, looking at it,* and calculat- 
 ing how much it had increased, and how much it would yet 
 increase, etc. etc. In that money there were some v^ery 
 pretty pieces, — above all, pretty white pieces " (silver among 
 the copper). " Hansli was very strong in exchanges ; he 
 took small money willingly enough, but never kept it long ; 
 it seemed always to him that the wind got into it and 
 carried it off too quickly. The new white pieces gave him 
 an extreme pleasure, — above all, the fine dollars of Berne 
 with the bear, and the superl5 Swiss of old time. When he 
 had managed to catch one of these, it made him happy for 
 many days.f 
 
 " Nevertheless, he had also his bad days. It was always a 
 bad day for him when he lost a customer, or had counted on 
 placing a dozen of new brooms anywhere, and found himself 
 briskly sent from the door with ' We've got all we want.' 
 At first Hansli could not understand the cause of such re- 
 buffs, not knowing that there are people who change their 
 cook as often as their shirt — sometimes oftener, — and that he 
 couldn't expect new cooks to know him at first sight. He 
 asked himself then, with surprise, what he could have failed 
 in, — whether his brooms had come undone, or whether any- 
 body had spoken ill of him. He took that much to heart, 
 and would plague himself all night to find out the real 
 cause. But soon he took the thing more coolly ; and even 
 when a cook who knew him very well sent him about his 
 business, he thought to himself, 'Bah! cooks are human 
 creatures, like other people; and when master or mistress 
 have been rough with them J because they've put too much 
 pepper in the soup, or too much salt in the sauce, or when 
 
 * Utmost wisdom is not in self-denial, but in learning to find extreme 
 pleasure in very little things. 
 
 f This pleasure is a perfectly natural and legitimate one, and all the 
 more because it is possible only when the riches are very moderate. 
 After getting the first shilling of which I told you, I set my mind 
 greatly upon getting a pile of new *'lion shillings," as I called them — 
 the lion standing on the top of the crown ; and my delight in the 
 bloomy surface of their dead silver is quite a memorable joy to me. I 
 have engraved, for the frontispiece, the two sides of one of Hansli's 
 Sunday playthings ; it is otherwise interesting as an example of the 
 comparatively vulgar coinage of a people uneducated in art. 
 
 X Has quarrelled with them. 
 
FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 85 
 
 their schatz " (lover, — literally, treasure) " is gone off to Pep- 
 perland,* the poor girls have well the right to quarrel with 
 somebody else.' Nevertheless, the course of time needs 
 brought him some worse days still, which he never got him- 
 self to take coolly. He knew now, personally, very nearly 
 all his trees; he had indeed given, for himself alone, names 
 to his willows, and some other particular trees, as Lizzie, 
 Little Mary-Anne, Rosie, and so on. These trees kept him in 
 joy all the year round, and he divided very carefully the pleas- 
 ure of o^atherino: their twio-s. He treated the most beautiful 
 with great delicacy, and carried the brooms of them to his 
 best customers. It is true to say also that these were always 
 master-brooms. But when he arrived thus, all joyous, at his 
 willows, and found his Lizzie or his Rosie all cut and torn 
 from top to bottom, his heart w^as so strained that the tears 
 ran down his cheeks, and his blood became so hot that one 
 could have lighted matches at it. That made him unhappy 
 for a length of time; he could not swallow it, and all he 
 asked was that the thief might fall into his grip, not for 
 the value of the twigs, but because his trees had been hurt. 
 If Hansli was not tall, still he knew how to use liis limbs and 
 his strength, and he felt his heart full of courage. On that 
 point he absolutely would not obey liis mother, who begged 
 him for the love of God not to meddle with people who 
 might kill him, or do him some grievous harm. But Hansli 
 took no heed of all that. He lay in wait and spied until he 
 caught somebody. Then there were blows and formidable 
 battles in the midst of the solitarv trees. Sometimes Hansli 
 got the better, sometimes he came home all in disorder. But 
 at the worst, he gained at least this, that thenceforward one 
 let his willows more and more alone, as happens always when 
 a thing is defended with valour and preseverance. What is 
 the use of putting oneself in the way of blows, when one 
 can get things somewhere else w^ithout danger? Aussi, the 
 Rychiswyl farmers were enchanted with their courageous 
 little garde-champetre, and if one or the other saw^ hini with 
 his hair pulled, they failed not to say, 'Never mind, Hansli; 
 he will have had his dance all the same. Tell me the next 
 time you see anything — I'll go with you, and we'll cure him 
 of his taste for brooms.' Whereupon, Hansli would tell him 
 
 * " Les ont brusqures.'* I can't get the deiivntiou beyond Johnson : 
 *' Fr. brusque; Gothic, brafika." But the Italian brusco is connected 
 with the Provencal brusca, thicket, and Fr. broussaille. 
 
86 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 when he saw anybody about that should not be; the peas 
 ant* kept himself hid; Hansli began the attack; the ad- 
 versary, thinking himself strongest, waited for him; once 
 the thief seized, the peasant showed himself, and all was 
 said. Then the marauder would have got away if he could, 
 but Hansli never let go till he had been beaten as was fit- 
 ting. 
 
 "This was a very efficacious remedy against the switch- 
 stealers, and Little Mary-Anne and Rosie remained in per- 
 fect security in the midst of the loneliest fields. Thus 
 Hansli passed some years without perceiving it, and with- 
 out imagining that things could ever change. A week 
 passed, as the hand went round the clock, he didn't know 
 how. Tuesdav, market-dav at Berne, was there before he 
 could think about it ; and Tuesday was no sooner past than 
 Saturday was there ; and he had to go to Thun, whether he 
 would or no, for how could the Thun people get on without 
 him ? Between times he had enough to do to prepare his 
 cartload, and to content his customers, — that is to say, those 
 of them that pleased him. Our Hansli was a man ; and 
 every man, when his position permits it, has his caprices of 
 liking and disliking. Whenever one had trod on his toes, 
 one must have been very clever afterwards to get the least 
 twig of a broom from him. The parson's wife, for instance, 
 couldn't have got one if she would have paid for it twice 
 over. It was no use sending to him ; every time she did, he 
 said he was very sorry, but he hadn't a broom left that would 
 suit her. 
 
 That was because she had one day said to him that he 
 was just like other people, and contented himself with put- 
 ting a few long twigs all round, and then bad ones in the 
 middle. 
 
 " ' Then you may as well get your brooms from somebody 
 else,' said he ; and held to it too ; — so well that the lady 
 died without ever having been able to get the shadow of a 
 broom from him. 
 
 " One Tuesday he was going to Berne with an enormous 
 cartful of his prettiest brooms, all gathered from his favour- 
 ite trees, that is to say, Rosie, Little Mary-Anne, and com- 
 pany. He was pulling with all his strength, and greatly 
 astonished to find that his cart didn't go of itself, as it did 
 at first ; that it really pulled too hard, and that something 
 
 Paysan — see above. 
 
F0R8 CLAVIOERA. 
 
 87 
 
 must be wrong with it. -At every moment he was obliged 
 to stop to take breath and wipe his forehead. * If only I 
 was at the top of the hill of Stalden ! ' said he. He had 
 stopped thus in the little wood of Muri, close to the bench 
 that the women rest their baskets on. Upon the bench sat 
 a young girl, holding a little bundle beside her, and weeping- 
 hot tears. Hansli, who had a kind heart, asked her what 
 she was crying for. 
 
 " The young girl recounted to him that she was obliged 
 to go into the town, and tliat she was so frightened she 
 scarcely dared ; that her father was a shoemaker, and that 
 all his best customers were in the town ; that for a long 
 time she had carried her bundle of shoes in, on market days, 
 and that nothing had ever happened to her. But behold, 
 there had arrived in the town a new gendarme, very cross, 
 who had already tormented her every Tuesday she had 
 come, for some time back ; and threatened her, if she came 
 again, to take her shoes from her, and put her in prison. 
 She had begged her father not to send her any more, but 
 her father was as severe as a Prussian soldier, and had or- 
 dered her to *go in, always ; and if anybody hurt her, it was 
 with him they would have affairs;' but what would that 
 help her? — she was just as much afraid of the gendarme as 
 before. 
 
 "Hansli felt himself touched with compassion ; above all, 
 on account of the confidence the young girl had had in tell- 
 ing him all this ; that which certainly she would not have 
 done to everybody. ' But she has seen at once that I am 
 not a bad fellow, and that I have a kind heart,' thought he. 
 
 " Poor Hansli ! — but after all, it is faith which saves, peo- 
 ple say." 
 
 My readers may at first be little interested by this une- 
 ventful narrative ; but they will find it eventually delightful, 
 if they accustom themselves to classic and sincere literature ; 
 and as an account of Swiss life now fast passing away, it is 
 invaluable. More than the life of Switzerland, — its very 
 snows, — eternal, as one foolishly called them, — are passing 
 away, as if in omen of evil. One-third, at least, in the depth 
 of all the ice of the Alps, has been lost in the last twenty 
 years ; and the change of climate thus indicated is without 
 any parallel in authentic history. In its bearings on the 
 
88 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 water supply «and atmospheric conditions of central Europe., 
 it is the most important phenomenon, by far, of all that 
 offer themselves to the study of living men of science : yet 
 in Professor Tyndall's recent work on the glaciers,* though 
 he notices the change as one whicli, " if continued, will re- 
 duce the Swiss glaciers to the mere spectres of their former 
 selves," he offers no evidence, nor even suggestion, as to the 
 causes of the change itself. 
 
 I have no space in this number of Fors to say what rea- 
 son there is for my taking notice of this book, or the glacier 
 theory, in connection with the life of Scott. In the inter- 
 ests of general literature, it is otherwise fitting that the 
 nature of the book itself should be pointed out. 
 
 Its nature, that is to say, so far as it has any. It seems 
 to be written for a singular order of young people, whom, 
 if they were older, Professor Tyndall assures them, it would 
 give him pleasure to take up Mont Blanc ; but whom he can 
 at present invite to walk with him along the moraine from 
 the Jardin, where " perfect steadiness of foot is necessary, — 
 a slip would be death ; " and to whom, with Mr. Hirsch, he 
 can "confide confidently " the use of his surveying chain. 
 It is, at all events, written for entirely ignorant people — and 
 entirely idle ones, who cannot be got to read without being 
 coaxed and flattered into the unusual exertion. Here, my 
 friend," says the Professor, at the end of his benevolently 
 alluring pages, "our labours close! It has been a true 
 pleasure to me to have you at my side so long. You have 
 been steadfast and industrious throughout. . . . Stead- 
 fast, prudent, without terror, though not at all times without 
 awe, I have found you, on rock and ice. Give me your hand 
 — Goodbye." Does the Professor count, then, upon 7io read- 
 ers but those whom he can gratify with polite expressions of 
 this kind ? Upon none who perhaps unsteadfast, imprudent, 
 and very much frightened upon rock and ice, have neverthe- 
 less done their own work there, and know good work of 
 other people's, from bad, anywhere ; and true praise from 
 false anywhere ; and can detect the dishonouring of name- 
 * The Forms of Water. King and Co., Cornhill. 1872. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 89 
 
 able and noble persons, couched under sycophancy of the 
 nameless ? He has at least had one reader whom I can an- 
 swer for, of this inconvenient sort. 
 
 It is, I am sorry to say, just forty years (some day last 
 month) since I first saw the Bernese Alps from above Schaff- 
 hausen. Since that evening I have never let slip a chance 
 of knowing anything definite about glaciers and their ways ; 
 and have watched the progress of knowledge, and the oscil- 
 lations of theory, on the subject, with an interest not less 
 deep, and certainh^ more sincere, than it would have been if 
 my own industry had been able to advance the one, or my 
 own ingenuity to complicate the other. But only one great 
 step in the knowledge of glaciers has been made in all that 
 period ; and it seems the principal object of Professor Tyn- 
 dall's book to conceal its having been taken, that lie and his 
 friends may get the credit, some day, of having taken it 
 themselves. 
 
 I went to the University in 183G, and my best friend 
 there, among the older masters, Dr. Buckland, kept me not 
 ill-informed on my favourite subject, the geological, or crys- 
 tallogical, question. Nearly everything of which Professor 
 Tyndall informs his courageous readers was known then, 
 just as well as it is now. We all, — that is to say, all geolo- 
 gists of any standing, and their pupils, — knew that glaciers 
 moved ; that they were supplied by snow at the top of the 
 Alps, and consumed by heat at the bottom of them ; that 
 there were cracks all through them, and moraines all down 
 them ; that some of their ice was clear, and other ice 
 opaque ; that some of it was sound, and some rotten ; and 
 that streams fell into them at places called mills, and came 
 out of them at places called grottoes. We were, I am sorry 
 to say, somewhat languidly content with these articles of 
 information; we never thought of wading breast-deep 
 through snow" in search of more, and still less of "striking 
 our theodolites with the feelings of a general who had won 
 a small battle." * Things went on thus quietly enough. We 
 
 * When next the reader has an opportunity of repeating Professor 
 Tyndall's experiments (p. 92) in a wreath of dry Bnow, I recommend 
 
90 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 were all puzzled to account for glacier motion, but never 
 thought of ascertaining what the motion really was. We 
 knew that the ice slipped over the rocks at some places, 
 tumbled over them at others ; gaped, or as people v^.o 
 wanted to write sublimely always said, yawned, when it 
 was steep, and shut up again when it was level. And Mr. 
 Charpenticr wrote a thick volume to show that it moved by 
 expansion and contraction, wliich I read all through, and 
 thought extremely plausible. But none of us ever had the 
 slightest idea of the ice's being anything but an entirely 
 solid substance, which was to be reasoned about as capable 
 indeed of being broken, or crushed, or pushed, or pulled in 
 any direction, and of sliding or falling as gravity and smooth 
 surfaces might guide it, but was always entirely rigid and 
 brittle in its substance, like so much glass or stone. 
 
 This was the state of affairs in 1841. Professor Agassiz, 
 of Neuchatel, had then been some eight or ten years at work 
 on the glaciers : had built a cabin on one of them ; walked 
 a great many times over a great many of them ; described a 
 number of their phenomena quite correctly ; proposed, and 
 in some cases performed, many ingenious experiments upon 
 them ; and indeed done almost everything that was to be 
 done for them — except find out the one thing that we wanted 
 to know. 
 
 As his malicious fortune would have it, he invited in that 
 year (1841) a man of acute brains to see what he was about. 
 The invitation was accepted. The visitor was a mathemati- 
 cian ; and after examining the question, for discussion of 
 which Agassiz was able to supply him with all the data ex- 
 cept those which were essential, resolved to find out the 
 essential ones himself. 
 
 Which in the next year (1842) he quietly did ; and in 1843 
 solved the problem of glacier motion for ever, — announcing, 
 to everybody's astonishment, and to the extreme disgust and 
 mortification of all glacier students, — including my poor self, 
 
 him first to try how much jumping is necessary in order to get into it 
 "breast-deep"; and secondly, how far he can " wade " in that dra- 
 matic position. 
 
Fons CLA VIQERA. 
 
 91 
 
 (not 111-3 least envious, I fancy, though with aa little right to 
 be envious as any one), — that glaciers were not solid bodies 
 at all, but seini-liquid ones, and ran down in their beds like 
 so much treacle. 
 
 Cela saute aux yeux," we all said, as soon as we were 
 told ; and I well remember the intense mortification of first 
 looking down on the dirt bands of the Mer-de-Glace, from 
 the foot of the Little Charmoz, after I had read Principal 
 Forbes' book. That we never should have seen them be- 
 fore ! — so palpable, so inevitable now, with every inch of the 
 ice's motion kept record of, in them, for centuries, and every 
 curve pencilled in dark, so that no river eddies, no festooned 
 fall of sweeping cascade, could be more conclusive in proof 
 of the flowing current. And of course it flowed ; how else 
 could it have moved but by a series of catastrophes?* 
 Everything explained, now, by one shrewd and clear-sighted 
 man's work for a couple of summer months ; and what asses 
 we had all been ! 
 
 But fancy the feelings of poor Agassiz in his Hotel des 
 Neuchatelois ! To have had the thing under his nose for 
 ten years, and missed it ! There is nothing in the annals of 
 scientific mischance — (perhaps the truer word would be sci- 
 entific dulness) — to match it ; certainly it would be difficult 
 for provocation to be more bitter, — at least, for a man who 
 thinks, as most of our foolish modern scientific men do think, 
 that there is no good in knowing anything for its own sake, 
 but only in being the first to find it out. 
 
 Nor am I prepared altogether to justify Forbes in l)is 
 method of proceeding, except on the terms of battle whicii 
 men of science have laid down for themselves. Here is a 
 man has been ten years at liis diggings ; has trenched here, 
 and bored there, and been over all the ground again and 
 again, except just where the nugget is. He asks one to 
 dinner — and one has an eye for the run of a stream ; one 
 does a little bit of pickaxing in the afternoon on one's own 
 account, — and walks off with his nugget. It is hard. 
 
 Still, in strictness, it is perfectly fair. The new comer, 
 * See the last terminal note. 
 
92 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGEBA. 
 
 spade on shoulder, does not understand, when he accepts the 
 invitation to dinner, that he must not dig, — or must give all 
 he gets to his host. The luck is his, and the old pitsnian 
 may very excusably growl and swear at liim a little ; but has 
 no real right to quarrel with him,— still less to say that his 
 nugget is copper, and try to make everybody else think so 
 too. 
 
 Alas, it was too clear tliat this Forbes' nugget w^as not 
 copper. The importance of the discovery was shown in 
 nothing so much as in the spite of Agassiz and his friends. 
 The really valuable work of Agassiz on the glaciers was 
 itself disgraced, and made a monument to the genius of 
 Forbes, by the irrelevant spite with which every page was 
 stained in which his name could be introduced. Mr. Desor 
 found consolation in describing the cowardice of the Ecos- 
 sais on the top of the Jungfrau ; and all the ingenuity and 
 plausibility of Professor Tyndall have been employed, since 
 the death of Forbes, to diminish the lustre of his discovery, 
 and divide the credit of it. 
 
 To diminish the lustre, observe, is the fatallest wrong ; by 
 diminishinof its distinctness. At the end of this last book of 
 his, in the four hundred and tenth of the sapient sentences 
 which he numbers with paternal care, he still denies, as far 
 as he dares, the essential point of Forbes' discovery ; denies 
 it interrogatively, leaving the reader to consider the whole 
 subject as yet open to discussion, — only to be conclusively de- 
 termined by — Professor Tyndall and his friends. " Ice splits," 
 he says, "if you strike a pointed pricker into it; fissures, 
 narrow and profound, may be traced for hundreds of yards 
 through the ice. Did the ice possess even a very small mod- 
 icum of that power of stretching which is characteristic of 
 a viscous substance, ^such crevasses could not be formed.'" 
 Professor Tyndall presumably never having seen a crack in 
 clay, nor in shoe-leather, nor in a dish of jelly set down with 
 a jerk ; nor, in the very wax he himself squeezed flat to show 
 the nature of cleavage, — understood that the cleavage meant 
 the multiplication of fissure ! 
 
 And the book pretends to be so explanatory, too, to his 
 
F0R8 GLAVIGERA. 
 
 93 
 
 young friends ! — explanatory of the use of the theodolite, of 
 the nature of presence of mind, of the dependence of enjoy- 
 ment of scenery upon honest labour, of the necessity that in 
 science, " thought, as far as possible, should be wedded to 
 fact," and of the propriety of their becoming older and 
 better informed before they unqualifiedly accept his opinion 
 of the labours of Rendu ! 
 
 But the one thing which, after following him througli the 
 edification of his four liundred and ten sentences, they had a 
 right to have explained to them — the one thing that will 
 puzzle them if ever they see a glaciei-, ''how the centre flows 
 past the sides, and the top flows over the bottom," the Pro- 
 fessor does not explain ; but only assures them of the atten- 
 tion which the experiments of Mr. Mathews, Mr. Froude, and 
 above all Signor Bianconi, on that subject, will doubtless 
 receive at a future time." 
 
 The readers of Fors may imagine they liave nothing to do 
 with personal questions of this kind. But they have no con- 
 ception of the degree in which general science is corrupted 
 and retarded by these jealousies of the schools ; nor how 
 important it is to the cause of all true education, that the 
 criminal indulgence of them should be chastised. Criminal 
 is a strong word, but an entirely just one. I am not likely 
 to overrate the abilities of Professor Tyndall ; but he had at 
 least intelligence enough to know that his dispute of the 
 statements of Forbes by quibbling on the word "viscous" 
 was as uncandid as it was unscholarly ; and it retarded the 
 advance of glacier science for at least ten years. It was 
 unscholarly^ because no other single word existed in the 
 English language which Forbes could have used instead ; 
 and uncandid, because Professor Tyndall knew perfectly well 
 that Forbes was aware of the difference between ice and 
 glue, without any need for experiments on them at the 
 Royal Institution. Forbes said that the mass of glacier ice 
 was viscous, though an inch of ice was not, just as it may be 
 said, with absolute truth, that a cartload of fresh-caught 
 herring is liquid, thougli a single herring is not. And the 
 absurdity as well as the iniquity of the Professor's wilful 
 
94 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGBBA. 
 
 avoidance of this gist of the whole debate is consumriiated in 
 this last book, in which, though its title is The Forms of Water, 
 he actually never traces the transformation of snow into 
 glacier ice at all — (blundering by the way, in consequence, 
 as to the use of one of the commonest words in Savoyard 
 French, neve). For there are three great forms of water " 
 by which the Alps are sheeted, — one is snow ; another is 
 glacier ice ; the third is neve, which is the transitional sub- 
 stance between one and the other. And there is not a syl- 
 lable, from the beginning of the book to the end, on the 
 subject of this change, the nature of which is quite the first 
 point to be determined in the analysis of glacier motion. 
 
 I have carried my letter to an unusual length, and must 
 end for the time ; and next month have to deal with some 
 other matters ; but as the Third Fors has dragged me into 
 this business, I will round it off as best I may ; and in the 
 next letter which I can devote to the subject, I hope to give 
 some available notes on the present state of glacier knowl- 
 edge, and of the points which men who really love the Alps 
 may now usefully work upon. 
 
FORS CLAVIOEBA. 
 
 95 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 I CUT out of the Morning Post of September 15th, 1873, the following 
 piece of fashionable intelligence, as a sufficiently interesting example 
 of the ''Sorrowful Paradise" which marriage, and the domestic ar- 
 rangements connected with it, occasionally construct in the districts of 
 England where Mr. Applegarth's great principle, '' No sentiment oughb 
 to be brought into the subject,*' would be most consistently approved 
 in all the affairs of life. The inconvenience to his master of the inop- 
 portune expression of sentiment on the part of the dog, is a striking 
 corroboration of Mr. Applegarth's views: — " Charles Dawson, an iron- 
 worker, who had left his wife and cohabited with a young woman 
 named Margaret Addison, attacked her in the house with a coal rake on 
 the head and body. He then, when his victim screamed, pressed her 
 neck down on the floor with one of his heavy boots, while with the 
 other he kicked her. He jumped upon her, and finally seized a large 
 earthem pan and dashed it upon her head, killing her on the spot The 
 whole of the attack was witnessed by a man who was deterred from 
 interfering by a loaded revolver which Dawson held. Dawson decamped, 
 and strong bodies of police guarded the different roads from the town, 
 and searched several of his haunts. At three o'clock yesterday morning 
 a dog recognised to be Dawson's was followed, and Sergeant Cuthbert 
 broke open the door where the animal was scratching to obtain admis- 
 sion, and captured Dawson, who was sitting on a chair. Although 
 he was armed with a loaded revolver, he offered no resistance." 
 
 I ought to have noted in last Fors^ respecting the difficulty of 
 spelling, some forms of bad spelling which result from the mere quan- 
 tity of modern literature, and the familiarity of phrases which are now 
 caught by the eye and ear, without being attentively looked at for 
 an instant, so that spelling and pronunciation go to ruin together. 
 
 On the other hand, I print the following portions of a very graceful 
 letter I received early this year, which indicates the diffusion of really 
 sound education. I wish its writer would tell me her employment. 
 
 London, S.E. 
 
 " March 9th, 1873. 
 
 *^ And you will not agaiu call yourself our friend, because you are 
 disheartened by our regardlessness of your friendship, and still more, it 
 
96 
 
 F0R8 GLAVIGEIIA. 
 
 may be, by the discouraging voice of some on whom you might perhaps 
 more reasonably have counted. 
 
 You say we have never written you a word of encouragement. But 
 don't you think the faulfc-fmders would be sure to speak first, and loud- 
 est? /even, in my loneliness, am able to lend my copies to four, wha 
 all look forward to their turn with pleasure. (They get their pleasure 
 for nothing^ and I was not quite sure you would approve ! until I found 
 you would be willing to lend your Talmud ! ) 
 '*0n one point / grumble and find fault. 
 
 *'Most of those works which you say you want us to read, I have 
 read; but if I had had to pay the price at which you propose to publish 
 them, they would have cost me £>\, and I could not have afforded it; 
 because, much as I delighted in them, I longed for certain other books 
 as well. Many an intelligent working man with a family is poorer than 
 I am. 
 
 "I quite thoroughly and heartily sympathise with your contempt for 
 advertising (as it is abused at present, an3^way). But I think all good 
 books should be cheap. 1 would make bad ones as dear as you like. 
 
 Was it not Socrates alone of the great Greeks who would put no 
 price on his wisdom ? — and Christ ' taught daily in their streets.* I do 
 assure you there are plenty of us teachable enough, if only any one capa- 
 ble of teaching could get near enough, who will never, in this world, 
 be able to afford 'a doctor's fee.' 
 
 " I wonder — if it be wrong to take interest — of what use my very 
 small savings could be to me in old age ? Would it be worth while for 
 working women to save at all ? 
 
 (Signed) A Working Woman." 
 
 No, certainly not wrong. The wrong is in the poor wages of good 
 work, which make it impossible to buy books at a proper price, or 
 to save what would be enough for old age. Books should not be 
 cheaper, but work should be dearer. 
 
 A young lady writing to me the other day to ask what I really 
 wanted girls to do, I answered as follows, requesting her to copy 
 the answer, that it might serve once for all. I print it accordingly, as 
 perhaps a more simple statement than the one given in Sesame and 
 Lilies. 
 
 Women's work is, — • 
 
 I. To please people. 
 
 II. To feed them in dainty ways. 
 
 HI. To clothe them. 
 
 IV. To keep them orderly. 
 
 V. To teach them. 
 
 I. To please. — A woman must be a pleasant creature. Be sure that 
 people like the room better with you in it than out of it ; and take all 
 pains to get the power of sympathy, and the habit of it. 
 
 II. Can you cook plain meats and dishes economically and savourily ? 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGEIiA. 
 
 97 
 
 If not, make it your first business to learn, as you find opportunity. 
 WJien you can, advise, and personally help, any poor woman within 
 your reach who will be glad of help in that matter ; always avoiding im- 
 pertinence or discourtesy of interference. Acquaint yourself with 
 the poor, not as their patroness, but their friend : if then you can 
 modestly recommend a little more water in the pot, or half an hour's 
 more boiling, or a dainty bone they did not know of, you will have been 
 useful indeed. 
 
 III. To clothe. — Set aside a quite fixed portion of your time for 
 making strong and pretty articles of dress of the best procurable 
 materials. You may use a sewing machine ; but what work is to be done 
 (in order that it may be entirely sound) with finger and thimble, is to 
 be your especial business. 
 
 First-rate material, however costly, sound work, and mch prettiness as 
 ingenious choice of colour and adaptation of simple form will admit, are 
 to be your aims. Head-dress may be fantastic, if it be stout, clean, and 
 consistently worn, as a Norman paysanne's cap. And you will be more 
 useful in getting up, ironing, etc., a pretty cap for a poor girl who has 
 not taste or time to do it for herself, than in making flannel petticoats 
 or knitting stockings. But do both, and give — (don*t be afraid of giv- 
 ing ; — Dorcas wasn't raised from the dead that modern clergymen 
 might call her a fool) — the things you make to those who verily need 
 them. What sort of persons these are, you have to find out. It is a 
 most important part of your work. 
 
 IV. To keep them orderly, — primarily clean, tidy, regular in habits. — 
 Begin by keeping things in order ; soon you will be able to keep 
 people, also. 
 
 Early rising — on all grounds, is for yourself indispensable. You must 
 be at work by latest at six in summer and seven in winter. (Of course 
 that puts an end to evening parties, and so it is a blessed condition in 
 two directions at once.) Every day do a little bit of housemaid's work 
 in your own house, thoicughly, so as to be a pattern of perfection in 
 that kind. Your actual housemaid will then follow your lead, if there's 
 an atom of woman's spirit in her — (if not, ask your mother to get an- 
 other). Take a step or two of stair, and a corner of the dining-room, 
 and keep them polished like bits of a Dut.ch picture. 
 
 If you have a garden, spend all spare minutes in it in actual garden- 
 ing. If not, get leave to take care of part of some friend's, a poor per- 
 son's, but always out of doors. Have nothing to do with greenhouses, 
 still less with hothouses. 
 
 When there are no flowers to be looked after, there are dead leaves 
 to be gathered, snow to be swept, or matting to be nailed, and the 
 like. 
 
 V. Teach — yourself first— to read with attention, and to remember 
 with affection, what deserves both, and nothing else. Never read bor- 
 
 VoL. II.— 7 
 
98 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGBRA. 
 
 rowed books. To be without books of your own is the abyss of penury. 
 Don't endure it. And when youVe to buy them, you'll think whether 
 they're worth reading ; which you had better, on all accounts. 
 
 (Glacier catastrophe, page 91.) 
 
 With the peculiar scientific sagacity on which Professor Tyndall 
 piques himself, he has entirely omitted to inquire what would be the 
 result on a really brittle body, — say a sheet of glass, four miles long by 
 two hundred feet thick, (A to B, in this figure, greatly exaggerates the 
 proportion in depth,) of being pushed down over a bed of rocks of any 
 
 -^ Df 
 
 8 
 
 I? 
 
 given probable outline — say c to D. Does he suppose it would adhere 
 to them like a tapering leech, the line given between c and D ? The 
 third sketch shows the actual condition of a portion of a glacier flow- 
 icg from E to F over such a group of rocks as the lower bed of the 
 Glacier des Bois once presented. Professor Tyndall has not even 
 thought of explaining what course the lines of lower motion, or subsi- 
 dence, (in ice of .the various depths roughly suggested by the dots) 
 would follow on ant/ hypothesis ; for, admitting even Professor Ram- 
 say's theory, that the glacier cut its own bed— (though it would be just 
 as rational to think that its own dish was made for itself by a custard 
 pudding) — still the rocks must have had some irregularity in shape to 
 begin with, tiiid ara not cut, even now, as suiooth as a silver ^poou. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 99 
 
 LETTER XXXV. 
 
 Brantwood, 
 
 \Uh September, 1873. 
 
 Looking up from my paper, as I consider what I am to 
 say in this letter, and in what order to say it, I see out of my 
 window, on the other side of the lake, the ivied chimneys 
 (thick and strong-built, like castle towers, and not at all dis- 
 posed to drop themselves over people below,) of the farm- 
 house where, I told you the other day, I saw its mistress 
 preparing the feast of berry-bread for her sheep-shearers. 
 In that farmhouse, about two hundred and fifty years ago, 
 warmed himself at the hearth, ten feet across, of its hall, 
 the English squire who wrote the version of the Psalms from 
 which I chose for you the fourteenth and fifteentli, last No- 
 vember. Of the said squire T wish you, this November, to 
 know somewhat more ; here, to begin, is his general char- 
 acter, given by a biographer who may be trusted : — 
 
 " He was a true model of wortli ; a man fit for conquest, 
 plantation, reformation, or what action soever is greatest 
 and hardest among men ; withal such a lover of mankind 
 and goodness, that whosover had any real parts in him 
 found comfort, participation, and protection to the ut- 
 termost of his power. The universities abroad and at 
 home accounted him a general Maecenas of learning, dedi- 
 cated their books to him, and communicated every invention 
 or improvement of knowledge with him. Soldiers honoured 
 him, and were so honoured by him, as no man thought he 
 marched under the true banner of Mars, that had not ob- 
 tained his approbation. Men of affairs in most parts of 
 Christendom entertained correspondency witli him. But 
 what speak I of these ? His heart and capacity were so 
 large, that there was not a cunning painter, a skilful en- 
 gineer, an excellent musician, orany other artificer of extraor 
 dinary fame, that made not himself known to this famous 
 
100 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 spirit, and found him his true friend without hire, and the 
 common rendezvous of worth, in his time." 
 
 This being (and as I can assure you, by true report,) his 
 character, and manner of life, you are to observe these things, 
 farther, about his birth, fate, and death. 
 
 When he was born, his mother was in mourninof for her 
 father, brother, and sister-in-law, who all had died on the 
 scaffold. Yet, very strangely, you will find that he takes 
 no measures, in his political life, for the abolition of capital 
 punishment. 
 
 Perhaps I had better at once explain to you the meaning 
 of his inactivity in that cause, although for my own part I 
 like best to put questions only, and leave you to work them 
 out for yourselves as you are able. But you could not 
 easily answer this one without help. This psalm-singing 
 squire has nothing to urge against capital punishment, be- 
 cause his grandfather, uncle, and aunt-in-law all died inno- 
 cent. It is only rogues who have a violent objection to being 
 hanged, and only abettors of rogues who would desire anything 
 else for them. Honest men don't in the least mind being 
 hanged occasionally by mistake, so only that the general prin- 
 ciple of the gallows be justly maintained ; and they have the 
 pleasure of knowing that the world they leave is positively 
 minded to cleanse itself of the human vermin with which 
 they have been classed by mistake. 
 
 The contrary movement — so vigorously progressive in 
 modern days — has its real root in a gradually increasing con- 
 viction on the part of the English nation that they are all 
 vermin. Worms ' is the orthodox Evangelical expression.) 
 Which indeed is becoming a fact, very fast indeed ; — but was 
 by no means so in the time of this psalm-singing squire. In 
 his days, there was still a quite sharp separation between 
 honest men and rogues ; and the honest men were perfectly 
 clear about the duty of trying to find out which was which. 
 The confusion of the two characters is a result of the peculiar 
 forms of vice and ignorance, reacting on each other, which 
 belong to the modern Evangelical sect, as distinguished from 
 
FOBS GLAVIOERA. 
 
 101 
 
 other bodies of Christian men ; and date therefore, neces- 
 sarily, from the Reformation. 
 
 Tliey consist especially in three things. First, in declaring 
 a bad translation of a group of books of various qualities, 
 accidentally associated, to be the ' Word of God.' Secondly, 
 reading, of this singular 'Word of God,' only the bits they 
 like ; and never taking any pains to understand even those.* 
 'J'hirdly, resolutely refusing to practise even the very small 
 bits they do understand, if such practice happen to go against 
 their own worldly — especially money — interests. Of which 
 three errors, the climax is in their always delightedly read- 
 ing — without in the slightest degree understanding — the 
 fourteenth Psalm ; and never reading, nor apparently think- 
 ing it was ever intended they should read, the next one to 
 it — the fifteenth. For which reason I gave you those two 
 together, from the squire's version, last November, — and, this 
 November and December, will try to make you understand 
 both. For among those books accidentally brought together, 
 and recklessly called the ' Word of God,' the book of Psalms 
 is a very precious one. It is certainly not the ' Word of God ' ; 
 but it is the collected words of very wise and good men, who 
 knew a great many important things which you don't know, 
 and had better make haste to know, — and were ignorant of 
 some quite unimportant things, which Professor Huxley 
 knows, and thinks himself wiser on that account than anv 
 quantity of Psalmists, or Canticle-singers either. The dis- 
 tinction between the two, indeed, is artificial, and worse than 
 that, non-natural. For it is just as proper and natural, some- 
 times, to write a psalm, or solemn song, to your mistress, and 
 a canticle, or joyful song, to God, as to write grave songs 
 
 * I have long since expressed these facts in my Ethics of the Dust^ but 
 too metaphorically. The way in which common people read their 
 Bibles is just like the way that the old monks thought hedgehogs ate 
 grapes. They rolled themselves (ic was said) over and over, where the 
 grapes lay on the ground : wliat fruit stuck to their spines, they carried 
 off and ate. So your hedgehoggy readers roll themselves over and over 
 their Bibles, and declare that whatever sticks to their own spines is 
 Scripture, and that nothing else is." 
 
102 
 
 FOES CLAVIGERA, 
 
 only to God, and canticles to your mistress. And there is^ 
 observe, no proper distinction in the words at all. When 
 Jean de Meung continues the love-poem of William de Loris, 
 he says sorrowfully : — 
 
 Cys trespassa Guilleaume 
 
 De Loris, et ne fit plus pseaume." 
 
 *' Here died William 
 Of Loris, and made psalm no more.*' 
 
 And the best word for " Canticles " in the Bible is " Asma," 
 or Song, which is just as grave a word as Psalmos, or Psalm. 
 
 And as it happens, this psalm-singing, or, at least, exqui- 
 sitely psalm-translating, squire, mine ancient neighbour, is 
 just as good a canticle-singer. I know no such lovely love 
 poems as his, since Dante's. 
 
 Here is a specimen for you, which I choose because of its 
 connection with the modern subject of railroads ; only note, 
 first. 
 
 The word Squire, I told you, meant primarily a rider." 
 And it does not at all mean, and never can mean, a person 
 carried in an iron box by a kettle on wheels. Accordingly, 
 this squire, riding to visit his mistress along an old English 
 road, addresses the following sonnet to the ground of it,— 
 gravel or turf, I know not which : — 
 
 " Highway, since you my chief Parnassus be ; 
 And that my Muse, to some ears not unsweet, 
 Tempers her words to trampling horses' feet, 
 More oft than to a chamber melody ; 
 Now, blessed you, bear onward blessed me, 
 To her, where I my heart, safe left, shall meet ; 
 My Muse and I must you of duty greet 
 With thanks and wishes ; wishing thankfully — 
 * Be you still fair, honour'd by public heed ; 
 By no encroachment wrong' d, nor time forgot ; 
 Kor blamed for blood, nor shamed for sinful deed ; 
 And that you know, I envy you no lot 
 Of highest wish, I wish you so much bliss, — 
 Hundreds of years you Stella's feet may kiss.' " 
 
 Hundreds of years ! You think that a mistake ? No, it is 
 the very rapture of love. A lover like this does not believe 
 
FORS CLAVIQERA. 
 
 his mistress can grow old, or die. How do you think the 
 other verses read, apropos of railway signals and railway 
 scrip ? 
 
 Be you still fair, honour d by public heed, * 
 
 Nor blamed for blood, nor shamed for sinful deed." 
 
 But to keep our eyes and ears with our squire. Presently 
 he comes in sight of his mistress's house, and then sings this 
 sonnet : — 
 
 ** I see the house ; my heart, thyself contain ! 
 Beware full sails drown not thy tottering barge ; 
 Lest joy, by nature apt spirits to enlarg^e. 
 Thee, to thy wreck, beyond thy limits strain. 
 Nor do like lords, whose weak, confused brain, 
 Not pointing to fit folks each undercharge, 
 "While ev^ry office themselves will discharge, 
 With doing all, leave nothing done but pain. 
 But give apt servants their due place ; let eyes 
 See beauty's total sum, summ d in her face; 
 Let ears hear speech, which wit to wonder ties; 
 Let breath suck up those sweets; let arms embrace 
 The globe of weal; lips, Love's indentures make; 
 Thou, but of all the kingly tribute take ! " 
 
 And here is one more, written after a quarrel, which is 
 the prettiest of all as a song ; and interesting for you to 
 compare with the Baron of Bradwardine's song at Lucky 
 M'Leary's : — 
 
 All my sense thy sweetness gained ; 
 Thy lair hair my heart enchained ; 
 My poor reason thy words moved. 
 So that thee, like heav'n, I loved. 
 
 Fa, la, la, leridan, dan, dan, dan, deridan ; 
 Dan, dan, dan, deridan, dei ;• 
 "While to my mind the outside stood, 
 For messenger of inward good. 
 
 Now thy sweetness sour is deemed ; 
 Thy hair not worth a hair esteemed, 
 Reason hath thy words removed. 
 Finding that but words they proved. 
 
 * See terminal Notes, 1, 
 
104 
 
 FOES CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 Fa, la, la, leridan, dan, dan, dan, deridan; 
 Dan, dan, dan, deridan, dei; 
 For no fair sign can credit win, 
 If that the substance fail within. 
 
 No more in thy sweetness glory, 
 For thy knitting hair be sorry ; 
 Use thy words but to bewail thee, 
 That no more thy beams avail thee ; 
 
 Dan, dan, 
 
 Dan, dan. 
 Lay not thy colours more to view 
 Without the picture be found true. 
 
 Woe to me, alas ! she weepeth ! 
 Fool ! in me what folly creepeth ? 
 Was I to blaspheme enraged 
 Where my soul I have engaged ? 
 And wretched I must yield to this ? 
 The fault I blame, her chasteness is. 
 
 Sweetness ! sweetly pardon folly ; 
 Tie me, hair, your captive wholly ; 
 Words ! O words of heav'nly knowledge ! 
 Know, my words their faults acknowledge ; 
 And all my life I will confess. 
 The less I love, I live the less. " 
 
 Now if you don't like these love-songs, you either havj 
 never been in love, or you don't know good writing from 
 bad, (and likely enough both the negatives, I'm sorry to say, 
 in modern England). But perhaps if you are a very severe 
 Evangelical person, you may like them still less, when you 
 know somethinor- more about them. Excellent love-sonors 
 seem always to be written under strange conditions. The 
 writer of that " Song of Songs " was himself, as you per- 
 haps remember, the child of her for whose sake the Psalmist 
 murdered his Hittite friend ; and besides, loved many strange 
 women himself, after that first bride. And these, sixty or 
 more, exquisite love-ditties, from which I choose, almost at 
 random, the above three, are all written by my psalm-singing 
 squire to somebody else's wife, he having besides a very nice 
 "wife of his own. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 105 
 
 For this squire is the, so called, ' Divine' Astrophel, 
 ' Astrophilos,' or star lover, — the un-to-be-imitated Astrophel, 
 the ' ravishing sweetness of whose poesy,' Sir Piercie Shaf. 
 ton, with his widowed voice, — widowed iu that it is no 
 longer matched by my beloved viol-de-gambo," — bestows oa 
 the unwilling ears of the Maid of Avenel.* And the Stella, 
 or star, whom he loved was the Lady Penelope Devereux, 
 who was his first love, and to whom he was betrothed, and 
 remained faithful in heart all his life, though she was married 
 to Robert, I^ord Rich, and he to the daughter of his old 
 friend. Sir Francis Walsingham. 
 
 How very wrong, you think ? 
 
 Well, perhaps so ; — we will talk of the wrongs and the 
 rights of it presently. One of quite the most curious facts 
 bearing upon them is that the very strict queen (the mother 
 of Coeur-de-Lion) who poisoned the Rose of Woodstock and 
 the world for her improper conduct, had herself presided at 
 the great court of judgment held by tlie higliest married 
 ladies of Christian Europe, whicli re-examined, and finally 
 re-affirmed, the decree of the Court of Love, held under the 
 presidency of Ermengarde, Countess of Narbonne ; — de- 
 cree, namely, that " True love cannot exist between married 
 persons." f Meantime lot me finish what I have mainly to 
 tell you of the divine Astrophel. You hear by the general 
 character first given of him that he was as good a soldier as 
 a lover, and being about to take part in a skirmish in the 
 Netherlands, — in which, according to English history, five 
 hundred, or a few more, English, entirely routed three thou- 
 sand Dutchmen, — as he was going into action, meeting the 
 marshal of the camp lightly armed, he must needs throw off 
 his own cuishes, or thigh armour, not to have an unfair ad- 
 vantage of him ; and after having so led three charges, and 
 had one horse killed under him and mounted another, " he 
 was struck by a musket shot a little above his left knee, 
 
 * If you don't know your Scott properly, it is of no use to ^ave you 
 references. 
 
 t DiciniuR, et stabilito tenoro firmamus, amorem non posse, inter 
 duae jugales, suas extendere vires. " 
 
106 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 which brake and rifted the bone, and entered the thigh up« 
 ward ; whereupon he unwillingly left the field," (not with- 
 out an act of gentleness, afterwards much remembered, to a 
 poor soldier^ wounded also ;) and, after lingering sixteen 
 days in severe and unceasing pain, " which he endured with 
 all the fortitude and resignation of a Christian, symptoms 
 of mortification, the certain forerunner of death, at length 
 appeared ; which he himself being the first to perceive, was 
 able nevertheless to amuse his sick-bed by composing an ode 
 on the nature of his wound, which he caused to be sung to 
 solemn music, as an entertainment that might soothe and 
 divert his mind from his torments ; and on the 16th October 
 breathed his last breath in the arms of his faithful secretary 
 and bosom companion, Mr. William Temple, after giving 
 this charge to his own brother : " Love my memory ; cherish 
 my friends. Their faith to me may assure you they are hon- 
 est. But above all govern your will and affections by the 
 will and word of your Creator,* in me beholding the end of 
 this world, with all its vanities." 
 
 Thus died, for England, and a point of personal honour, 
 in the thirty-second year of his age. Sir Philip Sidney, whose 
 name perhaps you have heard before, as well as that of his 
 aunt-in-law, Lady Jane Grey, for whose capital punishment, 
 as w^ell as that of the Duke of Northumberland, (his grand- 
 father,) his mother, as above stated, was in mourning when 
 he was born. 
 
 And Spenser broke off his Faery Qiceen^ for grief, when 
 he died; and all England went into mourning for him ; 
 which meant, at that time, that England was really sorry, 
 and not that an order had been received from Court. 
 
 16^A October, (St. Michael's.) — I haven't got my goose- 
 pie made, after all ; for my cook has been ill, and, unluckily, 
 I've had other things as much requiring the patronage of 
 St. Michael, to think of. You suppose, perhaps, (the Eng- 
 lisn generally seem to have done so since the blessed Ref* 
 
 * He meant the Bible ; having learned Evangelical views at the ma» 
 sacre of St. Bartholomew. 
 
FORS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 107 
 
 ormation,) that it is impious and Popish to think of St. 
 Michael with reference to any more serious affair than the 
 roasting of goose, or baking thereof ; and yet I liave had 
 some amazed queries from my correspondents, touching the 
 importance I seem to attach to my pie ; and from others, 
 questioning the economy of its construction. I don't sup- 
 pose a more savoury, preservable, or nourishing dish could 
 be made, with Michael's help, to drive the devil of hunger 
 out of poor men's stomachs, on the occasions when Chris- 
 tians make a feast, and call to it the poor, the maimed, the 
 halt, and the blind. But, putting the point of economy 
 aside for the moment, I must now take leave to reply to 
 my said correspondents, that the importance and reality of 
 goose-pie, in the Englisli imagination, as compared with the 
 unimportance and unreality of the archangel Michael, his 
 name, and his hierachy, are quite as serious subjects of 
 regret to me as to them ; and that I believe them to be 
 mainly traceable to the loss of the ideas, both of any 'arche,' 
 beginning, or princedom of things, and of any holy or hie- 
 ratic end of things ; so that, except in eggs of vermin, em- 
 bryos of apes, and other idols of genesis entiironed in Mr. 
 Darwin's and Mr. Huxley's shrines, or in such extinction as 
 may be proper for lice, or double-ends as may be discover- 
 able in amphisbaenas, there is henceforward, for man, neither 
 alpha nor omega, — neither beginning nor end, neither nativ- 
 ity nor judgment ; no Christmas Day, except for pudding ; 
 no Michaelmas, except for goose ; no Dies Irse, or day of 
 final capital punishment, for anything ; and that, there- 
 fore, in the classical words of Ocellus Lucanus, quoted by 
 Mr. Ephraim Jenkinson, " Anarchon kai atelutaion to 
 pan." 
 
 There remains, however, among us, very strangely, some 
 instinct of general difference between the abstractedly 
 angelic, hieratic, or at least lord- and lady-like character ; — 
 and the diabolic, non-hieratic, or slave- and (reverse-of-lady-) 
 like character. Instinct, which induces the London Journal^ 
 and other such popular works of fiction, always to make 
 their heroine, whether saint or poisoner, a ' Lad\' ' some- 
 
108 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 thing ; and which probably affects your minds not a little 
 in connection with the question of capital punishment ; so 
 that when I told you just now who Sir Philip's aunt was, 
 perhaps you felt as if I had cheated you by the words of my 
 first reference to her, and would say to yourselves, "Well, 
 but Lady Jane Grey wasn't hanged ! " 
 
 No ; she was not hanged ; nor crucified, which was the 
 most vulgar of capital punishments in Christ's time ; nor 
 kicked to death, which you at present consider the proper 
 form of capital punishment for your wives ; nor abused to 
 death, which the mob will consider the proper form of 
 capital punishment for your daughters,* when Mr. John 
 Stuart Mill's Essay on Liberty shall have become the Gospel 
 of England, and his statue be duly adored. 
 
 She was only decapitated, in the picturesque manner rep- 
 resented to you by Mr. Paul de la Roche in that charming 
 work of modern French art which properly companions the 
 series of Mr. Gerome's deaths of duellists and gladiators, and 
 Mr. Gustave Dore's pictures of lovers, halved, or quartered, 
 with their hearts jumping into their mistresses' laps. Of 
 all which pictures, the medical officer of the Bengalee-Life- 
 insurance Society would justly declare that ''even in an an- 
 atomical point of view, they were — per-fection." 
 
 She was only decapitated, by a man in a black mask, on a 
 butcher's block ; and her head rolled into sawdust, — if that's 
 any satisfaction to you. But why on earth do you care more 
 about her than anybody else, in these days of liberty and 
 equality ? 
 
 I shall have something soon to tell you of Sir Philip 
 Sidney's Arcadia, no less than Sir Thomas More's Utopia. 
 The following letter, though only a girl's, contains so much 
 respecting the Arcadia of Modern England which I cannot 
 elsewhere find expressed in so true and direct a way, that 
 
 * For the present, the daug'hters seem to take the initiative. See 
 Btory from Halifax in the last terminal Note. 
 
FOES CLAVIGERA. 
 
 109 
 
 I print it without asking her permission, promising however, 
 hereby, not to do so naughty a thing again, — to her, at 
 least ; new correspondents must risk it. 
 
 " I wish people would be good, and do as you wish, and 
 help you. Reading Fors last night made me determined 
 to try very hard to be good. I cannot do all the things 
 you said in the last letter you wanted us to do, but 1 will 
 try. 
 
 " Oh dear ! I wish you would emigrate, though I know 
 you won't. I wish we could all go somewhere fresh, and 
 begin anew : it would be so much easier. In fact it seems im- 
 possible to alter things here. You cannot think how it is, in 
 a place like this. The idea of there being any higher law to 
 rule all one's actions than self-interest, is treated as utter 
 folly ; really, people do not hesitate to say that in business 
 each one must do the best he can for himself, at any risk or 
 loss to others. You do know all this, perhaps, by hearsay, 
 but it is so sad to see in practice. They all grow alike — by 
 constant contact I suppose ; and one has to hear one after 
 the other gradually learning and repeating the lesson they 
 learn in town — to trust no one, believe in no one, admire no 
 one ; to act as if all the world was made of rogues and thieves, 
 as the only way to be safe, and not to be a rogue or thief 
 oneself if it's possible to make money without. And what 
 can one do ? They laugh at me. Being a woman, of course 
 I know nothing ; being, moreover, fond of reading, I imagine 
 I do know something, and so get filled with foolish notions, 
 which it is their duty to disabuse me of as soon as possible. 
 I should so like to drag them all away from this wretched 
 town, to some empty, now, beautiful, large country, and set 
 them all to dig, and plant, and build ; and we could, I am 
 sure, all be pure and honest once more. No, there is no 
 chance here. I am so sick of it all. 
 
 I want to tell you one little fact that I heard the other 
 day that made me furious. It will make a long letter, but 
 
 please read it. You have heard of , — the vilest spot in 
 
 all the earth, I am sure, and yet they are very proud of it. 
 It is all chemical works, and the country for miles round 
 looks as if under a curse. There are still some farms 
 struggling for existence, but the damage done to them is 
 very great, and to defend themselves, when called upon to 
 make reparation, the chemical manufacturers have formed 
 an association, so that if one should be brought to pay^ 
 
110 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 the others should support him. Of course, generally, it is 
 almost impossible to say which of the hundreds of chimneys 
 may have caused any particular piece of mischief ; and 
 further frightened by this coalition^ and by the expense of 
 laic^"^ the farmers have to submit. But one day, just before 
 harvest-time this year, a farmer was in his fields, and saw 
 a o^reat stream, or whatever vou would call it, of smoke come 
 over his land from one of these chimneys, and, as it passed, 
 destroy a large held of corn. It literally burns up vegetation, 
 as if it were a hre. The loss to this man, who is not well off, 
 is about £400. He went to the owners of the works and 
 asked for compensation. They did not deny that it might 
 have been their gas, but told him he could not prove it, and 
 they would pay nothing. I dare say they were no worse 
 than other people, and that they would be quite commended 
 by business men. But that is our honesty, and this is 
 a country where there is supposed to be justice. These 
 chemical people are very rich, and could consume all this 
 gas and smoke at a little more cost oi working. I do believe 
 it is hopeless to attempt to alter these things, they are so 
 strong. Then the other evening I took up a Telegraph — a 
 newspaper is hardly fit to touch nowadays — but I happened 
 to look at this one, and read an account of some cellar 
 homes in St. Giles.' It sent me to bed miserable, and I am 
 sure that no one has a right to be anything but miserable 
 while such misery is in the world. What cruel wretches we 
 must all be, to suffer Namely such things to be, and sit by, 
 enjoying ourselves ! I must do something ; yet I am tied 
 hand and foot, and can do nothing but cry out. And mean- 
 while — oh ! it makes me mad — our clergymen, who are sup- 
 posed to do right, and teach others right, are squabbling 
 over their follies ; here they are threatening each other with 
 prosecutions, for exceeding the rubric, or not keeping the 
 rubric, and mercy and truth are forgotten. I wish I might 
 preach once, to them and to the rich ; — no one ought to be 
 rich ; and if I were a clergyman I would not go to one of 
 their dinner-parties, unless I knew that they w^ere moving 
 heaven and earth to do away with this poverty, which, what- 
 ever its cause, even though it be, as they say, the people's 
 own fault, is a disgrace to every one of us. And so it seems 
 to me hopeless, and I wish you would emigrate. 
 
 " It is no use to be more polite, if we are less honest. No 
 
 * Italics mine. 
 
FORS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 Ill 
 
 use to treat women with more respect outwardly, and with 
 
 more shameless, brutal, systematic degradation secretly. 
 
 Worse than no use to build hospitals, and kill people to put 
 
 into them ; and churches, and insult God by pretending to 
 
 worship Him. Oh dear ! what is it all coming to ? Are 
 
 we going like Rome, like France, like Greece, or is 
 
 there time to stop ? Can St. George fight such a Dragon ? 
 
 You know I am a coward, and it does frighten me. Of 
 
 course I don't mean to run away, but is God on our side ? 
 
 Whv does He not arise and scatter His enemies ? If 
 •/ 
 
 you could see what I see here ! Tliis used to be quite a 
 peaceful little country village ; now the chemical manu- 
 facturers have built works, a crowd of tliem, along the 
 river, about two miles from here. The place where this hide- 
 ous colony has planted itself, is, I am sure, the ugliest, most 
 loathsome spot on the earth." (x\rcadia, my dear, Arcadia.) 
 " It has been built just as any one wanted either works or 
 a row of cottages for the men, — all huddled up, backs to 
 fronts, any way ; scrambling, crooked, dirty, squeezed up ; 
 the horrid little streets separated by pieces of waste clay, or 
 half-built-up land. The works themselves, with their chim- 
 neys and buildings, and discoloured ditches, and heaps of ref- 
 use chemical stuff lying about, make up the most horrible 
 picture of ' progress ' you can imagine. Because they are 
 all so proud of it. The land, now ever}^ blade of grass and 
 every tree is dead, is most valuable — I mean, they gel 
 enormous sums of money for it, — and every year they build 
 
 new works, and say, **Wiiata wonderful place is ! ' It 
 
 is creeping nearer and nearer here. There is a forest of chim- 
 neys visible, to make up, I suppose, for tiie trees that are dying. 
 We can hardly ever now see the farther bank of our river, 
 that used to be so pretty, for the thick smoke that hangs 
 over it. And worse than all, the very air is poisoned with 
 their gases. Often the vilest smells fill the house, but they 
 say they are not unhealthy. I wish they were — perliaps 
 then they would try to prevent them. It nearly maddens 
 me to see the trees, the poor trees, standing bare and naked, 
 or slowly dying, tlie top branches dead, the few leaves with- 
 ered and limp. Tlie other evening I went to a farm that 
 used to be (how sad that ' used to be ' sounds) so pretty, sur- 
 rounded by woods. Now half the trees are dead, and they 
 are cutting down the rest as fast as possible, so that they 
 can at least make use of the wood. The gas makes them 
 useless. Yesterday I went to the house of the manager of 
 
112 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 some plate-glass works. He took me over them, and it wag 
 very interesting, and some of it beautiful. You should see 
 the liquid fire streaming on to the iron sheets, and then the 
 sparkling lakes of gold, so intensely bright, like bits out of 
 a setting sun sometimes. When I was going away, the man- 
 ager pointed proudly to tiie mass oi buildings we had been 
 through, and said, ' This was all corn-fields a few years ago ! ' 
 It sounded so cruel, and I could not help saying, ' Don't 
 you think it was better growing corn than making glass ? ' 
 He laughed, and seemed so amused ; but I came away won- 
 dering, if this goes on, what will become of England. The 
 tide is so strong — they icill try to make money, at any price. 
 And it is no use trying to remedy one evil, or another, un- 
 less the root is rooted out, is it ? — the love of money." 
 
 It is of use to remedy any evil you can reach : and all this 
 will very soon now end in forms of mercantile catastrophe, 
 and political revolution, which will end the " amusement " of 
 managers, and leave the ground (too fatally) free, without 
 " emigration." 
 
 Oxford, 2Uh October. 
 
 The third Fors has just put into my hands, as I arrange 
 my books here, a paper read before a Philosophical Society 
 in the year 1870, (in mercy to the author, I forbear to give 
 his name ; and in respect to the Philosophical Society, I for- 
 bear to give its name,) which alleges as a discovery, by 
 interesting experiment,' that a horizontal plank of ice laid 
 between two points of support, bends between them ; and 
 seriously discusses the share which the ' motive power of 
 lieat ' has in that amazing result. I am glad, indeed, to see 
 that the author "cannot, without some qualifications agree" 
 in the lucid opinion of Canon Moseley, that since, in the 
 Canon's experiments, ice was crushed under a pressure of 
 308 lb. on the square inch, a glacier over 710 feet thick would 
 crush itself to pieces at the bottom. (The Canon may still 
 further assist modern science by determining what weight is 
 necessary to crush an inch cube of water ; and favouring us 
 with his resulting opinion upon the probable depth of the 
 isea.) But I refer to this essay only to quote the following 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 113 
 
 passages in it, to prove, for future reference, the degree of 
 ignorance to whicii the ingenuity of Professor Tyndall had 
 reduced the general scientific public, in the year 1870 : — 
 
 " The generally accepted theory proned by the Rev, Canon 
 Moseley to he incorrect. — Since the time that Professor 
 Tyndall had shown that all the phenomena formerly attrib- 
 uted by Professor Forbes to plasticity could be explained 
 upon the principle of regelation, discovered by Faraday, the 
 viscous theory of glacier-motion has been pretty generally 
 given up. The ice of a glacier is now almost universally be- 
 heved to be, not a soft plastic substance, but a substance 
 hard, brittle, and unyielding. The power that the glacier 
 lias of accommodating itself to tlie inequalities of its bed with- 
 out losing its apparent continuity is referred to the property 
 of regelation possessed by ice. All this is now plain." 
 
 The present state of the qxtestion. — The condition which 
 the perplexing question of the cause of the descent of glaciers 
 has now reached seems to be something: like the following. 
 The ice of a glacier is not in a soft and plastic state, but is 
 solid, hard, brittle, and unyielding." 
 
 I hope to give a supplementary number of Fors^ this win- 
 ter, on glacier questions ; and will only, therefore, beg my 
 readers at present to observe that the opponents of Forbes 
 are simply in the position of persons who deny the flexibility 
 of chain-mail because * steel is not flexible ; ' and, resolving 
 that steel is not flexible, account for the bending of an old 
 carving-knife by the theory of * contraction and expansion.' 
 
 Observe, also, that ^regelation' is only scientific language 
 for 'freezing again and it is supposed to be more explan- 
 atory, as being Latin. 
 
 Similarly, if you ask any of these scientific gentlemen the 
 reason of the forms of hoar-frost on your window-pane, they 
 will tell you they may be all explained by the " theory of 
 congelation." 
 
 Finally ; here is the first part of the question, in brief 
 terms for you to think over. 
 
 A cubic foot of snow falls on the top of the Alps. It takes, 
 more or less, forty years (if it doesn't melt) to get to the 
 Vol. IL-la 
 
114 
 
 FOBS CLAVIQERA. 
 
 bottom of them. During that period it has been warmed by 
 forty summers, frozen by forty winters ; sunned and shaded, 
 — sopped and dried, — dropped and picked up again, — wasted 
 and supplied, — cracked and mended, — squeezed together and 
 pulled asunder, by every possible variety of temperature and 
 force that wind, weather, and colossal forces of fall and 
 weight, can bring to bear upon it. 
 
 How much of it will get to the bottom ? With what ad- 
 ditions or substitutions of matter, and in what consistence ? 
 
FORS CLA VIOERA, 
 
 115 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 I find an excellent illustration of the state of modern roads, ' not 
 blamed for biood,' in the following '^Month's List of Killed and 
 Wounded," from the PaU Mali Gazette : — 
 
 We have before us a task at once monotonous, painful, and revolt- 
 ing. It is to record, for the benefit of the public, the monthly list of 
 slaughter by rail, for the last four weeks unprecedented in degree and 
 variety. In August there were three 'accidents,' so called, for every 
 five days. In the thirty days of September there have been in all 
 thirty-six. W^e need not explain the dreary monotony of this work. 
 Every newspaper reader understands that for himselt It is also pain- 
 ful, because we are all more or less concerned, either as travellers, 
 shareholders, or workers on railways ; and it is grievous to behold enor- 
 mous sums of money thrown away at random in compensation for loss 
 of life and limb, in making good the damage done to plant and stock, 
 in costly law litigation, and all for the sake of what is called economy. 
 It is, moreover, a just source of indignation to the tax-payer to reflect 
 that he is compelled to contribute to maintain a costl3' staff of Govern 
 ment inspectors (let alone the salaries of the Board of Trade), and that 
 for any practical result of the investigations and reports of these gen- 
 tlemen, their scientific knowledge and 'urgent recommendations,' they 
 might as well be men living in the moon. It is revolting because it 
 discloses a miserable greed, and an entire callousness of conscience on 
 the part of railway directors, railway companies, and the railway in- 
 terest alike, and in the Government and Legislature a most unworthy 
 and unwise cowardice. It is true that the situation may be accounted 
 for by the circumstance that there are between one and two hundred 
 railway directors in the House of Commons who uniformly band to- 
 gether, but that explanation does not improve the fact. 
 
 Sept. 2. — North -Eastern Railway, near Hartlepool. Passenger train 
 got off the line ; three men killed, several injured. Cause, a defective 
 wheel packed with sheet iron. The driver had been recently fined for 
 driving too slowly. 
 
 Sept. 5. — Great Western. A goods train ran into a number of beasts, 
 and then came into collision with another goods train. 
 
 Sept. (). — Line from Helensburgh to Glasgow. A third class carriage 
 got on fire. No communication between passengers and guard. The 
 former got through the windows as best they could, and were found 
 lying about the line, six of them badly injured. 
 
 Sept. 8. — A train appeared quite unexpectedly on the line between 
 Tamworth and Rugby. One woman run over and killed. 
 
 Sept. 9. — Cannon Street. Two carriages jumped off the line ; traffic 
 much delayed. 
 
116 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOEEA. 
 
 Sept. 9.— Near Guildford. A bullock leaped over a low gate on to 
 the line; seven carriages were turned over the embankment and shiv- 
 ered to splinters ; three passengers were killed on the spot, suffocated 
 or jammed to death ; about fifteen were injured. 
 
 Sept. 10. — London and North- Western, at Watford. Passenger train 
 left the rails where the points are placed, and one carriage was over- 
 turned ; several persons injured, and many severely shaken. 
 
 Sept. 10. — Great Northern, at Ardsley. Some empty carriages were 
 put unsecured on an incline, and ran into the Scotch express : three 
 carriages smashed, several passengers injured, and driver, stoker, and 
 guard badly shaken. 
 
 Sept. 11. — Great Eastern, near Sawbridge worth. A goods train, to 
 which was attached a waggon inscribed as defective and marked for 
 repair, was proceeding on the up line ; the waggon broke down, and 
 caught a heavy passenger train on the down line : one side of this train 
 was battered to pieces ; many passengers severely shaken and cut with 
 broken glass. 
 
 Sept. 12. — East Lancashire, near Bury. A collision between two 
 goods trains. Both lines blocked and waggons smashed. One driver 
 was very badly hurt. 
 
 Sept. 13. — London, Chatham, and Dover, near Birchington station. 
 Passenger train drove over a number of oxen ; engine was thrown off 
 the line ; driver terriblj^ bruised ; passengers severely shaken. Cause, 
 the animals got loose while being driven over a level crossing, and no 
 danger signals were hoisted. 
 
 Sept. 1.'). — Caledonian line, near Glasgow. Passenger train ran into 
 a mineral train which had been left planted on the line ; one woman 
 not expected to survive, thirteen passengers severely injured. Cause, 
 gross negligence. 
 
 Same day, and same line. — Caledonian goods train was run into 
 broadside by a North British train ; great damage done ; the guard 
 was seriously injure 1. Cause, defective signalling. 
 
 Sept. 16. — Near Birmingham. A paseenger train, while passing over 
 some points, got partly off the line ; no one severely hurt, but all shak- 
 en and frightened. Cause, defective working of points. 
 
 Sept. 17. — Between Preston and Liverpool, near Houghton. The 
 express train from Blackburn ran into a luggage train which was in 
 course of being shunted, it V)eing perfectly well known that the ex- 
 press was overdue. About twenty passengers were hurt, or severely 
 shaken and alarmed, but no one was actually killed. Cause, gross neg- 
 ligence, want of punctuality, and too much trafSc. 
 
 Same day. — Groat Eastern. Points not being closed, a cattle train 
 left the metal and ploughed up the line, causing much damage and 
 delay in traffic. Cause, negligence. 
 
 Same day. — Oxf .-rd and Bletehley Railwa5^ Axle- wheel of waggon 
 broke, and with seven trucks left the line. A general smash ensued; 
 broken carriages were strewt^d all over the line, and a telegraph post 
 was knocked down : blockage for four hours. Cause, defective axle. 
 
 Same day. — A goods train from Bolton to Manchester started so laden 
 as to project over the other line for the down traffic. Encountering 
 the express from Manchester near Stone Clough, every passenger car- 
 riage was in succession struck and injured. Cause, gross negligence 
 of porters, station-master, and guard of goods train. 
 
FOltS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 117 
 
 *' Here, it will be observed, we have already got eighteen catastrophes 
 within seventeen days. On September 18 and 19 there was a lull, fol- 
 lowed by an appalling outbreak. 
 
 Sept. 20. — At the Bristol terminus, where the points of the Midland 
 and Great Western meet, a mail train of the former ran full into a pas- 
 senger train belonging to the latter. As they were not at full speed, no 
 one was killed, but much damage was done. Cause, want of punctu- 
 ality and gross negligence. Under a system where the trains of two 
 large companies have a junction in commou and habicually cross each 
 other many times a day, the block system seems impossible in practice. 
 
 Same day. — Manchester, Sheffield, and Lincoln line. A passenger 
 train was unhooked from the engine at Pennistone, and ran down the 
 incline at a fearful rate. A signalman, seeing something wrong, and 
 naturally confused, turned it on to the Sheffield line. At Wortley it 
 encountered a goods train laden with pig-iron. Smash in every direc- 
 tion, carriages and trucks mounting one on the top of the other. For- 
 tunately there were only three passengers; but all were seriously in- 
 jured. Cause, gross negligence. 
 
 Sept. 22. — Midland Railway', near Kettering. A train ran off the 
 line ; metals torn up ; traffic delayed for two hours. 
 
 Same day. — Passenfjer train from Chester was descending the tunnel 
 under Birkenhead ; the engine ran off the line and dashed against the 
 tunnel wall. Passengers nmch shaken, but not seriously maimed. 
 Traffic stopped for several hours. 
 
 Sept. 23.— A lull. 
 
 Sept. 24. — North British Railway, at Reston Junction. The early ex- 
 press train which leaves Berwick for Edinburgh at 4.30 a.m. was going 
 at full speed, all signals being at safety, but struck a waggon which was 
 left standing a little on the main line over a siding; engine damaged, 
 and the panels and foot-boards of ten carriages knocked to bits ; no 
 loss of life. Cause, gross negligence. 
 
 Sept. 25. — A ]\Ii(lland excursion train from Leicester got off the line 
 near New Street station ; the van was thrown across both lines of rails ; 
 great damage and delay. Cause, over-used metal. 
 
 Same day. — London and North- Western, between Greenfield and 
 Mossley. A bundle of cotton which had fallen from a train pulled one 
 waggon off the line; twenty other waggons followed it, and the line 
 was ploughed up for two hundred yards ; great damage, delay, and 
 many waggons smashed : no loss of life. Cause, negligence. 
 
 Same day. — Great Eastern, St. Ives. Through carelessness a points- 
 man ran a Midland ))assenger train into a siding on to some trucks; 
 passengers badly shaken, and a good many had their teeth knocked 
 out. The account stated naively, No passengers were seriously hurt, 
 but they were nevertlieless very muc-h alarmed, and fled the carriages 
 in the greatest state of excitement." Cause, gross negligence. 
 
 Same day. — South Yorkshire, near Conisbro. A mineral train (sig- 
 nals being all right) dashed full into a heavy coal train. Much damage, 
 but no lose of life. Cause, gross negligence and over-traffic. 
 
 Sept. 20. — This was a very fatal day. At Sykes Junction, near Ret- 
 ford, the Manchester, Sheffield, and Lincoln joins the Great Northern. 
 A coal train of the latter while passing the junction was run into at 
 full speed by a cattle train of the former. The engine and fifteen car- 
 
118 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 riages were thrown down the bank and smashed, and valuable cattle 
 killed. Meanwhile a goods train drew up, the signal being for once at 
 danger, and was immediately run into by a mineral train from behind, 
 which had not been warned. Drivers, guards, firemen injured. A fog 
 was on at the time, but no fog signals appear to have been used. 
 Cause, negligence and over-traffic. 
 
 Same day. — North-Eastern passenger train from Stockton to Harro- 
 gate ran into a heavy goods train near Arthington. The crash was 
 fearful. About twenty passengers were injured ; half that number 
 very seriously. The signals contradicted each other. Cause, gross 
 negligence. 
 
 Same day. — North-Eastern, Newcastle and Carlisle division. There 
 was a collision between a mineral and a cattle train on a bridge of the 
 river Eden more than 100 feet high. Part of the bridge was hurled 
 down below ; several waggons followed it, while others remained sus- 
 pended. Cattle were killed ; three men badly injured. Cause, gross 
 negligence. 
 
 Same day. — Near Carnarvon. A passenger train ran over a porter's 
 lorry which had been left on the line ; no one was injured, but damage 
 ensued ; passengers had fortunately alighted. Cause, negligence. 
 
 Same day. — Great Eastern. A train of empty carriages was turned 
 on to a siding at Fakenham, and came into collision with laden trucks, 
 which in their turn were driven into a platform wall ; much damage 
 done, but no personal injury. Cause, gross negligence. 
 
 Sept. 27. — The Holyhead mail due at Crewe at 5.30 was half an hour 
 late ; left standing on a curve, ifc was run into by a goods train ; a 
 number of carriages were smashed, and though no one was killed, 
 nearly fifty persons were injured. The signals were against the goods 
 train, but the morning being hazy the driver did not see them. Cause, 
 negligence, unpunctuality, and want of fog signals. 
 
 Sept. 28. — South Devon Line, near Plymouth. A luggage train was 
 set on fire, and a van laden with valuable furniture completely con- 
 sumed. 
 
 Sept. 30. — The London and Glasgow express came up at full speed 
 near Motherwell Junction, and dashed into a van which was being 
 shunted on the main line ; the engine was thrown down an embank- 
 ment of thirty feet, and but for the accident of the coupling-iron 
 breaking the whole train would have followed it. The fireman was 
 crushed to death, the driver badly injured, and many passengers se- 
 verely shaken. Cause, criminal recklessness in shunting vans when an 
 express is due. 
 
 Sept. 30. — Great Western. Collision at UflSngton between a fish and 
 luggage train ; no loss of life, but engine shattered, trafiic delayed, and 
 damage done. Cause, negligence. 
 
 "Besides the above, two express trains had a very narrow escape 
 from serious collision on September 13 and September 26, the one 
 being near Beverley station, and the other on the Great Western, be- 
 tween Oxford and Didcot. Both were within an ace of running into 
 luggage vans which had got off the lines. It will be observed that in 
 this dismal list there is hardly one which can properly be called an ac- 
 cident, i.e., non-essential to the existing condition of things, not to be 
 foreseen or prevented, occurring by chance, which means being caused 
 
FOBS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 110 
 
 by our ignorance of laws which we have no means of ascertaining. The 
 reverse is the true state of the case : the real accidents would have 
 been if the catastrophes in question had not occurred." 
 
 A correspondent, who very properly asks, " Should we not straight- 
 way send more missionaries to the KafiQrs ? " sends me the following 
 extracts from the papers of this month. T have no time to comment 
 on them. The ocly conclusion which Mr. Dickens would have drawn 
 from them, would have been that nobody should have been hanged at 
 Kirkdale ; the conclusion the public will draw from them will doubt- 
 less be, as suggested by my correspondent, the propriety of sending 
 more missionaries to the Kaffirs, with plenty of steam-engines. 
 
 JUVENILE DEPRAVITY. 
 
 Yesterday, a lad named Joseph Frieman, eleven years of age, was 
 charged before the Liverpool magistrates with cutting and wounding 
 his brother, a child six years old. It appeared that on Saturday, dur- 
 ing the absence of their mother, the prisoner threw the little fellow 
 down and wounded him with a knife in a frightful manner, and on the 
 return of the mother she found the lad lying in great agony and bleed- 
 ing profusely. In reply to her questions the prisoner said that his 
 brotlier ''had broken a plate, and the knife Biipi>ed." The woman 
 stated that the prisoner was an incorrigible boy at home, and stole 
 everything he could lay his hands on. A few weeks ago, about the 
 time of the recent execution at Kirkdale, he suspended his little sister 
 with a rope from the ceiling in one of the bedrooms, nearly causing 
 death. The prisoner was remanded for a week, as the injured hoy lies 
 in a very dangerous state. 
 
 SnOCKING rAKUICIDE IN H\MFAX. 
 
 A man, named Andrew Cos^llo, 8G, died in Halifax yesterday, from 
 injuries committed on him by his daughter, a mill hand. She struck 
 him on Monday with a rolling-pin, and on the following day tore his 
 tongue out at the root at one side. He died in the woikhouse, of 
 lockjaw. 
 
120 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 LETTER XXXVI. 
 
 Thkee years have passed since I began these letters. Of 
 the first, and another, I forget which, a few more than a 
 thousand have been sold : and as the result of mv benrsrino^ 
 for money, I have got upwards of two hundred pounds. 
 The number of the simple persons who have thus trusted me 
 is stated at the end of this letter. Had I been a swindler, 
 the British public would delightedly have given me two hun- 
 dred thousand pounds instead of two hundred, of which I 
 might have returned them, by tliis time, say, the quarter, in 
 dividends ; spent a hundred and fifty thousand pleasantly, 
 myself, at the rate of fifty thousand a year ; and announced, 
 in this month's report, with regret, the failure of my project, 
 owing to the unprecedented state of commercial affairs in- 
 duced by strikes, unions, and other illegitimate combinations 
 among the workmen. 
 
 And the most curious part of the business is that I fancy 
 I should have been a much more happy and agreeable mem- 
 ber of society, spending my fifty thousand a year thus, in the 
 way of business, than I have been in giving away my own 
 seven thousand, and painfully adding to it this collection of 
 two hundred, for a piece of work which is to give me a great 
 deal of trouble, and be profitable only to other people. 
 
 Happy, or sulky, however, I have got this thing to do ; 
 and am only amused, instead of discouraged, by the beautiful 
 reluctance of the present English public to trust an honest 
 person, without being flattered ; or promote a useful work 
 without being bribed. 
 
 It may be true that I have not brought my plan rightly 
 before the public yet. " A bad thing will pay, if you put it 
 properly before the public," wrote a first-rate man of business 
 the other day, to one of my friends. But what the final re- 
 sults of putting bad things properly before the public, wiU 
 
FORS CLAVIOERA, 
 
 121 
 
 be to the exhibitor of them, and the public also, no man of 
 business that I am acquainted with is yet aware. 
 
 I mean, therefore, to persist in my own method ; and to 
 allow the public to take their time. One of their most 
 curiously mistaken notions is that they can hurry the pace 
 of Tinie itself, or avert its power. As to these letters of 
 mine, for instance, which all my friends beg me not to write, 
 because no w^orkman will understand them now ; — what 
 would have been the use of writing letters only for the men 
 who have been produced by the instructions of Mr. John 
 Stuart Mill ? I write to the labourers of England ; but not 
 of England in 1870-73. A day will come when we shall have 
 men resolute to do good work, and capable of reading and 
 thinking while they rest ; who will not expect to build like 
 Athenians without knowing anything about the first king of 
 Athens, nor like Christians without knowing anything about 
 Christ : and then they will find my letters useful, and read 
 them. And to the few readers whom these letters now find, 
 they will become more useful as they go on, for they are a 
 mosiac-work into which I can put a piece here and there as 
 I find glass of the colour I w^ant ; what is as yet done being 
 set, indeed in patches, but not without design. 
 
 One chasm 1 must try to fill to-day, by telling you why it 
 is so grave a heresy (or wilful source of division) to call any 
 book, or collection of books, the * Word of God.' 
 
 By that Word, or Voice, or Breath, or Spirit, the heavens 
 and earth, and all the host of them, were made ; and in it 
 they exist. It is your life ; and speaks to you always, so 
 long as you live nobly ; — dies out of you as you refuse to 
 obey it ; leaves you to hear, and be slain by, the word of an 
 evil spirit, instead of it. 
 
 It may come to you in books, — come to you in clouds, — 
 come to you in the voices of men, — come to you in the still- 
 ness of deserts. You must be stronof in evil, if you have 
 quenched it wholly ; — very desolate in this Christian land, if 
 you have never heard it at all. Too certainly, in this Chris- 
 tian land you do hear, and loudly, the contrary of it, — the 
 doctrine or word of devils, speaking lies in hypocrisy ; for- 
 
122 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 bidding to marry, recommending women to find some more 
 lucrative occupation than that of nursing the baby ; and 
 commanding to abstain from meats, (and drinks,) which 
 God has appointed to be received with thanksgiving. For 
 everything which God has made is good, and nothing to 
 he refused, if it be sanctified by the Word of God." And 
 by what else ? 
 
 If you have been accustomed to hear the clergyman's 
 letter from which I have just been quoting, as if it were 
 itself the word of God, — you have been accustomed also to 
 hear our bad translation of it go on, saying, " If it be sancti- 
 fied by the Word of God, and prayer." But there is nothing 
 whatever about prayer in the clergyman's letter, — nor does 
 he say, If it be sanctified. He says, ^' For it is sanctified by 
 the Word of God, and the chance that brings it."* Which 
 means, that when meat comes in your way when you are 
 hungrj^ or drink when you are thirsty, and you know in 
 your own conscience that it is good for you to have it, the 
 meat and drink are holy to you. 
 
 But if the Word of God in your heart is against it, and 
 you know that you would be better without the extra glass 
 of beer you propose to take, and that your wife would be the 
 better for the price of it, then it is unholy to you : and you 
 can only have the sense of entire comfort and satisfaction, 
 either in having it, or going without it, if you are simply 
 obeying the Word of God about it in your mind, and accept- 
 ing contentedly the chances for or against it ; as probably 
 you have heard of Sir Philip Sidney's accepting the chance of 
 another soldier's needing his cup of water more than he, on 
 his last battle-field, and instantly obeying the Word of God 
 coming to him on that occasion. Not that it is intended 
 that the supply of these good creatures of God should be left 
 wholly to chance ; but that if we observe the proper laws of 
 God concerning them, and, for instance, instead of forbidding 
 marriage, duly and deeply reverence it, then, in proper time 
 
 * The complete idea I believe to be " the Divine Fors " or Providence, 
 accurately bo called, of God. For it is sanctified by the Word of God, 
 and the granting." 
 
FORH CLA VIGEUA. 
 
 123 
 
 and place, there will be true Fors, or chancing on, or finding 
 of, the youth and maid by each other, such in character as 
 the Providence of Heaven appoints for each : and, similarly, 
 if we duly recognize the laws of God about meats and drinks, 
 there will for every labourer and traveller be such chancintr 
 upon meat and drink and other entertainment as shall be 
 sacredly pleasant to him. And there cannot indeed be at 
 present imagined a more sacred function for young Christian 
 men than that of hosts or hospitallers, supplying, to due 
 needs, and with proper maintenance of their own lives, 
 wholesome food and drink to all men : so that as, at least, 
 always at one end of a village there may be a holy church 
 and vicar, so at the other end of the village there may be 
 a holy tavern and tapster, ministering the good creatures of 
 God, so that they may be sanctified by the Word of God 
 and His Providence. 
 
 And as the providence of marriage, and the giving to eacii 
 man the help meet for his life, is now among us destro3^ed 
 by the wantonness of harlotry, so the providence of the 
 Father who would fill men's hearts with food and gladness 
 is destroyed among us by prostitution of joyless drink ; and 
 the never to be enough damned guilt of men, and govern- 
 ments, gathering pence at the corners of the streets, stand- 
 ing there, pot in hand, crying, * Turn in hither ; come, eat of 
 my evil bread, and drink of my beer, which I have venom- 
 ously mingled.' 
 
 Against which temptations — though never against the 
 tempters — one sometimes hears one's foolish clergy timor- 
 ously inveighing ; and telling young idlers that it is wrong 
 to be lustful, and old labourers that it is wrong to be thirsty : 
 but 1 never heard a clergyman yet, (and during thirty 
 years of the prime of my life I heard one sermon at least 
 every Sunday, so that it is after experience of no fewer than 
 one thousand five hundred sermons, most of them by schol- 
 ars, and many of them by earnest men,) that I now solemnly 
 state I never heard one preacher deal faithfully with the 
 quarrel between God and Mammon, or explain the need of 
 choice between the service of those two masters. And all 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 vices are indeed summed, and all their forces consummated, 
 in that simple acceptance of the authority of gold instead of 
 the authority of God ; and preference of gain, or the increase 
 of gold, to godliness, or the peace of God. 
 
 I take then, as I promised, the fourteenth and fifteenth 
 Psalms for examination with respect to this point. 
 
 The second verse ol the fourteenth declares that of the 
 children of men, there are none that seek God. 
 
 The fifth verse of the same Psalm declares that God is in 
 the generation of the righteous. In them, observe ; not 
 needing to be sought b}" them. 
 
 From which statements, evangelical persons conclude that 
 there are no righteous persons at all. 
 
 Again, the fourth verse of the Psalm declares that all the 
 workers of iniquity eat up God's people as they eat bread. 
 
 Which appears to me a very serious state of things, and to 
 be put an end to, if possible ; but evangelical persons con- 
 clude thereupon that the workers of iniquity and the Lord's 
 people are one and the same. Nor have I ever heard in the 
 course of my life any single evangelical clergj^man so much 
 as put the practical inquiry, Who is eating, and who is being 
 eaten ? 
 
 Again, the first verse of the Psalm declares that the fool 
 hath said in his heart there is no God ; but the sixth verse 
 declares of the poor that he not only knows there is a God, 
 but finds Him to be a refuge. 
 
 Whereupon evangelical persons conclude that the fool and 
 the poor mean the same people ; and make all the haste 
 they can to be rich. 
 
 Putting them, and their interpretations, out of our way, 
 the Psalm becomes entirely explicit. There liave been in all 
 ages children of God and of man : the one born of the Spirit 
 and obeying it ; the other born of the flesh, and obeying 
 it. I don't know how that entirely unintelligible sentence, 
 "There were they in great fear," got into our English 
 Psalm ; in both the Greek and Latin versions it is, " God 
 hath broken the bones of those that please men." 
 
 And it is here said of the entire body of the children of 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 125 
 
 men, at a particular time, that they had at that time all gone 
 astray be^^oiid hope ; that none were left who so much as 
 sought God, much less who were likely to find Him ; and 
 that these wretches and vagabonds were eating up God's 
 own people as they ate bread. 
 
 Which has indeed been generally so in all ages ; but bc' 
 yond all recorded history is so in ours. Just and godly peo- 
 ple can't live ; and every clever rogue and industrious fool 
 is making his fortune out of them, and producing abomina- 
 ble works of all sorts besides, — material gasometers, fur- 
 naces, chemical works, and the like, — with spiritual lies and 
 lasciviousnesses unheard of till now in Christendom. Which 
 plain and disagreeable meaning of this portion of Scripture 
 you will find pious people universally reject with abhorrence, 
 — the direct word and open face of their Master being, in the 
 present day, always by them, far more than His other ene- 
 mies, " spitefully entreated, and spitted on." 
 
 Next for the 15th Psalm. 
 
 It begins by asking God who shall abide in His taber- 
 nacle, or movable tavern ; and who shall dwell in His holy 
 hill. Note the difference of those two abidings. A tavern, 
 or taberna, is originally a hut made by a traveller, of sticks 
 cut on the spot ; then, if he so arrange it as to be portable, 
 it is a tabernacle ; so that, generally, a portable hut or 
 house, supported by rods or sticks when it is set up, is a 
 tabernacle ; — on a large scale, having boards as well as cur- 
 tains, and capable of much stateliness, but nearly synony- 
 mous with a tent, in Latin. 
 
 Therefore, the first question is, Who among travelling men 
 will have God to set up his tavern for liim when he wants rest ? 
 
 And the second question is. Who, of travelling men, shall 
 finally dwell, desiring to wander no more, in God's own 
 house, established above the hills, where all nations flow 
 to it ? 
 
 You, perhaps, don't believe that either of these abodes 
 may, or do, exist in reality : nor that God would ever cut 
 down branches for you ; or, better still, bid them spring up 
 for <i bower • or that He would like to see you in His own 
 
126 
 
 FOBS CLAVIQERA. 
 
 house, if you would go there. You prefer the buildings 
 lately put up in rows for you " one brick thick in the 
 walls, " * in convenient neighbourhood to your pleasant 
 business? Be it so : — then the fifteenth Psalm has nothinj? 
 to say to you. For those who care to lodge with God, these 
 followino- are the conditions of character. 
 
 o 
 
 They are to walk or deal uprightly with men. They are 
 to work or do justice ; or, in sum, do the best they can 
 with their hands. They are to speak tlie truth to their own 
 hearts, and see they do not persuade themselves they are 
 honest when they ought to know themselves to be knaves ; 
 nor persuade themselves they are charitable and kind, v/hon 
 they ought to know themselves to be thieves and murderers. 
 They are not to bite people with their tongues behind their 
 backs, if they dare not rebuke them face to face. They are 
 not to take up, or catch at, subjects of blame ; but they are 
 utterly and absolutely to despise vile persons who fear no 
 God, and think the world was begot by mud, and is fed by 
 money ; and they are not to defend a guilty man's cause 
 against an innocent one. Above all, this last verse is written 
 for lawyers, or professed interpreters of justice, who are 
 of all men most villainous, if, knowingly, they take reward 
 against an innocent or rightfully contending person. And 
 on these conditions the promise of God's presence and 
 strength is finally given. He that doeth thus shall not be 
 moved, or shaken : for him, tabernacle and rock are alike 
 safe : no wind shall overthrow them, nor earthquake rend. 
 
 That is the meaning of the fourteenth and fifteentli 
 Psalms ; and if you so believe them, and obey them, you 
 will find your account in it. And they are the Word of 
 God to you, so far as you have hearts capable of under- 
 standing them, or any other such message brought by His 
 servants. But if your heart is dishonest and rebellious, you 
 may read them for ever with lip-service, and all the while be 
 ^ men-pleasers,' whose bones are to be broken at the pit's 
 mouth, and so left incapable of breath, brought by any wind.^ 
 of Heaven. And that is all I have to say to you this year. 
 * See p. 128 in the Notes, 
 
• 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 127 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 As I send these last sheets to press, I get from the Cheap-Fuei Supply 
 Association, Limited, a letter advising me that the Right Hon. Lord 
 Claud Hamilton, M.P. , and the late Director of Stores at the War 
 OflBce, and Michael Angelo, Esq., of St. James's Square, and the late 
 Controller of Military Finance in Calcutta, with other estimable per- 
 sons, are about to undertake the manufacture of peat into cheap fuel, 
 for the public benefit ; and promise a net profit on the operation, of six 
 shillings and sixpence a ton ; of which I am invited to secure my share. 
 The manufacture of peat into portable fuel may, or may not, be desir- 
 able ; that depends on what the British public means to do after they 
 have burnt away all their bituminous and boggy ground in driving 
 about at forty miles an hour, and making iron railings, and other such 
 valuable property, for the possession of their posterity. But granting 
 the manufacture desirable, and omitting all reference to ite effect on 
 the picturesque, why Lord Claud Hamilton and Michael Angelo, Esq. , 
 should offer me^ a quiet Oxford student, any share of their six-and-i-ix- 
 pences, I can't think. I could not cut a peat if they would give me 
 six-and-sixpence the dozen — I know nothing about its manufacture. 
 What on earth do they propose to pay me for ? 
 
 The following letter from an old friend, whose manner of life like 
 my own, has been broken up, (when it was too late to mend it again. ) 
 by modern improvements, will be useful to me for reference in what 1 
 have to say in my January letter : — 
 
 About myself — ere long I shall be driven out of my house, the 
 happiest refuge I ever nested in. It is again like most old rooms, very 
 loft}', is of wood and plaster, evidently of the Seventh Harry's time, 
 and most interesting in many ways. It belonged to the Radcliffe 
 family, — some branch, as I nnderstfind, from the scanty information I 
 
 can scrape, of the Dervirentwater family. Lord owns it now, or 
 
 did till lately; for I am informed he had sold it and the lands about it 
 to an oil-cloth company, who will >«tart building their factory behind it 
 shortly, and probably resell the land they do not use. with the hall, to 
 be demolished as an incumbrance that does not pay. Already the 
 * Egyptian plague of bricks ' has alighted on its eastern side, devour- 
 ing every green blade. Where the sheep ted last year, five streets of 
 
128 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 cheap cottages — one brick thick iu the walls — (for the factory opera- 
 tives belonging to two great cotton mills near) are in course of forma- 
 tion — great cartloads of stinking oyster shells having been laid for 
 their foundations ; and the whole vicinity on the eastern side^ in a 
 state of mire and debris of broken bricks and slates, is so painful to my 
 eyes that I scarce ever go out in daylight. 
 
 Fifteen years ago a noble avenue of sycamores led to the hall, and 
 a large wood covered the surface of an exteusive plateau of red sand- 
 stone, and a moat surrounded the walls of the hall. Not a tree stands 
 now, the moat is filled up, and the very rock itself is riddled into sand, 
 and is being now carted away. " 
 
FOBS CLAVIGEBA, 
 
 129 
 
 LETTER XXXVIT. 
 
 ' Selon la loy, et ly prophetes, 
 Qui a charite parfaicte 
 II ayme Dieu sur toute rien, 
 De cueur, de force, et d'ame 
 nette ; 
 
 Celui devons-nous tous de debte 
 Comme soy-raesmes, son pro- 
 chain ; 
 
 Qu'on dit qui in ayme, ayme men 
 chien. 
 
 De tel pierre^ et de tel merrien 
 Est es cieulx nostre maiHon faiote 
 Car nulz ne peut dire, * c*est 
 mien,* 
 
 Fors ce qu'il a mis en ce bien ; 
 Tout le remenant est retraicte." 
 
 1st January^ 1874 
 
 According to the Law and the 
 
 Prophets, 
 He who has perfect charity, 
 Loves God above everything, 
 With heart, with llesh, and with 
 
 spirit pure. 
 Him also, our neighbour, we are 
 
 all in debt 
 To love as ourselves. 
 For one says, Who loves me, lovea 
 
 my dog. 
 
 Of such stone, and of such cross- 
 beam, 
 
 Is in the heavens our house made ; 
 For no one can sa}', * It is mine,' 
 Beyond what he has put into that 
 good. 
 
 All the rest is taken away. 
 
 One day last November, at Oxford, as I was going in at the 
 private door of the University galleries, to give a lecture on 
 the Fine Arts in Florence, I was hindered for a moment by a 
 nice little girl, wiiipping a top on the pavement. She was a 
 verj/ nice little girl ; and rejoiced wholly in her wliip, and 
 top ; but could not inflict the reviving chastisement with all 
 the activity that was in her, because she had on a large and*^ 
 dilapidated pair of woman's shoes, which projected the full 
 length of her own little foot behind it and before ; and being 
 securely fastened to lier ankles in the manner of moccasins, 
 admitted, indeed, of dextrous glissades, and other modes of 
 progress quite sufficient for ordinary purposes ; but not con- 
 veniently of all the evolutions proper to the pursuit of a 
 whipping-top. 
 
 There were some worthy people at my lecture, and I think 
 Vol. II.— 9 
 
130 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGEIIA, 
 
 the lecture was one of iny best. It gave some really trust- 
 worthy information about art in Florence six hundred years 
 ago. But all the time I was speaking, I knew that nothing 
 spoken about art, either by myself or other people, could be 
 of the least use to anybody there. For their primary busi- 
 ness, and mine, was with art in Oxford, now ; not with art in 
 Florence, then ; and art in Oxford now was absolutely de- 
 pendent on our power of solving the question — which I knew 
 that my audience would not even allow to be proposed for 
 solution — "Why have our little girls large shoes?" 
 
 Indeed, my great difliculty, of late, whether in lecturing 
 or writing, is in the intensely practical and matter-of-fact 
 character of my own mind as opposed to the loquacious and 
 speculative disposition, not only of the British public, but of 
 all my quondam friends. I am left utterly stranded, and 
 alone, in life, and thought. Life and knowledge, I ought to 
 say ; — for I have done what thinking was needful for me long- 
 ago, and know enough to act upon, for the few days, or 
 years, I may have yet to live. I firid some of my friends 
 greatly agitated in mind, for instance, about Responsibility, 
 Free-will, and the like. I settled all those matters for myself, 
 before I was ten years old, by jumping up and down an 
 awkward turn of four steps in my nursery-stairs, and con- 
 sidering whether it was likely that God knew whether I should 
 jump only three, or the whole four at a time. Having settled 
 it in my mind that He knew quite well, though I didn't, which 
 I should do ; and also whether I sliould fall or not in the 
 course of the performance, — though I was altogether re- 
 sponsible for taking care not to, — I never troubled my head 
 more on the matter, from that day to this. But my friends 
 keep buzzing and puzzling about it, as if they had to order 
 the course of the world themselves ; and won't attend to me 
 for an instant, if I ask why little girls have large shoes. 
 
 I don't suppose any man, with a tongue in his head, 
 and zeal to use it, was ever left so entirely unattended to, 
 as he grew old, by his early friends ; and it is doubly and 
 trebly strange to me, because I have lost none of my power 
 of sympathy with them. Some are chemists ; and I am al- 
 
FORS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 131 
 
 ways glad to hear of the last new tiling in elements ; some are 
 palaeontologists, and I am no less happy to know of any lately 
 unburied beast peculiar in his bones ; the lawyers and cler- 
 gymen can always interest me with any story out of their 
 courts or parishes ; — but not one of them ever asks what I am 
 about myself. If they chance to meet me in the streets 
 of Oxford, they ask whether I am staying there. When 
 I say, yes, they ask how I like it ; and when I tell them 
 1 don't like it at all, and don't think little girls should have 
 large shoes, they tell me I ought to read the Cours de 
 Philosophie Positive. As if a man who had lived to be fifty- 
 four, content with what philosophy was needful to assure him 
 that salt was savoury, and pepper hot, could ever be made 
 positive in his old age, in the impertinent manner of these 
 youngsters. But positive in a pertinent and practical man- 
 ner, I have been, and shall be ; with such stern and steady 
 wedge of fact and act as time may let me drive into the 
 gnarled blockheadism of the British molj. 
 
 I am free to confess I did not quite know the sort of 
 creature I had to deal with, when I began, fifteen years ago, 
 nor the quantity of ingenious resistance to practical reform 
 which could be offered by theoretical reformers. Look, for 
 instance, at this report of a speech of Mr. Bright's in the 
 Times, on the subject of the adulteration of food.* 
 
 "The noble lord has taken great pains upon this question, 
 and has brought before the House a great amount of detail 
 in connection with it. As I listened to his observations I 
 hoped and believed that there was, thougli unintentional, no 
 little exaggeration in tliem. Although there may be partic- 
 ular cases in which great harm to health and great fraud may 
 possibly be shown, yet I think that general statements of 
 this kind, implicating to a large extent the traders of this 
 country, are dangerous, and are almost certain to be unjust. 
 Now, my hon. friend (Mr. Pochin) who has just addressed 
 the House in a speech showing his entire mastery of the 
 question, has confirmed my opinion, for he has shown — and 
 I dare say he knows as much of the matter as any present — 
 iihat there is a great deal of exaggeration in the opinions 
 
 * Of 6th March, not long ago, but I have lost note of the ytar» 
 
132 
 
 F0R8 GLAVIGERA. 
 
 which have prevailed in many parts of the country, and 
 which have even been found to prevail upon the matter in 
 this House. . . . Now, I am prepared to show that the 
 exag-oreration of the noble lord — I do not say intentionally, 
 of course ; I am sure he is incapable of that — is just as great 
 in the matter of weights and measures as in that of adultera- 
 tion. Probably he is not aware that in the list of persons 
 employing weights that are inaccurate — I do not say fraudu- 
 lent — no distinction is drawn between those who are inten- 
 tionally fraudulent and those who are accidentally inaccu- 
 rate, and that the penalty is precisely the same, and the 
 offence is just as eagerly detected, whether there be a fraud 
 or merely an accident. Now, the noble lord will probably 
 be surprised when T tell him that many persons are fined 
 annually, not because their weights are too small, but be- 
 cause they are too large. In fact, when the weights are 
 inaccurate, but are in favour of the customer, still the owner 
 and user of the weight is liable to the penalty, and is fined. 
 
 My own impression with regard to this adulteration 
 is that it arises from the very great, and perhaps inevitable, 
 competition in business ; and that to a great extent it is 
 promoted by the ignorance of customers. As the ignorance 
 of customers generally is diminishing, we may hope that 
 before long the adulteration of food may also diminish. The 
 noble lord appears to ask that something much more exten- 
 sive and stringent should be done by Parliament. The fact 
 is, it is vain to attempt by the power of Parliament to pene- 
 trate into and to track out evils such as those on which the 
 noble lord has dwelt at such length. It is quite impossible 
 that you should have the oversight of the shops of the coun- 
 try by inspectors, and that you should have persons going 
 into shops to buy sugar, pickles, and Cayenne pepper, to 
 get them analyzed, and then raise complaints against shop- 
 keepers, and bring them before the magistrates. If men in 
 their private businesses were to be tracked by Government 
 officers and inspectors every hour of the day, life would not 
 be worth having, and I recommend them to remove to an- 
 other country, where they would not be subject to such 
 annoyance." 
 
 Now, I neither know, nor does it matter to the public, 
 what Mr. Bright actually said ; but the report in the Times 
 is the permanent and universally influential form of his say- 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 133 
 
 ings ; and observe what the substance is, of these three or 
 four hundred Parliamentary words, so reported. 
 
 First. That an evil which has been exaggerated ought not 
 to be prevented. 
 
 Secondly. That at present we punish honest men as much 
 as rogues ; and must always continue to do so if we punish 
 anybody. 
 
 Thirdly. That life would not be worth having if one's 
 weights and measures were liable to inspection. 
 
 I can assure Mr. Bright that people who know what life 
 means, can sustain the calamity of the inspection of their 
 weights and measures with fortitude. I myself keep a tea- 
 and-sugar shop. I have had my scales and weights inspected 
 more than once or twice, and am not in the least disposed to 
 bid my native land good night on that account. That I 
 could bid it nothing but good night — never good morning, 
 the smoke of it quenching the sun, and its parliamentary 
 talk, of such quality as the above, liaving become darkness 
 voluble, and some of it worse even than that, a mere watch- 
 man's rattle, sprung by alarmed constituencies of rascals 
 when an honest man comes in sight, — these are things in- 
 deed which should make any man's life little worth having, 
 unless he separate himself from the scandalous crowd ; but 
 it must not be in exile from his country, 
 
 I have not hitherto stated, except in general terms, the 
 design to which these letters point, though it has been again 
 and again defined, and it seems to me explicitly enough — 
 the highest possible education, namely, of English men and 
 women living by agriculture in their native land. Indeed, 
 during these three past years I have not hoped to do more 
 than make my readers feel what mischiefs they have to con- 
 quer. It is time now to say more clearly what I want them 
 to do. 
 
 The substantial wealth of man consists in the earth he 
 cultivates, with its pleasant or serviceable animals and plants, 
 and in the rightly produced work of his own hands. I mean 
 to buy, for the St. George's Company, the first pieces of 
 ground offered to me at fair price, (when the subscriptions 
 
134 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 enable me to give miy price), — to put them as rapidly as 
 possible into order, and to settle upon them as many fami- 
 lies as they can support, of young and healthy persons, on 
 the condition that they do the best they can for their liveli- 
 hood with their own hands, and submit themselves and their 
 children to the rules written for them. 
 
 I do not care where the land is, nor of what quality. I 
 would rather it should be poor, for I want space more than 
 food. I will make the best of it that I can, at once, by wage- 
 labour, under the best agricultural advice. It is easy now 
 to obtain good counsel, and many of our landlords would 
 willingl}'' undertake such operations occasionally, but for the 
 fixed notion that every improvement of land should at once 
 pay, whereas the St. George's Company is to be consistently 
 monastic in its principles of labour, and to work for the re- 
 demption of any desert land, without other idea of gain than 
 the certainty of future good to others. I should best like a 
 bit of marsh land of small value, which I would trench into 
 alternate ridge and canal, changing it all into solid land, and 
 deep water, to be farmed in fish. If, instead, I get a rocky 
 piece, I shall first arrange reservoirs for rain, then put what 
 earth is sprinkled on it into workable masses ; and ascertain- 
 ing, in either case, how many mouths the gained spaces of 
 ground will easily feed, put upon them families chosen for 
 me by old landlords, who know their people, and can send 
 me cheerful and honest ones, accustomed to obey orders, and 
 live in the fear of God. Whether the fear be Catholic, or 
 Church-of-England, or Presbyterian^ I do not in the least 
 care, so that the family be capable of any kind of sincere 
 devotion : and conscious of the sacredness of order. If any 
 young couples of the higher classes choose to accept such 
 rough life, I would rather have them for tenants than any 
 others. 
 
 Tenants, I say, and at long lease, if they behave well : 
 with power eventually to purchase the piece of land they 
 live on for themselves, if they can save the price of it ; the 
 rent they pay, meanwhile, being the tithe of the annual 
 produce, to St. George's fund. The modes of the cultiva- 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 135 
 
 tion of the land are to be under the control of the overseer 
 of the whole estate, appointed by the Trustees of the fund ; 
 but the tenants shall build their own houses to their own 
 minds, under certain conditions as to materials and strength ; 
 and have for themselves the entire produce of the land, ex- 
 cept the tithe aforesaid. 
 
 The children will be required to attend training schools 
 for bodily exercise, and music, with such other education as 
 I have already described. Elvery liousehold will have its li- 
 brary, given it from the fund, and consisting of a fixed num- 
 ber of volumes, — some constant, the others chosen by each 
 family out of a list of permitted books, from which they 
 afterwards may increase their library if they choose. The 
 formation 6f this library for choice, by a republication of 
 classical authors in standard forms, has long been a main 
 object with me. No newspapers, nor any books but those 
 named in the annually renewed lists, are to be allowed in 
 any household. In time I hope to get a journal published, 
 containing notice of any really important matters taking 
 place in this or other countries, in the closely sifted truth of 
 them. 
 
 The first essential point in the education given to the 
 children will be the habit of instant, finely accurate, and to- 
 tally unreasoning, obedience to their fathers, mothers, and 
 tutors ; the same precise and unquestioning submission be- 
 ing required from heads of families to the officers set over 
 them. Tlie second essential will be the understanding of 
 the nature of honour, makin<j the obedience solemn and con- 
 stant ; so that the slightest wilful violation of the laws of 
 the society may be regarded as a grave breach of trust, and 
 no less disgraceful than a soldier's recoiling from his place 
 in a battle. 
 
 In our present state of utter moral disorganization, it 
 might indeed seem as if it would be impossible either to se- 
 cure obedience, or explain the sensation of honour ; but the 
 Instincts of both are native in man, and the roots of them 
 cannot wither, even under the dust-heap of modern liberal 
 opinions. My settlers, you observe, are to be young people, 
 
136 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 bred on old estates ; my commandants will be veteraa 
 soldiers ; and it will be soon perceived that pride based on 
 servitude to the will of another is far loftier and happiet 
 than pride based on servitude to humour of one's own. 
 
 Each family will at first be put on its trial for a year, 
 without any lease of the land : if they behave well, the^ 
 shall have a lease for three years ; if through that time 
 they satisfy their officers, a life-long lease, with power to 
 purchase. 
 
 I have already stated that no machines moved by artificial 
 power are to be used on the estates of the society ; wind, 
 water, and animal force are to be the only motive powers 
 employed, and there is to be as little trade or importation 
 as possible ; the utmost simplicity of life, and restriction of 
 possession, being combined with the highest attainable re- 
 finement of temper and thought. Everything that the mem- 
 bers of any household can sufficiently make for themselves, 
 they are so to make, however clumsily ; but the carpenter 
 and smith, trained to perfectest work in wood and iron, are 
 to be employed on the parts of houses and implements in 
 which finish is essential to strength. The ploughshare and 
 spade must be made by the smith, and the roof and floors 
 by a carpenter ; but the boys of the house must be able to 
 make either a horseshoe, or a table. 
 
 Simplicity of life without coarseness, and delight in life 
 without lasciviousness, are, under such conditions, not only 
 possible to human creatures, but natural to them. I do not 
 pretend to tell you straightforwardly all laws of nature re- 
 specting the conduct of men ; but some of those laws I 
 know, and will endeavour to get obeyed ; others, as they are 
 needful, will be in the sequel of such obedience ascertained. 
 What final relations may take place between masters and 
 servants, labourers and employers, old people and young, use- 
 ful people and useless, in such a society, only experience can 
 conclude ; nor is there any reason to anticipate the conclu- 
 sion. Some few things the most obstinate will admit, and 
 the least credulous believe : that washed faces are healthier 
 than dirty ones, whole clothes decenter than ragged ones. 
 
FORS CLAVIGEEA, 
 
 137 
 
 kind behaviour more serviceable than malicious, and pure air 
 pleasanter than foul. Upon that much of philosophic posi- 
 tive " I mean to act ; and, little by little, to define in these 
 letters the processes of action. That it should be left to me 
 to begin such a work, w^ith only one man in England — 
 Thomas Carlyle — to whom I can look for steady guidance, is 
 alike wonderful and sorrowful to me ; but as the thing is so, 
 I can only do what seems to me necessary, none else coming 
 forward to do it. For my own part, I entirely hate the whole 
 business : I dislike having either power or responsibility ; 
 am ashamed to ask for money, and plagued in spending it. 
 I don't want to talk, nor to write, nor to advise or direct 
 anybody. I am far more provoked at being thought foolish 
 by foolish people, than pleased at being thought sensible by 
 sensible people ; and the average proportion of the numbers 
 of each is not to my advantage. If I could find any one able 
 to carry on the plan instead of me, I never should trouble 
 myself about it more ; and even now, it is only with ex- 
 treme effort and chastisement of my indolence that I go 
 on : but, unless I am struck with palsy, I do not seriously 
 doubt my perseverance, until I find somebody able to 
 take up the matter in the same mind, and with a better 
 heart. 
 
 The laws required to be obeyed by the fainili('S living on 
 the land will be, — with some relaxation and modification, so 
 as to fit them for English people, — those of Florence in the 
 fourteenth century. In what additional rules may be adopted, 
 I shall follow, for the most part, Bacon, or Sir Thomas More, 
 under sanction always of the higher authority which of late 
 the English nation has whollv set its stren<xth to defv — that 
 of the Founder of its Religion ; nor without due acceptance 
 of what teaching was given to the children of God by their 
 Father, before the day of Christ, of which, for present end- 
 ing, read and attend to these following quiet words.* 
 
 * The close of the ninth book of Plato's UepubUc. I use for the most 
 part Mr. Jowett's translation, here and there modifying it in my own 
 arbitrarily dogged or diffuse way of Englishing passages of complex 
 significance. 
 
138 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 " ^ In what point of view, then, and on what ground shall 
 a man be profited by injustice or intemperance or other base- 
 ness, even though he acquire money or power ?' 
 
 ' There is no ground on which this can be maintained.' 
 
 ' What shall he profit if his injustice be undetected ? for 
 he who is undetected only gets worse, whereas he who is de- 
 tected and punished has the brutal part of his nature silenced 
 and humanized ; the greater element in him is liberated, and 
 his whole soul is perfected and ennobled by the acquirement 
 of justice and temperance and wisdom, more than the body 
 ever is by receiving gifts of beauty, strength, and health, in 
 proportion as the soul is more honourable than the body.' 
 
 ' Certainl-y,' he said. 
 
 /Will not, then, the man of understanding, gather all that 
 is in him, and stretch himself like a bent bow to this aim of 
 life ; and, in the first place, honour studies which thus chas- 
 tise and deliver his soul in perfection ; and despise others?' 
 
 ' Clearly,' he said. 
 
 ' In the next place, he w^ill keep under his body, and so far 
 will he be from yielding to brutal and irrational pleasure,* 
 that he will not even first look to bodily liealth as his main 
 object, nor desire to be fair, or strong, or well, unless he is 
 likely thereby to gain temperance ; but he will be always 
 desirous of preserving the harmony of the body for the sake 
 of the concord of the soul ? ' 
 
 ^ Certainly,' he replied, ' that he will, if he is indeed taught 
 by the Muses.' 
 
 ' And he will also observe the principle of classing and con- 
 cord in the acquisition of wealth ; and will not, because the 
 mob beatify him, increase his endless load of wealth to his 
 own infinite harm ? ' 
 
 ' I think not,' he said. 
 
 ' He will look at the city which is within him, and take care 
 to avoid any change of his own institutions, such as might 
 arise either from abundance or from want ; and he will dulv 
 regulate his acquisition and expense, in so far as he is able V 
 
 ' Very true.' 
 
 ' And, for the same reason, he will accept such honours as 
 he deems likely to make him a better man ; but those which 
 are likely to loosen his possessed habit, whether private or 
 public honours, he will avoid ? ' 
 
 * Plato does not mean here, merely dissipation of a destructive kind, 
 (as the next sentence shows, ) but also healthy animal stupidities, aa our 
 hunting, shooting, and the like. 
 
FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 139 
 
 * Then, if this be his chief care, he will not be a politician ?' 
 ^ By the dog of Egypt, he will ! in the city which is his 
 
 own, though in his native country perhaps not, unless some 
 providential accident should occur.' 
 
 ' I understand ; you speak of that city of which we are the 
 founders, and which exists in idea only, for 1 do not think 
 there is such an one anywhere on earth ? ' 
 
 * In heaven,' I replied, ' there is laid up a pattern of such 
 a city ; and he who desires ^may behold this, and, beholding, 
 govern himself accordingly. But whether there really is, or 
 ever will be, such an one, is of no importance to him, for he 
 will act accordingly to the laws of that city and of no 
 other ? ' 
 
 ' True,' he said." 
 
140 
 
 FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE- 
 
 It is due to my readers to state my reasons for raising the price, and 
 withdrawing the frontispieces, of Fors, 
 
 The cessation of the latter has nothing to do with the price. At 
 least, for the raised price I could easily afford the plates, and they 
 would help the sale; but I cannot spare my good assistant's time in 
 their preparation, and find that, m the existing state of trade, I can- 
 not trust other people, without perpetual looking after them; for which 
 I have no time myself. Even last year the printing of my Fors frontis- 
 pieces prevented the publication of my Oxford lectures on engraving ; 
 and it is absolutely necessary that my Oxford work should be done 
 rightly, whatever else I leave undone. Secondly, for the rise in price. 
 1 hold it my duty to give my advice for nothing ; but not to write it in 
 careful English, and correct press, for nothing. I like the feeling of 
 being paid for my true work as much as any other labourer ; and 
 though I write Fors^ not for money, but because I know it to be 
 wanted, as I would build a wall against the advancing sea for nothing, 
 if I couldn't be paid for doing it ; yet I will have proper pay from the 
 harbour-master, if 1 can get it. As soon as the book gives me and the 
 publisher what is right, the surplus shall go to the St. George's fund. 
 The price will not signify ultimately; — sevenpence, or tenpence, or a 
 shilling, will be all the same to the public if the book is found useful ; — 
 but I fix, and mean to keep to, tenpence, because 1 intend striking for 
 use on my farms the pure silver coin called in Florence the "soldo,'' of 
 which the golden florin was worth twenty ; (the soldo itself being mis- 
 named from the Roman "solidus") and this soldo will represent the 
 Roman denarius, and be worth ten silver pence ; and this is to be the 
 price of Fors. 
 
 Then one further joe^^^/ reason I have for raising the price. In all 
 my dealings with the public, I wish them to understand that my first 
 price is my lowest. They may have to pay more ; but never a farthing 
 less. And I am a little provoked at not having been helped in the 
 least by the Working Men's College, after I taught there for five years, 
 or by any of my old pupils there, whom I have lost sight of: — (three 
 remain who would always help me in anything,) and I think they will 
 soon begin to want Fors^ now,— and they shall not have it for sevenr 
 pence. 
 
F0R8 CLAVIOERA. 
 
 141 
 
 The following three stray newspaper cuttings may as well be printed 
 now ; they have lain sometime by me. The first two relate to economy. 
 The last is, I hope, an exaggerated report ; and I give it as an example 
 of the kind of news which my own journal will not give on hearsay. 
 But I know that things did take place in India which were not capable 
 of exaggeration in horror, and such are the results, remember, of our 
 past missionai7 work, as a whole, in India and China. 
 
 I point to them to-day, in order that I may express my entire con- 
 currence in all that I have seen reported of Professor Max Miiller's lec- 
 ture in Westminster Abbey, though there are one or two things I 
 should like to say in addition, if I can find time. 
 
 "Those who find fault with the present Government on account of 
 its rigid economy, and accuse it of shabbinees, have little idea of the 
 straits it is put to for money and the sacrifices it is obliged to make in 
 order to make both ends meet. The following melancholy facts will 
 serve to show how hardly pushed this great nation is to find sixpence 
 even for a good purpose. The Hakluyt Society was, as some of our 
 readers may know, formed in the year 1846 for the purpose of print- 
 ing in English for distribution among its members rare and valuable 
 voyages, travels, and geographical records, including the more impor- 
 tant early narratives of British enterprise. For many years the Home 
 Office, the Board of Trade, and the Admiralty have been in the habit 
 of subscribing for the publications of this society; and, considering that 
 an annual subscription of one guinea entitles each subscriber to receive 
 without further charge a copy of every work produced by the society 
 within the year subscribed for, it can hardly be said that the outlay 
 was ruinous to the exchequer. But we live in an exceptional period ; 
 and accordingly last year the society received a communication from 
 the Board of Trade to the effect that its publications were no longer 
 required. Then the Home Office wrote to say that its subscription 
 must be discontinued, and followed up the communication by another, 
 asking whether it might have a copy of the society's publication sup- 
 plied to it gratuitously. Lastly, the Admiralty felt itself constrained 
 by the urgency of the times to reduce its subscriptions and asked to 
 have only one instead of two copies annually. It seems rather hard on 
 the Hakluyt Society that the Home Office should beg to have its pub- 
 lications for nothing, and for the sake of appearance it seems advisable 
 that the Admirnlty should continue its subscriptions for two copies, and 
 lend one set to its impoverished brother in Whitehall until the advent 
 of better times."— 7^a^/ Mall Gazette, 
 
 " We make a present of a suggestion to Professor Beesly, Mr. Fred- 
 eric Harrison, and the artisans who are calling upon the country to 
 strike a blow for France. They must ai)point a Select Committee to see 
 what war really means. Special commissioners will find out for them 
 how many pounds, on an average, have been lost by the families whose 
 brerdwinners have gone to Pans with the Kinj};-, or to Le Mans with 
 Chanzy. Those hunters of facts will also let the working men know 
 how many fields are unsown round Mctz imd on the Loire. Next, the 
 Select Committee will get an exact return of the killed and wounded 
 
142 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 from Count Bismarck and M. Gambetta. Some novelist or poet — a 
 George Eliot or a Brownino^ — will then be asked to lavish all the knowl- 
 edge of human emotion in the painting of one family group out of the 
 half million which the returns of the stricken will show. That picture 
 will be distributed broadcast amoug the working men and their wives. 
 Then the Select Committee will call to its aid the statisticians and 
 the political economists — the Leone Levis and the John Stuart Mills. 
 Those authorities will calcuJate what sura the war has taken from the 
 Vv^ages fund of France and Germany ; what number of working men it 
 will cast out of employment, or force to accept lower wages, or compel 
 to emigrate." (I do not often indulge myself in the study of the works 
 of Mr. Levi or Mr. Mill ; — but have they really never done anything of 
 this kind hitherto ?) ' ' Thus the facts will be brought before the toil- 
 ing people, solidly, simply, truthfully. Finally, Professor Beesly and 
 Mr. Harrison will call another meeting, will state the results of the 
 investigation, will say, 'This is the meaning of war/ and will ask the 
 workmen whether they are prepared to paj^ the inevitable price of help- 
 ing Republican France. The answer, we imagine, would at once shock 
 and surprise the scholarly gentlemen to whom the Democrats are in- 
 debted for their logic and their rhetoric. Meanwhile Mr. Ruskin and 
 the Council of the Workmen's National Peace Society have been doing 
 some small measure of the task which we have mapped out. The 
 Council asks the bellicose section of the operative classes a number of 
 questions about the cost and the eifect of battles. Some, it is true, are 
 not very cogent, and some are absurd ; but, taken together, they press 
 the inquiry whether war pays anybody, and in particular whether it 
 pays the working man. Mr. Ruskin sets forth the truth much more 
 vividly in the letter which appeared in our impression of Thursday. 
 *Half the money lost by the inundation of the Tiber,' etc, (the Tele- 
 graph quotes the letter to the end). 
 
 Before stating what might have been done with the force which 
 has been spent in the work of mutual slaughter, Mr. Ruskin might 
 have explained w^hat good it has undone, and how. Take, first, the 
 destmction of capital. Millions of pounds have been spent on gun- 
 powder, bombs, round shot, cannon, needle guns, chassepots, and mi- 
 trailleuses. But for the war a great part of the sum would have been 
 expended in the growing of wheat, the spinning of cloth, the building 
 of railway bridges, and the construction of ships. As the political 
 economists say, the amount would have been spent productively, or, to 
 use the plain words of common speech, would have been so used that, di- 
 rectly or indirectly , it would have added to the wealth of the country, and 
 increased the fund to be distributed among the working people. But 
 the wealth has been blown away from the muzzle of the cannon, or 
 scattered among the woods and forts of Paris in the shape of broken 
 shells and dismounted guns. Nov/, every shot which is fired is a direct 
 loss to the labouring classes of France and Germany. King WiUiam 
 on the one side, and General Trochu on the other ^ really load their gnns 
 with gold. They put the wages of the working people into every shell 
 The splinters of iron that strew the fields represent the pay which 
 would have gone to the farm labourers of Alsace, the mechanics of 
 Paris and Berlin, and the silk weavers of Lyons. If the political econo- 
 mist were some magician, he would command the supernatural agent to 
 transform the broken gun-carriages, the fragments of bombs, and the 
 round shot into loaves of bread, bottles of wine, fields of com, clothes. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 143 
 
 houses, cattle, furniture, books, the virtue of women, the health of 
 children, the years of the aged. The whole field would become alive 
 with the forms, the wealth, the beauty, the bustle of great cities. If 
 working men ever saw such a transtoriuation, they would rise up from 
 end to end of Europe, and execrate the Idng or Emperor who should 
 let loose the dogs of war. And yet such a scene would represent only 
 a small part of the real havoc. For every man whom Germany takes 
 away from the field or the workshop to place in the barrack or the 
 camp, she must sustain as certain a loss as it' she were to cast money into 
 the sea. The loss may be necessary as an insurance against still 
 greater injury ; but nevertheless the waste does take place, and on the 
 working people does it mainly fall. The young recruit may have been 
 earning thirty shillings a week or a day, and that sum is lost to him- 
 self or his friends. Hitherto he has supported himself; now he must 
 be maintained by the State — that is, by his fellow-subjects. Hitherto 
 he has added to the national wealth by ploughing the fields, building 
 houses, constructing railways. A skilful statistician could state, with 
 some approach to accuracy, the number of pounds by which the amount 
 of his yearly productive contribution could be estimated. It might be 
 thirty, or a hundred, or a thousand. Well, he ceases to produce the 
 moment that he becomes a soldier. He is then a drone. He is as un- 
 productive as a pauper. The millions of i)oiind8 spent in feeding and 
 drilling the army as clearly represent a dead loss as the millions spent 
 on workhouses. Nor are these the only ways in which war destroys 
 wealth. Hundreds of railway bridges have been broken down ; the 
 communications between different parts of the country have been 
 cut off ; hundreds of thousands have lost their means of livelihood ; 
 and great tracts of country are wasted like a desert. Thus the total 
 destruction of wealth has been appalling. A considerable time ago 
 Professor Leone Levi calculated that Germany alone had lost 
 more than £300,000,000; France must have lost much more; and, 
 even if we make a liberal discount from so tremendous a computation, 
 we may safely say that the war has cost both nations at least half as 
 much as the National Debt of England. 
 
 " A large part of that amount, it is true, would have been spent 
 unproductively, even if the war had not taken place. A vast sum 
 would have been lavished on the luxuries of dress and the table, on the 
 l)eauties of art, and on the appliances of w;ir. But it is safe to calcu- 
 late that at least half of the amount would have been so expended as 
 to bring a productive return. Two or three hundred millions would have 
 been at the service of peace ; and Mr. Ruskin's letter points the ques- 
 tion, What could have been done with that enormous total ? If it were 
 at the disposal of an English statesman as farseeiiig in peace as Bis- 
 marck is in war, what might not be done for the England of the present 
 and the future ? The prospect is almost millennial. Harbours of ref- 
 \x%Q might be built all round the coast ; the fever dens of London, 
 Manchester, and Liverpool might give place to abodes of health ; the 
 poor children of the United Kingdom might be taught to read and 
 write ; great universities might be endowed ; the waste lands might 
 be cultivated, and the Bog of Allen drained ; the National Debt could 
 be swiftly reduced ; and a hundred other great national enterprises 
 would sooner or later be fulfilled. But all this store of human good 
 has been blown away from the muzzles of the Krupps and the C'hasse- 
 pots. It has literally been trsiis^formed into smoke. We do not d^rrj 
 
FOBS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 that such a waste may be necessary in order to guard against still further 
 destr action. Wars have often been imperative. It would frequently 
 be the height of national wickedness to choose an ignoble peace. 
 Nevertheless war is the most costly and most wasteful of human pur- 
 suits. When the working class followers of Professor Beesly ask them- 
 pelves what is the price of battle, what it represents, and by whom the 
 chief part is paid, they will be better able to respond to the appeal for 
 armed iDtervention than they were on Tuesday night.*' — Daily Tele- 
 graphy January 1871. 
 
 The story of the massacre of Tientsin, on the 21st June last, is told 
 privately in a private letter dated Cheefoo, June 30th, published in 
 Thursday's Standard^ but the signature of which is not given. The 
 horrors narrated are frightful, and remembering how frequently stories 
 « f similar horrors in the Mutiny melted away on close investigation,— 
 though but too many were true, — we may hope that the writer, who does 
 not seem to have been in Tientsin at the time, has heard somewhat 
 exaggerated accounts. Yet making all allowances for this, there was 
 evidently horror enough. The jSrst attack was on the French Consul, 
 who was murdered, the Chinese mandarins refusing aid. Then the 
 Consulate was broken open, and two Catholic priests murdered, 
 as well as M. and Madame Thomassin, an attache to the Legation at 
 Pekin and his bride. Then came the worst part. The mob, acting 
 with regular Chinese soldiers, it is said, whom their officers did not at- 
 tempt to restrain, attacked the hospital of the French Sisters of Charity, 
 stripped them, exposed them to the mob, plucked out their eyes, mu- 
 tilated them in other ways, and divided portions of their flesh among 
 the infuriated people, and then set fire to the hospital, in which 100 
 orphan children, who were the objects of the sisters' care, were burnt 
 to death."— 2'-^ Spectator, September 3, 1870. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 146 
 
 LETTER XXXVIII. 
 
 Herne Hill, 
 
 December, 1873. 
 
 The laws of Florence in the fourteenth century, for us in 
 the nineteenth ! 
 
 Even so, good reader. You have, perhaps, long imagined 
 that the judges of Israel, and heroes of Greece, the consuls 
 of Rome, and the dukes of Venice, the powers of Florence, 
 and the kings of England, were all merely the dim foreshad- 
 owings and obscure prophecyings of the advent of the Jones 
 and Robinson of the future : demi-gods revealed in your 
 own day, whose demi-divine votes, if luckily coincident upon 
 any subject, become totally divine, and establish the ordi- 
 nances thereof, for ever. 
 
 You will find it entirely otherwise, gentlemen, whether of 
 the suburb, or centre. Laws small and great, for ever un* 
 changeable ; — irresistible by all the force of Robinson, and 
 unimprovable by finest jurisprudence of Jones, have long 
 since been known, and, by wise nations, obeyed. Out of 
 the statute books of one of these I begin with an apparently 
 unimportant order, but the sway of it cuts deep. 
 
 No person whatsoever shall buy fish, to sell it again, 
 either in the market of Florence, or in any markets in the 
 state of Florence." 
 
 It is one of many such laws, entirely abolishing the pro- 
 fession of middleman, or costermonger of perishable articles 
 of food, in the city of the Lily. 
 
 " Entirely abolishing ! — nonsense ! " thinks your modern 
 commercial worship. Who was to prevent private con- 
 tract ? " 
 
 Nobody, my good sir ; — there is, as you very justly feel, 
 no power in law whatever to prevent private contract. No 
 quantity of laws, penalties, or constitutions, can be of th« 
 Vol. IL— 10 
 
146 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 slightest use to a public inherently licentious and deceitful. 
 There is no legislation for liars and traitors. They cannot 
 be prevented from the pit ; the earth finally swallows them. 
 They find their level against all embankment — soak their way 
 down, irrestrainably, to the gutter grating ; — happiest the 
 nation that most rapidly so gets rid of their stench. There 
 is no law, I repeat, for these, but gravitation. Organic laws 
 can only be serviceable to, and in general will only be written 
 by, a public of honourable citizens, loyal to their state, and 
 faithful to each other. 
 
 The profession of middleman was then, by civic con- 
 sent, and formal law, rendered impossible in Florence with 
 respect to fish. What advantage the modern blessed possi- 
 bility of such mediatorial function brings to our hungry mul- 
 titudes ; and how the miraculous draught of fishes, which 
 living St. Peter discerns, and often dextrously catches — 
 
 the shoals of them like shining continents," (said Carlyle 
 to me, only yesterday,) — are by such apostolic succession 
 miraculously diminished, instead of multiplied ; and, instead 
 of baskets-full of fragments taken up from the ground, 
 baskets full of whole fish laid down on it, lest perchance any 
 hungry person should cheaply eat of the same, — here is a 
 pleasant little account for you, by my good and simple cler- 
 gyman's wife. It would have been better still, if I had not 
 been forced to warn her that I wanted it for Fors^ which of 
 course took the sparkle out of her directly. Here is one 
 little naughty bit of private preface, which really must go 
 with the rest. " I have written my little letter about the 
 fish trade, and L. says it is all right. I am afraid you won't 
 think there is anything in it worth putting in JFors, as I 
 really know very little about it, and absolutely nothing that 
 every one else does not know, except ladies, who generally 
 never trouble about anything, but scold their cooks, and 
 abuse the fishmongers — when they cannot pay the weekly 
 bills easily." (After this we are quite proper.) 
 
 The poor fishermen who toil all through these bitter 
 nights, and the retail dealer who carries heavy baskets, or 
 
FOBS CLAVIOERA, 
 
 147 
 
 drags a truck so many weary miles along the roads, get but 
 a poor living out of tlieir labour ; but what are called ' fish 
 salesmen,' who by reason of their command of capital 
 keep entire command of the London markets, are making 
 enormous fortunes. 
 
 When you ask the fishermen why they do not manage 
 better for themselves at the present demand for fish, they 
 explain how helpless they are in the hands of what they call 
 ^ the big men.' Some fishermen at Aldborough, who have a 
 boat of their own, told my brother that one season, when 
 the sea seemed full of herrings, they saw in the newspapers 
 how dear they were in London, and resolved to make a ven- 
 ture on their own account ; so they spent all their available 
 money in the purchase of a quantity of the right sort of 
 baskets, and, going out to sea, filled them all, — putting the 
 usual five hundred lovely fresh fish in each, — sent them 
 straight up to London by train, to the charge of a salesman 
 they knew of, begging him to send them into the market 
 and do the best he could for them. But he was very angry 
 with the fishermen ; and wrote them word that the market 
 was quite sufficiently stocked ; that if more fish were sent 
 in, the 2^rices would go down ; that he should not allow their 
 fish to be sold at all ; and, if they made a fuss about it, he 
 would not send their baskets back, and would make them 
 pay the carriage. As it was, he returned them, after a time ; 
 but the poor men never received one farthing for their thou- 
 sands of nice fish, and only got a scolding for having dared 
 to try and do without the agents, who buy the fisii from the 
 boats at whatever price they choose to settle amongst them- 
 selves. 
 
 " When we were at Yarmouth this autumn, the enormous 
 abundance of herrings on the fish quay w^as perfectly won- 
 derful ; it must be, (I should think,) two hundred yards 
 long, and is capable of accommodating the unloading of a 
 perfect fleet of boats. The ' swills,' as they call the baskets, 
 each containing five hundred fish, were side by side, touch- 
 ing each other, all over this immense space, and men were 
 sliovelling salt about, with spades, over heaps of fish, pre- 
 vious to packing at once in boxes. 1 said, ' How surprised 
 our poor people would be to see such a sight, after con- 
 stantly being obliged to pay three-halfpence for every her- 
 ring they buy.' An old fisherman answered me, saying, 
 * No one need pay that, ma'am, if we could get the fish to 
 them ; we could have plenty more boats, and plenty more 
 
148 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGERii. 
 
 fish, if we could have them taken where the poor people 
 could get them.' We brought home a hundred dried her- 
 rings, for which we paid ten shillings ; when we asked if 
 we might buy some lovely mackerel on the Fish Quay, they 
 said, (the fishermen), that they were not allowed to sell them 
 there, except all at once. Since then, I have read an ac- 
 count of a Royal Commission having been investigating the 
 subject of the fishery for some time past, and the result of 
 its inquiries seems to prove that it is inexhaustible, and that 
 in the North Sea it is always harvest-time.* 
 
 " When I told our fishmonger all about it, he said I was 
 quite right about the ' big men ' in London, and added, 
 ' They will not let us have the fish under their own prices ; 
 and if it is so plentiful that they cannot sell it all at that, 
 they have it thrown away, or carted off for manure ; some- 
 times sunk in the river. If we could only get it here, my 
 trade would be twice what it is, for, except sprats, the poor 
 can seldom buy fish now.' 
 
 " I asked him if the new Columbia Market was of no use 
 in making things easier, but he said, 'No ;' that these sales- 
 men had got that into their hands also ; and were so rich 
 that they would keep any number of markets in their own 
 
 * Not quite so, gentlemen of the Royal Commission. Harvests, no 
 less than sales, and fishermen no less than salesmeo, need regulation by 
 just human law. Here is a piece of news, for instance, from Glasgow, 
 concerning Loch Fyne : — " Owing to the permission to fish for herring 
 by trawling, which not only scrapes up the spawn from the bottom, but 
 catches great quantities of the fry which are useless for market, and 
 only fit for manure, it is a fact that, whereas Loch Fyne used to be 
 celebrated for containing the finest herrings to be caught anywhere, 
 and thousands and tens of thousands of boxes used to be exported 
 from Inverary, there are not now enough caught there to enable them 
 to export a single hox^ and the quantity caught lower down the loch, 
 near its mouth (and every year the herring are being driven farther 
 and farther down) is not a tithe of what it used to be. Such a thing 
 as a Loch Fyne herring (of the old size and quality,) cannot be bad 
 now in Glasgow for any money, and this is only a type of the destruc- 
 tion which trawling, and a too short close-time, are causing to all the 
 west-coast fishing. Whiting Bay, Arran, has been rid of its whiting by 
 trawling on the spawning coast opposite. The cupidity of careless 
 fishers, unchecked by beneficial law, is here also ' killing the goose that 
 lays the golden eggs,' and herring of any kind are very scarce and very 
 bad in Glasgow, at a penny and sometimes twopence ea,ch. Professor 
 Huxley gave his sanction to trawling, in a Government Commission, I 
 am told, some years ago, and it has been allowed ever since. I will 
 tell you something similar about the seal-fishing off Newfoundland, 
 another time. " 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 149 
 
 hands. A few hundred pounds sacrificed any day to keep 
 up the prices they think well worth their while." 
 
 What do you think of that, by way of Free-trade ? — my 
 British-never-never-never-vvill-be-slaves, — hey ? Free-trade ; 
 and the Divine Law of Supply and Demand ; and the Sa- 
 cred Necessity of Competition, and what not ; — and here's 
 a meek little English housewife who can't get leave, on her 
 bended knees, from Sultan Costermonger, to eat a fresh 
 herring at Yarmouth ! and must pay three-halfpence apiece, 
 for his leave to eat them anywhere ; — and you, you simple- 
 tons — Fishermen, indeed ! — Cod's heads and shoulders, say 
 rather, — meekly receiving back your empty baskets ; your 
 miracle of loaves and fishes executed for you by the Coster- 
 mongering Father of the Faithful, in that thimblerig man-- 
 ner ! 
 
 "But havn't you yourself been hard against competi- 
 tion, till now ? and havn't you always wanted to regulate 
 prices ? " 
 
 Yes, my good SS. Peter and Andrew ! — very certainly I 
 want to regulate prices; and very certainly I will, as to 
 such things as I sell, or have the selling of. I should like 
 to hear of anybody's getting this letter for less than ten- 
 pence ! — and if you will send me some fish to sell for you, 
 perhaps I may even resolve that they shall be sold at two- 
 pence each, or else made manure of, — like these very coster- 
 mongers ; but the twopence shall go into your pockets — not 
 mine ; which you will find a very pleasant and complete dif- 
 ference in principle between his Grace the Costermonger 
 and me ; and, secondly, if I raise the price of a herring to 
 twopence, it will be because I know that people have been 
 m some way misusing them, or wasting them ; and need to 
 get fewer for a time ; or will eat twopenny herrings at fash- 
 ionable tables, (when they wouldn't touch halfpenny ones,) 
 and so give the servants no reason to turn up their noses at 
 them.* I may have twenty such good reasons for fixing 
 
 * In my aunt*s younger days, at Perth, the servants used regularly to 
 make bargain that they should not be forced to dine on salmon more 
 than so many times a week. 
 
150 
 
 FOnS CLAVIGEIiA. 
 
 the price of your fish ; but not one of them will be his Grace 
 the Costermonger's. All that I want you to see is, not only 
 the possibility of regulating prices, but the fact that they 
 are now regulated, and regulated by rascals, while all the 
 world is bleating out its folly about Supply and Demand. 
 
 " Still, even in your way, you would be breaking the laws 
 of Florence, anyhow, and buying to sell again ? " Pardon 
 me : I should no more buy vour fish than a butcher's boy 
 buys his master's mutton. I should simply carry your fish 
 for you where I knew it was wanted ; being as utterly your 
 servant in the matter as if I were one of your own lads sent 
 dripping up to the town with basket on back. And I should 
 be paid, as your servant, so much wages; (not commission, ob- 
 serve,) making bargains far away for you, and many another 
 Saunders Mucklebackit, just as your wife makes them, up 
 the hill at Monkbarns ; and no more buying the fish, to sell 
 again, than she. 
 
 Well, but where could we get anybody to do this ? " 
 
 Have you no sons then ? — or, among them, none whom you 
 can take from the mercy of the sea, and teach to serve you 
 mercifully on the land ? 
 
 It is not that way, however, that the thing will be done. 
 It must be done for you by gentlemen. They may stagger 
 on perhaps a year or two more in their vain w^ays ; but the 
 day must come when your poor little honest puppy, whom 
 his people have been wanting to dress up in a surplice, and 
 call The to be Feared," that he might have pay enough, by 
 tithe or tax, to marry a pretty girl, and live in a parsonage, — . 
 some poor little honest wretch of a puppy, I say, will eventu- 
 ally get it into his glossy head that he would be incomparably 
 more reverend to mortals, and acceptable to St. Peter and all 
 Saints, as a true monger of sweet fish, than a false fisher for 
 rotten souls ; and that his wife would be incomparably more 
 * lady-like ' — not to say Madonna-like — marching beside him 
 in purple stockings and sabots — or even frankly barefoot-r- 
 with her creel full of caller herring on her back, than in ad- 
 ministering any quantity of Ecclesiastical scholarship to her 
 Sunday-schools. 
 
FOBS GLAVIGERA, 
 
 " How dreadful — how atrocious ! " — thinks the tender 
 clerical lover. My wife walk with a fish-basket on her 
 back ! " 
 
 Yes, you young scamp, yours. You were going to lie to 
 the Holy Ghost, then, were you, only that she might wear 
 satin slippers, and be called a Mady ' ? Suppose, instead of 
 fisli, I were to ask her and you to carry coals. Have you ever 
 read your Bible carefully enough to wonder wliere Christ got 
 them from, to make His fire, (wlien he was so particular about 
 St. Peter's dinner, and St. Jolin's) ? Or if I asked you to be 
 liewers of wood, and drawers of water ; — would that also seem 
 intolerable to you ? My poor clerical friends, God was never 
 more in the burning bush of Sinai than He would be in every 
 crackling faggot (cut with your own hands) that you warmed 
 a poor hearth with : nor did that woman of Samaria ever give 
 Him to drink more surely than you may, from every stream 
 and well in this your land, that you can keep pure. 
 
 20^A Dec. — To hew wood — to draw water ; — you thinR 
 these base businesses, do you? and that you are noble, as 
 well as sanctified, in binding faggot-burdens on poor men's 
 backs, which you will not touch with your own fingers ; — 
 and in preaching the efiicacy of baptism inside the church, by 
 yonder stream (under the first bridge of the Seven Bridge 
 Road here at Oxford,) while the sweet waters of it are choked 
 with dust and dung, within ten fathoms from your font ; — 
 and in giving benediction with two fingers and your tliumb, 
 of a superfine quality, to the Marquis of B. ? Honester ben- 
 ediction, and more efficacious, can be had cheaper, gentlemen, 
 in the existing market. Under my own system of regulatir.g 
 prices, I gave an Irishwoman twopence yesterday for two 
 oranges, of which fruit — under pressure of competition — she 
 was ready to supply me with three for a penny. " The Lord 
 Almighty take you to eternal glory ! " said she. 
 
 You lawyers, also, — distributors, by your own account, of 
 the quite supreme blessing of Justice, — you are not so busily 
 eloquent in her cause but that some of your sweet voices 
 might be spared to Billingsgate, though the river air might 
 take the curl out of your wigs, and bO diminish that resthetio 
 
152 
 
 FOES CLAVIGERA. 
 
 «?aim which, as aforesaid, you still hold on existence. But 
 you will bring yourselves to an end soon, — wigs and all, — 
 unless you think better of it. 
 
 I will dismiss at once, in this letter, the question of regu- 
 lation of prices, and return to it no more, except in setting 
 down detailed law. 
 
 Any rational group of persons, large or small, living in war 
 or peace, will have its commissariat ; — its officers for provi- 
 sion of food. Famine in a fleet, or an army, may sometimes 
 be inevitable ; but in the event of national famine, the offi- 
 cers of the commissariat should be starved the first. God 
 has given to man corn, wine, cheese, and honey, all preserv- 
 able for a number of years :— filled his seas with inexhaustible 
 salt, and incalculable fish ; filled the woods with beasts, the 
 winds with birds, and the fields with fruit. Under these 
 circumstances, the stupid human brute stands talking meta- 
 physics, and expects to be fed by the law of Supply and 
 Demand. I do not say that I shall always succeed in regu- 
 lating prices, or quantities, absolutely to my mind ; but in 
 the event of any scarcity of provision, rich tables shall be 
 served like the poorest, and — we will see. 
 
 The price of every other article will be founded on the price 
 of food. The price of what it takes a day to produce, will be 
 a day's maintenance ; of what it takes a week to produce, a 
 week's maintenance, — such maintenance being calculated 
 according to the requirements of the occupation, and always 
 with a proportional surplus for saving. 
 
 " How am I to know exactly what a day's maintenance 
 is ? *' I don't want to know exactly. I don't know exactly 
 how much dinner I ought to eat ; but, on the whole, I eat 
 enough, and not too much. And I shall not know 'exactly' 
 how much a painter ought to have for a picture. It may be 
 a pound or two under the mark — a pound or two over. On 
 the average it will be right, — that is to say, his decent keep * 
 
 * As for instance, and in farther illustration of the use of herrings, 
 here is some account of the maintenance of young painters and lawyers 
 In Edinburgh, sixty years since, sent me by the third Fors ; and good 
 Dr. Brown, in an admirable sketch of the life of an admirable Scottish 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 153 
 
 during the number of days' work that are properly accounted 
 for in the production. 
 
 How am I to hinder people from giving more if they 
 like?" 
 
 People whom I catch doing as they like will generally have 
 to leave the estate. 
 
 "But how is it to be decided to which of two purchasers, 
 each willing to give its price, and more, anything is to be- 
 long ? " 
 
 In various ways, according to the nature of the thing sold, 
 and circumstances of sale. Sometimes by priority ; some- 
 times by privilege ; sometimes by lot ; and sometimes by auc- 
 tion, at which whatever excess of price, above its recorded 
 value, the article brings, shall go to the national treasury. 
 So that nobody will ever buy anything to make a profit on it. 
 
 11th January, 1874. — Thinking I should be the better of 
 a look at the sea, I have come down to an old watering- 
 place, where one used to be able to get into a decent little 
 inn, and possess one's self of a parlour with a bow window 
 looking out on the beach, a pretty carpet, and a print or two 
 of revenue cutters, and the Battle of the Nile. One could 
 have a chop and some good cheese for dinner ; fresh cream 
 and cresses for breakfast, and a plate of shrimps. 
 
 I find myself in the Umfraville Ilotel, a quarter of a mile 
 long by a furlong deep ; in a ghastly room, fi ve-and-t wen ty 
 feet square, and eighteen high, — that is to say, just four 
 times as big as I want, and whicii I can no more light with 
 my candles in the evening than I could the Peak cavern. A 
 
 artist, says : — Raeburn (Sir Henr>^) was left an orphan at six, and was 
 educated in Heriot^s Hospital. At fifteen he was capprenticed to a gold- 
 smith ; but after his time was out, set himself entirely to portrait paint- 
 ing. About this time he became acquainted with the famous cynic, 
 lawyer, and wit, John Clerk, afterwards Lord Eldon, then a young ad- 
 vocate. Both were poor. Young Clerk asked Raeburn to dine at his 
 lodgings. Coming in, he found the landlady laying the cloth, and set- 
 ting down two dishes, one containing three herrings, and the other three 
 potatoes. Is this a' ? " said John. Ay, it's a'.*' A' ! didna I tell 
 ye, woman, that a gentleman is to dine wi' me, and that ye were to get 
 six herrin* and six potatoes ? 
 
154 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 gas apparatus in the middle of it serves me to knock my 
 head against, but I take good care not to light it, or I should 
 soon be stopped from my evening's woik by a headache, and 
 be unfit for my morning's business besides. The carpet is 
 threadbare, and has the look of having been spat upon all 
 over. There is only one vs^indow, of four huge panes of 
 glass, through vv^hich one commands a view of a plaster 
 balcony, some ornamental iron railings, an esplanade, — and, 
 — well, I suppose, — in the distance, that is really the sea, 
 where it used to be. I am ashamed to ask for shrimps, — 
 not that I suppose I could get any if I did. There's no 
 cream, "because, except in the season, we could only take 
 so small a quantity, sir." The bread's stale, because it's 
 Sunday ; and the cheese, last night, was of the cheapest 
 tallow sort. The bill will be at least three times my old bill ; 
 — I shall get no thanks from anybody for paying it ; — and 
 this is what the modern British public thinks is " living in 
 style." But the most comic part of all the improved arrange- 
 ments is that I can only have codlings for dinner, because all 
 the cod goes to London, and none of the large fishing-boats 
 dare sell a fish, here. 
 
 And now but a word or two more, final, as to the fixed 
 price of this book. 
 
 A sensible and worthy tradesman writes to me in very 
 earnest terms of expostulation, blaming me for putting the 
 said book out of the reach of most of the persons it is meant 
 for, and asking me how I can expect, for instance, the work- 
 ing men round him (in Lancashire), — who have been in the 
 habit of strictly ascertaining that they have value for their 
 money, — to buy, for tenpence, what they know might be 
 given them for twopence-halfpenny. 
 
 Answer first : 
 
 My book is meant for no one who cannot reach it. If a 
 man with all the ingenuity of Lancashire in his brains, and 
 breed of Lancashire in his body ; with all the steam and coal 
 power in Lancashire to back his ingenuity and muscle ; all 
 the press of literary England vomiting the most valuable in- 
 formation at bis feet ; with all the tenderness of charitable 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 155 
 
 England aiding him in his efforts, and ministering to his 
 needs ; with all the liberality of republican Europe rejoicing 
 in his dignities as a man and a brother ; and with all the 
 science of enlightened Europe directing his opinions on the 
 subject of the materials of the Sun, and the origin of his 
 species ; if, I say, a man so circumstanced, assisted, and in- 
 formed, living besides in the richest country of the globe, 
 and, from his youth upwards, having been in the habit of 
 * seeing that he had value for his money,' cannot, as the up- 
 shot and net result of all, now afford to pay me tenpence a 
 month — or an annual lialf-sovereign, for my literary labour, — 
 in Heaven's name, let him buy the best reading he can for 
 twopence-halfpenny. For that sum, I clearly perceive he 
 can at once provide himself with two penny illustrated news- 
 papers and one lialfpenny one, — full of art, sentiment, and 
 the Tichborne trial. He can buy a quarter of the dramatic 
 itorks of Shakespeare, or a whole novel of Sir AValter 
 Scott's. Good value for his money, he thinks ! — reads one 
 of them through, and in all probability loses some five years 
 of the eyesight of his old age ; which he does not, with all 
 his Lancashire ingenuity, reckon as part of the price of liis 
 cheap book. But liow has he read ? There is an act of 3fid' 
 sianmer NighCs Dream printed in a page. Steadily and 
 dutifully, as a student should, he reads his page. The lines 
 slip past his eMips, and mind, like sand in an hour-glass ; he 
 has some dim idea at the end of tlie act that he lias been 
 reading about Fairies, and Flowers, and Asses. Does he 
 know what a Fairy is? Certainly not. Does he know what 
 a Flower is? He has perhaps never seen one wild, or happy, 
 in his life. Does he even know — quite distinctly, inside and 
 out — what an Ass is? 
 
 But, answer second. Whether my - Lancashire friends 
 need any aid to their discernment of what is good or bad in 
 literature, I do not know ; — but I mean to give them the 
 best help I can ; and, therefore, not to allow them to have 
 for twopence what I know to be worth tenpence. For here 
 is another law of Florence, still concerning fish, which 19 
 transferable at once to literature. 
 
156 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 " Eel of the lake shall be sold for three soldi a pound ; and 
 eel of the common sort for a soldo and a half." 
 
 And eel of a bad sort was not allowed to be sold at all. 
 
 " Eel of the lake," I presume, was that of the Lake of 
 Bolsena ; Pope Martin IV. died of eating too many, in spite 
 of their high price. You observe I do not reckon my Fors 
 Eel to be of Bolsena ; I put it at the modest price of a 
 soldo a pound, or English tenpence. One cannot be precise 
 in such estimates ; — one can only obtain rude approxima- 
 tions. Suppose, for instance, you read the Times newspaper 
 for a week, from end to end ; your aggregate of resultant 
 useful information will certainly not be more than you may 
 get out of a single number of Fors, But your Times for 
 the week will cost you eighteenpence. 
 
 You borrow the Times ? Borrow this then ; till the days 
 come when English people cease to think they can live by 
 lending, or learn by borrowing. 
 
 I finish with copy of a bit of private letter to the editor of 
 an honestly managed country newspaper, who asked me to 
 send him Fors. 
 
 " I find it — on examining the subject for these last three 
 years very closely — necessary to defy the entire principle of 
 advertisement ; and to make no concession of any kind 
 whatsoever to the public press — even in the minutest partic- 
 ular. And this year I cease sending Fors to any paper 
 whatsoever. It must be bought by every one who has it, 
 editor or private person. 
 
 " If there are ten people in willing to subscribe a 
 
 penny each for it, you can see it in turn ; by no other means 
 can I let it be seen. From friend to friend, or foe to foe, it 
 must make its own way, or stand still, abiding its time." 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 151 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 The following bit of a private letter to a good girl belonging to the 
 upper classes may be generally useful ; so I asked her to copy it for 
 Fors. 
 
 Januai'y^ 1874. 
 
 "Now mind you dress always charmingly; it is the first duty of a 
 girl to be charming, and she cannot be charming if she is not charm- 
 ingly dressed. 
 
 And it is quite the first of firsts in the duties of girls in high posi- 
 tion, nowadays, to set an example of beautiful dress without extrava- 
 gance, — that is to say, without waste, or unnecessaiy splendour. 
 
 On great occasions they may be a blaze of jewels, if they like, and 
 can ; but only when they are part of a great show or ceremony. In 
 their daily life, and ordinary social relations, they ought at present to 
 dress with marked simplicity, to put down the curses of luxury and 
 waste which are consuming England. 
 
 ** Women usually apologize to themselves for their pride and vanit}'', 
 by saying, ' It is good for trade. ' 
 
 ''Now you may soon convince yourself, and everybody about you, of 
 the monstrous folly of this, by a very simple piece of definite action. 
 
 ''Wear, yourself, becoming, pleasantly varied, but simple, dress; of 
 the best possible material. 
 
 "What you think necessary to buy (beyond this) 'for the good of 
 trade,' buy, and immediately burn. 
 
 " Even your dullest friends will see the folly of that proceeding. You 
 can then exi)lain to thein that by wearing what they don't want (instead 
 of burning it) for the good of trade, they are merely adding insolence 
 and vulgarity to absurdity." 
 
 I am very grateful to the writer of the following letters for his per- 
 mission to print the portions of them bearing on our work. The first 
 was written several years ngo. 
 
 ''Now, my dear friend, I don't know why I should intrude what I 
 pow want to say about m}' litile farm, which you disloyally dare to call 
 a kingdom, but that I know you do feel an interest in such things ; 
 whereas I find not one in a hundred does care a jot for the moral iutlu- 
 ence and responsibilities of landowners, or for those who live out of it, 
 and by the sweat of the brow for them and their own luxuries which 
 pamper them, whilst too often their tenants starve, and the children 
 die of want and fever. 
 
 *' One of the most awful things I almost ever heard was from the lipa 
 of a clergyman, near B , when asked what became of the children. 
 
158 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 by day, of those mothers employed in mills. He said, *0h, / take card 
 of them ; they are brought to me, and I lay them in the churchyard.' 
 Poor lambs ! What a flock ! 
 
 But now for ray little kingdom, — the royalties of which, by the 
 way, still go to the Duke of Devonshire, as lord of the minerals under 
 the earth. 
 
 *'It had for many years been a growing dream nnd desire of mine 
 (whether right or wrong I do not say) to possess a piece of God's earth, 
 be it only a rock or a few acres of land, with a few people to live out of 
 and upon it. Well, my good father had an estate about four miles 
 
 across, embra ' ng the whole upper streams and head of dale, 
 
 some twelve hundred feet above the sea, and lifted thus far away above 
 the din and smoke of men, surrounded by higher hills, the grassy slopes 
 of Ingleborough and Carn Fell. It was a waste moorland, with a few 
 sheep farms on it, undivided, held in common, — a few small enclosures 
 of grass and flowers, taken off at the time of the Danes, retaining 
 Danish names and farm usages, — a few tenements, built by that great 
 and noble Lady Anne Clifford, two hundred years ago; in which dwelt 
 honest, sturdy, great-hearted English men and women, as I think this 
 land knows. 
 
 Well, this land my father made over by deed of gift to me, reserv- 
 ing to himself the rents for life, but granting to me full liberty to * im- 
 prove' and lay out what I pleased ; charged also with the maintenance 
 of a schoolmaster for the little school-hoase I built in memory of my 
 late wife, who loved the place and people. With this arrangement 1 
 was well pleased, and at once began to enclose and drain, and, on Adam 
 Smith principle, make two blades of grass grow where one grew before. 
 This has gone on for some years, affording labour to the few folks there, 
 and some of their neighbours. Of the prejudices of the old farmers, 
 the less said the better ; and as to the prospective increased value of 
 rental, I may look, at least, for mj five per cent., may I not? 1 am 
 well repaid, at present, by the delight gained to me in wandering over 
 this little Arcady, where I fancy at times I still hear the strains of the 
 pipe of the shepherd Lord Clifford of Cumberland, blending with the 
 crow of the moor-fowl, the song of the lark, and cry of the curlew, the 
 bleating of sheep, and heaving and dying fall of the manj^ waters. To 
 think of all this, and yet men prefer the din of loar or commercial 
 strife ! It is so pleasant a thing to know all the inhabitants, and all 
 their little joys and woes, — like one of your bishops ; and to be able to 
 apportion them their work. Labour, there, is not accounted degrading 
 work; even stone breaking for the roads is not paupei-^s work, and a 
 test of starvation, but taken gladly by tenant farmers to occupy spare 
 time ; for I at once set to work to make roads, rude bridges, planta- 
 tions of fir-trees, and of oak and birch, which once flourished there, as 
 the name signifies. 
 
 *'Iara now laying out some thousands of pounds in draining and 
 liming, and kUliarf out the Alpine flowers, which you tell me * is not 
 wrong to do, as God has reserved other gardens for them, though I 
 must say not one dies without a pang to me ; yet I see there springs 
 up the fresh grass, the daisy, the primrose — the life of growing men 
 and women, the source of labour and of happiness ; God be thanked if 
 
 * 1 don't romember teUiug you anything of the sort. I should tell you another storj 
 now, my dear friend. 
 
FOES CLAVIOEIIA. 
 
 159 
 
 one does even a little to attain that for one's fellows, either for this 
 world or the next ! 
 
 How I wish you could see them on our one day^s feast and holiday, 
 when all — as mauy as will come from all the countiy round — are re- 
 galed with a hearty Yorkshire tea at the Hall, as they will call a rough 
 muUioned-wiudowed house I built upon a rock rising from the river's 
 edge. The children have their games, and then all join in a missionary 
 meeting, to hear somethicg of their fellow-creatures who live in other 
 lands; the little ones gather their pennies to support and educate a 
 little Indian school child; * this not only for sentiment, but to teach a 
 care for others near home and far off. 
 
 The place is five miles from church, and, happily, as far from a 
 public-house, though still, I grieve to say, drink is the one failing of 
 these good people, mostly arising from the want of full occupation. 
 
 You speak of mining as servile work : why so ? Hugh Miller was 
 a quarryman, and I know an old man who has wrought coal for me in 
 a narrow seam, lying on his side to work, who has told me that in win- 
 tertime he had rather w^ork thus than .sit over his fireside ; f he is quiet 
 and undisturbed, earns his bread, and is a man not without reflection. 
 Then there is the smith, an artist in his way, and loves Jiis work too ; 
 and as to the quarrymen and masons, they are Fome of the merriest 
 fellows I know ; they come five or six miles to work, knitting stockings 
 as they walk along. 
 
 I must just allude to one social feature which is pleasant, — that is, 
 the free intercourse, without familiarity, or loss of respect for master 
 and man. The farmer or small landowner sits at the same table at meals 
 with the servants, yet the class position of yeoman or labourer is fully 
 maintained, and due respect shown to the superior, and almost royal wor- 
 ship to the lord of the soil, if he is in anywise a good landlord. Now is 
 England quite beyond all hope, when such things exist here, in this nine- 
 teenth century of machine-made life ? I know not why, I say again, I 
 should inflict all this about self upon you, except that I have a hobby, 
 and I love it, and so fancy others must do so too. 
 
 Forgive me this, and believe me always, 
 
 Y^ours affectionately.** 
 
 January, 1874. 
 
 My dkar Mr. Ruskin, — I have just come from an old Tudor house 
 in Leicestershire, which tells of happier days in some ways than our own. 
 It was once the Grange of St. Mary's Abbey, where rent and service were 
 paid and done in kind. When there, I wished I could have gone a 
 few miles with you to St. Bernard's Monastery in Charnwood Forest; 
 there you would see what somewhat resembles your St. George's land, 
 only without the family and domestic features — certainly most essential 
 to the happiness of a people. J But there you may see rich well-kept 
 
 ♦ Very fine ; but have all the children in Sheffield and Leeds had their pennyworth of 
 gospel, first? 
 
 t All T can say is, taf^tes differ ; but I have not myself tried the deprce of comfort 
 which may be attained in winter by lying on one's side in a coal-eeam, and cannot there- 
 lore feci conildence in offering an opinion. 
 
 X Very much so indeed, my good friend ; and yet, the plague of it is, one never can get 
 people to do anything that is wise or generous, unless they go and make monks of them- 
 Belves. I believe this St. Geoi-ge's land of mine will really be the first place where it has 
 been attempted to get maiTied people to live in any charitable and human way, and grafl 
 Apples where they may eat them, without getting driven out of their Paradise. 
 
160 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIOEBA, 
 
 fields and gardens, where thirty years ago was nothing but wild moor 
 land and granite tors on the hiJl ridges. 
 
 ' ^ The Cross of Calvary rises now on the highest rock ; below are gar- 
 dens and fields, all under the care and labour (happy labour it seems) of 
 the Silent Brothers,* and a reformatory for boys. There is much still 
 waste land adjoining. The spot is central, healthy, and as yet unoc- 
 cupied : it really seems to offer itself to you. There, too, is space, 
 pure air and water, and quarries of slate and granite, etc.^ for the lesa 
 skilled labour. 
 
 Well, you ask if the dalesmen of Yorkshire rise to a vivid state of 
 contented life and love of the pretty things of heaven and enrth. '1 hey 
 have a rough outside, at times hard to penetrate ; but when you do, 
 there is a warm heart, but not much culture, although a keen value of 
 manly education, and their duty to God and man. Apart from the 
 vanities of the so-called 'higher education,' their calling is mostly out 
 of doors, in company with sheep and cattle ; the philosophy of their 
 minds often worthy of the Shepherd Lord, — not much sight for the 
 beauties of Nature beyond its uses. I can say their tastes are not low 
 nor degraded by literature of the daily press, etc. I have known them for 
 twenty years, have stood for hours beside them at work, building or 
 draining, and I never heard one foul or coarse word. In sickness, both 
 man and woman are devoted. They have, too, a reverence for social 
 order and ' Divine Law,' — familiar without familiarity. This even 
 pervades their own class or sub-classes; — for instance, although farm.ers 
 and their families, and work-people and servants, all sit at the same 
 table, it is a rare thing for a labourer to presume to ask in marriage a 
 farmer's daughter. Their respect to landlords is equally shown. As a 
 specimen of their politics, I may instance this ; — to a man at the 
 county election they voted for Stuart Wortley, * because he bore a well- 
 known Yorkshire name, and had the blood of a gentleman. 
 
 "As to hardsMvs^ I see none beyond those incident to their 
 calling, in snow-storms, etc. You never see a child unshod or ill clad. 
 Very rarely do they allow a relative to receive aid from the parish. 
 
 **I tried a reading club for winter evenings, but found they liked 
 their own fireside better. Happily, there is, in my part, no public-house 
 within six miles; still I must say drink is the vice of some. In winter 
 they have much leisure time, in which there is a good deal of card- 
 playing. Still some like reading; and we have among them now a fair 
 lot of books, mostly from the Pure Literature Society. They are proud 
 and iudependent, and, as you say, must be dealt with cautiously. 
 Everywhere I see much might be done. Yet on the whole, when ^^om* 
 pared with the town life of men, one sees little to amend. There is a 
 pleasant and curious combination of work. Mostly all workmen, — 
 builders [i.e. wallers), carpenters, smiths, etc.,— work a little farm cs 
 well as follow their own craft ; this gives wholesome occupation as well 
 as independence, and almost realizes Sir T. More's Utopian plan. 
 There is contented life of men, women, and children,— happy in their 
 work and joyful in prospect : what could one desire further, if each be 
 full according to his capacity and refinement ? 
 
 ** You ask what I purpose to do further, or leave untouched. I desire 
 
 ♦ There, again ! why, in the name of all that's natural, can^t decent men and women 
 use their tongues, on occasion, for what God made them for, — talking in a civil way ; but 
 must either po and make dumb beasts of themselves, or else (far worse) let cufc theil 
 tongues for hire, and live by vomiting novels and reviews 1 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 101 
 
 to leave untouched some 3,000 acres of moor-land needed for their 
 sheep, serviceable for peat fuel, freedom of air and mind and body, and 
 the growth of all the lovely things of moss and heather. Wherever 
 land is capable of improvement, I hold it is a grave responsibility until 
 it is done. You must come and look for yourself some day. 
 
 I enclose a cheque for ten guineas for St. George's Fund, with my 
 best wishes for this new year. 
 
 Ever yours affectionately." 
 
 I have questioned one or two minor points in my friend's letters ; but 
 on the whole, they simply describe a piece of St. George's old England, 
 still mercifully left, — and such as I hope to make even a few pieces 
 iT>ore, a^^ain ; conquering them out of the Devil's new England. 
 Vol. II.— 11 
 
162 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 LETTER XXXIX. 
 
 On a foggy forenoon, two or three days ago, I wanted to 
 make my way quickly from Hengler's Circus to Drury Lane 
 Theatre, without losing time which might be philosophically 
 employed ; and therefore afoot, for in a cab I never can think 
 of anything but how the driver is to get past whatever is in 
 front of him. 
 
 On foot, then, 1 proceeded, and accordingly by a somewhat 
 complex diagonal line, to be struck, as the stars might guide 
 me, between Regent Circus and Covent Garden. I have 
 never been able, by the way, to make any coachman under- 
 stand that such diagonals were not always profitable. 
 Coachmen, as far as I know them, always possess just enough 
 geometry to feel that the hypotenuse is shorter than the 
 two sides, but I never yet could get one to see that an 
 hypotenuse constructed of cross streets in the manner of the 
 line A C, had no advantage, in the mat- 
 ter of distance to be traversed, over the 
 simple thoroughfares A B, B C, while it 
 involved the loss of the momentum of 
 the carriage, and a fresh start for the 
 cattle, at seventeen corners instead of 
 one, not to mention the probability of a 
 block at half a dozen of them, none the 
 less frequent since underground rail- 
 ways, and more difficult to get out of, in consequence of the 
 increasing discourtesy and diminishing patience of all hu^ 
 man creatures. 
 
 Now here is just one of the pieces of practical geometry 
 and dynamics wliich a modern schoolmaster, exercising his 
 pupils on the positions of letters in the word Chillianwallah, 
 would wholly despise. Whereas, in St. George's schools, it 
 shall be very early learned, on a square and diagonal of 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 1()3 
 
 actual road, with actual loaded wheelbarrow — first one- 
 wheeled, and pushed ; and secondly, two-wheeled, and pulled. 
 And similarly, every bit of science the children learn shall 
 be directly applied by them, and the use of it felt, which 
 involves the truth of it being known in the best possible 
 way, and without any debating- thereof. And what they 
 cannot apply they shall not be troubled to know. I am not 
 the least desirous that they should know so much even of the 
 sun as tiiat it stands still, (if it does). They may remain, 
 for anything T care, under the most simple conviction that it 
 gets up every morning and goes to bed every night ; but 
 they shall assuredly possess the applicable science of the 
 hour it gets up at, and goes to bed at, on any day of the 
 year, because they will have to regulate their own gettings 
 up and goings to bed upon those solar proceedings. 
 
 Well, to return to Regent Street. Being afoot, I took 
 the complex diagonal, because by wise regulation of one's 
 time and angle of crossing, one may indeed move on foot in 
 an economically drawn line, provided one does not miss its 
 main direction. As it chanced, I took my line correctly 
 enough ; but found so much to look at and think of on the 
 way, that I gained no material advantage. First, I could 
 not help stopping to consider the metaphysical reasons of 
 the extreme o-ravitv and self-abstraction of Arclier Street. 
 Then I was delayed a while in Prince's Street, Soho, won- 
 dering what Prince it had belonged to. Then I got through 
 Gerrard Street into Little Newport Street ; and came there 
 to a dead pause, to think why, in these days of division of 
 mechanical labour, there should be so little space for classi- 
 fication of commodities, as to require oranges, celery, butchers' 
 meat, cheap hosiery, soap, and salt fish, to be all sold in the 
 same alley. 
 
 Some clue to the business was afforded me by the sisrn of 
 the * Hotel de I'Union des Peuples ' at the corner, " bouillon 
 et boeuf a emporter ; " but I could not make out why, in spite 
 of the union of people, the provision merchant at the opposite 
 corner liad given up business, and left his house w ith ail its 
 upper windows broken, and its door nailed up. Finally, I 
 
164 
 
 FOES CLAVIGERA, 
 
 was stopped at the corner of Cranbourne Street by a sign 
 over a large shop advising me to buy some " screwed boots 
 and shoes." I am too shy to go in and ask, on such occasions, 
 what screwed boots are, or at' least too shy to come out again 
 without buying any, if the people tell me politely, and yet I 
 couldn't get the question what such things may be out of my 
 head, and nearly got run over in consequence, before attain-, 
 ing the Arcadian shelter of Covent Garden. I was but just 
 in time to get my tickets for Jack in the JBox^ on the day I 
 wanted, and put them carefully in the envelope with those 
 1 had been just securing at Hengler's for my fifth visit to 
 Cinderella, For indeed, during the last three weeks, the 
 greater part of my available leisure has been spent between 
 Cinderella and JacJc in the ]3ox ; with this curious result 
 upon my mind, that the intermediate scenes of Archer Street 
 and Prince's Street, Soho, have become to me merely as one 
 part of the drama, or pantomime, which I happen to have 
 seen last ; or, so far as the difference in the appearance of 
 men and things may compel me to admit some kind of 
 specific distinction, I begin to ask myself, Which is the 
 reality, and which the joantomime ? Nay, it appears to me 
 not of much moment which we choose to call Reality. Both 
 are equally real ; and the only question is whether the 
 cheerful state of things which the spectators, especially the 
 youngest and w^isest, entirely applaud and approve at Hen- 
 gler's and Drury Lane, must necessarily be interrupted always 
 by the woful interlude of the outside world. 
 
 It is a bitter question to me, for I am myself now, hope- 
 lessly, a man of the world ! — of that woful outside one I 
 mean. It is now Sunday ; half-past eleven in the morning. 
 Everybody about me is gone to church except the kind cook, 
 who is straining a point of conscience to provide me with 
 dinner. Everybody else is gone to church, to ask to be made 
 angels of, and profess that they despise the world and the 
 flesh, which I find myself always living in, (rather, perhaps, 
 living, or endeavouring to live, in too little of the last). And 
 I am left alone with the cat, in the world of sin. 
 
 But I scarcely feel less an outcast when I come out of the 
 
FOIiS CLAVIOEEA. 
 
 165 
 
 Circus, on week days, into iny own world of sorrow. Inside 
 the Circus, tiiere have been wonderful Mr. Henry Cooke, and 
 pretty Mademoiselle Aguzzi, and the three brothers Leonard, 
 like the three brothers in a German story, and grave little 
 Sandy, and bright and graceful Miss Hengler, all doing the 
 most splendid feats of strength, and patience, and skill 
 There have been dear little Cinderella and her Prince, and 
 all the pretty children beautifully dressed, taught thoroughly 
 how to behave, and how to dance, and how to sit still, and 
 giving everybody delight that looks at them ; whereas, the 
 instant I come outside the door, I find all the cliildren about 
 the streets ill-dressed, and ill-taught, and ill-behaved, and 
 nobody cares to look at them. And then, at Drury Lane, 
 there's just everything I want people to have always, got for 
 them, for a little while ; and they seem to enjoy them just 
 as I sliould expect they would. ^Mushroom Common, with 
 its lovely mushrooms, white and gray, so finely set off by 
 the incognita fairy's scarlet cloak ; the golden land of plenty 
 with furrow and sheaf ; Buttercup Green, with its flock of 
 mechanical sheep, which the whole audience claps because 
 they are of pasteboard, as they do tlie sheep in lAttle Red 
 Hiding Hood because they are alive ; but in eitiier case, 
 must have them on the stage in order to be pleased with 
 them, and never clap when they see the creatures in a field 
 outside. They can't have enough, any more than I can, of 
 the loving duet between Tom Tucker and Little Do Peep : 
 they would make the dark fairy dance all night long in her 
 amber light if they could ; and yet contentedly return to 
 what they call a necessary state of things outside, where 
 their corn is reaped by machinery, and the only duets are 
 between steam whistles. Why haven't they a steam whistle 
 to whistle to them on the stage, instead of Miss Violet 
 Cameron ? Why haven't they a steam Jack in the Box to 
 jump for them, instead of Mr. Evans? or a steam doll to 
 dance for them, instead of Miss Kate Vaughan ? They still 
 seem to have human ears and eyes, in the Theatre ; to know 
 there, for an hour or two, that golden light, and song, and 
 human tkill and grace, are better than smoke-blackness, and 
 
166 
 
 FOES CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 shrieks of iron and fire, and monstrous powers of con- 
 strained elements. And then they return to their under- 
 ground railroad, and say, ^This, behold, — this is the right 
 way to move, and live in a real world.' 
 
 Very notable it is also that just as in these two theatrical 
 entertainments — the Churcli and the Circus, — the imagi- 
 native con o^re orations still retain some true notions of the 
 value of human and beautiful things, and don't have steam- 
 preachers nor steam-dancers, — so also they retain some just 
 notion of the truth, in moral things : Little Cinderella, for 
 instance, at Hengler's, never thinks of offering her poor fairy 
 Godmother a ticket from the Mendicity Society. She im- 
 mediately goes and fetches her some dinner. And she makes 
 herself generally useful, and sweeps the doorstep, and dusts 
 the door ; — and none of the audience think any the worse of 
 her on that account. They think the worse of her proud sisters 
 who make her do it. But when they leave the Circus, they 
 never think for a moment of making themselves useful, like 
 Cinderella. Tliey forthwith play the proud sisters as much as 
 they can ; and try to make anybody else, who will, sweep 
 th^ir doorsteps. Also, at Hengler's, nobody advises Cin- 
 derella to write novels, instead of doing her washing, by way 
 of bettering herself. The audience, gentle and simple, feel 
 that the only chance she has of pleasing her Godmother, or 
 marrying a prince, is in remaining patiently at her tub, as 
 long as the Fates will have it so, heavy though it be. Again, 
 in all dramatic presentation of Little Red Riding Iloody 
 everybody disapproves of the carnivorous propensities of the 
 Wolf. They clearly distinguish there — as clearly as the 
 Fourteenth Psalm, itself — between the class of animal which 
 eats, and the class of animals which is eaten. But once out- 
 side the theatre, they declare the whole human race to be 
 universally carnivorous — and are ready themselves to eat up 
 any quantity of Red Riding Hoods, body and soul, if they 
 can make money by them. 
 
 x\nd lastly, — at Hengler's and Drury Lane, see how the 
 whole of the pleasure of life depends on the existence of 
 Princes, Princesses, and Fairies. One never hears of a Re- 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 167 
 
 publican pantomime ; one never thinks Cinderella would be 
 a bit better off if there were no princes. The audience un- 
 derstand that thougli it is not every good little house-maid 
 who can marry a prince, the world would not be the least 
 pleasanter, for the rest, if there were no princes to marry. 
 
 Nevertheless, it being too certain that the sweeping of 
 doorsteps diligently will not in all cases enable a pretty 
 maiden to drive away from said doorsteps, for evermore, in 
 a gilded coach, — one lias to consider what may be the next 
 best for her. And next best, or, in the greater number of 
 cases, best altogether, will be that Love, with his felicities, 
 should himself enter over the swept and garnished steps, and 
 abide with her in her own life, such as it is. And since St. 
 Valentine's grace is with us, at this season, I will finish my 
 jFhrs, for this time, by carrying on our little romance of the 
 Broom-maker, to the place in which he unexpectedly finds 
 it. In which romance, while we may perceive the principal 
 lesson intended by the author to be that the delights and 
 prides of affectionate married life are consistent with the 
 humblest station, (or may even be more easily found there 
 than in a higher one,) we may for ourselves draw some farther 
 conclusions which the good Swiss pastor only in part in- 
 tended. We may consider in what degree tlie lightening of 
 the wheels of Hansli's cart, when they dravo heavily by the 
 wood of Muri, corresponds to the change of the English 
 highway into Mount Parnassus, for Sir Philip Sidney ; and 
 if the correspondence be not complete, and some deficiency 
 in the divinest power of Love be traceable in the mind of 
 the simple person as compared to that of the gentle one, we 
 may farther consider, in due time, how, without help from 
 any fairy Godmother, we may make Cinderella's life gentle 
 to her, as well as simple ; and, without taking the peasant's 
 hand from his labour, make his heart leap with joy as pure 
 as a king's.* 
 
 * If to any reader, looking back on the history of Europe for the last 
 four centuries, this sentence aeems ironical, let him be assured that for 
 the causes which make it seem so, during the last four centuries, the 
 end of kinghood has come. 
 
168 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 Well," said Ilansli, 'Til help you ; give me your bag*j 
 I'll put it among my brooms, and nobody will see it. Every- 
 body knows me. Not a soul will think I've got your shoes 
 underneath there. You've only to tell me where to leave 
 them — or indeed where to stop for you, if you like. You 
 can follow a little way off; — nobody will think we have any- 
 thing to do with each other." 
 
 The young girl made no compliments.* 
 
 " You are really very good," f said she, with a more serene 
 face. She brought her packet, and Hans hid it so nicely 
 that a cat couldn't have seen it. 
 
 Shall I push, or help you to pull?" asked the young 
 girl, as if it had been a matter of course that she should also 
 do her part in the work. 
 
 " As you like best, though you needn't mind ; it isn't a 
 pair or two of shoes that will make my cart much heavier." 
 The young girl began by pushing ; but that did not last long. 
 Presently she found herself J in front, pulling also by the pole. 
 
 ''It seems to me that the cart goes better so," said she. 
 As one ought to suppose, she pulled with all her strength; 
 that which nevertheless did not put her out of breath, nor 
 hinder her from relating all she had in her head, or heart. 
 
 They got to the top of the hill of Stalden without Hansli's 
 knowing how that had happened: the long alley § seemed to 
 have shortened itself by half. 
 
 There, one made one's dispositions ; the young girl stopped 
 behind, while Hansli, with her bag and his brooms, entered 
 
 * Untranslateable. It means, she made no false pretence of reluc- 
 tance, and neither politely nor feebly declined what she meant to ac- 
 cept. But the phrase might be used of a person accepting* with un- 
 graceful eagerness, or want of sense of obligation. A slight sense of 
 this simplicity is meant by our author to be here included in the ex- 
 pression. 
 
 f " Trop bon." It is a little more than ' very good,' but not at all 
 equivalent to our English 'too good.* 
 
 :j: " Se trouva." Untranslateable. It is very little more than * was' 
 in front. But that little more, — the slight sense of not knowing quite 
 how she got there, — is necessary to mark the under-current of mean- 
 ing ; she goes behind the cart first, thioking it more modes ; but pres- 
 ently, nevertheless, 'finds herself in front ; " the cart goes better, so." 
 
 g There used to be an avenue of tall trees, about a quarter of a mile 
 long, on the Thun road, just at the brow of the descent to the bridge 
 of the Aar, at the lower end of the main street of Berne, 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 169 
 
 the town without the least difficulty, where he remitted 
 her packet to the young girl, also without any accident ; 
 but they had scarcely time to say a word to each other be- 
 fore the press * of people, cattle, and vehicles separated 
 them. Ilansli had to look after his cart, lest it should be 
 knocked to bits. And so ended the acquaintanceship for 
 that day. This vexed Hansli not a little; howbeit he didn't 
 think long about it. We cannot (more's the pity) affirm that 
 the young girl had made an ineffaceable impression upon 
 him, — and all the less, that she was not altogether made for 
 producing ineffaceable impressions. She was a stunted little 
 girl, with a broad face. That which she had of best was 
 a good heart, and an indefatigable ardour for work; but 
 those are things which, externally, are not very remarkable, 
 and many people don't take much notice of them. 
 
 Nevertheless, the next Tuesday, when Ilansli saw himself f 
 at his cart again, he found it extremely heavy. 
 
 "I wouldn't have believed," said he to himself, " what a 
 difference there is between two pulling, and one." 
 
 "Will she be tliere again, I wonder," thought he, as ho 
 came near the little wood of Muri. I would take her bag 
 very willingly if she would lielp me to pull. Also the road 
 is nowhere so ugly as between here and the town." J 
 
 And behold that it precisely happened that the young 
 girl was sitting there upon the same bench, all the same as 
 eight days before ; only with the difference that she was not 
 crying. 
 
 * "Cohue." Confused aud moving mass. We have no such useful 
 word. 
 
 f " Se revit." It would not be right to say here ' se trouva/ because 
 there is no surprise, or discovery, in the doing once again what is done 
 every week. But one may nevertheless contemplate oneself, and the 
 situation, from a new point of view. Ilansli se ' revit * — reviewed 
 himself, literally ; a very proper operation, every now and then, for 
 everybody. 
 
 X A slight difference between the Swiss and English peasant is marked 
 here; to the advantage of the former. At least, I imagine an English 
 Hansli would not have known, even in love, whether the road was ugly 
 Dr pretty. 
 
170 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 " Have you got anything for me to carry to-day ? " asked 
 Hansli, who found his cart at once became a great deal light- 
 er at the sight of the young girl. 
 
 It is not only for that that I have waited," answered she ; 
 
 even if I had had nothing to carry to the town, I should 
 have come, all the same; for eight days ago I wasn't able to 
 thank you; nor to ask if that cost anything." 
 
 ''A fine question !" said Hansli. Why, you served me 
 for a second donkey; and yet I never asked how much I 
 owed you for helping me to pull ! " So, as all that went of 
 itself, the young girl brought her bundle, and Hansli hid it, 
 and she went to put herself at the pole as if she had known 
 it all by heart. had got a little way from home," said 
 she, before it came into my head that I ought to have 
 brought a cord to tie to the cart behind, and that would have 
 gone better ; but another time, if I return, I won't forget." 
 
 This association for mutual help found itself, then, estab- 
 lished, without any long diplomatic debates, and in the most 
 simple manner. And, that day, it chanced that they were 
 also able to come back together as far as the place where 
 their roads parted ; all the same, they were so prudent as 
 not to show themselves together before the gens-d'armes at the 
 town gates. 
 
 And now for some time Hansli's mother had been quite 
 enchanted witii lier son. It seemed to her he was more gay, 
 she said. He whistled and sang, now, all the blessed day ; 
 and tricked himself up, so that he could never have done.* 
 Only just the other day he had bought a great-coat of 
 drugget, in which he had nearly the air of a real counsellor. 
 But she could not find any fault with him for all that ; he 
 was so good to her that certainly the good God must reward 
 him ; — as for herself, she was in no way of doing it, but 
 could do nothing but pray for him. "Not that you are to 
 think," said she, "that he puts everything into his clothes ; 
 he has some money too. If God spares his life, I'll wager that 
 one day he'll come to have a cow : — he has been talking of 
 a goat ever so long ; but it's not likely I shall be spared 
 to see it. And, after all, I don't pretend to be sure it will 
 ever be." 
 
 * Se requinquait a n'en plus finir." Entirely beyond English ren* 
 dering. 
 
FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 171 
 
 " Mother," said Hans one day, " I don't know how it is ; 
 but either the cart gets heavier, or I'm not so strong as I 
 was ; for some time I've scarcely been able to manage it. It 
 is getting really too much for me ; especially on the Berne 
 road, where there are so many hills." 
 
 " I dare say," said the mother ; " aussi, why do you go on 
 loading it more every day ? I've been fretting about you 
 many a time ; for one always suffers for over-work when one 
 gets old. But you must take care. Put a dozen or two of 
 brooms less on it, and it will roll ao^ain all riofht." 
 
 " That's impossible, mother ; I never have enough as it is, 
 and I haven't time to go to Berne twice a week." 
 
 But, Hansli, suppose you got a donkey. I've heard say 
 they are the most convenient beasts in the world : they cost 
 almost nothing, eat almost nothing, and anything one likes 
 to give them ; and that's * as strong as a horse, without 
 counting that one can make something of the milk,--not that 
 I want any, but one may speak of it." f 
 
 " No, mother," said Hansli, — "they're as self-willed as dev- 
 ils : sometimes one can't get them to do anything at all ; 
 and then what I should do with a donkey the other five days 
 of the week ! No, mother ; — I was thinking of a wife, — 
 hey, what say you ? " 
 
 "But, Hansli, I think a goat or a donkey would bo much 
 better. A wife ! \\ hat sort of idea is that that has come 
 into your head ? What would you do with a wife ? " 
 
 " Do ! " said Hansli ; " what other people do, 1 suppose ; 
 and then, I thought she would help me to draw th(^ cart, vvliich 
 goes ever so much better with another hand : — without 
 counting that she could plant potatoes between times, and 
 help me to make my brooms, which I couldn't get a goat or 
 a donkey to do." 
 
 *' But, Hansli, do you think to find one, then, who will help 
 you to draw tl)e cart, and will be clever enough to do all 
 tluit ? " asked the mother, searchingly. 
 
 " Oh, mother, tiiere's one who has helped me already often 
 with the cart," said Hansli, " and who would be good for a 
 great deal besides ; but as to whether she would marry me 
 
 * **(^a/' Note the peculiar character and value, in modern French, 
 of this general and slightly depreciatory pronoun, essentially a repub- 
 lican word,— hurried, inconsiderate, and insolent. The popular chant 
 * ca ira ' gives the typical power. 
 
 f '* C'est senlement pour dire." I've been at least ten minutes try- 
 ing to IraUdlate it, and oan't. 
 
172 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 or not, I don't know, for I haven't asked her. I thought that 
 I would teli you first." 
 
 You rogue of a boy, what's tliat you tell me there ? i 
 don't understand a word of it," cried the mother, " You 
 too ! — are you also like that ? The good God Himself 
 might have told me, and I wouldn't have believed Him. 
 AVhat's that you say ? — you've got a girl to help you to pull 
 the cart ! A pretty business to engage her for ! Ah w^ell, — ► 
 trust men after this ! " 
 
 Thereupon Hansli put himself to recount the history ; and 
 how that had happened quite by chance ; and how that girl 
 was just expressly made for him : a girl as neat as a clock, — 
 not showy, not extravagant, — and who would draw the cart 
 better even than a cow could. 
 
 But I haven't spoken to her of anything, however. All 
 the same, I think I'm not disagreeable to her. Indeed, she 
 has said to me once or twice that she wasn't in a hurry to 
 marry ; but if she could manage it, so as not to be worse off 
 than she was now, she wouldn't be long making up her mind. 
 She knows, for that matter, very well also why she is in the 
 world. Her little brothers and sisters are growing up after 
 her ; and she knows well how things go, and how the young- 
 est are always made the most of, for one never thinks of 
 thanking the elder ones for the trouble they've had in bring- 
 ing them up." 
 
 All that didn't much displease the mother ; and the more 
 she ruminated over these unexpected matters, the more it all 
 seemed to her very proper. Then she put herself to make 
 inquiries, and learned that nobody knew the least harm of 
 the girl. They told her she did all she could to help her 
 parents ; but that with the best they could do, there wouldn't 
 be much to fish for. 
 
 "Ah, well: it's all the better," thought she; "for then 
 neither of them can have much to say to the other." 
 
 The next Tuesday, while Hansli was getting his cart 
 ready, his mother said to him, 
 
 "Well, speak to that girl : if she consents, so will I ; but 
 I can't run after her. Tell her to come here on Sundav, 
 that I may see her, and at least we can talk a little. If she 
 
FOBS CLAVICtERA. 
 
 IT 
 
 is willing to be nice, it will all go very well. Aussi, it must 
 happen some time or other, I suppose." 
 
 But, mother, it isn't written anywhere that it must hap- 
 pen, whether or no ; and if it doesn't suit you, nothing hin- 
 ders me from leaving it all alone." 
 
 *• Nonsense, child ; don't be a goose. Hasten thee to set 
 out ; and say to that girl, that if she likes to be my daugh- 
 ter-in-law, ril take her, and be very well pleased." 
 
 Hansli set out, and found the young girl. Once that they 
 were pulling together, he at his pole, and she at her cord, 
 Hansli put himself to say, 
 
 "That certainly goes as quick again when there are thus 
 two cattle at the same cart. Last Saturday I went to Thun 
 by myself, and dragged all the breath out of my body." 
 
 "Yes, I've often thought," said the young girl, "that it 
 was very foolish of you not to get somebody to help you ; 
 all the business would go twice as easily, and you would 
 gain twice as much." 
 
 "What would you liave?" said Hansli. "Sometimes 
 one thinks too soon of a thing, sometimes too late, — one's 
 always mortal.* But now it really seems to me that I should 
 like to have somebody for a help ; if you were of the same 
 mind, you would be just the good thing for me. If that 
 suits you, I'll marry you." 
 
 " Well, why not, — if you don't think me too ugly nor too 
 poor?" answered the young girl. "Once you've got me, it 
 will be too late to despise me. As for me, 1 could scarcely 
 fall in with a better chance. One always gets a liusband, — 
 but, aussi, of what sort ! You are quite good enough f for 
 me : you take care of your affairs, and 1 don't think you'll 
 treat a wife like a dog." 
 
 " My faitli, she will be as much master as I ; if she is not 
 pleased that way, I don't know what more to do," said 
 Hansli. "And for orher matters, I don't think 3^ou'll be 
 worse off with me than you have been at home. If that 
 suits you, come to see us on Sunday. It's my mother who 
 told me to ask you, and to say that if you liked to be her 
 daughter-in-law, she would be very well pleased." 
 
 * *' On est toujours homme." The proverb ia frequent amon^ the 
 French and Germans. The modesty of it is not altogether easy to an 
 English mind, and would be totally incomprehensible to an ordinary 
 Scotch one. 
 
 f Assez brave." Untranslateable, except by the old English sense 
 of the word brave, and even that has more reference to outside show 
 than the French word. 
 
174 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 1 
 
 "Liked ! But what could I want more? I am used to 
 submit myself, and take things as they come, — worse to-day, 
 better to-morrow, — sometimes more sour, sometimes less. I 
 never have thought that a hard word made a hole in me, 
 else by this time I shouldn't have had a bit of skin left as 
 big as a kreutzer. But, all the same, I must tell my people, 
 as the custom is. For the rest, they won't give themselves 
 any trouble about the matter. There are enough of us in 
 the house : if any one likes to go, nobody will stop them."* 
 
 And, aussi, that was what happened. On Sunday the 
 young girl really appeared at Rychiswyl. Hansli had given 
 her very clear directions ; nor had she to ask long before 
 she was told where the broom-seller lived. The mother 
 made her pass a good examination upon the garden and the 
 kitchen ; and would know what book of prayers she used, 
 and whether she could read in the New Testament, and also 
 in the Bible, f for it was very bad for the children, and it 
 was always they who suffered, if the mother didn't know 
 enough for that, said the old woman. The girl pleased her, 
 and the affair was concluded. 
 
 " You won't have a beautv there," said she to Hansli, be^ 
 fore the young girl ; nor much to crow about, in what she 
 has got. But all that is of no consequence. It isn't beauty 
 that makes the pot boil ; and as for money, there's many a 
 man who wouldn't marry a girl unless she was rich, who has 
 had to pay his father-in-law's debts in the end. When one 
 has health, and work, in one's arms, one gets along always. 
 I suppose " (turning to the girl) " you have got two good 
 chemises and two gowns, so that you won't be the same on 
 Sunday, and work-days?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," said the young girl ; 3^ou needn't give your- 
 self any trouble about that. I've one chemise quite new, 
 and two good ones besides, — and four others which, in truth, 
 
 * You are to note carefully the conditions of sentiment in family re- 
 lationships implied both here, and in the bride's reference, farther on, 
 to her godmother's children. Poverty, with St. Francis' pardon, is not 
 always holy in its influence : yet a richer girl might have felt exactly 
 the same, without beiug innocent enough to say so. 
 
 f I believe the reverend and excellent novelist would himself author- 
 ize the distinction ; but Hansli s mother must be answerable for it to 
 my Evangelical readers. 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 175 
 
 are rather ragged. But my mother said I should have 
 another ; and my father, that he would make me my wed- 
 ing-shoes, and they should cost me nothing. And with that 
 I've a very nice godmother, wlio is sure to give me some- 
 thing fine ; perhaps a saucepan, or a frying-stove,* — who 
 knows? — without counting that perhaps I shall inherit some- 
 thing from her some day. She has some children, indeed, 
 but they may die." 
 
 Perfectly satisfied on both sides, but especially the girl, to 
 whom Hansli's house, so perfectly kept in order, appeared a 
 palace in comparison with her own home, full of children 
 and scraps of leather, they separated, soon to meet again 
 and quit each other no more. iVs no soul made the slightest 
 objection, and the preparations were easy, — seeing that 
 new shoes and a new chemise are soon stitched together, — 
 within a month, Hansli was no more alone on his way to 
 Thun. And the old cart went again as well as ever. 
 
 And they lived happily ever after ? You shall hear. The 
 story is not at an end ; note only, in the present phase of 
 it, this most important point, that Hansli does not think of 
 his wife as an expensive luxury, to be refused to himself 
 imless under irresistil)le temptation. It is only the modern 
 Pall-Mall-pattern Englishman who must ' abstain from the 
 luxury of marriage' if he be wise. Hansli thinks of his 
 wife, on the contrary, as a useful article, which he cannot 
 any longer get on without. He gives us, in fact, a final 
 definition of proper wifely quality, — "She will draw the 
 cart better than a cow could." 
 
 LETTER XL. 
 
 I AM obliged to go to Italy this spring, and find, beside 
 me, a mass of Fors material in arrear, needing various ex- 
 planation and arrangement, for which I have no time. Fors 
 
 * " Poele a frire." I don't quite understand the nature of this 
 article. 
 
176 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 herself must look to it, and my readers use their own wits in 
 thinking over what she has looked to. I begin with a piece 
 of Marmontel, which was meant to follow, 'in due time/ the 
 twenty-first letter, — of which, please glance at the last four 
 pages again. This following bit is from another story pro- 
 fessing to give some account of Moliere's Misanthrope, in his 
 country life, after his last quarrel with Celimene. He calls 
 on a country gentleman, M. de Laval, " and was received by 
 him with the simple and serious courtesy which announces 
 neither the need nor the vain desire of makinor" new connec- 
 tions. ' Behold,' said he, ' a man who does not surrender him- 
 self at once. I esteem him the more.' He congratulated M. 
 de Laval on the agreeableness of his solitude. ' You conie to 
 live here,' he said to him, ' far from men, and you are very 
 right to avoid them.' 
 
 ''Z, Monsieur ! I do not avoid men ; I am neither so weak 
 as to fear them, so proud as to despise them, or so unhappy 
 as to hate them." 
 
 This answer struck so home that Alceste was disconcerted 
 by it ; but he wished to sustain his debut, and began to sat- 
 irize the world. 
 
 ''I have lived in the world like another," said M. de Laval, 
 ''and I have not seen that it was so wicked. There are vices 
 and virtues in it, — good and evil mingled, — I confess ; but 
 nature is so made, and one should know how to accommo- 
 date oneself to it." 
 
 "On my word," said Alceste," in that unison the evil governs 
 to such a point that it chokes the other." " Sir,** replied the 
 Viscount, "if one were as eager to discover good as evil, and 
 had the same delight in spreading the report of it, — if good 
 examples were made public as the bad ones almost always 
 are, — do you not think that the good would weigh down the 
 balance? * But gratitude speaks so low, and indignation so 
 loudly, that you cannot hear but the last. Both friendship 
 «'iird esteem are commonly moderate in their praises ; they 
 
 * Well said, the Viscount. People think me a grumbler; but I 
 wholiy believe this, --nay, -/:;2M« this. The world exists, indeed, only 
 by the strength of its bilent virtue. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 177 
 
 imitate the modesty of honour, in praise, while resentment 
 and mortification exaggerate everything they describe." 
 
 " Monsieur," said Alceste to the Viscount, '*you make me 
 desire to think as you do ; and even if the sad truth were on 
 my side, your error would be preferable." "Ah, yes, without 
 doubt," replied M. de Laval, " ill-humour is good for nothing, 
 the fine part that it is, for a man to play, to fall into a fit of 
 spite like a child ! — and why ? ¥ov the mistakes of the 
 circle in which one has lived, as if the whole of nature were 
 in the plot against us, and responsible for the hurt we have 
 received." 
 
 " You are right," replied Alceste, it would be unjust to con- 
 sider all men as partners in fault ; yet how many complaints 
 may we not justly lodge against tliem, as a body ? Believe 
 me, sir, my judgment of them has serious and grave motives. 
 You will do me justice when you know me. Permit me to 
 see you often ! " 0/l5m," said the Viscount, will be diffi- 
 cult. I have much business, and my daughter and I have our 
 studies, which leave us little leisure ; but sometimes, if you 
 will, let us profit by our neighbourhood, at our ease, and 
 without formality, for the privilege of the country is to be 
 alone, when we like." 
 
 Some days afterwards Monsieur de Laval returned his 
 visit, and Alceste spoke to him of the pleasure that he doubt- 
 less felt in making so many people happy. " It is a beautiful 
 example," he said, " and, to the shame of men, a very rare one. 
 How many persons there are, more powerful and more rich 
 than you, who are nothing but a burden to their inferiors ! " 
 "I neither excuse nor blame them altogether," replied M. do 
 Laval. In order to do good, one must know how to set 
 about it ; and do not think that it is so easy to effect our 
 purpose. It is not enough even to be sagacious ; it is needful 
 also to be fortunate ; it is necessary to find sensible and 
 docile persons to manage : and one has constantly need of 
 
 * Well said, Viscount, .ig.iiii ! So few people know the power of 
 the third Fors. If I had not chanced to give lessons in drawing to 
 Octavia Hill, I could have done nothing in Marylebone, nor she either, 
 for a while yet, I fancy. 
 
 Vol. II. -13 
 
178 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEHA. 
 
 much address, and patience, to lead the people, naturallv 
 suspicious and timid, to what is really for their advantage.'' 
 
 Indeed," said Alceste,*^ such excuses are continually made ; 
 but have you not conquered all these obstacles ? and why 
 should not others conquer them ? " I," said M. de Laval, 
 *'have been tempted by opportunity, and seconded by acci- 
 dent.* The people of this province, at the time that I came 
 into possession of my estate, were in a condition of extreme 
 distress. I did but stretch my arms to them ; they gave 
 themselves up to me in despair. An arbitrary tax had been 
 lately imposed upon them, which they regarded with so 
 much terror that they preferred sustaining hardships to 
 making any appearance of having wealth ; and I found, cur- 
 rent through the country, this desolating and destructive 
 maxim, 'The more we work, the more we shall be trodden 
 down.' " (It is precisely so in England to-day, also.) " The 
 men dared not he laborious * the women trembled to have 
 children. I went back to the source of the evil. I addressed 
 myself to the man appointed for the reception of the 
 tribute. ' Monsieur,' I said to him, ' my vassals groan under 
 the weight of the severe measures necessary to make them 
 pay the tax. I wish to hear no more of them ; tell me 
 what is wanting yet to make up the payment for the year, 
 and I will acquit the debt myself.' ' Monsieur,' replied the 
 receiver, ' that cannot be.' ^ Why not ? ' said I. ' Because it is 
 not the rule.' 'What ! is it not the rule to pay the King 
 the tribute that he demands with the least expense and the 
 least delay possible?' 'Yes,' answered he, 'that would be 
 enough for the King, but it would not be enough for me. 
 Where should I be if they paid money down ? It is by the 
 expense of the compulsory measures that I live ; they are 
 the perquisites of my office.' To this excellent reason I had 
 nothing to reply, but I went to see the head of the depart- 
 ment, and obtained from him the place of receiver-general 
 tor my peasants. 
 
 " ' My children,* I then said to them, (assembling them on 
 
 * A lovely, classic, unbetterable sentence of Marmontel's, perfect in 
 wisdom and modesty. 
 
FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 179 
 
 my return home), 'I have to announce to you that you are in 
 future to deposit in my hands the exact amount of the King's 
 tribute, and no more. There will be no more expenses, no 
 more bailiif's visits. Every Sunday, at the bank of the par- 
 ish, your wives shall bring me their savings, and insensibly 
 you shall find yourselves out of debt. Work now. and culti- 
 vate your land ; make the most of it you can ; no farther 
 tax shall be laid on you. jT answer for this to you — I who 
 am your father. For those who are in arrear, I will take 
 some measures for support, or I will advance them the sum 
 necessar}^,* and a few days at the dead time of the year, em- 
 ployed in work for me, will reimburse me for my expenses.' 
 This plan was agreed upon, and we have followed it ever 
 since. The housewives of the villaire brinor me their little 
 offerings : I encourage them, and speak to them of our good 
 King ; and what was an act of distressing servitude, has 
 become an unoppressive act of love. 
 
 " Finally, as there was a good deal of superfluous time, I 
 established the workshop that you have seen ; it turns every- 
 thing to account, and brings into useful service time which 
 would be lost between the operations of agriculture : the 
 profits of it are applied to public works. A still more pre- 
 cious advantage of this establishment is its having greatly 
 increased the population — more children arc born, as there 
 is certainty of extended means for their support." 
 
 Now note, first, in this passage what material of loyalty 
 and affection there was still in the French heart before the 
 Revolution ; and, secondly, how useless it is to be a good 
 King, if the good King allows his officers to live upon the 
 cost of compulsory measures, f And remember that the 
 French Revolution was the revolt of absolute loyalty and 
 love against the senseless cruelty of a good King." 
 
 Next, for a little specimen of the state of our own work- 
 ing population ; and the compulsory — not measures, but 
 
 * Not for a dividend upon it, I beg you to observe, and even the cap* 
 ital to be repaid in work. 
 
 f Or, worse still, as our public men do, upon the cost of ?io/i-compul- 
 Bory measures 1 
 
ISO 
 
 FOES GLAVIGERA. 
 
 measureless license," under which their loyalty and love are 
 placed, — here is a genuine working woman's letter ; and if 
 the reader thinks I liave given it him in its own spelling that 
 he may laugh at it, the reader is wrong. 
 
 " Wile Reading the herald to Day on the subject on 
 shortor houers of Labou^ * I was Reminded of A cercom- 
 stanc® that came under my hone notis when the 10 hours 
 sistom Beofan in the cotton mills in Lancashire I was Mind- 
 inof a mesheen with 30 treds in it I was then maid to mind 
 2 of 30 treds each with one shillng Advance of wages wich 
 was 5^ for one and 6^ for tow with an increes of speed and 
 with improved mecheens in A few years I was minding tow 
 mecheens with tow 100 trads Each and Dubel speed for 9^ 
 perweek so thsft in our improved condation we had to turn 
 out some 100 weght per day and we went as if the Devel 
 was After us for 10 houers per day and with that compare- 
 tive small Advance in money and the feemals have ofton 
 Been carred out fainting what with the heat and hard work 
 and those that could not keep up mst go and make room 
 for a nother and all this is Done in Christian England and 
 tlien we are tould to Be content in the station of Life in 
 wich the Lord as places us But I say the Lord never Did 
 place us there so we have no Right to Be content o that 
 Right and not might was the Law yours truely C. H. S.'* 
 
 Next to this account of Machine-labour, here is one of 
 Hand-labour, also in a genuine letter, — this second being to 
 myself ; (I wish the other had been also, but it was to one 
 of my friends.) 
 
 " Beckenham, Kent, 
 
 ''Sept. 24, 1873. 
 
 "That is a pleasant evening in our family when w^e read 
 and discuss the subjects of Fors Clavigera, and we fre- 
 quently reperuse them, as for instance, within a few days, 
 your August letter. In page 16 I was much struck by the 
 notice of the now exploded use of the spinning wheel. My 
 mother, a Cumberland woman, was a spinner, and the whole 
 
 * These small powers " of terminal letters in some of the wordi 
 are very curious. 
 
FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 181 
 
 process, from the fine thread that passed through her notable 
 fingers, and the weaving into linen by an old cottager — a 
 very 'Silas Marner,^ — to the bleaching on the orchard grass, 
 was well known to my sister* and myself, when children. 
 
 When I married, part of the linen that I took to my new 
 home was my mother's spinning, and one fine table-cloth was 
 my grandmother's. What factory^ with its thousand spindles, 
 and chemical bleaching powders, can send out sitch linen as 
 that, lohich lasted tliree generations ? \ 
 
 ''I should not have troubled you with these remarks, had 
 I not at the moment when I read your paragraph on hand- 
 spinning, received a letter from my daughter, now for a time 
 resident in Coburg (a friend of Octavia Hill's), which bears 
 immediately on tlie subject. I have therefore ventured to 
 transcribe it for your perusal, believing that the picture she 
 draws from life, beautiful as it is for its simplicity, may 
 give you a moment's pleasure." 
 
 CoBURQ, Sept. 4, 1873. 
 
 "On Thursday I went to call on Frau L. ; she was not in ; 
 so I went to lier mother's, Frau E., knowing that I should 
 find her there. They were all sitting down to afternoon 
 coffee, and asked me to join them, which I gladly did. I 
 had my work-basket with me, and as they were all at work, 
 it was pleasant to do the same thing. Hildigard was there ; 
 in fact she lives there, to take care of Frau E. since she had 
 her fall, and stilToned her ankle, a year ago. Hildigard took 
 her spinning, and tied on her white apron, filled the little 
 brass basin of the spinning-wheel with water, to wet her fin- 
 gers, and set the wheel a-purring. I liad never seen the pro- 
 cess before, and it was very pretty to see her, with her white 
 fingers, and to hear the little low sound. It is quite a pity, 
 I think, ladies do not do it in England, — it is so pretty, and 
 far nicer work than crotchet, and so on, when it is finished. 
 This soft linen made hy hand is so superior to any tJiat you 
 get now. Presently the four children came in, and the 
 great hunting dog, Feldman; and altogether I thought, as 
 dear little Frau E. sat sewing in her arm-chair, and her old 
 sister near her at her knitting, and Hildigard at lier spin- 
 ning, while pretty Frau L. sewed at her little girl's stufl- 
 skirt, — all in the old-fashioned room full of old furniture, 
 and liung round with miniatures of still older dames and 
 
 " A lady high in the ranks of kindly English literature- 
 f Italics mine, as usual. 
 
182 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 officers, in, to our eyes, strange stiff costumes, that it was a 
 most charming scene, and one I enjoyed as much as going 
 to the theatre, — which I did in the evenino^." 
 
 A most charming scene, my dear lady, I have no doubt; 
 just what Hengler's Circus was, to me, this Christmas. Now 
 for a little more of the charming scenery outside, and far 
 away. 
 
 "12, TuNSTALL Terrace, Sunderland, 
 Uth Feb,, 1874. 
 
 "My dear Sir,- — The rice famine is down upon us in ear- 
 nest, and finds our wretched ' administration ' unprepared — - 
 a ministration unto death ! 
 
 '*It can carry childish gossip 'by return of post' into 
 every village in India, but not food ; no, not food even for 
 mothers and babes. So far has our scientific and industrial 
 progress attained. 
 
 " To-niofht comes news that hundreds of deaths from star- 
 vation have already occurred, and that even high-caste 
 women are working on the roads ; — no food from stores of 
 ours except at the price of degrading, health-destroying, 
 and perfectly useless toil. God help the nation responsible 
 for this wickedness ! 
 
 " Dear Mr. Ruskin, you wield the most powerful pen in 
 England, can you not shame us into some sense of duty, 
 some semblance of human feeling? [Certainly not. My 
 good sir, as far as I know, nobody ever minds a word I say, 
 except a few nice girls, who are a great comfort to me, but 
 can't do anything. They don't even know how to spin, poor 
 little lilies !] 
 
 " I observe that the Daily News of to-day is horrified at 
 the idea that Disraeli should dream of appropriating any 
 part of the surplus revenue to the help of India in this 
 calamity [of course], and even the Spectator calls that a 
 * dangerous ' policy. So far is even ' the conscience of the 
 Press ' [What next ?] corrupted by the dismal science. 
 
 " I am, yours truly." 
 
 So far the third Fors has arranged matters for me ; but I 
 must put a stitch or two into her work. 
 
 Look back to my third letter, for March, 1871, page 31, 
 YoM see it is said there that the French war and its issuei 
 were none of Napoleon's doing, nor Count Bismarck's; thai 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 183 
 
 the mischief in them was St. Louis's doing ; and the good, 
 such as it was, the rough father of Frederick the Great's 
 doing. 
 
 The father of Frederick the Great was an Evangelical 
 divine of the strictest orthodoxy, — very fond of beer, bacon, 
 and tobacco, and entirely resolved to have his own way, 
 fcupposing, as pure Evangelical people always do, that his 
 own way was God's also. It happened, however, for the 
 good of Germany, that this King's own way, to a great 
 extent, was God's also, — (we will look at Carlyle's state- 
 ment of that fact another day,) — and accordingly he main- 
 tained, and the ghost of him, — with the help of his son, 
 whom he had like to have shot as a disobedient and dis- 
 sipated character, — maintains to this day in Germany, such 
 sacred domestic life as that of which vou have an account in 
 the above letter. Which, in peace, is entirely happy, for its 
 own part ; and, in war, irresistible. 
 
 'Entirely blessed ^ I had written first, too carelessly; I 
 have had to scratch out the * blessed ' and put in Miappy.' 
 For blessing is only for the meek and merciful, and a 
 German cannot be either ; he does not understand even the 
 meaning of the words. In that is the intense, irreconcilable 
 difTerence between the French and German natures. A 
 Frenchman is selfish only when he is vile and lustful ; but 
 a German, selfish in the purest states of virtue and morality. 
 A Frenchman is arrotjant onlv in iornorance ; but no 
 quantity of learning ever makes a German modest. " Sir," 
 says Albert Durer of his own work, (and he is the modestest 
 German I know,) ''\t cannot be better done." Luther se- 
 renely damns the entire gospel of St. James, because St. 
 James happens to be not precisely of his own opinions. 
 
 Accordingly, when the Germans get command of Lom 
 bardy, they bombard Venice, steal her pictures, (which they 
 can't understand a single touch of,) and entirely ruin the 
 country, morally and physically, leaving behind them misery, 
 vice, and intense hatred of themselves, wherever their ac- 
 cursed feet have trodden. They do precisely the same thing 
 by France, — crush her, rob her, leave her in misery of rage 
 
184 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 and shame ; and return home, smacking their lips, and singi 
 ing Te Deums. 
 
 But when the French conquer England, their action upon 
 it is entirely beneficent. Gradually, the country, from a nest 
 of restless savages, becomes strong and glorious ; and having 
 good material to work upon, they make of us at last a nation 
 stronger than themselves. 
 
 Then the strength of France perishes, virtually, through 
 the folly of St. Louis ; — her piety evaporates, her lust gathers 
 infectious power, and the modern Cite rises round the Sainta 
 Chapelle. 
 
 It is a woful history. But St. Louis does not perish self- 
 ishly ; and perhaps is not wholly dead yet, — whatever Gari- 
 baldi and his red-jackets may think about him, and their 
 ' Holy Republic' 
 
 Meantime Germany, through Geneva, works quaintly 
 against France, in our British destiny, and makes an end of 
 many a Sainte Chapelle, in our own sweet river islands. Read 
 Fronde's sketch of the Influence of the Reformation on Scot- 
 tish Character, in his Short Studies on Great Subjects, And 
 that would be enough for you to think of, this month ; but as 
 this letter is all made up of scraps, it may be as well to finish 
 with this little pri vate note on Luther's people, made last week, 
 
 4:th March^ 1874. — I have been horribly plagued and mis- 
 guided by evangelical people, all my life ; and most of all 
 lately ; but my mother was one, and my Scptch aunt ; and I 
 have yet so much of the superstition left in me, that I can't 
 help sometimes doing as evangelical people wish, — for all I 
 know it comes to nothing. 
 
 One of them, for whom I still have some old liking left, 
 sent me one of their horrible sausage-books the other day, 
 made of chopped-up Bible ; but with such a solemn and 
 really pathetic adjuration to read a ' text ' every morning, 
 that, merely for old acquaintance' sake, I couldn't refuse. It 
 is all one to me, now, v/hether I read my Bible, or my Homer, 
 at one leaf or another ; only I take the liberty, pace my 
 evangelical friend, of looking up the contexts if I happen not 
 to know them. 
 
FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 185 
 
 Now I was very much beaten and overtired yesterday, 
 chiefly owing to a week of black fog, spent in looking over 
 the work of days and people long since dead ; and my * text' 
 this morning was, Deal courageously, and the Lord do that 
 which seemeth Him good." It sounds a very saintly, submis- 
 sive, and useful piece of advice ; but I was not quite sure 
 who gave it ; and it was evidently desirable to ascertain that. 
 
 For, indeed, it chances to be given, not by a saint at all, 
 but by quite one of the most self-willed people on record in 
 any history, — about the last in the world to let the Lord do 
 that which seemed Ilim good, if he could help it, unless it 
 seemed just as good to himself also, — Joab the son of Zeruiah. 
 The son, to wit, of David's eldest sister ; who, finding that it 
 seemed good to the Lord to advance the son of David's 
 younger sister to a place of equal power with himself, un- 
 hesitatingly smites his thriving young cousin under tiie fiftii 
 rib, while pretending to kiss him, and leaves him wallowing 
 in blood in the midst of the highway. But we have no record 
 of the pious or resigned expressions, he made use of on that 
 occasion. We have no record, either, of several other matters 
 one would have liked to know about these people. How it is, 
 for instance, that David has to make a brother of Saul's 
 son ; — getting, as it seems, no brotherly kindness — nor, more 
 wonderful yet, sisterly kindness — at his own fireside. It is 
 like a German story of the seventii son — or the seventh 
 bullet — as far as the brothers are concerned ; but these 
 sisters, had they also no love for their brave young shepherd 
 brother? Did they receive no countenance from him when he 
 was king? Even for Zeruiah's sake, might he not on his 
 death-bed have at least allowed the Lord to do what seemed 
 Him good with Zeruiah's son, who had so well served him in 
 his battles, (and so quietly in the matter of Bathsheba,) in- 
 stead of charging the wisdom of Solomon to fmd some subtle 
 way of preventing his hoar head from going down to the 
 grave in peace? My evangelical friend will of course desire 
 me not to wish to be wise above that which is written. I am 
 not to ask even who Zeruiah's husband was ? — nor whether, 
 in the West-end sense, he was her husband at all? — Well ; 
 
186 
 
 FORS CLA VIGERA. 
 
 but if I only want to be wise up to the meaning of what is 
 written ? I find, indeed, nothing whatever said of David's 
 elder sister's lover ; — but, of his younger sister's lover, I find 
 it written in this evangelical Book-Idol, in one place, that his 
 name was Ithra, an Israelite, and in another that it was 
 Jether, the Ishmaelite. Ithra or Jether, is no matter ; Israelite 
 or Ishmaelite, perhaps matters not much ; but it matters a 
 great deal that you should know that this is an ill written, 
 and worse trans-written, human history, and not by any 
 means 'Word of God'; and that whatever issues of life, 
 divine or human, there may be in it, for you, can only be got 
 by searching it ; and not by chopping it up into small bits 
 and swallowing it like pills. What a trouble there is, for in- 
 stance, just now, in all manner of people's minds, about Sun- 
 day keeping, just because these evangelical people i^i7/ swal- 
 low their bits of texts in an entirely indigestible manner, 
 without chewing them. Read 3^our Bibles honestly and ut- 
 terly, my scrupulous friends, and stand by the consequences, 
 — if you have what true men call ' faith.' In the first place, 
 determine clearly, if there is a clear place in your brains to do 
 it, whether you mean to observe the Sabbath as a Jew, or 
 the day of the Resurrection, as a Christian. Do either thor- 
 oughly ; you can't do both. If you choose to keep the ' Sab- 
 bath,' in defiance of your great prophet, St. Paul, keep the 
 new moons too, and the other fasts and feasts of the Jewish 
 law ; but even so, remember that the Son of Man is Lord of 
 the Sabbath also, and that not only it is lawful to do good 
 upon it, but unlawful, in the strength of what you call keep- 
 ing one day Holy, to do Evil on other six days, and make 
 those unholy ; and, finally, that neither new-moon keeping, 
 nor Sabbath keeping, nor fasting, nor praying, will in anywise 
 help an evangelical city like Edinburgh to stand in the judg- 
 ment higher than Gomorrah, while her week-day arrange- 
 ments for rent from her lower orders are as follows : * — 
 
 * Notes on Old Edinburgh : Edmonston and Douglas, 1869. Things 
 may possibly have mended in some respects in the last five years, but 
 they have assuredly, in the country villages, got tenfold worsen 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 187 
 
 " We entered the first room by descending two steps. It 
 seemed to be an old coal-ceilar, with an earthen floor, shining 
 in many places from damp, and from a greenish ooze which 
 drained through the wall from a noxious collection of garbage 
 outside, upon which a small window could have looked had 
 it not have been filled up with brown paper and rags. There 
 was no grate, but a small fire smouldered on the floor, sur- 
 rounded by heaps of ashes. The roof ^vas unceiled, the walls 
 were rougli and broken, the only light came in from the open 
 door, which let in unwholesome smells and sounds. No cow 
 or horse could thrive in such a hole. It was abominable. It 
 measured eleven feet by six feet, and the rent was 10^/. per 
 week, paid in advance. It was nearly dark at noon, even 
 with the door open ; but as my eyes became accustomed to 
 the dimness, I saw that the plenishings consisted of an old 
 bed, a barrel wuth a flagstone on the top of it for a table, a 
 three-legged stool, and an iron pot. A very ragged girl, 
 sorely afflicted with ophthalmia, stood aniong the ashes doing 
 nothiniif. She had never been inside a school or church. 
 She did not know how to do anything, but *did for her fa- 
 ther and brother.' On a heap of straw, partly covered with 
 sacking, which was the bed in which father, son, and daugh- 
 ter slept, the brother, ill with rheumatism and sore legs, was 
 lying moaning from under a heap of filthy rags. He had 
 been a baker * over in the New Town,' but seemed not very 
 likely to recover. It looked as if the sick man had crept 
 into his dark, damp lair, just to die of ho|)elessness. The 
 father was past work, but 'sometimes got an odd job to do.' 
 The sick man had supported the three. It was hard to be 
 godly, impossible to be cleanly, impossible to be healthy in 
 such circumstances. 
 
 "The next room was entered by a low, dark, impeded 
 passage about twelve feet long, too filthy to be traversed 
 without a light. At the extremit}'' of tliis was a dark wind- 
 ing stair which led up to four superincumbent stories of 
 crowded subdivided rooms ; and beyond this, to the right, a 
 pitch-dark passage with a ' room ' on either side. It was not 
 possible to believe that the most grinding greed could ex- 
 tort money from human beings for the tenancy of such dens 
 as those to which this passage led. They were lairs into 
 which a starving dog might creep to die, but nothing more. 
 Opening a dilapidated door, w^e found ourselves in a recess 
 nearly six feet high, and nine feet in length by five in breadth. 
 It was not absolutely dark, yet matches aided our investiga- 
 
188 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 tions even at noonday. There was an earthen floor full of 
 holes, in some of which water had collected. The walls were 
 black and rotten, and alive with woodlice. There was no 
 grate. The rent paid for this evil den, which was only ven- 
 tilated by the chimney, is Is. per week, or £2 12s. annually! 
 The occupier was a mason's labourer, with a wife and three 
 children. He had come to Edinburgh in search of work, and 
 could not afford a* higher rent.' The wife said that her 
 husband took the ^ wee drap.' So would the President of 
 the Temperance League himself if he were hidden away in 
 such a hole. The contents of this lair on our first visit were 
 a great heap of ashes and other refuse in one corner, some 
 damp musty straw in another, a broken box in the third, with 
 a battered tin pannikin upon it, and nothing else of any kind, 
 saving two small children, nearly nude, covered with running 
 sores, and pitiable from some eye disease. Their hair was 
 not long, but felted into wisps, and alive with vermin. When 
 we went in they were sitting among the ashes of an extinct 
 fire, and blinked at the light from our matches. Here a 
 neighbour said they sat all day, unless their mother was 
 merciful enough to turn them into the gutter. We were 
 there at eleven the following night, and found the mother, a 
 decent, tidy body, at ^ hame,^ There was a small fire then, 
 but no other light. She complained of little besides the 
 darkness of the house, and said, in a tone of dull discontent, 
 she supposed it was ^as good as such as they could expect in 
 Edinburgh.' " 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 189 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 To M¥^reai satisfaction, I am asked by a pleasant correspondent, 
 where and* what the picture of the Princess's Dream is. High up, in an 
 out-of-the-way comer of the Academy of Venice, seen by no man — nor 
 woman neither, — of rll pictures in Europe the one I should choose for 
 a gift, if a fairy queen gave me choice, — Victor Carpaccio's *^ Vision of 
 St. Ursula.'* 
 
 The following letter, from the Standard^ is worth preserving : — 
 
 Sir, — For some time past the destruction of tons of young fry — viz., 
 salmon, tijrbot, trout, sjles, cod, whiting, etc., — in fact, every fish 
 that is to be found in the Thames, — has been enormous. I beg 
 leave to say that it is now worse than ever, inasmuch as larger nets, 
 and an increased number of them, are used, and the trade h;is com- 
 menced a month earlier than usual, from the peculiarity of tho 
 eeason. 
 
 At this time there are, at one part of the river, four or five vessels at 
 work, which in one tide catch three tons of fry ; this is sifted and 
 picked over by hand, and about three per cent, of fry is all that oan be 
 picked out small enough for the London market. The remainder of 
 course dies during the process, and is thrown overboard I Does the 
 London consumer realize the fact that at least thirty tons a week of 
 young fry arc thus sacrificed V Do Londoners know tliat under the 
 name of whitebait " tliey cat a mixture lanifely composed of sprat fry, 
 a fish which at Christmas cost 0./. a bushel, but which now fetches a 
 quart, which is 4^. a bushel ? (Price regulated by Demand and 
 Supply, you observe ! — J. R. ) It is bad enough that so many young 
 salmon and trout arc trapped and utterly wasted in these nets ; but is 
 it fair towards the public thus to diminish their supply of useful and 
 cheap food ? 
 
 Mr. Fr.mk Buckland would faint, were he to see the wholesale dc 
 struction of young fry ofF Southend (on one fishing-ground only). I 
 may truly say that the fishermen themselves are ashamed of the havoo 
 they are making — well they may be; but who is to blame? 
 
 I have the honour to be, etc. , 
 
 Feb. 23. PiscicuLUS. 
 
 The following note, written long before the last Foi\^ on fish, bears 
 on some of the same matters, and may as well find place now. Of the 
 Bishop to whom it allude.-=;, I have also something to say in next, or 
 next, Fors. The note itself refers to what I said about the defence of 
 
190 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 Pope, who, like all other gracious men, had grave faults ; and who^ 
 like all other wise meQ, is intensely obnoxious to evangelical divines. 
 I don't know what school of divines Mr. Elv/yn belongs to ; nor did I 
 know his name when I wrote the note : I have been surprised, since, 
 to see how good his work is ; he writes with the precise pomposity of 
 Macaulay, and in those worst and fatallest forms of fallacy which ara 
 true as far as the}^ reach. 
 
 *^ There is an unhappy wretch of a clergyman I read of in the papers 
 — spending his life industriously in showing the meanness of Alexander 
 Pope — and how Alexander Pope cringed, and lied. He cringed — yes — 
 to his friends ; — nor is any man good for much who will noc play 
 spaniel to his friend, or his mistress, on occasion ; — to how many more 
 than their friends do average clergymen cringe ? 1 have had a Bishop 
 go round the Royal Academy even with me^ — pretending he liked paint- 
 ing, when he was eternally incapable of knowing anything whatever 
 about it. Pope lied also — alas, yes, for his vanity's sake. Very woful. 
 But he did not pass the whole of his life in trying to anticipate, or ap- 
 propriate, or efface, other people's discoveries, as your modern men 
 of science do so often; and for lying — any average partizan of religious 
 dogma tells more lies in his pulpit in defence of what in his heart he 
 knows to be indefensible, on any given Sunday, than Pope *did in his 
 whole life. Nay, how often is your clergyman himself nothing but a 
 lie rampant — in the true old sense of the word, — creeping up into his pul- 
 pit pretending that he is there as, a messenger of God, when he really 
 took the place that he might be able to marry a pretty girl, and live 
 like a * gentleman' as he thinks. Alas ! how infinitely more of a gen- 
 tleman if he would but hold his foolish tongue, and get a living hon- 
 estly — by street-sweeping, or any other useful occupation — instead of 
 sweeping the dust of his own thoughts into people's eyes — as this 
 ' biographer.' *' 
 
 I shall have a good deal to say about human madness, in the course 
 ot Fors ; the following letter, concerning the much less mischievous 
 rabies of Dogs, is, however, also valuaV^Ie, Note especially its closing 
 paragraph. I omit a sentence here and there which seem to me 
 unnecessary. 
 
 " On the 7th June last there appeared in the Macclesfleld Ouardian 
 newspaper a letter on Rabies and the muzzling and confining of Dogs, 
 signed ' Beth-Gelert. ' That communication contained several facts 
 and opinions relating to the disease ; the possible causes of the same • 
 and the uselessness and cruelty of muzzling and confinement as a pre- 
 ventive to it. The first-named unnatural practice has been condemned 
 (as was there shown) by no less authority than the leading medical jour- 
 nal of England, — which has termed muzzling * a great practical mistake, 
 and one lohich cannot fail to have an injurious effect hoik upon the health 
 and temper of dogs ; for, although rabies is a dreadful thing ^ dogs ought 
 7iotj any more than men^ to be constantly treated as creatures likely to go 
 mad.'' 
 
 This information and judgment, however^ seem insufficient to con- 
 
FOBS GLAVIOEBA. 
 
 191 
 
 vinoe some minds, even although they have no observations or argu- 
 ments to urge in opposition. It may be useful to the i)ublic to bring 
 forward an opinion on the merits of that letter expressed by the late 
 Thomas Turner, of Manchester, who was not only a member of the 
 Coancil, but one of the ablest and most experienced surgeons in Eu- 
 rope. The words of so eminent a professional man cannot but be con- 
 sidered valuable, and must have weight with the sensible and sincere ; 
 though on men of an opposite character all evidence, all reason, is too 
 often utterly cast away. 
 
 " ' MosLEY Street, June 8, I8T0. 
 
 '^*Dear , — Thanks for your sensible letter. It contains great 
 
 and kind truths, and such as humanity should applaud. On the subject 
 you write about there is a large amount of ignorance both in and out of 
 the profession. 
 
 * Ever yours, 
 
 " * Thomas Turner.* 
 
 *'In addition to the foregoing statement of the founder of the Man- 
 chester Royal School of Medicine and Surgery, the opinion shall now 
 be given of one of the best veterinarians in London, who, writing on the 
 above letter in the Alacde-'^Jield Gunrdiariy — observed, * With regard to 
 your paper on muzzling dogs, I feel certain from observation that the re- 
 9traint put upon them by the muzzle is prodiMcticeof evil^ and has a ten- 
 dency to cause Jits^ etc.^ 
 
 Kabies, originally spontaneous, was probably created, like many 
 other evils which alllict humanity, by the viciousness, ignorance, and 
 selfishness of man himself. ' Man^s inharaanity to man makes count- 
 less thousands mourn, ^ — wrote the great peasant and national poet of 
 Scotland. He would have littered even a wider and more embracing 
 truth had he said, man's inhumanity to his fellow-creatures makes 
 countless millions mourn. Rabies is most prevalent amongst the 
 breeds of dogs bred and maintained for the atrocious sports of * the 
 pit ; ' they are likewise the most dangerous when victims to that dread- 
 ful malady. Moreover, dogs kept to worry other animals are also 
 among those most liable to the disease, and the most to be feared when 
 mad. But, on tlie other hand, dogs who live as the friends and com- 
 panions ot* men of true humanity, an-l never exposed to annoyance or 
 ill-treatment, remain gentle and affectionate even imder the excruciat- 
 ing agonies of this dire disease. Delabere Blaine, first an army sur- 
 geon and subsequently the greatest veterinarian of this or probably of 
 any other nation, tells ns in his Canine Pathology, — 
 
 * It will sensibly affect any one to witness the earnest, imploring 
 look I have often seen from the unhappy sufferers under this dreadful 
 malady. The strongest attachment has been manifested to those around 
 during their utmost sufferings ; and the parched tongue has been catTied 
 over the hands and feet of those who noticed them, with more than 
 usual fondness. This disposition has continued to the last moment of 
 life, — in many cases, without one manifestation of any inclination to 
 bite, or to do the smallest harm.' 
 
 Here is another instance of * with whatsoever measure ye mete, it 
 shall be measured to you again.' The cruelty of man. :ih it ever does, 
 recoils, like a viper, ultimately on man. He who invests in the Bank 
 
192 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGERA, 
 
 of Vice receives back his capital with compound interest at a high rate 
 and to the uttermost farthing. 
 
 *^ When a mad dog bites many people, 'he sometimes quits scores for 
 a long, loag arrear of brutalities, insults, and oppression inflicted upon 
 him by the baser portion of mankind : — the hard blow, the savage kick, 
 the loud curse, the vile annoyance, the insulting word, the starving meal, 
 the carrion food, the shortened chain, the rotten straw, the dirty kennel 
 (appropriate name), the bitter winter's night, the parching heat of sum- 
 mer, the dull and dreary years of hopeless imprisonment, the thousand 
 aches which patient merit of the unworthy takes, are represented, cul- 
 minate there ; and the cup man has poisoned, man is forced to drink. 
 
 " All these miseries are often, too often, the lob of this most affec- 
 ^;ionate creature, who has truly been called ' our faithful friend, gallant 
 t^rotector, and useful servant.' 
 
 *' No muzzling, murder, or incarceration tyrannically inflicted on this 
 much-enduring, mucn-insulted slave by his master, will ever extirpate 
 rabies. No abuse of the wondrous creature beneficently bestowed by 
 the Omniscient and Almighty on ungrateful man, to be the friend of the 
 ^oor and the guardian of the rich, will ever extirpate rabies. Mercy 
 and justice would help us much more. 
 
 In many lands the disease is utterly unknown. In the land of 
 Egypt, for example, where dogs swarm in all the towns and villages. 
 Yet the follower of Mohammed, more humane than the follower of 
 Christ, — to our shame be it spoken, — neither imprisons, muzzles, nor 
 murders them. England, it is believed, never passed such an Act of 
 Parliament as this before the present century. There is, certainly, in 
 the laws of Canute a punishment awarded to the man whose dog went 
 mad, and by his negligence wandered up and dov/n the country. A far 
 more sensible measure than our own. Canute punished the man^ not 
 the dog. Also, in Edward the Third's reign, all owners of fighting dogs 
 Vv^hose dogs were found wandering about the streets of London were 
 fined. Very different species of legislation from the brainless or brutal 
 ;Oog's Act of 1871, passed by a nuraber of men, not one of whom it is 
 probable either knew or cared to know anything of the nature of the 
 creature they legislated about ; not even that he perspires, not by means 
 of his skin, but performs this vital function by means of his tongue, and 
 that to muzzle 7um is tantamount to coating the skin of a man all over 
 with paint or gutta-percha. Such selfishness and cruelty in this age 
 appears to give evidence towards proof of the assertion made b}^ our 
 greatest writer on Art, — that * we are now getting cruel in our avarice,* 
 — * our hearts, of iron and clay, have hurled the Bible in the face of our 
 God, and fallen down to grovel before Mammon.' — If not, how is it that 
 we can so abuse one of the Supreme 's most choicest works, — a creature 
 sent to be man's friend, and whose devotion so often * puts to shame ail 
 human attachments ? ' 
 
 We are reaping what we have sown : Rabies certainly seems on the 
 increase in this district, — in whose neighbourhood, it is stated, muzzlinjf 
 was first practised. It may spread more widely if we force a crop. The 
 best way to check it, is to do our duty to the noble creature the Almighty 
 has entrusted to us, and treat him with the humanity and affection he 
 so eminently deserves. To deprive him of liberty and exercise ; to chain 
 him like a felon ; to debar him from access to his natural medicine ; to 
 prevent him from following the overpoweringf instincts of his being and 
 the laws of Nature, is conduct revolting to reason and rehgion. 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 193 
 
 *'The disease of Rabies comes on by degrees, not suddenly. Its 
 Bymptoms can easily be read. Were knowledge more diffused, people 
 would know the approach of the malady, and take timely precautions. 
 To do as we now do, — namely, drive the unhappy creatures insane, into 
 an agonizing sickness by sheer ignorance or inhumanity, and then, be- 
 cause one is ill, tie up the mouths of the healthy, and unnaturally 
 restrain all the rest, is ib not the conduct of idiots rather than of reason- 
 able beings ? 
 
 Why all this hubbub about a disease which causes less loss of life 
 than almost any other complaiDt known, and whose fatal effects can, in 
 almost every case, be surely and certainly prevented by ii surgeon V If 
 our lawgivers and lawmakers (who, by the way, although the House of 
 Commons is crowded with lawyers, do not in these times draw Acts of 
 Parliament so that they can be comprehended, without the heavy cost 
 of going to a superior court,) wish to save human life, let them educate 
 the hearts as well as heads of Englishmen, and give more attention to 
 boiler and colliery explosions, railway smashes, and rotten ships ; to the 
 overcrowding and misery of the poor ; to tbe adulteration of food and 
 medicines. Also, to dirt, municipal stupidity, and neglect ; by which 
 one city alone, Manchester, loses annually above three thousand lives. 
 
 I am, your humble servant, 
 
 Beth-Gkleht." 
 
 Vol. 11—13 
 
194 
 
 FOES OLAVTOEUA. 
 
 LETTER XLI. 
 
 Paris, \st April, 1874. 
 
 I FIND there are still primroses in Kent, and that it is pos- 
 sible still to see blue sky in London in the early nioriiiiig. 
 It was entirely pure as 1 drove down past my old Denmark 
 Hill gate, bound for Cannon Street Station, on Monda}^ 
 morning last ; gate, closed now on me for evermore, iliac 
 used to open gladly enough when I .came back to it from 
 work in Italy. Nov7, father and mother and nurse all dead, 
 and the roses of the spring, prime or late — what are they to 
 me? 
 
 But I want to know, rather, what they are to you? What 
 have you^ workers in England, to do with April, or May, or 
 June either; your mill-wheels go no faster for the sunshine, 
 do they? and you can't get more smoke up the chimneys 
 because more sap goes up the trunks. Do you so much as 
 know or care who May was, or her son. Shepherd of the 
 heathen souls, so despised of you Christians ? Nevertheless, 
 I have a word or two to say to you in the light of the haw- 
 thorn blossom, only you must read some rougher ones first. 
 I have printed the June Fors together with this, because I 
 want you to read the June one first, only the substance of it 
 is not good for the May-time ; but read it, and when you 
 get to near the end, where it speaks of the distinctions be- 
 tween the sins of the hot heart and the cold, come back to 
 this, for I want you to think in the flush of May what 
 strength is in the flush of the heart also. You will find that 
 in all my late books (during the last ten years) I have 
 summed the needful virtue of men under the terms of gen- 
 tleness and justice ; gentleness being the virtue which dis- 
 tinguishes gentlemen from churls, and justice that which 
 distinguishes honest men from rogues. Now gentleness 
 may be defined as the Habit or State of Love ; the Red 
 
FOliS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 195 
 
 Carita of Giotto (see account of her in Letter VII) ; and 
 ungentleness or clownishness, the opposite State or Habit 
 of Lust. 
 
 Now there are three great loves that rule the souls of men : 
 the love of wliat is lovely in creatures, and of what is lovely 
 in things, and wliat is lovely in report. And these three 
 loves have each their relative corruption, a lust — the lust of 
 the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life. 
 
 And, as I have just said, a gentleman is distinguished 
 from a churl by the purity of sentiment he can reach in all 
 these three passions : by his imaginative love, as opposed to 
 lust ; his imaginative possession of wealth as opposed to 
 avarice ; his imaginative desire of honour as opposed to 
 pride. 
 
 And it is quite possible for the simplest workman or 
 labourer for whom I write to understand what the feelinofs 
 of a gentleman are, and share tliem, if he will ; hut the 
 crisis and horror of this present time are that its desire of 
 money, and the fulness of luxury dishonestly attainable by 
 common persons, are gradually making churls of all men ; 
 and the nobler passions are not merely disbelieved, but even 
 the conception of thom seems ludicrous to the impotent churl 
 mind ; so that, to take only so poor an instance of them as 
 my own life — because I have passed it in almsgiving, not in 
 fortune hunting ; because I have laboured always for the 
 honour of others, not my own, and have chosen rather to 
 make men look to Turner and Luini than to form or exhibit 
 the skill of my own hand ; because I have lowered my rents, 
 and assured the comfortable lives of my poor tenants, instead 
 of taking from them all I could force for the roofs they 
 needed ; because I love a wood-walk better than a London 
 street, and would rather watch a seagull fly than shoot it, 
 and rather hear a thrush sing than eat it ; finally, because I 
 never disobeyed my mother, because T have honoured all 
 women with solemn worshiii, and have been kind even to the 
 unthankful and the evil, therefore the hacks of English art 
 and literature wag their heads at me, and the poor w^retch 
 who pawns the dirty linen of his soul daily for a bottle of 
 
196 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 sour wine and a cigar, talks of the " effeminate sentimen- 
 tality of Raskin." 
 
 Now of these despised sentiments, which in all ages have 
 distinguished the gentleman from the churl, the first is that 
 reverence for womanhood which, even through all the cruel- 
 ties of the Middle Ages, developed itself with increasing 
 power until the thirteenth century, and became consummated 
 in the imagination of the Madonna, which ruled over all the 
 highest arts and purest thoughts of that age. 
 
 To the common Protestant mind the dignities ascribed to 
 the Madonna have been always a violent offence ; they are 
 one of the parts of the Catholic faith which are openest to 
 reasonable dispute, and least comprehensible by the average 
 realistic and materialist temper of the Reformation. But 
 after the most careful examination, neither as adversary nor 
 as friend, of the influences of Catholicism for good and evil, 
 I am persuaded that the worship of the Madonna has been 
 one of its noblest and most vital graces, and has never been 
 otherwise than productive of true holiness of life and purity 
 of character. I do not enter into any question as to the 
 truth or fallacy of the idea ; I no more wish to defend the 
 historical or theological position of the Madonna than that 
 of St. Michael or St. Christopher ; but I am certain that to 
 the habit of reverent belief in, and contemplation of, the 
 characters ascribed to the heavenly hierarchies, we must 
 ascribe the highest results yet achieved in human nature and 
 that it is neither Madonna worship nor saint worship, but the 
 evangelical self-worship and hell-worship — gloating, with an 
 imagination as unfounded as it is foul, over the torments of 
 the damned, instead of the glories of the blest, — which have 
 in reality degraded the languid powers of Christianity to 
 their present state of shame and reproach. There has prob- 
 ably not been an innocent cottage home throughout the 
 length and breadth of Europe during the whole period of vital 
 Christianity, in which the imagined presence of the Madonna 
 has not given sanctity to the humblest duties, and comfort 
 to the sorest trials of the lives of women ; and every bright- 
 est and loftiest achievement of the arts and strength of man- 
 
FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 197 
 
 hood has been the fulfilment of the assured prophecy of the 
 poor Israelite maiden, "He that is mighty hath magnified 
 me, and Holy is His name." What we are about to substi- 
 tute for such magnifying in our modern wisdom, let the 
 reader judge from two slight things that chanced to be no- 
 ticed by me in my walk round Paris. I generally go first to 
 Our Lady's Church, for though the towers and most part of 
 the walls are now merely the modern model of the oriofinal 
 building, much of the portal sculpture is still genuine, and 
 especially the greater part of the lower arcades of the nortii- 
 west door, where the common entrance is. I always held 
 these such valuable pieces of the thirteenth century work 
 that I had them cast, in mass, some years ago, brought away 
 casts, eight feet high by twelve wide, and gave them to the 
 Architectural Museum. So as I was examining these, and 
 laboriously gleaning what was left of the old work among M. 
 Violet le Due's fine fresh heads of animals and points of 
 leaves, I saw a brass plate in the back of one of the niches, 
 where the improperly magnified saints used to be. At first 
 I thought it was over one of the usual almsboxes which have 
 a right to be at church entrances (if anywhere) ; but catch- 
 ing sight of an English word or two on it, I stopped to read, 
 and read to the following effect : — 
 
 " F. du Larin, 
 office 
 of the 
 
 Victoria Pleasure Trips 
 And Excursions to Versailles. 
 Excursions to the Battle-fields round Paris. 
 A four-horse coach with an English guide starts daily 
 from Notre Dame Cathedral, at 10^ a ni for Versailles, by 
 the Bois de Boulogne, St. Cloud, -Montretout, and Ville 
 d'Avray. Back in Paris at 5^ ]) m. Pares must be secured 
 one day in advance at the entrance of Notre Dame. 
 
 The Manager, H. du Larin." 
 
 "Magnificat anima mea Dominum, quia respexit humili* 
 tatem ancillse Suii?." Truly it seems to be time that God 
 should again regard the lowliness of His handmaiden, no\V 
 
198 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 that slie has become keeper of the coach office for excur^ 
 sions to Versailles. The arrangement becomes still more 
 perfect in the objects of this Christian joyful pilgrimage 
 \fr07n Canterbury as it were, instead of to it), the " Battle- 
 fields round Paris ! " 
 
 From Notre Dame I walked back into the livelier parts of . 
 the city, though in no very lively mood : but recovered 
 some tranquillity in the Marche aux fleurs, which is a pleas- 
 ant spectacle in April, and then made some circuit of the 
 Boulevards, where, as the third Fors would have it, I 
 suddenly came in view of one of the temples of tlie modern 
 superstition, which is to replace Mariolatry. For it seems 
 that human creatures must imagine something or someone 
 in Apotheosis, and the Assumption of the Virgin, and 
 Titian's or Tintoret's views on that matter being held 
 reasonable no more, apotheosis of some other power follows 
 as a matter of course. Here accordingly is one of the 
 modern hymns on the Advent of Spring, which replace now 
 in France the sweet Cathedral services of the Mois de Marie. 
 It was printed in vast letters on a white sheet, dependent at 
 the side of the porch or main entrance to the fur shop of 
 the " Compagnie Anglo-Russe." 
 
 Le printemps s'annonce avec son gracieux cortege de 
 rayons et de fleurs. Adieu, I'hiver ! C'en est bien fini ! Et 
 cependant il faut que toutes ces fourrures soient enlevees, 
 vendues, donnees, dans ces 6 jours. C'est une aubaine in- 
 esperee, un placement fabuleux ; car, qu'on ne I'oublie pas, 
 la fourrure vraie, la belle, la riche, a toujours sa valeur in- 
 trinsique. Et, comme couronnement de cette sorte d'Apo- 
 THEOSE la C'^* Anglo-Russe remet gratis a tout acheteur un 
 talisman merveilleux pour conserver la fourrure pendant 10 
 saisons." / 
 
 "Unto Adam also, and to his wife, did the Lord God 
 make coats of skins and clothed them." 
 
 The Anglo-Russian company having now superseded 
 Divine labour in such matters, vou have also, instead of the 
 grand old Dragon-Devil with his Ye shall be as Gods, 
 knowing good and evil," only a little weasel of a devil with 
 
FOBS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 199 
 
 an ermine tip to his tail, advising you, '*Ye shall be as 
 Gods, buying your skins cheap." 
 
 I am a simpleton, am I, to quote such an exploded book 
 as Genesis ? My good wiseacre readers, I know as many 
 flaws in the book of Genesis as the best of you, but I knew 
 the book before I knew its flaws, while you know the flaws, 
 and never have known the book, nor can know it. And it is 
 at present much tlie worse for you ; for indeed the stories of 
 this book of Genesis have been the nursery tales of men 
 mightiest whom the world has yet seen in art, and policy, 
 and virtue, and none of you will write better stories for your 
 children, yet awhile. And your little Cains will learn quickly 
 enough to ask if they are their brother's keepers, and your 
 little Fathers of Canaan merrily enough to show their own 
 father's nakedness without dread either of banishment or 
 malediction ; but many a day will pass, and their evil gen- 
 erations vanish with it, in that sudden nothingness of the 
 wicked, He passed away, and lo, he was not," before one 
 will again rise, of whose death there may remain the Divine 
 tradition, He walked with God, and was not, for God took 
 him." Apotheosis ! How the dim hope of it haunts even 
 the last degradation of men ; and tiirougli the six thousand 
 years from Enoch, and the vague Greek ages which dreamed 
 of their twin-hero stars, declines, in this final stage of civil- 
 ization, into dependence on the sweet promise of the Anglo- 
 Russian tempter, with his ermine tail, "Ye shall be as Gods, 
 and buy cat-skin cheap." 
 
 So it must be. I know it, my good wiseacres. You can 
 have no more Queens of Heaven, nor assumptions of tri- 
 umphing saints. Even your simple country Queen of May, 
 whom once you worshipped for a goddess — has not little Mr. 
 Faraday analysed her, and proved her to consist of charcoal 
 and water, combined under what the Duke of Argyll calls 
 the "reign of law"? Your once fortune-guiding stars, 
 which used to twinkle in a mysterious manner, and to make 
 you wonder what they were, — everybody knows what they 
 are now : only hydrogen gas, and they stink as they twinkle. 
 
200 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGERA, 
 
 My wiseacre acquaintances, it is very fine, doubtless, for yon 
 to know all these things, who have plenty of money in your 
 pockets, and nothing* particular to burden your chemical 
 minds ; but for the poor, who have nothing in their pockets, 
 and the wretched, who have much on their hearts, what in 
 the world is the good of knowing that the only heaven they 
 have to go to is a large gasometer? 
 
 Poor and wretched ! " you answer. " But when once 
 everybody is convinced that heaven is a large gasometer, 
 and when we have turned all the world into a small gasome- 
 ter, and can drive round it by steam, and in forty minutes 
 be' back again where we were, — nobody will be poor or 
 wretched any more. Sixty pounds on the square inch, — can 
 anybody be wretched under that general application of high 
 pressure ? " 
 
 (Assisi, 15 April.) 
 
 Good wiseacres, yes ; it seems to me, at least, more than 
 probable : but if not, and you all find yourselves rich and 
 merry, with steam legs and steel hearts, I am well assured 
 there will be found yet room, where your telescopes have 
 not reached, nor can, — grind you their lenses ever so finely, 
 — room for the quiet souls, who choose for their part, pov- 
 erty, with light and peace. 
 
 I am writing at a narrow window, which looks out on some 
 broken tiles and a dead wall. A wall dead in the profound- 
 est sense, you wiseacres would think it. Six hundred years 
 old, and as strong as when it was built, and paying nobody 
 any interest, and still less commission, on the cost of repair. 
 Both sides of the street, or pathway rather,— it is not nine 
 feet wide, — are similarly built with solid blocks of grey mar- 
 ble, arched rudely above the windows, with here and there 
 a cross on the kevstones. 
 
 If I chose to rise from my work and walk a hundred yards 
 down this street (if one may so call the narrow path between 
 grey walls, as quiet and lonely as a sheep-walk on Shap 
 Fells,) I should come to a small prison-like door ; and over 
 the door is a tablet of white marble let into the grey, and on 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 201 
 
 the tablet is written, in contracted Latin, what in English 
 signifies : — 
 
 " Here, Bernard the Happy * 
 Received St. Francis of iVssisi, 
 And saw him, in ecstacy." 
 
 Good wiseacres, you believe nothing of the sort, do you ? 
 Nobody ever yet was in ecstacy, you think, till now, when 
 they may buy cat-skin cheap? 
 
 Do you believe in Blackfriars Bridge, then ; and admit 
 that some day or other there must have been reason to call 
 it "Black Friar's"? As surely as tlie bridge stands over 
 Thames, and St. Paul's above it, these two men, Paul and 
 Francis, had their ecstacies, in bygone days, concerning 
 other matters than ermine tails ; and still the same ecsta- 
 cies, or effeminate sentiments, are possible to human creat- 
 ures, believe it or not as you will. I am not now, what- 
 ever the Pall Mall Gazette may think, an ecstatic person 
 myself. But thirty years ago I knew once or twice what 
 joy meant, and have not forgotten the feeling ; nay, even 
 so little a while as two years ago, I had it back again — 
 for a day. And I can assure you, good wiseacres, tliere 
 is such a thing to be had ; but not in cheap shops, nor, 
 I was going to say, for money ; yet in a certain sense it 
 is buyable — by forsaking all that a man hath. Buyable — 
 literally enough — the freehold Elysian field at that price, 
 but not a doit cheaper ; and I believe at this moment the 
 reason mv voice has an uncertain sound, the reason that 
 this design of mine stays unhelped, and that only a little 
 group of men and women, moved chiefly by personal regard, 
 stand with me in a course so plain and true, is that I have 
 not yet given myself to it wholly, but have halted between 
 
 *** Bernard the happy." The Beato of Mont Oliveto ; not Bernard 
 of Clairvaux. The entire inscription is, ''received St. Francis of 
 Assisi to supper and bed " ; but if I had written it so, it would have 
 appeared that St. Francis's ecstacy was in consequence of his getting 
 Lis supper. 
 
202 
 
 FOBS OLA no ERA. 
 
 good and evil, and sit still at the receipt of custom, and am 
 always looking back from the plough. 
 
 It is not wholly my fault this. There seem to me good 
 reasons why I should go on with my work in Oxford ; good 
 reasons w^hy I should have a house of my own with pictures 
 and library ; good reasons why I should still take interest 
 from the bank ; good reasons why I should make myself as 
 comfortable as I can, wherever I go ; travel with two ser- 
 vants, and have a dish of game at dinner. It is true, indeed, 
 that I have given the half of my goods and more to the poor ; 
 it is true also that the work in Oxford is not a matter of 
 pride, but of duty with me ; it is true that I think it wiser 
 to live what seems to other people a rational and pleasant, 
 not an enthusiastic, life ; and that I serve my servants at 
 least as much as they serve me. But, all this being so, I 
 find there is yet something wrong ; I have no peace, still 
 less ecstacy. It seems to me as if one had indeed to weat 
 camel's hair instead of dress coats before one can get that ; 
 and I was looking at St. Francis's camel's-hair coat yesterday 
 (they have it still in the sacristy), and I don't like the look 
 of it at all ; the Anglo-Russian Company's wear is ever so 
 much nicer, — let the devil at least have this due. 
 
 And he must have a little more due even than this. It is 
 not at all clear to me how far the Beggar and Pauper Saint, 
 whose marriage with the Lady Poverty I have come here to 
 paint from Giotto's dream of it, — how far, I say, the mighty 
 work he did in the world was owing to his vow of poverty, 
 or diminished by it. If he had been content to preach love 
 alone, whether among poor or rich, and if he had understood 
 that love for all God's creatures was one and the same bless- 
 ing ; and that, if he was right to take the doves out of the 
 fowler's hand, that they might build their nests, he was him- 
 self wrong when he went out in the winter's night on the 
 hills, and made for himself dolls of snow, and said, "Francis, 
 these — behold — these are thy wife and thy children." If 
 instead of quitting his father's trade, that he might nurse 
 lepers, he had made his father's trade holy and pure, and 
 honourable more than beggary ; perhaps at this day the 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 203 
 
 Black Friars might yet have had an unruined house by 
 Thames shore, and the children of his native village not be 
 standing in the porches of the temple built over his tomb to 
 ask alms of the infidel. 
 
 LETTER XLII. 
 
 I MUST construct my letters still, for a while, of swept-up 
 fragments ; every day provokes me to write new matter ; 
 but I must not lose the fruit of the old days. Here is some 
 worth picking up, though ill-ripened for want of sunshine, 
 (the little we had spending itself on the rain,) last year. 
 
 \8t August, 1873. 
 Not being able to work steadily this morning, because 
 there was a rainbow half a mile broad, and violet-bright, on 
 the shoulders of the Old man of Coniston — (by calling it half 
 a mile broad, I mean that half a mile's breadth of mountain 
 was coloured by it, — and by calling it violet-bright, I mean 
 that the violet zone of it came pure against the grey rocks ; 
 and note, by the way, that essentially all the colours of the 
 rainbow are secondary ; — yellow exists only as a line — red as 
 a line — blue as a line ; but the zone itself is of varied orange, 
 green, and violet,) — not being able, I say, for steady work, 1 
 opened an old diary of 1849, and as the third Fors would 
 have it, at this extract from the Letters of Lady Mary 
 AVortley Montagu. 
 
 (Venice.) 
 
 "The Prince of Saxony went to see the Arsenal three 
 days ago, waited on by a numerous nobility of both sexes ; 
 the Bucentaur was adorned and launched, a magnificent col- 
 lation given ; and we sailed a little in it. I was in conipany 
 with the Signora Justiniani Gradenigo and Signora Marina 
 Crizzo. There were two cannons founded in his (the Prince 
 of Saxony's) presence, and a galley built and launched in an 
 hour's time." (Well may Dante speak of that busy Arsenal !) 
 Last night there was a concert of voices and instruments 
 
204 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 at the Hospital of the Incurabili, where there were two girk 
 that in the opinion of all people excel either Faustina or 
 Cuzzoni. 
 
 " I am invited to-morrow to the Foscarini to dinner, which 
 is to be followed by a concert and a ball." 
 
 The account of a regatta follows, in which the various 
 nobles had boats costing £1000 sterling each, none less than 
 £500, and enough of them to look like a little fleet. The 
 Signora Pisani Mocenigo's represented the Chariot of the 
 Night, drawn by four sea-horses, and showing the rising of 
 the moon, accompanied with stars, the statues on each side 
 representing the Hours, to the number of twenty-four. 
 
 Pleasant times, these, for Venice ! one's Bucentaur 
 launched, wherein to eat, buoyantly, a magnificent collation 
 — beautiful ladies driving their ocean steeds in the Chariot 
 of the Night — beautiful songs, at the Hospital of the Incu- 
 rabili. Much bettered, these, from the rough days when one 
 had to row and fight for life, thought Venice ; better days 
 still, in the nineteenth century, being — as she appears to 
 believe now — in store for her. 
 
 You thought, I suppose, that in writing tliose numbers of 
 Fors last year from Venice and Verona, I was idling, or 
 digressing ? 
 
 Nothing of the kind. The business of Fors is to tell you 
 of Venice and Verona ; and many things of them. 
 
 You don't care about Venice and Verona ? Of course not. 
 Who does ? And I beg you to observe that the day is com- 
 ing when, exactly in the same sense, active working men 
 will say to any antiquarian w^ho purposes to tell them some- 
 thing of England, We don't care about England." And 
 the antiquarian will answer, just as I have answered you now. 
 
 Of course not. Who does ? " 
 
 Nay, the saying has been already said to mc, and by a 
 wise and good man. When I asked, at the end of my in-* 
 augural lecture at Oxford, " Will you, youths of England, 
 make your country again a royal throne of kings, a sceptred 
 isle, for all the world a source of light — a centre of peace ?'* 
 • — my University friends came to me, with grave faces, to 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 205 
 
 remonstrate against irrelevant and Utopian topics of that 
 nature being introduced in lectures on art ; and a very dear 
 American friend wrote to me, when I sent the lecture to him, 
 in some such terms as these : "Why will you diminish your 
 real influence for good, by speaking as if England could now 
 take any dominant place in the world ? How many millions, 
 think you, are there here, of the activest spirits of their time, 
 who care nothing for England, and would read no farther, 
 after coming upon such a passage ? " 
 
 That England deserves little care from an}^ man nowadays, 
 is fatall}'' true ; that in a century more she will be — where 
 Venice is — among the dead of nations, is far more than prob- 
 able. And yet — that you do not care for dead Venice, is 
 the sign of your own ruin ; and that the Americans do not 
 care for dying England, is only the sign of their inferiority 
 to her. 
 
 For tliis dead Venice once taught us to be merchants, 
 sailors, and gentlemen ; and this dying England taught the 
 Americans all they have of speech, or thought, hitherto. 
 What thoughts they have not learned from England are 
 foolish thoughts ; what words they have not learned from 
 England, unseemly words ; the vile among them not being 
 able even to be humorous parrots, but only obscene mocking 
 birds. An American republican woman, lately, describes a 
 child which "like cherubim and seraphim continually did 
 cry;" * such their feminine learning of the European fashions 
 of 'Te Deum ' ! And, as I tell you, Venice in like manner 
 taught us, when she and we w^ere honest, our marketing, and 
 our manners. Then she began trading in pleasure, and souls 
 of men, before us ; followed that Babylonish trade to her 
 death, — we nothing loth to imitate, so plausible she was, in 
 her mydiic gondola, and Chariot of the Night ! But where 
 her pilotage has for the present carried her, and is like to 
 carry lis, it may be well to consider. And therefore I will 
 ask you to glance back to my twentieth letter, giving account 
 of the steam music the modern Tasso's echoes practised on 
 her principal lagoon. That is her present manner, you ol> 
 * Pall Mall Gazette, July 3 1st, ?873. 
 
206 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 serve, of " whistling at her darg^ But for festivity after 
 work, or altogether superseding work — launching one's 
 adorned Bucentaur for collation — let us hear what she is 
 doing in that kind. 
 
 From the Rinnovamento (Renewal, or Revival,) " Gazette 
 of the people of Venice " of 2nd July, 1872, I print, in ray 
 terminal notes, a portion of one of their daily correspond- 
 ent's letters, describing his pleasures on the previous day, of 
 which I here translate a few pregnant sentences. 
 
 I embarked on a little steamboat. It was elegant — it 
 was vast. But its contents were enormously greater than 
 its capacity. The little steamboat overflowed ^ with men, 
 women, and boys. The Commandant, a proud young 
 man, cried, ' Come in, come in ! ' and tlie crowd became 
 always more close, and one could scarcely breathe " (the 
 heroic exhortations of the proud youth leading his public 
 to this painful result). "All at once a delicate person •)* of 
 the piazza, feeling herself unwell, cried, ^ I suffocate.' The 
 Commandant perceived that suffocation did veritably prevail, 
 and gave the word of command, * Enough.' 
 
 '^In eighteen minutes I had the good fortune to land safe 
 at the establishment, 'The Favourite.' And here my eyes 
 opened for wonder. In truth, only a respectable force of 
 will could have succeeded in transforming this place, only a 
 few months ago still desert and uncultivated, into a site of 
 delights. Long alleys, grassy carpets, small mountains, 
 charming little banks, chalets, solitary and mysterious paths, 
 and then an interminable covered w^ay which conducts to the 
 bathing establishment ; — and in that, attendants dressed in 
 mariner's dresses, a most commodious basin, the finest linen, 
 and the most reo^ular and solicitous service. 
 
 Surprised, and satisfied, I plunged myself cheerfully into 
 the sea. After the bath, is prescribed a walk. Obedient to 
 the dictates of hygiene, I take my returning way along the 
 pleasant shore of the sea to the Favourite. A chalet, or 
 
 * Ri^^urgitava " — g-ushed or gorged up ; as a bottle which you have 
 filled too full and too fast, 
 
 f Sens:ile, an interesting Venetian v/ord. The fair on the Feast of 
 the Ascension at Venice became, in mellifluous brevity, * Sensa/ and 
 the most ornamental of the ware purchaseable at it, therefore, Sensale. 
 A '* Holy-Thursday- Fairing," feeling herself unwell, would be the 
 properest translation. 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 207 
 
 rather an immense salon, ia become a concert room. And, 
 in fact, an excellent orchestra is executing therein most 
 chosen pieces. The artists are all endued in dress coats, 
 and wear white cravats. 1 hear with delight a pot-pourri 
 from Faust, I then take a turn through the most vast park, 
 and visit the Restaurant. 
 
 '*To conclude. The Lido has no more need to become a 
 place of delights. It is, in truth, already become so. 
 
 ^' All honour to the brave who have effected the marvel- 
 lous transformation." 
 
 Onori ai bravi I — Honour to the brave ! Yes ; in all times, 
 among all nations, that is entirely desirable. You know I 
 told you, in last Fors, that to honour the brave dead was to 
 be our second child's lesson. None the less expedient if the 
 brave we have to honour be alive, instead of long dead. Here 
 are our modern Venetian troubadours, in white cravats, cele- 
 brating the victories of their Ilardicanutes with collection 
 of choicest melody — pot-pourri — hotcli-potch, from Faust, 
 And, indeed, is not this a notable conquest which resus- 
 citated Venice has made of her Lido? Where all was vague 
 sea-shore, now, behold, little mountains, mysterious paths." 
 Those unmanufactured mountains — Eugeneans and Alps — 
 seen against the sunset, are not enough for the vast mind of 
 Venice born again ; nor the canals between her palaces mys- 
 terious enough paths. Here are mountains to our perfect 
 mind, and more solemn ways, — a new kingdom for us, con- 
 quered by the brave. Conquest, you observe also, just of 
 the kind which in our Times newspaper is honoured always 
 in like manner, ' Private Enterprise.' The only question is, 
 whether the privacy of your enterprise is always as fearless 
 of exposure as it used to be, — or even, the enterprise of it as 
 enterprising. Let mo tell you a little of the private enter- 
 prise of dead Venice, that you may compare it with that of 
 the living. 
 
 You doubted me just now, probably, when I told you that 
 Venice taught you to be sailors. You thought your Drakes 
 and Grenvilles needed no such masters. No ! but a hun- 
 dred years before Sir Francib's time, the blind captain of a 
 
208 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 Venetian galley, — of one of those things which the Lady 
 Mary saw built in an hour, — won the empire of the East. 
 You did fine things in the Baltic, and before Sebastopol, with 
 3^our ironclads and your Woolwich infants, did you ? Here 
 was a piece of fighting done from the deck of a rowed boat, 
 which came to more good, it seems to me. 
 
 The Duke of Venice had disposed his fleet in one line 
 along the sea-wall (of Constantinople), and had cleared the 
 battlements with his shot (of stones and arrows); but still the 
 galleys dared not take ground. But the Duke of Venice, 
 though he was old (ninety) and stone-blind, stood, all armed, 
 at the head of his galley, and had the gonfalon of St. Mark 
 before him ; and he called to his people to ground his ship, 
 or they should die for it. So they ran the ship aground, 
 and leaped out, and carried St. Mark's gonfalon to the shore 
 before the Duke. Then the Venetians, seeing their Duke^s 
 galley ashore, followed him ; and they planted the flag of St. 
 Mark on the walls, and took twenty-five towers." 
 
 The good issue of which piece of pantaloon's play was that 
 the city itself, a little while after, with due help from the 
 French, was taken_, and that the crusading army proceeded 
 thereon to elect a new Emperor of the Eastern Empire. 
 
 Which office six French Barons, and six Venetian, being 
 appointed to bestow, and one of the French naming first the 
 Duke of Venice, he had certainly been declared Emperor, but 
 one of the Venetians themselves, Pantaleone Barbo, declar- 
 ing that no man could be Duke of Venice, and Emperor too, 
 gave his word for Baldwin of Flanders, to whom accordingly 
 the throne was given ; while to the Venetian State was 
 offered, with the consent of all, if they chose to hold it — 
 about a third of the whole Roman Empire ! 
 
 Venice thereupon deliberates with herself. Her own pres- 
 ent national territory — the true ^ State ' of Venice — is a 
 marsh, which 3^ou can see from end to end of ; — some wooden 
 houses, half afloat, and others wholly afloat, in the canals of 
 it; and a total population, in round numbers, about as large 
 as that of our parish of Lambeth. Venice feels some doubt 
 whether, out of this wild duck's nest, and with that number 
 
H'ORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 209 
 
 of men, she can at once safely, and in all the world's sight, 
 undertake to govern Lacedaemon, ^gina, -^gos Potamos, 
 Crete, and half the Greek islands ; nevertheless, she thinks 
 she will try a little 'private enterprise' upon them. So in 
 1207 the Venetian Senate published an edict by which there 
 was granted to all Venetian citizens permission to arm, at 
 their own expense, war-galleys, and to subdue, if they could 
 manage it in that private manner, such islands and Greek 
 towns of the Archipelago as might seem to them what we 
 call eligible residences," the Senate graciously giving them 
 leave to keep whatever they could get. Whereupon certain 
 Venetian merchants — proud young men — stood, as we see 
 them standing now on their decks on the Riva, crying to the 
 crowd, ' Montate ! Montate ! ' and without any help from 
 steam, or encumbrance from the markets of Ascension Day, 
 rowed and sailed — somewhat outside the Lido. Mark Dan- 
 dolo took Gallipoli ; Mark Sanudo, Naxos, Paros, and Melos ; 
 — (you have heard of marbles and Venuses coming from those 
 places, have not you ?) — Marin Dandolo, Andros ; Andrea 
 Ghisi, Micone and Scyros ; Dominico Michieli, Ceos ; and 
 Philocola Navigieri, the island of Vulcan himself, Lemnos. 
 Took them, and kept them also ! (not a little to our present 
 sorrow ; for, being good Christians, these Venetian gentlemen 
 made wild work among the Parian and Melian gods). It was 
 not till 1570 that the twenty-lirst Venetian Duke of Melos 
 was driven out by the Turks, and the career of modern white- 
 cravated Venice virtually begun. 
 
 " Honour to the brave ! " Yes, in God's name, and by all 
 manner of means ! And dishonour to the cowards : but, my 
 good Italian and good English acquaintances, are you so 
 sure, then, you know which is which ? Nay, are you 
 lionestly willing to acknowledge there is any difference ? 
 Heaven be praised if you are ! — but I thought your modern 
 gospel was, that all were alike ? Here's the PancJi of last 
 week lying beside me, for instance, with its normal piece of 
 pathos upon the advertisements of death. Dual deaths this 
 time ; and pathetic epitaphs on the Bishop of Winchester 
 and the Baron Bethell. The best it can honestly say, (and 
 Vol. II.— 14 
 
210 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 Punchy as far as I know papers, is an honest one,) is that the 
 Bishop was a pleasant kind of person ; and the best it can 
 say for the Chancellor is, that he was witty ; — but, fearing 
 that something more might be expected, it smooths all down 
 with a sop of popular varnish, " How good the worst of us ! 
 —how bad the best ! " Alas, Mr. Punch, is it come to this ? 
 and is there to be no more knocking down, then ? and is your 
 last scene in future to be — shaking hands with the devil ?-— ' 
 clerical pantaloon in white cravat asking a blessing on the 
 reconciliation, and the drum and pipe finishing with a pot- 
 pourri from jFbust? 
 
 A popular tune, truly, everywhere, nowadays — Devil's 
 hotch-potch," and listened to avec delices ! " And, doubt- 
 less, pious Republicans on their death-beds will have a care 
 to bequeath it, rightly played to their children, before they go 
 to hear it, divinely executed, in their own blessed country. 
 
 " How good the worst of us ! — how bad the best ! " Jeanie 
 Deans, and St. Agnes, and the Holj'- Thursday fairing, all the 
 same ! 
 
 My good working readers, I will try to-day to put you 
 more clearly in understanding of this modern gospel, — of 
 what truth there is in it — for some there is, — and of what 
 pestilent evil. 
 
 I call it a modern gospel : in its deepest truth it is as old 
 as Christianity. "This man receiveth sinners, and eateth 
 with them." And it was the most distinctive character of 
 Christianity. Here was a new, astonishing religion in- 
 deed ; one had heard before of righteousness ; before of 
 resurrection ; — never before of mercy to sin, or fellowship 
 with it. 
 
 But it is only in strictly modern times (that is to say, 
 within the last hundred years) that this has been fixed on, 
 by a large sect of thick-headed persons, as the essence of 
 Christianity, — nay, as so much its essence, that to be an ex- 
 tremely sinful sinner is deliberately announced by them as 
 the best of qualifications for becoming an extremely Chris- 
 tian Christian. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 211 
 
 But all the teachings of Heaven are given — by sad law — 
 in so obscure, nay, often in so ironical manner, that a block- 
 head necessarily reads them wrong. Very marvellous it is 
 that Heaven, which really in one sense is merciful to sinners, 
 is in no sense merciful to fools, but even lays pitfalls for 
 them, and inevitable snares. 
 
 Again and again, in the New Testament, the publican 
 (supposed at once traitor to his country and thief) and the 
 harlot are made the companions of Christ. She out of whom 
 He had cast seven devils, loves Him best, sees Him first, 
 after His resurrection. The sting of that old verse, When 
 thou sawest a thief, thou consentedst to him, and hast been 
 partaker with adulterers," seems done away with. Adultery 
 itself uncondemned, — for, behold, in your hearts is not every 
 one of you alike? "He that is without sin among you, let 
 him first cast a stone at her." And so, and so, no more 
 stones shall be cast nowadays ; and here, on the top of our 
 epitaph on the Bishop, lies a notice of the questionable 
 sentence which hanged a man for beating his wife to death 
 with a stick. The jury recommended him strongly to 
 mercy." 
 
 They did so, because they knew not, in their own hearts, 
 what mercy meant. They were afraid to do anything so ex- 
 tremely compromising and disagreeable as causing a man to 
 be lianged, — had no ^ pity ' for any creatures beaten to 
 death — wives, or beasts ; but only a cowardly fear of com- 
 manding death, where it was due. Your modern conscience 
 will not incur the responsibility of shortening the hourly 
 more guilty life of a single rogue ; but will contentedly fire 
 a salvo of mitrailleuses into a regiment of honest men — 
 leaving Providence to guide the shot. But let us fasten on 
 the word they abused, and understand it. Mercy — miseri- 
 cordia : it does not in the least mean forgiveness of sins, — 
 it means pity of sorrows. In that very instance which the 
 Evangelicals are so fond of quoting — the adultery of Pavid — • 
 it is not the Passion for which he is to be judged, but the- 
 want of Passion, — the want of Pity. This he is to judge 
 himself for, by his own mouth : — As the Lord liveth, the 
 
212 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 man that hath done this thing shall surely die, — because ho 
 hath done this thing, and because he had no pity,'''* 
 
 And you will find, alike throughout the record of the Law 
 and the promises of the Gospel, that there is, indeed, for- 
 giveness with God, and Christ, for the passing sins of the 
 hot heart, but none for the eternal and inherent sin of the 
 cold. ' Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy ' ; 
 — find it you written anywhere that the w/imerciful shall ? 
 ^ Her sins, which are many, are forgiven, for she loved much.' 
 But have you record of any one's sins being forgiven who 
 loved not at all ? 
 
 I opened my oldest Bible just now, to look for the accu- 
 rate words of David about the killed lamb ; — a small, closely, 
 and very neatly printed volume it is, printed in Edinburgh 
 by Sir D. Hunter Blair and J. Bruce, Printers to the King's 
 Most Excellent Majesty in 1816. Yellow, now, with age, 
 and flexible, but not unclean with much use, except that the 
 lower corners of the pages at 8th of 1st Kings, and 32nd 
 Deuteronomy are worn somewhat thin and dark, the learn- 
 ing of those two chapters having cost me much pains. My 
 mother's list of the chapters with which, learned every 
 syllable accurately, she established my soul in life, has just 
 fallen out of it. And as probably the sagacious reader has 
 already perceived that these letters are written in their 
 irregular way, among other reasons that they may contain, 
 as the relation may become apposite, so much of autobiog- 
 raphy as it seems to me desirable to write, I will take what 
 indulgence the sagacious reader will give me, for printing 
 the list thus accidentally occurrent : — 
 
 Exodus, chapters 15th and 20th. 
 
 2 Samuel, chapter 1st, from 17th verse to the end. 
 
 1 Kings, " 8th. 
 
 Psalms, 23rd, 32nd, 90th, 91st, 103rd^ 
 
 112th, 119th, 139th. 
 Proverbs, chapters 2nd, 3rd, 8th, 12th. 
 Isaiah, chapter 58th. 
 Matthew, chapters 5th, 6th, 7th, 
 
FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 213 
 
 Acts, chapter 26th. 
 
 1 Corinthians, chapters 13th, 15th. 
 James, chapter 4th. 
 
 Revelations, chapters 5th, 6th. 
 
 And truly, though I have picked up the elements of a 
 little further knowledge, — in mathematics, meteorology, and 
 the like, in after life, — and owe not a little to the teaching 
 of many people, this maternal installation of my mind in 
 that property of chapters, I count very confidently the most 
 precious, and, on the whole, the one essential part of all my 
 education. 
 
 For the chapters became, indeed, strictly conclusive and 
 protective to me in all modes of thought ; and the body of 
 divinity they contain acceptable through all fear or doubt : 
 nor through any fear or doubt or fault have I ever lost my 
 loyalty to them, nor betrayed the first command in the one 
 I was made to repeat oftenest, " Let not Mercy and Truth 
 forsake Thee." 
 
 And at my present age of fifty-five, in spite of some en- 
 larged observations of what modern philosophers call the 
 Reign of Law, I perceive more distinctly than ever the 
 Reign of a Spirit of Mercy and Truth, — infinite in pardon 
 and purification for its wandering and faultful children, who 
 have yet Love in their hearts ; and altogether adverse and 
 implacable to its perverse and lying enemies, who have 
 resolute hatred in their hearts, and resolute falsehood on 
 their lips. 
 
 This assertion of the existence of a Spirit of Mercy and 
 Truth, as the master first of the Law of Life, and then of 
 the methods of knowledge and labour by which it is sus- 
 tained, and which the Saturday Hevieio calls the effeminate 
 sentimentality of Mr. Ruskin's political economy, is accu- 
 rately, you will observe, reversed by the assertion of the 
 Predatory and Carnivorous — of, in plainer English, fiesh- 
 eating spirit in Man himself, as the regulator of modern 
 civilization, in the paper read by the Secretary at the Social 
 Science meeting in Glasgow, 1860. Out of which the fol- 
 
214 
 
 FOEH GLAVIGERA. 
 
 lowing fundamentaJ passage may stand for sufficient and 
 permanent example of the existent, practical, and unsenti- 
 mental English mind, being the most vile sentence which I 
 have ever seen in the literature of any country or time : — 
 
 " As no one will deny that Man possesses carnivorous 
 teeth, or that all animals that possess them are more or less 
 predatory, it is unnecessary to argue, h, priori, that a pred- 
 atory instinct naturally follows from such organization. It 
 is our intention here to show how this inevitable result oper- 
 ates on civilized existence by its being one of the conditions 
 of Man's nature, and, consequently, of all arrangements of 
 civilised society." 
 
 The paper proceeds, and is entirely constructed, on the 
 assumption that the predatory spirit is not only one of the 
 conditions of man's nature, but the particular condition on 
 which the arrangements of Society are to be founded. For 
 ^'Reason would immediately suggest to one of superior 
 strength, that however desirable it might be to take posses 
 sion by violence, of what another had laboured to produce, 
 he might be treated in the same way by one stronger than 
 liimself, to which he, of course, would have great objection. 
 In order, therefore, to prevent or put a stop to a practice 
 w^hich each would object to in his own case," etc., etc. And 
 so the Social Science interpreter proceeds to sing the pres- 
 ent non-sentimental Proverbs and Psalms of England,— with 
 trumpets also and shaw^ms — and steam whistles. And there 
 is concert of voices and instruments at the Hospital of the 
 Incurabili, and Progress — indubitably — in Chariots of the 
 Night. 
 
FOBS CLAVIQERA. 216 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 CORRIERE DEI BaGNI. 
 
 M'lMBARCAi sn di uu vaporetto ; era elegante, era vasto, ma il suo 
 coutenuto era enorraemeute Huperiore al contenente ; il vaporetto 
 rigurgitava di uomini, di donne, e di ragazzi. 
 
 II comaadante, un fiero giovanotto, gridava : Montdte ! Montate ! 
 e la calca si faceva sempre piu fitta, ed appena si poteva espirare. 
 
 Tutto ad ua tratto uu sensale di piazza si senti venir male, e grido ; 
 10 soffocol II comandante si accorse che si soffocava davvero, ed 
 ordmo ; basta ! 
 
 II vapore allora si aw 6 (stc) ed io rimasi stipato fra la folia per 
 diciotto miuuti, iu capo ai quali ebbi la buona ventura di sbarcare 
 incolume sul pontile dello stabilimento la FaioriUi — II pontile e 
 lunghissimo, ma elegaute e coperto. II sole per conseguenza non dd 
 nessuna noia. 
 
 Una strada che, fine a quando non sia migliorata, non consi glierei di 
 percorrere a chi non abbia i piedi in perfetto stato, conduce al parco 
 della Stabilimento Bagni del nignor Delahant. — E qui i miei occhi si 
 aprirono per la nieraviglia. E diffati, solo una rispettibile forza di 
 volenti ed operosita pot 3 riuscire a trasformare quel luogo, pochi meei 
 fa ancora deserto ed incolto, iu un sito di delisie. — Lunghi viali, tappeti 
 erbosi, montagnole, banchine, chalet, strade solitarie e misteriose, lumi, 
 Bpalti, e poi un interminabile pergolato che conduce alio stabilimento 
 bagni, ed in questo inservienti restifi alUi marinara^ coraodiBsima vasca, 
 biancheria finissima, e servizio regolare e j)remuro80. 
 
 Sorpreso e contento, mi tulfo allegramente nel mare. 
 
 Dopo il bagno h prescritta una passeggir.ta. Os.sequiente ai dettami 
 deir igiene, riprendo la via e lungo la piacevole spiaggia del mare 
 ritorno alia FavorUa. 
 
 Un chalet, o piuttosto una pala immcnsa; addobbata con originalita e 
 ricchezza, e divenuta una sala di concerto. Diffatti una eccellente or- 
 chestra sta eseguendo pezzi sceltissimi. 
 
 GU artisti imlossano tiitfi It inarsina e la cravntta bianca. Ascolto con 
 delizia un potpoitrri 6e\ Favst e poi torno agirareper il vastissimo parco 
 e visito il Restaurant 
 
 Concludendo, il Lido non ha piu bisogno di diventare un luogo di 
 delizie; esse lo e in verita diggia diventato, e fra breve i comodi bagni 
 del Lido di Venezia saranno fra i piu famoai d' Italia. 
 
 Onore ai bravi che hanno operata la meravigliosa trasformazione ! 
 
 II Hinrurcamento, Gazetta del Popolo di Venezia ; (2nd July, 1872). 
 
 This following part of a useful letter, dated 10th March, 1873, ought 
 io have been printed before now : — 
 
216 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOEEA. 
 
 Sir, — Will you permit me to respectfully call your attention to a 
 certain circumstance which has, not unlikely, something to do with the 
 failure (if failure it is) of your appeal for the St. George's Fund ? 
 
 At page 71 of Fors Clavigera tor May, 1871, your words were, * Will 
 any such give a tenth of what they have and of what they earn ? ' But 
 in May of the following year, at page 228, the subject is referred to as the 
 giving of * the tenth of what they have, or make.' The two passages 
 are open to widely differing interpretations. Moreover, none of the 
 sums received appear to have any relation to * tenths ' either of earn- 
 iags or possessions. 
 
 Is it not probable that the majority of your readers understood you 
 either to mean literally what you said, or to mean nothing but jest ? 
 They would naturally ask themselves, ^ Must it be a tenth of both, or 
 nothing ? ' * A tenth of either ? ' Or, ' After all, only what we feel 
 able to give ? ' Their perplexity would load to the giving of nothing. 
 As nobody who has a pecuniary title to ask for an explanation appears 
 to have called your attention to the subject, I, who have no such title, 
 do so now, — feeling impelled thereto by the hint in this month's Fora 
 of the possible ' non-continuance of the work.' 
 
 "May I presume to add one word more? Last Monday's Times 
 (March 17th) gave a report of a Working Men's Meeting on the present 
 political crisis. One of the speakers said * he wanted every working man 
 to be free.' And his idea of freedom he explained to be that all workmen 
 should be at liberty 'to leave their work at a moment's notice.' This, 
 as I have reason to know, is one of the things which working men 
 have got into their heads, and which the newspapers ' get their living 
 by asserting. ' " 
 
 Lastly, the present English notion of civilizing China by inches, may 
 be worth keeping record of. 
 
 ' ' We have Philistines out here, and a Philistine in the East is a per- 
 fect Goliath. When he imagines that anything is wrong, he says — let 
 it be a Coolie or an Emperor — ' Give him a thrashiLg. ' The men of 
 this class here propose their usual remedy : ' Let us have a war, and 
 give the Chinese a good licking, and then we shall have the audience 
 question granted, and everything else will follow.' This includes open- 
 ing up the country for trade, and civilizing the people, which according 
 to their theories can be best done by ^.hrashing them.' The mission- 
 aries are working to civilize the people here in another way, that is by 
 the usual plan of tracts and preaching ; but their system is not much 
 in favour, for they make such very small progress among the 860,000,000, 
 the conversion of which is their problem. The man of business wants 
 the country opened up to trade, wants manufactures introduced, the 
 mineral wealth to be used, and generally speaking the resources of the 
 country to be developed, * and that sort of thing you know — that's the 
 real way to civilize them. ' This, of course, implies a multitudinous breed 
 of Mr. Ruskin's demons, or machinery, to accomplish all this. I am 
 here giving the tone of the ideas I hear expressed around me. It was 
 only the other day that I heard some of these various points talked 
 over. We were sailing on the river in a steam launch, which was mak- 
 ing the air impure with its smoke, snorting in a high-pressure way, and 
 whistling as steam launches are wont to do. The scene was appropriate 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 217 
 
 to the conversation, for we were among a forest of great junks — most 
 quaint and picturesque they looked — so old-fashioned they seemed, 
 that Noah's Ark, had it been there, would have had a much more mod- 
 ern look about it. My friend, to whom the launch belonged, and who 
 is in the machinery line himself, gave his opinion. He began by giving 
 a significant movement of his head in the direction of the uncouth- 
 looking junks, and then pointing to his own craft with its engine, said 
 * he did not believe much in war, and the missionaries were not of much 
 account. This is the thing to do it,* he added, pointing to the launch ; 
 ' let us get at them with this sort of article, and steam at sixty pounds 
 on the square inch ; that would soon do it ; that's the thing to civilize 
 them— sixty pounds on the square inch.' " 
 
218 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 LETTER XLIIL 
 
 Rome, Corpus- Domini^ 1874. 
 
 I WROTE, for a preface to the index at the end of the sec 
 ond volume of Fors^ part of an abstract of what had been 
 then stated in the course of this work. Fate would not let 
 me finish it ; but what was done will be useful now, and 
 shall begin my letter for this month. Completing three and a 
 half volumes of Fors, it may contain a more definite statement 
 of its purpose than any given hitherto ; though I have no in- 
 tention of explaining that purpose entirely, until it is in suffi- 
 cient degree accomplished. I have a house to build ; but 
 none shall mock me by saying I was not able to finish it, nor 
 be vexed by not finding in it the rooms they expected. But 
 the current and continual purpose of Fors Clavigera is to 
 explain the powers of Chance, or Fortune, (Fors), as she 
 offers to men the conditions of prosperity ; and as these 
 conditions are accepted or refused, nails down and fastens 
 their fate for ever, being thus ' Clavigera,' — * nail-bearing.' 
 The image is one familiar in mythology : ray own concep- 
 tion of it was first got from Horace, and developed by steady 
 effort to read history with impartiality, and to observe the 
 lives of men around me with charity. " How you may make 
 your fortune, or mar it," is the expansion of the title. 
 
 Certain authoritative conditions of life, of its happiness, and 
 its honour, are therefore stated, in this book, as far as they 
 may be, conclusively and indisputably, at present known. I 
 do not enter into any debates, nor advance any opinions. 
 With what is debatable I am unconcerned ; and when I only 
 have opinions about things, I do not talk about them. I at- 
 tack only what cannot on any possible ground be defended \ 
 and state only what I know to be incontrovertibly true. 
 
 You will find, as you read Fors more, that it differs curi- 
 ously from most modern books in this. Modern fashion is, 
 
FOnS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 219 
 
 that the moment a man strikes some little lucifer match, or 
 is hit by any form of fancy, he begins advertising his lucifer 
 match, and fighting for his fancy, totally ignoring the exist- 
 inof sunsiiine, and the existin^: substances of thino-s. But 1 
 have no matches to sell, no fancies to fight for. All that 1 
 have to say is that the day is in heaven, and rock and wood 
 on earth, and that you must see by the one, and work with 
 the other. You liave heard as much before, perhaps. J 
 hope you have ; I should be ashamed if there were anything 
 in Fors which had not been said before, — and that a thou- 
 sand times, and a thousand times of times, — there is nothing 
 in it, nor ever will be in it, but common truths, as clear to 
 honest mankind as their daily sunrise, as necessary as their 
 daily bread ; and which the fools who deny can only live, 
 themselves, because other men know and obev. 
 
 You will therefore find that whatever is set down in Fors 
 for you is assuredly true, — inevitable, — trustworthy to the 
 uttermost, — however strange.* Not because I have any 
 power of knowing more than other people, but simply be- 
 cause I have taken the trouble to ascertain what they also 
 may ascertain if they choose. Compare on this point Letter 
 VI., page 74. 
 
 The followinof rouo:h abstract of the contents of the first 
 Beven letters may assist the reader in tiieir use. 
 
 Letter L Men's prosperity is in their own hands ; and 
 no forms of government are, in themselves, of the least 
 use. The first beginnings of prosperity must be in 
 getting food, clothes, and fuel. These cannot be got 
 either by the fine arts, or the military arts. Neither 
 painting nor fighting feed men ; nor can capital, in 
 the form of money or machinery, feed them. All 
 capital is iniaginary or unimportant, except the quan- 
 
 * Observe, this is only asserted of its main principles ; not of minor 
 and accessory points. I may be entirely wrong in the explanation of a 
 text, or mistake the parish schools of St. Mathias for St. Matthew's ; 
 over and over again. I have so large a field to work in that this cannot 
 be helped. But none of these minor errors are of the least consequence 
 to the business in band. 
 
220 
 
 FOBS CLA VIGERA, 
 
 tity of food existing in the world at any given mo 
 ment. Finally, men cannot live by le"1iding money to 
 each other, and the conditions of such loan at present 
 are absurd and deadly.* 
 
 Letter 11. The nature of Rent. It is an exaction, by 
 force of hand, for the maintenance of Squires : but 
 had better at present be left to them. The nature of 
 useful and useless employment. When employment 
 is given by capitalists, it is sometimes useful, but 
 oftener useless ; sometimes moralizing, but oftener 
 demoralizing. And we had therefore better employ 
 ourselves, without any appeal to the capitalists (page 
 24) ; and to do this successfully, it must be with three 
 resolutions ; namely, to be personally honest, socially 
 helpful, and conditionally obedient (page 29) : ex- 
 plained in Letter VII., page 98 to end. 
 
 Letter III. The power of Fate is independent of the 
 Moral Law, but never supersedes it. Virtue ceases 
 to be such, if expecting reward : it is therefore never 
 materially rewarded. (I ought to have said, ex- 
 cept as one of the appointed means of physical and 
 mental health.) The Fates of England, and proper 
 mode of studying them. Stories of Henry II. and 
 Richard I. 
 
 Letter IV. The value and nature of Education. It may 
 be good, bad, — or neither the one nor the other. 
 Knowledge is not education, and can neither make us 
 happy nor rich. Opening discussion of the nature 
 and use of riches. Gold and diamonds are not riches, 
 and the reader is challenged to specify their use. 
 Opening discussion of the origin of wealth. It does 
 not fall from heaven, (compare Letter VII., page 97,) 
 but is certainly obtainable, and has been generally ob- 
 tained, by pillage of the poor. Modes in which edu- 
 
 • See first article in the Notes and Correspondence to this number. 
 
FOES CLAVIOERA. 
 
 221 
 
 cation in virtue has been made costly to them, and 
 education in vice cheap. (Page 56.) 
 Letter V. The powers of Production. Extremity on 
 modern folly in supposing there can be over-produc» 
 tion. The power of machines. They cannot increase 
 the possibilities of life, but only the possibilities of 
 idleness. (Page G5.) The things which are essential 
 to life are mainly three material ones and three spirit- 
 ual ones. First sketch of the ])roposed action of 
 St. George's Company. 
 
 Letter VL The Elysium of modern days. This letter, 
 written under the excitement of continual news of the 
 revolution in Paris, is desultory, and limits itself to 
 noticing some of the causes of that revolution : chiefly 
 the idleness, disobedience, and covetousness of the 
 richer and middle classes. 
 
 Letter VII. The Elysium of ancient days. The defini- 
 tions of true, and spurious, Communism. Explanation 
 of the design of true Communism, in Sir Thomas More's 
 Utopia, This letter, though treating of matters 
 necessary to the whole work, yet introduces them pre- 
 maturely, being written, incidentally, upon the ruin of 
 Paris. 
 
 AsBisi, mh May, 1874. 
 So ended, as Fors would have it, my abstraction, which I 
 Bce Fors had her reasons for stopping me in ; else the ab- 
 straction would have needed farther abstracting. As it is, 
 the reader may find in it the real gist of the remaining letters, 
 and discern what a stiff business we have in hand, — rent, 
 capital, and interest, all to be attacked at once ! and a method 
 of education shown to be possible in virtue, as cheaply as in 
 vice ! 
 
 I should have got my business, stiff though it may bo, far- 
 ther forward by this time, but for that same revolution in 
 Paris, and burning of the Tuileries, which greatly confused 
 my plan by showing me how much baser the human material 
 I had to deal with, was, than I thought in beginning. 
 
222 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGERA, 
 
 That a Christian army (or, at least, one which Saracens 
 would have ranked with that they attacked, under the general 
 name of Franks.) should fiercely devastate and rob an entire 
 kingdom laid at their mercy by the worst distress ; — that the 
 first use made by this distressed country of the defeat of its 
 armies would be to overthrow its government ; and that, 
 when its metropolis had all but perished in conflagration dur- 
 ing the contest between its army and mob, no warning should 
 be taken by other civilized societies, but all go trotting on 
 again, next week, in their own several roads to ruin, persist- 
 ently as they had trotted before, — bells jingling, and whips 
 cracking, — these things greatly appalled me, finding' I had 
 only slime to build with instead of mortar ; and shook my 
 plan partly out of shape. 
 
 The friofhtfuUest thin^' of all, to mv mind, vv^as the German 
 temper, in its naive selfishness ; on which point, having been 
 brought round again to it in my last letter, I have now 
 somewhat more to say. 
 
 In the Pall Mall Gazette of 7th March, this year, under 
 the head of ' This Evening's News,* appeared an article of 
 which I here reprint the opening portion. 
 
 The well-known Hungarian author, Maurus Jokai, is at 
 present a visitor in the German capital. As a man of note 
 he easily obtained access to Prince Bismarck's study, where 
 an interesting conversation took place, which M. Jokai re- 
 ports pretty fully to the Hungarian journal the Hon: — 
 
 The Prince was, as usual, easy in his manner, and com- 
 municative, and put a stop at the very outset to the Hunga- 
 rian's attempt at ceremony. M. Jokai humorously remarked 
 upon the prevalence of 'iron' in the surroundings of the 
 'iron ' Prince. Among other things, there is an iron couch, 
 and an iron safe, in which the Chancellor appears to keep his 
 cigars. Prince Bismarck was struck by the youthful appear- 
 ance of his guest, who is ten years his junior, but whose 
 writings he remembers to have seen reviewed long ago, in the 
 Augsburg Gazette (at that time still, the Chancellor said, a 
 clever paper) when he bore a lieutenant's commission. In 
 the ensuing conversatio!i. Prince Bismarck pointed out the 
 paramount necessity to Europe of a consolidated state in the 
 position of Austro-Hungary. It was mainly on that account 
 
FORS CLAVIQERA. 
 
 223 
 
 that he concluded peace with so great despatch in 1866. Small 
 independent States in the East would be a misfortune to 
 Europe. Austria and Hungary must realize their mutual in- 
 terdependence, and the necessity of being one. However, 
 the dualist system of government must be preserved, because 
 the task of developing the State, which on this side of the 
 Leitha falls to the Germans, beyond that river naturally falls 
 to the Magyars. The notion that Germany has an inclination 
 to annex more land, Prince Bismarck designated as a myth. 
 God preserve the Germans from such a wish ! Whatever 
 more territory they might acquire would probably be under- 
 mined by Papal influence, and they have enough of that 
 already. Should the Germans of Austria want to be annexed 
 by Germany, the Chancellor would feel inclined to declare 
 war against them for that wish alone. A German Minister 
 who should conceive the desire to annex part of Austria 
 would deserve to be hanged — a punishment the Prince indi- 
 cated by gesture. He does not wish to annex even a square 
 foot of fresh territory, not as much as two pencils he kept on 
 playing with during the conversation would cover. Those 
 pencils, however, M. Jokai remarks, were big enough to serve 
 as walking-sticks, and on the map they would have reached 
 quite from Berlin to Trieste. Prince Bismarck went on to 
 justify his annexation of Alsace-Lorraine by geographical 
 necessity. Otherwise he would rather not have grafted the 
 French twig upon the German tree. The French are enemies 
 never to be appeased. Take away fro)n tfie))i the cooky t/ie 
 tailor^ and the hairdresser, and what remains of them is a 
 coj^per-coloured Indian.''^ 
 
 Now it does not matter whether Prince Bismarck ever said 
 this, or not. That the saying should be attributed to him in 
 a leading journal, without indication of doubt or surprise, is 
 enough to show what the German temper is publicly recog- 
 nized to be. And observe what a sentence it is — thus attrib- 
 uted to him. The French are only copper-coloured Indians, 
 finely dressed. This said, of the nation v/hich gave us Charle- 
 magne, St. Louis, St. Bernard, and Joan of Arc ; which 
 founded the central type of chivalry in the myth of Roland ; 
 which showed tiie utmost heicrht of valour vet recorded in 
 history, in the literal life of Guiscard ; and which built 
 Chartres Cathedral I 
 
224 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 But the French are not what they were ! No ; nor tha 
 English, for that matter ; probably we have fallen the 
 farther of the two : meantime the French still retain, at the 
 root, the qualities they always had ; and of one of these, a 
 highly curious and commendable one, I wish you to take 
 some note to-day. 
 
 Among the minor nursery tales with which my mother 
 allowed me to relieve the study of the great nursery tale of 
 Genesis, mv favourite was Miss Edc^eworth's Frank, The 
 authoress chose this for the boy's name, because she meant 
 him to be a type of Frankness, or openness of heart : — truth 
 of heart, that is to say, liking to lay itself open. You are in 
 the habit, I believe, some of you, still, of speaking occasion- 
 ally of English Frankness ; — not recognizing, through the 
 hard clink of the letter K, that you are only talking', all the 
 while, of English Frenchness. Still less when you count 
 your cargoes of gold from San Francisco, do you pause to 
 reflect what San means, or what Francis means, without 
 the Co ; — or how it came to pass that the power of this 
 mountain town of Assisi, where not only no gold can be 
 dug, but where St. Francis forbade his Company to dig it 
 anywhere else — came to give names to Devil's towns far 
 across the Atlantic — (and by the way you may note how 
 clumsy the Devil is at christening ; for if by chance he gets 
 a fresh York all to himself, he never has any cleverer notion 
 than to call it ' New York' ; and in fact, having no mother* 
 wit from his dam, is obliged very often to put up with the old 
 names which were given by Christians, — Nombre di Dios, 
 Trinidad, Vera Cruz, and the like, even when he has all his 
 own way with everything else in the places, but their 
 names). 
 
 But to return. You have lately had a fine notion, have 
 you not, of English Liberty as opposed to French Slavery ? 
 
 Well, whatever your English liberties may be, the French 
 knew what the word meant, before you. For France, if you 
 will consider of it, means nothing else than the Country of 
 Franks ; — the country of a race so intensely Free that they 
 for evermore gave name to Freedom. The Greeks some- 
 
:P'0RS clavigera. 
 
 225 
 
 times got their own way, as a mob ; but nobody, meaning to 
 talk of liberty, calls it *Greekness.' The Romans knew 
 better what Libertas meant, and their word for it has 
 become common enough, in that straitened form, on your 
 English tongue ; but nobody calls it *Romanness.' But at 
 last comes a nation called the Franks ; and they are so 
 inherently free and noble in their natures, that their name 
 becomes the word for the virtue ; and when you now want 
 to talk of freedom of heart, you say Frankness, and for the 
 last political privilege which you have it so much in your 
 English minds to get, you liaven't so much as an English 
 word, but must call it by the French one, * Franchise.'* 
 
 " Freedom of heart^'^ you observe, I say. Not the English 
 freedom of Insolence, according to Mr. B., (see above. Let-* 
 ter XXIX,) but pure French openness of heart, Fanchette's 
 and her husband's frankness, the source of joy, and courtesy 
 and civility, and passing softness of human meeting of kindly 
 glance with glance. Of which Franchise, in her own spirit 
 Person, here is the picture for you, from the French Ro- 
 mance of the Rose, — a picture which English Chaucer was 
 thankful to copy. 
 
 And after all those others came Franchise, 
 
 Who was not brown, nor grey, 
 
 But she was white as snow. 
 
 And she had not the nose of an Orleanois. 
 
 Aussi had she the nose long and straight. 
 
 Eyes green, and laughing — vaulted eyebrows ; 
 
 She had her hair blonde and long, 
 
 And she was simple as a dove. 
 
 The body she had sweet, and brightly bred ; 
 
 And she dared not do, nor say 
 
 To any one, anything she ought not. 
 
 And if she knew of any man 
 
 Who was in sorrow for love of her, 
 
 So soon she had great pity for him, 
 
 For she had the heart so pitiful 
 
 And so sweet and so lovely, 
 
 That no one suffered pain about hei; 
 
 But she would help him all she could. 
 
 * See second note at end of this letter. 
 Vol. II. —15 
 
i!26 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 And she wore a surquanye 
 
 Which was of no coarse cloth ; ^ 
 
 There's none so rich as far as Arras. 
 
 And it was so gathered up, and so joined together^ 
 
 That there was not a single point of it 
 
 Which was not set in its exact place, rightly. 
 
 Much well was dressed Franchise, 
 
 For no robe is so pretty 
 
 As the surquanye for a demoiselle. 
 
 A girl is more gentle and more darling 
 
 In surquanye than in coat, 
 
 And the white surquanye 
 
 Signifies that sweet and frank 
 
 Is she who puts it on her.** 
 
 May I ask you now to take to heart those two lines of this 
 French description of Frenchness : 
 
 " And she dared not do, nor say 
 
 To any one, anything she ought not." 
 
 That is not your modern notion of Frenchness, or fran- 
 chise, or libertas, or liberty — for all these are synonyms for the 
 same virtue. And yet the strange thing is that the lowest 
 types of the modern French grisette are the precise corrup- 
 tion of this beautiful Franchise : and still retain, at their 
 worst, some of the grand old qualities; the absolute sources 
 of corruption being the neglect of their childhood by the 
 upper classes, the abandonment to their own resources, and 
 the development therefore of Libert}'' and Independence," 
 in your beautiful English, not French, sense. 
 
 Livree a elle-meme depuis Page de treize ans, habituee 
 a ne compter que sur elle seule, elle avait de la vie un expe- 
 rience dont j'etais confondue. De ce Paris oti elle etait nee, 
 elle savait tout, elle connaissait tout. 
 
 "Je n'avais pas idee d'une si complete absence de sens 
 moral, d'une si inconsciente depravation, d'une impudeur si 
 effrontement naive. 
 
 "La regie de sa conduite, c'etait sa fantaisie, son instinct, 
 le caprice du moment. 
 
 " Elle aimait les longues stations dans les caf6s, les m61o- 
 drames entremeies de chopes et d'orauges pendant les en- 
 
FOBS CLAVIGEUA. 
 
 227 
 
 tr*actes, les parties de caiiot a Asnieres, et surtout, et avant 
 tout, le bal. 
 
 " Elle etait comme chez elle a TElysee — Montrnartre et au 
 Chateau-Rouge ; elle y coiiiiaissait tout le inoude, le cliec 
 d'orchestre la saluait, ce dont elle etait extraordinairement 
 fiere, et quaiitite de gens la tutoyaient. 
 
 Je I'accompagnais partout, dans les comrnencenients, et 
 bien que je n'etais pas preciseinent naive, ni genee par les 
 scrupules de mon education, je fus tellement consternee de 
 Tincroyable desordre de sa vie, que je ne pus m'einpecher de 
 lui en faire quelques representations. 
 
 " Elle se facha tout rouge. 
 
 " Tu fais ce qui te plait, me dit-elle, laisse-moi faire ce qui 
 me convient. 
 
 C'est un justice que je lui dois : jamais elle n'essaya sur 
 moi son influence, jamais elle ne m'engagea a suivre son ex- 
 emple. Ivre de liberte, elle respectait la liberie des autres." 
 
 Such is the form which Franchise has taken under repub- 
 lican instruction. But of the true Franchise of Charlemagne 
 and Roland, there were, you must note also, two distinct 
 forms. In tlie last stanzas of the Chant de Roland, Nor- 
 mandy and France have two distinct epithets, — " Normandie, 
 la franche ; France, la solue," (soluta). I'^ank Norman- 
 dy ; Loose France." Solute ; — we, adding the dis, use the 
 words loose and dissolute only in evil sense. But * France 
 la solue * has an entirely lovely meaning. The frankness 
 of Normandy is the soldier's virtue ; but the unbinding, 
 so to speak, of France, is the peasant's. 
 
 And having seen that lovely maid. 
 
 Why should I fear to say 
 That she is rudd}^ fleet, and strong", 
 And down the rocks can leap along 
 
 Like rivulets in May ? " 
 
 It is curious that the most beautiful descriptive line in all 
 Horace, 
 
 *'inoDtibus altis 
 Levis crepante lynipha desilit pede," 
 
 comes in the midst of the dream of the blessed islands which 
 
228 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 are to be won by following the founders of — what city, think 
 you ? The city that first sang the " Marseillaise." 
 
 * * Juppiter ilia piae secrevit litora genti. " 
 
 Recollect that line, my French readers, if I chance to find 
 any, this month, nor less the description of those ' arva beata' 
 as if of your own South France ; and then consider also 
 those prophetic lines, true of Paris as of Rome, — 
 
 " Nec fera coerulea domuit Germania pube. 
 Impia^ perdemus devoti sanguinis aetas." 
 
 Consider them, I say, and deeply, thinking over the full force 
 of those words, "devoti sanguinis," and of the ways in which 
 the pure blood of Normandie la franche, and France la solue, 
 has corrupted itself, and become accursed. Had I but time 
 to go into the history of that word ' devoveo,' what a piece 
 of philology it would lead us into ! But, for another kind 
 of opposition to the sweet Franchise of old time, take this 
 sentence of description of another French maiden, by the 
 same author from whom I have just quoted the sketch of the 
 grisette : 
 
 " C'etait une vielle fille d'une cinquantaine d'annees, seche 
 et jaune, avec un grand nez d'oiseau de proie, tres noble, 
 encore plus devote, joueuse comme la dame de pique en per- 
 sonne, et medisante a faire battre des montagnes." • 
 
 You see what accurate opposition that gives you of an- 
 other kind, to Franchise. You even have the ' nez d*Or- 
 leanois ' specified, which the song of the Rose is so careful 
 to tell you Franchise had not. 
 
 Here is another illustrative sentence : 
 
 " La colere, a la fin, une de ces terribles coleres blanches 
 de devote, chassait des flots de bile au cerveau de Mademoi- 
 selle de la Rochecardeau, et blemissait ses levres." 
 
 These three sentences I have taken from two novels of 
 Emile Gaboriau, IJargent des autres, and La Degringolade, 
 They are average specimens of modern French light litera- 
 ture, with its characteristic qualities and defects, and are 
 both of them in many respects worth careful study ; but 
 
FOBS CLAVIQERA. 
 
 229 
 
 chiefly in the representation they give, partly with conscious 
 blame, and partly in unconscious corruption, of the Devoti 
 sanguinis aetas ; with which, if you would compare old 
 France accurately, read first Froude's sketch of the life of 
 Bishop Hugo of Lincoln, and think over the scene between 
 him and Coeur de Lion. 
 
 You have there, as in life before you, two typical French- 
 men of the twelfth century — a true king, and a true priest, 
 representing the powers which the France of that day con- 
 trived to get set over her, and did, on the whole, implicitly 
 and with her heart obey. 
 
 They are not altogether — by taking the dancing-master 
 and the hairdresser away from them — reduced to copper- 
 coloured Indians. 
 
 If, next, you will take the pains — and it will need some 
 pains, for the book is long and occasionally tiresome — to 
 read the Degringoladey you will find it nevertheless worth 
 your while ; for it gives you a modern Frenchman's account 
 of the powers which France in the nineteenth century con- 
 trived to get set over her ; and obeyed — not with her heart, 
 but restively, like an ill-bred dog or mule, which have no 
 honour in their obedience, but bear the chain and bit all the 
 same. 
 
 But there is a farther and much more important reason 
 for my wish that you should read this novel. It gives you 
 types of existent Frenchmen and Frenchwomen of a very 
 different class. They are, indeed, only heroes and heroines 
 in a quite second-rate piece of literary work. But these 
 stereotypes, nevertheless, have living originals. There is to 
 be found in France, as truly the Commandant Delorge, as 
 the Comte de Combelaine. And as truly Mademoiselle de 
 Maillefert as the Duchesse de Maumussy. How is it, then, 
 that the Count and Duchess command everything in France, 
 and that the Commandant and Demoiselle command nothing? 
 — that the best they can do is to get leave to live — unknown, 
 and unthought-of ? The question, believe me, is for England 
 also ; and a very pressing one. 
 
 Of the frantic hatred of all religion developed in the French 
 
230 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 republican mind, the sentences I have quoted are interesting 
 examples. I have not time to speak of them in this letter, 
 but they struck me sharply as I corrected the press to-day ; 
 for I had been standing most part of the morning by St. 
 Paul's grave, thinking over his work in the world. A be- 
 wildered peasant, from some green dingle of Campagna, who 
 had seen me kneel when the Host passed, and took me there- 
 fore to he a human creature and a friend, asked me ' where 
 St. Paul was ' ? 
 
 * There, underneath,' I answered. 
 
 * There ? ' he repeated, doubtfully, — as dissatisfied. 
 
 * Yes,' I answered ; ' his body at least ; — his head is at the 
 Lateran.' 
 
 ^ II suo corpo,' again he repeated, still as in discontent. 
 Then, after a pause, ' E la sua statua ? ' 
 
 Such a wicked thing to ask for that ! wasn't it, my Evan- 
 gelical friends ? You would so much rather have had him 
 ask for Hudson's 1 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 231 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 I HAVE had by me, some time, three eager little fragments from one 
 of Mr. Sillar's letters : — too eager, always, in thinking this one sin of re- 
 ceiving interest on money means every other. I know many excellent 
 people, happily, whose natures have not been spoiled by it : the more 
 as it has been done absolutely without knowledge of being wrong. I 
 did not find out the wrong of it myself, till Mr. Sillar showed me the 
 way to judge of ifc. 
 
 The passage which I have italicized, from Mr. Lecky, is a very pre- 
 cious statement of his sagacious creed. The chief jest of it is his having 
 imagined himself to he of Aristotle's * species' ! 
 
 *' To get profit without responsibility has been a fond scheme as im- 
 possible of honest attainment as the phiiosof>her's stone or perpetual 
 motion. Visionaries have imagined such things to exist, but it has 
 been reserved for this mammon-worshipping generation to find it 
 in that arrangement by which a man, without labour, can secure a 
 permanent income with perfect security, and without diminution of the 
 capital. 
 
 A view of it is evidently taken by Lord Bacon when he says that 
 usury bringeth the treasure of a realm into few hands ; for the usurer 
 trading ou a certainty, and other men on uncertainties, at the end of 
 the game all the money will be in the box. 
 
 We have had now an oi)portunity of practically testing this theory ; 
 not more than seventeen years have elapsed since all restraint was re- 
 moved from the growth of what Lord Coke calls this ' pestilent weed,* 
 and we see Bacon's words verified, the rich becoming richer, and the poor 
 poorer, is the cry throughout the whole civilized world. Rollin in his 
 Ancient History speaking of the Roman Empire, tells us that it has 
 been the ruin of every state where it was tolerated. It is in a fair way 
 to ruin Ihis of ours, and ruin it it will, unless England's sons calmly and 
 candidly investigate the question for themselves, and resolutely act 
 upon the conr^lusions to which the investigation must lead them. 
 
 *' There is such a thing as unlimited liability; of tho justice of such 
 laws I do not now spoak, but the law exists, and ns it wns made by 
 moneyed men in the interest of mone3'ed men they cannot refuse to be 
 judged by it. The adn)ission, therefore, of the fact that interest is a 
 share of the profit, would throw upon the money-lender the burden of 
 unlimited liability ; this he certainly refuses to admit, consequently he 
 has no alternative but to confess that interest has nothing whatever to 
 do with profit, but that it is a certain inherent property of money, viz., 
 that of producing money, and that interest is as legitimately the offspring 
 of money as a Calf is that of a Cow. That this is really the stand now 
 
232 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 taken, may be shown from the literature and practice of the present 
 day. Mr. Leck3\ one of the latest champions of interest, boldly admita 
 it. In his history of the rise and influence of rationalism in Europe, 
 p. 284, after quoting Aristotle's saying, thab all money is sterile by na- 
 ture, he says, * This is an absurdity of Aristotle s. and the ntimber of cen- 
 turies during which it was incessantly asserted without being {so far as los 
 know) once questioned^ is a carious illustration of ihe longevity of a sopliism 
 ichen expressed in a terse form^ and sheltered by a great name. It is 
 enough to make one ashamed of his species to think that Bentham teas the 
 first to bring into notice the simple considtration that if the borrower em- 
 ploys the borrowed money in buying bidls and coirs, and if these produce 
 calves to ten times the value of the interest, the money borrowed can 
 scarcely be said to be sterile.'* 
 
 And now to remedy all this. Were there no remedy, to parade it, 
 in our view, would be cruel ; but there is one, so simple, that, like 
 those of divine making, it may be despised for its simplicity. It con- 
 sists in the recognition of the supreme wisdom which forbade the tak- 
 ing of usury. We should not reimpose the usury laws, which were in 
 themselves a blunder and a snare, nor would we advocate the forcible 
 repression of the vice any more than we do that of other vices, such as 
 gambling or prostitution, but we would put them, on precisely the same 
 footing, and enact thus — 
 
 Whereas, usury is a sin detestable and abominable, 
 the law will refuse to recognize any contract 
 in which it is an element. 
 
 The first effect of this would be, that all those who had lent, taking se- 
 curity into their hands, would have no power of oppression beyond 
 keeping the pledge, — the balance of their debts being on a similar foot- 
 ing to those of the men who had lent without security. 
 
 ** To these their chance of repayment would depend on their previous 
 conduct. If they had lent their money to honourable men, they would 
 surely be repaid ; if to rogues, they surely would not ; and serve them 
 right. Those, and those only, who have lent without interest would 
 have the power of an action at law to recover ; and as such men must 
 have possessed philanthropy, they could safely be trusted with that 
 power. 
 
 " Regarding the future employment of money, a usurer who intended 
 to continue his unholy trade, would lend only to such men as would 
 repay without legal pressure, and from such men trade would not have 
 to fear competition. But to disreputable characters the money-market 
 would be hermetically sealed ; and then as commerce, freed from the 
 competition of these scoundrels, began again to be remunerative, we 
 should find it more to our advantage to take an interest in commerce 
 than usury /r^wz it, and so gradually would equity supersede iniquity, 
 and peace and prosperity be found where now abound corruption, 
 riot, and rebellion, with all the host of evils inseparable from a con- 
 dition of plethoric wealth on one hand, and on the other hopeless and 
 despairing poverty. 
 
 II. I intended in this note to have given some references to the first 
 use of the word Franc, as an adjective. But the best dictionary-mak- 
 ers seem to have been foiled by it. "I recollect, (an Oxford friend 
 
FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 233 
 
 writes to me,) Clovis called his axe ' Francisca* when he threw it to 
 determine by its fall where he should build a church," and in Littre's 
 dictionary a root is suggested, in the Anglo-Saxon Franca, ' javelin,' 
 But I think these are all collateral, not original uses. I am not sure 
 even when the word came to be used for the current silver coin of 
 France: that, at least, must be ascertainable. It is curious that in no 
 fit of Liberty and Equality, the anti Imperalists have thought of calling 
 their golden coins * Citizens ' instead of ' Napoleons* ; nor even their 
 sous, Sansculottes. 
 
 III. Some of my correspondents ask me what has become of my 
 promised additional Fors on the glaciers. Well, it got crevassed, and 
 split itself into three ; and then regelated itself into a somewhat com- 
 pact essay on glaciers ; and then got jammed up altogether, because I 
 found that the extremely scientific Professor Tyndall had never dis- 
 tinguished the quality of viscosity from plasticity, (or the consistence 
 of honey from that of butter,) still less the gradations of character in the 
 approach of metals, glass, or stone, to their freezing-points ; and that I 
 wasn't as clear as could be wished on some of these matters myself ; 
 and, in fact, that I had better deal with the subject seriously in my 
 Oxford lectures than in Fors^ which I hope to do this next autumn, 
 after looking again at the riband structure of the Brenva. Meantime, 
 here— out of I don't know what paper, (I wish my correppondents 
 would always cross the slips they cut out with the paper's name and date, ) 
 — is a lively account of the present state of affairs, with a compliment to 
 Professor Tyndall on his style of debate, which I beg humbly to 
 endorse. 
 
 An awful battle, we regret to say, is now raging between some of 
 the most distinguished men of Science, Literature, and Art, for all 
 those three fair sisters have hurtled into the Homeric fray. The com- 
 batants on one side are Professors G. Forbes, Tait, and Ruskin, with 
 Mr. Alfred Wills, and on the other — alone, but fearless and undismayed 
 — the great name of Tyndall. The cama teterrima IxUi is in itself a 
 cold and unlikely one — namely, the glaciers of Switzerland ; but fiercer 
 the fight could not be, we grieve to state, if the question of eternal 
 punishment, with all its fiery accessory scenery, were under discussion. 
 We have no rash intention of venturing into that terrible battle-ground 
 where Professor Ruskin is laying about him with his Fars C'avigern^ 
 and where Professor Tait, like another Titan, hurls wiMly into the 
 affrighted air such epithets as * contemptible,' 'miserable,' * disgusting,' 
 ' pernicious,* * pestilent.' These adjectives, for anything that ignorant 
 journalists can know, may mean, in Scotch scientific parlance, everything 
 that is fair, chivalrous, becoming, and measured in argument. Bub, 
 merely from the British instinct of fair play which does not like to see 
 four against one, and without venturing a single word about the glaciers, 
 we cannot help remarking how much more consistent with the dignity 
 of science appears Professor Tyndall s answer in the last number of the 
 
23^ 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 Contemporary Review. If it be true that the man who keeps his tem- 
 per is generally in the right, we shall decidedly back Mr. Tyndall and 
 the late lamented Agassiz in the present dreadful conflict. Speaking-, 
 for instance, of those same furious adjectives which we have culled 
 from the literary parterre of Professor Tait, Dr. Tyndall sweetly says, 
 ' The spirit which prompts them may, after all, be but a local distortion 
 of that noble force of heart which answered the Cameron*s Gathering 
 at Waterloo ; carried the Black Watch to Coomassie ; and which has 
 furnished Scotland with the materials of an immortal history. Still, 
 rudeness is not independence, bluster is not strength, nor is coarseness 
 courage. We have won the human understanding from the barbarism 
 of the past ; but we have won along with it the dignity, courtesy, and 
 truth of civilized life. And the man who on the platform or in the 
 press does violence to this ethical side of human nature discharges but 
 an imperfect duty to the public, whatever the qualities of his under- 
 standing may be. ' This, we humbly think, is how men of science ought 
 to talk when they quarrel — if they quarrel at all." 
 
 I hope much to profit by this lesson. I have not my School for 
 Scandal by me — but I know where to find it the minute I get home; 
 and I'll do my best. The man who," etc. etc.; — yes, I think I can 
 manage it. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 235 
 
 LETTER XLIV. 
 
 Rome, (Sth June^ 1874. 
 The poor Campagna herdsman, whose seeking for St. 
 Paul's statue the Professor of Fine Art in the University of 
 Oxford so disgracefully failed to assist him in, had been 
 kneeling nearer the line of procession of the Corpus Domini 
 than I ; — in fact, quite among the rose-leaves which had 
 been strewed for a carpet round the aisles of the Basilica 
 I grieve to say that I was shy of the rose-bestrewn path, 
 myself ; for the crowd waiting at the side of it had mixed 
 up the rose-leaves with spittle so richly as to make quite a 
 pink pomatum of them. And, indeed, the living temples of 
 the Holy Ghost which in any manner bestir them.selves here 
 among the temples, — whether of Roman gods or Christian 
 saints, — have merely and simply the two great operations 
 upon them of filling their innermost adyta with dung, and 
 making their pavements slippery with spittle : the Pope's 
 new tobacco manufactory under the Palatine, — an infinitely 
 more important object now, in all views of Rome from the 
 west, than either the Palatine or the Capitol, — greatly aiding 
 and encouraging this especial form of lustration : while the 
 still more ancient documents of Egyptian religion — the obe- 
 lisks of the Piazza del Popolo, and of the portico of St. 
 Peter's — are entirely eclipsed by the obelisks of our English 
 religion, lately elevated, in full view from the Pincian and 
 the Montorio, with smoke coming out of the top of them. 
 And farther, the entire eastern district of Rome, between 
 the two Basilicas of the Lateran and St. Lorenzo, is now one 
 mass of volcanic ruin ; — a desert of dust and ashes, the lust 
 of wealth exploding there, out of a crater deeper than Etna's, 
 and raging, as far as it can reach, in one frantic desolation 
 of whatever is lovely, or holy, or memorable, in the central 
 citv of the world. 
 
236 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 For there is one fixed idea in the mind of every European 
 progressive politician, at this time ; namely, that by a certain 
 application of Financial Art, and by the erection of a certain 
 quantity of nev^ buildings on a colossal scale, it will be pos- 
 sible for society hereafter to pass its entire life in eating, 
 smoking, harlotry, and talk ; without doing anything what- 
 ever with its hands or feet of a laborious character. And a« 
 these new buildings, whose edification is a main article of 
 this modern political faith and hope, — (being required for 
 gambling and dining in on a large scale), — cannot be raised 
 without severely increased taxation of the poorer classes, 
 (here in Italy direct, and in all countries consisting in the 
 rise of price in all articles of food — wine alone in Italy cost- 
 ing just ten times what it did ten years ago,) and this in- 
 creased taxation and distress are beginning to be felt too 
 grievously to be denied ; nor only so, but — which is still less 
 agreeable to modern politicians — with slowly dawning per- 
 ception of their true causes, — one finds also the popular 
 journalists, for some time back addressing themselves to the 
 defence of Taxation, and Theft in general, after this fashion. 
 
 "The wealth in the world may practically be regarded as 
 infinitely great. It is not true that what one man appro- 
 priates becomes thereupon useless to others, and it is also un- 
 true that force or fraud, direct or indirect, are the principal, 
 or, indeed, that they are at all common or important, modes 
 of acquiring wealth." — Pall Mall Gazette, Jan. 14th, 18G9. * 
 
 * The passage continues thus, curiously enough, — for the parallel of 
 the boat at sea is precisely that which I have given, in true explanation 
 of social phenomena: — 
 
 The notion that when one man becomes rich he makes others poor, 
 will be found upon examination to depend upon the assumption that 
 there is in the world a fixed quantity of wealth ; that when one man ap- 
 propriates to himself a large amount of it, he excludes all others from 
 any benefit arising from it, and that at the same time he forces some 
 one else to be content with less than he would otherwise have had. 
 Society, in short, must be compared to a boat at sea, in which there is 
 a certain quantity of fresh water, and a certain number of shipwrecked 
 passengers. In that case, no doubt, the water drunk by one is of no use 
 to the rest, and if one drinks more, others must drink less, as the water 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGERA, 
 
 237 
 
 The philosophical journalist, after some farther contemptu- 
 ous statement of the vulgar views on this subject, conven- 
 iently dispenses (as will be seen by reference to the end of 
 the clause in the note) with the defence of his own. I will 
 undertake the explanation of what was, perhaps, even to 
 himself, not altogether clear in his impressions. If a burglar 
 ever carries off the Editor's plate-basket, the bereaved Editor 
 will console himself bv reflectiiiof tliat it is not true that 
 what one man appropriates becomes thereupon useless to 
 others : " — for truly, (lie will thus proceed to finer investi- 
 gations,) this plate of mine, melted down, after being tran- 
 sitionally serviceable to the burglar, will enter again into the 
 same functions among the silver of the world which it had in 
 my own possession : so that the intermediate benefit to the 
 burglar may be regarded as entirely a form of trade profit, 
 and a kind of turning over of capital. And " it is also untrue 
 that force or fraud, direct or indirect, are the principal, or in- 
 deed that they are at all common or important, modes of ac- 
 quiring wealth," — for this poor thief, with his crow-bar and 
 jimmy, does but disfurnish my table for a day ; while I, with 
 my fluent pen, can replenish it any number of times over, by 
 the beautiful expression of my opinions for the public bene- 
 fit. But what manner of fraud, or force, there may be in 
 living by the sale of one's opinions, instead of knowledges ; 
 and what quantity of true knowledge on any subject whatso- 
 ever — moral, political, scientific, or artistic — forms at pres- 
 ent the total stock in trade of the Editors of the European 
 Press, our Pall Mall Editor has very certainly not considered. 
 
 "The wealth in the w^orld practically infinite," — is it? 
 Then it seems to me, the poor may ask, with more reason than 
 ever before, Why have we not our share of infinity ? Wo 
 thought, poor ignorants, that we were only the last in the 
 scramble ; we submitted, believing that somebody must be 
 
 itself is a fixed quantity. Moreover, no one man would be able to get 
 more than a rateable share, except by superior force, or by some form 
 of deceit, because the others would ])revent him. The mere statement 
 of this view ought lo be a sufficient exposure of the fundamental ep 
 ror of the commonplacea which we are considering. 
 
238 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 last, and somebody first. But if the mass of good things be 
 inexhaustible, and there are horses for everybody, — why is 
 not every beggar on horseback ? And, for my own part, 
 why should the question be put to me so often, — which I am 
 sick of answering and answering again, — " How, with our 
 increasing population, are we to live without Machinery ? " 
 For if the wealth be already infinite, what need of machinery 
 to make more ? Alas ! if it could make more, what a differ- 
 ent world this might be. Arkwright and Stevenson would 
 deserve statues, indeed, — as much as St. Paul. If all the 
 steam engines in England, and all the coal in it, with all 
 their horse and ass power put together, could produce — so 
 much as one grain of corn ! The last time this perpetually 
 recurring question about machinery was asked me, it was 
 very earnestly and candidly pressed, by a master manu- 
 facturer, who honestly desired to do in his place what was 
 serviceable to England, and honourable to himself. I an- 
 swered at some length, in private letters, of which I asked 
 and obtained his leave to print some parts in Fors, They 
 may as well find their place in this number ; and for preface 
 to them, here is a piece, long kept by me, concerning rail- 
 roads, which may advisably now be read. 
 
 Of modern machinery for locomotion, my readers, I sup- 
 pose, thought me writing in ill-temper, when I said, in one 
 of the letters on the childhood of Scott, infernal means of 
 locomotion " ? Indeed, I am ahvays, compelled to write, as 
 always compelled to live, in ill-temper. But I never set down 
 a single word but with the serenest purpose. I meant " in- 
 fernal " in the most perfect sense the word will bear. 
 
 For instance. The town of Ulverstone is twelve miles from 
 me, by four miles of mountain road beside Coniston lake, 
 three through a pastoral valley, five by the seaside. A 
 healthier or lovelier walk would be difficult to find. 
 
 In old times, if a Coniston peasant had' any business at 
 Ulverstone, he walked to Ulverstone ; spent nothing but 
 shoe-leather on the road, drank at the streams, and if he 
 spent a couple of batz when he got to Ulverstone, ''it was the 
 end of the world." But now, he would never think of doing 
 
FOBS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 239 
 
 Buch a thing ! He first walks three miles in a contrary direc- 
 tion, to a railroad station, and then travels by railroad twenty- 
 four miles to Uiverstone, paying two shillings fare. During 
 the twenty-four miles transit, he is idle, dusty, stupid ; and 
 either more hot or cold than is pleasant to him. In either 
 case he drinks beer at two or three of the stations, passes 
 his time, between them, with anybody he can find, in talking 
 without having anything to talk of ; and such talk always 
 becomes vicious. He arrives at Uiverstone, jaded, half drunk, 
 and otherwise demoralized, and three shillings, at least, 
 poorer than in the morning. Of that sum, a shilling has gone 
 for beer, threepence to a railway shareholder, threepence in 
 coals, and eighteenpence has been spent in employing strong 
 men in the vile mechanical work of making and driving a 
 machine, instead of his own legs, to carry the drunken lout. 
 The results, absolute loss and demoralization to the poor, on 
 all sides, and iniquitous gain to the rich. Fancy, if you saw 
 the railway officials actually employed in carrying the country- 
 man bodily on their backs to Uiverstone, what you would 
 think of the business ! And because they waste ever so 
 much iron and fuel besides to do it, you think it a profitable 
 one ! 
 
 And for comparison of the advantages of old times aifd 
 new, for travellers of higher order, hear how Scott's excur- 
 sions used to be made. 
 
 Accordingly, during seven successive years, Scott made 
 a raid, as he called it, into Liddesdale, with Mr. Shortreed 
 for his guide, exploring every rivulet to its source, and every 
 ruined peel from foundation to battlement. At this time 
 no wheeled carriage had ever been seen in the district ; the 
 first, indeed, that ever appeared there was a gig, driven by 
 Scott himself for a part of his way, when on the last of these 
 seven excursions. There was no inn nor public-house of 
 any kind in the whole valley ; the travellers passed from the 
 shepherd's hut to the minister's manse, and again from 
 the cheerful hospitality of the manse to the rough and jolly 
 welcome of the homestead ; gathering, wherever they went, 
 songs and tunes, and occasionally more tangible relics of 
 
240 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 antiquity— even such ' a rowth of auld nicknackets ' as Burna 
 ascribes to Captain Grose. To these rambles Scott owed 
 much of the materials of his Minstrelsy of the Scottish 
 Border ; and not less of that intimate acquaintance with 
 the living manners of these unsophisticated regions, which 
 constitutes the chief charm of the most charming of his 
 prose works. But how soon he had any definite object be- 
 fore him in his researches seems very doubtful. *He was 
 makin* himsel* a' the time/ said Mr. Shortreed ; ' but he didna 
 ken maybe what he was about, till years had passed. At 
 first he thought o' little, I dare say, but the queerness and 
 the fun.' 
 
 " ' It was that same season, I think,' says Mr. Shortreed, 
 Hhat Sir Walter got from Dr. Elliot the large old border 
 war horn, which ye may still see hanging in the armoury at 
 Abbotsford. How great he was when he was made master 
 o' that ! I believe it had been found in Hermitage Castle — • 
 and one of the doctor's servants had used it many a day as 
 a grease-horn for his scythe before they had discovered its 
 history. When cleaned out, it was never a hair tlie worse ; 
 the original chain, hoop, and mouthpiece of steel were all 
 entire, just as you now see them. Sir Walter carried it 
 home all the way from Liddesdale to Jedburgh slung about 
 his neck like Johnny Gilpin's bottle, while I was entrusted 
 with an ancient bridle-bit, which we had likewise picked up. 
 
 " The feint o' pride — nae pride had he, . . . 
 A lang kail-gully hung down by his side, 
 And a great meikle nowt-hom to rout on had he." 
 
 And meikle and sair we routed on't, and botched and blew 
 vvi' micht and main." O wliat pleasant days ! and then «' 
 the no7isense toe had cost us Jiothing, We never put hand in 
 pocket for a week on end. Toll-bars there were none, and 
 indeed I think our haill charsres v/ere a feed o' corn to our 
 horses in the gangin' and comin' at Riccartoun mill.'" 
 
 This absolute economy, * of course, could only exist when 
 
 * The reader might at first fancy that the economy was not *abso» 
 lut«,' but that the expenses of the' traveller were simply borne by his 
 
FOBS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 241 
 
 travelling was so rare that patriarchal hospitality could still 
 be trusted for its lodging. But the hospitality of the inn 
 need not be less considerate or true because the inn*s master 
 lives in his occupation. Even in these days, I have had no 
 more true or kind friend than the now dead Mrs. Eisenkrae- 
 mer of the old Union Inn at Chamouni ; and an innkeeper's 
 daughter in the Oberland taught me that it was still possible 
 for a Swiss girl to be refined, imaginative, and pure-hearted, 
 though she waited on her father's guests, and though these 
 guests were often vulgar and insolent English travellers. 
 For she had been bred in the rural districts of happy olden 
 days, — to which, as it chances, my thoughts first turned, in 
 the following answer to my English manufacturing friend. 
 
 On any given farm in Switzerland or Bavaria, fifty years 
 ago, the master and his servants lived, in abundance, on the 
 produce of their ground, without machinery, and exchanged 
 some of its surplus produce for Lyons velvet and Hartz sil- 
 ver, (produced by the unhappy mechanists and miners of 
 those localities,) whereof the happy peasant made jackets 
 and bodices, and richly adorned the same with precious 
 chain-work. It is not more than ten years since I saw in 
 a farm-shed near Thun, three handsome youths and three 
 comely girls, all in well-fitting, pretty, and snow-white shirt 
 and chemisette, threshing corn with a steady shower of 
 timed blows, as skilful in their — cadence, shall we, literally, 
 say ? — as the most exquisitely performed music, and as 
 rapid as its swiftest notes. There was no question for any 
 of them, whether they should have their dinner when they 
 had earned it, nor the sliglitest chance of any of them going 
 in rafjs throuoh the winter. 
 
 That is entirely healthy, happy, and wise human life. Not 
 a theoretical or Utopian state at all ; but one which over large 
 districts of the world has long existed, and must, thank God, 
 
 host. Not so ; the host only gave what he in his turn received, when 
 he also travelled. Every man thus carried his home with him, and to 
 travel, was merely to walk or ride from place to place, instead of round 
 one's own house. (See Saunders Fairford's expostulation with Alan 
 on the charg:e8 incurred at Noble House.) 
 Vol. II.— 16 
 
242 
 
 FORS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 in spite of British commerce and its consequences, for ever, 
 somewhere, exist. 
 
 But the farm, we will say, gets over-populous, (it always 
 does, of course, under ordinary circumstances ;) that is to say, 
 the ground no longer affords corn and milk enough for the 
 people on it. Do you suppose you will make more of tlie 
 corn, because vou now thresh it with a machine ? So far 
 from needing to do so, you have more hands to employ than 
 you had — can have twelve flails going instead of six. You 
 liiake your twelve human creatures stand aside, and thresh 
 your corn with a steam engine. You gain time, do you ? 
 What's the use of time to you ? did it not hang heavy 
 eiiough on your hands before ? You thresh your entire farm 
 produce, let us say, in twelve minutes. Will that make it 
 one grain more, to feed the twelve mouths ? Most assuredly, 
 the soot and stench of your steam engine will make your crop 
 less next year, but not one grain more can you have, to-day.* 
 But you don't mean to use your engines to thresh with or 
 plough with ? Well, that is one point of common sense 
 gained. What will you do with them, then ? — spin and weave 
 cotton, sell the articles you manufacture, and buy food ? Very 
 good ; then somewhere there must be people still living as 
 you once did, — that is to say, producing more corn and milk 
 than they want, and able to give it to you in exchange for 
 your cotton, or velvet, or what not, which you weave with 
 your steam. Well, those people, wherever they are, and who- 
 ever they may be, are your lords and masters thenceforth. 
 They are living happy and wise human lives, and are served 
 by you, their mechanics and slaves. Day after day your souls 
 will become more mechanical, more servile : also you will go 
 on multiplying, wanting more food, and more ; you will have 
 to sell cheaper and cheaper, work longer and longer, to buy 
 your food. At last, do what you can, you can make no more, 
 or the people who have the corn will not want any more ; and 
 
 * But what is to be done, then ? Emigrate, of course ; but under 
 different laws from those of modern emigration. Don't emigrate to 
 China, poison Chinamen, and teach them to make steam engines, and 
 then import Chinamen, to dig iron here. But see next Fors, 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 243 
 
 your increasing population will necessarily come to a quite 
 imperative stop — by starvation, preceded necessarily by revo- 
 lution and massacre. 
 
 And now examine the facts about England in this broad 
 light. 
 
 She has a vast quantity of ground still food-producing, in 
 corn, grass, cattle, or game. With that territory slie educates 
 her squire, or typical gentleman, and iiis tenantry, to whom, 
 together, she owes all her power in the world. With another 
 large portion of territory, — now continually on the increase, 
 — she educates a mercenary population, i-eady to produce any 
 quantity of bad articles to anybody's order ; population which 
 every hour that passes over them makes acceleratingly ava- 
 ricious, immoral, and insane. In the increase of that kind of 
 territory and its people, her ruin is just as certain as if she 
 were deliberately exchanging her corn-growing land, and lier 
 heaven above it, for a soil of arsenic, and rain of nitric acid. 
 
 " Have the Arkwrights and Stevensons, then, done nothing 
 but harm ? " Nothing ; but the root of all the mischief is not 
 in Arkwrights or Stevensons ; nor in rogues or mechanics. 
 The real root of it is the crime of the squire himself. And 
 the method of that crime is thus. A certain quantity of the 
 food produced by the country is paid annually by it into the 
 squire's hand, in the form of rent, privately, and taxes, pub- 
 licly. If he uses this food to support a food-producing popu- 
 lation, he increases daily the strength of the country and his 
 own ; but if he uses it to support an idle population, or one 
 producing merely trinkets in iron, or gold, or other rubbish, 
 he steadily weakens the country, and debases himself. 
 
 Now the action of the squire for the last fifty years has 
 been, broadly, to take the food from the ground of his estate, 
 and carry it to London, where he feeds with it * a vast num- 
 
 * The writings of our vulgar political economists, calling money only 
 a * medium of exchange,* blind the foolish public conveniently to all the 
 practical actions of the machinery of the currency. Money is not a 
 medium of exchange, but a token of right. I have, suppose, at this 
 moment, ten, twenty, or thirty thousand pounds. That signifies that, 
 as compared with a man who has only ten pounds, I can claim posses- 
 
FORS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 ber of builders, upholsterers, (one of them charged me five 
 pounds for a footstool the other day,) carriage and harness 
 makers, dress-makers, grooms, footmen, bad musicians, bad 
 painters, gamblers, and harlots, and in supply of the wants of 
 these main classes, a vast number of shopkeepers of minor 
 useless articles. The muscles and the time of this enormous 
 population being wholly unproductive — (for of course time 
 spent in the mere process of sale is unproductive, and much 
 more that of the footman and groom, while that of the vulgar 
 upholsterer, jeweller, fiddler, and painter, etc., etc., is not 
 only unproductive, but mischievous,) — the entire mass of this 
 London population do nothing whatever either to feed or 
 clothe themselves ; and their vile life preventing them from 
 all rational entertainment, they are compelled to seek some 
 pastime in a vile literature, the demand for which again oc- 
 cupies another enormous class, who do nothing to feed or 
 dress themselves ; finally, the vain disputes of this vicious 
 population give employment to the vast industry of the law- 
 yers and their clerks,* who similarly do nothing to feed or 
 dress themselves. 
 
 Now the peasants might still be able to supply this enor- 
 mous town population with food, (in the form of the squire's 
 rent,) but it cannot, without machinery, supply the flimsy 
 dresses, toys, metal work, and other rubbish belonging to their 
 accursed life. Hence over the whole country the sky is black- 
 ened and the air made pestilent, to supply London and other 
 such towns "I* with their iron railings, vulgar upholstery, 
 
 sion of, call for, and do what I like with a thousand, or two thousand, 
 or three thousand times as much of the valuable things existing in the 
 country. The peasant accordingly gives the squire a certain number of 
 these tokens or counters, which give the possessor a right to claim so 
 much corn or meat. The squire gives these tokens to the various per- 
 sons in town, enumerated in the text, who then claim the corn and meat 
 from the peasant, returning him the counters, which he calls ' price,* 
 and gives to the squire again next year. 
 
 * Of the industry of the Magistrate against crime, I say nothing ; foi 
 it now scarcely exists, but to do evil. See first article in Correspond- 
 ence, at end of letter. 
 
 f Compare, especially, Letter XXIX. , p. 418. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGEBA. 245 
 
 jewels, toys, liveries, lace, and other means of dissipation 
 and dishonour of life. Gradually the country people cannot 
 even supply food to the voracity of the vicious centre ; and 
 it is necessary to import food from other countries, giv- 
 ing in exchange any kind of commodity we can attract their 
 itching desires for, and produce by machinery. The ten- 
 dency of the entire national energy is therefore to approxi- 
 mate more and more to the state of a squirrel in a cage, or 
 a turnspit in a wheel, fed by foreign masters with nuts and 
 dog's-meat. And indeed when we rightly conceive the re- 
 lation of London to the country, the sight of it becomes 
 more fantastic and wonderful than any dream, Hyde Park, 
 in the season, is the great rotatory form of the vast squirrel- 
 cage ; round and round it go the idle company, in their re- 
 versed streams, urging themselves to their necessary exer- 
 cise. They cannot with safety even eat their nuts, without 
 so much * revolution' as shall, in Venetian language, * com- 
 ply with the demands of hygiene.' Then they retire into 
 their boxes, with due quantity of straw ; the Belgravian 
 and Piccadillian streets outside the railings being, when one 
 sees clearly, nothing but the squirrel's box at the side of 
 his wires. And then think of all the rest of the metropolis 
 as the creation and ordinance of these squirrels, that they 
 may squeak and whirl to their satisfaction, and yet be fed. 
 Measure the space of its entirely miserable life. Begin with 
 that diagonal which I struck from Kegent Circus to Drury 
 Lane ; examine it, house by house ; then go up from Drury 
 Lane to St. Giles' Church, look into Church Lane there, and 
 explore your Seven Dials and Warwick Street ; and remem- 
 ber this is the very centre of the mother city, — precisely 
 between its Parks, its great Library and Museum, its princi- 
 pal Theatres, and its Bank. Then conceive the East-end ; 
 and the melancholy Islington and Pentonville districts ; 
 then the ghastly spaces of southern suburb — Vauxhall, 
 Lambeth, the Borough, Wapping, and Bermondsey. All 
 this is the nidification of those Park Squirrels. This is 
 the thing they have produced round themselves ; this their 
 work in the world. When they rest from their squirrellian 
 
246 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 revolutions, and die in the Lord, and their works do follo\^ 
 them, these are what will follow them. Lugubrious march 
 of the Waterloo Road, and the Borough, and St. Giles's ; 
 the shadows of all the Seven Dials having fetched their last 
 compass. New Jerusalem, prepared as a bride, of course, 
 opening her gates to them ; — but, pertinaciously attendant, 
 Old Jewry outside. Their works do follow them." 
 
 For these streets are indeed what they have built ; 
 their inhabitants the people they have chosen to educate. 
 They took the bread and milk and meat from the people of 
 their fields ; they gave it to feed, and retain here in their 
 service, this fermenting mass of unhappy human beings, 
 — news-mongers, novel-mongers, picture-mongers, poison- 
 drink-mongers, lust and death-mongers ; the whole smoking 
 mass of it one vast dead-marine storeshop, — accumulation of 
 wreck of the Dead Sea, with every activity in it, a form of 
 putrefaction. 
 
 Some personal matters were touched upon in my friend's 
 reply to this letter, and I find nothing more printable of the 
 correspondence but this following fragment or two. 
 
 " But what are you to do, having got into this mechanical 
 line of life?" 
 
 You must persevere in it, and do the best you can for the 
 present, but resolve to get out of it as soon as may be. The 
 one essential point is to know thoroughly that it is wrong ; 
 how to get out of it, you can decide afterwards, at your lei- 
 sure. 
 
 But somebody must weave by machinery, and dig in 
 mines : else how could one have one's velvet and silver 
 chains ? " 
 
 Whatever machinery is needful for human purposes can 
 be driven by wind or water ; the Thames alone could drive 
 mills enough to weave velvet and silk for all England. But 
 even mechanical occupation not involving pollution of the 
 atmosphere must be as limited as possible ; for it invariably 
 degrades. You may use your slave in your silver mine, or 
 at your loom, to avoid such labour yourself, if you honestly 
 believe you have brains to be better employed ; — or you 
 
FORS GLAVIGEEA. 
 
 247 
 
 may yourself, for the service of others, honourably become 
 tlieir slav^e ; and, in benevolent degradation, dig silver or 
 weave silk, making yourself semi-spade, or semi-worm. But 
 you must eventually, for no purpose or motive whatsoever, 
 live amidst smoke and filth, nor allow others to do so ; you 
 must see that your slaves are as comfortable and safe as 
 their employment permits, and that they are paid wages 
 high enough to allow them to leave it often for redemption 
 and rest. 
 
 Eventually, I say ; — how fast events may move, none of us 
 know ; in our compliance with them, let us at least be intel- 
 ligently patient — if at all ; not blindly patient. 
 
 For instance, there is nothing really more monstrous in 
 any recorded savagery or absurdity of mankind, than that 
 governments should be able to get money for any folly they 
 choose to commit, by selling to capitalists the right of tax- 
 ing future generations to the end of time. All tlie cruellest 
 wars inflicted, all the basest luxuries grasped by the idle 
 classes, are thus paid for by the poor a hundred times over. 
 And yet I am obliged to keep my money in the funds or the 
 bank, because I know no other mode of keeping it safe ; 
 and if I refused to take the interest, 1 should only throw it 
 into the hands of the very people who would use it for these 
 evil purposes, or, at all events, for less good than I can. 
 Nevertheless it is daily becoming a more grave question 
 with me what it may presently be right to do. It may be 
 better to diminish private charities, and much more, my own 
 luxury of life, than to comply in any sort with a national sin. 
 But I am not agitated or anxious in the matter : content to 
 know my principle, and to work steadily towards better ful- 
 filment of it. 
 
 And this is all that I would ask of my correspondent, or 
 of any other man, — that he should know what he is about, 
 and be steady in his line of advance or retreat. I know my- 
 self to be a usurer as long as I take interest on any money 
 whatsoever. I confess myself such, and abide whatever 
 shame or penalty may attach to usury, nntil I can withdraw 
 myself from the system. So my correspondent says he must 
 
248 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 abide by his post. I think so too. A naval captain, though 
 I should succeed in persuading him of the wickedness of 
 war, would in like manner, if he were wise, abide at his post ; 
 nay, would be entirely traitorous and criminal if he at once 
 deserted it. Only let us all be sure what our positions are ; 
 and if, as it is said, the not living by interest and the reso- 
 lutely making everything as good as can be, are incompatible 
 with the present state of society, let us, though compelled to 
 remain usurers and makers of bad things, at least not deceive 
 ourselves as to the nature of our acts and life. 
 
 Leaving thus the personal question, how the great courses 
 of life are to be checked or changed, to each man's conscience 
 and discretion, — this following answer I w^ould make in all 
 cases to the inquiry, * What can I do?"* 
 
 If the present state of this so-called rich England is so 
 essentially miserable and poverty-stricken that honest men 
 must always live from hand to mouth, while speculators make 
 fortunes by cheating them out of their labour, and if, there- 
 fore, no sum can be set aside for charity, — the paralyzed 
 honest men can certainly do little for the present. But, 
 with what can be spared for charity, if a/^ything, do this ; 
 buy ever so small a bit of ground, in the midst of the worst 
 back deserts of our manufacturing towns ; six feet square, 
 if no more can be had, — nay, the size of a grave, if you will, 
 but buy \t freehold^ and make a garden of it, by hand-labour ; 
 a garden visible to all men, and cultivated for all men of 
 that place. If absolutely nothing will grow in it, then have 
 herbs carried there in pots. Force the bit of ground into 
 order, cleanliness, green or coloured aspect. What difficulties 
 you have in doing this are your best subjects of thought ; 
 the good you will do in doing this, the best in your present 
 power. 
 
 What the best in your ultimate power may be, will depend 
 on the action of the English landlord ; for observe, we have 
 only to separate the facts of the Swiss farm to ascertain what 
 they are with respect to any state. We have only to ask 
 what quantity of food it produces, how much it exports in 
 exchange for other articles, and how much it imports in ex* 
 
F0R8 GLAVIGERA. 249 
 
 change for other articles. The food-producing countries 
 have the power of educating gentlemen and gentlewomen if 
 they please, — they are the lordly and masterful countries. 
 Those which exchange mechanical or artistic productions for 
 food are servile, and necessarily in process of time will be 
 ruined. Next I^ors, therefore, will be written for any Land- 
 lords who wish to be true Workmen in their vocation ; and, 
 according to the first law of the St. George's Company, 'to 
 do good work, whether they die or live.' 
 
250 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEUA. 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 I COMMEND the whole of the following letter to the readers most 
 serious consideration : — 
 
 Broxbourn, Herts, 11th June, 1874. 
 
 My dear Sir, — You are so tolerant of correspondents with grievances, 
 that I venture to say a few more words, in reply to your note about Law 
 Reform. In November next the Judicature Bill will come into operation. 
 The preamble recites this incontestable fact, ''that it is expedient to 
 make provision for the better administration of justice in England." 
 Now, the two salient features of the incessant clamour for Law lleform 
 are these — 1st, an increased conviction of the sanctity of property ; 2nd^ 
 a proportionate decrease in the estimate of human life. For years past 
 the English people have spent incalculable money and talk in trying to 
 induce Parliament to give them safe titles to their land, and sharp and 
 instant means of getting in their debts : the Land Transfer Bill is in 
 answer to this first demand, and the Judicature Bill to the second. 
 Meanwhile the Criminal Code may shift for itself ; and here we have, 
 as the outcome of centuries of vulgar national flourish about Magna 
 Charta, Habeas Corpus, and much else, the present infamous system of 
 punishing crime by pecuniary penalties. Now the spirit of this evil 
 system is simply this : "A crime is an offence against society. Making 
 the criminal, suffer pain won't materially benefit society, but making 
 him suffer in his pocket will ; '' and so society elects to be battered 
 about, and variously maltreated, on a sliding scale of charges, adjusted 
 more on medical than moral principles. No doubt it is very desirable 
 to have a title-deed to your thousand acres, no bigger than the palm of 
 your hand, to be able to put it in a box, and sit upon it, and defy all 
 the lawyers in the land to pick a flaw in your title ; quite a millenium- 
 like state of things, but liable to be somewhat marred if your next-door 
 neighbour may knock you off your box, stab you with a small pocket- 
 knife, and jump on your stomach, all with grievous damage to you, but 
 comparative immunity to himself. We are one day to have cheap law, 
 meanwhile we have such cheap crime that injuries to the person are 
 now within the reach of all. I may be a villain of the first water, if I 
 have a few spare pounds in my pocket. From a careful survey of lately 
 reported cases, I find I can run away with my neighbour's wife, seduce 
 his daughter, half poison his household with adulterated food, and 
 finally stab him with a pocket-knife for rather less than £1000. Stab- 
 bing is so ridiculously cheap that I can indulge in it for a trifling pen- 
 alty of £1. (See Southall's case,) But woe be to me if I dare to en- 
 croach on my neighbour's land, prejudice his trade, or touch his pocket ; 
 then the law has remedies, vast and many, and I shall not only incur 
 pecuniary penalties that are to all effects and purpose limitless, but I 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 251 
 
 shall be mac^e to suffer in person also. These two things are exactly 
 indicative of the gradual decay of the national mind under the influ- 
 ence of two schools. The first teaches that man's primary object in life 
 is to get on in the world ; ^* hence we have this exaggerated estimate 
 of the value and sanctity of property. The second school teaches that 
 love can exist without reverence, mercy without justice, and liberty 
 without obedience ; and as the logical result of such teaching, we have 
 lost all clear and healthy knowledge of what justice really is, and in- 
 vent a system of punishments which is not even reUly punitive, and 
 without any element of retribution at all. Let us have instead a jus- 
 tice that not only condones the crime, but also makes a profit out of 
 the criminal. And we get her; but note the irony of Fate: when our 
 modern goddess doe-'i pluck up heart to be angry, she seems doomed to 
 be angry in th^ wrong way, and with the wrong people. Here is a late 
 instance (the printed report of which 1 send you): — 
 
 William Ilawkes^ a blind man and very infirm, was brought up, hav- 
 ing been committed from Marlborough Street, to be dealt with as a 
 rogue and vagabond. 
 
 On being placed in the dock, 
 
 Mr. Montaa^u Williams, as amicus curice^ said he had known the pris- 
 oner for years, from seeing him sitiing on Waterloo liridge tracing his 
 fingers over a book designed for the blind to read, and in no instance 
 had he seen him beg from those who passed by. so that lie was practi- 
 cally doing no harm, and some time ago the late Sir William Bodkin 
 had dealt very mercifully with him. Something ought to be done for 
 him. 
 
 Mr. Harris said he could corroborate all that his learned friend had 
 stated. 
 
 The Assistant-Judge said he had been convicted by the magistrate, 
 and was sent here to be sentenced as a rogue and vagabond, bfit the 
 Court iDould not deal hardly iclth him. 
 
 Horsford, chief officer of the Mendicity Society, said the prisoner 
 had been frequently convicted for begging. 
 
 The Assistant- Judge sentenced hiui to be imprisoned for four months. 
 —May, 1874. 
 
 The other day I was reading a beautiful Eastern story of a certain 
 blind man who sat by the wayside begging; clearly a very importunate 
 and troublesome blind man, who would by no means hold his peace, 
 but who, nevertheless, had his heart's desire granted unto him at last. 
 And yesterday I was also reading a very unlovely Western story of an- 
 other blind man, who was very infirm," not at all importunate, did 
 not even beg; only sat there by the roadside and read out of a certain 
 Book that has a great deal to say about justice and mercy. The sequel 
 of the two stories varies considerably : in this latter one our civilized 
 English Law clutches the old blind man by the throat, tells him he is 
 a rogue and a vagabond, and flings him into prison for four months ! 
 
 But our enlightened British Public is too busy clamouring for short 
 deeds and cheap means of litigation, ever to give thought or time to 
 mere sentimental grievances." Have you seen the strange comment 
 on Carlyle's letter oi' some months ngo, in which he prophesied evil 
 things to come, if England still persisted in doing her work '* ill, swiftly, 
 
252 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 and mendaciously " ? Our export trade, for the first five months of 
 this year, shows a decrease of just eight millions ! The newspapers 
 note, with a horrified amazement, that the continental nations decline 
 dealing any longer at the old shop," and fall back on home products, 
 and try to explain it by reference to the Capital and Labour question. 
 Carlyle forCvSaw Germany's future, and told us plainly of it ; he foresees^ 
 England's decadence, and warns us just as plainly of that ; and the 
 price we have aiready paid, in this 3'ear of grace 1874, for telling him 
 to hold his tongue, is just eight millions. 
 
 Yours sincerely. 
 
 Next, or next but one, to the Vors for the squires, will come that for 
 the lawyers. In the meantime, can any correspondent inform me, ap- 
 proximately, what the income and earnings of the legal profession are 
 annually in England, and what sum is spent in collateral expenses for 
 juries, witnesses, etc. ? The Times for May 18th of this year gives the 
 following estimate of the cost of the Tichborne trial, which seems to 
 me very moderate : — 
 
 The Trial of the Tichborne Claimant. —On Saturday a return 
 to the House of Commons, obtained by Mr. W. H. Smith, was printed, 
 showing the amount expended upon the prosecution in the case of Ee- 
 ginav. Castro, otherwise Orton, otherwise Tichborne," and the probable 
 amount still remaining to be paid out of the vote of Parliament for 
 
 this service." The probable cost of the trial is stated at £55,315 17«. 
 Id, of which £49,815 Vis. \d. had been paid up to the 11th ult., and 
 on the 11th of May inst. £5,500 remained unpaid. In 1873-3 counsels' 
 fees were £1,146 I6.9. M., and in 1873-4 counsels' fees were £22,495 
 18s. ^cL The jury were paid £3,780, and the shorthand writers £3,493 
 3c?. The other expenses were witnesses, agents, etc., and law station- 
 ers and printing. Of the sum to be paid, £4,000 is for the Australian 
 and Chilian witnesses. — Times ^ May 18, 1874. 
 
 II. I reprint the following letter as it was originally published. I 
 meant to have inquired into the facts a little farther, but have not had 
 time. 
 
 21, Mincing Lane, London, E. C, 
 19^A March, 1874. 
 Dear Sirs, — On the 27th March, 1872, we directed your attention to 
 the subject of Usury in a paper headed " Choose you this day whom 
 YE WILL SERVE." We have since published our correspondence with 
 the Rev. Dr. Gumming, and we take his silence as an acknowledg- 
 ment of his inability to justify his teaching upon this subject. We 
 have also publicly protested against the apathy of the Bishops and 
 Clergy of the Established Church regarding this national sin. We now 
 append an extract from the Hampshire Inde'pendent of the lltb instant, 
 which has been forwarded to us : — 
 
 " The Church of England in South Australia is in active competition 
 with the money changers and those who sell doves. The Church 
 Office, Leigh Street, Adelaide, advertises that ' it is prepared to lend 
 
FOBS GLAVIOERA. 
 
 263 
 
 money at current rates — no commission or brokerage charged,* which 
 is really liberal on the part of the Church of England, and may serve 
 to distinguish it as a lender from the frequenters of the synagogues.* 
 It has been suggested that the Church Office should hang out 
 the triple symbol of the Lombards, and that at the next examination 
 of candidates for holy orders a few apposite questions might be 
 asked, such as — State concisely the best method of obtaining the 
 highest rate of interest for Church moneys. Demonstrate how a sys- 
 tem of Church money-lending was approved by the founder of 
 Christianity.' " 
 
 As such perverseness can only end in sudden and overwhelming 
 calamity, we make no apology for again urging you to assist as in our 
 endeavours to banish the accursed element at least from our own 
 trade. 
 
 Your obedient servants, 
 
 J. C. SiLLAR AND CO. 
 
 I put in large print — it would be almost worth capital letters — the 
 following statement of the principle of interest as ''necessary to the 
 existence of money." I suppose it is impossible to embody the modern 
 view more distinctly : — 
 
 " Money, the representation and measure of value, has also 
 the power to accumulate value by interest (italics not mine). 
 This accumulative power is essential to the existence of 
 money, for no one will exchange productive property for 
 money that does not represent production. The laws making 
 gold and silver a public tender impart to dead masses of 
 metal, as it were, life and animation. They give them 
 powers which without legal enactment they could not possess, 
 and which enable their owner to obtain for their use what 
 other men must earn by their labour. One piece of gold 
 receives a legal capability to earn for its owner, in a givcfi 
 time, another piece of gold as large as itself ; or, in other 
 words, the legal power of money to accumulate by interest 
 compel the borrower in a given period, accordirjg to the rate 
 of interest, to mine and coin, or to procure by the sale of his 
 labour or products, another lump of gold as large as the first, 
 and give it, together with the first, to the lender." — Kellogg 
 on Labour and Capital^ New York^ 1840. 
 
 ♦ It iM possible that this londinf^ office may have been organized as a nieth(>d of charity, 
 corrcapondiiip: to the original Monte di Pietii, the mtHiern clergymen having imagined, 
 in conBcqaencc of tiie commcin error about interest, that tlicy could improve the system 
 of Venice by ignoring its main couditiou— the lending gratis,— and benefit themselvefi at 
 the same time. 
 
254 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 LETTER XLV. 
 
 Lucca, 2nd August^ 1874. 
 
 The other day, in the Sacristan's cell at Assisi, I got into 
 a great argument with the Sacristan himself, about the 
 prophet Isaiah. It had struck me that I should like to 
 know what sort of a person his wife was : and I asked my 
 good host, over our morning's coffee, whether the Church 
 knew anything about her. Brother Antonio, however, in- 
 stantly and energetically denied that he ever had a wife. 
 He was a ' Castissimo profeta,' — how could I fancy anything 
 so horrible of him ! Yainly I insisted that, since he had 
 children, he must either have been married, or been under 
 special orders, like the prophet Hosea. But my Protestant 
 Bible was good for nothing, said the Sacristaii. Nay, I 
 answered, I never read, usually, in anything later than 
 a thirteenth century text ; let him produce me one out of 
 the convent library, and see if I couldn't find Shearjashub in 
 it. The discussion dropped upon this, — because the library 
 was inaccessible at the moment ; and no printed Vulgate to 
 be found. But I think of it again to-day, because 1 have 
 just got into another puzzle about Isaiah, — to wit, what he 
 means by calling himself a " man of unclean lips." * And 
 that is a vital question, surely, to all persons venturing to 
 rise up, as teachers ; — vital, at all events, to me, here, and 
 now, for these following reasons. 
 
 Thirty years ago, I began my true study of Italian, and 
 all other art, — here, beside the statue of Ilaria di Caretto, 
 recumbent on her tomb. It turned me from the study of 
 landscape to that of life, being then myself in the fullest 
 strength of labour, and joy of hope. 
 
 And I was thinking, last night, that the drawing which I 
 am now trying to make of it, in the weakness and despair of 
 
 * Read Isaiah vi. through, carefully. 
 
FORS CLAVIGEHA. 
 
 255 
 
 declining age, might possibly be the last I should make be- 
 fore quitting the study of Italian, and even all other, art, for 
 ever. 
 
 I have no intent of doing so : quite the reverse of that. 
 But I feel the separation between me and the people round 
 me, so bitterly, in the world of my own which tliey cannot 
 enter; and 1 see their entrance lo it now barred so abso- 
 lutely by their own resolves, (they liaving deliberately and 
 self-congratulatingly chosen for themselves the Manchester 
 Cotton Mill instead of the Titian,) that it becomes every 
 hour more urged upon me that I shall have to leave, — not 
 father and mother, for they have left me ; nor children, nor 
 lands, for I have none, — but at least this spiritual land and 
 fair domain of human art and natural peace, — because I am 
 a man of unclean lips, and dwell in the midst of a people of 
 unclean lips, and therefore am undone, because mine eyes 
 have seen the King, the Lord of llosts. 
 
 I say it, and boldly. Who else is there of you who can 
 stand with me, and say the same ? It is an age of progress, 
 you tell me. Is your progress chiefly in this, that you can- 
 not see the King, the Lord of Hosts, but only Baal, instead 
 of him ? 
 
 "The Sun is God," said Turner, a few weeks before he 
 died with the setting rays of it on his face. 
 
 He meant it, as Zoroaster meant it ; and was a Sun- 
 worshipper of the old breed. But the unheard-of foulness 
 of your modern faith in Baal is its being faith without 
 worship. The Sun is — )iot God, — you say. Not by any man- 
 ner of means. A gigantic railroad accident, perhaps, — a cor- 
 uscant Stvos, — put on the throne of God like a limelight ; and 
 able to serve you, eventually, much better than ever God did. 
 
 I repeat my challenge. Yon, — Te-Deum-singing princes, 
 colonels, bishops, choristers, and what else, — do any of you 
 know what Te means? or what Deum ? or what Laudamus ? 
 Have any of your eyes seen the King, or His Sabaoth ? Will 
 any of you say, with your hearts, 'Heaven and earth aro 
 full of His glory ; and in His name we will set up ouf 
 banners, and do good work, whether we live or die'? 
 
256 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGEBA. 
 
 You, in especial. Squires of England, whose fathers were 
 England's bravest and best, — by how much better and 
 braver you are than your fathers, in this Age of Progress, I 
 challenge you : Have any of your eyes seen the King ? 
 Are any of your hands ready for His work, and for His 
 weapons, — even though they should chance to be pruning- 
 hooks instead of spears ? 
 
 Who am I, that should challenge you — do you ask ? My 
 mother was a sailor's daughter, so please you ; one of my aunts 
 was a baker's wife — the other, a tanner's ; and I don't know 
 much more about my family, except that there used to be a 
 greengrocer of the name in a small shop near the Crystal 
 Palace. Something of my early and vulgar life, if it in- 
 terests you, I will tell in next Fors : in this one, it is indeed 
 my business, poor gipsy herald as I am, to bring you such 
 challenge, though you should hunt and hang me for it. 
 
 Squires, are you, and not Workmen, nor Labourers, do 
 you answer next ? 
 
 Yet, I have certainly sometimes seen engraved over your 
 family vaults, and especially on the more modern tablets, 
 those comfortf ul words, " Blessed are the dead which die in 
 the Lord." But I observe that you are usually content, 
 with the help of the village stone-mason, to say only this 
 concerning your dead ; and that you but rarely venture to 
 add the "yea" of the Spirit, "that they may rest from their 
 Labours, and their Works do follow them." Nay, I am not 
 even sure that many of you clearly apprehend the meaning 
 of such followers and following ; nor, in the most pathetic 
 funeral sermons, have I heard the matter made strictly in - 
 telligible to your hope. For indeed, though you have always 
 graciously considered your church no less essential a part of 
 your establishment than your stable, you have only been 
 solicitous that there should be no broken-winded steeds in 
 the one, without collateral endeavour to find clerks for the 
 other in w4iom the breath of the Spirit should be unbroken 
 also. 
 
 And yet it is a text which, seeing liow often we would 
 fain take the comfort of it, surely invites explanation. The 
 
FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 implied difference between those who die in the Lord, and 
 die — otherwise ; the essential distinction between the labour 
 from which these blessed ones rest, and the work which in 
 some mysterious way follows them ; and the doubt — which 
 must sometimes surely occur painfully to a sick or bereaved 
 squire — whether the labours of ills race are always severe 
 enough to make rest sweet, or the works of his race always 
 distinguished enough to make their following superb, — ought, 
 it seems to me, to cause the verse to glow on your ( lately, I 
 observe, more artistic) tombstones, like the letters on Bel- 
 shazzar's wall ; and with the more lurid and alarming light, 
 that this " following " of the works is distinctly connected, 
 in the parallel passage of Timothy, with " judgment " upon 
 the works ; and that the kinds of them which can securely 
 front such judgment, are there said to be, in some cases, 
 "manifest beforehand," and, in no case, ultimately obscure. 
 
 " It seems to me," I say, as if such questions should occur to 
 the squire during sickness, or funeral pomp. But the seem- 
 ing is far from the fact. For I suppose the last idea which is 
 likely ever to enter the mind of a representative squire, in any 
 vivid or tenable manner, would be that anything he had ever 
 done, or said, was liable to a judgment from superior pow- 
 ers ; or that any other law than his own will, or the fashion 
 of his society, stronger than his will, existed in relation 
 to the management of his estate. Whereas, according to 
 any rational interpretation of our Church's doctrine, as by 
 law established ; if there be one person- in the world rather 
 than another to whom it makes a serious difference whetlier 
 he dies in the Lord or out of Ilim ; and if there be one rather 
 than another who will have strict scrutiny made into his use 
 of every instant of his time, every syllable of liis speech, and 
 every action of his hand and foot, — on peril of having hand 
 and foot bound, and tongue scorched, in Tophet, — that re- 
 sponsible person is the British Squire. 
 
 Verv stranjie, the unconsciousness of this, in his own 
 mind, and in the minds of all belonging to him. Even the 
 greatest painter of him — the Reynolds who has filled Eng- 
 land with the ghosts of her noble squires and dames, — tliough 
 V^OL. II.— 17 
 
258 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 he ends his last lecture in the Academy with " the name of 
 Michael Angelo," never for an instant thouglit of following 
 out the purposes of Michael Angelo, and painting a Last 
 Judgment upon Squires, with the scene of it laid in Leicester- 
 shire. Appealing lords and ladies on either hand ;~Behold, 
 Lord, here is Thy land ; which I have — as far as my dis- 
 tressed circumstances would permit — laid up in a napkin. 
 Perhaps there may be a cottage or so less upon it than when 
 I came into the estate, — a tree cut down here and there im« 
 prudently ; — but the grouse and foxes are undiminished. 
 Behold, there Thou hast that is Thine." And what capac- 
 ities of dramatic effect in the cases of less prudent owners, 
 — those who had said in their hearts, My Lord delayeth 
 His comins:." Michael Ansrelo's St. Bartholomew, exhibit- 
 ing his oion skin flayed off him, awakes but a minor interest 
 in that classic picture. How many an English squire might 
 not we, with more pictorial advantag-e, see represented as 
 adorned with the flayed skins of other people ? Micah the 
 Morasthite, throned above them on the rocks of the mountain 
 of the Lord, while his Master now takes up His parable, 
 *^ Hear, I pray you, ye heads of Jacob, and ye princes of the 
 house of Israel ; Is it not for you to know judgment, who 
 also eat the flesh of my people, and flay their skin from off 
 them, and they break their bones, and chop them in pieces as 
 for the pot." 
 
 And how of the appeals on the other side? ^*Lord, Thou 
 gavest me one land ; behold, I have gained beside it ten lands 
 more." You think that an exceptionally economical landlord 
 might indeed be able to say so much for himself; and that 
 the increasing of their estates has at least been held a de- 
 sirable thing by all of them, however Fortune, and the sweet 
 thyme-scented Turf of England, might thwart their best in- 
 tentions. Indeed it is well to have coveted — much more to 
 have gained — increase of estate, in a certain manner. But 
 neither the Morasthite nor his Master have any word of praise 
 for you in appropriating surreptitiously, portions, say, of 
 Hampstead Heath, or Hayes Common, or even any bit of 
 gipsy-pot-boiling land at the roadside. Far the contrary ; 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 259 
 
 Tn that day of successful appropriation, there is one that shall 
 take up a parable against you, and say, " We be utterly 
 spoiled. He hath changed the portion of iny people ; turning 
 away, he hath divided our fields. Therefore thou shalt have 
 none that shall cast a cord by lot in the congregation of the 
 Lord." In modern words, you shall have quite unexpected 
 difficulties in getting your legal documents drawn up to your 
 satisfaction ; and truly, as you have divided the fields of the 
 poor, the poor, in their time, shall divide yours. 
 
 Nevertheless, in their deepest sense, tliose triumphant 
 words, "Behold, I have gained {reside it ten lands more," 
 must be on the lips of every landlord who honourably enters 
 into his rest ; whereas there will soon be considerable diffi- 
 culty, as I think you are beginning to perceive, not only 
 in gaining more, but even in keeping wliat you have got. 
 
 For the gipsy hunt is up also, as w^ell as Harry our King's ; 
 and the hue and cry loud against your land and you ; your 
 tenure of it is in dispute before a multiplying mob, deaf and 
 blind as you, — frantic for the spoiling of you. The British 
 Constitution is breaking fast. It neverwas, in its best days, 
 entirely what its stout owner flattered himself. Neither 
 British Constitution, nor British law, though it blanch every 
 acre with an acre of parchment, sealed with as many seals as 
 the meadow liad buttercups, can keep your landlordsliips 
 safe, henceforward, for an hour. You will have to fight 
 for them, as your fathers did, if you mean to keep them. 
 
 That is your only sound and divine right to them ; and of 
 late you seem doubtful of appeal to it. You think political 
 economy and peace societies will contrive some arithmetical 
 evangel of possession. You will not find it so. If a man is 
 not ready to fight for his land, and for his wife, no legal 
 forms can secure them to him. They can affirm his posses- 
 sion ; but neither grant, sanction, nor protect it. Toliisown 
 love, to his own resolution, the lordship is granted ; and to 
 those only. 
 
 That is the first 'labour' of landlords, then. Fierce exer- 
 cise of body and mind, in so much pugnacity as shall super- 
 sede all office of legal documents. Whatever labour you 
 
260 
 
 FOBS CLAVIQERA. 
 
 mean to put on your land, your first entirely Divine labour 
 is to keep hold of it. And are you ready for that toil to-day ? 
 It will soon be called for. Sooner or later, within the next 
 few years, you will find yourselves in Parliament in front of 
 a majority resolved on the establishment of a Republic, and 
 the division of lands. Vainly the landed millowners will 
 shriek for the " operation of natural laws of political econ- 
 omy." The vast natural law of carnivorous rapine which 
 they have declared their Baal-God, in so many words, will be 
 in equitable operation then ; and not, as they fondly hoped 
 to keep it, all on their own side. Vain, then, your arith- 
 metical or sophistical defence. You may pathetically plead 
 to the people's majority, that the divided lands will not give 
 much more than the length and breadth of his grave to each 
 mob-proprietor. They will answer, We will have what we 
 can get ; — at all events, you shall keep it no longer." And 
 what will you do ? Send for the Life Guards and clear the 
 House, and then, with all the respectable members of society 
 as special constables, guard the streets ? That answered well 
 against the Chartist meeting on Kennington Common in 
 1848. Yes ; but in 1880 it will not be a Chartist meeting 
 at Kennington, but a magna-and-maxima-Chartist Ecclesia 
 at Westminster, that you must deal with. You will find a 
 difference, and to purpose. Are you prepared to clear the 
 streets with the Woolwich infant, — thinking that out of the 
 mouth of that suckling*, God will perfect your praise, and 
 ordain your strength ? Be it so ; but every grocer's and 
 chandler's shop in the thoroughfares of London is a maga- 
 zine of petroleum and percussion powder ; and there are 
 those who will use both, among the Republicans. And you 
 will see your father the Devil's will done on earth, as it is in 
 hell. 
 
 I call him your father, for you have denied your mor- 
 tal fathers, and their Heavenly One. You have declared, 
 in act and thought, the ways and laws of your sires — 
 obsolete, and of your God — ridiculous ; above all, the habits 
 of obedience, and the elements of justice. You were made 
 lords over God's heritage. You thought to make it your 
 
FOBS CLAYIOERA. 
 
 261 
 
 own heritage ; to be lords of your own land, not of God's 
 land. And to this issue of ownership you are come. 
 
 And what a heritage it was, you had the lordship over ! 
 A land of fruitful vales and pastoral mountains ; and a 
 heaven of pleasant sunshine and kindly rain ; and times of 
 sweet prolonged summer, and cheerful transient winter ; and 
 a race of pure heart, iron sinew, splendid fame, and constant 
 faith. 
 
 All this was yours ! the earth with its fair fruits and inno- 
 cent creatures ; — the firmament witli its eternal lights and 
 dutiful seasons ; — the men, souls and bodies, your fathers' 
 true servants for a thousand years, — their lives, and their 
 children's children's lives given into your hands, to save or 
 to destroy ; — their food yours, — as the grazing of the sheep 
 is the shepherd's ; their thoughts yours, — priest and tutor 
 chosen for them by you ; their hearts yours, — if you would 
 but so much as know them by sight and name, and give them 
 the passing grace of your own glance, as you dwelt among 
 them, tlieir king. And all this monarchy and glory, all this 
 power and love, all this land and its people, you pitifullest, 
 foulest of Iscariots, sopped to choking with the best of 
 the feast from Christ's own fincrers, vou have deliberatelv 
 sold to the highest bidder ; — Christ, and His Poor, and His 
 Paradise together ; and instead of sinning only, like poor 
 natural Adam, gathering of the fruit of the Tree of Knowl- 
 edge, you, who don't want to gather it, touch it with a 
 vengeance, — cut it down, and sell the timber. 
 
 Judases with the big bag — game-bag to wit ! — to think 
 how many of your dull Sunday mornings have been spent, 
 for propriety's sake, looking chiefly at those carved angels 
 blowing trumpets above your family vaults ; and never one 
 of you has had Christianity enough in him to think that he 
 might as easily have his moors full of angels as of grouse. 
 And now, if ever you did see a real angel before the Day 
 of Judgment, your first thought would be, — to shoot it. 
 
 And for your ^family' vaults, what will be the use of 
 them to you ? Does not Mr. Darwin sliow you that you 
 can't wash the slugs out of a lettuce without disrespect to 
 
262 
 
 JPOIiS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 your ancestors ? Nay, the ancestors of the modern politica. 
 economist cannot have been so pure ; — they were not — he 
 tells you himself — vegetarian slugs, but carnivorous ones — • 
 those, to wit, that you see also carved on your tombstones 
 going in and out at the eyes of skulls. And truly, I don't 
 know what else the holes in the heads of modern political 
 economists were made for. 
 
 If there are any brighter windows in yours, — if any 
 audience chambers — if any council chambers — if any crown 
 of walls that the pin of Death has not yet pierced, — it is 
 time for you to rise to your work, whether you live or die. 
 
 Whar are you to do, then ? First, — the act which will be 
 the foundation of all bettering and strength in your own 
 lives, as in that of your tenants, — fix their rent ; under legal 
 assurance that it shall not be raised ; and under moral assur- 
 ance that, if you see they treat your land well, and are likely 
 to leave it to you, if they die, raised in value, the said rent 
 shall be diminished in proportion to the improvement ; that 
 is to say^ providing they pay you the fixed rent during the 
 time of lease, you are to leave to them the entire benefit of 
 whatever increase they can give to the value of the land. 
 Put the bargain in a simple instance. You lease them an 
 orchard of crab-trees for so much a year ; they leave you at 
 the end of the lease, an orchard of golden pippins. Suppos- 
 ing they have paid you their rent regularly, you have no 
 right to anything more than what you lent them — crab-trees, 
 to wit. You must pay them for the better trees which by 
 their good industry they give you back, or, which is the 
 same thing, previously reduce their rent in proportion to the 
 improvement in apples. '^The exact contrary," j^ou observe, 
 ^* of your present modes of proceeding." Just so, gentlemen ; 
 and it is not improbable that the exact contrary in many 
 other cases of your present modes of proceeding will be 
 found by you, eventually, the proper one, and more than 
 that, the necessary one. Then the second thing you have to . 
 do is to determine the income necessary for your own noble 
 and peaceful country life ; and setting that aside out of the 
 rents, for a constant sum, to be habitually livW well withii; 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 263 
 
 limits of, put your heart and strength into the right employ- 
 ment of the rest for the betternig of your estates, in ways 
 which the farmers for their own advantage could not or 
 would not ; for the growth of more various plants ; the 
 cherishing, not killing, of beautiful living creatures — birds, 
 beast, and fish ; and the establishment of such schools of 
 History, Natural History, and Art, as may enable your farm- 
 ers' children, with your own, to know the meaning of the 
 words Beauty, Courtesy, Compassion, Gladness, and Religion. 
 Which last word, primarily, (you have not always forgotten 
 to teach this one truth, because it chanced to suit your ends, 
 and even the teaching of this one truth has been beneficent ;) 
 — Religion, primarily, means 'Obedience' — binding to some- 
 thing, or some one. To be bound, or in bonds, as apprentice ; 
 to be bound, or in bonds, by military oath ; to be bound, or 
 in bonds, as a servant to man ; to be bound, or in bonds, 
 under the yoke of God. These are all divinely instituted, 
 eternally necessary, conditions of Religion ; beautiful, in- 
 violable, captivity and submission of soul in life and death. 
 This essential meaning of Religion it was your office mainly 
 to teach, — each of you captain and king, leader and lawgiver, 
 to his people ; — vicegerents of your Captain, Christ. And 
 now — you miserable jockeys and gamesters — you can't get 
 a seat in Parliament for those all but worn-out buckskin 
 breeches of yours, but by taking off your hats to the potboy. 
 Pretty classical statues you will make, Coriolanuses of the 
 nineteenth century, humbly promising, not to your people 
 gifts of corn, but to your potboys, stealthy sale of adulterated 
 beer ! 
 
 Obedience ! — you dare not so much as utter the word, 
 whether to potboy, or any other sort of boy, it seems, lately ; 
 and the half of you still calling themselves Lords, Marquises, 
 Sirs, and other such ancient names, which — though omniscient 
 Mr. Buckle says they and their heraldry are nought — some 
 little prestige lingers about still. You yourselves, what do 
 you yet moan by them — Lords of what ? — Herrs, Signors, 
 Dukes of what ? — of whom ? Do you mean merely, when 
 you go to the root of the matter, that you sponge ou the 
 
264 
 
 ^0B8 CLAVIGEBA 
 
 British farmer for your living, and are strong-bodied paupers 
 compelling your dole ? 
 
 To that extent, there is still, it seems, some force in you. 
 Heaven keep it in you ; for, as I have said, it will be tried, 
 and soon ; and you would even yourselves see what was 
 coming, but that in your hearts — not from cowardice, but 
 from shame, — you are not sure w^hether you will be ready to 
 fight for your dole ; and would fain persuade yourselves it 
 will still be given you for form's sake, or pity's. 
 
 No, my lords and gentlemen, — ^''ou won it at the lance's 
 point, and must so hold it, against the clubs of Sempach, if 
 still you may. No otherwise. You won ^ ^^,' I say, — your 
 dole, — as matters now stand. But perhaps, as matters used, 
 to stand, something else. As receivers of alms, you will find 
 there is no fight in you. No beggar, nor herd of beggars, 
 can fortify so very wide circumference of dish. And the 
 real secret of those strange breakings of the lance by the 
 clubs of Sempach, is — " that villanous saltpetre " — you 
 think ? No, Shakespearian lord ; nor even the sheaf -binding 
 of Arnold, which so stopped the shaking of the fruitless 
 spiculse. The utter and inmost secret is, that you have been 
 fighting these three hundred years for what you could get^ 
 instead of what you could give. You were ravenous enough 
 in rapine in the olden times ; * but you lived fearlessly and 
 innocently by it, because, essentially, you wanted money and 
 food to give, — not to consume ; to maintain your followers 
 with, not to swallow yourselves. Your chivalry was founded, 
 invariably, by knights who were content all their lives with 
 their horse and armour, and daily bread. Your kings, of 
 true power, never desired for themselves more, — down to the 
 last of them, Friedrich. What they did desire was strength 
 of manhood round them, and, in their own hands, the power 
 of largesse. 
 
 ' Largesse.' The French word is obsolete ; one Latin 
 equivalent, Liberalitas, is fast receiving another, and not 
 
 * The reader will perhaps now begin to see the true bearing of the 
 earlier letters in Fors. Re-read, with this letter, that on the campaign 
 Crecy. 
 
F0R8 CLAVIOERA, 
 
 265 
 
 altogether similar significance, among English Liberals. 
 The other Latin equivalent, Generosity, has become doubly 
 meaningless, since modern political economy and politics 
 neither require virtue, nor breeding. The Greek, or Greek- 
 descended, equivalents — Charity, Grace, and the like, your 
 Grace the Duke of can perhaps tell me what has be- 
 come of thein. Meantime, of all the words, ^Largesse,' the 
 entirely obsolete one, is the perfectly chivalric one ; and 
 therefore, next to the French description of Franchise, we 
 will now read the French description of Largesse, — putting 
 first, for comparison with it, a few more sentences * from 
 the secretary's speech at the meeting of Social Science in 
 Glasgow : and rememberino: also the Pall Mall Gazettes 
 exposition of the perfection of Lord Derby's idea of agricul- 
 ture, in the hands of the landowner — "Cultivating" (by 
 machinery) ''large farms for himself,'''' 
 
 " Exchange is the result, put into action, of the desire to 
 possess that which belongs to another, controlled by reason 
 and conscientiousness. It is difficult to conceive of any 
 human transaction that cannot be resolved, in some form or 
 other, into the idea of an exchange. All that is essential in 
 production (sic, only italics mine,) directly evolved 
 
 from this source." 
 
 jjc 3^ 5^ 3^ 
 
 " Man has therefore been defined to be an animal that 
 exchanges. It will be seen, however, that lie not only ex- 
 changes, but from the fact of his belonging, in part, to the 
 order carnivora, that he also inherits, to a considerable de- 
 gree, the desire to possess without exchanging ; or, in other 
 words, by fraud and violence, when such can be used for his 
 own advantage, without danger to himself." 
 
 * * * * :f: 
 
 *' Reason would immediately suggest to one of superior 
 strength, that, however desirable it might be to take posses- 
 sion, by violence, of what another had laboured to produce, 
 
 * I wish I could find room also for the short passages I omit; but one 
 1 quoted before, As no one will deny that man possesses carnivorous 
 teeth,'* etc., and the others introduce collateral statements equally 
 absurd, but with which at present we are not concerned. 
 
266 
 
 FOES CLAVIGERA, 
 
 he might be treated in the same way by one stronger than 
 himself; to which he, of course, would have great objec- 
 tion." 
 
 ***** 
 
 " In order, therefore, to prevent, or put a stop to, a prac- 
 tice which each would object to in his own case, and which, 
 besides, would put a stop to production altogether, both 
 reason and a sense of justice would suggest the act of ex- 
 change, as the only proper mode of obtaining things from 
 one another." 
 
 ***** 
 
 To anybody who had either reason or a sense of justice, 
 it might possibly have suggested itself that, except for the 
 novelty of the thing, mei'e exchange profits nobodv, and 
 presupposes a coincidence, or rather a harmonious dissent, 
 of opinion not always attainable. 
 
 Mr. K. has a kettle, and Mr. P. has a pot. Mr. P. says to 
 Mr. K., * I would rather have your kettle than my pot ; ' and 
 if, coincidently, Mr. K. is also in a discontented humour, and 
 can say to Mr. P., 'I would rather have your pot than my 
 kettle,' why — both Ilanses are in luck, and all is well ; but 
 is their carnivorous instinct thus to be satisfied? Carnivo- 
 rous instinct says, in both cases, 'I want both pot and kettle 
 myself, and you to have neither,' and is entirely unsatisfi- 
 able on the principle of exchange. The ineffable blockhead 
 who wrote the paper forgot that the principle of division of 
 labour underlies that of exchange, and does not arise out of 
 it, but is the only reason for it. If Mr. P. can make two 
 pots, and Mr. K. two kettles, and so, by exchange, both be- 
 come possessed of a pot and a kettle, all is well. But the 
 profit of the business is in the additional production, and 
 only the convenience in the subsequent exchange. For, in- 
 deed, there are in the main two great fallacies which the 
 rascals of the world rejoice in making its fools proclaim : 
 the first, that by continually exchanging, and cheating each 
 other on exchange, two exchanging persons, out of one pot, 
 alternating with one kettle, can make their two fortunes. 
 That is the principle of Trade, The second, that Judas^ 
 bag has become a juggler's, in which, if Mr. P. deposits hia 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 267 
 
 pot, and waits awhile, there will come out two pots, both 
 full of broth ; and if Mr. K. deposits his kettle, and waits 
 awhile, there will come out two kettles, both full of fish ! 
 That is the principle of Interest, 
 
 However, for the present, observe simply the conclusion 
 of our social science expositor, that the art of exchange is 
 the only proper mode of obtaining things from one another ;" 
 and now compare with this theory that of old chivalry, name-* 
 ly, that gift was also a good way, both of losing and gaining. 
 
 *' And after, in the dance, went 
 Largesse, that set all her intent 
 For to be honourablf; and free. 
 Of Alexander's kin was she ; 
 Her mostc joy was, I wis, 
 When that she gave, and said, * Have this.'* 
 Not Avarice, the foul caitiff, f 
 Was half, to gripe, so ententive, 
 As Largesse is to give, and spend. 
 And God always euough her send, (sent) 
 So that the more she g^ave away, 
 The more, I wis, she had alway. 
 4i ♦ * « 
 
 Largesse had on a robe fresh 
 Of rich purpure, sarlinish ; % 
 
 * I must warn you against the false reading of the original, in many 
 editions. Fournier's live volume one is altogether a later text, in some 
 cases with interesting intentional modifications, prv)bably of the fif- 
 teenth century ; but oftener with destniction of the older meaning. It 
 gives this couplet, for instance, — 
 
 " Si n'avoit el plaisir de rien 
 Qnc quant clle donnoit du sien.** 
 
 The old reading is, 
 
 Si n'avoit elle joic de rien 
 
 Fore quant elle povoit dire, 'ticn.* 
 
 Didot's edition, Paris, 1814, is founded on very early and valuable 
 texts ; but it is difficult to read. Chaucer has translated a text some 
 twenty or thirty years later in style ; and his English is quite trust- 
 worthy as far as it is carried. For the rest of the Romance, Fournier's 
 text is practically good enough, and easily readable. 
 
 f Fr. 'chetive," rhyming accurately to * ententive.' 
 
 X Fr. Sarrasinesse. 
 
268 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 Well formed was her face, and clear, 
 
 And open had she her colere, (collar) 
 
 For she right then had in present 
 
 Unto a lady made present 
 
 Of a gold brooch, full well wrought ; 
 
 And certes it mis-set her nought, 
 
 For through her smocke, wrought with silk, 
 
 The flesh was seen as white as milke." 
 
 Think over that, ladies, and gentlemen who love them, for 
 a pretty way of being decolletee. Even though the flesh 
 should be a little sunburnt sometimes, — so that it be the Sun 
 of Righteousness, and not Baal, who shines on it — though it 
 darken from tlie milk-like flesh to the colour of the Madonna 
 of Chartres, — in this world you shall be able to say, I am 
 black, but comely ; and, dying, shine as the brightness of the 
 firmament — as the stars for ever and ever. They do not re- 
 ceive their glories, — however one differeth in glory from an- 
 other, — either by, or on. Exchange. 
 
 Lucca. {Assumption of the Virgin,) 
 
 * As the stars, for everJ^ Perhaps we had better not say 
 that, — modern science looking pleasantly forward to the ex- 
 tinction of a good many of them. But it will be well to 
 shine like them, if but for a little v/hile. 
 
 You probably did not understand why, in a former letter,, 
 the Squire's special duty towards the peasant was said to be 
 "presenting a celestial appearance to him." 
 
 That is, indeed, his appointed missionary work ; and still 
 more definitely, his wife's. 
 
 The giving of loaves is indeed the lady's first duty ; the 
 first, but the least. 
 
 Next, comes the giving of brooches ; — seeing that her peo- 
 are dressed charmingly and neatly, as well as herself, and 
 have pretty furniture, like herself.* 
 
 * Even after eighteen hundred years of sermons, the Christian 
 public do not clearly understand that Hwo coats,' in the brief sermon 
 of the Baptist to repentance, mean also, two petticoats, and the like. 
 
 I am glad that Fors obliges me to finish this letter at Lucca, undei 
 the special protection of St. Martin. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 269 
 
 But her chief duty of all — is to be, Herself, lovely. 
 
 That through her smocke, wrought with silk, 
 The flesh be seen as white as milke." * 
 
 Flesh, ladies mine, you observe ; and not any merely illumi- 
 nated resemblance of it, after the fashion of the daughter of 
 Ethbaal. It is your duty to be lovely, not by candlelight, 
 but sunshine ; not out of a window or opera-box, but on the 
 bare ground. 
 
 Which that you may be, — if through the smocke the flesh, 
 then, much more, through the flesh, the spirit, must be seen 
 as white as milke." 
 
 I have just been drawing, or trying to draw, Giotto's 
 * Poverty ' (Sancta Paupertas) at Assisi. You may very 
 likely know the chief symbolism of the picture: that Poverty is 
 being married to St. Francis, and that Christ marries them, 
 while her bare feet are entangled in thorns, but behind her 
 head is a thicket of rose and lily. It is less likely you should 
 be acquainted with the farther details of the group. 
 
 The thorns are of the acacia, which, according to tradition, 
 was used to weave Christ's crown. The roses are in two 
 clusters, — palest red,f and deep crimson ; the one on her 
 right, the other on her left ; above her head, pure 
 white on the golden ground, rise the Annunciation Lilies. 
 She is not crowned with them, observe ; they are be- 
 hind her : she is crowned only with her own hair, wreathed 
 in a tress with which she has bound her short bridal 
 veil. For dress, she has — her smocke, only ; and that 
 torn, and torn again, and patched, diligently ; except just at 
 the shoulders, and a little below the throat, where Giotto has 
 torn it, too late for her to mend ; and the fair flesh is seen 
 through, — so white that one cannot tell where the rents are, 
 except when quite close. 
 
 * Fr. , *' Si que par oula la chemise 
 
 Lui blancheoit la char alise." 
 
 Look out ' Alice ' in Miss Yonge*s Dictionary of Christicm Names ; and 
 retiiember Alioe of Salisbury. 
 
 t I believe the pale roses are meant to be white, but are tinged wiili 
 red that they may not contend with the symbolic brightness of th« 
 lilies. 
 
270 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 For girdle, she has the Franciscan's cord ; but that also is 
 white, as if spun of silk ; her whole figure, like a statue of 
 snow, seen against the shade of her purple wings : for she is 
 already one of the angels. A crowd of them, on each side, 
 attend her ; two, her sisters, are her bridesmaids also. 
 Giotto has written their names above them — Spes ; Karitas ; 
 — their sister's Christian name he has written in the lilies, 
 for those of us who have truly learned to read. Charity is 
 crowned with white roses, which burst, as they open, into 
 flames ; and she gives the bride a marriage gift. 
 
 " An apple," say the interpreters. 
 
 Not so. It was some one else than Charity wlio gave the 
 first bride that gift. It is a heart. 
 
 Hope only points upwards ; and while Charity has the 
 golden nimbus round her head circular (infinite), like that of 
 Christ and the eternal angels, she has her glory set within 
 the lines that limit the cell of the bee, — hexagonal. 
 
 And the bride has hers, also, so restricted : nor, though she 
 and her bridesmaids are sisters, are they dressed alike ; but 
 one in red ; and one in green ; and one, robe, flesh and 
 spirit, a statue of Snow. 
 
 La terza parea neve, teste mossa." 
 
 Do you know now, any of you, ladies mine, what Giotto's 
 lilies mean between the roses ? or how they may also grow 
 among the Sesame of knightly spears ? 
 
 Not one of you, maid or mother, though I have besought 
 you these four years, (except only one or two of my personal 
 friends,) has joined St. George's Company. You probably 
 think St. George may advise some different arrangements in 
 Hanover Square ? It is possible ; for his own knight's cloak 
 is white, and he may wish you to bear such celestial appear- 
 ance constantlv. You talk often of bearinsj" Christ's cross ; 
 do you never think of putting on Christ's robes, — those that 
 He wore on Tabor ? nor know what lamps they were which 
 the wise virgins trimmed for the marriage feast ? You think, 
 perhaps, you can go in to that feast in gowns made half of 
 silk, and half of cotton, spun in your Lancashire cotton- 
 
FOnS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 271 
 
 mills ; and that the Americans have struck oil enough — 
 (lately, I observe also, native gas,) — to supply any number 
 of belated virgins? 
 
 It is not by any means so, fair ladies. It is only your 
 newly adopted Father who tells you so. Suppose, learning 
 what it is to be generous, you recover your descent from 
 God, and then weave your household dresses white with 
 your own fingers ? For as no fuller on earth can white 
 them, but the light of a living faith, — so no demon under 
 the earth can darken them like the shadow of a dead one. 
 And your modern English * faith without works * is dead ; 
 and would to God she were buried too, for the stench of 
 her goes up to His throne from a thousand fields of blood. 
 Weave, I say, — you have trusted far too much lately to the 
 washing — your household raiment white ; go out in the 
 morning to Ruth's field, to sow as well as to glean ; sing 
 your Te Deum, at evening, thankfully, as God's daughters, 
 — and there shall be no night there, for your light shall so 
 shine before men that they may see your good works, and 
 glorify — not Baal the railroad accident — but 
 
 L'Amor che muove il Sole, e Taltre stelle/' 
 
272 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 I HAVE had by me for some time a small pamphlet, The Agricultural 
 Labourer^ by a Farmer's Son,* kindly sent me by the author. The 
 matter of it is excellent as far as it reaches ; but the writer speaks as 
 if the existing arrangements between landlord, farmer, and labourer 
 must last for ever. If he will look at the article on Peasant Farm- 
 ing " in the Spectator of July 4th of this year, he may see grounds for 
 a better hope. That article is a review of Mr. W. T. Thornton's Flea 
 for Feasant Froprietors ; and the following paragraph from it may 
 interest, and perhaps surprise, other readers besides my correspondent. 
 Its first sentence considerably surprises me, to begin with ; so I have 
 italicized it : — 
 
 " 77ds country is only just beginning to be seriously roused to the fact 
 that it has an agricultural question at all ; and some of those most 
 directly interested therein are, in their pain and surprise at the dis- 
 covery, hurrying so fast the wrong way, that it will probably take a 
 longtime to bring them round again to sensible thoughts, after most 
 of the rest of the community are ready with an answer. 
 
 The primary object of this book is to combat the pernicious error 
 of a large school of English economists with reference to the hurtful 
 
 character of small farms and small landed properties One 
 
 would think that the evidence daily before a rural economist, in the 
 marvellous extra production of a market garden, or even a peasant's 
 allotment, over an ordinary farm, might suffice to raise doubts whether 
 vast fields tilled by steam, weeded by patent grubbers, and left other- 
 wise to produce in rather a happy-go-lucky fashion, were likely to be 
 the most advanced and profitable of all cultivated lands. On this 
 single point of production, Mr. Thornton conclusively proves the small 
 farmer to have the advantage. 
 
 * ' The extreme yields of the very highest English farming are even 
 exceeded in Guernsey, and in that respect the evidence of the greater 
 productiveness of small farming over large is overwhelming. The 
 Channel Islands not only feed their own population, but are large ex- 
 porters of provisions as well. 
 
 Small farms being thus found to be more advantageous, it is but 
 an easy step to peasant proprietors." 
 
 Stop a moment, Mr. Spectator. The step is easy, indeed; — so is a 
 Btep into a well, or out of a window. There is no question whatever, in 
 
 * Macintosh, 24, Paternoster Row. 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGERA, 
 
 273 
 
 aay country, or at any time, respecting the expediency of Bmall farm- 
 ing ; but whether the small farmer should be the proprietor of his land, 
 is a very awkward question indeed in some countries. Are you aware, 
 Mr. Spectator, that your *easy step,' tak«n in two lines and a breath, 
 means what I, with all my Utopian zeal, have been fourteen years writ- 
 ing on Political Economy, without venturing to hint at, except under 
 my breath ; — some considerable modification, namely, in the position 
 of the existing British landlord ? — nothing less, indeed, if your ' step ' 
 were to be completely taken, than the reduction of him to a ' small 
 peasant proprietor'? And unless he can show some reason against it, 
 the * easy step ' will most assuredly be taken with him. 
 
 Yet I have assumed, in this Fors, that it is not to be taken. That 
 under certain modifications of his system of Rent, he may still remain 
 lord of his land, — may, and ought, provided always he knows what it 
 is to be lord of anything. Of which I hope to reason farther in the 
 For 8 for November of this year. 
 
 Vol. IL— 18 
 
2T4 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 LETTER XLVI. 
 
 Florence, 2^th August^ 1874. 
 
 I INTENDED this letter to have been published on my 
 mother's birthday, the second of next month. Fors, how- 
 ever, has entirely declared herself against that arrangement, 
 having given me a most unexpected piece of vrork here, in 
 drawing the Emperor, King, and Baron, who, throned by 
 Simone Memmi beneath the Duomo of Florence, beside a 
 Pope, Cardinal, and Bishop, represented, to the Florentine 
 mind of the fourteenth century, the sacred powers of the 
 State in their fixed relation to those of the Church. The 
 Pope lifts his right hand to bless, and holds the crosier in his 
 left ; having no powers but of benediction and protection. 
 The Emperor holds his sword upright in his right hand, and 
 a skull in his left, having alone the power of death. Both 
 have triple crowns ; but the Emperor alone has a nimbus. 
 The King has the diadem of fleur-de-lys, and the ball and 
 globe ; the Cardinal, a book. The Baron has his warrior's 
 sword ; the Bishop, a pastoral staff. And the whole scene 
 is very beautifully expressive of what have been by learned 
 authors supposed the Republican or Liberal opinions of Flor- 
 ence, in her day of pride. 
 
 The picture (fresco), in which this scene occurs, is the most 
 complete piece of theological and political teaching given to 
 us by the elder arts of Italy ; and this particular portion of 
 it is of especial interest to me, not only as exponent of the 
 truly liberal and communist principles which I am endeavour- 
 ing to enforce in these letters for the future laws of the St. 
 George's Company ; but also because my maternal grand- 
 mother was the landlady of the Old King's Head in Market 
 Street, Croydon ; and I wish she were alive again, and I could 
 paint her Simone Memmi*s King's head, for a sign. 
 
 My maternal grandfather was, as I have said, a sailor, who 
 
FOnS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 275 
 
 used to embark, like Robinson Crusoe, at Yarmouth, and 
 come back at rare intervals, making himself very delightful 
 at home. I liave an idea he had somethingr to do with the 
 herring business, but am not clear on that point ; my mother 
 never being much communicative concerning it. He spoiled 
 her, and her (younger) sister, with all his heart, when he was 
 at home ; unless there appeared any tendency to equivoca- 
 tion, or imaginative statements, on the part of the children, 
 which were always unforgiveable. My mother being once 
 perceived by him to have distinctly told him a lie, he sent the 
 servant out forthwith to buy an entire bundle of new broom 
 twigs to whip her with. " They did not hurt me so much as 
 one would have done," said my mother, but I thought a good 
 deal of it." 
 
 My grandfather was killed at two-and-thirty, by trying to 
 ride, instead of walk, into Croydon ; he got his leg crushed 
 by his horse against the wall ; and died of tlje hurt's morti- 
 fying. My mother was then seven or eight years old, and, 
 with her sister, was sent to quite a fashionable (for Croydon) 
 day-school, (Mrs. Rice's), where my mother was taught evan- 
 gelical principles, and became the pattern girl and best sewer 
 in the school ; and where my aunt absolutely refused evan- 
 gelical principles, and became tiie plague and pet of it. 
 
 My mother, being a girl of great power, with not a little 
 pride, grew more and more exemplary in her entirely consci- 
 entious career, much laughed at, though much beloved, by 
 her sister ; who had more wit, less pride, and no conscience. 
 At last my mother, being a consummate housewife, was sent 
 for to Scotland to take care of my paternal grandfather's 
 house ; who was gradually ruining himself ; and who at last 
 effectually ruined, and killed, himself. My father came up to 
 Ijondon ; was a clerk in a merchant's house for nine years, with- 
 out a holiday ; then began business on his own account ; paid 
 his father's debts ; and married his exemplary Croydon cousin. 
 
 Meantime my aunt had remained in Croydon, and married 
 a baker. By the time I was four years old, and beginning 
 to recollect things, — my father rapidly taking higher com- 
 mercial position in London, — there was traceable — though to 
 
276 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 me, as a child, wholly incomprehensible — just the least pos- 
 sible shade of shyness on the part of Hunter Street, Brunswick 
 Square, towards Market Street, Croydon. But whenever my 
 father was ill, — and hard work and sorrow had already set 
 their mark on him, — we all went down to Croydon to be 
 petted by my homely aunt ; and walk on Duppas Hill, and 
 on the heather of Addington. 
 
 (And now I go on with the piece of this letter written last 
 month at Assisi.) 
 
 My aunt lived in the little house still standing — or which 
 was so four months ago — the fashionablest in Market Street, 
 having actually two windows over the shop, in the second 
 story ; but I never troubled myself about that superior part 
 of the mansion, unless my father happened to be making 
 drawings in Indian ink, when I would sit reverently by and 
 watch ; my chosen domains being, at all other times, the 
 shop, the bake-house, and the stones round the spring of 
 crystal water at the back door (long since let down into the 
 modern sewer) ; and my chief companion, my aunt's dog, 
 Towzer, whom she had taken pity on when he was a snappish, 
 starved vagrant ; and made a brave and affectionate dog of : 
 which was the kind of thing she did for every living creature 
 that came in her way, all her life long. 
 
 I am sitting now in the Sacristan's cell at Assisi. Its roof 
 is supported by three massive beams, — not squared beams, 
 but tree trunks barked, with the grand knots left in them, 
 answering all the purpose of sculpture. The walls are of 
 rude white plaster, though there is a Crucifixion by Giottino 
 on the back of one, outside the door ; the floor, brick ; the 
 table, olive wood ; the windows two, and only about four 
 feet by two in the opening, (but giving plenty of light in 
 the sunny morning, aided by the white walls,) looking out 
 on the valley of the Tescio. Under one of them, a small 
 arched stove for cooking ; in a square niche beside the other, 
 an iron wash-hand stand, — that is to say, a tripod of good 
 fourteenth-century work, carrying a grand brown porringer, 
 two feet across, and half a foot deep. Between the windows 
 is the fireplace, the wall above it rich brown with the smoke* 
 
FOIiS C'LAVTGBRA. 
 
 277 
 
 Hung against the wall behind me are a saucepan, gridiron, 
 and toasting-fork ; and in the wall a little door, closed only 
 by a brown canvas curtain, opening to an inner cell nearly 
 filled by the bedstead ; and at the side of the room a dresser, 
 with cupboard below, and two wine flasks, and three pots of 
 Raphael ware on the top of it, together with the first volume 
 of the ' Maraviglie di Dio neW anime del Pargatorio^ del 
 padre Carlo Gregorio Rosignoli, della Compagnia de Gesu,' 
 (Roma, 1841). There is a bird singing outside ; a constant 
 low hum of flies, making the ear sure it is summer ; a dove 
 cooing, very low ; and absolutely nothing else to be heard, 
 I find, after listening with great care. And I feel entirely 
 at home, because the room — except in the one point of being 
 extremely dirty — is just the kind of thing I used to see in 
 my aunt's bake-house ; and the country and the sweet valley 
 outside still rest in peace, such as used to be on the Surrey 
 hills in olden days. 
 
 And now I am really going to begin my steady explana- 
 tion of what the St. George's Company have to do. 
 
 1. You are to do good work, whether you live or die. 
 'What is good work?' you ask. Well you may ! For your 
 wise pastors and teachers, though they have been very care- 
 ful to assure you that good works are the fruits of faith, and 
 follow after justification, have been so certain of that fact 
 that they never have been the least solicitous to explain to 
 you, and still less to discover for themselves, what good 
 works were ; content if they perceived a general impression 
 on the minds of their conorrenrations that tjood works meant 
 going to church and admiring the sermon on Sundays, and 
 making as much money as possible in the rest of the week. 
 
 It is true, one used to hear almsgiving and prayer some- 
 times recommended by old-fashioned country ministers. But 
 *^the poor are now to be raised without gifts," says my very 
 hard-and-well-working friend Miss Octavia Hill ; and prayer 
 is entirely inconsistent with the laws of hydro (and other) 
 statics, says the Duke of Argyll. 
 
 It may be so, for aught I care, just now. Largesse and 
 supplication may or may not be still necessary in the world's 
 
278 
 
 FORS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 economy. They are not, and never were, part of the world's 
 work. For no man can give till he has been paid his own 
 wages ; and still less can he ask his Father for the said wages 
 till he has done his day's duty for them. 
 
 Neither almsgiving nor praying, therefore, nor psalm-sing- 
 ing, nor even — as poor Livingstone thought, to his own 
 death, and our bitter loss, — discovering the mountains of the 
 Moon, have anything to do with " good work," or God's 
 work. But it is not so very difficult to discover what that 
 work is. You keep the Sabbath, in imitation of God's rest. 
 Do, by all manner of means, if you like ; and keep also the 
 rest of the week in imitation of God's work. 
 
 It is true that, according to tradition, that work was done 
 a long time ago, " before the chimneys in Zion were hot, 
 and ere the present years were sought* out, and or ever the 
 inventions of them that now sin, were turned ; and before 
 tliey were sealed that have gathered faith for a treasure.*' * 
 But the established processes of it continue, as his Grace of 
 Argyll has argutely observed ; — and your own work will be 
 good, if it is in harmony with them, and duly sequent of 
 them. Nor are even the first main facts or operations by 
 any means inimitable, on a duly subordinate scale, for if Man 
 be made in God's image, much more is Man's work made to 
 be the image of God's work. So therefore look to your model, 
 very simply stated for you in the nursery tale of Genesis. 
 
 Day First. — The Making, or letting in, of Light. 
 
 Day Second, — The Discipline and Firmament of Waters. 
 
 Day Third. — The Separation of earth from water, and 
 planting the secure earth with trees. 
 
 Day Fourth. — The Establishment of times and seasons, 
 and of the authority of the stars. 
 
 Day Fifth, — Filling the water and air with fish and birds. 
 
 Day Sixth, — Filling the land with beasts ; and putting 
 divine life into the clay of one of these, 
 that it may have authority over the others, 
 and over the rest of the Creation. 
 
 ♦ Esdrae iv. 4. 
 
FOliS CLAVIOEUA, 
 
 279 
 
 Here is your nursery story, — very brief, and in some sort 
 unsatisfactory ; not altogether intelligible, (I don't know 
 anything very good that is,) nor wholly indisputable, (I don't 
 know anything ever spoken usefully on so wide a subject 
 that is) ; but substantially vital and sufficient. So the good 
 human work may properly divide itself into the same six 
 branches ; and will be a perfectly literal and practical fol- 
 lowing out of the Divine ; and will hav^e opposed to it a cor« 
 respondent Diabolic force of eternally bad work — as mucb 
 worse than idleness or death, as good work is better thao 
 idleness or death. 
 
 Good work, then, will be, — 
 
 A. Letting in light where there was darkness ; as especially 
 into poor rooms and back streets ; and generally guiding and 
 administering the sunshine wherever we can, by all the means 
 in our power. 
 
 And the correspondent Diabolic work is putting a tax on 
 windows, and blocking out the sun's light with smoke. 
 
 B. Disciplining the falling waters. In the Divine work, 
 this is the ordinance of clouds ; * in the human, it is prop- 
 erly putting the clouds to service ; and first stopping the rain 
 where they carry it from the sea, and then keeping it pure 
 as it goes back to the sea again. 
 
 And the correspondent Diabolic work is the arrangement 
 of land so as to throw all the water back to the sea as fast 
 as we can jf and putting every sort of filth into the stream 
 as it runs. 
 
 c. The separation of earth from water, and planting it with 
 trees. The correspondent human work is especially clearing 
 morasses, and planting desert ground. 
 
 The Dutch, in a small way, in their own country, have done 
 a good deal with sand and tulips ; also the North Germans. 
 But the most beautiful type of the literal ordinance of dry 
 land in water is the State of Venice, with her sea-canals, re- 
 strained, traversed by their bridges, and especially bridges 
 of the Rivo Alto, or High Bank, which are, or were till a few 
 
 * See Modern PainUrs. vol. iii., **The Firmament." 
 f Compare Dante, Purg., end of Canto V. 
 
280 
 
 F0R8 CLA VIGERA, 
 
 years since, symbols of the work of a true Pontifex, — the 
 Pontine Marshes being the opposite symbol. 
 
 The correspondent Diabolic work is turning good land and 
 w^ater into mud ; and cutting down trees that we may drive 
 steam ploughs, etc., etc. 
 
 D. The establishment of times and seasons. The corre« 
 spondent human work is a due watching of the rise and set 
 of stars, and course of the sun ; and due administration and 
 forethought of our own annual labours, preparing for them 
 in hope, and concluding them in joyfulness, according to the 
 laws and gifts of Heaven. Which beautiful order is set forth 
 in symbols on all lordly human buildings round the semi- 
 circular arches which are types of the rise and fall of days 
 and years. 
 
 And the correspondent Diabolic work is turning night 
 into day with candles, so that we never see the stars ; and 
 mixing the seasons up one with another, and having early 
 strawberries, and green pease and the like. 
 
 E. Filling the waters with fish, and air with birds. The 
 correspondent human work is Mr. Frank Buckland's, and the 
 like, — of which ' like ' I am thankful to have been permitted 
 to do a small piece near Croydon, in the streams to which 
 my mother took me, when a child, to play beside. There 
 were more than a dozen of the fattest, shiniest, spottiest, 
 and tamest trout I ever saw in my life, in the pond at 
 Carshalton, the last time I saw it this spring. 
 
 The correspondent Diabolic work is poisoning fish, as is 
 done at Coniston, with copper-mining ; and catching them 
 for Ministerial and other fashionable dinners when they 
 ought not to be caught ; and treating birds — as birds are 
 treated, Ministerially and otherwise. 
 
 F. Filling the earth with beasts, properly known and cared 
 for by their master, Man ; but chiefly, breathing into the 
 clayey and brutal nature of Man himself, the Soul, or Love, 
 of God. 
 
 The correspondent Diabolic work is shooting and torment- 
 ing beasts ; and grinding out the soul of man from his flesh, 
 with machine labour ; and then grinding down the flesh of 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 281 
 
 him, when nothing else is left, into clay, with machines for 
 that purpose, — mitrailleuses, Woolwich infants, and the like. 
 
 These are the six main heads of God's and the Devil's 
 work. 
 
 And as Wisdom, or Prudentia, is with God, and with His 
 children in the doing, — " There I was by Him, as one brought 
 up with Him, and I was dail}'- His delight," — so Folly, or 
 Stultitia, saying. There is No God, is with the Devil and his 
 children, in the uiidom^, "There she is with them as one 
 brought up with them, and she is daily their delight." 
 
 And so comes the great reverse of Creation, and wrath of 
 God, accomplished on tlie earth by the fiends, and by men 
 their ministers, seen by Jeremy the Propliet : For my 
 people is foolish, they have not known me ; they are sottisli 
 children, and they have none understanding : they are wise 
 to do evil, but to do good they have no knowledge. [Now 
 note the reversed creation.] 1 beheld the Earth, and, lo, it 
 was without form, and void ; and the Heavens, and they had 
 no light. I beheld the mountains, and, lo, they trembled, and 
 all the hills moved lightly. I belield, and, lo, there was no 
 man, and all the birds of the heavens were fled. I beheld, 
 and, lo, the fruitful place was a wilderness, and all the cities 
 thereof were broken down at the presence of the Lord, and 
 by his fierce anger." 
 
 And so, finally, as the joy and honour of the ancient and 
 divine Man and Woman were in their children, so the grief 
 and dishonour of the modern and diabolic Man and Woman 
 are in their children ; and as the Rachel of Bethlehem weeps 
 for her children, and will not be comforted, because they are 
 not, the Rachel of England weeps for her children, and will 
 not be comforted — because thev are. 
 
 Now, whoever you may be, and how little your power may 
 be, and whatever sort of creature you may be, — man, woman, 
 or child, — you can, according to what discretion of years you 
 may have reached, do something of this Divine work, or undo 
 somethino- of this Devil's work, everv da v. Even if vou are 
 a slave, forced to labour at some abominable and murderous 
 trade for bread, — as iron-forging, for instance, or gunpowder- 
 
282 
 
 F0R8 CLAV/(T\h'EA, 
 
 making — you can resolve to deliver yourself, and your children 
 after you, from the chains of that hell, and from the dominion 
 of its slave-masters, or to die. That is Patriotism ; and true 
 desire of Freedom, or Franchise. What Egyptian bondage, do 
 you suppose — (painted by Mr. Poynter as if it were a thing of 
 the past !) — was ever so cruel as a modern English iron forge, 
 with its steam hammers ? What Egyptian worship of garlic 
 or crocodile ever so damnable as modern English worship of 
 money ? Israel — even by the fleshpots — was sorry to have 
 to cast out her children, — would fain stealthily keep her little 
 Moses, — if Nile were propitious ; and roasted her passover 
 anxiously. But English Mr. P., satisfied with his fleshpot, 
 and the broth of it, will not be over-hasty about his roast. If 
 the Angel, perchance, should not pass by, it would be no 
 such matter, thinks Mr. P. 
 
 Or, again, if you are a slave to Society, and must do what 
 the people next door bid you, — you can resolve, with any 
 vestige of human energy left in you, that you will indeed 
 put a few things into God's fashion, instead of the fashion of 
 next door. Merely fix that on your mind as a thing to be 
 done ; to have things — dress, for instance, — according to 
 God's taste, (and I can tell you He is likely to have some, as 
 good as any modiste you know of) ; or dinner, according to 
 God's taste instead of the Russians' ; or supper, or picnic, 
 with guests of God's inviting, occasionally, mixed among the 
 more respectable company. 
 
 By the way, I wrote a letter to one of my lady friends, 
 who gives rather frequent dinners, the other day, which may 
 perhaps be useful to others : it was to this effect mainly, 
 though I add and altera little to make it more general : — 
 
 " You probably will be having a dinner-party to-day ; now, 
 please do this, and remember I am quite serious in what 
 I ask you. W e all of us, who have any belief in Christianity 
 at all, wish that Christ were alive now. Suppose, then, that 
 He is. I think it very likely that if He were in London you 
 would be one of the people whom He would take some notice 
 of. Now, suppose He has sent you word that He is coming 
 to dine with you to-day ; but that you are not to make any 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 283 
 
 change in your guests on His account ; that He wants to meet 
 exactly the party you have ; and no other. Suppose you 
 have just received this message, and that St. John has also 
 left word, in passing, with the butler, that his master will 
 come alone ; so that you won't have any trouble with the 
 Apostles. Now, this is what I want you to do. First, deter- 
 mine what you will have for dinner. You are not ordered, 
 observe, to make no changes in your bill of fare. Take a 
 piece of paper, and absolutely lorite fresh orders to your 
 cook, — you can't realize the thing enough without writing. 
 That done, consider how you will arrange your guests — who 
 is to sit next Christ on the other side — who opposite, and so 
 on ; finally, consider a little what you will talk about, suppos- 
 ing, which is just possible, that Christ should tell you to go 
 on talking as if He were not there, and never to mind Him. 
 You couldn't, you will tell me ? Then, my dear lady, how 
 can you in general ? Don't you profess — nay, don't you 
 much more than profess — to believe that Christ is always 
 there, whether you see Him or not ? Why should the seeing 
 make such a difference ? " 
 
 But you are no master nor mistress of household ? You are 
 only a boy, or a girl. What can you do? 
 
 We will take the work of the third day, for its range is at 
 once lower and wider than that of the others : Can you do 
 nothing in that kind ? Is there no garden near you where you 
 can get from some generous person leave to weed the beds, 
 or sweep up tlui dead leaves ? (I once allowed an eager little 
 girl of ten years old to weed my garden ; and now, though 
 it is long ago, slie always speaks as if the favour had been 
 done to Aer, and not to the garden and me.) Is there no dusty 
 place that you can water ? — if it be only the road before your 
 door, the traveller will thank you. No roadside ditch that 
 you can clean of its clogged rubbish, to let the water run 
 clear ? No scattered heap of brickbats that you can make 
 an orderly pile of? You are ashamed? Yes; that false 
 shame is the Devil's pet weapon. He does more work with it 
 even than with false pride. For with false pride, he only 
 goads evil ; but with false shame, paralyzes good. 
 
284 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 But you have no ground of your own ; you are a girl, and 
 can't work on other people's? At least you have a window 
 of your own, or one in which you have a part interest. With 
 very little help from the carpenter, you can arrange a safe 
 box outside of it, that will hold earth enough to root some- 
 thing in. If you have any favour from Fortune at all, you can 
 train a rose, or a honeysuckle, or a convolvulus, or a nastur- 
 tium, round your window — a quiet branch of ivy — or if for 
 the sake of its leaves only, a tendril or two of vine. Only, be 
 sure all your plant-pets are kept well outside of the window. 
 Don't come to having pots in the room, unless you are sick. 
 
 I got a nice letter from a young girl, not long since, asking 
 why I had said in my answers to former questions, that 
 young ladies were " to have nothing to do with greenhouses, 
 still less with hothouses." Tlie new inquirer has been sent 
 me by Fors, just when it was time to explain what I 
 meant. 
 
 First, then — The primal object of your gardening, for 
 yourself, is to keep you at work in the open air, whenever it 
 is possible. The greenhouse will always be a refuge to you 
 from the wind ; which, on the contrary, you ought to be able 
 to bear ; and will tempt you into clippings and pottings 
 and pettings, and mere standing dilettantism in a damp and 
 over-scented room, instead of true labour in fresh air. 
 
 Secondly. — It will not only itself involve unnecessary ex- 
 pense — (for the greenhouse is sure to turn into a hothouse 
 in the end ; and even if not, is always having its panes 
 broken, or its blinds going wrong, or its stands getting 
 rickety); but it will tempt you into buying nursery plants, 
 and waste your time in anxiety about them. 
 
 Thirdly. — The use of your garden to the household ought 
 to be mainly in the vegetables you can raise in it. And, for 
 these, your proper observance of season, and of the authority 
 of the stars, is a vital duty. Every climate gives its vege- 
 table food to its livino: creatures at the ri2r"ht time ; vour 
 business is to know that time, and be prepared for it, and 
 to take the healthy luxury which nature appoints you, in the 
 rare annual taste of the thing given in those its due days. 
 
FORS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 285 
 
 The vile and gluttonous modern habit of forcing never allows 
 people properly to taste anything. 
 
 Lastly, and chiefly. — Your garden is to enable you to ob- 
 tain such knowledge of plants as you may best use in the 
 country in which you live, by coinmiinicating it to others *, 
 and teaching them to take pleasure in the green herb, given 
 for meat, and the coloured flower, given for joy. And your 
 business is not to make the greenliouse or hothouse rejoice 
 and blossom like the rose, but the wilderness and solitary 
 place. And it is, therefore, (look back to Letter XXVI, p. 
 372,) not at all of camellias and air-plants that the devil is 
 afraid ; on the contrary, the Dame aux Camellias is a very 
 especial servant of his ; and the Fly-God of Ekron himself 
 superintends — as you may gather from Mr. Darwin's recent 
 investigations — the birth and parentage of the orchidacese. 
 But he is mortallv afraid of roses and crocusc?. 
 
 Of roses, that is to say, growing wild ; — (what lovely 
 hedges of them there were, in the lane leading from Dulwich 
 College up to Windmill (or Gipsy) Ilill, in my aunt's time !) 
 — but of the massy horticultural-prize rose, — fifty pounds 
 weight of it on a propped bush — he stands in no awe what- 
 ever ; not even when they are cut afterwards and made 
 familiar to the poor in the form of bouquets, so that poor 
 Peggy may hawk them from street to street — and hate the 
 smell of them, as his own imps do. For Mephistopheles 
 knows there are poorer Margarets yet than Peggy. 
 
 Hear this, you fine ladies of the houses of York and Lan- 
 caster, and you, new-gilded Miss Kilmanseggs, with your 
 gardens of Gul,— you, also, evangelical expounders of the 
 beauty of the Rose of Sharon ; — it is a bit of a letter just 
 come to me from a girl of good position in the manufacturing 
 districts : — 
 
 " The other day I was coming through a nasty part of the 
 road, carrying a big bunch of flowers, and met two dirty, 
 ragged girls, who looked eagerly at my flowers. Then one 
 of them said, * Give us a flower ! ' I hesitated, for she looked 
 and spoke rudely ; but when she ran after me, I stopped ; 
 and pulled out a large rose, and asked the other girl which 
 
286 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 \ 
 \ 
 I 
 
 she would like. red one, the same as hers,' she answered 
 They actually did not know its name. Poor girls ! they 
 promised to take care of them, and went away looking 
 rather softened and pleased, I thought ; but perhaps they 
 would pull them to pieces, and laugh at the success of their 
 boldness. At all events, they made me very sad and thought- 
 ful for the rest of mv walk." 
 
 And, I hope, a little so, even when you got home again, 
 young lady. Meantime, are you quite sure of your fact ; 
 and that there was no white rose in your bouquet, from 
 which the " red one " might be distinguished, without 
 naming ? In any case, my readers have enough to think of 
 for this time, I believe. 
 
F0R8 CLAVWERA. 
 
 28? 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 I. Together with the Spectator's telescopic and daring views of thi 
 Land question, given in last Fors, I may as well preserve its imme- 
 diate and microscopic approval of our poor little practice upon it at 
 Hincksey : — 
 
 Adam and Jehu. — It is very vexatious, but one never gets fairly 
 the better of Mr. Ruskin. Sometimes he lets his intellect work, and 
 fires off pamphlet after pamphlet on political economy, each new one 
 more ridiculous than the last, till it ceases to be possible even to read 
 his brochures without condemning them as the utterances of a man who 
 cannot lose a certain eloquence of expression, but who cannot think 
 AT ALL ; and then, again, he lets his genius work, and produces some- 
 thing which raises the admiration of the reader till every folly which 
 preceded it is forgotten. There never was a more absurd paper pub- 
 lished than his on the duty of the State towards unmarried couples, and 
 never perhaps one wiser than his lecture on ' Ambition,' reviewed in oui 
 columns on the 18th of October, 1873. Just recently he has been push- 
 ing some plans for an agricultural Utopia, free of steam-engines and 
 noises and everything modern, in which the inconsequence of his mind 
 is as evident as its radical benevolence ; and now La has, we believe, 
 done the whole youth of Oxford a substantial service. He has turned, 
 or rather tried to turn, the rage for athletics into a worthy channel." — 
 Spectator, May 80, 1874. 
 
 The above paragraph may, I think, also be, some day, interesting as 
 a summary of the opinions of the British press on Fors Clavigera ; and 
 if my last month's letter should have the fortune to displease, or dis 
 comfort, any British landlord, my alarmed or offended reader may be 
 relieved and pacified by receiving the. Spectatorial warrant at once for 
 the inconsequence of my mind, and for its radical benevolence. 
 
 II. The following paragraphs from a leading journal in our greatest 
 commercial city, surpass, in folly and impudence, anything I have yet 
 seen of the kind, and are well worth preserving: — 
 
 *'The material prosperity of the country has, notwithstanding, in- 
 creased, and the revenue returns, comparing as they do against aD ex- 
 ceptionally high rate of ])roduction and consumption, show that we are 
 fairly holding our own." Production and consumption of uhat^ Mr. 
 Editor, is the question, as I have told you many a time. A high reve- 
 nue, raised on the large production and consumption of weak cloth and 
 strong liquor, does not show the material prosperity of the country 
 
288 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 Suppose you were to tax the production of good pictures, good books, 
 good houses, or honest men, where would your revenue be ? Amongst 
 the middle classes, exceptionally large fortunes have been rapidly real- 
 ized here and there, chiefly in the misty regions of ^finance,' [What 
 do you mean by misty, Mr. Editor ? It is a Turnerian and Titianesqua 
 quality, not in the least properly applicable to any cotton -mill busi« 
 ness.] and instances occur from day to day of almost prodigal expen- 
 diture in objects of art [Photographs of bawds, do you mean, Mr. 
 Editor ? I know no other objects of art that are multiplying, — cer^ 
 tainly not Titiaus, by your Spectd tor s ("'ecision. l and luxury, the dis= 
 play of wealth in the metropolis being more striking year by year. 
 
 Turning from these dazzling exhibitions, the real source of coDgrat- 
 ulation must be found in the existence of a broad and s( lid foundation 
 for our apparent prosperity ; and this, happily, is represented in the 
 amelioration of the condition of the lower orders of society." — Indeed ! 
 
 The adjustment of an increasing scale of wages has not been re- 
 daced to scientific principles, and has consequently been more or less 
 arbitrary and capricious. From time to time it has interfered with the 
 even current of affairs, and been resented as an unfair and unwarranted 
 interception of profits in their way to the manufacturer's pockets. 
 
 "Whilst ' financial ' talent has reaped liberal results from its exercise, 
 the steady productions of manufacturers have left only moderate re- 
 turns to their producers, and importers of raw material have, as a rule, 
 had a trying time. The difficulties of steamship owners have been tol- 
 erably notorious, and the enhancement of sailing vessels is an instance 
 of the adage that ' It is an ill wind that blows no one any good.' 
 
 " For our railways, tbe effects of a most critical half-year can scarcely 
 be forecast. Increased expenses have not, it is to be feared, been met 
 by increased rates and traffics, and the public may not have fully pre- 
 pared themselves for diminished dividends. With the Erie and the 
 Great Western of Canada undergoing the ordeal of investigation, and 
 the Atlantic and Great W^estern on the verge of insolvency, it is not 
 surprising that American and colonial railways are at the moment out 
 of favour. If, however, they have not made satisfactory returns to 
 their shareholders, they have been the media of great profit to operators 
 on the stock exchanges ; and some day we shall, perhaps, learn the 
 connection existing between the well or ill doing of a railway per se^ 
 and the facility for speculation in its stock.'' — Liver2)Ool Cormnercial 
 News, of this year. I have not kept the date. 
 
 III. A young lady's letter about flowers and books, I gratefully ac- 
 knowledge, and have partly answered in the text of this Fors : the rest 
 she will find answered up and down afterwards, as I can ; also a letter 
 from a youth at New Haven in Connecticut has given me much pleas- 
 ure. I am sorry not to be able to answer it more specially, but have 
 now absolutely no time for any private correspondence, except with 
 personal friends, — and I should like even those to show themselves 
 friendly rather by setting themselves to understand my meaning in 
 Fors, and by helping me in my purposes, than by merely expressing 
 anxiety for my welfare, not satisfiable but by letters which do not pro- 
 mote it. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 289 
 
 IV. Publishing the subjoined letter from Mr. Sillar, I must now wish 
 him good success in his battle, and terminate my extracts from his let- 
 ters, there being always some grave points in which I jfind myself at 
 issue with him, but which I have not at present any wish farther to 
 discuss : — 
 
 *' I am right glad to see you quote in your July Fors^ from the pa- 
 pers which the Record newspaper refused to insert, on the plea of their 
 * confusing two things so essentially different as usury and interest of 
 money.' 
 
 I printed them, and have sold two^ — following your advice, and not 
 advertising them. 
 
 You wrong me greatly in saying that I think the sin of usury means 
 every other. What I say is that it is the only sin I know which is neva" 
 denounced from the pidpit ; and therefore / have to do that part of the 
 parson's work. I would much rather be following the business to 
 which 1 was educated ; but so long as usury is prevalent, honourable 
 and profitable employments in that busihcss are impomhle. It may be 
 conducted honourably, but at an annual loss ; or it may be conducted 
 profitably at the expense of hniour. I can no longer afford the former, 
 still less can I afford the latter; and as I ciinnot be idle, I occupy my 
 leisure, at least part of it, in a war to tho knife with that great dragon 
 'Debt.* I war not with flesh and bloo«l, but with principalities and 
 powers of darkness in high places.'* 
 
 V. To finish, here is one of the pleasantest paragraphs I ever saw in 
 print : — 
 
 *'Il0PE Cordage. — On Saturday lasb a very interesting experiment 
 was made at Kirkaldy's Testing Works, Southwark Street, as to the 
 relative strength of hand-spun yarn lope, machine yarn rope, and Rus- 
 sian yarn rope. Mr. Plimsoll, M. P., Captain Bedford Pim, M.P., and 
 others attended the test, which lasted over three hours, '^rhere were 
 nine pieces of rope, each 10 ft. long, being three of each of the above 
 classes. The ultimate stress or breaking strain of the Russian rope 
 was 11,099 lb., or 1,934 lb. strength per fathom ; machine rope, 11.527 
 lb., or 2,155 lb. per fathom ; hand-spun rope, 18,279 lb., or 3,026 lb. 
 per fathom. The ropes were all of 5 in. circumference, and every 
 piece broke clear of the fastenings. The prices paid per cwt. were; 
 Russian rope, 47^. y machine yarn ro])e, 47s.; hand spun yam rope, 44«. 
 — all described as best corda^^e and London manufacture. It will thus 
 be seen that the hand-made was cheaper by ?>s. per cwt., and broke at 
 a testing strength of 7,180 lb. over Russian, and 0,752 lb. over machine- 
 tnade."— n*7?2€«, July 20, 1874. 
 Vol. II.— 19 
 
290 
 
 FOES CLAVIGERA. 
 
 LETTER XLVIT. 
 
 Hotel du Mont Blanc, St. Martinis, 
 
 \Wi October, 1874. 
 
 We have now briefly glanced at the nature of the squire's 
 work in relation to the peasant ; namely, making a celestial 
 or worshipful appearance to him ; and the methods of opera- 
 tion, no less than of appearance, which are generally to be 
 defined as celestial, or worshipful. 
 
 We have next to examine by what rules the action of the 
 squire towards the peasant is to be either restrained or as- 
 sisted ; and the function, therefore, of the lawyer, or definer 
 of limits and modes, — which was above generally expressed, 
 in its relation to the peasant, as ''telling- him, in black letter, 
 that his house is his own." It will be necessary, how- 
 ever, evidently, that his house should be his own, before any 
 lawyer can divinely assert the same to him. 
 
 Waiving, for the moment, examination of this primal 
 necessity, let us consider a little how that divine function of 
 asserting, in perfectly intelligible and indelible letters, the 
 absolute claim of a man to his own house, or castle, and all 
 that it properly includes, is actually discharged by the pow- 
 ers of British law now in operation. 
 
 We will take, if you please, in the outset, a few wise men's 
 opinions on this matter, though we shall thus be obliged 
 somewhat to generalize the inquiry, by admitting into it 
 some notice of criminal as well as civil law. 
 
 My readers have probably thought me forgetful of Sir 
 Walter all this time. No ; but all writing about him is im- 
 possible to me in the impure gloom of modern Italy. I have 
 had to rest a while here, where human life is still sacred, be- 
 fore I could recover the tone of heart fit to say what I want 
 to say in this 7^T>r.?. 
 
 He w^as the sou, you remember, of a writer to the signet, 
 
FOBS CLAVIOEEA. 
 
 291 
 
 and practised for some time at the bar himself. Have you 
 ever chanced to ask yourself what was his innermost opinion 
 of the legal profession ? 
 
 Or, have you even endeavoured to generalize that ex-* 
 pressed with so much greater violence by Dickens ? The 
 latter wrote with a definitely reforming purpose, seemingly ; 
 and, I have heard, had real effects on Chancery practice. 
 
 But are the Judges of England — at present I suppose the 
 highest types of intellectual and moral power that Christen- 
 dom possesses — content to have reform forced on them by 
 the teazing of a caricaturist, instead of the pleading of their 
 own consciences ? 
 
 Even if so, is there no farther reform indicated as neces- 
 sary, in a lower field, by the same teazing personage ? The 
 Court of Chancery and Mr. Yholes were not his only legal 
 sketches. Dodson and Fogg ; Sampson Brass ; Serjeant 
 Buzfaz ; and, most of all, the examiner, for the Crown, of 
 Mr. Swiveller in the trial of Kit,* — are these deserving of no 
 repentant attention ? You, good reader, probably have read 
 the trial in Pickioick^ and the trial of Kit, merely to amuse 
 yourself ; and perhaps Dickens himself meant little more 
 than to amuse you. But did it never strike you as quite 
 other than a matter of amusement, that in both cases, the 
 force of the law of England is represented as employed 
 zealously to prove a crime against a person known by the 
 accusing counsel to be innocent ; and, in both cases, as ob- 
 taining: a conviction ? 
 
 You might perhaps think that these were only examples 
 of the ludicrous, and sometimes tragic, at5cidents which must 
 sometimes happen in the working of any complex system, 
 however excellent. They are by no means so. Ludicrous, 
 and tragic, mischance must indeed take place in all human 
 affairs of importance, however honestly conducted. But 
 here 3^ou have deliberate, artistic, energetic, dishonesty ; 
 skilfullest and resolutest endeavour to prove a crime against 
 an innocent person, — a crime of which, in the case of the boy, 
 
 * See the part of examination respecting communication held with 
 the brother of the prisoner. 
 
392 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOBIU. 
 
 the reputed commission will cost him at least the prosperity 
 and honour of his life, — more to him than life itself. And 
 this you forgive, or admire, because it is not done in malice, 
 but for money, and in pride of art. Because the assassin is 
 paid, — makes his living in that line of business^ — and deliv- 
 ers his thrust with a bravo's artistic finesse you think him a 
 respectable person ; so much better in style than a passion- 
 ate one who does his murder gratis, vulgarly, with a club, — 
 Bill Sykes, for instance ? It is all balanced fairly, as the 
 system goes, you think. ' It works round, and two and twa 
 make four. He accused an innocent person to-day : — to- 
 morrow he will defend a rascal.' 
 
 And you truly hold this a business to which your youth 
 should be bred — gentlemen of England ? 
 
 * But how is it to be ordered otherwise ? Every supposed 
 criminal ought surely to have an advocate, to say what can 
 be said in his favour ; and an accuser, to insist on the evi- 
 dence against him. Both do their best, and can anything be 
 fairer ? ' 
 
 Yes ; something else could be much fairer ; but we will 
 find out what Sir Walter thinks, if we can, before going 
 farther ; though it will not be easy — for you don't at once 
 get at the thoughts of a great man, upon a great matter. 
 
 The first difference, however, which, if you know your 
 Scott well, strikes you, between him and Dickens, is that 
 your task of investigation is chiefly pleasant, though serious ; 
 not a painful one — and still less a jesting or mocking one. 
 The first figure that rises before you is Pleydell ; the second, 
 Scott's own father,*Saunders Fairford, with his son. And 
 you think for an instant or two, perhaps, " The question is 
 settled, as far as Scott is concerned, at once. What a beau- 
 tiful thing is Law ! " 
 
 For you forget, by the sweet emphasis of the divine art 
 on what is good, that there ever was such a person in the 
 world as Mr. Glossin. And you are left, by" the grave cun- 
 ning of the divine art, which reveals to you no secret with- 
 out your own labour, to discern and unveil for yourself the 
 meaning of the plot of RedgawitleL 
 
FOUS CLAVIQERA. 
 
 293 
 
 You perhaps were dissatisfied enough with the plot, when 
 you read it for amusement. Such a cliildish fuss about 
 nothing ! Sol way sands, forsooth, the only scenery ; and 
 your young hero of the story frightened to wet his feet ; 
 and your old hero doing nothing but ride a black horse, and 
 make himself disagreeable ; and all that about the house in 
 Edinburgh so dull ; and no love-making, to speak of, any- 
 where ! 
 
 Well, it doesn't come in exactly with my subject, to-day ; 
 — but, by the way, I beg you to observe that there is a bit 
 of love in lledyaiuitUt which is worth any quantity of mod- 
 ern French or English amatory novels in a heap. Alan 
 Fairford has been bred, and willingly bred, in the strictest 
 discipline of mind and conduct ; he is an entirely strong, 
 entirely prudent, entirely pure young Scotchman, — and a 
 lawyer. Scott, when he wrote the book, was an old Scotch- 
 man ; and had seen a good deal of the world. And he is 
 going to tell you how Love ought first to come to an en- 
 tirely strong, entirely prudent, entirely pure youth, of his 
 own grave profession. 
 
 llow love owjht to come, mind you. Alan Fairford is the 
 real hero (next to Nanty Ewart) of the novel ; and he is the 
 exemplary and happy hero — Nanty being the suflering one, 
 under hand of Fate. 
 
 Of course, you would say, if you didn't know the book, 
 and were asked what should happen — (and with Miss Edge- 
 worth to manage matters instead of Scott, or Shakespeare, 
 nothing else icould have happened,) — of course, the entirely 
 prudent young lawyer will consider what an important step 
 in life marriage is ; and will look out for a young person of 
 good connections, whose qualities of mind and moral dispo- 
 sition he will examine strictly before allowing his affections 
 to be engaged ; he will then consider wliat income is neces- 
 sary for a person in a high legal j)Osition, etc., etc., etc. 
 
 Well, this is what does liappen, according to Scott, you 
 know ; — (or more likely, I'm afraid, know nothing about it). 
 The old servant of the family announces, with some dryness 
 of manner, one day, that a Meddy' wants to see Maister 
 
294 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOERA, 
 
 Alan Fairford, — for legal consultation. The prudent young 
 gentleman, upon this, puts his room into the most impressive 
 order, intending to make a first appearance reading a legal 
 volume in an abstracted state of mind. But, on a knock 
 coming at the street door, he can't resist going to look out 
 at the window ; and — the servant maliciously showing in 
 the client without announcement — is discovered peeping out 
 of it. The client is closely veiled — little more than the tip 
 of her nose discernible. She is, fortunately, a little em- 
 barrassed herself ; for she did not want Mr. Alan Fairford 
 at all, but Mr. Alan Fairford's father. They sit looking at 
 each other — at least, he looking at the veil and a green silk 
 cloak — for half a minute. The young lady — (for she is 
 young ; he has made out that, he admits ; and something 
 more perhaps,) — is the first to recover her presence of mind ; 
 makes him a pretty little apology for having mistaken him 
 for his father ; says that, now she has done it, he will answer 
 her purpose, perhaps, even better ; but she thinks it best to 
 communicate the points on which she requires his assistance, 
 in writing, — curtsies him, on his endeavour to remonstrate, 
 gravely and inexorably into silence, — disappears, — " And 
 put the sun in her pocket, I believe," as she turned the cor- 
 ner, says prudent Mr. Alan. And keeps it in her pocket for 
 him, — evermore. That is the way one's Love is sent, when 
 she is sent from Heaven, says the aged Scott. 
 
 'But how ridiculous, — how entirely unreasonable, — how 
 unjustifiable, on any grounds of propriety or common sense ! ' 
 
 Certainly, my good sir, — certainly : Shakespeare and Scott 
 can't help that ; — all they know is, — that is the way God 
 and Nature manage it. Of course, Rosalind ought to have 
 been much more particular in her inquiries about Orlando ; — 
 Juliet about the person masqued as a pilgrim ; — and there 
 is really no excuse whatever for Desdemona's conduct ; and 
 we all know what came of it ; — but, again I say, Shakespeare 
 and Scott can't help that. 
 
 Nevertheless, Love is not the subject of this novel oiRecU 
 gauntlet ; but Law : on which matter we will endeavour 
 now to gather its evidence. 
 
FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 295 
 
 Two youths are brought up together — one, the son of a 
 Cavalier, or Ghibelline, of the old school, whose Law is in 
 the sword, and the heart ; and the other of a Roundhead, or 
 Guelph, or the modern school, wliose Law is in form and 
 precept. Scott's own prejudices lean to the Cavalier ; but 
 his domestic affections, personal experience, and sense of 
 equity, lead him to give utmost finish to the adverse charac- 
 ter. The son of the Cavalier — in moral courage, in nervous 
 power, in general sense and self-command, — is entirely in- 
 ferior to the son of the Puritan ; nay, in many respects 
 quite weak and effeminate ; one slight and scarcely notice- 
 able touch, (about the unproved pistol,) gives the true rela- 
 tion of the characters, and makes their portraiture complete, 
 as by Velasquez. 
 
 The Cavalier's father is dead ; his uncle asserts the Cav- 
 alier's law of the Sword over him : its effects upon him are 
 the first clause of the book. 
 
 The Puritan's father — living — asserts the law of Precept 
 over him : its effects upon him are the second clause of the 
 book. 
 
 Toofether with these studies of the two laws in their influ- 
 ence on the relation of guardian and ward — or of father and 
 cliild, their influence on society is examined in the opposi- 
 tion of the soldier and hunter to the friend of man and ani- 
 mals, — Scott putting his whole power into the working out 
 of this third clause of the book. 
 
 Having given his verdict, in these three clauses, wholly in 
 favour of the law of precept, — lie has to mark the effects of 
 its misapplication, — first moral, then civil. 
 
 The story of Nanty Ewart, the fourth clause, is the most 
 instructive and pathetic piece of Scott's judgment on the 
 abuse of the moral law, by pride, in Scotland, which you 
 can find in all his works. 
 
 Finally, the effects of the abuse of the civil law by sale, or 
 simony, have to be examined ; which is done in the story of 
 Peter Peebles. 
 
 The involution of this fifth clause with that of Nanty 
 Ewart is one of the subtlest pieces of heraldic quartering 
 
296 
 
 FORS CLAVIOERA, 
 
 which you can find in all the Waverley novels ; and no oth- 
 ers have any pretence to range with them in this point of 
 art at all. The best, by other masters, are a mere play of 
 kaleidoscope colour compared to the severe heraldic delinea- 
 tion of the Waverieys. 
 
 We will first examine the statement of the abuse of Civil 
 Law. 
 
 There is not, if you have any true sj^mpathy with human- 
 ity, extant for you a more exquisite study of the relations 
 which must exist, even under circumstances of great diffi- 
 culty and misunderstanding, between a good father and 
 good son, than the scenes of jRedgaunilet laid in Edinburgh. 
 The father's intense devotion, pride, and joy, mingled with 
 fear, in the son ; the son's direct, unflinching, unaffected 
 obedience, hallowed by pure affection, tempered by youth- 
 ful sense, guided by high personal power. And all this 
 force of noble passion and effort, in both, is directed to a 
 single object — the son*s success at the bar. That success, as 
 usually in the legal profession, must, if it be not wholly in- 
 volved, at least give security for itself, in the impression 
 made by the young counsel's opening speech. All the in- 
 terests of the reader (if he has any interest in him) are 
 concentrated upon this crisis in the story ; and the chapter 
 which gives account of the fluctuating event is one of the 
 supreme masterpieces of European literature. 
 
 The interests of the reader, I say, are concentrated on the 
 success of the young counsel : that of his client is of no 
 importance whatever to any one. You perhaps forget even 
 who the client is — or recollect him only as a poor drunkard, 
 who must be kept out of the way for fear he should inter- 
 rupt his own counsel, or make the jury laugh at him. His 
 cause has been — no one knows how long — in the courts ; it 
 is good for practising on, by any young hand. 
 
 You forget Peter Peebles, perhaps : you don't forget 
 Miss Flite, in the Dickens' court ? Better done, therefore, 
 —Miss Elite,— think you? 
 
 No ; not so well done ; or anything like so well done. 
 The very primal condition in Scott's type of the ruined creat- 
 
FORS CLAVIOEBA. 
 
 297 
 
 ure is, that he should be forgotten ! Worse ; — that he 
 should deserve to be forgotten. Miss Flite interests you — 
 takes your affections — deserves them. Is mad, indeed, but 
 not a destroyed creature, morally, at all. A very sweet, 
 kind creature, — not even altogether unhappy, — enjoying her 
 lawsuit, and her bag, and her papers. She is a picturesque, 
 quite unnatural and unlikely figure, — therefore wholly inef- 
 fective except for story-telling purposes. 
 
 But Peter Peebles is a natural ruin, and a total one. An 
 accurate type of what is to be seen every day, and carried 
 to the last stage of its misery. He is degraded alike in 
 body and heart ; — mad, but with every vile sagacity un- 
 quenched, — while every hope in earth and heaven is taken 
 away. And in this desolation, you can only hate, not pity 
 him. 
 
 That, says Scott, is the beautiful operation of the Civil 
 Law of Great Britain, on a man whose affairs it has spent 
 its best intelligence on, for an unknown number of years. 
 His affairs being very obscure, and his cause doubtful, you 
 suppose ? No. His affairs being so simple that the young 
 honest counsel can explain them entirely in an hour ; — and 
 his cause absolutely and unquestionably just. 
 
 What is Dickens' entire Court of Chancery to that? 
 With all its dusty delay, — with all its diabolical ensnaring ; 
 — its pathetic death of Richard — widowhood of Ada, etc., 
 etc. ? All mere blue fire of the stage, and dropped foot- 
 lights ; no real tragedy. — A villain cheats a foolish youth, 
 who would be wiser than his elders, who dies repentant, and 
 immediately begins a new life, — so says, at least, (not the 
 least believing,) the pious Mr. Dickens. All that might 
 happen among the knaves of any profession. 
 
 But with Scott, the best honour — soul — intellect in Scot- 
 land take in hand the cause of a man who comes to them 
 justly, necessarily, for plain, instantly possible, absolutely 
 deserved, decision of a manifest cause. 
 
 They are endless years talking of it, — to amuse, and pay, 
 themselves. 
 
 And they drive him into the foulest death — eternal — if 
 
298 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGERA, 
 
 there be, for such souls, any Eternity. On which Scott does 
 not feel it his duty, as Dickens does, to offer you an opinion. 
 He tells you, as Shakespeare, the facts he knows, — no more. 
 
 There, then, you have Sir Walter's opinion of the existing 
 method and function of British Civil Law. 
 
 What the difference may be, and what the consequences of 
 such difference, between this lucrative function, and the true 
 duty of Civil Law, — namely, to fulfil and continue in all the 
 world the first mission of the mightiest Lawgiver, and declare 
 tlmt on such and such conditions, written in eternal letters 
 by the finger of God, every man's house, or piece of Holy 
 land, is his own, — there does not, it appears, exist at present 
 wit enough under all the weight of curled and powdered 
 horsehair in England, either to reflect, or to define. 
 
 In the meantime, we have to note another question beyond, 
 and greater than this, — answered by Scott in his story. 
 
 So far as human laws have dealt with the man, this their 
 ruined client has been destroyed in his innocence. But there 
 is yet a Divine Law, controlling the injustice of men. 
 
 And the historian — revealing to us the full relation of pri- 
 vate and public act — shows us that the wretch's destruction 
 was in his refusal of the laws of God, while he trusted in the 
 laws of man. 
 
 Such is the entire plan of the story of Medgauntlet, — only 
 in part conscious, — partly guided by the Fors which has rule 
 over the heart of the noble king in his word, and of the noble 
 scribe in his scripture, as over the rivers of water. We will 
 trace the detail of this story farther in next Fors ^ meantime, 
 here is your own immediate lesson, reader, whoever you may 
 be, from our to-day's work. 
 
 The first — not the chief, but the first — piece of good work 
 a man has to do is to find rest for himself, — a place for the 
 sole of his foot ; his house, or piece of Holy land ; and to 
 make it so holy and happy, that if by any chance he receive 
 order to leave it, there may be bitter pain in obedience ; and 
 also that to his daughter there may yet one sorrowful sen- 
 tence be spoken in her day of mirth, " Forget also thy people, 
 and thy father's house." 
 
FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 299 
 
 * But I mean to make money, and have a better and better 
 house, every ten years.' 
 
 Yes, I know you do. 
 
 If you intend to keep that notion, I have no word more to 
 say to you. Fare you — not well, for you cannot ; but as you 
 may. 
 
 But if you have sense, and feeling, determine what sort of 
 a house will be fit for you ; — determine to work for it — to 
 get it — and to die in it, if the Lord will. 
 
 * What sort of house will be fit for me ? — but of course the 
 biggest and finest I can get will be fittest ! ' 
 
 Again, so says the Devil to you ; and if you believe him, 
 he will find you fine lodgings enough, — for rent. But if you 
 don't believe him, consider, I repeat, what sort of house will 
 be fit for you ? 
 
 * Fit ! — but what do you mean by fit ? ' 
 
 I mean, one that you can entirely enjoy and manage ; but 
 which you will not be proud of, except as you make it charm- 
 ing in its modesty. If you are proud of it, it is xm(\t for 
 you, — better than a man in your station of life can by simple 
 and sustained exertion obtain ; and it should be rather under 
 such quiet level than above. Ashesteil was entirely fit for 
 Walter Scott, and Walter Scott was entirely happy there. 
 Abbotsford was fit also for Sir Walter Scott ; and had ho 
 been content with it, his had been a model life. But he 
 would fain still add field to field, — and died homeless. Per- 
 haps Gadshill was fit for Dickens ; I do not know enough of 
 him to judge ; and he knew scarcely anything of himself. 
 But the story of the boy on Rochester Hill is lovely. 
 
 And assuredly, my aunt's house at Croydon was fit for her ; 
 and my father's at Herne Hill, — in which I correct the press 
 of this ForSy sitting in what was once my nursery, — was 
 exactly fit for him, and me. He left it for the larger one — 
 Denmark Hill ; and never had a quite happy day afterwards. 
 It was not his fault, the house at Herne Hill was built on 
 clay, and the doctors said he was not well there ; also, I was 
 his pride, and he wanted to leave me in a better house, — a 
 good father's cruellest, subtlest temptation. 
 
300 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 But you are a poor man, you say, and have no hope o£ a 
 grand home? 
 
 Weil, here is the simplest ideal of operation, then. You 
 dig a hole, like Robinson Crusoe ; you gather sticks for fire, 
 and bake the earth you get out of your hole, — partly into 
 bricks, partly into tiles, partly into pots. If there are any 
 stones in the neighbourhood, you drag them together, and 
 build a defensive dyke round your hole or cave. If there are 
 no stones, but only timber, you drive in a palisade. And you 
 are already exercising the arts of the Greeks, Etruscans, 
 Normans, and Lombards, in their purest form, on the whole- 
 some and true threshold of all their art ; and on your own 
 wholesome threshold. 
 
 You don't know, you answer, how to make a brick, a tile, 
 or a pot ; or how to build a dyke, or drive a stake that will 
 stand. No more do I. Our education has to begin ; — mine 
 as much as yours. I have indeed, the newspapers sa}^ a 
 power of expression ; but as they also say I cannot think at 
 all, you see I have nothing to express ; so that peculiar power, 
 according to them, is of no use to me whatever. 
 
 But you don't want to make your bricks yourself ; you 
 want to have them made for you by the United Grand Junc- 
 tion Limited Liability Brick-without-Straw Company, paying 
 twenty-five per cent, to its idle shareholders ? Well, what 
 will you do, yourself, then ? Nothing ? Or do you mean to 
 play on the fiddle to the Company making your bricks ? 
 What will you do — of this first work necessary for your life ? 
 There's nothing but digging and cooking now remains to be 
 done. Will you dig, or cook ? Dig, by all means ; but your 
 house should be ready for you first. 
 
 . Your wife should cook. What else can you do ? Preach ? 
 i — and give us your precious opinions of God and His ways ! 
 Yes, and in th^ meanwhile Zam to build your house, am I? 
 and find you a barrel-organ, or a harmonium, to twangle 
 psalm-tunes on, I suppose ? Fight — will you ? — and pull 
 other people's houses down ; while I am to be set to build 
 your barracks, that you may go smoking and spitting about 
 all day, with a cockscomb on your head, and spurs to your 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 301 
 
 heels ? — (I observe, by the way, the Italian soldiers have 
 now got cocks' tails on their heads, instead of cocks' combs.) — 
 Lay down the law to me in a wig, — will you ? and tell me 
 the house I have built is — not mine? and take my dinner 
 from me, as a fee for that opinion ? Build, my man, — 
 build, or dig, — one of the two ; and then eat your honestly 
 earned meat, thankfully, and let other people alone, if you 
 can't help them. 
 
302 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 The points suggested by the letter printed in the Fora of September, 
 respecting the minor action of English Magistracy, must still be kept 
 for subsequent consideration, our to-day's work having been too gen- 
 eral to reach them. 
 
 I have an interesting letter from a man of business, remonstrating 
 with me on my declaration that railroads should no more pay dividends 
 than carriage roads, or field footpaths. 
 
 He is a gentleman of business, and meshed, as moderately well- 
 meaning people, nowadays, always are, in a web of equivocation be- 
 tween what is profitable and benevolent. 
 
 He says that people who make railroads should be rewarded by divi- 
 dends for having acted so benevolently towards the public, and provided 
 it with these beautiful and easy means of locomotion. But my corre- 
 spondent is too good a man of business to remain in this entanglement of 
 brains — unless by his own fault. He knows perfectly well, in his 
 heart, that the * benevolence ' involved in the construction of railways 
 amounts exactly to this much, and no more, — that if the British public 
 were informed that engineers were now confident, after their practice 
 in the Cenis and St. Gothard tunnels, that they could make a railway 
 to Hell, — the British public would instantly invest in the concern to 
 any amount ; and stop church-building all over the country, for fear of 
 diminishing the diTidtnds. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 303 
 
 LETTER XLVIII. 
 
 The accounts of the state of St. George's Fund, given 
 without any inconvenience in crowding type, on the last 
 leaf of this number of Fors^ will, I hope, be as satisfactory 
 to my subscribers as they are to me. In these days of 
 financial operation, the subscribers to anything may surely 
 be content when they find that all their talents have been 
 laid up in the softest of napkins ; and even farther, that, 
 though they are getting no interest themselves, that lichen- 
 ous growth of vegetable gold, or mould, is duly developing 
 itself on their capital. 
 
 The amount of subscriptions received, during the four 
 years of my mendicancy, might have disappointed me, if, in 
 my own mind, I had made any appointments on the subject, 
 or had benevolence pungent enough to make me fret at tho 
 delay in the commencement of the national felicity which I 
 propose to bestow. On the contrary, I am only too happy 
 to continue anuising myself in my study, with stones and 
 pictures ; and find, as I grow old, that I remain resigned to 
 the consciousness of any quantity of surrounding vice, dis- 
 tress, and disease, provided only the sun shine in at my 
 window over Corpus Garden, and there are no whistles from 
 the luggage trains passing the Waterworks. 
 
 I understand this state of even temper to be what most 
 people call * rational ; ' and, indeed, it has been the result 
 of very steady effort on my own part to keep myself, if it 
 might be, out of Hanwell, or that other Hospital which 
 makes the name of Christ's native village dreadful in the ear 
 of London. For, having long observed that the most peril- 
 ous beginning of trustworthy qualification for either of those 
 establishments consisted in an exaggerated sense of self- 
 importance ; and being daily compelled, of late, to value my 
 own person and opinions at a higher and higher rate, in pre 
 
304 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 portion to my extending experience of the rarity of any simi* 
 lar creatures or ideas among mankind, it seemed to me ex- 
 pedient to correct this increasing conviction of my superior 
 wisdom, by companionship with pictures I could not copy, and 
 stones I could not understand : — while, that this wholesome 
 seclusion may remain only self-imposed, I think it not a little 
 fortunate for me that the few relations I have left are gen- 
 erally rather fond of me ; — don't know clearly which is the 
 next of kin, — and perceive that the administration of my 
 inconsiderable effects * would be rather troublesome than 
 profitable to them. Not in the least, therefore, wondering 
 at the shyness of my readers to trust me with money of 
 theirs, I have made, during these four years past, some few 
 experiments with money of my own, — in hopes of being able 
 to give such account of them as might justify a more ex- 
 tended confidence. I am bound to state that the results, 
 for the present, are not altogether encouraging. On my 
 own little piece of mountain ground at Coniston, I grow a 
 large quantity of wood-hyacinths and heather, without any 
 expense worth mentioning ; but my only industrious agri- 
 cultural operations have been the getting three pounds 
 ten worth of hay, off a field for which I pay six pounds 
 rent ; and the surrounding, with a costly wall six feet high, 
 to keep out rabbits,* a kitchen garden, which, being terraced 
 and trim, my neighbours say is pretty ; and which will 
 probably, every third year, when the weather is not wet, 
 supply me with a dish of strawberries. 
 
 At Carshalton, in Surrey, I have indeed had the satisfac- 
 tion of cleaning out one of the springs of the Wandel, and 
 making it pleasantly habitable by trout ; but find that the 
 fountain, instead of taking care of itself when once pure, as 
 I expected it to do, requires continual looking after, like a 
 child getting into a mess ; and involves me besides in con- 
 tinual debate with the surveyors of the parish, who insist on 
 letting all the roadwashings run into it. For the present, 
 however, I persevere, at Carshalton, against the wilfulness 
 of the spring and the carelessness of the parish ; and hope 
 * See statement at close of accounts. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 305 
 
 to conquer both : but I have been obliged entirely to 
 abandon a notion I had of exhibiting ideally clean street 
 jmvement in the centre of London, — in the pleasant en- 
 virons of Church Lane, St. Giles's. There I had every help 
 and encouragement from the authorities ; and hoped, with 
 tlie staff of two men and a young rogue of a crossing- 
 sweeper, added to the regular force of the parish, to keep a 
 quarter of a mile square of the narrow streets without leaving 
 so much as a bit of orange-peel on the footway, or an egg- 
 shell in the gutters. I failed, partly because I chose too 
 difficult a district to begin with, (the contributions of trans- 
 itional mud being constant, and the inhabitants passive,) 
 but chiefly because I could no more be on the spot myself, 
 to give spirit to the men, when 1 left Denmark Hill for 
 Coniston. 
 
 I next set up a tea-shop at 29, Paddington Street, W., (an 
 establishment which my F'ors readers may as well know of,) 
 to supply the poor in that neiglibourhood with pure tea, in 
 packets as small as they chose to buy, without making a 
 profit on the subdivision, — larger orders being of course 
 equally acceptable from anybody who cares to promote 
 honest dealing. The result of this experiment has been my 
 ascertaining that the poor only like to buy their tea where 
 it is brilliantly lighted and eloquently ticketed ; and as I 
 resolutely refuse to compete with my neighbouring trades- 
 men either in gas or rhetoric, the patient subdivision of my 
 parcels by the two old servants of my mother's, who manage 
 the business for me, hitherto passes little recognized as an 
 advantage by my uncalculating public. Also, steady in- 
 crease in the consumption of spirits throughout the neigh- 
 bourhood faster and faster slackens the demand for tea ; but 
 I believe none of these circumstances have cliecked my trade 
 so much as my own procrastination in painting my sign. 
 Owing to that total want of imagination and invention 
 wliich makes me so impartial and so accurate a writer on 
 subjects of political economy, T could not for months deter- 
 mine whether the said sign sliould be of a Chinesfi character, 
 black upon gold ; or of a Japanese, blue upon white ; or of 
 Vol. II. -20 
 
306 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 pleasant English, rose-colour on green ; and still less how 
 far legible scale of letters could be compatible, on a board 
 only a foot broad, with lengthy enough elucidation of the 
 peculiar offices of ^Mr. Ruskin's tea-shop.' Meanwhile the 
 business languishes, and the rent and taxes absorb the 
 profits, and something more, after the salary of my good 
 servants has been paid. 
 
 In all these cases, however, I can see that I am defeated 
 only because I have too many things on hand : and that 
 neither rabbits at Coniston, road-surveyors at Croydon, or 
 mud in St. Giles's would get the better of me, if I could 
 give exclusive attention to any one business : meantime, I 
 learn the difficulties which are to be met, and shall make 
 the fewer mistakes when I venture on any work with other 
 people's money. 
 
 I may as well, together with these confessions, print a 
 piece written for the end of a Fors letter at Assisi, a month 
 or two back, but for which I had then no room, referring to 
 the increase of commercial, religious, and egotistic insanity,* 
 in modern society, and delicacy of the distinction implied by 
 that long wall at Hanwell, between the persons inside it, and 
 out. 
 
 'Does it never occur to me,' (thus the letter went on) 
 * that I may be mad myself ? ' 
 
 Well, I am so alone now in my thoughts and ways, that 
 if I am not mad, I should soon become so, from mere soli- 
 tude, but for my work. But it must be manual work. 
 Whenever I succeed in a drawing, I am happy, in spite of 
 all that surrounds me of sorrow. It is a strange feeling ; — 
 not gratified vanity : I can have any quantity of praise I 
 like from some sorts of people ; but that does me no vital 
 good, (though dispraise does me mortal harm) ; whereas to 
 succeed to my own satisfaction in a manual piece of work, 
 is life, — to me, as ^o all men ; and it is only the peace which 
 coraes necessarily from manual labour which in all time has 
 kept the honest country people patient in their task of main- 
 taining the rascals who live in towns. But we are in hard 
 * See second letter in Notes and Correspondence, 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 30i 
 
 times, now, for all men's wits ; for men who know the truth 
 are like to go mad from isolation ; and the fools are all 
 going mad in ' Schwarmerei,' — only that is much the pleas- 
 anter way. Mr. Lecky, for instance, quoted in last Fors : 
 how pleasant for him to think he is ever so much wiser 
 than Aristotle ; and that, as a body, the men of his genera- 
 tion are the wisest that ever were born — giants of intel- 
 lect, according to Lord Macaulay, compared to the pigmies 
 of Bacon's time, and the minor pigmies of Christ's time, and 
 the minutest of all, the microscopic pigmies of Solomon's 
 time, and, finally, the vermicular and infusorial pigmies — 
 twenty-three millions to the cubic inch — of Mr. Darwin's 
 time, whatever that may be. How pleasant for Mr. Lecky 
 to live in these days of the Anakim, — his spear, to equal 
 which, the tallest pine," etc., etc., which no man Stratford- 
 born could have lifted, much less shaken. 
 
 But for us of the old race — few of us now left, — children 
 who reverence our fathers, and are ashamed of ourselves ; 
 comfortless enough in that shame, and yearning for one word 
 or glance from the graves of old, yet knowing ourselves to 
 be of the same blood, and recognizing in our hearts the same 
 passions, with the ancient masters of humanity ; — wo, who 
 feel as men, and not as carnivorous worms ; we, who are 
 every day recognizing some inaccessible height of thought 
 and power, and are miserable in our shortcomings, — the few 
 of us now standing here and there, alone, in the midst of 
 this yelping, carnivorous crowd, mad for money and lust, 
 tearing each other to pieces, and starving each other to death, 
 and leaving heaps of their dung and ponds of their spittle 
 on every palace floor and altar stone, — it is impossible for 
 us, except in the labour of our hands, not to go mad. 
 
 And the danger is tenfold greater for a man in my own 
 position, concerned with the arts which develope the more 
 subtle brain sensations ; and, through them, tormented all 
 day long. Mr. Leslie Stephen rightly says how much bet- 
 ter it is to have a thick skin and a good digestion. Yes, as- 
 suredly ; but what is the use of knowing that, if one hasn't ? 
 In one of ray saddest moods, only a week or two ago, be- 
 
308 
 
 FOBS OLAVIGEJRA. 
 
 cause I had failed twice over in drawing the lifted hand of 
 Giotto's ' Poverty ; ' utterly beaten and comfortless, at As- 
 sisij I got some wholesome peace and refreshment by mere 
 sympathy with a Bewickian little pig in the roundest and 
 conceitedest burst of pig-blossom. His servant, — a grave 
 old woman, with mucli sorrow and toil in the wrinkles of her 
 skin, while his was only dimpled in its divine thickness, — = 
 was leading him, with magnanimous length of rope, down a 
 grassy path behind the convent ; stopping, of course, where 
 he chose. Stray stalks and leaves of eatable things, in va- 
 rious stages of ambrosial rottenness, lay here and there ; the 
 convent walls made more savoury by their fumigation, as 
 Mr. Leslie Stephen says the Alpine pines are by his cigar. 
 And the little joyful darling of Demeter shook his curly 
 tail, and munched ; and grunted the goodnaturedest of 
 grunts, and snuffled the approvingest of snuffles, and was a 
 balm and beatification to behold ; and I would fain have 
 changed places with him for a little while, or w^ith Mr. Les* 
 lie Stephen for a little while, — at luncheon, suppose, — any- 
 where but among the Alps. But it can't be. 
 
 Hotel Meurice, Parts, 
 
 20th October, 1874 
 
 I interrupt myself, for an instant or two, to take notice of 
 two little things that happen to me here — arriving to break- 
 fast by night train from Geneva. 
 
 Expecting to be cold, I had ordered fire, and sat down by 
 it to read my letters as soon as I arrived, not noticing that 
 the little parlour was getting much too hot. Presently, in 
 comes the chambermaid, to put the bedroom in order, which 
 one enters through the parlour. Perceiving that I am mis- 
 managing myself, in the way of fresh air, as she passes 
 through, " II fait bien chaud, monsieur, ici," says she reprov- 
 ingly, and with entire self-possession. Now that is French 
 servant-character of the rio-ht old school. She knows her 
 own position perfectly, and means to stay in it, and wear her 
 little white radiant frill of a cap all her days. She knows 
 my position also 5 and has not the least fear of my thinking 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 309 
 
 her impertinent because she tells me what it is right that I 
 should know. Presently afterwards, an evidently German- 
 importation of waiter brings me up my breakfast, which has 
 been longer in appearing than it would have been in old 
 times. It looks all right at first, — the napkin, china, and 
 solid silver sugar basin, all of the old regime. Bread, butter, 
 — yes, of the best still. CoflFee, milk, — all right too. But, 
 at last, here is a bit of the new regime. There are no sugar- 
 tongs ; and the sugar is of beetroot, and in methodically 
 similar cakes, which I must break with my finger and thumb 
 if I want a small piece, and put back what I don't want for 
 my neighbour, to-morrow. 
 
 * Civilization,' this, you observe, according to Professor 
 Liebig and Mr. John Stuart Mill. Not according to old 
 French manners, however. 
 
 Now, my readers are continually complaining that I don't 
 go on telling them my plan of life, under the rule of St. 
 George's Company. 
 
 I Jiave told it them, again and again, in broad terms : 
 agricultural life, with as much refinement as I can enforce in 
 it. But it is impossible to describe what I mean by 'refine- 
 ment,' except in details which can only be suggested by 
 practical need ; and which cannot at all be set down at once. 
 
 Here, however, to-day, is one instance. At the l)est hotel 
 in what has been supposed the most luxurious city of modern 
 Europe, — because people are now always in a hurry to catch 
 the train, they haven't time to use tlie sugar-tongs, or look 
 for a little piece among differently sized lumps, and therefore 
 they use their fingers ; have bad sugar instead of good, and 
 waste the ground that would grow blessed cherry trees, currant 
 bushes, or wheat, in growing a miserable root as a substitute 
 for the sugar-cane, which God has appointed to grow where 
 cherries and wheat won't, and to give juice which will freeze 
 into sweet snow as pure as hoar-frost. 
 
 Now, on the poorest farm of the St. George's Company, 
 the servants shall have white and brown sugar of the best — 
 or none. If we are too poor to buy sugar, we will drink 
 our tea without ; and have suet-dumpling instead of pudding. 
 
310 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGEHA. 
 
 But among the earliest school lessons, and home lessons 
 decent behaviour at table will be primarily essential ; and of 
 such decency, one little exact point will be — the neat, patient, 
 and scrupulous use of sugar-tongs instead of fingers. If we 
 are too poor to have silver basins, we will have delf ones ; if 
 not silver tongs, we will have wooden ones ; and the boys of 
 the house shall be challenged to cut, and fit together, the 
 prettiest and handiest machines of the sort they can contrive. 
 In six months you would find more real art fancy brought 
 out in the wooden handles and claws, than there is now in 
 all the plate in London. 
 
 Now, there's the cuckoo-clock striking seven, just as I sit 
 down to correct the press of this sheet, in my nursery at 
 Herne Hill ; and though I don't remember, as the murderer 
 does in Mr. Crummies' play, having heard a cuckoo-clock 
 strike seven — in my infancy, I do remember, in my favourite 
 Frank^ much talk of the housekeeper's cuckoo-clock, and 
 of the boy's ingenuity in mending it. Yet to this hour of 
 seven in the morning, ninth December of my fifty-fifth year, 
 I haven't the least notion how anv such clock savs ' Cuckoo ' 
 nor a clear one even of the making of the commonest barking 
 toy of a child's Noah's ark. I don't know how a barrel 
 organ produces music by being ground ; nor what real func- 
 tion the pea has in a w^histle. Physical science — all this — of 
 a kind which would have been boundlessly interesting to me, 
 as to all boys of mellifluous disposition, if only I had been 
 taught it with due immediate practice, and enforcement of 
 true manufacture, or, in pleasant Saxon, ^ handiwork.' But 
 there shall not be on St. George's estate a single thing in the 
 house which the boys don't know how to make, nor a single 
 dish on the table which the girls will not know how to cook. 
 
 By the w^ay, I have been greatly surprised by receiving 
 some letters of puzzled inquiry as to the meaning of my 
 recipe, given last year, for Yorkshire Pie. Do not my 
 readers yet at all understand that the whole gist of this 
 book is to make people build their own houses, provide and 
 cook their own dinners, and enjoy both ? Something else 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 311 
 
 besides, perhaps ; but at least, and at first, those. St. 
 MichaeJ's mass, and Christ's mass, may eventually be asso- 
 ciated in your minds with other things than goose and 
 pudding ; but Fors demands at first no more chivalry nor 
 Christianity from you than that you build your houses 
 bravely, and earn your dinners honestly, and enjoy them 
 both, and be content with them both. The contentment 
 is the main matter ; you may enjoy to any extent, but 
 if you are discontented, your life will be poisoned. The 
 little pig was so comforting to me because he was wholly 
 content to be a little pig ; and Mr. Leslie Stephen is in a 
 certain degree exemplary and comforting to me, because he 
 is wholly content to be Mr. Leslie Stephen ; while I am 
 miserable because I am always wanting to be something else 
 than I am. I want to be Turner ; I want to be Gains- 
 borough ; I want to be Samuel Prout ; I want to be 
 jJoge of Venice ; I want to be Pope ; I want to be Lord of 
 the Sun and Moon. The other day, when I read that story 
 in the papers about the dog-figiit,* I wanted to be able to 
 fio'ht a bulldotr. 
 
 Truly, that was the only effect of the story upon .ne, 
 though I heard everybody else screaming out how horrible 
 it was. What's horrible in it? Of course it is in bad taste, 
 and the sign of a declining era of national honour — as all bru- 
 tal gladiatorial exhibitions are ; and the stakes and rings of 
 the tethered combat meant precisely, for England, what the 
 stakes and rings of the Theatre of Taormina, — where I saw 
 the holes left for them among the turf, blue with Sicilian 
 lilies, in this last April, — meant, for Greece, and Rome. 
 There might be something loathsome, or something ominous, 
 in such a story, to the old Greeks of the school of Heracles ; 
 who used to fight with the Nemean lion, or with Cerberus, 
 when it was needful only, and not for money ; and whom 
 their Argus remembered through all Trojan exile. There 
 might be something loathsome in it, or ominous, to an Eng- 
 
 * I don't know how far it turned out to be true, — a fight between a 
 dwarf and a bulldog (both chained to stakes as in Roman days), de* 
 Boribed at length in some journals. 
 
312 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 lishman of the school of Shakespeare or Scott ; who would 
 fight with men only, and loved his hound. But for you— 
 you carnivorous cheats — what, in dog's or devil's name, is 
 there horrible in it for you? Do you suppose it isn't more 
 manly and virtuous to fight a bulldog, than to poison a 
 child, or cheat a fellow who trusts you, or leave a girl to go 
 wild in the streets? And don't you live, and profess to live 
 — and even insolently proclaim that there's no other way of 
 living than — by poisoning and cheating? And isn't every 
 woman of fashion's dress, in Europe, now set the pattern of 
 to her by its prostitutes ? 
 
 What's horrible in it ? T ask you, the third time. I hate, 
 myself, seeing a bulldog ill-treated ; for they are the gentlest 
 and faithfullest of living creatures if 3^ou use them well. 
 And the best dog I ever had was a bull-terrier, whose whole 
 object in life was to please me, and nothing else ; though, if 
 he found he could please me by holding on with liis teeth to 
 an inch-thick stick, and beincj* swuno- round in the air as fast 
 as I could turn, that was his own idea of entirely felicitous 
 existence. I don't like, therefore, hearing of a bulldog's 
 being ill-treated ; but I can tell you a little thing that 
 chanced to me at Coniston the other day, more horrible, in 
 the deep elements of it, than all the dog, bulldog, or bull 
 fights, or baitings, of England, Spain, and California. A 
 fine boy, the son of an amiable English clergyman, had come 
 on the coach-box round the Water-head to see me, and was 
 telling me of the delightful drive he had had. Oh," he said, 
 in the triumph of his enthusiasm, ''and just at the corner of 
 the wood, there was s^ich a big squirrel ! and the coachman 
 threw a stone at it, and nearly hit it ! " 
 
 ^ Thoughtlessness — only thoughtlessness ' — say you — 
 proud father ? Well, perhaps not much worse than that. 
 But how could it be much v^^orse ? Thoughtlessness is pre- 
 cisely the chief public calamity of our day ; and when it 
 comes to the pitch, in a clergyman's child, of not thinking 
 that a stone hurts what it hits of living things, and not 
 caring for the daintiest, dextrousest, innocentest living thing 
 in the northern forests of God's earth, except as a brown ex- 
 
FOBS CLAVIQERA. 
 
 313 
 
 crescence to be knocked off their branches, — nay, good pas- 
 tor of Christ's lambs, believe me, your boy had better have 
 been employed in thoughtfully and resolutely stoning St. 
 Stephen — if any St. Stephen is to be found in these days, 
 when men not only can't see heaven opened, but don't so 
 much as care to see it, shut. 
 
 For they, at least, meant neitlier to give pain nor death 
 without cause, — that unanimous company who stopped their 
 ears, — they, and the consenting bystander who afterwards 
 was sorry for his mistake. 
 
 But, on the whole, the time has now come when we must 
 cease throwing of stones either at saints or squirrels ; and, 
 as I say, build our own houses with them, honestly set : and 
 similarly content ourselves in peaceable use of iron and lead, 
 and other such tilings which we have been in the habit of 
 throwing at each other dangerously, in thoughtlessness ; 
 and defending ourselves against as tlioughtlessly, though 
 in what we suppose to be an ingenious manner. Ingen- 
 ious or not, will the fabric of our new ship of the Line, 
 * Devastation,' think you, follow its fabricator in heavenly 
 places, when he dies in the Lord ? Li such representations 
 as I have chanced to see of probable Paradise, Noah is never 
 without his ark ; — holding that up for judgment as the main 
 work of his life. Shall we hope at the Advent to see the 
 builder of the * Devastation ' invite St. Michael's judgment 
 on his better style of naval architecture, and four- foot-six- 
 thick * armour of light'? 
 
 It is to-day the second Sunday in Advent, and all over 
 England, about the time that I write these words, full con- 
 gregations will be for the second time saying Amen to the 
 opening collect of the Christian year. 
 
 I wonder how many individuals of the enlightened public 
 understand a single word of its first clause : 
 
 " Almighty God, give us grace that we may cast away 
 the works of darkness, and put upon us the armour 
 of light, now in the time of this mortal life." 
 
 How many of them, may it be supposed, have any clear 
 
314 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 knowledge of what grace is, or of wliat the works of darkness 
 are which they hope to have grace to cast away ; or will 
 feel themselves, in the coming year, armed with any more 
 luminous mail than their customary coats and gowns, hosen 
 and hats? Or again, when they are told to **have no fellow- 
 ship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather re- 
 prove them," — what fellowship do they recognize themselves 
 to have guiltily formed ; and whom, or what, will they feel 
 now called upon to reprove ? 
 
 In last Fors, I showed you how the works of darkness 
 were unfruitful ; — the precise reverse of the fruitful, or 
 creative, works of Light ; — but why in this collect, which 
 you pray over and over again all Advent, do you ask for 
 'armour' instead of industry? You take your coat off to 
 work in your own gardens ; why must you put a coat of 
 mail on, when you are to work in the Garden of God ? 
 
 Well ; because the earthworms in it are big — and have 
 teeth and claws, and venomous tongues. So that the first 
 question for you is indeed, not whether you have a mind to 
 work in it — many a coward has that — but wliether you have 
 courage to stand in it, and armour proved enough to stand 
 in. 
 
 Suppose you let the consenting bystander who took care 
 of the coats taken off to do that piece of work on St. 
 Stephen, explain to you the pieces out of St. Michael's 
 armoury needful to the husbandman, or Georgos, of God's 
 garden. 
 
 " Stand therefore ; having your loins girt about with 
 Truth." 
 
 That means, that the strength of your backbone depends 
 on your meaning to do true battle. 
 
 And having on the breastplate of Justice." 
 
 That means, there are to be no partialities in your heart, 
 of anger or pity ; — but you must only in justice kill, and 
 only in justice keep alive. 
 
FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 315 
 
 And your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel 
 of Peace." 
 
 That means that where your foot pauses, moves, or enters, 
 there shall be peace ; and where you can only snake the 
 dust of it on the threshold, niourning. 
 
 Above all, take the shield of Faith." 
 
 Of fidelity or obedience to your captain, showing his bear- 
 ings, argent, a cross gules ; your safety, and all the army's, 
 beinor first in the obedience of faith : and all castinii: of 
 spears vain against such guarded phalanx. 
 
 " And take the helmet of Salvation." 
 
 Elsewhere, the ho})e of salvation, tiiat being the defence 
 of your intellect against base and sad thoughts, as the shield 
 of fidelity is the defence of your heart against burning and 
 consuming passions. 
 
 "And the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of 
 God." 
 
 That being your weapon of war, — your power of action, 
 whether with sword or ploughshare ; according to the 
 saying of St. John of the young soldiers of Christ, " I have 
 written unto you, young men, because ye are strong, and tlie 
 Word of God abideth in you." The Word by which the 
 heavens were of old ; and which, being once only Breath, 
 became in man Flesh, * quickening it by the spirit' into the 
 life which is, and is to come ; and enabling it for all the 
 works nobly done by the quick, and following tiie dead. 
 
 And now, finish your Advent collect, and eat your 
 Christmas fare, and drink your Christmas wine, thankfully j 
 and with undeistanding that if the supper is holy whicb 
 shows your Lord's death till He come, the dinner is also holy 
 which shows His life ; and if you would think it wrong at 
 any time to go to your own baby's cradle side, drunk, do not 
 show your gladness by Christ's cradle in that manfier ; but 
 eat your meat, and carol your carol in pure gladness and 
 
316 
 
 FOES CLAVIGEEA, 
 
 singleness of heart ; and so gird up your loins with truth, 
 that, in the year to come, you may do such work as Christ 
 can praise, whether He call you to judgment from the quick 
 or dead ; so that among your Christmas carols there may 
 never any more be wanting the joyfuUest — 
 
 O sing unto the Lord a new song : 
 
 Sing unto the Lord, all the earth. 
 
 Say among the heathen that the Lord is King : 
 
 The world also shall be stablished that it shall not be moved. 
 
 Let the heavens rejoice, 
 
 And let the earth be glad ; 
 
 Let the sea shout, and the fulness thereof. 
 
 Let the field be joyful, and all that is therein : 
 
 Then shall all the trees of the wood rejoice 
 
 Before the Lord : 
 
 For He cometh, for He cometh to JUDGE THE earth : 
 He shall judge the world with righteousness. 
 And the people with His truth. 
 
F0R8 CLAVIOERA. 
 
 317 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 I. I have kept the following kind and helpful letter for the close of 
 the year : — 
 
 "-January 8, 1874. 
 Sir, — I have been much moved by a passage in No. 37 of Fors 
 Clavigera^ in which you express yourself in somewhat desponding 
 terras as to your loneliness in Mife and thought,' now you have 
 grown old. You complain that many of your early friends have for- 
 gotten or disregarded you, and that you are almost left alone. I can- 
 not certainly be called an early friend, or, in the common meaning of 
 the word, a friend of any time. But I cannot refrain from telling you 
 that there are * more than 7,000* in this very * Christ-defying ' Eng- 
 land whom you have made your friends by your wise sympathy and 
 faithful teaching. I, for my owu part, owe you a debt of thankful- 
 ness not oaly for the pleasant hours I have spent with you in your 
 books, but also for the clearer views of many of the ills which at pres- 
 ent press upon us, and for the methods of cure upon which you so 
 urgently and earnestly insist. I would especially mention Unto this 
 Last as having afforded me the highest 8atL«> faction. It has ever since 
 I first read it been my text-book of political economy. I think it ia 
 one of the needfiilest lessons for a selfish, recklessly competitive, 
 cheapest -buying and dearest-selling age, that it should be told there 
 are principles de per, higher, and even more prudent than those by 
 which it is just now governed. It ia particularly refreshing to find 
 Christ's truths applied to modern commercial immorality in the trench- 
 ant and convincing style which characterizes your much maligned but 
 most valuable book. It has been, let me assure you, appreciated in 
 very unexpected quarters; and one humble person to whom I lent my 
 copy, beuig too poor to buy one for himself, actiuiUy wrote it out toord 
 for word that he might alioays have it by hi)iiy 
 
 C*" What a shame ! " thinks the enlightened Mudie-subscriber. See 
 what comes of his refusing to sell his books cheap.'* 
 
 Yes, — see what comes of it. The dreadful calamity, to another per- 
 son, of doing once, what I did myself twice — and, in great part of the 
 book, three times. A vain author, indeed, thinks nothing of the 
 trouble of writing his own books. But I had infinitely rather write 
 somebody else's. My good poor disciple, at the most, had not half the 
 pain his master had ; learnt his book rightly, and gave me more help, 
 by this best kind of laborious sympathy, than twenty score of flatter- 
 ing friends who tell me what a fine word-paintor I am, and don^t take 
 the pains to understand so much as half a sentence in a volume.) 
 
318 
 
 FOBS CL A Via ERA, 
 
 You have done, and are doing, a good work for England, and 1 
 pray you not to be discouraged. Continue as you have been doing, 
 convincing us by your * sweet reasonableness' of our errors and mis- 
 eries, and the time will doubtless coine when, your work now being 
 done in Jeremiah-like sadness and hopelessness, will bear gracious and 
 abundant fruit. 
 
 '•Will you pardon my troubling you with this note; but, indeed, I 
 could not be happy after reading your gloomy experience, until I had 
 done my little best to send one poor ray of comfort into your seem- 
 ingly almost weary heart. 
 
 * ' I remain, 
 
 " Yours very sincerely. 
 
 II. Next to this delightful testimony to my * sweet reasonableness,' 
 here is some discussion of evidence on the other side : — 
 
 November 12, 1873. 
 
 To John Ruskin, LL.D., greeting, thes^- 
 
 '* Enclosed is a slip cut from the Limr pool Mercury of last Friday, 
 November 8. I don't send it to you beca^^se I think it matters any- 
 thing what the Mercury thinks about any ou'^j's qualification for either 
 the inside or outside of any asylum ; but tha( I may suggest to you, as 
 a working-man reader of your letters, the desirability of your printing 
 any letters of importance you may send to any of the London papers, 
 over again — in, say, the space of Fors Glavigera that you have set apart 
 for correspondence. It is most tantalizing to see 2 bit printed like the 
 enclosed, and not know either what is before or a^ter. I felt similar 
 feelings some time ago over a little bit of a letter about the subscrip- 
 tion to Warwick Castle. 
 
 We cannot always see the London papers, especially us provincials; 
 and we would like to see what goes on between you and the newspaper 
 world. 
 
 Trusting that you will give this suggestion some consir^eration, and 
 at any rate take it as given in good faith from a disciple following afar 
 off, 
 
 *' I remain, sincerely yours,'* 
 
 The enclosed slip was as follows : — 
 
 *'Mii. RusKTN's Tender Point. — Mr. John Ruskin has written a 
 letter to a contemporary on madness and crime, which goes far to clear 
 up the mystery which, has surrounded some of his writings of late 
 The following passage amply qualifies the distinguished art critic for 
 admission into any asylum in the country : — *I assure you, sir, insanity 
 is a tender point with me.'" The writer then quotes to the end the 
 last paragraph of the letter, which, in compliance with my correspond- 
 ent's wish, I am happy here to reprint in its entirety. 
 
 MADNESS AND CRIME. 
 
 TO THE EDITOR OF THE PALL MALL GAZETTE." 
 
 Sir, — Towards the close of the excellent article on the Taylor trial in 
 your issue for October 81, you say that people never will be, nor ought 
 
FORS CLAVIGEJRA. 
 
 319 
 
 to be, persunded "to treat criminals simply as vermin which they de- 
 stroy, and not as men who aie to be punished. ' Certainly not, sir! 
 Who ever talked, or thought, of regarding criminals " simply" as any- 
 thing; (or innocent people either, if there be any)? But regarding 
 criminals complexly and accurately, they are partly men, partly vermin ; 
 what is human in them you must punish— what is vermicular, abolish. 
 Anything between— if you can find it — I wish you joy of, and hope you 
 may be able to preserve it to society. Ins.ine persons, horses, dogs, or 
 cats, become vermin when they become daugerous. I am sorry for dai*- 
 ling Fido, but there is no question about what is to be done with him. 
 
 Yet, I assure you, sir, insanity is a tender point with me. One of 
 my best friends has just gone mad ; and all the rest say I am mad my- 
 self. But, if ever I murder anybody — and, indeed, there are numbers 
 of people I should like to murder — I won't say that I ought to be hanged ; 
 for I think nobody but a bishop or a bank-director can ever be rogue 
 enough to deserve hanging ; but I particularly, and with all that is left 
 me of what I imagine to be sound mind, request that I may be imme- 
 diately shot. 
 
 I am, Sir, your obedient servant, 
 
 J. RUSKIN. 
 
 Coi'pm Christi College, Oxford^ November 2, (18'i2). 
 
 III. I am verj' grateful to the friend who sends me the following 
 note on my criticism of Dickens in last letter : — 
 
 *' It does not in the least detract from the force of Fors^ p. 297. line 
 6 (November), that there was a real 'Miss Flite,' whom I have seen, 
 and my fatlier well remembers ; and who used to haunt the Courts in 
 general, and sometimes to address them. She had been ruined, it was 
 believed ; and Dickens must have seen her, for her picture is like the 
 original. But he knew nothing about her, and only constructed her 
 after his fashion. She cannot have V)e('n any prototype of the character 
 of Miss Flite. I never heard her real name. Poor thing! she did not 
 look sweet or kind, but crazed and spiteful ; and unless looks deceived 
 Dickens, he just gave careless, false witness about her. Her condition 
 seemed to strengthen your statement in its very gist, — as Law had 
 made her look like Peter Peebles. 
 
 My father remembers little Miss F. , of whom nothing was known. 
 She always carried papers and a bag. and received occasional charity 
 from lawyers. 
 
 "Gridley's real name was Ikey ;— he haunted Chancery. Another, 
 named Pitt, in the Exchequer : — broken attorneys, both. ' 
 
 IV. I have long kept by me an official statement of the condition of 
 England when I began Fors, and together with it an illustrative column, 
 printed, without alteration, from the P(xll MaU Gazette of the previous 
 year. They may now fitly close my four years' work, of which I have 
 good hope next year to see some fruit. 
 
 Mr. Goschen on the Condition of England. — " The nation is 
 again making money at an enormous rate, and driving every kind of 
 decently secure investment up to unprecedented figures. Foreign 
 Stocks, Indian Stocks, Home Railway Shares, all securities which are 
 
320 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 beyond the control of mere speculators and offer above four per cent, 
 were never so dear; risky loans for millions, like that for Peru, are 
 taken with avidity ; the cup is getting full, and in all human probabil- 
 ity some new burst of speculation is at hand, which may take a benefi- 
 cial form — for instance, we could get rid of a hundred millions in mak- 
 ing cheap country railways with immense advantage — but will more 
 probably turn out to be a mere method of depletion. However it goes, 
 the country is once more getting rich, and the money is filtering down« 
 wards to the actual workers. The people, as Mr. Goschen showed by un- 
 impugnable figures, are consuming more sugar, more lea, more beer, 
 spirits, and tobacco, more, in fact, of every kind of popular luxury, than 
 ever. Their savings have also increased, while the exports of cotton, of 
 wool, of linen, of iron, of machinery, have reached a figure wholly beyond 
 precedent. By the testimony of all manner of men — factory inspectors, 
 poor-law inspectors, members for great cities — the Lancashire trade, 
 the silk trade, the flax-spinning trade, the lace trade, and, above all, the 
 iron trade, are all so flourishing, that the want is not of work to be 
 done, but of hands to do it. Even the iron shipbuilding trade, which 
 was at so low a point, is reviving, and the only one believed to be still 
 under serious depression is the building trade of London, which has, it 
 is believed, been considerably overdone. So great is the demand for 
 hands in some parts of the country, that Mr. Goschen believes that in- 
 ternal emigration would do more to help the people than emigration to 
 America, while it is certain that no relief which can be afforded by the. 
 departure of a few workpeople is equal to the relief caused by the 
 revival of any one great trade — relief, we must add, which would be 
 more rapid and diffused if the trades' unions, in this one respect at least 
 false to their central idea of the brotherhood of labour, were not so 
 jealous of the intrusion of outsiders. There is hardly a trade into 
 which a countryman of thirty, however clever, can enter at his own 
 discretion — one of the many social disqualifications which press upon 
 the agricultural labourer. 
 
 The picture thus drawn by Mr. Goschen, and truly drawn — for the 
 President of the Poor-Lavv Board is a man who does not manipulate 
 figures, but treats them with the reverence of the born statist — is a very 
 pleasant one, especially to those who believe that wealth is the founda- 
 tion of civilization ; but yet what a weary load it is that, according to 
 the aame speech, this country is carrying, and must carry ! There are 
 1,100,000 paupers on the books, and not a tenth of them will be taken 
 off by any revival whatever, for not a tenth of them are workers. The 
 rest are children — 350,000 of them alone— widows, people past work, 
 cripples, lunatics, incapables, human drift of one sort or another, the 
 detritus of commerce and labour, a compost of suffering, helplessness, 
 and disease. In addition to the burden of the State, in addition to the 
 burden of the Debt, which we talk of as nothing, but without which 
 England would be the least-taxed country in the world, this country has 
 to maintain an army of incapables twice as numerous as the army of 
 France, to feed, and clothe, and lodge and teach them, — an army which 
 she cannot disband, and which she seems incompetent even to diminish. 
 To talk of emigration, of enterprise, even of education, as reducing this 
 burden, is almost waste of breath ; for cripples do not emigrate, the 
 aged do not benefi:. hy trade, when education is universal children must 
 Btill be kept alive." -T/ig ISpectaior^ June 25, 1870. 
 
FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 321 
 
 V. The following single column of the Pall Mall Gazette has been oc- 
 casionally referred to in past letters : — 
 
 " It is proposed to erect a memorial church at Oxford to the late 
 Archbishop Longley. The cost is estimated at from £15,000 to £20,000. 
 The subscriptions promised already amount to upwards of £2,000, and 
 in the list are the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the Bishops of Oxford, 
 St. Asaph, and Chester." 
 
 An inquest was held in the Isle of Dogs by Mr. Humphreys, the 
 coroner, respecting the death of a woman named Catherine Spence, aged 
 thirty-four, and her infant. She was the wife of a labourer, who had 
 been almost without employment for two years and a half. They had 
 pledged all their clothes to buy food, and some time since part of the 
 furniture had been seized by the brokers for rent. The house in which 
 they lived was occupied by six families, who paid the landlord 5^. ^d. for 
 rent. One of the witnesses stated that 'all the persons in the house 
 were ill off for food, and the deceased never wanted it more than they 
 did.* The jury on going to view the bodies found that the bed on which 
 the woman and child had died was composed of rags, and there were no 
 bed-clothes upon it. A small box placed upon a broken chair had served 
 as a table. Upon it lay a tract entitled * The Goodnesn of God.^ The 
 windows were broken, and an old iron tray had been fastened up against 
 one and a board up against another. Two days after his wife's death 
 the poor man went mad, and he was taken to the workhouse. He wan 
 not taken to the asylum, for there was no room for him in it — it was 
 crowded with mad people. Another juror said it was of no use to return 
 a verdict of death from starvation. It would ouly cause the distress in 
 the island to be talked about in newspapers. 'J'he jury returned a ver- 
 dict that the deceased woman died from exhaustion, privation, and want 
 of food." 
 
 *' The Rev. James Nugent, the Roman Catholic chaplain of the Liver- 
 pool borough gaol, reported to the magistrates that crime is increasing 
 among young women in Liverpool ; and he despairs of amendment until 
 effective steps are taken to check the open display of vice which may 
 now be witnessed nightly, and even daily, in the thoroughfares of tho 
 town. Mr. Rattles, the stipendiary magistrate, confesses that he is at 
 a loss what to do in order to deter women of the class referred to from 
 offending against the law, as even committal to the sessions and a long 
 term of imprisonment fail to produce beneficial effects. Father Nugent 
 also despairs of doing much good with this class ; but he thinks that if 
 they were subjected to stricter control, and prevented from parading in 
 our thoroughfares, many girls would be deterred from falling into evil 
 ways.^ 
 
 At the Liver}>ool borough gaol sessions Mr. Robertson Gladstone 
 closely interrogated the chaplain (the Rev. Thomas Carter) respecting 
 his visitation of the prisoners. Mr. Gladstone is of opinion that suffi- 
 cient means to make the prisoners impressionable to religious teaching 
 are not used ; whilst the chaplain asserts that the system which he pur- 
 sues is based upon a long experience, extending over twenty-eight years, 
 at the gaol. Mr. Gladstone, who does not share the el aplain's belief 
 
 Vol. IL— 21 
 
322 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 that the prisoners are ' generally unimpressionable,' hinted that some 
 active steps in the matter would probably be taken." 
 
 Mr. Fowler, the stipendiary magistrate of Manchester, referring to 
 Mr. Ernest Jones' death yesterday, in the course of the proceedings at 
 the city police-court, said ; ' I wish to say one word, which I intended 
 to have said yesterday morning, in reference to the taking from amongst 
 us of a face which has been so familiar in this court ; but I wished to 
 have some other magistrates present in order that I might, on the part 
 of the bench, and not only as an individual, express our regret at the 
 unexpected removal from our midst of a man whose life has been a very 
 remarkable one, whose name wiil always be associated in this country 
 in connection with the half-century he lived in it, and who, whatever 
 his faults — and who amongst us is free ? — possessed the great virtues of 
 undoubted integrity and honour, and of being thoroughly consistent, 
 never flinching from that course which he believed to be right, though 
 at times at the cost of fortune and of freedom.' 
 
 ** A Chester tradesman named Meacock, an ex-town councillor, has 
 been arrested in that city on a charge of forging conveyances of property 
 upon which he subsequently obtained a mortgage of £2,200. The lady 
 who owns the property appeared before the magistrates, and declared 
 that her signature to the conveyance was a forgery. The prisoner was 
 remanded, and was sent to prison in default of obtaining the bail which 
 was required." 
 
 *' Mr. Hughes, a Liverpool merchant, was summoned before the local 
 bench for having sent to the London Dock a case, containing hydro- 
 chloric acid, without a distinct label or mark denoting that the goods 
 were dangerous. A penalty of £10 was imposed." 
 
 A woman, named Daley, came before the Leeds magistrates, with 
 her son, a boy six years old, whom she wished to be sent to a reforma- 
 tory, as she was unable to control him. She said that one evening last 
 week he went home, carrying a piece of rope, and said that he was going 
 to hang himself with it. He added that he had already attempted to 
 hang himself ' in the Crown Court, but a little lass loo:;ed the rope for 
 him, and he fell into a tub of water.' Ifc turned out that the mother 
 was living with a man by whom she had two children, and it was thought 
 by some in court that her object was merely to relieve herself of the cost 
 and care of the boy ; but the magistrates, thinking that the boy would 
 be better away from the contaminating influences of the street and of 
 his home, committed him to the Certified Industrial Schools until he 
 arrives at sixteen years of age, and ordered his mother to contribute 
 one shilling per week towards his maintenance." — Pall Mall Qazettey 
 January 29, 1869. 
 
FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 323 
 
 LETTER XLIX. 
 
 I WONDER if Fors will let me say any small proportion, this 
 year, of what I intend. I wish she would, for my readers 
 have every right to be doubtful of my plan till they see it 
 more defined ; and yet to define it severally would be to 
 falsify it, for all that is best in it depends on my adopting 
 whatever good I can find, in men and things, that will work 
 to my purpose ; which of course means action in myriads of 
 ways that I neither wish to define, nor attempt to antici- 
 pate. Nay, 1 am wrong, even in speaking of it as a plan or 
 scheme at all. It is only a method of uniting the force of 
 all good plans and wise schemes ; it is a principle and ten- 
 dency, like the law of form in a crystal ; not a plan. If I live, 
 as I said at first, I will endeavour to show some small part 
 of it in action ; but it would be a poor design indeed, for the 
 bettering of the world, which any man could see either quite 
 round the outside, or quite into the inside of. 
 
 But I hope in the letters of this next year to spend less 
 time in argument or attack ; what I wish the reader to know, 
 of principle, is already enough proved, if only he take the 
 pains to read the preceding letters thoroughly ; and I shall 
 now, as far as Fors will let me, carry out my purpose of 
 choosing and annotating passages of confirmatory classical 
 literature ; and answering, as they occur, the questions of 
 my earnest correspondents, as to what each of them, in their 
 place of life, may immediately do with advantage for St« 
 George's help. 
 
 If those of my readers who have been under the impres- 
 sion that I wanted them to join me in establishing some 
 model institution or colony, will look to the fourth page of 
 Letter I., tliey will see that, so far from intending or un- 
 dertaking any such thing, I meant to put my whole strength 
 into my Oxford teaching ; and, for my own part, to get rid 
 of begging letters and live in peace. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 Of course, when I have given fourteen thousand pounds 
 away in a year,^ everybody who wants some money thinks I 
 have plenty for them. But my having given fourteen thou- 
 sand pounds is just the reason I have not plenty for them ; 
 and, moreover, have no time to attend to them, (and generally, 
 henceforward, my friends will please to note that I have 
 spent my life in helping other people, and am quite tired of 
 it ; and if they can now help me in my Work, or praise me for 
 it, I shall be much obliged to them ; but I can't help them 
 at theirs). 
 
 But this impression of my wanting to found a colony was 
 founded on page 72 of Letter V., and page 109 of Letter 
 VIII. Read them over again now, altogether. 
 
 If the help I plead for come, we will indeed try to make 
 some small piece of English ground beautiful ; and if suffi- 
 cient help come, many such pieces of ground ; and on those 
 we will put cottage dwellings, and educate the labourers' 
 children in a certain manner. But that is not founding a 
 colony. It is only agreeing to work on a given system. 
 Any English gentleman who chooses to forbid the use of 
 steam machinery — be it but over a few acres, — and to make 
 the best of them he can by human labour, or who will secure 
 a piece of his mountain ground from dog, gun, and excursion 
 party, and let the wild flowers and wild birds live there in 
 peace ; — any English gentleman, I say, who will so command 
 either of these things, is doing the utmost I would ask of 
 him ; — if, seeing the result of doing so much, he felt in- 
 clined to do more, field may add itself to field, cottage rise 
 after cottage, — here and there the sky begin to open again 
 above us, and the rivers to run pure. In a very little while, 
 also, the general interest in education will assuredly discover 
 that healthy habits, and not mechanical drawing nor church 
 catechism, are the staple of it ; and then, not in my model 
 colony only, but as best it can be managed in any un- 
 modelled place or way — girls will be taught to cook, boys to 
 
 * Seven thousand to St. George's Company ; five, for establishment 
 of Mastership in Drawing in the Oxford schools ; two, and more, in tha 
 series of drawings placed in those schools to secure their efficiency. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 325 
 
 plough, and both to behave ; and that with the heart, — 
 which is the first piece of all the body that has to be 
 instructed. 
 
 A village clergyman, (an excellent farmer, and very kind 
 friend of my earliest college days,) sent me last January a 
 slip out of the Daily Telegraphy written across in his own 
 hand with the words " Advantage of Education." The slip 
 described the eloquence and dexterity in falsehood of the 
 Parisian Communist prisoners on their trial for the murder 
 of the hostages. But I would fain ask my old friend to tell 
 me himself whether he thinks instruction in the art of false 
 eloquence should indeed receive from any minister of Christ the 
 title of ' education ' at all ; and how far display of eloquence, 
 instead of instruction in behaviour, has become the function, 
 too commonly, of these ministers themselves. 
 
 I was asked by one of my Oxford pupils the other day why 
 I had never said any serious word of what it might seem 
 best for clergymen to do in a time of so great doubt and 
 division. 
 
 I have not, because any man's becoming a clergyman in 
 these days must imply one of two things — either that he has 
 something to do and say for men which he honestly believes 
 himself impelled to do and say by the Holy Ghost, — and in 
 that case he is likely to see his way without being shown it, 
 — or else he is one of the group of so-called Christians who, 
 except with the outward ear " have not so much as heard 
 whether there he any Holy Ghost," and are practically lying, 
 both to men and to God ; — persons to whom, whether they 
 be foolish or wicked in their ignorance, no lionest way can 
 possibly be shown. 
 
 The particular kinds of folly also which lead youths to 
 become clergymen, uncalled, are especially intractable. That 
 a lad just out of his teens, and not under the influence of 
 any deep religious enthusiasm, should ever contemplate the 
 possibility of his being set up in the middle of a mixed com- 
 pany of men and women of the world, to instruct the aged, 
 encourage the valiant, support the weak, reprove the guilty, 
 and set an example to all ; — and not feel what a ridiculoue 
 
32G 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 and blasphemous business it would be, if he only pretended 
 to do it for hire ; and what a ghastly and murderous busi- 
 ness it would be, if he did it strenuously wrong ; and what 
 a marvellous and all but incredible thing the Cliurch and its 
 power must be, if it were possible for him, with all the good 
 meaning in the world, to do it rightly ; — that any youth, I 
 say, should ever have got himself into the state of reckless- 
 ness, or conceit, required to become a clergyman at all, 
 under these existing circumstances, must put him quite out 
 of the pale of those whom one appeals to on any reasonable 
 or moral question, in serious writing. I went into a ritual- 
 istic church, the other day, for instance, in the West End. 
 It was built of bad Gothic, lighted with bad painted glass, 
 and had its Litany intoned, and its sermon delivered — on the 
 subject of wheat and chaff- -by a young man of, as far as I 
 could judge, very sincere religious sentiments, but very cer- 
 tainly the kind of person whom one might have brayed in a 
 mortar among the very best of the wheat with a pestle, with- 
 out making his foolishness depart from him. And, in gen- 
 eral, any man's becoming a clergyman in these days implies 
 that, at best, his sentiment has overpowered his intellect ; 
 and that, whatever the feebleness of the latter, the victory 
 of his impertinent piety has been probably owing to its alli- 
 ance with his conceit, and its promise to him of the gratifi- 
 cation of being regarded as an oracle, without the trouble of 
 becoming wise, or the grief of being so. 
 
 It is not, however, by men of this stamp that the principal 
 mischief is done to the Church of Christ. Their foolish con- 
 gregations are not enough in earnest even to be misled ; and 
 the increasing London or Liverpool respectable suburb is 
 simply provided with its baker's and butcher's shop, its ale- 
 house, its itinerant organ-grinders for the week, and station- 
 ary organ-grinder for Sunda}^, himself his monkey, in obedi- 
 ence to the commonest condition of demand and supply, and 
 without much more danger in their Sunday's entertainment 
 than in their Saturday's. But the importunate and zealous 
 ministrations of the men who have been strong enough to 
 deceive themselves before they deceive others ; — who give 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 327 
 
 the grace and glow of vital sincerity to falsehood, and lie 
 for God from the ground of their heart, produce forms of 
 moral corruption in their congregations as much more 
 deadly than the consequences of recognizedly vicious con- 
 duct, as the hectic of consumption is more deadly than the 
 flush of temporary fever. And it is entirely unperceived 
 by the members of existing churches that the words, 
 * speaking lies in liypocrisy, having their conscience seared 
 with a hot iron,' do not in the least apply to wilful and 
 self-conscious hypocrites, but only to those who do not 
 recognize themselves for such. Of wilful assumption of the 
 appearance of piety, for promotion of their own interests, 
 few, even of the bases't men, are frankly capable ; and to the 
 average English gentleman, deliberate hypocrisy is impossi- 
 ble. And, therefore, all the fierce invectives of Christ, and 
 of the prophets and apostles, against hypocrisy, thunder 
 above their heads unregarded ; while all the while Annas 
 and Caiaphas are sitting in Moses' scat for ever ; and the 
 anger of God is accomplished against the daughter of His 
 people, ''for the sins of her prophets, and the iniquities of 
 her priests, that have shed the blood of the just in the midst 
 of her. They have wandered blind in the streets ; they 
 have polluted themselves with blood, so that men could not 
 touch their garments.'' * 
 
 Take, for example, the conduct of the heads of the exist- 
 ing Church respecting the two powers attributed to them in 
 this very verse. There is certainly no Bishop now in the 
 Church of England who would either dare in a full drawinor- 
 room to attribute to himself the gift of prophecy, in so many 
 words ; or to write at the head of any of his sermons, "On 
 such and such a day, of such and such a month, in sucli and 
 such a place, the Word of the Lord came unto me, saying." 
 Nevertheless, he claims to have received the Holy Ghost 
 himself by laying on of hands ; and to be able to communi- 
 cate the Holy Ghost to other men in the same manner. 
 And he knows that the office of the prophet is as simply 
 recognized in the enumeration of the powers of the ancient 
 
 * Lamentations v. 13. 
 
328 
 
 FORS CLAVIOEEA. 
 
 Church, as that of the apostle, or evangelist, or doctor. 
 And yet he can neither point out in the Church the true 
 prophets, to whose number he dares not say he himself be- 
 longs, nor the false prophets, who are casting out devils in 
 the name of Christ, without being known by Him ; — and he 
 contentedly suffers his flock to remain under the impression 
 that the Christ who led captivity captive, and received gifts 
 for men, left the gift of prophecy out of the group, as one 
 needed no longer. 
 
 But the second word, ' priest,' is one which he finds it 
 convenient to assume himself, and to give to his fellow- 
 clergymen. He knows, just as well as he knows prophecy 
 to be a gift attributed to the Christian minister, that priest- 
 hood is a function expressly taken away from the Christian 
 minister.* He dares not say in the open drawing-room that 
 he offers sacrifice for any soul there ; — and he knows that he 
 cannot give authority for calling himself a priest from any 
 canonical book of the New Testament. So he equivocates 
 on the sound of the word ^ presbyter,' and apologizes to his 
 conscience and his flock by declaring, "Tlie priest I say, — 
 the presbyter I mean," without even requiring so much poor 
 respect for his quibble as would be implied by insistance that 
 a so-called priest should at least be an Elder. And securing, 
 as far as he can, the reverence of his flock, while he secretly 
 abjures the responsibility of the office he takes the title of, 
 again he lets the rebuke of his God fall upon a deafened 
 ear, and reads that " from the Prophet unto the Priest, every 
 one dealeth falselv," without the slicrhtest sensation that his 
 own character is so much as alluded to. 
 
 Thus, not daring to call themselves prophets, which they 
 know they ought to be ; but daring, under the shelter of 
 equivocation, to call themselves priests, which they know 
 
 * As distinguished, that is to say, from other members of the Chnrch. 
 All are priests, as all are kings; but the kingly function exists apart ; 
 the priestly, not 80. The subject is examined at some length, and 
 with a clearness which I cannot mend, in my old pamphlet on the Con- 
 struotiofi of Sheepfolds, which I will presently reprint. See also Lettei 
 XIII., in Time and Tide. 
 
F0R8 CLAVIOERA, 
 
 329 
 
 they are not, and are forbidden to be ; thus admittedly, 
 without power of prophecy, and only in stammering pre- 
 tence to priesthood, they yet claim the power to forgive and 
 retain sins. Whereupon, it is to be strictly asked of them, 
 whose sins they remit ; and whose sins they retain. For 
 truly, if they have a right to claim any authority or function 
 whatever — this is it. Prophesy, they cannot ; — sacrifice, they 
 cannot ; — in their hearts there is no vision — in their hands no 
 victim. The work of the Evangelist was done before they 
 could be made Bishops ; that of the Apostle cannot be done 
 on a Bishop's throne : there remains to them, of all possible 
 office of organization in the Church, only that of the pastor, — 
 verily and intensely their own ; received by them in definite 
 charge when they received what they call the Holy Ghost ; 
 — '*Be to the flock of Christ, a shepherd, not a wolf ; — feed 
 them, devour them not." 
 
 Does any man, of all the men who have received this 
 charge in England, know what it is to be a wolf ? — recognize 
 in himself the wolfish instinct, and the thirst for the blood 
 of God's flock ? For if he does not know what is tiie nature 
 of a wolf, how should he know what it is to be a shepherd ? 
 If he never felt like a wolf himself, does he know the people 
 who do ? He does not expect them to lick their lips and 
 bare their teeth at him, I suppose, as tliey do in a panto- 
 mime ? Did he ever in his life see a wolf coming, and de- 
 bate with himself whether he should fight or fly ? — or is not 
 rather his whole life one headlong hireling's flight, without 
 so much as turning his head to see what manner of beasts 
 they are that follow ? — nay, are not his very hireling's wages 
 paid him /br flying instead of fighting? 
 
 Dares an}^ one of them answer me — here from my college 
 of the Body of Christ I challenge every mitre of them : defi- 
 niteh', the Lord of St. Peter's borough, whom I note as a 
 pugnacious and accurately worded person, and hear of as an 
 outspoken one, able and ready to answer for liis fulfilment 
 of the charsre to Peter: How manv wolves does lie know in 
 Peterborough — how many sheep ? — what battle has he done 
 —what bites can he show the scars of? — whose sins has ho 
 
330 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 remitted in Peterborough — whose retained ? — has he not 
 remitted, like his brother Bishops, all the sins of the rich, 
 and retained all those of the poor ? — does he know, in Peter- 
 borough, who are fornicators, who thieves, who liars, who 
 murderers ? — and has he ever dared to tell any one of them 
 to his face that he was so — if the man had over a hundred a 
 3^ear ? 
 
 " Have mercy upon all Jews, Turks, infidels, and heretics, 
 and so fetch them home, blessed Lord, to Thy flock, that they 
 may be saved among the remnant of the true Israelites." 
 Who are the true Israelites, my lord of Peterborough, whom 
 you can definitely announce for such, in your diocese. Or, 
 perhaps, the Bishop of Manchester will take up the chal- 
 lenge, having lately spoken wisely — in generalities — con- 
 cerning Fraud. Who are the true Israelites, my lord of 
 Manchester, on your Exchange ? Do they stretch their cloth, 
 like other people ? — have they any underhand dealings with 
 the liable-to-be-danmed false Israelites — Rothschilds and the 
 like ? or are they duly solicitous about those wanderers' 
 souls ? and how often, on the average, do your Manchester 
 clergy preach from the delicious parable, savouriest of all 
 Scripture to rogues, at least since the eleventh century, when 
 I find it to have been specially headed with golden title in 
 my best Greek MS. " of the Pharisee and Publican " — and 
 how often, on the average, from those objectionable First and 
 Fifteenth Psalms? 
 
 For the last character in St. Paul's enumeration, which 
 Bishops can claim, and the first which they are bound to 
 claim, for the perfecting of the saints, and the work of the 
 ministry, is that of the Doctor or Teacher. 
 
 In which character, to what work of their own, frank and 
 faithful, can they appeal in the last fifty years of especial 
 danger to the Church from false teaching ? On this matter, 
 my challenge will be most fittingly made to my own Bishop, 
 of the University of Oxford. He inhibited, on the second 
 Sunday of Advent of last year, another Bishop of the Eng- 
 lish Church from preaching at Carfax. By what right ? 
 Which of the two Bishops am I, their innocent lamb, to 
 
FORS OLAVIGERA. 
 
 331 
 
 listen to ? It is true that the insulted Bishop was only a 
 colonial one ; — am I to understand, therefore, that the 
 Church sends her heretical Bishops out as Apostles, while 
 she keeps her orthodox ones at home ? and that, accordingly, 
 a stay-at-home Bishop may always silence a returned Apos- 
 tle ? And, touching the questions which are at issue, is 
 there a single statement of the Bishop of Natal's, respecting 
 the Bible text, which the Bishop of Oxford dares to contradict 
 before Professor Max Muller, or any other leading scholar of 
 Europe ? Does the Bishop of Oxford himself believe every 
 statement in the Bible ? If not, — which does he disbelieve, 
 and why ? He suffers the wiiole collection of books to be 
 spoken of — certainly by many clergymen in his diocese — as 
 the Word of God. If he disbelieves any portion of it, that 
 portion he is bound at once to inhibit them from so calling, 
 till inquiry has been made concerning it ; but if he and the 
 other orthodox home-Bishops, — who would very joyfully, I 
 perceive, burn the Bishop of Natal at Paul's, and make Lud- 
 gate Hill safer for the omnibuses with the cinders of him, — 
 if they verily believe all, or oven, with a living faith, flr??//, 
 vital part of the Bible, how is it that we, the incredulous 
 .sheep, see no signs following them that believe ; — tliat 
 though they can communicate tiie Holy Spirit, they cannot 
 excommunicate the unholy one, and apologetically leave the 
 healing of sick to the physician, the taking up of serpents 
 to the juggler, and the moving of mountains to the railway- 
 navvy ? 
 
 " It was never meant that any one should do such things 
 literally, after St. Paul's time." 
 
 Then what teas meant, and what in, doctors mine? 
 
 Challenge enough, for this time, it seems to me ; the rather 
 that just as I finish writing it, I receive a challenge myself, 
 requiring attentive answer. Fors could not have brought it 
 me at better time. The reader will find it the first in the 
 Notes and Correspondence of this year; and my answer may 
 both meet the doubts of many readers who would not so 
 frankly have expressed them ; and contain some definitioni 
 of principle which are necessary for our future work. 
 
332 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 My correspondent, referring to my complaint that no ma« 
 iron nor maid of England had yet joined the St. George's 
 Company, answers, for her own part, first, that her husband 
 and family prevent her from doing it ; secondly, that sh^B 
 has done it already ; thirdly, that she will do it when I do it 
 myself. It is only to the third of these pleas that I at 
 present reply. 
 
 She tells me, first, that I have not joined the St. George's 
 Company because I have no home. It is too true. But that 
 is because my father, and mother, and nurse, are dead ; be- 
 cause the woman I hoped would have been my wife is dying; 
 and because the place where I would fain have stayed to 
 remember all of them, was rendered physically uninhabitable 
 to me by the violence of my neighbours ; — that is to say, by 
 their destroying the fields I needed to think in, and the light 
 I needed to work by. Nevertheless, I have, under these 
 conditions, done the best thing possible to me — bought a 
 piece of land on which T could live in peace ; and on that 
 land, wild when I bought it, have already made, not only one 
 garden, but two, to match against my correspondent's ; nor 
 that without help from children who, though not mine, have 
 been cared for as if they were. 
 
 Secondly ; my correspondent tells me that my duty is to 
 stay at home, instead of dating from places which are a 
 dream of delight to her, and which, therefore, she concludes, 
 must be a reality of delight to me. 
 
 She will know better after reading this extract from my 
 last year's diary ; (worth copying, at any rate, for other 
 persons interested in republican Italy). Florence, 20th 
 September, 1874. — Tour virtually ended for this year. I 
 leave Florence to-day, thankfully, it being now a place of 
 torment day and night for all loving, decent, or industrious 
 people ; for every face one meets is full of hatred and cruelty ; 
 and the corner of every house is foul ; and no thoughts can 
 be thought in it, peacefully, in street, or cloister, or house, 
 any more. And the last verses I read, of my morning's 
 readings, are Esdras 11. , xv. 16, 17: 'For there shall be 
 sedition among men, and invading one another 5 they shall 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 333 
 
 not regard their kings nor princes, and the course of their 
 actions shall stand in their power, A man shall desire to go 
 into a city, and shall not be able.' " 
 
 What is said here of Florence is now equally true of every 
 great city of France or Italy ; and my correspondent will be 
 perhaps contented with me when she knows that only last 
 Sunday I was debating with a very dear friend whether I 
 might now be justified in indulging my indolence and cow- 
 ardice by staying at home among my plants and minerals, 
 and forsaking the study of Italian art for ever. My friend 
 would fain have it so ; and my correspondent shall tell me 
 her opinion, after she knows — and I will see that she has an 
 opportunity of knowing — what work I have done in Florence, 
 and propose to do, if I can be brave enough. 
 
 Thirdly ; my correspondent doubts the sincerity of my 
 abuse of railroads because she suspects I use them. I do so 
 constantly, my dear lady ; few men more. I use everything 
 that comes within reach of me. If the devil were standinoT 
 at my side at this moment, I should endeavour to make some 
 use of him as a local black. The wisdom of life is in pre- 
 venting all the evil we can ; and using what is inevitable, to 
 the best purpose. I use my sicknesses, for the work I de- 
 spise in liealth ; my enemies, for study of the philosopliy 
 of benediction and malediction ; and railroads, for whatever 
 I find of help in them — looking always hopefully forward to 
 the day when their embankments will be ploughed down 
 again, like the camps of Kome, into our English fields. But 
 I am perfectly ready even to construct a railroad, when I 
 think one necessary ; and in the opening chapter of Munera 
 Pulveris my correspondent will find many proper uses for 
 steam-machinery specified. What is required of the mem- 
 bers of St. George's Company is, not that they should never 
 travel by railroads, nor that tliey should abjure inacliinery ; 
 but that they should never travel unnecessarily, or in wanton 
 haste : and that thev should never do with a machine what 
 can be done with hands and arms, while hands and arms are 
 idle. 
 
 Lastly, my correspondent feels it unjust to be required to 
 
334 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGEEA. 
 
 make clothes, while she is occupied in the rearing of those 
 who will require them. 
 
 Admitting (though the admission is one for which I do 
 not say that I am prepared) that it is the patriotic duty of 
 every married couple to have as large a family as possible, it 
 is not from the happy Penelopes of sucli households that I 
 ask — or should think of asking — the labour of the loom, I 
 simply require that when women belong to the St. George's 
 Company they should do a certain portion of useful work 
 with their hands, if otherwise their said fair hands would be 
 idle ; and if on those terms I find sufficient clothing cannot 
 be produced, I will use factories for them, — only moved by 
 water, not steam. 
 
 My answer, as thus given, is, it seems to me, sufficient ; and 
 I can farther add to its force by assuring my correspondent 
 that I shall never ask any member of St. George's Company 
 to do more, in relation to his fortune and condition, than I 
 have already done myself. Nevertheless, it will be found 
 by any reader who will take the trouble of reference, that 
 in recent letters I have again and again intimated the prob- 
 able necessity, before the movement could be fairly set on 
 foot, of more energetic action and example, towards which 
 both my thoughts and circumstances seem gradually leading 
 me ; and, in that case, I shall trustfully look to the friends 
 who accuse me of cowardice in doing too little, for defence 
 against the, I believe, too probable imputations impending 
 from others, of folly in doing too much. 
 
FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 335 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 I. I hope my kind correspondent will pardon my publication of the 
 following letter, which gives account of an exemplary life, and puts 
 questions which many dtsire to have answered. 
 
 My dear Mr. Ruskin, — I do not know if you have forgotten me, 
 for it is a long^ time bince I wrote to you ; but you wrote so kiudly to 
 me before, that I venture to bring myself before you again, more es- 
 pecially as you write to me (among others) every month, and I want to 
 answer something in these letters. 
 
 *'I do answer your letters (somewhat combatively) every month in 
 my mind, but all these months I have been waiting for an hour of suf- 
 ficient strength and leisure, and have found it now for the first time. 
 A family of eleven children, through a year of much illness, and the 
 birth of another child in May, have not left me much strength for 
 pleasure^ such as this is. 
 
 *'Now a little while ago, you asked reproachfully of Englishwomen 
 in general, why none of them had joined St. George's Company. I can 
 only answer lor myself, and I have these reasons. 
 
 First. Beiug situated as I am, and as doubtless many others are 
 more or less, I cannot join it. In my actions I am subject first to my 
 husband, and then to my family. Any one who is entirely free cannot 
 judge how impossible it is to make inelastic and remote rules apply to 
 all the ever-varying and incalculable changes and accidents and person- 
 alities of lile. They are a disturbing element to us visionaries, which I 
 have hae^n forced to acknowledge and submit to, but which you have 
 not. Having so many to consider and consult, it is all 1 can do to get 
 through the day's work ; I am obliged to take things as I find them, 
 and to do the best I can, in haste ; and I might constantly be breaking 
 rules, and no*, able to help it, and indeed I should not have time to 
 think about it. I do not want to bo hampered more than I am. I aiu 
 not straitened for money ; but most people with families are so more 
 or less, and this is another element of ditficulty. 
 
 ''Secondly. Although I do not want to be further bound by r?//^,*, 
 I believe that as regnvds p7'ln<UpIe^ I am a member of St. George's Com- 
 pany already ; and 1 do not like to make any further profession which 
 would seem t) imply a renunciation of the former errors of my way, 
 and the beginning of a new life. I have never been conscious of any 
 other motives or course of life than those which you advocate; and my 
 children and all around me do not know me in any other light ; and I 
 find a gradual and unconscious conformation to them growing up round 
 me, though I have no sort of teaching faculty. I cannot tell how much 
 of them 1 owe to you. for some of your writings which ft- il .n my way 
 when I was very young made a deep impression on me, and I grew up 
 
336 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 rmbued with their spirit ; but certainly I cannot now profess it for the 
 first time. 
 
 ''Thirdly (and this is wherein I fear to offend you), 1 loill join St. 
 George's Company v)lienever you join it yourself. Please pardon me for 
 saying that I appear to be more a member of it than you are. My life 
 is strictly bound and ruled, and within those lines 1 live. Above all 
 things, you urge our duties to the land, the common earth of our 
 country. It seems to me that the first duty any one owes to his coun- 
 try is to live in it. I go further, and maintain that every one is bound 
 to have a home, and live in that. You speak of the duty of acquiring, 
 if possible, and cultivating, the smallest piece of ground. But, (for- 
 give the questioD,) where is your house and your garden ? I know you 
 have got places, but you do not stay there. Almost every month you 
 date from some new place, a dream of delight to me; and all the time 
 I am stopping at home, labouring to improve the place I live at, to 
 keep the lives entrusted to me, and to bring forth other lives in the 
 agony and peril of my own. And when I read your reproaches, and 
 see where they date from, I feel as a soldier freezing in the trenches 
 before Sebastopol might feel at receiving orders from a General who 
 was dining at his club in London. If you would come and see me in 
 May, I could show you as pretty a little garden of the spade as any you 
 ever saw, made on t^e site of an old rubbish heap, where seven tiny 
 pair of hands and feet have worked like fairies. Have you got a bet- 
 ter one to show me ? For the rest of my garden I cannot boast ; be- 
 cause out-of-door work or pleasure is entirely forbidden me by the 
 etate of my health. 
 
 '• Again, I agree with you in your dislike of railroads, but I suspect 
 you use them, and sometimes go on them. I never do. I obey these 
 laws and others, with whatever inconvenience or privation they may in- 
 volve ; but you do not ; and that makes me revolt when you scold us. 
 
 "Again, I cannot^ as you suggest, grow, spin, and weave the linen 
 for myself and family. I have enough to do to get the clothes made. 
 If you would establish factories where we could get pure woven cotton, 
 linen, and woolen, I would gladly buy them there ; and that would be 
 a fair division of labour. It is not fair that the more one does, the 
 more should be required of one. 
 
 You see you are like a clergyman in the pulpit in your books : you 
 can scold the congregation, and they cannot answer ; behold the con- 
 gregation begins to reply ; and I only hope you will forgive me. 
 
 " Believe me. 
 
 Yours very truly." 
 
 II. It chances, I see, while I print my challenge to the Bishop of my 
 University, that its neighbouring clergymen are busy in expressing to 
 him their thanks and compliments. The following address is worth 
 preserving. I take it from the Morning Post of December and be- 
 neath it have placed an article from the Telegraph of the following day, 
 describing the results of clerical and episcopal teaching of an orthodox 
 nature in Liverpool, as distinguished from ' Doctor ' Colenso's teaching; 
 in Africa. 
 
 **Thr Inhibition of Bishop Colenso. — The clergy of the rural 
 deanery of Whitney, Oxford, numbering thirty-four, together with the 
 
F0R8 CLAVIOERA. 
 
 337 
 
 rural dean (the Rev. F. M. Cunningham), have subscribed their namea 
 to the following circular, which has been forwarded to the Bishop of 
 Oxford:—^ To the Right Rev. Father in God, John Fielder, by Divine 
 permission Lord Bishop of Oxford — We, the undersigned clergy of the 
 rural deanery of Whitney, in your Lordship's diocese, beg respectfully 
 to offer to your Lordship our cordial sympathy under the painful 
 circumstances in which you have been placed by the invitation to the 
 Right Rev. Dr. Colenso to preach in one of the churches in your 
 diocese. Your firm and spontaneous refusal to permit Dr. Colenso to 
 preach will V^e thankfully accepted by all consistent members of our 
 Church as a protest much needed in these times against the teaching of 
 one who has grievously offended many consciences, and has attempted 
 as far as in him lay to injure the ' faith which was delivered to the 
 saints.' ^ That your Lordship may long be spared to defend the truth, 
 is the prayer of your Lordship^s obedient and attached clergy.* " 
 
 IIL Something startling in the way of wickedneps is needed to 
 astonish men who, like our Judges, see and hear the periodical crop of 
 crime gathered in at Assizes ; yet in two great cities of England, on 
 Tuesday, expressions of amazement, shame, and disgust fell from the 
 seat of Justice. At York, Mr. Justice Denman was driven to utter a 
 burst of just indignation at the conduct of certain people in his court, 
 who grinned and tittered while .a witness in a disgraceful case was re- 
 luctantly repeating some indelicate lan<;uage. * Good God ! ' exclaimed 
 his Lordship, *is this a Christian country? Let us at least have 
 decency in courts of justice. One does not come to be amused by filth 
 which one is obliged to extract in cases that defame the land.* At 
 Liverpool a sterner declaration of judicial anger was made, with even 
 stronger cause. Two cases of revolting barbarism were tried by Mr. 
 Justice Mellor — one of savage violence towards a man, ending in 
 murder ; the other of outrage upon a woman, so unspeakably shameful 
 and horrible that the difficulty is how to convey the facts without 
 offending public decency. In the first, a gang of men at Liverpool set 
 upon a porter named Richard ISIorgan, who was in the company of his 
 wife and brother, and bociuse he did not instantly give them sixpence, 
 to buy beer they kicked him completely across the street, a distance of 
 thirty feet, with such ferocity, in spite of all the efforts made to savo 
 him by the wife and brcther, that the poor man was dead when he was 
 taken up. And during this cruel and cowardly scene the crowd of by- 
 standers not only did not attempt to rescue the victim, but hounded on 
 his murderers, and actually held back the agonized wife and the brave 
 brother from pursuing the homicidal wretches. Three of them were 
 placed at the bar on trial for their lives, and convicted ; nor would we 
 intervene with one word in their favour, though that word might save 
 their vile necks. This case might appear bad enough to call forth the 
 utmost wrath of Justice; but the second, heard at the same time and 
 place, was yet more hideous. A tramp-woman, drunk, and wet to the 
 skin with rain, was going along a road near Burnley, in company with 
 a navvy, who by-and-by left her helpless at a gate. '^I'wo out of a party 
 of young colliers coming from work found her lying there, and they led 
 her into a field. They then sent a boy named Slater to fetch the re- 
 
 (• I append a specimen of tlie comhicL of the SaintB to whom our EnfjliaU clergymeB 
 have dcUvcrea the Faith.) 
 
 Vol. 11.-22 
 
338 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 '•?iAining eight of their band, and, having thus gathered many specta^ 
 tors, two of them certainly, and others of the number in all probability, 
 outraged the hapless creature, leaving her after this infernal treatment 
 in such a plight that next day she was found lying dead in the field. 
 The two in question — Durham, aged twenty, and Shepherd, aged six- 
 teen—were arraigned for murder ; but that charge was found difficult 
 to make good, and the minor indictment for rape was alone pressed 
 against them. Of the facts there was little or no doubt ; and it may 
 well be thought that in stating them we have accomplished the saddest 
 portion of our duty to the public. 
 
 But no ! to those v/ho have learned how to measure human nature, 
 we think what followed will appear the more horrible portion of the 
 trial — if more horrible could be. With a strange want of insight, the 
 advocate for these young men called up the companions of their atroc- 
 ity to swear — what does the public expect ? — to swear that they did not 
 think the tramp woman teas ill-used^ nor that lohat was done loas wrong. 
 Witness after witness, present at the time, calmly deposed to his per- 
 sonal view of the transaction in words like those of William Bracewell, 
 a collier, aged nineteen. Between this precious specimen of our youn^ 
 British working man and the Bench, the following interchange of ques- 
 tions and answers passed. * You did not think there was anything wrong 
 in it ? ' — ' No. ' * Do you mean to tell me you did not think there was 
 anything wrong in outraging a drunken woman V ' — ' She never said 
 nothing.' ' You repeat you think there was nothing wrong — that there 
 was no harm in a lot of fellows outraging a drunken woman: is that 
 your view of the thing?' — 'Yes.' And, in reply to further questions 
 by Mr. Cottingham, this fellow Bracewell said he only ' thought the 
 matter a bit of fun. None of them interfered to protect the woman.' 
 Then the boy Slater, who was sent to bring up the laggards, was asked 
 what he thought of his errand. Like the others, ' he hadn't seen any- 
 thing very wrong in it.' At this point the Judge broke forth, in accents 
 which may well ring through England. His Lordship indignantly ex- 
 claimed ; * I want to know how it is possible in a Christian country 
 like this that there should be such a state of feeling, even among boys 
 of thirteen, sixteen, and eighteen years of age. It is outrageous. If 
 there are missionaries wanted to the heathen, there are heathens in 
 England who require teaching a great deal more than those abroad.' 
 (Murmurs of 'Hear, hear,' from the jury-box, and applause in court.) 
 His Lordship continued : * Silence ! It is quite shocking to hear boys 
 of this age come up and say these things.' How, indeed, is it possible? 
 that is the question which staggers one. Murder there will be — man- 
 slaughter, rape, burglary, theft, are all unfortunately recurring and 
 common crimes in every community. Nothing in the supposed nature 
 of * Englishmen' can be expected to make our assizes maiden, and our 
 gaol deliveries blank. But there was thought to be something in the 
 blood of the race which would somehow serve to keep us from seeing a 
 Liverpool crowd side with a horde of murderers against their victim, or 
 a gang of Lancashire lads making a ring to see a woman outraged to 
 death. A hundred cases nowadays tell us to discard that idle iDelief • 
 if it ever was true, it is true no longer. Tlie most brutal, the most 
 cowardly, the most pitiless, the moso barbarous deeds done in th*s 
 world, are being ])erpetrated by the lower classes of the English peoplo 
 ^once held to be by their birth, however lowiy, generous, brave, 
 
FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 339 
 
 merciful, aud civilized. In all the pages of Dr. Livingstone's experi- 
 ence among the negroes of Africa, there is no single instance approach- 
 ing this Liverpool story, in savagery of mind and body, in bestiality of 
 heart and act. Nay, we wrong the lower animals by using that last 
 word : the foulest among the beasts which perish is clean, the most 
 ferocious gentle, matched with these Lancashire pitmen, who make 
 sport of the shame and slaying of a woman, and blaspheme nature in 
 their deeds, without even any plea whatever to excuse their cruelty.*' 
 
 The clergy may vainly exclaim against being made responsible for 
 this state of things. They, and chiefly their Bishops, are wholly re- 
 sponsible for it ; nay, are efficiently the causes of it, preaching a false 
 gospel for hire. But, putting all questions of false or true gospeln 
 aside, suppose that they only obeyed St. Paul's plain order in 1st Corin- 
 thians V. 11. Let them determine as distinctly what covetousness and 
 extortion are in the rich, as what drunkenness is, in the poor. Let them 
 refuse, themselves, and order their clergy to refuse, to go out to dine 
 with such persons ; and still more positively to allow such persona to 
 sup at God's table. And they would soon know what fighting wolven 
 meant ; and something more of their own pastoral duty than they 
 learned in that Consecration Service, where they proceeded to follow 
 the example of the Apostles in Prayer, but carefully left out the Fast- 
 ing. 
 
340 
 
 FOMS GLAVIGEIiA. 
 
 LETTER L. 
 
 A FRIEND, in whose judgment I greatly trust, remon- 
 strated sorrowfully with me, the other day, on the desultory 
 character of Fors ; and pleaded with me for the writing of 
 an arranged book instead. 
 
 But he might as well plead with a birch-tree growing 
 out oi a eras:, to arrano^e its bouo^hs beforehand. The winds 
 and floods will arrano-e them accordinof to their wild likino* ; 
 all that the tree has to do, or can do, is to grow gaily, if it 
 may be ; sadly, if gaiety be impossible ; and let the black 
 jags and scars rend the rose-white of its trunk where Fora 
 shall choose. 
 
 But I can well conceive how irritating it must be to any 
 one chancing to take special interest in any one part of my 
 subject — the life of Scott for instance, — to find me, or lose 
 me, wandering away from it for a year or two ; and sending 
 roots into new ground in every direction : or (for my friend 
 taxed me with this graver error also) needlessly re-rooting 
 myself in the old. 
 
 And, all the while, some kindly expectant people are 
 waiting for ' details of my plan.' In the presentment of 
 which, this main difficulty still lets me ; that, if I told them, 
 or tried to help them definitely to conceive, the ultimate 
 things I aim at, they would at once throw the book down 
 as hopelessly Utopian ; but if I tell them the immediate 
 things I aim at, they will refuse to do those instantly pos- 
 sible things, because inconsistent with the present vile gen- 
 eral system. For instance — I take (see Letter V.) Words- 
 worth's single line, 
 
 " We live by admiration, hope, and love," 
 
 for my literal guide, in all education. My final object, with 
 every child born on St. George's estates, will be to teach it 
 
FOES CLAVIOERA, 
 
 341 
 
 what to admire, what to hope for, and what to love : but 
 how far do you suppose the steps necessary to such an ulti- 
 mate aim are immediately consistent with what Messrs. 
 Huxley and Co. call * Secular education'? Or with what 
 eitlier the Bishop of Oxfoi'd, or Mr. Spurgeon, would call 
 * Religious education ' ? 
 
 What to admire, or wonder at ! Do you expect a child 
 to wonder at — heinH" tauirht that two and two make four — 
 (though if only its masters had the sense to teach that, hon- 
 estly, it would be something) — or at the number of copies 
 of nasty novels and false news a steam-engine can print for 
 its reading? 
 
 What to hope ? Yes, my secular friends — What ? That 
 it shall be the richest shopman in the street ; and be buried 
 with black feathers enough over its coffin ? 
 
 What to love — Yes, my ecclesiastical friends, and who is 
 its neighbour, think you? Will you meet these three de- 
 mands of mine with your three Rs, or your catechism? 
 
 And how would I meet them myself ? Simply by never, 
 so far as I could help it, letting a child read what is not 
 worth reading, or see what is not worth seeing ; and by 
 making it live a life which, whether it will or no, shall en- 
 force honourable hope of continuing long in the land — 
 whether of men or God. 
 
 And who is to say what is worth reading, or worth see- 
 ing? sneer the Republican mob. Yes, gentlemen, you who 
 never knew a good thing from a bad, in all your lives, may 
 well ask that ! 
 
 Let us try, however, in such a simple thing as a child's 
 book. Yesterday, in the course of my walk, I went into a 
 shepherd-farmer's cottage, to wish whoever might be in the 
 house a happy new year. His wife was at home, of course ; 
 and Ills little daughter, Agnes, nine years old ; both as good 
 as gold, in their way. 
 
 The cottage is nearly a model of those which I shall 
 expect the tenants of St. George's Company, and its active 
 members, to live in ; — the entire building, parlour, and 
 kitchen, (in this case one, but not necessarily so,) bed-rooms 
 
342 
 
 FOnS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 and all, about the size of an average dining-room in Gros- 
 venor Place or Park Lane. The conversation naturally 
 turning to Christmas doings and havings, — and I, as an 
 author, of course inquiring wliether Agnes had any new 
 books, Agnes brought nie her library — consisting chiefly in 
 a good pound's weight of the literature which cheap print- 
 ing enables the pious to make Christmas presents of for a 
 penny. A full pound, or, it might be, a pound and a half, of 
 this instruction, full of beautiful sentiments, woodcuts, and 
 music. More woodcuts in the first two ounces of it I took 
 up, than T ever had to study in the first twelve years of my 
 life. Splendid woodcuts, too, in the best Kensington style, 
 and rigidly on the principles of high, and commercially 
 remunerative, art, taught by Messrs. Redgrave, Cole, and 
 Company. 
 
 Somehow, none of these seem to have interested little 
 Agnes, or been of the least good to lier. Her pound and a 
 half of the best of the modern pious and picturesque is 
 (being of course originalh^ boardless) now a crumpled and 
 variously doubled- up heap, brought down in a handful, or 
 lapful, rather ; — most of the former insides of the pamphlets 
 being now the outsides ; and every form of dog's ear, pup- 
 py's ear, cat's ear, kitten's ear, rat's ear, and mouse's ear, 
 developed by the contortions of weary fingers at the corners 
 of their didactic and evangelically sibylline leaves. 1 ask 
 if I may borrow one to take home and read. Agnes is de- 
 lighted ; but undergoes no such pang of care as a like re- 
 quest would have inflicted on my boyish mind, and needed 
 generous stifling of ; — nay, had I asked to borrow the whole 
 heap, I am not sure whether Anges's first tacit sensation 
 would not have been one of deliverance. 
 
 Being very fond of pretty little girls, (not, by any means, 
 excluding pretty — tall ones,) I choose, for my own reading, 
 a pamphlet * which has a picture of a beautiful little girl 
 with long hair, lying very ill in bed, with her mother put- 
 ting up her forefinger at her brother, who is crying, with a 
 large tear on the side of his nose ; and a legend beneath : 
 
 ♦ The Children's Prize. No. XII. December, 1873. Price one penny 
 
FORS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 34S 
 
 ^ Harry told his mother the whole story.' The pamphlet has 
 been doubled up by x\gnes right through the middle of the 
 beautiful little girl's face, and no less remorselessly through 
 the very middle of the body of the ' Duckling Astray,' 
 charmingly drawn by Mr. Harrison Weir on the opposite leaf. 
 But ray little Agnes knows so much more about real duck- 
 lings than the artist does, that her severity in this case is 
 not to be wondered at. 
 
 I carry my Children's Prize penny's- worth home to Brant- 
 wood, full of curiosity to know " the whole story." I find 
 that this religious work is edited by a Master of Arts — no 
 less — and that two more woodcuts of the most finished order 
 are given to Harry's story, — representing Harry and the 
 pretty little girl, (I suppose so, at least ; but, alas, now with 
 her back turned to me, — the cuts came cheaper so,) dressed 
 in the extreme of fashion, down to her boots, — first running 
 with Harry, in snow, after a carriage, and then reclining 
 against Harry's shoulder in a snowstorm. 
 
 I arrange my candles for small print, and proceed to read 
 this richly illustrated story. 
 
 Harry and his sister were at school together, it appears, at 
 Salisbury ; and their father's carriage was sent, in a snowy 
 day, to bring them home for the holidays. They are to be 
 at home bv five : and their mother has invited a children's 
 party at seven. Harry is enjoined by his father, in the letter 
 which conveys this information, to remain inside the carriage, 
 and not to go on the box. 
 
 Harry is a good boy, and does as he is bid ; but nothing 
 whatever is said in the letter about not getting out of the 
 carriage to walk up hills. And at * two-mile hill' Harry 
 thinks it will be clever to get out and walk up it, without 
 calling to, or stopping, John on the box. Once out himself, he 
 gets Mary out ; the children begin snowballing each other ; 
 the carriage leaves them so far behind that they can't 
 catch it; a snowstorm comes on, etc., etc.; they are 
 pathetically frozen within a breath of their lives ; found 
 by a benevolent carter, just in time ; warmed b\'' a benevo' 
 lent farmer, the carter's friend ; restored to their alarmed 
 
344 
 
 FOBS CLAVIQERA. 
 
 father and mother ; and Mary has a rheumatic fever, " and 
 for a whole week it was not known whether she would live 
 or die," which is the Providential punishment of Harry's sin 
 in getting out of the carriage. 
 
 Admitting the perfect appositeness and justice of this 
 Providential punishment ; I am, parenthetically, desirous to 
 know of my Evangelical friends, first, whether from the cor- 
 ruption of Harry's nature they could have expected any- 
 thing better than his stealthily getting out of the carriage to 
 walk up the hill ? — and, secondly, whether the merits of 
 Christ, w^hich are enough to save any murderer or swindler 
 from all the disagreeable consequences of murder and swin- 
 dling, in the next world, are not enough in this world, if 
 properly relied upon, to save a wicked little boy's sister from 
 rheumatic fever ? This, I say, I only ask parenthetically, 
 for my own information ; my immediate business being to 
 ask what effect this story is intended to produce on my shep- 
 herd's little daughter Agnes ? 
 
 Intended to produce, I say : what effect it Joes produce, I 
 can easily ascertain ; but what do the writer and the learned 
 editor expect of it ? Or rather, to touch the very beginning 
 of the inquiry, for what class of child do they intend it ? 
 * For all classes,' the enlightened editor and liberal publisher 
 doubtless reply. * Classes, indeed ! In the glorious liberty 
 of the Future, there shall be none ! ' 
 
 Well, be it so ; but in the inglorious slavery of the Past, 
 it has happened that my little Agnes's father has not kept a 
 carriage ; that Agnes herself has not often seen one, is not 
 likely often to be in one, and has seen a great deal too much 
 snow, and had agreat deal too much walking in it, to be tempted 
 out, — if she ever has a chance of being driven in a carriage 
 to a children's party at seven, — to walk up a hill on the road. 
 Such is our benighted life in Westmoreland. In the future, 
 do my pious and liberal friends suppose that all little Ag- 
 neses are to drive in carriages? That is their Utopia. 
 Mine, so much abused for its impossibility, is only that a 
 good many little Agneses who at present drive in carriages, 
 shall have none. 
 
FORS CLAVIOERA, 
 
 345 
 
 Nay, but, perhaps, the learned editor did not intend the 
 story for children * quite in Agnes's position.' For what sort 
 did he intend it, then ? For the class of children whose 
 fathers keep carriages, and whose mothers dress their girls 
 by the Paris modes, at three years old ? Very good ; then, 
 in families which keep carriages and footmen, the children 
 are supposed to think a book is a prize which costs a penny ? 
 Be that also so, in the Republican cheap world ; but might 
 not the cheapeners print, when they are about it, prize 
 poetry for their penny ? Here is the * Christmas Carol,' set 
 to music, accompanying this moral story of the Snow. 
 
 Hark, hark, the merry pealing, 
 
 List to the Christmas chime, 
 Ef ery breath and every feeling 
 
 Hails the good old time ; 
 Brothers, sisters, homeward speedy 
 
 All Ls mirth and play ; 
 Hark, hark, the merry pealing, — 
 
 Welcome, Christmas Day. 
 
 Sing, sing, around we gather 
 
 Each with something new. 
 Cheering mother, cheering father, 
 
 From the Bible true ; 
 Bring the holly, spread the feast. 
 
 Every heart to cheer, 
 Sing, sing, a merry Christm.as, 
 
 A happy, bright New Year." 
 
 Now, putting aside for the moment all questions touching 
 the grounds of the conviction of the young people for whom 
 these verses are intended of the truth of the Bible ; or 
 touching the propriety of their cheering their fathers and 
 mothers by quotations from it ; or touching the difficultly rec- 
 oncileable merits of old times and new things ; I call these 
 verses bad, primarily, because they are not rhythmical. I 
 consider good rhythm a moral quality. I consider the 
 rhythm in these stanzas demoralized, and demoralizing. 
 T quote, in opposition to them, one of the rhymes by 
 which my own ear and mind were educated in early youth 
 
346 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 as being more distinctly, and literally ^ moral,' than that 
 Christmas carol. 
 
 ** Dame Wiggins of Lee 
 Was a worthy old soul, 
 As e'er threaded a nee- 
 Dle, or washed in a bowL 
 She held mice and rats 
 In such antipa-thy. 
 That Seven good Cats 
 Kept Dame Wiggins of Lee.'* 
 
 Putting aside also, in our criticism of these verses, the very 
 debateable question, whether Dame Wiggins kept the Seven 
 Cats, or the Seven Cats Dame Wiggins ; and giving no 
 judgment as to the propriety of the license taken in pronun- 
 ciation, by the accent on the last syllable of ' antipathy,' or 
 as to the evident plagiarism of the first couplet from the 
 classical ballad of King Cole, I aver these rhymes to possess 
 the primary virtue of rhyme, — that is to say, to be rhythmical, 
 in a pleasant and exemplary degree. And I believe, and 
 will venture also to assert my belief, that the matter con- 
 tained in them, though of an imaginative character, is better 
 food for a child's mind than either the subject or sentiment 
 of the above quoted Christmas carol. 
 
 The mind of little Agnes, at all events, receives from story, 
 pictures, and carol, altogether, no very traceable impression ; 
 but, I am happy tg say, certainly no harm. She lives fif- 
 teen miles from the nearest manufacturing district, — sees no 
 vice, except perhaps sometimes in the village on Sunday af- 
 ternoons ; — hears, from week's end to week's end, the sheep 
 bleat, and the wind whistle, — but neither human blasphemy, 
 nor human cruelty of command. Her shepherd father, out 
 on the hills all dav, is thankful at eveninor to return to 
 his fireside, and to have his little daughter to look at, instead 
 of a lamb. She surfers no more from schoolinof than serves 
 to make her enjoy her home ; — knows already the mysteries 
 of butter-making and poultry-keeping ; — curtsies to me with- 
 out alarm when I pass her door, if she is outside of it ; — and, 
 on the whole, sees no enemy but winter and rough weathe 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 347 
 
 But what effect this modern Christmas carol icoiild liave 
 had on her mind, if she had had the full advantage of mod- 
 ern education in an advanced and prosperous town, — the fol- 
 lowing well written letter, — happily sent me by Fors at the 
 necessary moment, — enables me at once to exhibit : — 
 
 *»10^A January, 1874. 
 
 Dear Mr. Ruskin, 
 
 Your appendix to the Fors this month contains a chap- 
 ter on what some will assert is very exceptional shire 
 
 brutality. After nine years' residence in a shire village, 
 
 I am compelled to believe that the vileness which horrified 
 Judge Mellor is everywhere ingrained where factory and col- 
 liery rule prevails. 
 
 Could you but hear the blasphemous and filthy language 
 our rosy village bairns use as soon as they are out of the par- 
 son's earshot, even when leaving the Sabbath School ! 
 
 Yet we have a rural dean as incumbent, an excellent 
 schoolmaster, and model school. The Government Inspector 
 is highly satisfied, and there are the usual edifying tea par- 
 ties, prize-givings, and newspaper puffs, yearly. 
 
 I know that the cliildren are well taught six days a week, 
 yet there is little fruit of good behaviour among them, and 
 an indecency of speech which is amazing in rural children. 
 On Christmas morn a ])arty of these cliildren, boys and girls, 
 singing carols, encountered my young daughter going alone 
 to the church service. The opportunity was tempting, and 
 as if moved by one vile spirit, they screamed at her a blast 
 of the most obscene and profane epithets that vicious malice 
 could devise. She knew none of them ; had never harmed 
 them in her life. She came home with her kind, tender heart 
 all aghast. * Why do they hate me so ? ' she asked. 
 
 Yet a short time after the same children came into the 
 yard, and began, with the full shrill powers of their young 
 lungs, 
 
 * Why do I love Jesus ? ' 
 
 the refrain, 
 
 ' Because He died for rae,' 
 
 with especial gusto. My husband, ignorant of their previous 
 conduct, gave them a bright shilling, which evoked three 
 more hymns of similar character. "What does all this mean? 
 
 Our Bishop says that we have a model parish, a model 
 school, and a model parson — yet we have children like this. 
 
348 FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 Our parson knows it, and says to me that he can do nothing 
 to prevent it. 
 
 More than this. It is almost incredible ; but my own 
 horrified ears have borne witness of it. Young boys will 
 threaten girls of their own age, in the vilest terms, with out- 
 rage like that at Burnley. I have heard it again and again. 
 
 Had Judge Mellor had nine years' experience of shire 
 
 life, he would not have been surprised at the utter brutality 
 of mind exhibited. 
 
 Yet we are not criminal compared with other districts. 
 Bastardy and drunkenness are at present the darkest shades 
 we can show ; but there is perhaps some better influence at 
 work from the vicinage of two great squires, which secures 
 us pure air and wide fields. 
 
 I am glad to read that you purpose vexing yourself less 
 with the sins of the times during the coming summer. It is 
 too great a burthen for a human mind to bear the world's 
 sins in spirit, as you do. If you mean to preserve yourself 
 for the many thousands whose inner heart's bitterness your 
 voice has relieved, you must vex yourself less about this 
 age's madness. 
 
 The sure retribution is at hand already." * 
 
 * What does all this mean?' my correspondent asks, in wise 
 anxiety. 
 
 National prosperity, my dear Madam, according to Mr. 
 Goschen, the TimeSy and Morning Post ; — national prosperity 
 carried to the point of not knowing what to do with our 
 money. Enlightenment, and Freedom, and orthodox Re- 
 ligion, and Science of the superbest and trustworthiest char- 
 acter, and generally the Reign of Law, answer the Duke of 
 Argyll and Professor Huxley. Ruin — inevitable and terri- 
 ble, such as no nation has yet suffered, — answer God and the 
 Fates. 
 
 Yes — inevitable. England has to drink a cup which can- 
 not pass from her — at the hands of the Lord, the cup of His 
 fury ; — surely the dregs of it, the wicked of the earth shall 
 wring them and drink them out. 
 
 For let none of my readers think me mad enough or wild 
 enough to hope that any effort, or repentance, or change of 
 
 * Yes, I know thafc ; but am I to be cheerfuller therefore ^ 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 349 
 
 conduct could now save the country from the consequences 
 of her follies, or the Church from the punishment of her 
 crimes. This St. George's Company of ours is mere raft- 
 making amidst irrevocable wreck — the best we can do, to be 
 done bravely and cheerfully, come of it what may. 
 
 Let me keep, therefore, to-day wholly to definite matters, 
 and to little ones. What the education we now give our 
 children leads to, my correspondent's letter shows. What 
 education they should have, instead, I may suggest perhaps 
 in some particulars. 
 
 What should be done, for instance, in the way of gift- 
 giving, or instruction-giving, for our little Agnes of the hill- 
 side ? Would the St. George's Company, if she were their 
 tenant, only leave her alone, — teach her nothing? 
 
 Not so ; very much otherwise than so. Tliis is some part 
 of what should be done for her, were she indeed under St. 
 George's rule. 
 
 Instead of the "something new," which our learned Mas- 
 ter of Arts edits for her in carolling, siie should learn, by 
 heart, words which her fathers had known, many and many 
 a year ago. As, for instance, these two little carols of grace 
 before meat : — 
 
 What Goil gives, and what we take, 
 'Tis a gift for Christ His sake ; 
 Be the meale of Beanes and Pease, 
 God be thanked for those and these. 
 Have we flesh, or have we fish. 
 All are Fragments from His dish : 
 He His Church save ; and the King 
 And our Peace here, like a Spring, 
 Make it ever flourishing. 
 
 Here, a little child, I stand 
 Heaving up my either hand ; 
 Cold as Paddocks though they be, 
 Here I lift them up to Thee. 
 For a Benizon to fall, 
 On our meat, and on us alL 
 
 These verses, or such as these, Agnes should be able to #Ay, 
 and sing ; and if on any state occasion it were desired oi 
 
350 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 her to say grace, should be so mannered as to say obedient- 
 ly, without either vanity or shame. Also, she should knov9 
 other rhymes for her own contentment, such as slie liked 
 best, out of narrow store offered to her, if she chose to learn 
 to read. Reading by no means being enforced upon her — 
 still less, writing ; notliing enforced on her but household 
 help to her mother ; instant obedience to her father's or 
 mother's word ; order and cleanliness in her own depart- 
 ments and person ; and gentleness to all inoffensive creat- 
 ures — paddocks as well as lambs and chickens. 
 
 Further, instead of eighteen distinct penny ChildreiiuS 
 Prizes^ containing seventy-two elaborate woodcuts of 
 ^Ducklings astray,' and the like, (which I should especially 
 object to, in the case of Agnes, as too personal, she herself 
 being little more at present than a duckling astray,) the St. 
 George's Company would invest for her, at once, the ' ridic- 
 ulously small sum of eighteen-pence,' in one coloured print 
 — coloured by hand, for the especial decoration of her own 
 chamber. This colouring by hand is one of the occupations 
 which young women of the upper classes, in St. George's 
 Company, will undertake as a business of pure duty ; it was 
 once a very wholesome means of livelihood to poorer art stu- 
 dents. The plates of Sibthorpe's Flora Groeca, for instance, 
 cost, I am informed, on their first publication, precisely the 
 sum in question, — eighteen-pence each, — for their colouring 
 by hand : — the enterprising publisher who issued the more 
 recent editions, reducing, in conformity with modern views 
 on the subject of economy, the colourist's remuneration to 
 thirty shillings per hundred. But in the St. George's Com- 
 pany, young ladies who have the gift of colouring WiW be 
 taught to colour engravings simply as well as they can do 
 it, without any reference whatever to pecuniary compensa- 
 tion ; and such practice I consider to be the very best pos- 
 sible elementary instruction for themselves, in the art of 
 watercolour painting. 
 
 And the print which should be provided and thus coloured 
 for little Agnes's room should be no less than the best en- 
 graving I could get made of Simon Memmi's SSt. Agnes in 
 
FOBS CLAVIQERA, 
 
 351 
 
 Paradise' ; of which — (according to the probable notions of 
 many of my readers, absurd and idolatrous) — image, little 
 Agnes should know the legend as soon as she was able to 
 understand it ; though, if the St. George's Company could 
 manage it for her, she should be protected from too early 
 instruction in the meaning of that legend, by such threats 
 from her English playfellows as are noticed in my corre- 
 spondent's letter. 
 
 Such should be some small part of her religious education. 
 For beginning of secular education, the St. George's Com- 
 pany would provide for her, above and before all things, a 
 yard or two square of St. George's ground, which should be 
 wholly her own ; together with instruments suited to her 
 strength, for the culture, and seeds for the sowing, thereof. 
 On which plot of ground, or near it, in a convenient place, 
 there should be a bee-hive, out of which it should be con- 
 sidered a crowning achievement of Agnes's secular virtues if 
 she could produce, in its season, a piece of snowy and well- 
 filled comb. And, (always if she chose to learn to read), 
 books sliould be given her containing such information re- 
 specting bees, and other living creatures as it appeared to 
 the St. George's Company desirable she should possess. But 
 touching the cliaracter of this desirable information, what I 
 have to say being somewhat lengthy, must be deferred to 
 my March letter. 
 
 CaSTLETON, PkAK op DERllYSniRE. 
 
 21t?i Janudvi/. 
 
 Since finisliing this letter, I have driven leisurely through 
 tlie midland manufacturing districts, which I have not trav- 
 ersed, except by rail, for the last ten years. The two most 
 frightful things I have ever yet seen in my life are tiie 
 south-eastern suburb of Bradford, (six miles long,) and the 
 scene from Wakefield bridge, by the chapel ; yet I cannot 
 but more and more reverence the fierce courage and indus- 
 try, the gloomy endurance, and the infinite mechanical 
 ingenuity of the great centres, as one reverences the fervid 
 labours of a wasp's nest, though the end of all is only a nox- 
 ious lump of clay. 
 
352 
 
 FOES CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 In my last December's letter, I promised, for January, some state 
 ment of real beginning of operations by our Company ; but, as usual, 
 was hindered from fulfilling ray promise at the time I intended. And 
 the hindrance lay, as in all useful business it is pretty sure in some 
 measure to lie, in the state of British law. An acre of ground, with 
 some cottages on it, has been given me for our company ; but it is nob 
 easy to find out how the company is to lay hold of it. I suppose the 
 conveyancing will cost us, in the end, half a dozen times the value of 
 the land ; and in the meantime I don't care to announce our posses^ 
 sion of it, or say what I mean to do with it. I content myself for the 
 present with reprinting, and very heartily, as far as my experience 
 holds, ratifying, the subjoined portions of a letter, sent me the other 
 day out of a country paper. The writer is speaking, at the point 
 where my quotation begins, of the difficulty of getting a good bank- 
 ruptcy act passed : — 
 
 The reason alleged is that almost any lawyer is ready to help any 
 lying and false-trading person to drive his coach and four through any 
 Act, however good in intention it may be. This is a sad state of 
 things, and is wasteful of more things than money or good temper. 
 It is, however, on the matter of conveyancing that we wish to say a 
 
 few words 
 
 *^We are accustomed to look at the matter as a very simple one. 
 We have before us the deeds of our dwelling-house. The real point is, 
 why can we not sell these papers to, say John Smith, for £1,000, if 
 John is satisfied that our little cottage, with all its admirable rooms so 
 well arranged, is worth that amount? Why can't we sell him this 
 matter in a simple and clear way ? Or, for a case the least bit compli- 
 cated, take our six shops in the chief street. Why can't we sell one 
 each to Brown, Jones, Robinson, Thompson, Atkinson, or Williams, 
 their respective and respectable tenants, in an equally simple way ? 
 The English law steps in and says that we must have a cumbrous deed 
 prepared for each case, and the total cost to all of us, without stamps, 
 would be about one hundred pounds, at a reasonable computation. 
 What do we get for this large sum ? Absolutely nothing but jargon on 
 parchment, instead of plain and simple English, which all the Smiths 
 and Browns might understand, and get for a tenth of the cost. This 
 is all the more irritating, because sensible people are agreed that our 
 present plan is a cumbrous farce, and, moreover, nobody laughs at it 
 but the lawyers who get the picking. Any six honest, clear-headed, 
 educated men could devise a system in a month which would put an 
 
FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 353 
 
 end to the needless and costly worry entailed by the existing* legal par- 
 aphernalia. We have never yet seen any tangible objections to the 
 simple system, nor any salient and satisfactory reasons for retaining 
 the present circumlocutory, wasteful, and foolish one. 
 
 Another monstrous anomaly is that we might sell each of our be- 
 fore-mentioned shops in our chief street, and yet retain the original 
 deed untouched ; so that after drawing cash from each of our present 
 tenants, we could mortgage the whole block again, and clear off with 
 the double cash. * 
 
 But even the present system might be made endurable, and herein 
 lies its greatest blame, namely — that you never know what you are go- 
 ing to pay for the foolish and needless work ycu are having done. 
 You are entirely at the mercy of the lawyer. When we consider that 
 this so-called difficult and skilful work is always managed in the best 
 offices by a mere clerk, and seldom, if ever, by the principal, we have 
 a reasonable ground of complaint against the enormous and unfair 
 charges usually made for work so done by wholesale. 
 
 *'We will conclude with a practical suggestion or two. Building 
 clubs have been a great boon to the saving element in our community. 
 It is the wish of most people to have a house of their own, and these 
 clubs find, for hundreds, the readiest means to that end. They have 
 made easy the borrowing and the paying back of money, and they have 
 been the means of simplifying mortgage deeds which, for clubs, are 
 only £2 5,'?. , and if got up simpler, and printed, instead of being 
 written, might easily and profitably be done for a guinea. Could nut 
 they confer a still greater boon on the community by combining, and 
 compelling by a strong voice, the lawyers to Rystematize and cheapen 
 the present mode of conveyancing ? This would be a great work, and 
 might be done. Still better would it be to combine to send up sugges- 
 tions to Parliament for a simpler and better plan, such as would lead 
 to the passing of an Act for the embodiment of this great and much- 
 needed reform." 
 
 ♦ I don't vouch for the particular statements in this letter. It seems to me incredible 
 that any practical absurdity so great as this should exist in tenuie of propert;y. 
 
 Vol. 1L— 23 
 
354 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 LETTER LI. 
 
 Herne Hill, 9th Feb, , 1875, 
 
 T HAVE been so much angered, distressed and defeated, by 
 many things, during these last autumn and winter months, 
 that I can only keep steadily to my business by insisting to 
 myself on my own extreme value and importance to the 
 world ; and quoting, in self-application, the most flattering 
 texts I can find, such as, ^' Simon, Simon, Satan hath desired 
 to have you," and so on ; hoping that at least a little more 
 of my foolishness is being pounded out of me at every blow ; 
 and that the dough I knead for Fors may be daily of purer 
 wheat. 
 
 I wish I could raise it with less leaven of malice ; but I 
 dislike some things and some people so much, that, having 
 been always an impetuous, inconsiderate, and weakly com- 
 municative person, I find it impossible to hold my tongue in 
 this time of advanced years and petulance. I am thankful, 
 to-day, to have one most pleasant thing first to refer to ; — 
 the notable speech, namely, of Mr. Johnson, the President of 
 the Manchester Chamber of Commerce, on the immorality of 
 cheapness : the first living words respecting commerce which 
 1 have ever known to be spoken in England, in my time ; — 
 on which, nevertheless, I can in no wise dilate to-day, but 
 most thankfully treasure them for study in a futui'e letter ; 
 having already prepared for this one, during my course of 
 self-applause taken medicinally, another passage or two of 
 my own biography, putting some of the reasons for my care- 
 lessness about Agnes's proficiency in reading or writing, more 
 definitely before the reader. 
 
 Until I was more than four years old, we lived in Hunter 
 Street, Brunswick Square, the greater part of the year ; for 
 a few weeks in the summer breathing country air by taking 
 lodgings ill small cottages (real cottages, not villas, so-called) 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGERA, 
 
 355 
 
 either about Hampstead, or at Dulwich, at ^Mrs. Ridley's,' 
 the last of a row in a lane which led out into the Dulwich 
 fields on one side, and was itself full of buttercups in spring, 
 and blackberries in autumn. But inv chief remaininor im- 
 pressions of those days are attached to Hunter Street. My 
 mother's general principles of first treatment were, to guard 
 me with steady watchfulness from all avoidable pain or 
 danger ; and, for the rest, to let me amuse myself as I liked, 
 provided I was neither fretful nor troublesome. But the law 
 was, that I should find my own amusement. No toys of any 
 kind were at first allowed ; — and the pity of my Croydon 
 aunt for my monastic poverty in this respect was boundless. 
 On one of my birthdays, thinking to overcome my mother's 
 resolution by splendour of temptation, she bought the most 
 radiant Punch and Judy slie could find in all the Soho bazaar 
 — as big as a real Punch and Judy, all dressed in scarlet and 
 gold, and that would dance, tied to the leg of a chair. I 
 must have been greatly impressed, for I remember well the 
 look of the two figures, as my aunt herself exliibited their 
 virtues. My mother was obliged to accept them ; but after- 
 wards quietly told me it was not right that I should have 
 them ; and 1 never saw tliem again. 
 
 Nor did I painfully wish, what 1 was never permitted for 
 an instant to hope, or even imagine, the possession of such 
 things as one saw in toyshops. I had a bunch of keys to 
 play with, as long as I was capable only of pleasure in what 
 glittered and jingled ; as I grew older, I had a cart, and a 
 ball ; and when I was five or six years old, two boxes of well- 
 cut wooden bricks. With these modest, but T still think 
 entirely sufficient possessions, and being always summarily 
 whipped if I cried, did not do as I was bid, or tumbled on 
 the stairs, I soon attained serene and secure methods of life 
 and motion ; and could pass my days contentedly in tracing 
 the squares and comparing the colours of my carpet ; — ex- 
 amining the knots in the wood of the floor, or counting the 
 bricks in the opposite houses ; with rapturous intervals of 
 excitement during the filling of the water-cart, through its 
 leathern pipe, from the dripping iron post at the pavement 
 
FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 edge ; or the still more admirable proceedings of the turn- 
 cock, when he turned and turned till a fountain sprang up in 
 the middle of the street. But the carpet, and what patterns 
 I could find in bed-covers, dresses, or wall-papers to be 
 examined, were my chief resources, and my attention to the 
 particulars in these was soon so accurate, that when at three 
 and a half I was taken to have my portrait painted by Mr. 
 Northcote, I had not been ten minutes alone with him before 
 I asked him why there were holes in his carpet. The por- 
 trait in question represents a very pretty child with yellow 
 hair, dressed in a white frock like a girl, with a broad light- 
 blue sash and blue shoes to match ; the feet of the child 
 wholesomely large in proportion to its body ; and the shoes 
 still more wholesomely large in proportion to the feet. 
 
 These articles of my daily dress were all sent to the old 
 painter for perfect realization ; but they appear in the 
 picture more remarkable than they were in my nursery, 
 because I am represented as running in a field at the edge 
 of a wood with the trunks of its trees striped across in the 
 manner of Sir Joshua Reynolds ; while two rounded hills, 
 as blue as my shoes, appear in the distance, which were put 
 in by the painter at my own request ; for I had already been 
 once, if not twice, taken to Scotland ; and my Scottish nurse 
 having always sung to me as w^c approached the Tweed or 
 Esk,— 
 
 For Scotland, my darling, lies full in my view, 
 With her barefooted lassies, and mountains bo blue," 
 
 I had already generally connected the idea of distant hills 
 with approach to the extreme felicities of life, in my (Scot- 
 tish) aunt's garden of gooseberry bushes, sloping to the Tay. 
 
 But that, when old Mr. Northcote asked me (little think- 
 ing, I fancy, to get any answer so explicit) what I would like 
 to have in the distance of my picture, I should have said 
 ^' blue hills " instead of " gooseberry bushes," appears to me 
 — and I think without any morbid tendency to think over- 
 much of myself — a fact sufficiently curious, and not without 
 promise, in a child of that age. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 357 
 
 I think it should be related also that having, as aforesaid, 
 been steadily whipped if I was troublesome, my formed habit 
 of serenity was greatly pleasing to the old painter ; for I sat 
 contentedly motionless, counting the holes in his carpet, or 
 watching him squeeze his paint out of its bladders, — a beau- 
 tiful operation, indeed, it seemed to me ; but I do not re- 
 member taking any interest in Mr. Northcote's applications 
 of the pigments to the canvas ; my ideas of delightful art, in 
 that r<3spect, involving indispensably the possession of a large 
 pot, filled with paint of the brightest green, and of a brush 
 which would come out of it soppy. But my quietude was so 
 pleasing to the old man that he begged my father and mother 
 to let me sit to him for the face of a child which he was 
 painting in a classical subject ; where I was accordingly rep- 
 resented as reclining on a leopard skin, and having a thorn 
 taken out of my foot by a wild man of the woods. 
 
 In all these particulars, I think the treatment, or accidental 
 conditions, of my childhood, entirely right, for a child of my 
 temperament ; but the mode of my introduction to literature 
 appears to me questionable, and I am not prepared to carry 
 it out in St. George's schools, without much modification. I 
 absolutely declined to learn to read by syllables ; but would 
 get an entire sentence by heart with great facility, and point 
 with accuracy to every word in the page as I repeated it. As, 
 however, when the words were once displaced, I had no more 
 to say, my mother gave up, for the time, the endeavour to 
 teach me to read, hoping only that I might consent, in process 
 of year§;, to adopt the popular system of syllabic study. But 
 I went on, to amuse myself, in my own way, learnt whole 
 words at a time, as I did patterns ; — and at five years old was 
 sending for my 'second volumes' to the circulating library. 
 
 This effort to learn the words in tlieir collective aspect was 
 assisted by my real admiration of the look of printed type, 
 which I began to copy for my pleasure, as other children draw 
 dogs and horses. The following inscription, facsimile'd from 
 the fly-leaf of my Seven Champio?is of Christendom^ I believe, 
 (judging from the independent views taken in it of the char- 
 acter of the letter L, and the relative elevation of G,) to be 
 
358 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 an extremely early art study of this class ; and as, by the will 
 of Fors, the first lines of the note written the other day un- 
 derneath my copy of it, in direction to Mr. Burgess, presented 
 some notable points of correspondence with it, I thought it 
 well he should engrave them together, as they stood. 
 
 It would be difficult to give more distinct evidence than is 
 furnished by these pieces of manuscript, of the incurably 
 desultory character which has brought on me the curse of 
 Reuben, " Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel." But I 
 reflect, hereupon, with resolute self-complacency, that water, 
 when good, is a good thing, though it be not stable ; and 
 that it may be better sometimes to irrigate than excel. And 
 of the advantage, in many respects, of learning to write and 
 read, if at all, in the above pictorial manner, I have much to 
 say on some other occasion ; but, having to-day discoursed 
 enough about myself, will assume that Agnes, wholly at her 
 own sweet will, has made shift to attain the skill and temper 
 necessary for the use of any kind of good book, or bible. It 
 is, then, for the St. George's Company to see that all the 
 bibles she has, whether for delight or instruction, shall be 
 indeed holy bibles ; written by persons, that is to say, in 
 whom the word of God dwelt, and who spoke or wrote ac- 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 359 
 
 cording to the will of God ; and, therefore, with faithful 
 purpose 01 speaking the truth touching what they had to tell, 
 or of singing, rhyming, or what not else, for the amusement 
 whether of children or grown-up persons, in a natural, modest, 
 and honest mariner, doing their best for the love of God and 
 men, or children, or of the natural world ; and not for money^ 
 (though for the time necessary to learn the arts of singing or 
 writing, such honest minstrels and authors, manifestly pos- 
 sessing talent for their business, should be allowed to claim 
 daily moderate maintenance, and for their actual toil, in per- 
 formance of their arts, modest reward, and daily bread). 
 
 And, passing by for the present the extremely difficult and 
 debateable question, by what kind of entertaining and simple 
 bibles Agnes shall first be encouraged in the pursuits of liter- 
 ature, I wish to describe to-day more particularly the kind of 
 book I want to be able to give her about her bees, when she 
 is old enouo:h to take real charore of them. For I don't 
 in the least want a book to tell her how many species of 
 bees there are ; nor what grounds there may be for suspect- 
 ing that one species is another species ; nor why Mr. B 
 
 is convinced that what Mr. A considered two species are 
 
 indeed one species ; nor how conclusively Mr. C has 
 
 proved that what Mr. B described as a new species is an 
 
 old species. Neither do I want a book to tell her what a 
 bee's inside is like, nor whether it has its brains in the small 
 of its back, or nowhere in particular, like a modern political 
 economist ; nor whether the morphological nature of the 
 sternal portion of the thorax should induce us, strictly, to 
 call it the prosternum, or may ultimately be found to present 
 no serious inducement of that nature. But I want a book to 
 tell her, for instance, how a bee buzzes ; and how, and by 
 what instrumental touch, its angry buzz differs from its 
 pleased or simply busy buzz. * Nor have I any objection 
 
 * I am not sure, after all, that I should like her to know even so 
 much as this. For on enquiring, myself, into the matter. I find (Or- 
 raerod, quoting" Dr. H. Landois) that a humble bee has drum in ita 
 stomach, and that one half of this drum oan be loosened and then 
 drawn tight again, and that the bee breathes through the slit between 
 
360 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGEUA. 
 
 to the child's learning, for good and all, such a dreadful 
 word as ^proboscis,' though I don't, myself, understand why 
 in the case of a big animal, like an elephant, one should be al- 
 lowed, in short English, to say that it takes a bun with its 
 trunk ; and yet be required to state always, with severe ac- 
 curacy, that a bee gathers honey with its proboscis. What- 
 ever we were allowed to call it, however, our bee-book must 
 assuredly tell Agnes and me, what at present I believe neither 
 of us know, — certainly I don't, myself, — how the bee's feed- 
 ing instrument differs from its building one, and what either 
 may be like. 
 
 I pause, here, to think over and put together the little I do 
 know ; and consider how it should be told Agnes. For to 
 my own mind, it occurs in a somewhat grotesque series of 
 imagery, with which I would not, if possible, infect hers. 
 The difference, for instance, in the way of proboscis, between 
 the eminent nose of an elephant, and the not easily treaceable 
 nose of a bird : the humorous, and, it seems to me, even 
 slightly mocking and cruel contrivance of the Forming Spirit, 
 that we shall always, unless we very carefully mind what we 
 are about, think that a bird's beak is its nose : — the, to me, 
 as an epicure, greatly disturbing, question, how much, when 
 I see that a bird likes anything, it likes it at the tip of its bill, 
 or somewhere inside. Then I wonder why elephants don't 
 build houses with their noses, as birds build nests with their 
 faces ; — then, I wonder what elephants' and mares' nests are 
 like, when they haven't got stables, or dens in menageries : 
 finally, I think I had better stop thinking, and find out a fact 
 or two, \i I can, from any books in my possession, about the 
 working tools of the bee. 
 
 And I will look first whether there is any available account 
 
 the loose half and tight half ; and that in this slit there is a little comb, 
 and on this comb the humble bee plays while it breathes, as on a Jew's- 
 harp, and can't help it. But a honey bee hums with its '^thoracic spir- 
 acles," not with its stomach. On the whole — I don't think I shall tell 
 Agnes anything about all this. She may get through her own life, per- 
 haps, just as well without ever knowing that there's any such thing as a 
 thorax, or a spiracle. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 3C1 
 
 of these matters in a book which I once all but knew by heart, 
 £ingley^fi Animal Biography^ which, though it taught ina 
 little, made me desire to know more, and neither fatigued my 
 mind nor polluted it, whereas most modern books on natural 
 history only cease to be tiresome by becoming loathsome. 
 
 Yes, — I thought I had read it, and known it, once. " They 
 (the worker bees) "are so eager to afford mutual assistance'* 
 (bestial, as distinct from human competition, you observe), 
 "and for this purpose so many of them crowd together, that 
 their individual operations can scarcely be distinctly ob- 
 served." (If I re-write this for Agnes, that last sentence 
 shall stand thus : ' that it is difficult to see what any one is 
 doing.') " It has, however, been discovered that their two 
 jaws are the only instruments they employ in modelling and 
 polishing the wax. With a little patience we perceive cells 
 just begun, we likewise remark the quickness with which a 
 bee moves its teeth against a small portion of the cell ; this 
 portion the animal, by repeated strokes on each side, smooths, 
 renders compact, and reduces to a proper thinness." 
 
 Here I pause again, — ever so many questions occurring to 
 me at once, — and of which, if Agnes is a thoughtful child, 
 and not frightened from asking what she wants to know, by 
 teachers who have been afraid they wouldn't be able to an- 
 swer, she may, it is probable, put one or two herself. What 
 are a bee's teeth like ? are they white, or black ? do they ever 
 ache? can it bite hard with them? has it got anything to 
 bite ? Not only do I find no satisfaction in Mr. Bingley 
 as to these matters ; but in a grand, close-printed epitome 
 of entomology* lately published simultaneously in London, 
 Paris, and New York, and which has made me sick with dis- 
 gust by its descriptions, at every other leaf I opened, of all 
 that is horrible in insect life, I find, out of five hundred and 
 seventy-nine figures, not one of a bee's teeth, the chief archi- 
 tectural instrument of the insect world. And I am the more 
 provoked and plagued by this, because, my brains being, as 
 all the rest of me, desultory and ill under control, I get into 
 another fit of thinking what a bee's lips can be like, and of 
 ♦ TJi6 Insect World. CasseU & Galpin. 
 
S62 
 
 FOBS OLAYIOEEA. 
 
 wondering why whole meadows-fall of flowers are called 
 cows' lips " and none called *'bees* lips." And finding 
 presently, in Cassell and Galpin, something really interesting 
 about bees' tongues, and that they don't suck, but lick up, 
 honey, I go on wondering how soon we shall have a scientific 
 Shakespeare printed for the use of schools, with Ariel's song 
 altered into 
 
 ' Where the bee licks, there lurk I,' 
 
 and " the singing masons building roofs of gold," explained 
 to be merely automatic arrangements of lively viscera. 
 
 Shaking myself at last together again, I refer to a really 
 valuable book — Dr. Latham Ormerod's History of Wasj^s : 
 — of which,' if I could cancel all the parts that interest the 
 Doctor himself, and keep only those which interest Agnes 
 and me, and the pictures of wasps at the end, — T would 
 make it a standard book in St. George's library, even placing 
 it in some proper subordinate relation to the Fourth Georgic : 
 but as it is, I open in every other page on something about 
 ' organs,' a word with which I do not care for Agnes's associ- 
 ating any ideas, at present, but those of a Savoyard and his 
 monkey. 
 
 However, I find here, indeed, a diagram of a wasp's mouth ; 
 but as it only looks like what remains of a spider after being 
 trodden on, and, as I find that this " mandibulate form of 
 mouth " consists of 
 
 a, the labium, with the two labial palpi ; 
 
 b, the maxilla, whose basilar portions bear at one end 
 the cardo, at the other the hairy galea and the max- 
 illary palpus ; 
 
 c, the labrum, and the mandible," 
 
 Agnes and I perceive that for the present there is an end of 
 the matter for us ; and retreat to our Bingley, there to con- 
 sole ourselves with hearing how Mr. Wildman, whose re- 
 marks on the management of bees are well known, possessed 
 a secret by which he could at any time cause a hive of 
 bees to swarm upon his head, shoulders, or body, in a most 
 surprising manner. He has been seen to drink a glass of 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 363 
 
 wine, having at the same time the bees all over his head and 
 face more than an inch deep : several fell into the glass, but 
 they did not sting him. He could even act the part of a 
 general with them, by marshalling them in battle array upon 
 a large table. There he divided them into regiments, battal- 
 ions, and companies, according to military discipline, waiting 
 only for his word of command. The moment he uttered the 
 word ' march ! ' they began to march in a regular manner, 
 like soldiers. To these insects he also taught so much polite- 
 ness, that they never attempted to sting any of the numer- 
 ous company." 
 
 Agnes, on reading this, is sure to ask me ' how he taught 
 them ?' Which is just what, as a student of new methods of 
 education, I should like to know myself ; and not a word is 
 said on the matter : and we are presently pushed on into the 
 history of the larger animal which I call a humble, but 
 Agnes, a bumble, bee. Not, how^ever, clearly knowing my- 
 self either what the ways of this kind are, or why they should 
 be called humble, when I always find them at the top of a 
 thistle rather than the bottom, I spend half my morning in 
 hunting through my scientific books for information on this 
 matter, and find whole pages of discussion whether the 
 orange-tailed bee is the same as the white-tailed bee, but 
 nothing about why either should be called humble or bum- 
 ble : — at last I bethink me of the great despiser of natural 
 history ; and find that stout Samuel, with liis good editor 
 Mr. Todd, have given me all I want ; but there is far more 
 and better authority for * bumble ' than I thou^-lit. IIow- 
 ever; — this first ffuess of Johnson's own assuredly touches 
 one popular, though it appears mistaken reason for the 
 Shakespearian form. The humble bee is known to have no 
 stino\ The Scotch call a cow without horns a * humble cow.' " 
 But truly, I have never myself yet had clear faith enough in 
 that absence of sting to catch a humble bee in my fingers ; * 
 
 * Alas, that incredulity, the least amiable of the virtues, should often 
 be the moat serviceable ! Here is a pleasant little passage to fall iD 
 with, after Dr. Johnson's *'it is well known'' ! I find it in Ormerod, 
 discubsing the relative tenability of insects between the fiugcrs, foJ 
 
364 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 only I suppose Bottom would have warned Cobweb against 
 that danger, if there had been such, as well as against being 
 overflown with the honey bag.* Red-hipped, Bottom calls 
 them ; and yet I find nothing about their red hips anywhere 
 in my books. 
 
 We have not done with the name yet, however. It is 
 from the Teutonic * hommolen,' bombum edere : (in good 
 time, some years hence, Agnes shall know what Teutons are, 
 — what bombs are, — shall read my great passage in Unto 
 this Last about bombshells and peaches ; and shall know 
 how distinct the Latin root of Edition and Editor is from 
 that of Edification). 
 
 Next, — Chaucer, however, uses 'humbling' in the sense 
 of humming or muttering : like to the humblinge after the 
 clap of a thunderinge." So that one might classically say — 
 a busy' bee hums and a lazy bee humbles ; only we can't 
 quite rest even in this ; for under Bumble-bee, in Johnson, 
 I find a quantity of other quotations and branched words, 
 going off into silk and bombazine ; — of which I shall onlj 
 ask Agnes to remember — 
 
 The Bittern, with his bump, 
 The crane, with his trump, 
 
 and Chaucer's single line 
 
 And as a bytorne bumblith in the myre. 
 
 This, however, she should write out carefully, letter by 
 letter, as soon as she had learned to write ; and know, at 
 least, that the image was used of a wife telling her husband's 
 faults — and, in good time, the whole story of Midas. Mean- 
 while, we remain satisfied to teach her to call her large brown 
 friends, humble bees, because Shakespeare does, which is 
 reason enough : and then the next thing I want to know, 
 and tell her, is why they are so fond of thistles. Before she 
 
 the study of their voices. Wasps are obviously ill fitted for this pur- 
 pose, and humble bees are no better ; they are so strong and so slip- 
 pery that they need all our attention to prevent their putting their 
 long stings through our gloves while we are examining them." 
 * Foolish of me ; a cobweb may be overflown, but cannot be stung. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 365 
 
 can know this, I must be able to draw a thistle-blossom 
 rightly for her ; and as my botany has stood fast for some 
 3'ears at the point where I broke down in trying to draw 
 the separate tubes of thistle-blossom, I can't say any more 
 on that point to-day : but, going on with my Bingley, I find 
 four more species of bees named, which I should like to tell 
 Agnes all I could about : namely, the Mason Bee ; the 
 Wood-piercing Bee ; and the one which Bingley calls the 
 Garden Bee ; but which, as most bees are to be found in 
 gardens, I shall myself call the Wool-gathering Bee ; the 
 Leaf-cutting Bee. 
 
 1. The mason bee, it appears, builds her nest of sand, 
 which she chooses carefully grain by grain ; then sticks, with 
 bee-glue, as many grains together as she can carry, (like the 
 blocks of brick we see our builders prepare for circular 
 drains) — and builds her nest like a swallow*s, in any angle 
 on the south side of a wall ; only with a number of cells 
 inside, like — a monastery, shall we say, — each cell being 
 about the size of a thimble. But these cells are not, like 
 hive bees', regularly placed, but anyhow — the holes between 
 filled up witli solid block building ; — and this disorder in the 
 architecture of mason bees seems to be connected with moral 
 disorder in their life ; for, instead of being * so eager to afford 
 mutual assistance ' that one can't see what each is doing, 
 these mason bees, if they can, steal each other's nests, just 
 like human beings, and fight, positively like Christians. 
 " Sometimes the two bees fly with such rapidity and force 
 against each other that both fall to the ground " ; and the 
 way their cells are built — back of one to side of the other, 
 and so on, is just like what a friend was telling me only the 
 day before yesterday of the new cottages built by a specu- 
 lative builder, who failed just afterwards, on some lots of 
 land which a Lord of the Manor, near my friend, had just 
 stolen from the public common and sold. 
 
 2. The wood-piercing bee cuts out her nest in decayed 
 wood ; the nest being a hollow pipe like a chimney, or a 
 group of such pipes, each divided by regular floors, into cells 
 for the children ; one egg is put in each cell, and the cell 
 
366 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 filled with a paste made of the farina of flowers mixed with 
 honey, for the young bee to eat when it is hatched. Now 
 this carpentering work, I find, is done wholly by the wood- 
 piercing bees' strong jaws ; but here again is no picture of 
 her jaws, or the teeth in them ; though the little heaps of 
 sawdust outside where she is working " are of grains nearly 
 as large as those produced by a handsaw " ; and she has to 
 make her floors of these grains, by gluing them in successive 
 rings, from the outside of her cell to the centre. Yes ; that's 
 all very well ; but then I want to know if she cuts the bits 
 of any particular shape, as, suppose, in flattish pieces like 
 tiles, and if then she glues these sideways or edgeways in 
 their successive rings. 
 
 But here is the prettiest thing of all in her work. It takes, 
 of course, a certain time to collect the farina with which 
 each cell is filled, and to build the floor between it and the 
 nest ; so that the baby in the room at the bottom of the pipe 
 will be born a day or two before the baby next above, and 
 be ready to come out first ; and if it made its way upwards, 
 would disturb the next baby too soon. So the mother puts 
 them all upside down, with their feet — their tails, I should 
 say — uppermost ; and then when she has finished her whole 
 nest, to the last cell at the top, she goes and cuts a way at 
 the bottom of it, for the oldest of the family to make her 
 way out, as she naturally will, head-foremost, and so cause 
 the others no discomfort by right of primogeniture. 
 
 3. The wool-gathering bee is described by White of Sel- 
 borne, as "frequenting the Garden Campion, for the sake 
 of its Tomentum.*' I lose half an hour in trying to find out 
 the Garden Campion among the thirty-two volumes of old 
 Sowerby : I find nothing but the sort of white catchfly things 
 that grow out of hollow globes, (which Mary of the Gies- 
 bach, by the way, spoken of in a former letter, first taught 
 me to make pops with). I vainly try to find out what Cam- 
 pion means." Johnson fails me this time. "Campion, the 
 name of a plant." I conjecture it must be simple for cham- 
 pion, "keeper of the field," — and let that pass; but lose 
 myself again presently in the derivation of Tomentum, and 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 367 
 
 its relation to Tom, in the sense of a volume. Getting back 
 out of all that, rather tired, I find at last in Bingley that the 
 Garden Campion is Agrostemma Coronaria of Linnaeus ; and 
 I look in my Linnasus, and find it described as tomentosum ; 
 and then I try my two Sowerbys, ancient and modern, 
 where I find nothing under Agrostemma but the corn-cockle^ 
 and so have to give in at last ; but I can tell Agnes, at least, 
 that there's some sort of pink which has a downy stem, and 
 there's some sort of bee which strips off the down from the 
 stalk of this pink, " running from the top to the bottom of a 
 branch, and shaving it bare with all the dexterity of a hoop- 
 shaver." 
 
 Hoop-shaver? but I never saw so much as a hoop-shaver I 
 Must see one on the first chance, only I suppose they make 
 hoops by steam now. 
 
 When it has got a bundle almost as large as itself it flies 
 away, holding it secure between its chin and forelegs." 
 
 Chin ? — what is a bee*s chin like ? 
 
 Then comes a story about a knight's finding the key 
 wouldn't turn in the lock of his garden gate ; and there 
 being a wool-gathering bee's nest inside : and it seems she 
 makes her cells or thimbles of this w^ool, but does not fill 
 them with honey inside ; so that I am in doubt whether the 
 early life of the young bees who live in wood, and have 
 plenty to eat, be not more enviable than the lot of those who 
 live in wool and have no larders. I can't find any more about 
 the wool-gatherer ; and the fourth kind of bee, most inter- 
 esting of all, must wait till next 7"o;V time, for there's a 
 great deal to be learnt about her. 
 
 ^ And what of the St. George's Company meanwhile ' ? 
 
 Well, if I cannot show it some better method of teaching 
 Diatural history than has been fallen upon by our recent Doc- 
 tors, we need not begin our work at all. We cannot live in 
 the country without hunting atiimals, or shooting them, un- 
 less we learn how to look at them. 
 
568 
 
 FOBS C.LAVIGEBA. 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 *'The Parsonage, Wekrington, Peterborough, Feb. 12th^ 1875. 
 
 *' My dear Sir, — In your Fora published last month you have 
 charged the Pastors, and especially the Chief Pastors of our Church, 
 with * preaching a false gospel for hire,* and thus becoming responsible 
 for the hideous immorality which prevails. 
 
 It is very painful to be told this by you^ of whom some of us have 
 learned so much. 
 
 I have been reading your words to my conscience, but — is it my un- 
 conscious hypocrisy, my self-conceit, or my sentiment overpowering in- 
 tellect which hinders me from hearing the word ' Guilty ' V 
 
 The gospel I endeavour with all my might to preach and embody is 
 this — Believe on, be persuaded by, the Lord Jesus Christ; let His 
 life rule your lives, and you shall be ' safe and sound ' now and 
 everlastingly. 
 
 Is this ' a false gospel preached for hire • ? If not, what other gospel 
 do you refer to ? 
 
 ** I am very faithfully yours, 
 John Ruskin, Esq. Edward Z. Lyttel." 
 
 The gospel which my correspondent preaches (or, at the least, desires 
 to preach) — namely, '^Let His lite rule your lives," is eternally true 
 and salutary. The other gospel which I refer to " is the far more 
 widely preached one, ** Let His life be in the stead of your lives," 
 which is eternally false and damnatory. 
 
 The rest of my correspondent's letter needs, I think, no other reply 
 than the expression of my regret that a man of his amiable character 
 should be entangled in a profession, respecting which the subtle ques- 
 tions of conscience which he proposes can be answered by none but 
 himself ; nor by Limself with security. 
 
 I do not know if, in modern schools of literature, the name of Henry 
 Fielding is ever mentioned ; but it was of repute in my early days, and 
 I think it right, during the discussion of the subjects to which Fars is now 
 approaching, to refer ray readers to a work of his which gives one of the 
 most beautiful types I know of the character of English clergymen, 
 (the Vicai' of Wakefield not excepted). His hero is thus introduced : 
 
 He was a perfect master of the Greek and Latin languages, to which 
 he added a great share of knowledge in the Oriental tongues, and could 
 read and translate French, Italian, and Spanish. He had applied 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 3G9 
 
 many years to fche most severe study, and had treasured up a fund of 
 learning rarely to be met with in a university. * He was besides a man 
 of good sense, good parts, and good- nature ; — his virtue, acd his other 
 qualifications, as they rendered him equal to his ofl&ce, so they made 
 him an agreeable and valuable companion, and had so much endeared 
 and well recommended him to a Bishop, that, at the age of fiCty, he was 
 provided with a handsome income of twenty-three pounds a year, 
 which, however, he could not make any great figure with ; because he 
 lived in a dear country, and was a little encumbered with a wife and 
 six children." 
 
 Of course, in our present estimate of the good Bishop's benevolence, 
 we must allow for the greater value of money in those times ; — never- 
 theless, it was even then to be obtained in considerable sums, as it is 
 now, by persons who knew the right channels and proper methods of 
 its accumulation, as our author immediately afterwards shows us by 
 the following account of part of the economy of an English gentleman's 
 estate : — 
 
 ** Joseph had nob quite finished his letter when he was summoned 
 downstriirs by Mr. Peter Pounce to receive his wages ; for, besides that 
 out of eight pounds a year, he allowed his father and mother lour, he 
 h;id been obliged, in order to furnish himself with musical instruments," 
 (Mr. Fielding countenances my own romantic views respecting the 
 propriety of the study of music even by the lower classes, and entirely 
 approves of these apparently extravagant purchases,) *' to apply to the 
 generosity of the aforesaid Peter, who on urgent occasions used to ad- 
 vance the servants their wages, not before they were due, but before they 
 were payable, — that is, perhaps half a year after they were due; and 
 this at the moderate premium of fifty per cent., or a little more; by 
 which charitable metliods, together with lending money to other peo- 
 ple, and even to his own master and mistress, the houest man had, 
 from nothing, in a few yoars amassed a small sum of twenty thousau(] 
 pounds or thereabouts." 
 
 Of the character of the modem English country clergyman, from my 
 own personal knowledge, I could give pome examples quite deserving 
 place with the Fielding and Goldsmith type ; — but these have influence 
 only in their own villages, and are daily diminishing in number ; while 
 another type, entirely modern, is taking their place, of which some 
 curious illustration has been furnished me by the third Fors as I was 
 looking over the Christmas hooks of last year to see if I could find a 
 prize or two for Agnes and some other of my younger cottage friends. 
 Among them, I get two books on natural history, by a country clergy- 
 man, who takes his children out on beach and moorland expeditions, 
 and puts a charming portrait of himself, in his best coat, and most ele- 
 
 * HiB deljate with Barnabat;, on the occasion of the latter'e visit to the wounded Joseph/ 
 thrown some clear light on th^» questions o^tened iu Mr. Lyttcrs letter 
 
 Vol. II. -24 
 
370 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 gant attitude of iDstruction, for the frontispiece. His little daughtel 
 has been taught to express herself in such terms as the following : 
 
 (Of a jelly-fish.) " Let me look. If you hold it up to the light, you 
 see it is nearly transparent, and the surface is marked with numerous 
 angular spaces." 
 
 (Of a sand -worm.) " Oh— in this respect the little Pectinaria resem- 
 bles the fresh-water Melicerfca we find abundantly on the weeds in the 
 canal at home.'' 
 
 (Of a sea-mouse.) '^Oh, papa, I do think here is a sea- mouse lying 
 on the shore. Bah ! I don't much like to touch it." 
 
 The childish simplicity and ladylike grace of these expressions need 
 no comment ; but the clergyman's education of his children in gentleness 
 is the point peculiarly striking to me in the books ; collated with my own 
 experience in the case of the boy and the squirrel. The following two 
 extracts are sufiBciently illustrative : — 
 
 ^ Well, papa,' said Jack, *I am tired of sitting here ; let us now go 
 and hunt for peewit s eggs.' * All right, Jack, and if you find any you 
 shall each have one for your breakfast in the morning. When hard- 
 boiled and cold, a peewit's egg is a very delicious thing, though I think 
 the peewits are such valuable birds, and do so much good, that I should 
 not like to take many of their eggs. We had better separate from each 
 other, so as to have abetter chance of finding a nest.' Soon we hear 
 a shout from Willy, whose sharp eyes had discovered a nest with four 
 eggs in it; so off we all scamper to him. See how the old bird 
 screams and flaps, aud how near she comes to us ; she knows we have 
 found her eggs, and wishes to lure us away from the spot; so she pre- 
 tends she has been wounded, and tries to make us follow after her. 
 
 * Now, Jack, run and catch her. Hah ! hah ! There they go. I will 
 back the peewit against the boy. So you have given up the chase, have 
 you? Well, rest again, and take breath.' " 
 
 * Well, Mr. Parry Evans, how many salmon have you counted in 
 the pool ? ' * There are seven or eight good fish in, sir, this time ; and 
 one or two will be ten or eleven pounds each.' Look at the dog 
 
 * Jack ; he is evidently getting a little impatient, as he sees in the re- 
 tiring water of the pool every now and then a salmon darting along. 
 And now Mr. Evans takes the silver collar off, and sets ^ Jack' free ; 
 and in a second he is in the middle of the pool. Now for the fun ! 
 Willy and Jack * tuck up their trousers, take off their shoes and stock- 
 ino^s, and with nets in their hands enter the water. Bah ! it is rather 
 cold at first, but the excitement soon warms them. There goes a 
 salmon, full tilt, and ' Jack ' after him. What a splashing in the 
 water, to be sure ! There is another dog learning the trade, and 
 
 * Jack' is his tutor in the art; he is a brown retriever, and dashes 
 about the water after the salmon as if he enjoyed the fun immensely, 
 but he has not yet learned how to catch a slippery fish. There ! 
 there ! see ! see ! good dog ; now you have him ! No ! off again ; 
 well done, salmon ! Now dog ! have at him! 
 
 * Some ambiguity is caused in this pasnace by the chance of both dog and boy having 
 the game name, as well a^ the same inBtiucts. 
 
FOBS OLA VIGEHA, 
 
 371 
 
 How immensely rapid is the motion of a frightened salmon ! 
 * Quick as au arrow' is hardly a figure of speech. Bravo, 'Jack,' 
 bravo ! Do you see V He has caught the salmon firmly by the head. 
 Good dog ! Mr. Parry Evans is immediately on the spot, and takes 
 the fish from old 'Jack,' whom he kindly pats on the back, holds the 
 salmon aloft for us all to see. and consigns him to the basket which his 
 man is guarding on the shore. See, see, again ! off they go, dogs and 
 men, and soon another salmon is captured ; and there is lots or fun, 
 meanwhile, in catching the mackerel and garfish. Well, the sport of 
 catching the various fish in the pool — there were nine salmon, averag- 
 ing about five pounds each — lasted about half an hour. 'Jack' be- 
 haved admirably ; it was wonderful to see his skill in the pursuit ; he 
 generally caught hold of the salmon by the head, on which he gave one 
 strong bite, and the fish wa« rendered helpless almost instantaneously. 
 Sometimes he would catch hold of the back fin. When the sport was 
 finished, we went to survey the spoils; and a nice 'kettle of fish* 
 there was. I bought one salmon and the gurnard ; the rest were soon 
 disposed of by Mr. Evans to his numerous visitors, all of whom were 
 much pleased with the sport. But wait a little ; some of the fish lie 
 on the sand, i will look for parasites. Here, on thisealraon, is a curi- 
 ous parasite, with a body an inch long, and with two long tail-like pro- 
 jections three timos the length of the creature itself. It ia a crustacean, 
 and related to the AryiUm foliaceas/' 
 
 The reverend and learned author will perhaps be surprised to hear 
 that the principal effect of these lively passiigea on me has been nlightly 
 to diminish my appetite for salmon, no less than for sea-side recrea- 
 tions. I think I would rather attend my pious instructor, in discourse 
 on the natural history of the Land. I get his Country Walks of a 
 Naturalist^ therefore, in which I find a graceful preface, thanking Mr. 
 Gould for permii-sion to copy his Binls of England; and two very 
 gummy and shiny copies (so-called) adorning the volunio. 
 
 Now there was boundless choice for the pleasing of children in 
 Gould's marvellous plates. To begin with, the common sparrow's 
 nest, in the ivy, with the hen sitting: 
 
 The sparrow's dwelling, which, hard by. 
 My sister Emnieline and I 
 Together visited. 
 
 She looked at it as if she feared it, — 
 Still wishing, dretiding to be near it. 
 Such heart was in her. 
 
 But the reverend naturalist will none of this. Sparrows indeed I are 
 not five sold for two farthings ? Shall any note be taken of them in 
 our modern enlightened science ? No ; nor yet of the dainty little 
 Bramble Finch, couched in her knotty hollow of birch trunk; though 
 England, and mainland Europe, and Asia Minor, Persia. China, and 
 Japan, all kaow the little Brambling ; — and though in the desolate . t 
 
372 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 gion of the Dovrefeldt,* too high for the Chaffinch, she decorates the 
 outer walls of her nest with flat pieces of lichen and other materials, — 
 though she is attractive in her winter dress ; and in her summer cos- 
 tame, *'no pencil can do her justice," clerical taste and propriety will 
 none of her ; — no, nor even of the dear little fellow who looks so much 
 like the properest of clergymen himself, in the sprucest of white ties 
 — the Stone -Chat, — preaching, or chattering, or chatting, from the 
 highest twig of his furze-bush ; — no, nor of the Fire-crested Wren, 
 poised on long spray of larch with purple buds ; nor even, though she. 
 at least might, one would have thought, have provided some ' fun ' for 
 the ecclesiastical family, the long-tailed Tit, or Bottle-tit, with her own 
 impatient family of six Bottle-tits, every one with a black eye, as if to 
 illustrate the sympathy of their nature with bottle-tits of the human 
 species, and every one with its mouth open ; and the nest, of their 
 mother's exquisite building, with the pale sides of the lichens always 
 turned to the light, and 2,000 feathers used in its lining, and these, 
 nothing to the •amount of *' invisible cobwebs*' taken to attach the 
 decorative pieces of lichen to the outside. All this is contemptible to 
 my religious author; but he hunts Mr. Gould's whole book through, to 
 find the horriblest creature in it — the Butcher-bird ! transfixing mice 
 on the spines of the blackthorn, and tearing their flesh from them as 
 they hang, * invariably breaking the skull,' with farther parental direc- 
 tion of the youthful mind. Do you see that great tit on a branch of 
 this poplar ! He is actually at work doing a bit of butchering on a 
 small warbler. See how he is beating the poor little fellow about the 
 head ; he wants to get at his brains." This — for one of his two plates, 
 besides the frontispiece, of the back of his own head and its hat ; with 
 his two children * wanting to get at' — something in his hand — and his 
 only remaining plate is of the heron, merely because it is big ; for his 
 miserable copyist has taken care to change every curve of the bird's 
 neck and body, so as to destroy every gracious character it has in Mr. 
 Gould's plate, to an extent so wonderful that I mean to impale the two 
 together — on the stem of a blackthorn— in my Oxford schools. 
 
 I have much to say, eventually, about this extraordinary instinct for 
 the horrible, developing itself at present in the English mind. The 
 deep root of it is cruelty, indulged habitually by the upper classes in 
 their sports, till it has got into the blood of the whole nation ; then, 
 the destruction of beautiful things, taking place ever since the six- 
 teenth century, and of late ending in utter blackness of catastrophe, 
 and ruin of all grace and glory in the land; so that sensation must be 
 got out of death, or darkness, or f rightfulness ; else it cannot be had 
 
 * I don't put inverted commas to all Mr. Gould's words, having necessarily to mix up 
 mine with them in a patchwork manner ; but I don't know anything worth telling, what- 
 ever, about— so much as a sparrow,— but what he tells me. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 373 
 
 at all- -while it is daily more and more demanded by the impatient 
 cretinism of national dotage. 
 
 And the culmination of the black business is, that the visible misery 
 drags and beguiles, to its help, all the enthusiastic simplicity of the 
 religious young, and the honest strength of the really noble type of 
 English clergymen ; and swallows them as Charybdis would lifeboats. 
 Courageous and impulsive men, with just sense enough to make them 
 soundly practical, and therefore complacent, in immediate business ; 
 but not enough to enable them to see what the whole business comes 
 to, when done, are sure to throw themselves desperately into the dirty 
 work, and die like lively moths in candle -grease. Here is one of them 
 at this instant — dangerously ill of scarlet fever,*' — alas! his whole 
 generous life having been but one fit of scarlet fever ; — and all aglow in 
 vain. 
 
 The London correspondent of the Brighton Daily News writes : — 
 **0n Sunday morning Mr. Moncure Conway, preaching his usual ser- 
 mon in his chapel in Finsbury, made a strong attack upon the National 
 Church, but subsequently modified it so far as to admit that it was 
 possible for some clergymen of the Church to be of use in their day and 
 generation ; and he referred especially to the rector of a neighbouring 
 parish, whom he did not name, but who was evidently Mr. Septimus 
 Hansard, rector of Bethnal-green, who is now lying dangerously ill of 
 scarlet fever. This is the third perilous illnej-s he has had since he has 
 been in this parish; each time it was caught while visiting the sick 
 poor. On one occasion he fell down suddenly ill in his pulpit. It was 
 found that he was suffering from Bm;dl-pox, and he at once said that 
 he would go to a hospital. A cab was brought to take liim there, but 
 he refused to enter it, lest he should be the means of infecting other 
 persons; .and, a lie arse happening to pa<s, ho declared that he would 
 go in that, and in it he went to the hospital — a rare instance this of 
 pluck and self-devotion. His next illness was typhus fever ; and now, 
 as I have said, he is sulTering from a disea.se more terrible still. Five 
 hundred a year and two curates to pay out of it) is scarcely excessive 
 payment for such a life as that." 
 
 For such a life — perhaps not. But such a death, or even perpetual 
 risk of it, it appears to me, is dear at the money. 
 
 But have I counted the value of the poor souls he has saved in 
 Bethnal ? " 
 
 No — but I am very sure that while he was saving one poor soul in 
 Bethnal, he was leaving ten rich souls to be damned, at Tyburn, — each 
 of which would damn a thousand or two more by their example — or 
 neglect. 
 
 The above paragraph was sent me by a friend, of whose accom- 
 panying letter I venture to print a part together with it. 
 
 I send you a cutting from a recent Times ^ to show you there are 
 eome faithful men left. I have heard of this Mr. Hansard before, and 
 
S74 
 
 FOBS GLAVIQERA. 
 
 how well he works. I want to tell you, too, that I am afraid the 
 coarseness and shamelessness you write about, in Fors^ is not wholly 
 caused by the neig-hbourhood of large manufacturing- towns, for in the 
 lonely villages I used to kuow loug ago, it was exactly the same. I 
 don't mean that brutal crimes, such as you speak of, were heard of or 
 even possible ; but the conversation of men and women, working in the 
 fields together, was f i equently such that no young girl working with 
 them could keep moiesty. Nor if a girl had what they termed a 
 ' misfortune,' was she one bit worse off for it. She was just as cer- 
 tain to be married as before. Reform in all these things — im- 
 modest conversation — ought to begin with women. If women in cot- 
 tages, and indeed elsewhere, were what they ought to be, and kept up 
 a high tone in their households, their sons would not dare to speak in 
 their presence as I know they often do, and their daughters would feel 
 they fell away from much more than they do now, when they go 
 wrong. Men are. I fancy, very much what women make them, and 
 seem to like them to be ; and if women withdrew from those who hurt 
 their sense of what is right, I do believe they would try to be differ- 
 ent ; but it seems very difficult to preserve a high tone of maidenly 
 dignity in poor girls, who, from youth up, hear every possible thing 
 usually left unspoken or freely discussed by fathers and mothers and 
 brothers, and sometimes very evil deed.-i treated as jests. This is the 
 case painfully often." 
 
 Though my notes, for this month, far exceed their usual limits, I 
 cannot close them without asking my readers to look back, for some 
 relief of heart, to happier times. The following piece of biography, 
 printed only for private circulation, is so instructive that I trust the 
 friend who sent it me will forgive my placing it in broader view; 
 and the more because in the last section of the Queen of the Air, my 
 readers will find notice of this neglected power of the tide. I had 
 imagined this an idea of my own, and did not press it, — being content 
 to press what is already known and practically proved to be useful ; 
 but the following portion of a very interesting letter, and the piece of 
 biography it introduces, show the tide-mill to be in this category : 
 
 *'My father, who began life humbly, dates the prosperity of his 
 family to the time when — being the tenant of a small tide-mill — he 
 laboured with spade and barrow (by consent of the Earl of Sheffield) to 
 enclose an increased area — overflowed by the tide — in order to lay 
 under contribution as motive power this wasted energy of rising and 
 falling waters. He thereby nearly quadrupled the power of the mill, 
 and finally became its possessor. " 
 
 *' William Catt was the son of Mr. John Catt, a Sussex farmer, who 
 married the daughter of a yeoman named Willett, living on a small 
 estate at Buxted. He was born in the year 1780, and soon after thiit 
 date his parents removed to the Abbey Farm at Robertsbridge. Tnero 
 he passed his early years, and there obtained such education as a 
 dame*s school could afford. This of course was limited to very rudi- 
 mentary English. He was not a particularly apt scholar : he hated hi,? 
 books — but liked cricket. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 375 
 
 When little more than nineteen, he married a daughter of Mr. Dawes, 
 of Ewhurst. Farming in the Weald of Sussex was then, as now, :\ 
 laborious and unreraunerative occupation ; and as an interesting record 
 of the habits of his class at that period, it may be stated, that * on the 
 morning of his nedding-day he loent into a uoodwith his father'' s team for 
 a load of hop-poles^ was after ucard.i marned in a lohite * round-f rocky- 
 and returned to his vsual work the next morning. He commenced busi- 
 ness ?\ Stonehouse, in Buxted, a farm of between 100 and 200 acres. 
 Banking was in those days in its infancy, and travelling notoriously 
 unsafe ; f so his good and prudent mother sewed up beneath the lining 
 of his waistcoat the one-pound note which he carried from Roberts- 
 bridge to Buxted to meet the valuation of his farm. When settled 
 in his little homestead, his household arrangements were of the sim- 
 plest kind. One boy, one girl, and one horse, formed his staff; yet he 
 throve and prospered. And no wonder : for hot?i himself and his 
 young icife often rose at three in the morning; he to thrash by candle- 
 light in his barn^ she to feed or prepare her poulti*y for the market. His 
 principle was — ' earn a shilling, and spend elevenpence;' and hence, 
 no doubt, his subsequent success. 
 
 After two years' farming he took a small mill at Lamberhurst, 
 where a journeymau miller, Saunders Ditton, gave him all the instruc- 
 tion that he ever received in the manufacture and business in which he 
 was afterwards so extensively engaged. Hard work was still a neces- 
 sity ; the mill by night, the market and his customers by day, de- 
 manded all his time; and on one occasion, overcome by cold and fa- 
 tigue, he crept for warmth into his meal-bin, where he fell asleep, and 
 would certainly have been suffocated but for the timely arrival of Dit- 
 ton. This worthy man afterwards followed his master to Bishopston, 
 and survived him — a pensioner in his old age. 
 
 At this time the Bishopston 'i'ide-mills were in the occupation of 
 Messrs. Barton and Catt. The former ex(;hangod with Mr. Catt, of 
 Lamberhurst, who went into partnership with his cousin Edmund. 
 The power of the mill was then only five pair of stones, though he 
 ultimately increased it to sixteen.J In this much more important 
 sphere the same habits of industry still marked his char.icter, amidst 
 all disadvantages. It was war-time ; corn was of inferior quality and 
 high price ; and privateering ])revented trading by water. His cousin 
 and ho were not suited to each other, and dissolved p.irtnership ; but, 
 by the aid of a loan from his worthy friends and neighbours. Mr. 
 Cooper, of Norton, and Mr. Faracombe, of Bishopston, he wjis enabled 
 to secure the whole of the business to himself. Subsequently Mr. 
 Edmund Cooper, the son of his friend, became his partner in the mills, 
 and the business was for many years carried on under the title of Catt 
 and Cooper. 
 
 " During this partnership a lease was obtained^ from the Earl of Shef- 
 field, of the waste land'^ between the Mills and Newhacen harbour. This 
 was embanked and reclaimed as arable land at first, and subsequently 
 partly used as a reservoir of additional water power. Mr. Catt took 
 
 ♦ Italics mine thrcughont. 
 
 t Now a days the travelling Is of connse ' notoriously safe ' ! but what shall we say of 
 
 the bankint? ? 
 
 X The oldept ?( j/irfmill on record in this country (I speik under correction) stood in thii 
 parish, and was given by Bishop Soflfrid to the see of Chichepter about the jcai 1199. 
 The largest tcatermiW ever conbtructcd in Sussex was that of Mr. Catt. 
 
S76 
 
 FOES CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 great interest in the work ; laboured at it himself icitJi spade and har - 
 row ; and to it he always referred as the main cause of his success in 
 life. In the third year a crop of oats was grown on the arable portion, 
 which repaid the expenses of reclamation and ioduced him to increase 
 the power of the mill as mentioned above. Mr. Cooper retired from 
 the concern by agreement, and afterwards, under the firm of William 
 Catt and Sons, in conjunction with his children, Mr. Catt completed 
 fifty years of business at Bishopston. During a considerable portion of 
 those years he had also a large stake with other sons in West Street 
 Brewery, Brighton. 
 
 His faithful wife died in 1823, leaving him the responsible legacy 
 of eleven children — the youngest being not an hour old. This bereave- 
 ment seemed to stimulate him to renewed exertion and to extraordinary 
 regard for little savings. He wbidd always stop to pick up a nail or any 
 scrap of old iron that lay in the road^ and in the repeated enlargements 
 and construction of Ms mills he teas his own architect and surveyor ; he 
 was always pleased with the acquisition of a bit of wreck timber, any 
 old materials from Blatchington barracks, or from the dismantled man- 
 sion of Bishopston Place, formerly the seat of the Duke of Newcastle. 
 Yet he was ever bountiful as a host, liberal to his neighbours, and 
 charitable to his dependants and the deserving poor. 
 
 To a man of Mr. Catt's experience in life, ordinary amusements 
 would have few charms. His business was his jjleasure, yet he 
 delighted in his garden, and the culture of pears afl'orded him much 
 recreation. A more bleak and unpromising place for horticulture than 
 the Bishopston Mills could hardly exist; but by the aid of good walls, 
 and the observation of wind effects, he was eminently successful, and 
 no garden in Sussex produced a greater variety, or finer specimens, of 
 that pleasant fruit. His maxim on this subject was, ^Aiin to get a good 
 pear all the year round.'' 
 
 *' In the latter years of his life, Mr. Catt retired from active business 
 and resided at Newhaven, where he died in 1853, in the seventy-third 
 year of his age, leaving behind him not only the good name which an 
 honourable life deserves, but a substantial fortune for his somewhat 
 numerous descendants." 
 
irORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 LETTER LIT. 
 
 I MUST steadily do a little bit more autobiography in every 
 Fors, now, or I shall never bring myself to be of age before 
 I die — or have to stop writing, — for which last turn of 
 temper or fortune my friends, without exception, (and I 
 hope — one or two of my enemies,) are, I find, praying with 
 what devotion is in them. 
 
 My mother had, as she afterwards told me, solemnly 
 devoted me to God before I was born ; in imitation of 
 Hannah. 
 
 Very good women are remarkably apt to make away with 
 their children prematurely, in this manner : the real mean- 
 ing of the pious act being, that, as the sons of Zebedee are 
 not, (or at least they hope not), to sit on the right and left 
 of Christ, in His kingdom, their own sons may perhaps, they 
 think, in time be advanced to that respectable position in 
 eternal life ; especially if they ask Clirist very humbly for it 
 every day and they always forget in the most na'ive way 
 that the position is not His to give ! 
 
 ^ Devoting me to God,' meant, as far as my mother knew 
 herself what she meant, that she would trv to send me to 
 college, and make a clergyman of me : and I was accord- 
 ingly bred for 'the Cliurch.' My father, who — rest be to 
 his soul — had the exceedino-lv bad habit of vieldinor to mv 
 mother in large things and taking his own way in little ones, 
 allowed me, without saying a word, to be thus withdrawn 
 from the sherry trade as an unclean thing ; not without 
 some pardonable participation in my mother's ultimate views 
 for me. For, many and many a year afterwards, I remember, 
 while he was speaking to one of our artist friends, who 
 admired Raphael, and greatly regretted my endeavours to 
 interfere with that popular taste, — while my father and he 
 were condoling with each other on my having been im- 
 pudent enough to think I could tell the public about Turner 
 and Raphael, — instead of contenting myself, as I ought, with 
 
ST8 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 explaining tlie way of their soals' salvation to them — and 
 what an amiable clergyman was lost in me, — Yes, said my 
 father, with tears in his eyes — (true and tender tears — as 
 ever father shed,) " He would have been a Bishop." 
 
 Luckily for me, my mother, under these distinct impres« 
 sions of her own duty, and with such latent hopes of my 
 future eminence, took me very early to church ; — where, in 
 spite of my quiet habits, and my mother's golden vinaigrette, 
 iilways indulged to me there, and there only, with its lid un- 
 clasped that I might see the wreathed open pattern above 
 the sponge, I found the bottom of the pew so extremely dull 
 a place to keep quiet in, (my best story-books being also 
 taken away from me in the morning,) that — as I have some- 
 where said before — the horror of Sunday used even to cast 
 its prescient gloom as far back in the week as Friday — and 
 all the glory of Monday, with church seven days removed 
 again, was no equivalent for it. 
 
 Notwithstanding, I arrived at some abstract in my own 
 mind of the Rev. Mr. Howell's sermons ; and occasionally — 
 in imitation of him, preached a sermon at home over the red 
 sofa cushions ; — this performance being always called for by 
 my mother's dearest friends, as the great accomplishment of 
 my childhood. The sermon was — I believe — some eleven 
 words long ; — very exemplary, it seems to me, in that re- 
 spect — and I still think must have been the purest gospel, 
 for I know it began with ' People, be good.' 
 
 We seldom had company, even on week days ; and I was 
 never allowed to come down to dessert, until much later in 
 life — when I was able to crack nuts neatly. I was then per- 
 mitted to come down to crack other people's nuts for them ; 
 (I hope they liked the ministration) — but never to have any 
 myself ; nor anything else of dainty kind, either then or at 
 other times. Once, at Hunter Street, I recollect my mother's 
 giving me three raisins, in the forenoon — out of the store 
 cabinet ; and I remember perfectly tlie first time I tasted 
 custard, in our lodgings in Norfolk Street — where we had 
 gone while the house was being painted, or cleaned, or some- 
 tiiing. My father was dining in the front room, and did not 
 
FOltS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 finish his custard ; and my mother brought me the bottom of 
 it into the back room. 
 
 I've no more space for garrulity in this letter, having 
 several past bits of note to bring together. 
 
 Bolton Bridge, Mth January^ 1875. 
 
 I have been driving by the old road* from Ooniston here, 
 through Kirby Lonsdale, and have seen more ghastly signs of 
 modern temper than I yet liad believed possible. 
 
 The valley of the Lune at Kirby is one of the lov^eliest scenes 
 in England — therefore, in the world. Whatever moorland 
 hill and sweet river, and English forest foliage can be at 
 their best, is gathered there ; and chiefly seen from the steep 
 bank which falls to the stream side from the upper part 
 of the town itself. There, a path leads from the churchyard, 
 out of wliich Turner made his drawing of the valley, along 
 the brow of the wooded bank, to open downs beyond ; a 
 little bye footpath on the right descending steeply through 
 the woods to a spring among the rocks of the shore. I do 
 not know in all my own country, still less in France or Italy, 
 a place more naturally divine, or a more priceless possession 
 of true " Holy Land." 
 
 Well, the population of Kirby cannot it appears, in conse- 
 quence of their recent civilization, any more walk, in summer 
 afternoons, along the brow of this bank, without a fence. I 
 at first fancied this was because they were usually unable to 
 take care of themselves at that period of the day : but saw 
 presently I must be mistaken in that conjecture, because the 
 fence they have put up requires far more sober minds for 
 
 * Frightened, (I hear it was guessed in a gossiping newspaper,) by 
 the Shipton accident, and disgusted afterwards by unexpected expenses. 
 The ingenious British public cannot conceive of anybody's estimating 
 danger before accidents as well as after them, or amusing himself 
 by driving from one place to another, instead of round the Park. 
 There was some grain of truth in the important rumour, however. I 
 have posted, in early days, up and down England (and j^ome other 
 countries) not once nor twice ; and 1 grumbled, in Yorkshire, at being 
 charged twenty-pence instead of eighteen-pence a mile. But the pace 
 was good, where any trace of roads remained under casual outcasting of 
 cinders and brickbats. 
 
380 
 
 FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 son, you will find is one of quite the oldest words in Europe ; 
 vox antiquissima, a most ancient word, and now a familiar 
 one among active nations. French, Pare, Welsh, the same, 
 Irish, Pairc, " being*" a piece of ground enclosed and stored 
 with wild beasts of chase. Man wood, in his Forest Law, 
 defines it thus, "A park is a place for privilege for wild beasts 
 of venery, and also for other wild beasts that are beasts of the 
 forest and of the chase, and those wild beasts are to have a 
 firm peace and protection there, so that no man may hurt or 
 chase them within the park, without licence of the owner : a 
 park is of another nature than either a chase or a w^arren ; 
 for a park inust be eyiclosed^ and may not lie open — if it does, 
 it is a good cause of seizure into the King's hands." Or into 
 King Mob's, for parliamentary purposes — and how monstrous, 
 you think, that such pleasant habitations for wild beasts 
 should still be walled in, and in peace, while you have no room 
 to — speak in, — I had liked to have said something else than 
 speak — but it is at least polite to you to call it ' speaking.' 
 
 Yes. I have said so, myself, once or twice ; — nevertheless 
 something is to be said for the beasts also. What do you 
 think they were made for? All these spotty, scaly, finned, 
 and winged, and clawed things, that grope between you and 
 the dust, that flit between you and the sky. These motes 
 ill the air — sparks in the sea — mists and flames of life. The 
 flocks that are your w^ealth — the moth that frets it away. 
 The herds upon a thousand hills, — the locust, — and the worm, 
 and the wandering plague whose spots are worlds. The 
 creatures that mock you, and torment. The creatures that 
 serve and love you, (or would love if they might,) and obey. 
 The joys of the callow nests and burrowed homes of Earth. 
 The rocks of it, built out of its own dead. What is the 
 meaning to you of all these, — what their worth to you ? 
 
 No worth, you answer, perhaps ; or the contrary of worth. 
 In fact, you mean to put an end to all that. You will keep 
 pigeons to shoot — geese to make pies of — cocks for fighting 
 — horses to bet on — sheep for wool, and cows for cheese. 
 As to the rest of the creatures, you owe no thanks to Noah ; 
 and would fain, if you could, order a special deluge for their 
 
FORS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 381 
 
 benefit ; failing that, you will at all events get rid of the 
 useless feeders as fast as possible. 
 
 Indeed, there is some difficulty in understanding why some 
 of them were made. I lost great part of my last hour for 
 reading, yesterday evening, in keeping my kitten's tail out 
 of the candles,— a useless beast, and still more useless tail — 
 astonishing and inexplicable even to herself. Inexplicable, 
 to me, all of them — heads and tails alike. "Tiger — tiger — 
 burning bright " — is this then all you were made for — this 
 ribbed hearthrug, tawny and black ? 
 
 If only the Rev. James McCosh were here ! His book is ; 
 and Fm sure I don't know how^ but it turns up in rearrang- 
 ing my library. Method of the Divine Government Physi- 
 cal and Moral." Preface begins. " We live in an age in 
 which the reflecting portion of mankind are much addicted 
 to the contemplation of the works of Nature. It is the ob- 
 ject of the author in this Treatise to interrogate Nature with 
 the view of making her utter her voice in answer to some of 
 the most important questions which the inquiring spirit of 
 man can put." Here is a catechumen for you ! — and a 
 catechist ! Nature with her hands behind her back — Per- 
 haps Mr. McCosh would kindly put it to her about the tiger. 
 Farther on, indeed, it is stated that the finite cannot com- 
 prehend the infinite, and I observe that the author, with the 
 shrinking modesty characteristic of the clergy of his persua- 
 sion, feels that even the intellect of a McCosh cannot, with- 
 out risk of error, embrace more than the present method of 
 the Divine management of Creation. Wherefore " no man," 
 he says, " should presume to point out all the ways in which 
 a God of unbounded resources might govern the universe." 
 
 But the present way — (allowing for the limited capital,) — 
 we may master that, and pay our compliments to God upon 
 it ? We will hope so ; in the meantime I can assure you, this 
 creation of His will bear more looking at than you have given, 
 yet, however addicted you may be to the contemplation of 
 Nature ; (though I suspect you are more addicted to the 
 tasting of her,) and that if instead of being in such a hurry 
 to pull park railings down, you would only beg the owners to 
 
382 
 
 FOES CLAVIGERA. 
 
 loveliest bend of the river below the stepping-stones, before 
 I found myself again among broken crockery, cinders, 
 cockle-shells, and tinkers' refuse ; — a large old gridiron 
 forming the principal point of effect and interest among the 
 pebbles. The filth must be regularly carried past the 
 Abbey, and across the Park, to the place. 
 
 But doubtless, in Bolton Priory, amiable school teachers 
 tell their little Agneses the story of the white doe ; — and 
 duly make them sing in psalm tune, the hart panteth 
 
 after the waterbrooks/' 
 
 Very certainly, nevertheless, the young ladies of Luneside 
 and Wharf edale don't pant in the least after their water- 
 brooks ; and this is the saddest part of the business to me. 
 Pollution of rivers ! — yes, that is to be considered also ; — but 
 pollution of young ladies' minds to the point of never caring 
 to scramble by a riverside, so long- as they can have their 
 church-curate and his altar-cloths to their fancy, — this\sX\\e 
 horrible thing, in my own wild w^ay of thinking. That 
 shingle of the Lune, under Kirby, reminded me, as if it had 
 been yesterday, of a summer evening by a sweeter shore 
 still : the edge of the North Inch of Perth, where the Tay is 
 wide, just below Scone ; and the snowy quartz pebbles 
 decline in long banks under the ripples of the dark-clear 
 stream. 
 
 My Scotch cousin Jessie, eight years old, and I, ten years 
 old, and my Croydon cousin, Bridget, a slim girl of fourteen, 
 were all wading together, here and there ; and of course get- 
 ting into deep water as far as we could, — my father and 
 mother and aunt watching us — till at last, Bridget, having 
 the longest legs, and, taking after her mother, the shortest 
 conscience, — got in so far, and with her petticoats so high, 
 that the old people were obliged to call to her, though 
 hardly able to call, for laughing : and I recollect staring at 
 them, and wondering what they were laughing at. But 
 alas, by Lune shore, now, there are no pretty girls to be 
 seen holding their petticoats up. Nothing but old sauce- 
 pans and tannin — or worse — as signs of modern civilization. 
 
 ' But how fine it is to have iron skewers for our fences ; 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 38.3 
 
 and no trespassing, (except by lords of the manor on poor 
 men's ground), and pretty legs exhibited where they can be 
 so witliout impropriety, and with due advertisement to the 
 public beforehand ; and iron legs to our chairs, also, in the 
 style of Kensington ! ' Doubtless ; but considering that 
 Kensington is a school of natural Science as well as art, it 
 seems to me that these Kirby representations of the Ophidia 
 are slightly vague. Perhaps, however, in conveying that 
 tenderly sagacious expression into his serpent's head, and 
 burnishing so acutely the brandished sting in his tail, the 
 Kirbv artist has been under the theoloc^ical instructions ot* 
 the careful Minister who has had his church restored so 
 prettily ; — only then the Minister himself must have })een, 
 without knowing it, under the directions of another person, 
 who had an intimate interest in the matter. For there is 
 more than failure of natural history in this clumsy hardware. 
 It is indeed a matter of course that it should be clumsy, for 
 the English have always been a dull nation in decorative 
 art ; and I find, on looking at things here afresh after long 
 work in Italy, that our most elaborate English sepulchral 
 work, as the Cockayne tombs at Ashbourne and the Dudley 
 tombs at Warwick, (not to speak of Queen Elizabeth's in 
 Westminster !) are yet, comj^ared to Italian sculpture of the 
 same date, no less barbarous than these goose heads of Kirby 
 would appear beside an asp head of Milan. But the tombs 
 of Ashbourne or Warwick are honest, though blundering, ef- 
 forts to imitate what was really felt to be beautiful ; whereas 
 the serpents of Kirby are ordered and shaped by the least 
 erected spirit that fell," in the very likeness of himself ! 
 
 For observe the method and circumstance of their manu- 
 facture. You dig a pit for ironstone, and heap a mass of 
 refuse on fruitful land ; you bhicken your God-given sky, 
 Hud consume your God-given fuel, to melt the iron ; you 
 bind your labourer to the Egyptian toil of its castings and 
 forgings ; then, to rehne his mind, you send him to study 
 Raphael at Kensington ; nnd with all this cost, filth, time, 
 and misery, you at last produce — tlie devil's tail for your 
 suste«iance, instead of an honest three-legged stool. 
 
384 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 You do all this that men may live — think you ? Alas- 
 no ; the real motive of it all is that the fashionable manu- 
 facturer may live in a palace, getting his fifty per cent, com- 
 mission on the work which he has taken out of the hands of 
 the old village carpenter, who would have cut two stumps 
 of oak in two minutes out of the copse, which would have 
 carried your bench and you triumphantly, — to the end of 
 both your times. 
 
 However, I must get back to my bees' heads and tails, to- 
 day ; — what a serpent's are like in their true type of Earthly 
 Injustice, it may be wortli our while to see also, if we can 
 understand the " sad-eyed justice " first. 
 
 Sad-eyed ! Little did Shakespeare think, I fancy, how 
 many eyes the sad-eyed Justice had ! or how ill she saw with 
 them. I continuailv notice the bees at Brantwood flvins: 
 rapturously up to the flowers on my wall paper, and knock- 
 ing themselves against them, again and again, unconvince- 
 able of their fallacy ; and it is no compliment to the wall 
 paper or its artist, neither — for the flowers are only conven- 
 tional ones, copied from a radiant Bishop's cloak of the fif- 
 teenth century. 
 
 It is curious too, that although before coming to the leaf- 
 cutting bee, Bingley expatiates on the Poppy bees' luxurious 
 tapestry, cut from the scarlet poppy, he never considers 
 whether she could see it, or not, underground — (unless by 
 help of the fiery glow-worms' eyes) — and still less, how long 
 the cut leaves w^ould remain scarlet. Then I am told won- 
 derful things of the clasping of the curtains of her little 
 tabernacle ; — but when the curtains dry, and shrink, what 
 then? 
 
 Let us hear what he tells us of the Rose bee, however — in 
 full. 
 
 " These bees construct cylindrical nests of the leaves of 
 the rose and other trees. These nests are sometimes of the 
 depth of six inches, and generally consist of six or seven 
 cells, each shaped like a thimble. * They are formed with 
 
 * Thej are round at the end, but du not taper. 
 
FOES CLAVIGERA, 
 
 385 
 
 the convex end of one fitting into the open end of another. 
 The portions of the leaf of which they are made are not 
 glued together, * nor are they any otherwise fastened, than 
 in the nicety of their adjustment to each other ; and yet they 
 do not admit the liquid honey to drain through them. The 
 interior surface of each cell consists of tliree pieces of leaf, 
 of equal size, narrow at one end, but gradually widening to 
 the other, where the width equals half the length. One side 
 of each of these pieces, is the serrated margin of the leaf. 
 In forming the cell, the pieces of leaf are made to lap one 
 over the other, (the serrated side always outermost.) till a 
 tube is thus formed, coated with three or four, or more lay- 
 ers. In coating these tubes, the provident little animal is 
 careful to lay the middle of each piece of leaf over the mar- 
 gins of others, so as, by this means, both to cover and 
 strengthen the junctions. At the closed or narrow end of 
 the cell, the leaves are bent down so as to form a convex ter- 
 mination. When a cell is formed, the next care of the Bee 
 is to till it with honey and pollen, which, being collected 
 chiefly from the thistles, form a rose-coloured paste. With 
 these the cell is filled to within about iialf a line of its orifice ; 
 and the female then deposits in it an egg, and closes it with 
 three perfectly circular pieces of leaf, which coincide so ex- 
 actly with the walls of the cylindrical cell, as to be retained 
 in their situation without any gluten. f After this covering 
 is fitted in, there still remains a hollow, which receives the 
 convex end of the succeeding cell. In this manner the 
 patient and indefatigable animal proceeds, till her whole 
 ^3ylinder of six or seven cells is completed. 
 
 This is generally formed under the surface of the ground,]] 
 in a tubular passage, which it entirely fills, except at the en- 
 trance. \i the labour of these insects be interrupted, or the 
 edifice be deranged, they exhibit astonishing perseverance in 
 settino- it airain to ri^fhts. 
 
 Their mode of cutting pieces out of the leaves for their 
 work, deserves particular notice. When one of these Bees 
 selects a rose-bush with tin's view, she flies round or hovers 
 
 * An Indiau one, patiently investigrated for me by Mr. Burgess, wa« 
 fastened with glue which entirely defied cold water, and yielded only 
 to the kettle. 
 
 f She bites them round the edge roughly enough ; but pushes them 
 down with a tucked up rim, quite tight, like the first covering of a pot 
 of preserve. 
 
 X Or in old wood. 
 
 Vol. XL— 25 
 
386 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 over it for some seconds, as if examining' for the leaves best 
 suited to her purpose. When she has chosen one, she alights 
 upon it, sometimes on the upper, and sometimes on the under 
 surface, or not unfrequently on its edge, so that the margin 
 passes between her legs. Her first attack, which is generally 
 made the moment she alights, is usually near the footstalk, 
 with her head turned towards the point. As soon as she be= 
 gins to cut, she is wholly intent on her labour ; nor does she 
 cease until her work is completed. The operation is per- 
 formed by means of her jaws, with as much expedition as sve 
 could exert with a pair of scissors. As she proceeds, she 
 holds the margin of the detatched part between her legs in 
 such a manner, that the section keeps giving way to Iier, 
 and does not interrupt her progress. She makes her inciisioii 
 in a curved line, approaching the midrib of the leaf at first ; 
 but when she lias reached a certain point, she recedes from 
 this towards the margin, still cuttinof in a curve. When siie 
 has nearly detatched from the leaf the portion she has been 
 employed upon, she balances her little wings for flight, lest 
 its weight should carry her to the ground ; and the very- 
 moment it parts, she flies off in triumph, carrying it in a 
 bent position between her legs, and perpendicularly to her 
 body." 
 
 Now in this account, the first thing I catch at is the clue 
 to the love of bees for thistles. Their pollen makes a rose- 
 coloured paste with their honey ; " (I think some of my 
 Scottish friends might really take measures to get some pure 
 thistle honey made by their bees. I once worked all the 
 working hours I had to spare for a fortnight, to clear a field 
 of thistles by the side of the Tummel under Schehallien : 
 perhaps Nature meant, all the while, its master and me to 
 let it alone, and put a hive or two upon it.) 
 
 Secondly. The description of the bee's tubular house, 
 though sufficiently clear, is only intelligible to me, though I 
 know something of geometry, after some effort ; — it would 
 be wholly useless to Agnes, unless she were shown how to 
 be a leaf-cutting bee herself, and invited to construct, or en- 
 deavour to construct, the likeness of a bee's nest with paper 
 and scissors. 
 
 What — in school-hours ? 
 
FOHS CLAVIGEIiA. 
 
 387 
 
 Yes, certainly, — in the very best of school-hours : this 
 would be one of her advanced lessons in Geometry. 
 
 For little Agnes should assuredly learn tlie elements of 
 Geometry, but she should at first call it ' Earth measuring ' ; 
 and have her early lessons in it, in laying out her own garden. 
 
 Her older companions, at any rate, must be far enough 
 advanced in the science to attempt this bee problem ; of 
 which you will find the terms have to be carefully examined, 
 and somewhat completed. So much, indeed, do they stand 
 in need of farther definition that I should have supposed the 
 problem inaccurately given, unless I had seen the bee cut a 
 leaf myself. But 1 have seen her do it, and can answer for 
 the absolute accuracy of the passage describing her in that 
 operation. 
 
 The pieces of leaf, you read, are to be narrow at one end, 
 but gradually widen to the other, where the width equals 
 half the length. 
 
 And wo have to cut these pieces with curved sides ; for 
 one side of them is to be the serrated edge of a rose leaf, and 
 the other side is to be cut in a curved line beginning near the 
 root of the leaf. I especially noticed this curved line as the 
 bee cut it ; but like an ass, as often I have been on such 
 occasions, I followed the bee instead of gathering the rem- 
 nant leaf, so that 1 can't draw the curve with certainty. 
 
 Now each of my four volumes of Bingley has five or more 
 plates in it. These plates are finished line engravings, with, 
 in most cases, elaborate landscape backgrounds ; reeds for 
 the hippopotamus, trees for the monkeys, conical mountains 
 for the chamois, and a magnificent den with plenty of straw, 
 for the lioness and cubs, in frontispiece. 
 
 Any one of these landscape backgrounds required the 
 severe labour of the engraver's assistant for at least three 
 days to produce it, — or say two months' hard work, for the 
 whole twenty and odd plates. And all the result of two 
 months' elaborate work put together, was not worth to me, 
 nor would be to any man, woman, or child, worth — what ai\ 
 accurate outline of a leaf-cutting bee's segment of leaf would 
 have been, drawn with truth and precision. And ten minutes 
 
388 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 would have been enough to draw it ; and half an hour to 
 cut it. 
 
 But not only I cannot find it in my old book, but I know 
 it is not in the grand modern Cuvier, and I don't believe it 
 is findable anywhere. I won't go on with Agnes's lessons at 
 guess, however, till I get some help from kind Dr. Gray, at 
 the British Museum. To-day, I must content myself with a 
 closing word or two about zoological moralities. 
 
 After having, to my best ability, thus busied and in- 
 formed little Agnes concerning her bees and their opera- 
 tions, am I farther to expatiate on the exemplary character 
 of the bee? Is she to learn ''How doth," etc. (and indeed 
 there never was a country in which more than in her own, it 
 was desirable that shinins^ hours should be taken advantag^e 
 of when they come) ? But, above all, am 1 to tell her of the 
 Goodness and Wisdom of God in making such amiable and 
 useful insects? 
 
 Well, before I proceed to ask her to form her very im- 
 portant opinions upon the moral character of God, I shall ask 
 her to observe that all insects are not equally moral, or useful. 
 
 It is possible she may have noticed — beforehand — some, of 
 whose dispositions she may be doubtful ; something, here- 
 after, I shall have to tell her of locust and hornet, no less 
 than of bee ; and although in general I shall especially avoid 
 putting disagreeable or ugly things before her eyes, or into 
 her mind, I should certainly require her positively, once for 
 all, to know the sort of life led by creatures of at least 
 alloyed moral nature, — such, for instance, as the ' Turner 
 Savage' which, indeed, "lives in the haunts of men, whom 
 it never willingly offends ; but is the terror of all smaller 
 insects. It inhabits holes in the earth on the side of hills 
 and cliffs ; and recesses that it forms for itself in the mud- 
 walls of cottages and outhouses. The mud-wall of a cottage 
 at Peterborough, in Northamptonshire, was observed to be 
 frequented by these creatures, and on examination it was 
 found to be wrought, by their operations, into the appear- 
 ance oi Honeycomb." 
 
 The Appearance only, alas I for although these creatures 
 
FOBS CLAVIQERA. 
 
 389 
 
 thus like to live in the neighbourhood of a Bishop, and 
 though " there are none which display more affection for 
 their offspring," — they by no means live by collection of 
 treasures of sweet dew. "They are excessively fierce, and, 
 without hesitation, attack insects much larger than them- 
 selves. Their strength is very great, their jaws are hard 
 and sharp, and their stings are armed with poison, which 
 suddenly proves fatal to most of the creatures with which 
 they engage. The ^ Sphex ' (generic name of the family) 
 seizes, with the greatest boldness, on the creature it attacks, 
 giving a stroke with amazing force, then falling off, to rest 
 from the fatigue of the exertion, and to enjoy the victory. 
 It keeps, however, a steady eye on the object it has struck, 
 until it dies, and then drags it to its nest for the use of its 
 young. The number of insects which this creature destroys, is 
 almost beyond conception, fifty scarcely serving it for a meal. 
 The mangled remains of its prey, scattered round the mouth 
 of its retreat, sufficiently betray the sanguinary inhabitant. 
 The eyes, the filament that serves as a brain, and a small part 
 of the contents of the body, are all that the Sphex devours.'* 
 I cannot, therefore, insist, for the present, upon either 
 pointing a moral, or adorning a tale, for Agnes, with ento- 
 mological instances ; but the name of the insect, at which 
 the (insect) world might grow pale, if it were capable of pal- 
 lor, — might be made, at least, memorable, and not uninstruc- 
 tive, to the boys in tlie Latin class ; by making them first 
 understand the power of the preposition ' ex,' in the two 
 pleasant senses of examen, and the one unpleasant sense of 
 'examiner' — and then observe, (carefully first distinguishing 
 between play with letters and real derivation,) that if you put 
 R for Right, before ex, you have * Rex ' ; if you put L, for 
 Love, before ex, you have ' lex' ; if you put G, for George, 
 and R, for Rural, before ex, you have * grex ' ; and then if 
 you put S, for Speculation, P, for Peculation, and H, the 
 immortal possessor of Pie, before ex, you have ' Sphex ' ; 
 pleasing and accurate type of the modern carnivorous Econ- 
 omist, who especially discerns of his British public, ' the eyes 
 and small filament that serves as a brain.' 
 
390 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 " The Parsonage, Werrington, Peterborough, 
 
 " March 4, 1875, 
 
 My Dear Sir, — I have no doubt you know better than I do what 
 Gospel is the more widel}^ preached, for while you have been wandering", 
 freer than a bee, from place to place, and from church to church, I have 
 been ' entangled ' from daj^ to day in stuffy rooms among ignorant and 
 immoral people, in crowded parishes in London and elsewhere ; and on 
 Sundays have listened chiefly to the gathered voices of the same ignor- 
 ant people, led by my own. 
 
 But, not to move from the ground of ascertained fact, I have a 
 right to say that I know that the morality of the parishes best known 
 to me has been made better, and not worse, by the shepherding of the 
 Pastors. 
 
 " I have heard and read a good deal, in clerical circles, and clerical 
 books, of doctrines of ' substitution * and ' vicarious righteousness,' such 
 as you rightly condemn as immoral ; but if all the sermons preached in 
 the English Church on any given Sunday were fully and fairly reported, 
 I question if a dozen would contain the least trace of these doctrines 
 Amidst all the isms and dogmas by which Clerics are entangled, I 
 find the deep and general conviction getting clearer and clearer utter- 
 ance, that the one supremely lovely, admirable and adorable thing, — 
 the one thing to redeem and regenerate human life, the one true Gos- 
 pel for mankind, — is the Spirit and Life of Jesus Christ. 
 
 '* As to your terrible charge against the Pastors, that they preach for 
 hire, I need only quote your own opinion in this month's FoJ's, that all 
 honest minstrels and authors, manifestly possessing talent for their 
 business, should be allowed to claim ' for their actual toil, in perform- 
 ance of their arts, modest reward, and daily bread.' 
 
 " Surely the labourer who spends his life in speaking salutary truth is 
 not less worthy of his hire than he who sings or writes it ? 
 The reward offered to most Pastors is ' modest' enough. 
 
 I am very faithfully yours, 
 
 Edward Z. Lyttel. 
 
 John Ruskin, Esq." 
 
 I willingly insert my correspondent's second letter, but will not at 
 present answer it, except private^. I wonder, in the meantime, whether 
 he will think the effect of the ministry of Felix Neff on the mind of 
 the sweet English lady whose letter next follows, moral, or immoral? 
 A portion of whose letter, I should have said ; its opening touches on 
 household matters little to her mind, to which her first exclamation 
 refers. 
 
FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 391 
 
 ** How sorrowful it all is ! Yet, I don't feel so naughty about it as I 
 did on Saturday, because yesterday I read the life of Felix Neff, who 
 went to live by his own wish at that dismal Dormillense in the high 
 Alps, amongst the wretched people who were like very unclean animals, 
 and for whom he felt such sublime pity that he sacrificed himself to im- 
 prove them; and as I read of that terrible Alpine desert, with eight 
 months* hopeless dreariness, and of the wretched food, and filthy hovels 
 in which the miserable people lived, I looked up at my good fire and 
 clean room, with dear white Lily lying so soft on my lap, and the snow- 
 drops outside the window, and I really did feel ashamed of having felt 
 so grumbly and discontented as I did on Saturday. So good Felix 
 Netf's good work is not done yet, and he will doubtless help others as 
 long as the world lasts." 
 
 The following letter is an interesting and somewhat pathetic example 
 of religious madness ; not a little, however, connected with mismanage- 
 ment of money. The writer has passed great part of his life in a con- 
 scientious endeavour to teach what my correspondent Mr. Lyttel would 
 I think consider ' ' salutary truth '* ; but his intense egotism and absence 
 of imaginative power hindered him from perceiving that many other 
 people were doing the same, and meeting with the same disappointments. 
 Gradually he himself occupied the entire centre of his horizon ; and he 
 appoints himself to ** judge the United States in particular, and the 
 world in general.'' 
 
 The introductory clause of the letter refers somewhat indignantly to 
 a representation I had irreverently made to him that a prophet should 
 rather manifest his divine mission by providing himself miraculously 
 with meat and drink, than by lodging in widows' houses without in any- 
 wise multiplying their meal for them ; and then leaving other people to 
 pay his bill. 
 
 So long as you deliberately refuse to help in any way a man who 
 (you have every reason to know) possesses more of the righteousness of 
 God than yourself, (when you have ample means to do so,) how can you 
 be said to " do the will of 3'our Father which is in Heaven ' V or how can 
 you expect to receive understanding to ' know of the doctrine * of the 
 Saviour, (or of my doctrine,) * whether it be of God, or whether I speak 
 of myself? If you possessed a g.vutine * faith,' you would exercise 
 humanity towards such a man as myself, and leave the result with God ; 
 and not presumptuously decide that it was 'wrong* to relieve *a right- 
 eous man ' in distress, lest you should encourage him in delusions which 
 you choose to suppose him to be labouring under. 
 
 People seem to suppose that it is the Saviour who will judge the 
 world, if any one does. He distinctly declares that He will not. * If 
 any one hear my words, and believe not, I judge 7iim not ; for 1 came 
 not to judge the wor/d^ but to mve the world. He that rcjecteth me, and 
 receiveth not my words, hath one that jndgeth Jam : the 2Cord that 1 
 have spoken, the same shall judge him in the last day.'* John xii. 47, 48. 
 1 represent that ' WORD ' which the Saviour spoke, and I have already 
 judged, and condemned, this country, and the United States, in par- 
 ticular • and Christendom, and the World in general. I have for twenty 
 
392 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 years been a preacher of ' the Righteousness of God ' to this generation 
 (as Noah was for a hundred years to his generation), and 1 have proved 
 by actual experiment that none among the men of this generation can 
 be induced to ' enter the kingdom of heaven ' until the predicted ' time 
 of trouble, such as was not since there was a nation,' comes suddenly, 
 and compels those who are ready to enter the kingdom of God, to do so 
 at once ; and I know not how soon after I leave this country the 
 ' trouble ' will come ; perhaps immediately, perhaps in about a year s 
 time ; but come it must ; and the sooner it comes, the sooner it will be 
 over, I suppose. 
 
 Yours faithfully." 
 
 The following specimen of the kind of letters which the judge of 
 the United States in particular, and the World in general," leaves the 
 people favoured by his judgment to send to his friends, may as well 
 supplement his own letter : — 
 
 " Mr. (J. of U.S. in p. and the W. in g.)*s name will, I trust, excuse 
 me to you for writing; but my house entirely failed me, and I, with my 
 child, are now really in great want. I write trusting that, after your 
 former kindness to me, you will feel disposed to send mo a little assist- 
 ance. 
 
 I would not have written, but I am seriously in need. 
 *' Please address to me,'' etc. 
 
 Whether, however, the judge of the world in general errs most in 
 expecting me to pay the necessary twopences to his hosts, or the world 
 in general itself, in expecting me to pay necessary twopences to its old 
 servants when it has no more need of them, may be perhaps questiona- 
 ble. Here is a paragraph cut out of an application for an hospital vote, 
 which I received the other day. 
 
 Mr. A. , aged seventy-one, has been a subscriber to the Pension Fund 
 forty-five years, the Almshouse Fund eighteen years, and the Orphan 
 Fund four years. He is now, in consequence of his advanced age, and 
 the infirmities attendant on a dislocated shoulder, asthma, and failing 
 sight, incapable of earning sufficient for a subsistence for himself and 
 wife, who is afflicted with chronic rheumatic gout. He was appren- 
 ticed to Mr. B., and has worked for Mr. C. D. forty years, and his 
 earnings at present are very small. 
 
 Next, here is a piece of a letter disclosing another curious form of 
 modern distress, in which the masters and mistresses become depend- 
 ent for timely aid on their servants. This is at least as old, however, 
 as Miss Edgeworth's time ; I think the custom is referred to at tho 
 toilette of Miss Georgiana Falconer in Patronage, 
 
 Every day makes me bitterly believe more and more what you say 
 about the wickedness of working by fire and steam, and the harm and 
 
FOBS CLAVIORRA. 
 
 393 
 
 Insidious sappinj^ of true life thafc nomes from large mills and all that 
 is connected with them. One of my servants told my sister to-day 
 (with an apology) that her mother had told her in her letter to ask me 
 if I would sell her my children's old clothes, etc. — that indeed many 
 ladies did —her mother had often bought things. Oh ! it made me 
 feel horrible. We try to buy strong clothes, and mend them to the 
 last, and then sometimes give them away ; but selling clothes to poor 
 people seems to me dreadful. I never thought ladies and gentlemen 
 would sell their clothes even to shops — till we came to live hero, and 
 happened to know of its being done. It surely must be wrong and 
 bad, or I should not feel something in me speaking so strongly against 
 it, as mean and unholy ' 
 
 A piece of country gossip on bees and birds, with a humiliating pas- 
 sage about my own Coniston country, may refresh us a little after 
 dwelling on these serious topics. 
 
 A humble cow is I fan^y more pro])orly a humbled cow — it is so 
 called in Durham — a cow whose horn is no louger set up on high. A 
 humble or bumble bee is there called a ' bumbler.' To bumble in Dui^ 
 ham means to go buzzing about ; a fussy man would be called a great 
 bumbler. But don t believe it has no sting : it can stiug worse than a 
 honey bee, and all but as badly as a wasp. They used to tell us as 
 children that 'bumblers' did not sting, but I know from experience 
 that they do. We used as children to feel that we knew that the little 
 yellow mason bee (?) did not sting, but I have no true knowledge on 
 that point. Do you care to have the common village names of birds? 
 I am afraid I can only remember one or two, but they are universally 
 used in the north. 
 
 *'The wren which makes the hanging nest lined with feathers is 
 called the feather poke ; yellow-hammer, yellow-yowley ; golden- 
 crested wren, Christian wren; white-ihrout, Nanny white-throat; 
 hedge -sparrow. Dicky Diky. I could find more if >ou cared for thera. 
 To wind up, I will send you an anecdote 1 find among father's writ- 
 ings, and which refers to your country. He is speaking of some time 
 early in 18l)0. 'Cock-fighting was then in all its glory. When I was 
 in the neighbourhood of Ulverston, in 18 — ,* I was told that about the 
 time of which I am writing, a grave rcdesiastical question had been 
 settled by an appeal to a battle with cocks. The chapelry of Penning- 
 ton was vacant, but there was a dispute who should present a clerk to 
 the vacant benefice, — the vicar of Ulverston, the; mother-church, the 
 churchwardens, the four-and-twenty, or the parishioners at large, — ■ 
 and recourse was had to a Welch Main.' " 
 
 Finally, the following letter is worth preserving. It succinctly 
 states the iu\pression on the minds of the majority of booksellers that 
 they ought to be able to oblige their customers at my expense. Per- 
 haps in time, the customers may oblige the booksellers by paying them 
 something for their trouble, openly, instead of insisting on not paying 
 them anything unless they don't know how much it is. 
 
 * lie doeu uut give the date. 
 
394 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 *^ Mr. George Allen. 
 
 Sir, — We will thank you to send us Ruskin's 
 
 Aratra Pentelici £0 19 0 
 
 The Eagle's Nest 0 9 6 
 
 Relations between Angela and Tintoret 0 10 
 
 £19 6 
 
 And continue Account next year Fors Cla- 
 vigera 0 7 0 
 
 Cheque enclosed. £1 16 6 
 
 *'It cannot be too frequently referred to by the trade,— the unjusti- 
 fiable mode Ruskin has adopted in the sale of his books. It may be 
 profitable to you (as we hope it is), but to the general trade it is noth- 
 ing but a swindle. Our customer, for instance (whom we cannot afford 
 to disoblige), pays us for this order just £1 16«. 6d. ; and we must 
 come back on him for expense of remitting, else we shall lose bj the 
 transaction. 
 
 Your obedient Servaat." 
 
FOES CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 305 
 
 LETTER LIII. 
 
 Brantwood, OoodFHday, 1875. 
 
 1 AM ashamed to go on with my own history to-day ; for 
 though, as already seen, I was not wholly unacquainted with 
 the practice of fasting, at times of the year when it was not 
 customary with Papists, our Lent became to us a kind of 
 moonlight Christmas, and season of reflected and soft fes- 
 tivity. For our strictly Protestant habits of mind rendering 
 us independent of absolution, on Shrove Tuesday we were 
 chiefly occupied in the preparation of pancakes, — my nurse 
 being dominant on that day over the cook in all things, her 
 especially nutritive art of browning, and fine legerdemain in 
 turning, pancakes, being recognized as inimitable. The 
 interest of Ash-Wednesday was mainly — whether the bits of 
 egg should be large or small in the egg-sauce ; — nor do I 
 recollect having any ideas connected with the day's name, 
 until 1 was puzzled by the French of it when I fell in love 
 with a Roman Catholic French girl, as hereafter to be re- 
 lated : — only, by the wa}', let mo note, as I chance now to 
 remember, two others of my main occupations of an exciting 
 character in Hunter Street : watching, namely, the dustn^en 
 clear out the ash-hole, and the coalmen fill the coal-cellar 
 through the hole in the pavement, which soon became tome, 
 when surrounded by its cone of debris, a sublime re])resenta- 
 tion of the crater of a volcanic mountain. Of these imagi- 
 native delights I have no room to speak in this T^ors ; nor of 
 the debates which used to be held for the two or three days 
 preceding Good Friday, whether the hot-cross-buns should 
 be plain, or have carraway seeds in them. For, my nurse 
 not being here to provide any such dainties for me, and the 
 black-plague wind which has now darkened the spring for 
 
396 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 five years,* veiling all the hills with sullen cloud, I am 
 neither in a cheerful nor a religious state of mind ; and am 
 too much in the temper of the disciples who forsook Him, 
 and fled, to be able to do justice to the childish innocence of 
 belief, which, in my mother, was too constant to need resus- 
 citation, or take new colour, from fast or festival. 
 
 Yet it is only by her help, to-day, that I am able to do a 
 piece of work required of me by the letter printed in the 
 second article of this month's correspondence. It is from a 
 man of great worth, conscientiousness, and kindliness; but 
 is yet so perfectly expressive of the irreverence, and inca- 
 pacity of admiration, which maintain and, in great part, 
 constitute, the modern liberal temper, that it makes me feel, 
 more than anything I ever yet met with in human words, how 
 much I owe to my mother for having so exercised me in the 
 Scriptures as to make me grasp them in what my correspond- 
 ent would call their 'concrete whole'; and above all, 
 taught me to reverence them, as transcending all thought, 
 and ordainiris: all conduct. 
 
 This she effected, not by her own sayings or personal 
 authority; but simply by compelling me to read the book 
 thoroughly, for myself. As soon as I was able to read with 
 fluency, she began a course of Bible work with me, which 
 never ceased till I went to Oxford. She read alternate verses 
 with me, watching, at first, every intonation of my voice, 
 and correcting the false ones, till she made me understand 
 the verse, if within my reach, rightly, and energetically. It 
 might be beyond me altogether ; that she did not care about; 
 but she made sure that as soon as I got hold of it at all, I 
 should get hold of it by the right end. 
 
 In this way she began with the first verse of Genesis, and 
 went straight through to the last verse of the Apocalypse 5 
 hard names, numbers, Levitical law, and all ; and began again 
 at Genesis the next day ; if a name was hard, the better the 
 
 * See my first notice of it in the beginning of the Fors of August 
 1871 ; and further account of it in appendix to my Lecture on Glaciers^ 
 given at the London Inscitution this year. 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGBEA. 
 
 397 
 
 exercise in pronunciation, — if a chapter was tiresome, the 
 better lesson in patience, — if loathsome, the better lesson in 
 faith that there was some use in its being so outspoken. 
 After our chapters, (from two to three a day, according to 
 their length, the first thing after breakfast, and no interrup- 
 tion from servants allowed, — none from visitors, who either 
 joined in the reading or had to stay upstairs, — and none 
 from any visitings or excursions, except real travelling), I 
 had to learn a few verses by heart, or repeat, to make sure I 
 had not lost, something of what was already known ; and, 
 with the chapters above enumerated, (Letter XLII.*), I had 
 to learn the whole body of the fine old Scottish paraphrases, 
 which are good, melodious, and forceful verse ; and to which, 
 together with the Bible itself, I owe the first cultivation of 
 my ear in sound. 
 
 It is strange that of all the pieces of the Bible which my 
 mother thus taught me, that which cost me most to learn, 
 and which was, to my child's mind, chiefly repulsive — the 
 119th Psalm — has now become of all the most precious to 
 me, in its overflowing and glorious passion of lovo for the 
 Law of God : " Oii, how love I Thy law ! it is my meditation 
 all the day ; I have refrained my feet from every evil way, 
 that I might keep Thy word"; — as opposed to the ever- 
 echoing words of the modern money-loving fool : " Oh, how 
 hate I Thy law ! it is my abomination all the day ; my 
 feet are swift in running to mischief, and I have done 
 all the things I ought not to have done and left un- 
 done all I ought to have done ; have mercy upon me, 
 miserable sinner, — and grant that I, worthily lamenting my 
 sins and acknowledging my wretchedness, may obtain of 
 Thee, the God of all mercy, perfect remission and forgive- 
 ness, — and give me my long purse here and my eternal 
 Paradise there, all together, for Christ's sake, to whom, with 
 
 * Will the reader be kind enough, in the sixteenth and seventeenth 
 lines of page 212, to put, with his pen, a semicolon after *age/ a com- 
 ma after ' unclean', and a semicolon after * use ' ? He will find tha 
 sentence thus take a different meaning. 
 
398 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 Thee and the Holy Ghost, be all honour and glory," eto. 
 And the letter of rrty liberal correspondent, pointing out, in 
 the defence of usury (of which he imagines himself acquainted 
 with the history !) how the Son of David hit his father in the 
 exactly weak place, puts it in my mind at once to state some 
 principles respecting the use of the Bible as a code of law, 
 which are vital to the action of the St. George's Company 
 in obedience to it. 
 
 All the teaching of God, and of the nature He formed 
 round Man, is not only mysterious, but, if received with any 
 warp of mind, deceptive, and intentionally deceptive. The 
 distinct and repeated assertions of this in the conduct 
 and words of Christ are the most wonderful things, it seems 
 to me, and the most terrible, in all the recorded action of 
 the wisdom of Heaven. "To (His disciples) "it is 
 
 given to know the mysteries of the kingdom, — but to others, 
 in parables, that, hearing, they might not understand," Now 
 this is written not for the twelve only, but for all disciples of 
 Christ in all ages, — of whom the sign is one and unmistake- 
 able : " They have forsaken a^^that they have ; while those 
 who " say they are Jews and are not, but do lie," or who say 
 they are Christians and are not, but do lie, try to compromise 
 with Christ, — to give Him a part, and keep back a part ; — 
 this being the Lie of lies, the Ananias lie, visited always 
 ^y[th spiritual death.* 
 
 There is a curious chapter on almsgiving, by Miss Yonge, 
 in one of the late numbers of the Monthly Packet, (a good 
 magazine, though, on the whole, and full of nice writing), 
 which announces to her disciples, that "at least the tenth of 
 tiieir income is God's part." Now, in the name of the Devil, 
 and of Baal to back him, — are nine parts, then, of all we 
 liave — our own ? or theirs ? The tithe may, indeed, be set 
 aside for some special purpose — for the maintenance of a 
 priesthood — or as by the St. George's Company, for distant 
 labour, or any other purpose out of their own immediate 
 
 * Isaiah xxviii. 17 and 18. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 399 
 
 ranffe of action. But to the Charitv or Alms of men — to 
 Love, and to the God of Love, all their substance is due — 
 and all their strength — and all their time. That is the first 
 commandment : Thou shalt love the Lord with all thy 
 strength and soul. Yea, says the false disciple — but not 
 with all my money. And of these it is written, after that 
 thirty-third verse of Luke xiv. : Salt is good ; but if the 
 salt have lost his savour, it is neither fit for the land nor the 
 dunghill. He that hath ears to hear, let him hear." 
 
 Now, in Holbein's great sermon against wealth, the en- 
 graving, in the Dance of Death, of the miser and beggar, 
 he chose for his text the verse : He that stoppeth his ears 
 at the cry of the poor, he also shall cry himself, and shall not 
 be heard." And he shows that the ear is thus deafened bv 
 being filled with a murmuring of its own : and how the ear 
 thus becomes only as a twisted shell, with the sound of the 
 far-away ocean of Hell in it for ever, he teaclies us, in the 
 figure of the fiend which 1 engraved for you in the seventh 
 of these letters,* abortive, fingerless, contemptible, mechani- 
 cal, incapable ; — blowing the winds of death out of its small 
 machine : Behold, this is your God, you modern Israel, 
 which has brought you up out of the land of Egypt in which 
 your fathers toiled for bread witli their not abortive hands ; 
 and set your feet in the large room, of Usury, and in the 
 broad road to Death ! 
 
 Now the moment that the Mammon devil gets his bellows 
 put in men's ears — however innocent they may be, however 
 free from actual stain of avarice, they become literally deaf 
 to the teaching of true and noble men. My correspondent 
 imagines himself to have read Shakespeare and Goethe ; — 
 he cannot understand a sentence of them, or he would have 
 known the meaning of the Merchant of l^enice,\ and of the 
 vision of Plutus, and speech of Mephistopheles on the Empe- 
 
 * The whole woodcut is given in facsimile in the fifth part of Aiiadne 
 Florentina. 
 
 + See Muiiera Puheria^ pp. 99 to 103; and Ariadne Florentina^ Lecfr 
 are VI. 
 
400 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEBA. 
 
 ror's paper-money * in the second part of JFhmst, and of the 
 continual under-current of similar teaching in it, from its 
 opening in the mountain sunrise, presently commented on 
 by the Astrologer, under the prompting of Mephistopheles, 
 — "the Sun itself is pure Gold," — to the ditch-and-grave- 
 digging scene of its close. He cannot read Xenophon, nor 
 Lucian, — nor Plato, nor Horace, nor Pope, — nor Homer, nor 
 Chaucer — nor Moses, nor David. All these are mere voices 
 of the Night to him ; the bought bellows-blower of the 
 Times is the only piper who is in tune to his ear. 
 
 And the woe of it is that all the curse comes on him 
 merely as one of the unhappy modern mob, infected by the 
 rest ; for he is himself thoroughly honest, simple-hearted, 
 and upright : only mischance made him take up literature as 
 a means of life ; and so brought him necessarily into all the 
 elements of modern insolent thought : and now, though 
 
 * ^*Narr. 
 
 Fiinftausend Kronen waren mir zu Handen. 
 Meph. 
 
 Zweiheiniger Schlauch^ bist wieder auf erstanden ? 
 NAim. 
 
 Da seht nur her, ist das wohl Geldes werth ? 
 Meph. 
 
 Du hast, daf Lir was Schlund und Bauch begehrt. 
 Narr. 
 
 Und kauf en kann ich Acker, Haus, und Vieh ? 
 Mepii. 
 
 Versteht sich ! biete nur, das fehlt dir nie I 
 Narr. 
 
 Und Schloss mit Wald und Jagd, und Fischbach ? 
 Meph. 
 
 Traun ! 
 
 Ich mochte dich gestrengen Herrn wohl schaun. 
 Narr. 
 
 Heute Abend wieg' ich mich im Grundbesitz. {(ib.) 
 
 Meph. (solus.) 
 Wer zweifelt noch an unfres Narr en Witz / " 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 401 
 
 David and Solomon, Noah, Daniel, and Job, altogether say 
 one thing, and the correspondent of the Times another, it is 
 David, Solomon, and Daniel wlio are Narrs to him. 
 
 Now the Parables of the New Testament are so constructed 
 that to men in this insolent temper, they are necessarily xms^ 
 leading It is very awful that it should be so ; but that is 
 the fact. Why prayer should be taught by the story of the 
 unjust judge ; use of present opportunity by that of the 
 unjust steward ; and use of the gifts of God by that of the 
 hard man who reaped where he had not sown, — there is no 
 human creature wise enough to know ; — but there are the 
 traps set ; and every slack judge, cheating servant, and 
 gnawing usurer may, if he will, approve himself in these. 
 
 *'Thou knewest that I was a hard man." Yes — and if 
 God were also a hard God, and reaped where He had not 
 sown — the conclusion would be true that earthly usury 
 was risrht. But w^iich of God's sfifts to us are 7iot His own ? 
 
 The meaning of the parable, heard with ears unbesotted, 
 is this : — Yoa^ among hard and unjust men, yet suffer 
 their claim to the return of what they never gave ; you suffer 
 them to reap where they have not strewed. — But to me, 
 the Just liOrd of your life — whose is tlie breath in your nos- 
 trils, whose the fire in your blood, who gave you light 
 and thought, and the fruit of earth and the dew of 
 heaven,— to me, of all this gift, will you return no fruit 
 but only the dust of your bodies, and the wreck of your 
 souls ? " 
 
 Nevertheless, the Parables have still their living use, as 
 well as their danger ; but the Psalter has become practically 
 dead ; and the form of repeating it in the daily service only 
 deadens the phrases of it by familiarity. I have occasion to- 
 day, before going on with any work for Agnes, to dwell on 
 another piece of this writing of the father of Christ, — which, 
 read in its full meaning, w\\\ be as new to us as the first- 
 heard song of a foreign land. 
 
 I will print it first in the Latin, and in the letters and form 
 in ^vhich it was read by our Christian sires. 
 Vol. 11. —26 
 
402 FOBS GLAVIOERA. 
 
 The Eighth Psalm. Thirteenth Century Text** 
 
 ixrttth^ 'btimxxim m%itt qxa 
 airmirabil^ t^t mmtn tmxct 
 in nmfrma: tmz. (^mmxcm tit 
 
 tth%. 6* xrrje mfejttium t kjdm 
 rium yffri»ti kuir^m pjrtjer iwr 
 ittir0s tiwra ut trxstntirH iniminT 
 
 ^uia jErisitas txm. ^inuisti >euttr 
 pulxrwrnu ab nnjriis, gl0ria: t 
 ncrn totam%\i rum i j»tit«x»ti jeunt 
 suj'fr 0pxra jitjntinim tnar, ©mia, 
 subjfjeisti gnb jrrbils fju», 06^» t bxr. 
 
 jri. 330lum8 tt\i i pisrr8 morris ij 
 pmbulant gimitns maris. g^mr 
 Jr^mhtus jT0«tjer quam »imi 
 rabiU m\\\t\\ \\x\m in uniOsa: 
 
 * I have written it out from a perfect English psalter of early thir- 
 teenth-century work, with St. Edward, St. Edmund, and St. Cuthbert 
 in its calendar ; it probably having belonged to the cathedral of York. 
 The writing is very full, but quick ; meant for service more than 
 beauty ; illuminated sparingly, but with extreme care. Its contractions 
 are curiously varied and capricious : thus, here in the fifth verse, c in 
 constituisti stands for * con ' merely by being turned the wrong way. I 
 prefer its text, nevertheless, to that of more elaborate MSS. , for when 
 very great attention is paid to the writing, there are apt to be mistakes 
 in the words In the best thirteenth -century service-book I have, 
 * tuos ' in the third verse is written 'meos.' 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 403 
 
 I translate literally ; the Septuagint confirming the Vul- 
 gate in the differences from our common rendering, several 
 of which are important. 
 
 1. Oh Lord, our own Lord, how admirable is thy Name 
 
 in all the earth ! 
 
 2. Because thy magnificence is set above the heavens. 
 
 3. Out of the mouth of children and sucklings thou hast 
 
 perfected praise, because of thine enemies, that thou 
 mightest scatter the enemy and avenger. 
 
 4. Since I see thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the 
 
 moon and the stars which thou hast founded, 
 
 5. What is man that thou rememberest him, or the son of 
 
 man, that thou lookest on him ? 
 
 6. Thou hast lessened him a little from the angels ; thou 
 
 hast crowned him with glory and honour, and hast set 
 him over all the works of thy hands. 
 
 7. Thou hast put all things under his feet ; sheep, and all 
 
 oxen — and the flocks of the plain. 
 
 8. The birds of the heaven and the fish of the sea, and all 
 
 that walk in the paths of the sea. 
 
 9. Oh Lord, our own Lord, how admirable is thy Name in 
 
 all the earth ! " 
 
 Note in Verses 1 and 9. — Domine, Dominus noster ; our 
 own Lord ; Kvptc, 6 Kupios i7fta)v ; claiming thus the Father- 
 hood. The ^ Lord our Governour ' of the Praver Book en- 
 tirely loses the meaning. How admirable is Thy Name \ 
 Oavfjiaa-Tov, ' wonderful,' as in Isaiah, " His name shall be 
 called Wonderful, the Counsellor." Aofain our translation 
 ^ excellent ' loses the meaning. 
 
 Verse 2. — Thy magnificence. Literally, * thy greatness in 
 working ' (Gk. /xeyoXoTrpcTrcta — splendour in aspect), distin- 
 guished from mere ^ glory ' or greatness in fame. 
 
404 
 
 FORS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 Verse 3. — Sidney has it : 
 
 ** From sucklings hath thy honour sprung, 
 Thy force hath flowed from babies* tongue." 
 
 The meaning of this difficult verse is given by implication in 
 Matt. xxi. 16. And again, that verse, like all the other great 
 teachings of Christ, is open to a terrific misinterpretation ; — - 
 namely, the popular evangelical one, that children should be 
 teachers and preachers, — (" cheering mother, cheering father, 
 from the Bible true"). The lovely meaning of the words of 
 Christ, which this vile error hides, is that children, remaining 
 children^ and uttering, out of their own hearts, such things 
 as their Maker puts there, are pure in sight, and perfect in 
 praise.* 
 
 Verse 4. — The moon and the stars which thou hast founded 
 — ' fundasti ' — e^c/xcXtWas. It is much more than 'ordained' ; 
 the idea of stable placing in space being the main one in 
 David's mind. And it remains to this day the wonder of 
 wonders in all wise men's minds. The earth swings round 
 the sun, — yes, but what holds the sun ? The sun swings 
 round something else. Be it so, — then, what else ? 
 
 Sidney : — 
 
 *'When I upon the heavens do look, 
 Which all from thee their essence took, 
 When moon and stars my thouglit beholdeth. 
 Whose life no life but of thee holdeth/* 
 
 Verse 5. — That thou lookest on him ; iTncrKeTTTrj avTov, ' art 
 a bishop to him.' The Greek word is the same in the verse 
 "I was sick and ye visited me. " 
 
 Verse 6. — Thou hast lessened him ; — perhaps better, thou 
 hast made him but by a little, less, than the angels ; i7XaT- 
 Tojcra? avTov ^paxv ru The inferiority is not of present posi- 
 tion merely, but of scale in being. 
 
 Verse 7. — Sheep, and all oxen, and the flocks of the plain: 
 KTqvrj Tov tt^Slov. Beasts for service in the plain, traversing 
 
 * Compare the Crown of Wild Olim^ p. 57 ; and put in the fifth line 
 of that page, a comma after ^ heaven,' and in the eighth line a semicO' 
 Ion after * blessing.' 
 
FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 405 
 
 great spaces, — camel and horse. ' Pecora,' in Vulgate, in- 
 cludes all 'pecunia,' or property in animals. 
 
 Verse 8. — In the Greek, that walk the paths of the seas" 
 is only an added description of fish, but the meaning of it is 
 without doubt to give an expanded sense — a generalization 
 of fish, so as to include the whale, seal, tortoise, and their 
 like. Neither whales nor seals, however, from what I hear of 
 modern fishing, are likely to walk the paths of the sea much 
 longer ; and Sidney's verse becomes mere satire : — 
 
 The bird, free burgesse of the aire, 
 
 The fish, of sea the native heire, 
 
 And what things els of waters traceth 
 
 The unworn pathes, his rule embraceth. 
 
 Oh Lord, that ruTRt our mortal lyne, 
 
 How through the world thy name doth shine ! *' 
 
 These being, as far as T can trace them, the literal meanings 
 of each verse, the entire purport of the psalm is that the 
 Name, or knowledge of God was admirable to David, and the 
 power and kingship of God recognizable to him, through 
 the power and kingship of man. His vicegerent on the earth, 
 as the angels are in heavenly places. And that final purport 
 of the psalm is evermore infallibly true, — namely, that when 
 men rule the earth rightly, and feel the power of their own 
 souls over it, and its creatures, as a beneficent and authorita- 
 tive one, they recognize the power of higher spirits also ; 
 and the Name of God becomes * hallowed * to them, admi- 
 rable and wonderful ; but if they abuse the earth and its 
 creatures, and become mere contentious brutes upon it, in- 
 stead of order-commanding kings, the Name of God ceases 
 to be admirable to them, and His power to be felt ; and 
 gradually, license and ignorance prevailing together, even 
 what memories of law or Deity remain to them become in- 
 tolerable ; and in the exact contrary to David's — My soul 
 thirsteth for God, for the Living God ; when shall I come 
 and appear before God ? " — you have the consummated desire 
 and conclusive utterance of the modern republican : 
 
 **S'il y avait un Dieu, il faudrait le fusilier.'* 
 
406 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEItA. 
 
 Now, whatever chemical or anatomical facts may appear to 
 our present scientific intelligences, inconsistent with the Life 
 of God, the historical fact is that no happiness nor power has 
 ever been attained by human creatures unless in that thirst 
 for the presence of a Divine King ; and that nothing but 
 weakness, misery, and death have ever resulted from the de° 
 sire to destrov their King-, and to have thieves and murderers 
 released to them instead. Also this fact is historically cer- 
 tain, — that the Life of God is not to be discovered by reason- 
 ing, but by obeying ; that on doing what is plainly ordered, 
 the wisdom and presence of the Orderer become manifest ; 
 that only so His way can be known on earth, and His saving 
 health among all nations ; and that on disobedience always 
 follows darkness, the forerunner of death. 
 
 And now for corollary on the eighth Psalm, read the first 
 and second of Hebrews, and to the twelfth verse of the third, 
 slowly; fitting the verse of the psalm — " lunam et Stellas 
 quae tu fundasti," with ''Thou, Lord, in the beginning hast 
 laid the foundations of the earth " ; and then noting how the 
 subjection which is merely of the lower creatures, in the 
 psalm, becomes the subjection of all things, and at last of 
 death itself, in the victor v foretold to those who are faithful 
 to their Captain, made perfect through sufferings ; their Faith, 
 observe, consisting primarily in closer and more constant obe- 
 dience than the Mosaic law required, — " For if the word 
 spoken by angels was stedfast, and every transgression and 
 disobedience received its just recompence of reward, how shall 
 we escape, if we neglect so great salvation ! " The full argu- 
 ment is : "Moses, with but a little salvation, saved you from 
 earthly bondage, and brought you to an earthly land of life ; 
 Christ, with a great salvation, saves you from soul bondage, 
 and brings you to an eternal land of life ; but, if he who de- 
 spised the little salvation, and its lax law, (left lax because of 
 the hardness of your hearts), died without mercy, how shall 
 we escape, if now, with hearts of flesh, we despise so great 
 salvation, refuse the Eternal Land of Promise, and break the 
 stricter and relaxless law of Christian desert-pilgrimage?'^ 
 And if these threatenings and promises still remain obscure 
 
FORS clavigeha. 
 
 407 
 
 to us, it is only because we have resolutely refused to obey 
 the orders which were not obscure, and quenched the Spirit 
 which was already given. How far the world around us 
 may be yet beyond our control, only because a curse has 
 been brouo^ht upon it bv our sloth and infidelitv, none of us 
 can tell ; still less may we dare either to praise or accuse our 
 Master, for the state of the creation over which He appointed 
 us kings, and in which we have chosen to live as swine. One 
 thing we know, or may know, \i we will, — that the heart 
 and conscience of man are divine ; that in his perception of 
 evil, in his recognition of good, he is himself a God manifest 
 in the flesh ; that his joy in love, his agony in anger, his 
 indignation at injustice, his glory in self-sacrifice, are all 
 eternal, indisputable proofs of liis unity with a great Spiritual 
 Head ; that in these, and not merely in his more availing 
 form, or manifold instinct, he is king over tlie lower animate 
 world ; that, so far as he denies or forfeits these, he dis- 
 honours the Name of his Father, and makes it unholy and un- 
 admirable in the earth ; that so far as he confesses, and rules 
 by, these, he hallows and makes admirable the Name of his 
 Father, and receives, in his sonship, fulness of power with 
 Him, whose are the kingdom, the power, and the glory, 
 world without end. 
 
 And now we may go back to our bees' nests, and to our 
 school-benches, in peace ; able to assure our little Agnes, 
 and the like of her, that, whatever hornets and locusts and 
 serpents may have been made for, this at least is true, — that 
 we may set, and are commanded to set, an eternal difference 
 between ourselves and them, by neither carrying daggers at 
 our sides, nor poison in our mouths : and that the choice for 
 us is stern, between being kings over all these creatures, by 
 innocence to which they cannot be exalted, or more weak, 
 miserable and detestable than they, in resolute guilt to which 
 they cannot fall. 
 
 Of their instincts, I believe we have rather held too high 
 than too low estimate, because we have not enough re- 
 cognized or respected our own. AVe do not differ from the 
 lower creatures by not possessing instinct, but by possessing 
 
408 
 
 FOliS CLAVIQERA. 
 
 will and conscience, to order our innate impulses to the best 
 ends. 
 
 The great lines of Pope on this matter, however often 
 quoted fragmentarily, are I think scarcely ever understood 
 in their conclusion.* Let us, for once, read them to theif 
 end : — 
 
 ** See him, from Nature, rising slow to Art, 
 To copy instinct then was reason's part. 
 Thus then to man the voice of Nature spake : 
 Go, — from the creatures thy instructions take, 
 Learn from the birds what food the thickets yield, 
 Learn from the beasts the physic of the field, 
 Thy arts of building from the bee receive. 
 Learn of the mole to plough, the worm to weave. 
 Here too all forms of social union find. 
 And hence let reason, late, instruct mankind. 
 Here subterranean works and cities see, 
 There, towns aerial on the waving tree ; 
 Learn each small people's genius, policies, 
 The ants' republic, and the realm of bees : 
 How those in common all their wealth bestow. 
 And anarchy without confusion know ; 
 And these for ever, though a monarch reign. 
 Their separate cells and properties maintain. 
 Mark what unvaried laws preserve each state — 
 Laws wise as nature, and as fixed as fate ; 
 In vain thy reason finer webs shall draw, 
 Entangle justice in her net of law, 
 And right, too rigid, harden into wrong— 
 StilJ for the strong too weak, the weak, too strong. 
 Yet go, and thus o*er all the creatures sway. 
 Thus let the wiser make the rest obey, 
 And for those arts mere instinct could afford 
 Be crowned as monarchs, or as gods ador'd." 
 
 There is a trace, in this last couplet, of the irony^ 
 and chastising enforcement of humiliation, which generally 
 characterize the Essay on Man ; but, though it takes this 
 colour, the command thus supposed to be uttered by the 
 
 * I am sensitive for oth^r writers in this point, my own readers being 
 in the almost universal practice of choosing any bit they may happen to 
 fancy in what I say, without ever considering what it was said for. 
 
F0R8 GLAVIGERA, 
 
 m 
 
 voice of Nature, is intended to be wholly earnest. "In the 
 arts of which I sot you example in the unassisted instinct of 
 lower animals, I assist you by the added gifts of will and 
 reason : be therefore, knowingly, in the deeds of Justice, 
 kings under the Lord of Justice, while in the works of your 
 hands, you remain happy labourers under his guidance 
 
 Who taught the nations of the field and wood 
 To shun their poison, and to choose their food, 
 Prescient, the tides or tempests to withstand, 
 Build on the wave, or arch beneath the sand." 
 
 Nor has ever any great work been accomplished by human 
 creatures, in which instinct was not the principal mental 
 agent, or in which the methods of design could be defined by 
 rule, or apprehended by reason. It is therefore that agency 
 through mechanism destroys the powers of art, and senti- 
 ments of religion, together. 
 
 And it will be found ultimately by all nations, as it was 
 found long ago by those who have been leaders in human 
 force and intellect, that the initial virtue of the race consists 
 in the acknowledgment of their own lowly nature, and sub- 
 mission to the laws of hiofher beinof. Dust thou art, and 
 unto dust shalt thou return," is the first truth we have to 
 learn of ourselves ; and to till the earth out of which we wero 
 taken, our first duty : in tliat labour, and in the relations 
 which it establishes between us and the low^er animals, are 
 founded the conditions of our highest faculties and felicities : 
 and without that labour, neither reason, art, nor peace, are 
 possible to man. 
 
 But in that labour, accepting bodily death, appointed tons 
 in common with the lower creatures, in noble humility ; and 
 kindling day by day the spiritual life, granted to us bej^ond 
 that of the lower creatures, in noble pride, all wisdom, peace, 
 and unselfish hope and love, may be reached, on earth, as in 
 heaven, and our lives indeed be but a little lessened from 
 those of the angels. 
 
 As I am finishing this Fors^ I note in the journals accounts 
 of new insect-plague on the vine ; and the sunshine on my 
 
410 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 own hills this morning (7th April), still impure, is yet the 
 first which I have seen spread from the daybreak upon them 
 through all the spring ; so dark it has been with blight of 
 storm, — so redolent of disease and distress ; of which, and 
 its possible causes, my friends seek as the only Avise judg- 
 ment, that of the journals aforesaid. Here, on the other 
 hand, are a few verses* of the traditional wisdom of that 
 king whose political institutions were so total a failure, (ac- 
 cording to my supremely sagacious correspondent), which 
 nevertheless appear to me to reach the roots of these, and 
 of many other hitherto hidden things. 
 
 His heart is ashes, his hope is more vile than earth, and 
 his life of less value than clay. 
 
 Forasmuch as he knew not his Maker, and him that in- 
 spired into him an active soul, and breathed in him a living 
 spirit. 
 
 But they counted our life a pastime, and our time here a 
 market for gain ; for, say they, we must be getting every 
 way, though it be by evil means.f Yea, they worshipped 
 those beasts also that are most hateful ; (for being compared 
 together, some are worse than others,J neither are they 
 beautiful in respect of beasts,) but they went without the 
 praise of God, and his blessing. 
 
 Therefore by the like were they punished worthily, and by 
 the multitude of beasts tormented. 
 
 And in this thou madest thine enemies confess, that it is 
 thou who deliverest them from all evil. 
 
 But thy sons not the very teeth of venomous dragons over- 
 came : for thy mercy was ever by them, and healed them. 
 
 * Collated out of Sa<pientia xv. and xvi. 
 
 f Compare Jeremiah ix. 6 ; in the Septuagint, to«os htX rlKc^^KoX $6\os 
 irrl d6\<{} : " usury on usury, and trick upon trick." 
 
 I The instinct for the study of parasites, modes of disease, the lowei 
 forms of undeveloped creatures, and the instinctive processes of diges- 
 tion and generation, rather than the varied and noble habit of life, — 
 which shows itself so grotesquely in modern science, is the precise 
 counterpart of the forms of idolatry (as of beetle and serpent, rather 
 than of clean or innocent creatures,) which were in great part the 
 cause of final corruption in ancient mythology and morals. 
 
FORS CLAVIOKRA, 
 
 411 
 
 For thou hast power of life and death ; thou leadest to the 
 gates of hell, and bringest up again. 
 
 For the ungodly, that denied to know thee, were scourged 
 by the strength of thine arm : with strange rains, hails, and 
 showers, were they persecuted, that they could not avoid, 
 for through fire were they consumed. 
 
 Instead whereof thou feddest thine own people with angels* 
 food, and didst send them, from heaven, bread prepared with- 
 out their labour, able to content everv man's delio^ht, and 
 agreeing to every taste. 
 
 For thy sustenance declared thy sweetness unto thy cliil- 
 dren, and serving to the appetite of the eater, tempered it- 
 self to every man's liking. 
 
 For the creature that serveth thee, who art the Maker, 
 increaseth his strength against the unrighteous for their 
 punishment, and abateth his strength for tlie benefit of such 
 as put their trust in thee. 
 
 Therefore even then was it altered into all fashions, and 
 was obedient to thy grace, that nourisheth all things, ac- 
 cording to the desire of them that had need : 
 
 That thy children, O Lord, whom thou lovest, might know 
 that it is not the growing of fruits that nourisheth man : 
 but that it is thy word, which preserve tli them that'put their 
 trust in thee. 
 
 For that which was not destroyed of the fire, being warmed 
 with a little sunbeam, soon melted away. 
 
 That it might be known, that we must prevent tlie sun 
 to give thee thanks, and at the dayspring pray unto thee.' 
 
412 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 " The Parsonage, Werrington, Peterborough, April 1, 1875^ 
 
 My dear Sir, — Your lady correspondent brings out in her own ex^ 
 perience that sound Christian truth, of which the condemnable doc- 
 trines of ' substitution ' and * vicarious righteousness * are but the 
 perversions. Her experience shows how true it is that one man may so 
 live and suffer that others shall be morally the better for his life and 
 suffering. 
 
 Such a man's righteousness is ' imputed ' because really imparted * 
 to those who have faith in him. 
 
 Of Felix Neff I know less than I ought, but if his ministry tended to 
 bring more sweetness and light into your correspondent's life, surely kis 
 influence in her mind is moral and healthful. 
 
 I am very faithfully yours, 
 
 " Edward Z. Lyttel. 
 
 John Ruskin, Esq. " 
 
 I transgress the laws of courtesy, in printing, without asking the 
 writer's permission, part of a letter which follows : but my correspond- 
 ent is not, as far as I know him, a man who shrinks from publicity, or 
 who would write in a private letter anything on general subjects which 
 he would be unwilling openly to maintain ; while the letter itself is so 
 monumental as a type of the condition to which the modern average 
 literary mind has been reduced, in its reading of authoritative classical 
 authors, and touches so precisely on points which it happens to be my 
 immediate business to set at rest in the minds of many of my readers, 
 that I cannot but attribute to the third Fors the direct inspiration of 
 the epistle— and must leave on her hands what blame may be attached 
 to its publication. I had been expressing some surprise to my corre- 
 spondent (an acquaintance of long standing) at his usually bright and 
 complacent temper ; and making some enquiry about his views re- 
 specting modern usury, knowing him to have read, at least for literary 
 purposes, large portions of the Old Testament. He replies, — 
 
 * ' I am sure I would not be wiser if I were * more uncomfortable * in 
 my mind ; J am perfectly sure, if T can ever do good to any mortal, it 
 will be by calm working, patient thinking, not by running, or ragir.g, 
 or weeping, or wailing. But for this humour, which I fancy I caught 
 
 * If my good correspondent will try practically the difference in the effect on the 
 minds of the next two bea:gnrs he meets, between imputing a penny to the one, and im- 
 j>artinri It to the other, he will receive a profitable lesson both in religion and English. 
 
 Of Felix Neff's influence, i>ast and present, I will take other occasion to speak, 
 
FOBS GLAVIQEBA. 
 
 413 
 
 from Shakespeare and Goethe, the sorrovr of the world would drive 
 me mad. 
 
 ''You ask what I think * the Psalmist' means by * usury. ' I find 
 from Cruden thar usury is mentioned only in the fifteenth Psalm. 
 That is a notable and most beautiful lyric ; quite sufficient to demon- 
 strate the superiority, in spirituality and morality, of the Hebrew 
 religion to anything Greek. But the bit about usury is pure nonsense 
 — the only bit of noosr-nse in the piece. Nonsense, because the singer 
 has no notion whatever of the employment of money for the common 
 benefit of lender and borrower. As the Hebrew monarchy was politi- 
 cally a total and disastrous faihire, I should not expect any opinion 
 worth listening to from a psalmist, touching directly or indirectly on 
 the organisation of industry. Jesus Christ and Matthew the publican 
 lived in a time of extended intercourse and some commerce; accord- 
 ingly, in Matthew xxv. , verse 27, you have a pei feet statement of the 
 truth about usury : * Thou oughtest to have put my money to the ex- 
 changers, and at my coming I should have received mine own with usury.' 
 Ricardo with all Lombard Street to help him, could not improve upon 
 that. A legitimate, useful, profitable use of money is to accommodate 
 strangers who come with money that will not circulate in the country. 
 The exchanger gives them current money ; they pay a consideration 
 for the convenience ; and out of this comes the legitimate profit to be 
 divided between lender and borrower. The rule which applies to one 
 fruitful use of money will apply to a thousand, and. betwcvm wise 
 lending and honest borrowing, swamp and forest become field and 
 garden, and mountains wave with corn. Some professor or other had 
 written what seemed outrageous rubbish ; you confuted or thrust 
 aside, in an early Fo)'S, that rubbish ; but aga.nst legitimate interest, 
 usury, call it what you like, I have never heard any argument. Mr. 
 Siilar's tracts I have never seen, — he does not advertise, and I havo 
 not the second sight. 
 
 *' My view of the grievous abuses in the publishing and bookselling 
 trades has not altered. But, since writing you first on the subject, I 
 have had careful conversations with publishers, and have constantly 
 pondered the matter ; aud though I do not see my way to any com- 
 plete reform, I cannot entertain hope from your metlio<ls. 
 
 I am tired, being still very weak. It would ouly bother you if I 
 went on. Nothing you have ever written has, I think, enabled me to 
 get so near comprehending you as your picture of yourself learning to 
 read and write in last Fovs. You can see an individual concrete fact 
 better than any man of the generation ; but an invisible fact, an ab- 
 straction, an averar/e^ you have, I fancy, been as incapable of seeing as 
 of seeing through a stone wall. Political Economy is the science of 
 social averages. 
 
 Ever affectionately and faithfully yours. 
 
 **P. S. (Sunday morning). Some fancy has been haunting me in 
 the night of its being presumptuous, or 3'^our thinking it })iesumi)tu- 
 ous, in me to say that David, or whoever wrote the fifteenth Psalm, 
 spoke, on the subject of interest, pure nonsense. After carefully going 
 over the matter again, I believe that I am accurately correct. Not 
 knowing what lending and borrowing, as a normal industrial transac- 
 tion, or trading transaction, was, the Psalmist spoke in vague ethical 
 
414 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 terms, meaning ' you should be friendly to your neighbour * ; just as a 
 lady economist of to-day might shriek against the pawn-shop, which, 
 with all its defects, had, in capacity of Poor Man s Bank, saved many 
 a child, or woman, or man, from sheer starvation. Not understanding 
 the matter, the Psalmist could not distinguish between use and abuse, 
 and so talked nonsense. It is exquisitely interesting to me to observe 
 that Christ hits the Psalmist exactly on the point where he goes 
 wrong. Tc> apyvpiov avrov ovk ^donKey diri tSko?, says the Psalmist ; Uourjpe 
 djv\€ .... €^€1 ovv ^aXelu rh apyvpLou jaov to7s rpaire^iraiSy Kal 
 iX^iav eyj) eKop.io'xjuLyjy hv rh iuhu arvv tSkw^ says Christ. The use of the 
 scune icord in the Septuagint (the only Old Testament circulating in 
 Palestine in Christ's time) and in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, to 
 denote in the one case what no good man would take, in the other, 
 what it was a flagrant dereliction of duty oiot to secure, is most pre- 
 cious as illustrating the sim])ie common sense with which Christ used 
 the old Scriptures, and the infinite falsi t}^ of the m.odern doctrine of 
 infallibility, v/hether of church, book, or man. One of those tran- 
 scendencies of Tightness which I find in Fors (amid things about Mar- 
 montel and Drury Lane, a id Darwin and Huxley, worthy only of a 
 Psalmist or pretty economist of fifteen) was your idea of policemen- 
 bishops. I always agree als j with what you say about the entirely ob- 
 solete and useless bishops at £5000 a-year But what I 
 
 was going to say is, that you ought to ask your bishop, or the whole 
 bench of them, to find a place, in their cart-loads of sermons, for one 
 on * usury,' * as condemmed by the Psalmist and enjoined by Christ. 
 Compare Luke xix., ver. 23. The only sound basis of banking is the 
 fruitful, it dustrial use of money. I by no means maintain that the 
 present banking system of Europe is safe and sound." 
 
 I submitted the proof of this Fors to my correspondent, and think 
 it due to him and to my readers to print, with the above letter, 
 also the following portions of that which he sent in gentle reply. So 
 far as I have misconceived or misrepresented him, he knows me to be 
 sorry. For the rest, our misconceptions of each other are of no moment : 
 the misconception, by either, of the nature of profit by the loan of 
 money, or tools, is of moment to every one over whom we have in- 
 fluence ; we neither of us have any business to be wrong in that matter ; 
 and there are few on which it is more immediately every man's business 
 to be right. 
 
 '* Remonstrance were absurd, where misconception is so total as 
 yours. My infidelity is simply that I worship Christ, thanking every 
 one who gives me any glimpse that enables me to get nearer Christ s 
 meaning. In this light, v.hat you say of a hidden sense or drift 
 in the parables interests me profoundly ; but the more I think of 
 the question of interest, the more T feel persuaded that Christ distin- 
 guished the use from the abuse. Tradition, almost certainly authentic, 
 imputes to Him the saying yiv^crQe rpair^^irai BoicijuLOL (see M. Arnold s 
 article in March Contempordvy), and 1 don't see how there can be 
 honourable bankers, — men living honourably by banking, — if all taking 
 
 the uote at p. 117. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 415 
 
 of interest is wrong. You speak of my * supreme confidence ' in my own 
 opinions. I absolutely have confidence only in the resolution to keep 
 my eyes open for lii^ht and, if I can help it, not to be to-day exactly 
 v/here I was yesterday. 1 have not only read, but lived in, (as a very 
 atmosphere) the works of men whom you say I went to because some- 
 body said ifc was fine to do so. They have taught me some compre- 
 hensiveness, some tolerance, some moderation iu judging even the mob. 
 They have taught me to consume my own smoke, and it is this con- 
 sumption of my own smoke which you seem to have mistaken lor con- 
 fidence in my opinions. Which prophet, from Moses to Carlyle, would 
 not you confess to have been sometimes iu the wrong? I said that I 
 worship Christ. In Him I realize, so far as I can realize, God. There- 
 fore I speak not of Him. But the very key -stone of any arch of notions 
 in my mind is that inspiration is one of the mightiest and most blessed 
 of forces, one of the most real of facts, but that infallibility is the error 
 of errors. From no prophet, from no book, do I take what I please 
 and leave what I please ; but, applying all the lights I have, I loarn 
 from each as wisely as, with my powers and my lights, is possible for me. 
 
 "Affectionately yours.'* 
 
 I have received, with the respects of the author," a pamphlet on 
 the Crystal Palace ; which tells me, in its first sentence, that the 
 Crystal Palace is a subject which every cultivated Englishman has at 
 heart ; in its second, that the Crystal Palace is a household word, and 
 is the loftiest moral triumph of the world ; and in its third, that the 
 Palace is declining, it is said, — verging towards decay. I have not 
 heard anything for a long time which has more pleased me ; and beg 
 to assure the author of the pamphlet iu question that I never get up at 
 Herne Hill after a windy night without looking anxiously towards Nor- 
 wood in the hope that ' the loftiest moral triumph of the world ' may 
 have been blown away. 
 
 I find the following lovely little scene translated into French from 
 the Dutch, (M. J. Rigeveld, Amsterdam, C. L. Brinkman, 1875,) iu a 
 valuable little periodical for ladies, VEspemnce^ of Geneva, in which 
 the entirely gv)od purpose of t!ie editor will, I doubt not, do wide ser- 
 vice, in spite of her adoption of the popular error of the desirability of 
 feminine independence. 
 
 '*A PROPOS D'UNE PAIKE DE GANTS. 
 
 *"Qu'y a-t-il Elise?' dit Madame, en se tournant du cote d'une 
 fen6tre ouverte, ou elle entend quelque bruit. ' Oh ! moins que rieu, 
 mainan ! * repond sa fille a nce, en train de faire la toilette des cadets, 
 pour la promenade et le concert. * Ce que c'est, mamau V ' crie un des 
 petits garc^ous, ' c'esl: que Lolotte ne vent pas mettre des gants.' * Elle 
 dit qu'elle a assez chaud sans ccla, reprend un autre, et qu'elle ne 
 trouve pas mcnne joli d'avoir des gants.' Et chacun de rire. Un des 
 rapporteurs continue : * Elise veut qu'elle le fasse par cons enance ; rna.s 
 Lolotte protend que la peau humaine est plus couvenable qu'une peau 
 de rat.* Cette boutade excite de uouveau Thilaritii de la comi>3gnie. 
 
416 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 * Quelle idee, Lolotte,' dit son pere d*un ton enjoue : ' montre-tol 
 done ! ' 
 
 Apparemment Lolotfce n'est pas d'humeur a obeir ; mais les gargona 
 ne lui laissent pas le choix et le poussent en avant. La voila done, notre 
 heroine. C'est une fillette d environ quatorze ans, dont los yeux pe til- 
 lent d'esprit et de vie ; on voit qu'elle aime a user largement de la lib- 
 erte que lui laisse encore son age, pour dire son opinion sur tout ce qui 
 lui passe par la tete sans consequence aucune. Mais bien qu elle soit 
 forte dans son opinion anti-gantiere, l eafant est tant soit pen confuse, 
 et ne parait pas portee a defendre sa cause en presence d'un etranger. 
 
 * Quoi done,' lui dit son pere, en la prenact par la taille, ' tu ne veux 
 pas porter des gants, parce qu'ils sonfc faits de peaux de rats ! Je ne te 
 croyais pas si folle. Le rat est mort et oublie depuis longtemps, et sa 
 peau est glacee.' — ^ Non, papa, ce n'est pas 9a.' — ' Qu'est-ce done, men 
 enfant ? Tu est trop grande fiUe pour ces manieres sans facon. Ne 
 veux-tu pas etre une demoiselle comme il faut.' ' Et ces petites mains 
 qui toucheut si bien du piano,' reprend le visiteur, desireux de faire 
 oublier la gene que cause sa presence, par un mob gracieux. 'Ne 
 veux-tu pas pliitot renoncer a la musique, et devenir sarcleuse ? ' lui 
 demande son pere. — * Non, papa, point du tout. Je ne puis pas dire au 
 juste ma pensee . . . / Et elle se degagea doucement de ses bras ; et 
 en se sauvant, grommela : ' Morfc aux gants, et vive la civilisation ! ' 
 On rit encore un peu de Tenfant bizarre; puis on parle d'autres choses, 
 et Ton se prepare pour la promenade. Lolotte a mis les gants en ques- 
 tion, * pour plaire a raaman,' et personne ne s'en occupe plus. 
 
 " Mais 1 'etranger avait saisi au passage sa derniere phrase, qui sans 
 cesse, lui revenait a I'esprit. Se reprochait-il devant cette enfant 
 naive sa complicite a 1' interpretation futile que son hole avait donnce 
 de la civilisation f Tant est, que pendant le cours de la soiree, se trou- 
 vant un moment en tete-a-tete avec Lolotte, il revint a 1 histoire des 
 gants. II tacha de riiparer sa gaucherie et fit si bien, qu'il gagna la 
 confiance de la petite. * Sans doute, j'en conviens, dit-il, il f aut plus 
 pour etre civilise que de porter des gants, mais il faut se soumettre a 
 eertaines convenances que les gens comme il faut. . . 'C'est 9a, 
 Monsieur, dit-elle, en lui coupant la parole, quelle est done la chance 
 des gens qui voudraient se civiliser, mais qui n'ont pas d argent pour 
 acheter des gants ? ' C'etait-la sa peine. * Chere enfaat ! ' dit-il tout 
 bas. Et I homme, si eloquent d'ordiuaire, pressa la petite main sous 
 le gant obligatoire, parce que pour le moment les paroles lui manqua- 
 ient pour repondre. . . . Est-ce etonnant que, malgre lui, plus 
 tard en s' occupant de la question sociale, il pensa souvent a cette jeune 
 fille ? 
 
 " Et vous, lecteurs, que pensez-vous d'elle et de sa question gan- 
 tiere ? Vous parait-elle un enf antillage, ou bien la considerez-vous tout 
 bonnement comme une exageration ? Vous attachez-vous a la surface, 
 on bien y cherchez-vous un sens plus profond, comme I'ami visiteur? 
 Ne croyez-vous pas aussi que dans ce temps de ' besoins multiplies,' ur) 
 des plus grands services que les classes superieures puissent rend re au 
 peuple, serait de faire distinction entre tons ces besoins et de precher 
 d'exemple ? " 
 
 This bit of letter must find room— bearing as it does on last Fori 
 subject : — 
 
F0R8 OLAVIGEIiA. 
 
 417 
 
 *' I was asking a girl this morning if she still took her long walks ; 
 and she. said she was as fond of them as ever, but that they could only 
 walk in the town now — the field or country walks were not safe fot 
 ladies alone. Indeed, I fancy the girls lose all care for, or knowledge of 
 the spring or summer — except as they Vjring new fashions into the shop 
 windows, not fresh flowers any more here into the fields. It is pitiable 
 
 to live in a place like this — even worse than in . For here the 
 
 process of spoiling country is going on under one's eyes ; — in it 
 
 was done long ago. And just nov\% wlieu the feeling of spring is upon 
 one, it is hard to have the sky darkeued, and the air poisoned. But I 
 am wasting time in useless grumbling. Only listen to this: — after all 
 
 our sacrifices, and with all our money and civilization 1 can't tell 
 
 you now ; it must wait." [Very well ; but don't keep it waiting longer 
 than you need.] 
 
 I have had some good help about bees' tongues from a young corre- 
 spondent at Merrow Grange, Guildford, and a very clear drawing, to 
 which the subjoined piece of his last letter refers ; but I must not lose 
 myself in microscopic questions just now : — 
 
 The author of The Microscope keeps to the old idea of bees sucking 
 honey and not * licking it up,' for he says, ' The proboscis, being cylin- 
 drical, extracts the juice of the i^ower in a somewhat similar way to 
 that of the butterfly.' And of tne tongue he says, ' If a bee is atten- 
 tively observed as it settles upon a flower, the activity and promptitude 
 with which it uses the apparatus is truly surprising ; it lengthens the 
 tongue, applies it to the bottom of the petals, then shortens it, bending 
 and turning it in all directions, for the purpose of exploring the interior 
 and removing the pollen, which it packs in the pockets in its hind legs, 
 (by, he supposes, the two shorter feelers,) and forniH the chief food for 
 the working-bees.' He says that when the waxen walls of the cells are 
 completed they are strengthened by a varui-h collected from the buds 
 of the poplar and other trees, which tliey smear over the cells by the 
 aid of the wonderful apparatus. That part of the proboscis that looks 
 something like a human head, he says, can be considerably enlarged 
 . . . and thus made to contain alargt r quantity of the collected juice 
 of the flowers ; at the same time it is in this cavity that the nectar is 
 transformed into pure honey by some peculiar chemical process.' " 
 
 * Note on page 414. — My correspondent need not be at a loss for 
 sermons on usury. When the Christian Church was living, there was 
 no lack of such. Here are two specimens of their tenor, furnished me 
 by one of Mr. Sillar's pamphlets : — 
 
 Extract from the Exposition upon the First Epistle to the 
 
 TlIESSALONIANS, ClI. IV. VER. 6. By BlSIlOP JeWELL. 
 
 Usury is a kind of lending of mone3\ or corn, or oil, or wine, or of 
 any other thing, wherein, upon covenant and bargain, we receive again 
 the whde principal which we delivered, and som-ewhat viore for the use 
 and occupying of the same: as, if I lend one hundred pounds, and for 
 it covenant to receive one hundred and five pounds, or any other sum 
 greater than was the sum which I did leud. This ii that that we oall 
 
 Vol. II.— 37 
 
418 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 usury , euch a kind of bargaining as no good man, or godly man, evei 
 used ; such a kind of bargaining as all men that ever feared God*s 
 judgment have always abhorred and condemned. It is filthy gaim^. 
 and a work of darkness : it is a monster in nature; the overthrow of 
 mighty kingdoms; the destruction of flourishing states; the decay of 
 weaMhy cities ; the 'plagues of the world, and the misery of the people. It 
 is theft ; it is the murdering of our brethren ; it is the curse of God^ and 
 the curse of the people. This is usury : by these signs and tokens you, 
 may know it : for wheresoever it reigneth, all those mischiefs ensue. 
 But how, and how many ways, it may be wrought, I will not declare : 
 it were horrible to hear; and I come now to reprove usury, and not to 
 teach it. 
 
 Tell me, thou wretched wight of the world, thou unkind creature, 
 which art past all sense and feeling of God ; which knowest the will of 
 God, and doest the contrary : how darest thou come into the church ? 
 It is the church of that God which hath said, ' Thou shalt take no 
 usury ' ; and thou knowest He hath so said. How darest thou read 
 or hear the word of God ? It is the word of that God which con- 
 demneth usury ; and thou knowest He doth condemn it. How darest 
 thou come into the company of thy brethren? Usury is the plague, 
 and destruction, and undoing of thy brethren ; and this thou knowest. 
 How darest thou look upon thy children? thou makest the wrath of 
 God fall down from heaven upon them ; thy iniquity shall be punished 
 in them to the third and fourth generation : this thou knowest. How 
 darest thou look up into heaven ? thou hast no dwelling there ; thou 
 shalt have no place in the tabernacle of the Highest : this thou knowest. 
 Because thou robbest the poor, deceivest the simple, and eatest up the 
 widows' houses: therefore shall thy children be naked, and beg their 
 bread ; therefore shalt thou and thy riches perish together." 
 
 Extract from the Farewell Sermon preachkd in the Church 
 OF St. Mary Woolnoth, Lombard Street, by the Rev. 
 David Jones, when the present system was in its infancy. 
 
 " And the Pharisees also, who were covetoiip, heard all these things, and they derided 
 him."— Luke xvi. 14. 
 
 '*I do openly declare that every minister and every church- warden 
 throughout all England are actually perjured and foresworn by the 
 109th canon of our church, if they suffer any usurer to come to the 
 bacrament till he be reformed, and there is no reformation without 
 restitution. 
 
 « 4r ♦ « « 
 
 ** And that you may know what usury is forbid by the word of God, 
 turn to Ezekiel xviii. 8, 13, and you will find that, whoever giveth upon 
 usury or taketh any increase, — Mark it^ — he that taketh any increase 
 above the principal, — not six in the hundred, but let it be never so 
 little, and never so moderate, — he that taketh any increase, is a usurer, 
 and such a one as shall surely die for his usury, and his blood shall be 
 upon his own head. This is that word of God by which you shall all 
 be saved or damned at the last day, and all those trifling and shuffling 
 distinctions that covetous usurers ever invented shall never be able to 
 excuse your damnation. 
 
 Heretofore all usurious olergymen were degraded from Holy Orders, 
 
FOBS CLAVIQERA, 
 
 419 
 
 and all usurious laymen were excommunicated in their lifetime, and 
 hindered Christian burial after death, till their heirs had made restitu- 
 tion for all they had gotten by usury." 
 
 As this sheet is going to press I receive a very interesting letter from 
 *'a poor mother." That no wholesome occupation is at present offered 
 in England to youths of the temper she describes, is precisely the 
 calamity which urged my endeavour to found the St. George's Com- 
 pauy. But if she will kindly tell me the boy's age, and whether the 
 want of perseverance she regrets in him has ever been tested by giving 
 him sufficient motive for consistent exertion, I will answer what I can, 
 in next Fori. 
 
420 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGBIiA. 
 
 LETTER LIV. 
 
 Before going on with my own story to-day, I must fasten 
 down a main principle about doing good work, not yet enough 
 made clear. 
 
 It has been a prevalent notion in the minds of well-disposed 
 persons, that if they acted according to their own conscience, 
 they must, therefore, be doing right. 
 
 But they assume, in feeling or asserting this, either that 
 there is no Law of God, or that it cannot be known ; but 
 only felt, or conjectured. 
 
 "I must do what I think right." How often is this sen- 
 tence uttered and acted on — bravely— nobly — innocently ; 
 but always — because of its egotism — erringly. You must 
 not do what you think right, but, whether you or anybody 
 think, or don't think it, what is right. 
 
 "I must act according to the dictates of my conscience." 
 
 By no means, my conscientious friend, unless you are 
 quite sure that yours is not the conscience of an ass. 
 I am doing my best — what can man do more ? " 
 
 You might be doing much less, and yet much better : — 
 perhaps you are doing your best in producing, or doing, an 
 eternally bad thing. 
 
 All these three sayings, and the convictions they express, 
 are wise only in the mouths and minds of wise men ; they 
 are deadly, and all the deadlier because bearing an image and 
 superscription of virtue, in the mouths and minds of fools. 
 
 " But there is every gradation, surely, between wisdom 
 and folly ? " 
 
 No. The fool, whatever his wit, is the man who doesn't 
 know his master — who has said in his heart — there is no 
 God — no Law. 
 
 The wise man knows his master. Less or more wise, he 
 perceives lower or higher masters ; but always some creature 
 
FOHS CLAVIOERA, 
 
 421 
 
 larger than himself — some law holier than his own. A law 
 to be sought — learned, loved — obeyed ; but in order to its 
 discovery, the obedience must be begun first, to the best one 
 knows. Obey something ^ and you will have a chance some 
 day of finding out what is best to obey. But if you begin 
 by obeying nothing, 3'ou will end by obeying Beelzebub and 
 all his seven invited friends. 
 
 Which being premised, I venture to continue the history 
 of my own early submissions to external Force. 
 
 The Bible readings, described in my last letter, took place 
 always in the front parlour of the house, which, when I was 
 about five years old, my father found himself able to buy the 
 lease of, at Ilerne Hill. The piece of road between the Fox 
 tavern and the Heme Hill station, remains, in all essential 
 points of character, unchanged to this day : certain Gothic 
 splendours, lately indulged in by our wealthier neighbours, 
 being the only serious innovations ; and these are so gra- 
 ciously concealed by the fine trees of their grounds, that the 
 passing viator remains unappalled by them ; and I can still 
 walk up and down the piece of road aforesaid, imagining 
 myself seven years old. 
 
 Our house was the fourth part of a group which stand 
 accurately on the top or dome of the hill, where the ground 
 is for a small space level, as the snows arc (I understand) on 
 the dome of Mont Blanc ; presently falling, however, in what 
 may be, in the London clay formation, considered a precipi- 
 tous slope, to our valley of Chamouni (or of Dulwich) on the 
 east ; and with a softer descent into Cold Arbour, (nautically 
 aspirated into Harbour)-lane on the west : on the south, no 
 less beautifully declining to the dale of the Effra, (doubtless 
 shortened from Effrena, siofnifvino: the "Unbridled" river : 
 recently, I regret to say, bricked over for the convenience 
 of Mr. Biffin, the chemist, and others), while on the north, 
 prolonged indeed with slight depression some half mile or 
 so, and receiving, in the parish of Lambeth, the chivalric 
 title of ' Champion Hill,' it plunges down at last to efface 
 itself in the plains of Peckham, and the rustic solitudes of 
 Goose Green. 
 
422 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 The group, of which our house was the quarter, consisted 
 of two precisely similar partner-couples of houses, — gardens 
 and all to match ; still the two highest blocks of building 
 seen from Norwood on the crest of the ridge ; which, even 
 within the time I remember, rose with no stinted beauty of 
 wood and lawn above the Dulwich fields. 
 
 The house itself, three-storied, with garrets above, com- 
 manded, in those comparatively smokeless days, a very 
 notable view from its upper windows, of the Norwood hills 
 on one side, and the winter sunrise over them ; and of the 
 valley of the Thames, with Windsor in the distance, on the 
 other, and the summer sunset over these. It had front and 
 back garden in sufficient proportion to its size ; the front, 
 richly set with old evergreens, and well grown lilac and 
 laburnum ; the back, seventy yards long by twenty wide, 
 renowned over all the hill for its pears and apples, which had 
 been chosen with extreme care by our predecessor, (shame 
 on me to forget the name of a man to whom I owe so much !) 
 — and possessing also a strong old mulberry tree, a tall 
 white-heart cherry tree, a black Kentish one, and an almost 
 unbroken hedge, all round, of alternate gooseberry and cur- 
 rant bush ; decked, in due season, (for the ground was wholly 
 beneficent,) with magical splendour of abundant fruit : fresh 
 green, soft amber, and rough-bristled crimson bending the 
 spinous branches ; clustered pearl and pendant ruby joyfully 
 discoverable under the large leaves that looked like vine. 
 
 The differences of primal importance which I observed be- 
 tween the nature of this garden, and that of Eden, as I had 
 imagined it, were, that, in this one, all the fruit was for- 
 bidden ; and there were no companionable beasts : in other 
 respects the little domain answered every purpose of Para- 
 dise to me ; and the climate, in that cycle of our years, al- 
 lowed me to pass most of my life in it. My mother never 
 gave me more to learn than she knew I could easily get 
 learnt, if I set myself honestly to work, by twelve o'clock. 
 She never allowed anything to disturb me when my task 
 was set ; if it was not said rightly by twelve o'clock, I was 
 kept in till I knew it, and in general, even when Latin 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 423 
 
 Grammar came to supplement the Psalms, I was my own 
 master for at least an liour before dinner at half-past one, 
 and for the rest of the afternoon. My mother, herself find- 
 ing her chief personal pleasure in her flowers, was often 
 planting or pruning beside me, — at least if I chose to stay 
 beside her, I never thought of doing anything behind her 
 back which I would not have done before her face ; and her 
 presence was therefore no restraint to me ; but, also, no par- 
 ticular pleasure ; for, from having always been left so much 
 alone, I had generally my own little affairs to see after ; and 
 on the whole, by the time I was seven years old, was already 
 getting too independent, mentally, even of my father and 
 mother ; and having nobody else to be dependent upon, be- 
 gan to lead a very small, perky, contented, conceited, Cock- 
 Robinson-Crusoe sort of life, in the central point which it 
 appeared to me, (as it must naturally appear to geometrical 
 animals) that I occupied in the universe. 
 
 This was partly the fault of my father's modesty ; and 
 partly of his pride. He had so much more confidence in my 
 mother's judgment as to such matters than in his own, that 
 he never ventured even to help, much less to cross her, in the 
 conduct of my education ; on the other hand, in the fixed 
 purpose of making an ecclesiastical gentleman of me, with 
 the superfinest of manners, and access to the highest circles 
 of fleshly and spiritual societ)', the visits to Croydon, where 
 I entirely loved my aunt, and young baker-cousins, became 
 rarer and more rare : the society of our neighbours on the 
 hill could not be had without breaking up our regular and 
 sweetly selfish manner of living ; and on the whole, I had 
 nothing animate to care for, in a childish way, but myself, 
 some nests of ants, which the gardener would never leave 
 undisturbed for me, and a sociable bird or two ; though I 
 never had the sense or perseverance to make one really tame. 
 But that was partly because, if ever I managed to bring one 
 to be the least trustful of me, the cats got it. 
 
 Under these favourable circumstances, what powers of im- 
 agination I possessed, either fastened themselves on inani- 
 mate things — the sky, the leaves, and pebbles, observable 
 
424 
 
 FORS CLAVIOERA, 
 
 within the walls of Eden, or caught at any opportunity of 
 flight into regions of romance, compatible with the objec- 
 tive realities of existence in the nineteenth century, within a 
 mile and a quarter of Camberwell Green. 
 
 Herein my father, happily, though with no definite inten- 
 tion other than of pleasing me, when he found he could do 
 so without infringing any of my mother's rules, became my 
 guide. I was particularly fond of watching him shave ; and 
 was always allowed to come into his room in the morning 
 (under the one in which I am now writing), to be the mo- 
 tionless witness of that operation. Over his dressing-table 
 hung one of his own water-colour drawings, made under the 
 teaching of the elder Nasmyth. (I believe, at the High 
 School of Edinburgh.) It was done in the early manner of 
 tinting, which, just about the time when my father was at the 
 High School, Dr. Munro was teaching Turner ; namely, in 
 grey under-tints of Prussian blue and British ink, washed 
 with warm colour afterwards on the lights. It represented 
 Conway Castle, with its Frith, and, in the foreground, a cot- 
 tage, a fisherman, and a boat at the water's edge. 
 
 When my father had finished shaving, he always told me 
 a story about this picture. The custom began without any 
 initial purpose of his, in consequence of my troublesome curi- 
 osity whether the fisherman lived in the cottage, and where he 
 was going to in the boat. It being settled, for peace' sake, that 
 he did live in the cottage, and was going in the boat to fish 
 near the castle, the plot of the drama afterwards gradually 
 thickened ; and became, I believe, involved with that of the 
 tragedy of Douglas, and of the Castle Spectre, in both of 
 w^hich pieces my father had performed in private theatricals, 
 before my mother, and a select Edinburgh audience, wlien he 
 was a boy of sixteen, and she, at grave twenty, a model house- 
 keeper, and very scornful and religiously suspicious of theat- 
 ricals. But she was never weary of telling me, in later 
 years, how beautiful my father looked in his Highland dress, 
 with the high black feathers. 
 
 I remember nothing of the story he used to tell me, now ; 
 but I have the picture still, and hope to leave it finally in 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 425 
 
 the Oxford schools, where, if I can complete my series of 
 illustrative work for general reference, it will be of some 
 little use as au example of an old-fashioned method of 
 water-colour drawing not without its advantages ; and, at 
 the same time, of the dangers incidental in it to young stu- 
 dents, of making their castles too yellow, and their fisher- 
 men too blue. 
 
 In the afternoons, when my father returned, (always punc- 
 tually) from his business, he dined, at half-past four, in the 
 front parlour, my mother sitting beside him to hear the events 
 of the day, and give counsel and encouragement with re- 
 spect to the same ; — chiefly the last, for my father was apt 
 to be vexed if orders for sherry fell the least short of their due 
 standard, even for a day or two. I was never present at this 
 time, however, and only avouch what I relate by hearsay 
 and probable conjecture ; for between four and six it would 
 have been a grave misdemeanour in me if I so much as ap- 
 proached the parlour door. After that, in summer time, we 
 were all in the garden as long as the day lasted ; tea under 
 the white-heart cherry tree ; or in winter and rough weather, 
 at six o'clock in the drawing-room, — I having my cup of 
 milk, and slice of bread-and-butter, in a little recess, with a 
 table in front of it, wholly sacred to me ; and in which I re- 
 mained in the evenings as an Idol in a niche, while my mother 
 knitted, and my father read to her,— and to me, so far as I 
 chose to listen. 
 
 The series of the Wayerley novels, then drawing towards 
 its close, was still the chief source of delight in all households 
 caring for literature ; and I can no more recollect the time 
 when I did not know them than when I did not know the 
 Bible ; but I have still a vivid remembrance of my father's 
 intense expression of sorrow mixed with scorn, as he threw 
 down Count Robert of Paris, after reading three or four 
 pages ; and knew that the life of Scott was ended : the scorn 
 being a very complex and bitter feeling in him, — partly, in- 
 deed, of the book itself, but chiefly of the wretches who 
 were tormenting and selling the wrecked intellect, and not a 
 little, deep down, of the subtle dishonesty which had essen- 
 
426 
 
 FORS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 tially caused the ruin. My father never could forgive Scott 
 his concealment of the Ballantyne partnership. 
 
 I permit myself, without check, to enlarge on these trivial 
 circumstances of my early days, partly because I know that 
 there are one or two people in the world who will like to hear 
 of them ; but chiefly because I can better assure the general 
 reader of some results of education on after life, by one ex- 
 ample in which I know all my facts, than by many, in which 
 every here and there a link might be wanting. 
 
 And it is perhaps already time to mark what advantage and 
 mischief, by the chances of life up to seven years old, had 
 been irrevocably determined for me. 
 
 I will first count my blessings (as a not unwise friend once 
 recommended me to do, continually ; whereas I have a bad 
 trick of always numbering the thorns in my fingers, and not 
 the bones in them). 
 
 And for best and truest beginning of all blessings, I had been 
 
 taught the perfect meaning of Peace, in thought, act, and word. 
 
 I never had heard mv father's or mother's voice once raised 
 
 »/ 
 
 in any question with each other ; nor seen an angry, or even 
 slightly hurt or offended glance in the eyes of either. I had 
 never heard a servant scolded, nor even suddenly, passion- 
 ately, or in any severe manner, blamed. I had never seen a 
 moment's trouble or disorder in any household matter ; nor 
 anj^thing whatever either done in a hurry, or undone in due 
 time. I had no conception of such a feeling as anxiety ; my 
 father's occasional vexation in the afternoons, when he had 
 only got an order for twelve butts after expecting one for 
 fifteen, as I have just stated, was never manifested to me ; 
 and itself related only to the question whether his name 
 would be a step higher or lower in the year's list of sherry 
 exporters ; for he never spent more than half his income, and 
 therefore found himself little incommoded by occasional va- 
 riations in the total of it. I had never done any wrong that 
 I knew of — beyond occasionally delaying the commitment to 
 heart of some improving sentence, that I might watch a wasp 
 on the window pane, or a bird in the cherry tree ; and I had 
 never seen any grief. 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 427 
 
 Next to this quite priceless gift of Peace, I had received 
 the perfect understanding of the natures of Obedience and 
 Faith. I obeyed word, or lifted finger, of father or mother, 
 simply as a ship her helm ; not only without idea of resist- 
 ance, but receiving the direction as a part of my own life and 
 force, a helpful law, as necessary to me in every moral action 
 as the law of gravity in leaping. And my practice in Faith 
 was soon complete : nothing was ever promised me that 
 was not given ; nothing ever threatened me that was not in- 
 flicted, and nothing ever told me that was not true. 
 
 Peace, obedience, faith ; these three for chief good ; next 
 to these, the habit of fixed attention with both eyes and mind 
 — on which I will not farther enlarge at this moment, this 
 being the main practical faculty of my life, causing Mazzini 
 to say of me, in conversation authentically reported, a year 
 or two before his death, that I had " the most analytic mind 
 in Europe." An opinion in which, so far as I am acquainted 
 with Europe, I am myself entirely disposed to concur. 
 
 Lastly, an extreme perfection in palate and all other bodily 
 senses, given by the utter prohibition of cake, wine, comfits, 
 or, except in carefullest restriction, fruit ; and by fine prep- 
 aration of what food was friven me. Such I esteem the 
 main blessings of my childhood ; — next, let me count the 
 equally dominant calamities. 
 
 First, that I had nothing to love. 
 
 My parents were — in a sort — visible powers of nature to 
 me, no more loved than the sun and the moon : only I should 
 have been annoyed and puzzled if either of them had gone 
 out ; (how much, now, when both are darkened !) — still less 
 did I love God ; not that I had any quarrel with Him, or fear 
 of Ilim ; but simply found what people told me was His ser- 
 vice, disagreeable ; and what people told me was His book, 
 not entertaining. I had no companions to quarrel with, 
 neither ; nobody to assist, and nobody to thank. Not a ser- 
 vant was ever allowed to do anything for me, but what it 
 was their duty to do ; and why should I have been grateful 
 to the cook for cooking, or the gardener for gardening, — 
 when the one dared not give me a baked potatoe without 
 
42S 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 asking leave, and the other would not let my ants' nests 
 alone, because they made the walks untidy ? The evil con- 
 sequence of all this was not, however, what might perhaps 
 have been expected, that I grew up selfish or unaffectionate ; 
 but that, when affection did come, it came with violence ut- 
 terly rampant and unmanageable, at least by me, who never 
 before had anything to manage. 
 
 For (second of chief calamities) I had nothing to endure. 
 Danger or pain of any kind I knew not : my strength was 
 never exercised, my patience never tried, and my courage 
 never fortified. Not that I was ever afraid of anything, — 
 either ghosts, thunder, or beasts ; and one of the nearest 
 approaches to insubordination which I was ever tempted into 
 as a child, was in passionate effort to get leave to play with 
 the lion's cubs in Wombwell's menagerie. 
 
 Thirdly. I was taught no precision nor etiquette of man- 
 ners ; it was enough if, in the little society we saw, I re- 
 mained unobtrusive, and replied to a question without shy- 
 ness : but the shyness came later, and increased as I grew 
 conscious of the rudeness arising from the want of social dis- 
 cipline, and found it impossible to acquire, in advanced life, 
 dexterity in any bodily exercise, skill in any pleasing accom- 
 plishment, or ease and tact in ordinary behaviour. 
 
 Lastly, and chief of evils. My judgment of right and 
 wrong, and powers of independent action,* were left entirely 
 undeveloped ; because the bridle and blinkers were never 
 taken off me. Children should have their times of being off 
 duty, like soldiers ; and when once the obedience, if required, 
 is certain, the little creature should be very early put for 
 periods of practice in complete command of itself ; set on 
 the barebacked horse of its own will, and left to break it bv 
 its own strength. But the ceaseless authority exercised over 
 my youth left me, when cast out at last into the world, un- 
 able for some time to do more than drift with its elements. 
 My present courses of life are indeed not altogether of that 
 compliant nature ; but are, perhaps, more unaccommodating 
 
 * Action, observe, I say here ; in thought I was too independent, as 
 I said above. 
 
F0R8 GLAVIGERA, 
 
 429 
 
 than they need be in the insolence of reaction ; and the result 
 upon me, of the elements and the courses together, is, in 
 sum, that at my present age of fifty-six, while I have indeed 
 the sincerest admiration for the characters of Phocion, Cin- 
 cinnatus, and Caractacus, and am minded, so far as I may, 
 to follow the example of those worthy personages, my own 
 private little fanc}'^, in which, for never having indulged me, 
 I am always quarrelling with my Fortune, is still, as it 
 always was, to find Prince Ahmed's arrow, and marry the 
 Fairy Paribanou. 
 
 My present verdict, therefore, on the general tenour of my 
 education at that time, must be, that it was at once too 
 formal and too luxurious ; leaving my character, at the most 
 important moment for its construction, cramped indeed, but 
 not disciplined ; and only by protection innocent, instead of 
 by practice virtuous. My mother saw this herself, and but 
 too clearly, in later years ; and whenever I did anything 
 wrong, stupid, or hard-hearted, — (and I have done many 
 things that were all three), — always said, * It is because you 
 were too much indulofed.' 
 
 So strongly do 1 feel this, as I sip my coffee tin's morning, 
 (May 24tli), after being made profoundly miserable last 
 night, bcKiause 1 did not think it likely I should be accepted 
 if 1 made an olTer to any one of three beautiful vouno- ladies 
 who were crushing and rending my heart into a mere sham- 
 rock leaf, the whole afternoon ; nor had any power to do, 
 what I should have liked better still, send Giafar (without 
 Zobeide's knowing anything about it) to superintend the 
 immediate transport to my palace of ail three ; — that I am 
 afraid, if it were left to me at present to institute, without 
 help from kinder counsellors, the education of the N'^ounger 
 children on St. George's estate, the methods of the old woman 
 who lived in a shoe would be the first that occurred to me as 
 likely to conduce most directly to their future worth and felicity. 
 
 And I chanced, as Fors would have it, to fall, but last 
 week, as I was arranging some books bought two years ago, 
 and forgotten ever since, — on an instance of the use of ex- 
 treme severity in education, which cannot but commend itself 
 
430 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGEBA. 
 
 to the acceptance of every well informed English gentle* 
 woman. For all well informed English gentlewomen, and 
 gentle-maidens, have faithful respect for the memory of Lady 
 Jane Grey. 
 
 But I never myself, until the minute when I opened that 
 book, could at all understand Lady Jane Grey. I have seen 
 a great deal, thank Heaven, of good, and prudent, and clever 
 girls ; but not among the very best and wisest of them did 
 I ever find the slightest inclination to stop indoors to read 
 Plato, when all their people were in the Park. On the con- 
 trary, if any approach to such disposition manifested itself, 
 I found it was always, either because the scholastic young 
 person thought that somebody might possibly call, suppose 
 — myself, the Roger Ascham of her time, — or suppose some- 
 body else — who would prevent her, that day, from reading 
 " piu avanti," or because the author who engaged her atten- 
 tion, so far from being Plato himself, was, in many essential 
 particulars, anti-Platonic. And the more I thought of Lady 
 Jane Grey, the more she puzzled me. 
 
 Wherefore, opening, among my unexamined books, Roger 
 Ascham's Scholemccster^ printed by John Daye, dwelling over 
 Aldersgate, An. 1571, just at the page where he gives the 
 original account of the thing as it happened, 1 stopped in 
 my unpacking to decipher the black letter of it with atten- 
 tion ; which, by your leave, good reader, you shall also take 
 the trouble to do yourself, from this, as far as I can manage 
 to give it you, accurate facsimile of the old page. And trust 
 me that I have a reason for practising you in these old 
 letters, though I have no time to tell it you just now. 
 
 g^nbr axxt t^^m^Xt, b\zi^tt hbt xrr fmt ioi^ fjjotkt 
 moxt in a cYtVtjt for bntm aw5r Imning, g fmU glM^ 
 jfort: fal^ir]^ mag In \m)s ftrit]^ %fsxat iilmutty t UMtsbjti 
 \mi\ xanstt pro&te. g^fcu g fxitxA mto Germanie g tmt 
 in grxrlr-csfate in %timtm\ixt, ia ta£f mg Imbt at il^id nfs- 
 hit ITab'g Jane Grey^ Jto b:$\ssxtt | foras zuuVin% xmcl^ Jst- 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 431 
 
 all tjje \amt)ioVist, %txAlmm zrCis i&txAltfxitmtxtf fam 
 Igunting in il}t ^ark^: ^ fmnh ^tt in Ijtt c^vcmbtt, m- 
 iins Phsedon Platonis in 6mie, I tjat fxfit^ ss mnc1} it- 
 litt, as Rxrmt jintljeman fxianlii a wttrff lale m Bocase. 
 gift^ galtttatian, anJr Jmrfit irxrw^, Jtohl^ Bijmt jotj-er iatt, g 
 askeir ^^r, firl^j %]iu fjjtnxlb Imt %nc\ yastimf in t)it f arte? 
 i>miU»0 B^-et zmiatttif run : ^ foisa^f, all l]^m Bp0rt in tjjc 
 ^arb, is 6ut a 85ralr0fDr la tl^al pl-easuw J 3 ^^^^o : 
 
 gllaa, 000b faWtt t^tj ntfrfr Celt Jto^at tntt yUasuw mmt/' 
 Thus far, except in the trouble of reading black letters, I 
 have given you nothing new, or even freshly old. All this 
 we have lieard of the young lady a hundred times over. But 
 next to this, comes something wliich I fancy will be unex- 
 pected by most of my readers. For the fashion of all liter- 
 ary students, catering for the public, has hitherto been to 
 pick out of their author whatever bits they thought likely to 
 be acceptable to Demos, and to keep everything of suspicious 
 taste out of his dish of hashed hare. Nay, * he pares his 
 apple that will cleanly eat,' says honest George Herbert. I 
 am not wholly sure, however, even of that ; if the apple it- 
 self be clean off the bough, and the teeth of little Eve and 
 Adam, what teeth should be, it is quite questionable whether 
 the good old fashion of alternate bite be not the method of 
 finest enjoyment of flavour. But the modern frugivorous 
 public will soon have a steam-machine in Covcnt Garden, 
 to pick the straw out of their strawberries. 
 
 In accordance with which popular principle of natural se- 
 lection, the historians of Lady Jane's life, finding this first 
 opening of the scene at Brodegate so entirely charming and 
 graceful, and virtuous, and moral, and ducal, and large- 
 landed-estate-ish — without there being the slightest sugges- 
 tion in it of any principle, to which any body could possibly 
 object, — pounce upon it as a flawless gem ; and clearing from 
 it all the objectionable matrix, with delicate skill, set it forth 
 — changed about from one to another of the finest cases of 
 velvet eloquence to be got up for money — in the corner shop 
 — London and Ryder's, of the Bond Street of Vanity Fair. 
 
i32 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 But I, as an old mineralogist, like to see my gems in the 
 rock ; and always bring away the biggest piece I can break 
 with the heaviest hammer I can carry. Accordingly, I vent- 
 ure to beg of you also, good reader, to decipher farther this 
 piece of kindly Ascham's following narration : 
 
 J^ttJr J^0j&y tumt "^ztavLxatt tj)xa{\ U iYm ):itt'^t IxLtiia- 
 \tb%t xrf ^Immxt^ t hsbvii Vxts t\n^^ allnrje xtm mits it, 
 injg wxrt ntang iassxatxit Irui feerg itfxit ram ^vAt »tta:gtt^lr 
 i\mmta. g Mil MI g0ir, timtl^ %\ttr m)s itU g^ii a ixti% 
 h^Yit);! ^txc\nx\tt bill xanbtl ^xit of t^t smtt%i It-' 
 nt&ttti il^rtt tbtt &ah Qubt is, t^al ^tt %tnt tat no sl^aryii 
 nnir %tbtxt ^uxmttn, nnb %a gmth n ul^oohmmhx, ^ox fer|l 
 ^ in yxmxtct titlgtx of htbtx ox mot^tXt k'^dl^tx ^ 
 spafc^, ltt)gt «il^iw, git, jjtimbr, ox ga, mk, Wxnhtf bt m^ru, ox 
 gjrir, br^ jstoxring, glit^ingt irjntrmg, fc0ing angtl^ing thf ^ 
 iximt tot tt, m it Jtom, in gurlj lonjgP, m^asurjet i numb-er, 
 jelr^it %o ^j^txhctl^t as 6abf ntalr;e il^t tirxrrllr, xrr jells <g am %a 
 sl^arplj taxnttrbr, »0 mulls: i^xtuixithf gta j^r^sinllij S0mje- 
 ixmt%, bjii^ pinrl^^s, ng^r^s, anir iobht%t anJr ^tl^jer J&ragfS 
 jbI;i4T ^ luill itot name far tlje Iganox 3 bijaw t^i, 80 jfoitl^- 
 0ut mtmxxt xnimxl^txtiif t|rat ^ tl^rnlic sHf^ in T^tllt till 
 iimt tomt tl^at ^ iitust jg[0^ t0 M. Elmer b)^o ttulitll^ xatt 
 no gtxiiliff no ^Itn^mtlrr, bjiil} %xxtli Mxt nllxxxtxatitti to ItKX- 
 txhxcj tijat ^ iYxxilt all tlgt tixat n0t]^in0, fol^il-ea ^ am Jtoit)^ 
 bim, ^nir J0|^rn ^ am cnilttf fxo ]^im, ^ fall 0tt tofjpriirg, b^- 
 rarst, fx^Y^^^otbtx tr0^ rls but Itarninj, is full 0f jmfe, 
 tr0ubl^, fcari^^ anJr bljoh misIiRing trnt0 mtt, ^nh t^m mgf 
 hoolt i^at]^ bjcxn «0 nxnclg mjr $lcnmxtf t hxixxcfct^ Jrailg ta nxt 
 moxt pIxasuriJ t m0r>e, g in rrsg^rt 0f it, all 0tl;jer yl-easwr-es, 
 in btxjf itthc, btt but trifljes t tr0ubl£s nxito xixn. 
 
 Lady Jane ceases, Ascham speaks : g xtxtii 
 
 btx tj^is tnllt glairlg, lotlt brrnnsi^ it is S0 Mrtj^g 0f tatmo- 
 xrr i bjcraus>e als0 it toas t^t last talK^ tj^at tbtx ^ Jinb, anir 
 i^t last tim^, t^at tbtx | sa^or t^ut mUt i bjoxilijsi laJ^jj." 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 433 
 
 Now, for the clear understanding of this passage, — I ad- 
 jure you, gentle reader, (if you are such, and therefore capa- 
 ble of receiving adjuration) — in the name of St. George and 
 all saints, — of Edward III. and all knights, — of Alice of 
 Salisbury and all stainless wives, and of Jeanne of France 
 and all stainless maids, that you put at once out of your 
 mind, under penalty of sharpest Honte Ban, all such thought 
 as would first suggest itself to the modern novel writer, and 
 novel reader, concerning this matter, — namely, that the 
 young girl is in love with her tutor. She loves him rightly, 
 as all good and noble boys and girls necessarily love good 
 masters, — and no otherwise ; — is grateful to him rightly, and 
 no otherwise ; — happy with him and her book — rightly, and 
 no otherwise. 
 
 And that her father and mother, with whatever leaven of 
 human selfishness, or impetuous disgrace in the manner and 
 violence of their dealing with her, did, nevertheless, compel 
 their child to do all things that she did, — rightly, and no 
 otherwise, was, verily, though at that age she knew it but in 
 part, — the literally crowning and guiding Mercy -of her life, 
 — the plaited thorn upon the brow, and rooted thorn around 
 the feet, which are the tribute of Earth to the Princesses of 
 Heaven. 
 
 Vol. II.— 28 
 
434 
 
 F0R8 GLAVIOEBA. 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE, 
 
 The minds of many of the friends of Mr. Septimus Hansard appear ta 
 have been greatlj exercised by my insertion of, and comments on, the 
 newspaper paragraph respecting that gentleman's ministrations to the 
 poor of London. 
 
 I thought it unnecessary to take notice of the first communication 
 which I received on the subject, from a fashionable lady, informing me, 
 with much indignation, that Mr. Hansard had caught his fever in the 
 West-End, not in the East ; and had been sick in the best society. The 
 following letter is of more importance, and its writer having accepted 
 what he calls " my kind offer" to print it, I have no alternative, though 
 he mistook, or rather misplaced, the real kindness of my private note, 
 which lay in its recommendation to him,* not to accept the offer it 
 made. 
 
 "135, Waterlow Buildings, Wilmott Street, 
 
 Bethnal- Green, E., May 14, 1875. 
 
 *' Sir, — In your 49th Letter you say that we clergy are not priests, 
 and cannot sacrifice. You also say that we are wlwUy respoDsible for, 
 and the efficient causes of, horrible outrages on women. In your Slsfe 
 Letter you speak of my friend and chief, Mr. Hansard, as being cour- 
 ageous, impulsive, and generous, but complacent, and living a life "all 
 aglow in vain " ; and you compare him, in Bethnal Green, to a moth in 
 candle -grease. 
 
 " I know that I, as a priest, am responsible for much wrong-doing ; 
 but I must claim you, and all who have failed to be 'perfect stewards 
 of their material and spiritual property, as responsible with me and the 
 rest of the clergy for the ignorance and crime of our fellow-countrymen. 
 
 "But I would ask you whether Mr. Hansard's life, even as you know 
 it, (and you don't know half the St. George-like work he has done and 
 is doing,) is not a proof that we prieats can and do sacrifice ; — that we 
 can offer ourselves, our souls and bodies. 
 
 "Of course I agree with you and Mr. Lyttel that the preaching of 
 " Christ's life instead of our lives" is false and damnatory, but I am 
 sorry that instead of backing those who teach the true and salutary 
 Gospel, you condemn us all alike, wholesale. I thiuk you will find that 
 you will want even our help to get the true Gospel taught. 
 
 Allow me also to protest pretty strongly against my friends and 
 
 * At least, I think the tei-ms of my letter might have been easily construed into such re^ 
 commendation ; I fear they were not as clear as they might have been. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGEIIA. 
 
 435 
 
 neighbours here being compared to candle-grease. I fancy that, on 
 consideration, you would like to withdraw that parable ; perhaps, even, 
 you would like to make some kind of reparation, by helping us, candle- 
 grease-like Bethnal-greeners, to be better and happier. 
 
 I am one of those clergymen spoken of in Letter XLIX., and " hon- 
 estly believe myself impelled to say and do " many things by the Holy 
 Ghost; and for that very reason I am bound to remember that you and 
 other men are inspired also by the same Holy Ghost; and therefore to 
 look out for and take any help which you and others choose to give me. 
 
 *• It is because I have already received so much help from you that I 
 write this letter. 
 
 *' I am, yours faithfully, 
 
 Stewart D. Hkadlam, 
 
 Curate of St. Matthew's, Bethnal Green. 
 
 To John Ruskin, Esq., LL.D." 
 
 I at first intended to make no comments on this letter, but, as I re- 
 read, find it 80 modestly fast in its temper, and so perilously loose in its 
 divinity, as to make it my duty, while I congratulate the well-meaning 
 — and, I doubt not, well-doing — writer, on bis agreement with Mr. 
 Lyttel that the preaching of Christ's life, instead of our lives," is false 
 and damnatory ; also to observe to him that the sacrifice of our own 
 bodies, instead of Christ's body, is an equally heretical, and I can as- 
 sure him, no less dangerous, reformation of the Doctrine of the Mass. 
 I beg him also to believe that I meant no disrespect to his friends and 
 neighbours in comparing them to candle -grease. He is unaccustomed 
 to my simple English, and would surely not have been offended if I had 
 said, instead, oil for the light " ? If our chandlers, now-a-days, never 
 give us any so honest tallow as might fittingly be made the symbol of a 
 Christian congregation, is that my fault ? 
 
 I feel, however, tliat I do indeed owe some apology to Mr. Hansard 
 himself, to his many good and well- won friends, and especially to my 
 correspondent, Mr. Lyttel, for reprinting the following article from a 
 Birmingham paper — very imperfectly, I am sure, exemplifying the 
 lustre produced by ecclesiastical labour in polishing what, i)erhaps, I 
 shall again be held disrespectful, in likening to the Pewter, instead of 
 the Grease, and Candlestick instead of Caudle, of sacredly inflammable 
 ReUgious Society. 
 
 Propkssor Ruskin on thk Clergy. 
 
 Not many years ago one might throw almost any calumny against 
 the Church or her clergy without fear of contradiction or exposure. 
 Happily, for the cause of truth and justice, those days are gone — un- 
 happily, however, for the unfortunate individuals born too late for the 
 safe indulgence of their spleen. Amongst these, we fear, must be 
 reckoned Mr. Ruskin, the Oxford Professor of Fine Art. He issues 
 monthly a pamphlet, entitled Fars Clavigera^ being ostensibly *Let- 
 
436 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 ters to the Workmen and Labourers of Great Britain,' but the contents 
 of which do not appear likely to edify that class, even if the price (ten- 
 pence) were not prohibitory. In the forty-ninth of these letters a furi- 
 ous and wholly unjustifiable attack is made upon the Church. No 
 abuse is deemed too unjust or too coarse to bestow upon the clergy, and 
 they are assailed in a tone of vituperation worthy of the last century. 
 The Professor says that,* ' in general, any man's becoming a clergyman 
 in these days implies that, at best, his sentiment has overpowered his 
 intellect, and that, whatever the feebleness of the latter, the victory of 
 his impertinent piety has been probably owing to its alliance with his 
 conceit, and its promise to him of the gratification of being regarded as 
 an' oracle, without the trouble of becoming wise, or the grief of being 
 so.' Much more there is in the same insolent strain, as if the Profes- 
 sor's head had been turned by the height of critical infallibility to which 
 he has elevated himself, and from which he looks down with self-compla- 
 cent scorn and arrogance upon all fallible humanity, clerical or lay. He 
 concludes by appending * a specimen of the conduct of the Saints to 
 whom our English clergymen have delivered the Faith.* This specimen 
 is afforded, according to Mr. Iluskin, in two cases of revolting and almost 
 incredible barbarism, tried recently at Liverpool Assizes, in one of which 
 an unoffending man was kicked to death by a gang of street ruffians, in 
 the presence of an admiring crowd ; and in the other case, a drunken fe- 
 male tramp, drenched with the rain, was taken into a field and outraged 
 by half-a-dozen youths, after which they left her, and she was found 
 there next day dead. We need not enter into the details of these cases, 
 which were given fully enough at the time ; suffice it to say that in the 
 records of no age or nation will any tales be found surpassing these two 
 in savagery of mind and body, and in foulness of heart and soul. And 
 what is Mr. Ruskin's reason for resuscitating the memory of these hor- 
 rors ? What is the explanation that he has to give of them ? What is 
 the judgment that he has to pass upon them? Let our readers behold 
 it for themselves in his own words: — 'The clergy may vainly exclaim 
 against being made responsible for this state of thiugs. They, and chiefly 
 their Bishops, are wholly responsible for it ; nay, are efficiently the 
 causes of it, preaching a false gospel for hire.' These w^ords have the 
 one merit of being perfectly plain. Mr. Ruskin does not insinuate his 
 vile charge by any indirect hints or roundabout verbiage, but expresses 
 his infamous meaning as unambiguously as possible. The clergy, he 
 says, are ' wholly responsible ' for the murders and rapes which horrify 
 us, which, indeed, they * efficiently cause ' ; and the chiefs of these in- 
 carnate fiends are the Bishops. 
 
 This very intemperate attack elicited a few temperate remarks 
 from one of the maligned class. The Rev. E. Z. Lyttel, of Werrington, 
 near Peterborough, wrote to Mr. Ruskin thus : — ' I have been reading 
 your words to my conscience, but is it my unconscious hypocrisy, my self- 
 conceit, or my sentiment overpowering intellect which hinders me from 
 hearing the word Ouilty? The Gospel I endeavour with all my might 
 to preach and embody is this— Believe on, be persuaded by, the Lord 
 Jesus Christ; let His life rule your lives, and you shall be safe and 
 
 * I permit the waste of type, and, it may well be, of my reader's patience, involved in 
 reprinting (instead of mei-ely referring to) the quoted passages and letter, lest it should bo 
 thought that I wished to evade the points, or, by interruption, deaden the eloquence, of 
 the Birmingham article. 
 
F0R8 CLAVIOERA. 
 
 437 
 
 Bound now and everlastingly. Is this a false Gospel preached for hire ? 
 If not, what other Gospel do you refer to ? ' Mr. Lyttel seems to have 
 thought that the charge brought against himself and his clerical 
 brethren of causing murders and rapes was too gross tor notice, or too 
 intoxicated to merit denial. He contented himself with the foregoing 
 very mild reply, which, however, proved adequate to the occasion 
 which called it forth. Mr. Lyttel was recently curate of St. Barnabas, 
 in this town, and has also held a curacy in London. His personal ex- 
 perience gives him a claim to be heard when he assures the Professor 
 that he knows that the morality of the parishes with which he is best 
 acquainted has been made better, and not worse, by the self-sacrificing 
 efforts of the clergy. It is also pointed out that while Mr, Ruskin has 
 been freely travelling about in the enjoyment of beautiful scenery and 
 fresh air, Mr. Lyttel and other clergymen have been occupied from day 
 to day iu stuffy rooms, in crowded parishes, amongst ignorant and im- 
 moral people. And whilst the censorious Oxford luminary makes a 
 great fuss about getting paid for For 8 CUivigera and his other writ- 
 ings, Mr. Lyttel hints that surely the clergy should be paid for their 
 teaching too, being quite equally worthy of their hire. 
 
 Our ex-townsman has so effectually disposed of the Professor's 
 charges, that there is no need to endeavour to answer them further. 
 We have only noticed them so far in order to show our readers the ex- 
 tent to which hatred of the Church becomes a craze with some persons, 
 otherwise estimable no doubt, whose judgment is for the time 8wef)t 
 away by passion. That there is no pleasing such persons is the more 
 apparent from Mr. Kuskin's curious comments upon the well-known 
 story of the Rev. Septimus Hansard, the rector of Bethnal Green, who 
 has caught the small-pox, tho typhus fever, and the scarlet fever, on 
 three several occasions* in the discharge of his pastoral duties among 
 the sick poor. When he fell down in his pulpit with the small-pox, he 
 at once said he would go to an hospital, but refused to enter the cab 
 which his friends called, lest he should infect it ; and, a hearse happen- 
 ing to pass, he went in it — a fine instance of courage and self-devotion. 
 Mr. Hansard's stipend is five hundred a year, out of which he has to 
 pay two curates. And what has ]\Ir, Ruskin to say to this ? Surely 
 this must command his fuile^•t sympathy, admiration, and approval? 
 Far from it. His snarling comment is as follows: — 'I am veiy sure 
 that while he was saving one poor soul in Bethnal he was leaving ten 
 rich souls to be damned at Tyburn, each of which would damn a 
 thousand or two more by their example or neglect' This peculiar 
 mode of argument has the merit of being available under all circum- 
 stances ; for, of course, if Mr. Hansard's parish had happened to be 
 Tyburn instead of Bethnal, Mr. Ruskin would have been equally ready 
 with the glib remark that while the rector was saving one rich soul to 
 Tyburn, he was leaving ten poor souls to destruction in Bethnal. Are 
 we to understand that Mr. Ruskin thinks Mr. Hausard ought to be 
 able to be in two places at once, or are we to shrug our shoulders and 
 say that some persons are hard to please ? The heroism of self- 
 sacrifice Mr. Ruskin considers to be a waste and a mistake. Mr. Han- 
 
 ♦ Birmingham accepta, with the chiM-like confidence due by one able Editor to another, 
 the report of Brighton. But all Mr. Hansard's friends are furious with me for "spread- 
 ing it;" and I beg at once, on tlieir authority, to contradict it in all essential particur 
 lars ; and to apologize to Mr. Hansard for ever having bUKpected him of buch things. 
 
438 
 
 FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 sard's life has all, says the Professor, ' been but one fit of scarlet fevei 
 — and all aglow in vain.' That noble-minded men should devote them- 
 selves to the noblest work of the Church for the love of Christ, and of 
 those for whom He died, is apparently beyond Mr. Ruskin's concep- 
 tion. Love of sensation, he says, is the cause of it all. * Sensation 
 must be got out of death, or darkness, or f rightfulness. . . . And 
 the culmination of the black business is that the visible misery drags 
 and beguiles to its help all the enthusiastic simplicity of the religious 
 young, and the honest strength of the really noble type of English 
 clergymen, and swallows them, as Chary bdis would life -boats. Cour- 
 ageous and impulsive men, with just sense enough to make them 
 soundly piactical, and therefore complacent, in immediate business, 
 but not enough to enable them to see what the whole business comes 
 to when done, are sure to throw themselves desperately into the dirty 
 work, and die like lively moths in candle-grease.' We have read phil- 
 osophy something like the above extract elsewhere before, and we 
 think the philosopher's name was Harold Skimpole. What the gospel 
 is with which Mr. Ruskin proposes to supplant Christianity and to re- 
 generate the world we do not know. A gospel of this tone, however, 
 published in tenpenny instalments, is not likely ever to reach the hands 
 of the workmen and labourers of Great Britain, much less their hearts.'* 
 
 With this interesting ebullition, shall we call it, of Holy Water, or 
 beautiful explosion, — perhaps, more accurately, — of Holy Steam, in 
 one of our great manufacturing centres, a very furnace, it would ap- 
 pear, of heartfelt zeal for the Church, I wish I could at once compare 
 
 a description of the effects of similar zeal for the Chapel, given me 
 
 in a letter just received from Wakefield, for which I sincerely thank my 
 correspondent, and will assume, unless I hear further from him, his 
 permission to print a great part of said letter in next Fors. 
 
 My more practical readers may perhaps be growing desperate, at the 
 continued non-announcement of advance in my main scheme. But 
 the transference to the St. George's Company of the few acres of land 
 hitherto offered us, cannot be effected without the establishment of 
 the society on a legal basis, which I find the most practised counsel 
 Blow in reducing to terms such as the design could be carried out upon. 
 The form proposed shall, however, without fail, be submitted to the 
 existing members of the Company in my next letter. 
 
FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 439 
 
 LETTER LV. 
 
 No MORE letters, at present, reaching me, from clergy- 
 men, I use the breathing-time permitted me, to express 
 more clearly the meaning of my charge, — left in its brevity 
 obscure, — that, as a body, they " teach a false gospel for 
 hire." 
 
 It is obscure, because associating two charges quite dis- 
 tinct. The first, that, whether for hire or not, they preach 
 a false gospel. The second that whether they preach truth 
 or falsehood, they preach as liirelings. 
 
 It will be observed that the three clerg-vmen who have 
 successively corresponded with me — Mr. Tipple, Mr. Lyttel, 
 and Mr. Headlam — have every one, for their own part, ea- 
 gerly repudiated the doctrine of the Eleventh Article of the 
 Church of England. Nevertheless, the substance of that 
 article assuredly defines the method of salvation commonly 
 announced at this day from British pulpits ; and the effect 
 of this supremely pleasant and supremely false gospel, on 
 the British mind, may be best illustrated by the reply, made 
 only the other day, by a dishonest, but sincerely religious, 
 commercial gentleman, to an acquaintance of mine, who had 
 expressed surprise that he should come to church after do- 
 ing the things he was well known to do : " All, my friend, 
 my standard is just the publican's." 
 
 In the second place, while it is unquestionably true that 
 many clergymen are doing what Mr. Headlam complacently 
 points out their ability to do, — sacrificing, to wit, them- 
 selves, their souls, and bodies, (not that I clearly understand 
 what a clergyman means by sacrificing his soul,) without 
 any thought of temporal reward ; this preaching of Christ 
 has, nevertheless, become an acknowledged Profession, and 
 means of livelihood for gentlemen : and the Simony of to- 
 day differs only from that of apostolic times, in that, while 
 
440 
 
 FORS CLAVIGEBA, 
 
 the elder Simon thought the gift of the Holy Ghost worth 
 a considerable offer in ready money, the modem Simon 
 would on the whole refuse to accept the same gift of the 
 Third Person of the Trinity, without a nice little attached 
 income, a pretty churcli, with a steeple restored by Mr, 
 Scott, and an eligible neighbourhood. 
 
 These are the two main branches of the charge I meant to 
 gather into my short sentence ; and to these I now further 
 add, that in defence of this Profession, with its pride, privi- 
 lege, and more or less roseate repose of domestic felicity, 
 extremely beautiful and enviable in country parishes, the 
 clergy, as a body, have, with what energy and power was in 
 them, repelled the advance both of science and scholarship, 
 so far as either interfered with what they had been accus- 
 tomed to teach ; and connived at every abuse in public and 
 private conduct, with which they felt it would be considered 
 uncivil, and feared it might ultimately prove unsafe, to in- 
 terfere. 
 
 And that, therefore, seeing that they were put in charge 
 to preach the Gospel of Christ, and have preached a false 
 gospel instead of it ; and seeing that they were put in 
 charge to enforce the Law of Christ, and have permitted 
 license instead of it, they are answerable, as no other men 
 are answerable, for the existing^ "state of thinofs" in this 
 British nation, — a state now recorded in its courts of justice 
 as productive of crimes respecting which the Birmingham 
 Defender of the Faith himself declares that " in the records 
 of no age or nation will any tales be found surpassing these 
 in savagery of mind and body, and in foulness of heart and 
 soul." 
 
 Answerable, as no other men are, I repeat ; and entirely 
 disdain my correspondent Mr. Headlam's attempt to involve 
 me, or any other layman, in his responsibility. He has 
 taken on himself the office of teacher. Mine is a painter's ; 
 and I am plagued to death by having to teach instead of 
 him, and his brethren, — silent, they, for fear of their con- 
 gregations ! Which of them, from least to greatest, dares, 
 for instance, so much as to tell the truth to women about 
 
FORS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 441 
 
 their dress ? Which of them has forbidden his feminine 
 audience to wear fine bonnets in church ? Do they tliink 
 the dainty garlands are wreathed round the studiously 
 dressed hair, because a woman " should have power on her 
 liead because of the angels " ? Which of them understands 
 that text? — which of them enforces it? Dares the boldest 
 ritualist order his women-congregation to come all with 
 white napkins over their heads, rich and poor alike, and 
 have done with their bonnets? What, ^ You cannot order ' ? 
 You could say you wouldn't preach if you saw one bonnet 
 in the church, couldn't you ? * But everybody would say 
 you were mad.' Of course they would — and that the devil 
 Was in you. **If they have called the Master of the house 
 Beelzebub, how much more them of his household?*' but 
 now that ^all men speak well of you,* think you the Son of 
 Man will speak the same ? 
 
 And you, and especially your wives (as is likely!; are 
 very angry with me, I hear, on all hands ; — and think mo 
 hostile to you. As well might a carter asleep on his shafts 
 accuse me of being his enemy for trying to wake him ; or 
 his master's enemy, because I would fain not see the cart in 
 the ditch. Nay, this notable paragraph which has given 
 Mr. Hansard's friends so much offence, was credited and 
 printed by me, because I thought it one of the noblest in- 
 stances I had ever heard of energy and unselfishness ; and 
 though, of all the sects of ecclesiastics, for my own share, I 
 most dislike and distrust the so-called Evangelical, I took 
 the picture of Swiss life, which was meant to stand for a 
 perfect and true one, from the lips of an honest vicar of that 
 persuasion. 
 
 Which story, seeing that it has both been too long inter- 
 rupted, and that its entire lesson bears on what I have to say 
 respecting the ministrations of Felix Neff, 1 will interrupt 
 my too garrulous personal reminiscences by concluding, in 
 this letter, from that of March, 1874. 
 
 The old cart went again as well as ever ; and "he never 
 could have believed," said Ilansli, " that a cart could nave 
 
U2 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 taken itself up so, and become so extremely changed for the 
 better. That might be an example to many living creat- 
 ures/' 
 
 More than one young girl, however, in lier own secret 
 heart reproached Hansli for his choice — saying to herself 
 that she would have done for him quite as well. If she 
 had thought he had been in such a hurry, she could have 
 gone well enough, too, to put herself on his road, and pre- 
 vented him from looking at that rubbishy rag of a girl. She 
 never could have thought Hansli was such a goose, — he, who 
 might easily have married quite differently, if he had had 
 the sense to choose. As sure as the carnival was coming, he 
 would repent before he got to it. All the worse for him 
 — it's his own fault : as one makes one's bed, one lies in it." 
 
 But Hansli had not been a goose at all, and never found 
 anything to repent of. He had a little wife who was just 
 the very thing he wanted, — a little, modest, busy wife, who 
 made him as happy as if he had married Heaven itself in 
 person. 
 
 It is true that she didn't long help Hansli to pull the cart : 
 he soon found himself obliged to go in the shafts alone again ; 
 but aussi, once he saw he had a mustard,* he consoled him- 
 self. "What a fellow!" said he, examining him. "In a 
 wink, he'll be big enough to help me himself." And, there- 
 upon, away he went with his cart, all alone, without finding 
 any difference. 
 
 It is true that in a very little while his wife wanted to come 
 again to help him. " If only we make a little haste to get 
 back," said she, " the little one can wait well enough — besides 
 that the grandmother can give him something to drink while 
 we are away." But the mustard himself was not of their 
 mind, and soon made them walk in his own fashion. Thev 
 made all the haste they could to get home — but before they 
 were within half a league of their door, the wife cried out, 
 "Mercy, what's that !" "That" was a shrill crying like a 
 little pig's when it is being killed. "Mercy on us, what is it, 
 — what's the matter ! " cried she ; and left the cart, and ran 
 off at full speed : and there, sure enough, was the grand- 
 mother, whom the little thing's cries had put into a dreadful 
 fright lest it should have convulsions, and who could think 
 of nothing better than to bring it to meet mamma. The 
 heavy boy, the fright, and the run, had put the old woman so 
 
 * Moutard — not -arde ; but I can't give better than this English for it. 
 
FOBS GLAVIGBRA, 
 
 443 
 
 out of breath that it was really high time for somebody to 
 take tlie child. She was almost beside herself ; and it was 
 ever so long before she could say, " No — I won't have him 
 alone any more : in my life I never saw such a little wretch : 
 I had rather come and draw the cart.'' 
 
 These worthy people thus learned what it is to have a ty- 
 rant in one's house, little one though he be. But all that 
 didn't interrupt their household ways. The little wife found 
 plenty to do staying at home ; gardening, and helping to 
 make the brooms. Without ever hurrying anything, she 
 worked without ceasing, and was never tired, — so easily 
 things ran under her hand. Ilansli was all surprise to find 
 he got along so well with a wife ; and to find his purse grow- 
 ing fatter so fast. He leased a little field ; and the grand- 
 mother saw a goat in it ; presently two. He would not hear 
 of a donkey, but arranged with the miller, when he went to 
 the town, to carry some of his brooms for him ; whicli, it is 
 true, skimmed off a little of the profit, and that vexed Hansli, 
 who could not bear the smallest kreutzer to escape him. But 
 his life soon became quite simple and continuous. The days 
 followed each other like the waves of a river, without mucli 
 difference between one and another. Every year grew new 
 twigs to make brooms with. Every year, also, w^ithout put- 
 ting herself much about, his wife gave him a new baby. Slie 
 brought it, and planted it there. Every day it cried a little, 
 — every day it grew a little ; and, in a turn of the hand, it 
 w^as of use for sometiiing. The grandmother said tliat, old 
 as she was, she had never seen anything like it. It was, for 
 all the world, slie said, like the little cats, whicii, at six weeks 
 old, catch mice. And all these children were really like so 
 many blessings — the more tiiere came, tlie more money one 
 made. Very soon — only think of it — the grandmother saw 
 a cow arrive. If she had not with her own eyes seen Hansli 
 pay for it, it would have been almost impossible to make her 
 believe that he had not stolen it. If the poor old woman had 
 lived two years more,* she would even have seen Hansli be- 
 come himself the owner of the little cottage in which she had 
 lived so long, with forest right which gave him more wood 
 
 * Fate, and the good novelist, thus dismiss poor granilniamma in a 
 passing sentence, — just when we wanted her so much to live a little 
 longer, too ! But that is Fors^s way, and Gotthelf knows it. A bad 
 novelist would have made her live to exactly the proper moment, and 
 then die in a most instructive manner, and with pathetic incidents and 
 speeches which would have tilled a chapter. 
 
444 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 than he wanted ; and ground enough to keep a cow and two 
 sheep, which are convenient things enough, when one has 
 children who wear worsted stockings. 
 
 (Upon all that,* Hansli certainly owed a good deal, but 
 it was well-placed money, and no one v^^ould ask him for it, 
 as long as lie paid the interest to the day ; for the I'est, '*if 
 God lent him life, these debts did not trouble him," said he.) 
 He might then learn that the first kreutzers are the most 
 difficult to save. There's alwaj^s a hole they are running out 
 at, or a mouth to swallow them. But when once one has- 
 got to the point of having no more debts, and is completely 
 set on one's legs, then things begin to go ! — tiie very ground 
 seems to grow under your feet, — everything profits more and 
 more, — the rivulet becomes a river, and the gains become 
 always easier and larger : on one condition, nevertheless, 
 that one shall change nothing in one's way of life. For it is 
 just then that new needs spring out of the ground like 
 mushrooms on a dunghill, if not for the husband, at least for 
 the wife, — if not for the parents, at least for the children. 
 A thousand things seem to become necessary, of which we 
 had never thought ; and we are ashamed of ever so many 
 others, which till then had not given us the smallest concern ; 
 and we exaggerate the value of what we have, because once 
 we had nothing ; and our own value, because we attribute 
 our success to ourselves, — and, — one changes one's way of 
 life, and expenses increase, and labour lessens, and the 
 haughty spirit goes before the fall. 
 
 It was not so with Hansli. He continued to live and work 
 just the same ; and hardly ever spent anything at the inn ; 
 aussi, he rejoiced all the more to find something hot ready 
 for him when he came home ; and did honour to it. Nothing 
 was changed in him, unless that his strength for work became 
 always greater, little by little ; and his wife had the difficult 
 art of making the children serve themselves, each, according 
 to its age, — not with many words neither ; and she lierself 
 scarcely knew how. 
 
 A pedagogue would never have been able to get the least 
 explanation of it from her. Those children took care of each 
 other, helped their father to make his brooms, and their 
 mother in her work about the house ; none of them had the 
 least idea of the pleasures of doing nothing, nor of dreaming 
 
 * This paragraph implies, of course, the existence of all modern 
 abuses, — the story dealing only with the world cVS it is. 
 
F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 445 
 
 or lounging about ; and yet not one was overworked, or 
 neglected. They shot up like willows by a brookside, full of 
 vigour and gaiety. The parents had no time for idling with 
 them, but the children none the less knew their love, and 
 saw how pleased they were when their little ones did their 
 work well. Their parents prayed witli them : on Sundays 
 the father read them a chapter which he explained afterwards 
 as well as he could, and on account of that also the childien 
 were full of respect for him, considering him as the father of 
 the family who talks with God Himself (and who will tell 
 Him when children disobey"^). The degree of respect felt 
 by children for their parents depends always on the manner 
 in which the parents bear themselves to God. Why do not 
 all parents reflect moie on this? j 
 
 Nor was our Ilansli held in small esteem by other people, 
 any more than by his children. He was so decided and so 
 sure; words full of good sense were plenty with him; honour- 
 able in everything, he never set himself up for rich, nor 
 complained of being j)Oor ; so that many a pretty lady would 
 come expressly into the kitchen, when she heard that the 
 broom-merchant was there, to inform herself how things 
 went in the country, and how sucli and such a matter was 
 turning out. Nay, in many of the houses he was trusted to 
 lay in their winter provisions, a business which brought him 
 many a bright biitz. The Syndic's wife at Thun, iierself, 
 often had a chat with him ; it had become, so to speak, 
 really a pressing need with her to see him at Thun every 
 Saturday ; and when she was talking to him, it had happened, 
 not once nor twice, that M. tiie Syiulic liimself had been 
 obliored to wait for an answer to somethin<r he had asked his 
 wife. After all, a Syndic's wife may surely give herself 
 leave to talk a little according to her own fancy, once a 
 week. 
 
 One fine day, however, it was the Saturday at Thun, and 
 there was not in all the town a shadow of the broom-mer- 
 chant. Thence, aussi, great emotion, and grave faces. More 
 than one maid was on the door-steps, with her arms akimbo, 
 leaving quietly upstairs in the kitchen the soup and the meat 
 to agree with each other as best they might. 
 
 * A minute Evangelical fragment — dubi table enough. 
 
 f Primarily, because it is untrue. The respect of a child for its 
 parent depends on the parent's own personal character ; and not at all, 
 irrespective of that, on his religious behaviour. Which the practical 
 good sense of the reverend novelist picaeutly admits. 
 
446 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA, 
 
 "You haven't seen him then ? — have you heard nothing of 
 him?" — asked they, one of the other. More than one lady 
 ran into her kitchen, prepared to dress* her servant well, 
 from head to foot, because she hadn't been told when the 
 broom-merchant was there. But she found no servant there, 
 and only the broth boiling over. Madame the Syndic her- 
 self got disturbed ; and interrogated, first her husband, and 
 then the gendarme. And as they knew nothing, neither the 
 one nor the other, down siie went into the low town herself, 
 in person, to inquire after her broom-merchant. She was 
 quite out of brooms — and the year's house-cleaning was to 
 be done next week — and now no broom-merchant — je vous 
 demande ! f And truly enough, no broom-merchant appeared; 
 and durins: all the week there was a feelino- of want in the 
 town, and an enormous disquietude the next Saturday. 
 Will he come? Won't he come? He came, in effect ; and 
 if he had tried to answer all the questions put to him, would 
 not have got away again till the next week. He contented 
 himself with saying to everybody that he had been obliged 
 to go to the funeral." 
 
 " Whose funeral ? " asked Madame the Syndic, from whom 
 he could not escaj^e so easily. 
 
 " My sister's," answered the broom-merchant. 
 Wlio was she ? and when did they bury her ? " Madame 
 continued to ask. 
 
 The broom-merchat answered briefl}^ but frankly : aussi 
 Madame the Syndic cried out all at once, 
 
 "Mercy on us ! — are you the brother of that servant-girl 
 there's been such a noise about, who turned out at her 
 master's death to have been his wife, — and had all his fortune 
 left to her, and died herself soon afterwards?" 
 
 " It is precisely so," answered Hansli, dryly. J 
 
 " But — goodness of Heaven ! " cried Madame the Syndic, 
 "you inherit fifty thousand crowns at least, — and behold you 
 still running over the country with your brooms ! " 
 
 *" We keep the metaphor in the phrase, to * give a dressing,' but the 
 short verb is better, 
 f Untranslateable. 
 
 X It was unworthy of Gotthelf to spoil his story by this vulgar theat- 
 rical catastrophe ; and his object (namely, to exhibit the character of 
 Hansli in riches as well as poverty,) does not justify him ; for, to be an 
 example to those in his own position, Hanali should have remained in it. 
 We will, however, take what good we can get: several of the points for 
 the sake of which I have translated the whole story, are in this part 
 of it. 
 
FOllS CLAVIGEIiA. 
 
 447 
 
 ''Why not?" said Ilaiisli ; I haven't got that money, 
 yet ; and I'm not going to let go my sparrow in the hand 
 for a pigeon on the tiles." 
 
 Pigeon on the tiles, indeed ! " said Madame, — " ^vhy, we 
 were speaking of it only this morning — I and M. the Syndic; 
 and he said the thing was perfectly sure, and the money 
 came all to the brother." 
 
 "Ah, well, my faith, so much the better," said Hansli ; 
 *^ but about what I called to ask, — must vou have the brooms 
 in eight days, or fifteen ?" 
 
 "Ah, bah — you and your brooms," cried Madame the 
 Syndic ; " come in, will you ; — 1 want to see how wide 
 Monsieur will open his eyes ! " 
 
 "But, Madame, I am a little hurried to-day; it's along 
 way home from here, and the days are short." 
 
 "Long or short, come in, always," said Madame impera- 
 tively, — and Hansli had nothing for it but to obey. 
 
 She did not take him into the kitchen, but into the dining- 
 room ; sent her maid to tell Monsieur that Hansli was there, 
 — ordered up a bottle of wine, — and forced Hansli to sit 
 down, in spite of his continued protesting that he had no 
 time, and that the days were short. But in a wink the 
 Monsieur was there, sat down at the table also, and drank to 
 Hansli's health and happiness ; requiring him at the same 
 time to explain how that had all haj>|)ened. 
 
 "Ah, well, rU tell you in two words, — it is not long. As 
 soon as she had been confirmed, my sister went into the 
 world to look for work. She got on from place to place, and 
 "was much valued, it seems. As for us at home, she occupied 
 herself little about us : only came to see us twice, in all the 
 time ; and, since my mother died, not at all. 1 have met her 
 at Berne, it is true ; but she never asked me to come and 
 see where she lived, — only bid me salute the wife and chil- 
 dren, and said she would soon come, but she never did. It 
 is true she was not long at Berne, but was much out at 
 service in the neighbouring chateaux, and in French Switzer- 
 land, from what I hear. She had busy blood, and a fanciful 
 head, which never could stay long in the same place : but, 
 with that, well-conducted and proof-faithful ; * and one might 
 trust her fearlessly with anything. At last there came a re- 
 port that she had married a rich old gentleman, who did that 
 to punish his relations, with whom he was very angry ; but 
 
 * Fidele a toute epreuve. " 
 
448 
 
 F0R8 CLAVIGERA. 
 
 I didn't much believe it, nor much think about it. And 
 then, all of a sudden, I got word that I must go directly to 
 my sister if I wanted to see her alive, and that she lived in 
 the country by Morat. So I set out, and got there in time 
 to see her die ; but was not able to say much to her. Ag 
 soon as she was buried, I came back as fast as I could. I 
 was in a hurry to get home, for since I first set up house 1 
 had never lost so much time about the world." 
 
 "What's that? — lost so much time, indeed!'' cried 
 Madame the Syndic. "Ah, nonsense; — with your hity 
 thousand crowns, are you going to keep carrying broonis 
 about the country ?" 
 
 "But very certainly, Madame the Syndic," said Hansli, 
 "I only half trust the thing; it seems to me impossible I 
 should have so much. After all, they say it can't fail ; but 
 be it as it will, I shall go on living my own life ; r,o tliat if 
 there comes any hitch in the business, people shan't be able 
 to say of me, 'Ah, he thought himself already a gentleman, 
 did he ? Now he's glad to go back to his cart.! ' But if the 
 money really comes to me, I shall leave my brooms, though 
 not without regret ; but it would all the same, then, make 
 the world talk and laugh if I went on ; and I will not have 
 that." 
 
 "But that fortune is in safe hands, — it runs no dang-er?" 
 asked M. the Syndic. 
 
 "I think so," said Hansli. "I promised some money to 
 the man, if the heritage really came to me ; then he got 
 angry, and said, ' If it's yours, you'll have it ; and if it isn't, 
 money won't get it : for the expenses and taxes, you'll have 
 the account in proper time and place.' Then I saw the 
 thing was well placed ; and I can wait well enough, till the 
 time's up." 
 
 " But, in truth," said Madame the Syndic, "I can't under- 
 stand such a sanorfroid ! One has never seen the like of that 
 
 o 
 
 in Israel. That would make me leap out of my skin, if I was 
 your wife." 
 
 " You had better not," said Hansli, " at least until you have 
 found somebody able to put you into it again." 
 
 This sangfroid, and his carrying on his business, reconciled 
 many people to Hansli ; who were not the less very envious 
 of him : some indeed thought him a fool, and wanted to buy 
 the succession of him, declaring he would get nothing out of 
 it but lawsuits. 
 
 "What would you have ?" said Hansli. "In this world, 
 
FOBS CLAVIOERA, 
 
 449 
 
 one is sure of nothing'. It will be time to think of it if the 
 alTair gets into a mess." 
 
 But the affair got into nothing of the sort. Legal time 
 expired, he got invitation to Berne, when all difficulties were 
 cleared away. 
 
 When his wife saw him come back so rich, she began, first, 
 to cry ; and then, to scream. 
 
 So that Hansli had to ask her, again and again, what 
 was the matter with her, and whether anything had gone 
 wrong. 
 
 Ah, now," said his wife, at last, — (for she cried so sel- 
 dom, that she had all the more trouble to stop, when once 
 she began), — " Ah, now, you will despise me, because you 
 are so rich, and think that you would like to have another 
 sort of wife than me. I've done what I could, to this day ; 
 but now I'm nothing but an old rag.* If only I was already 
 six feet under ground ! " 
 
 Thereupon Ilansli sat himself down in his arm-chair, and 
 said : 
 
 " Wife, listen. Here are now nearly thirty years that we 
 have kept house ; and thou knowest, what one would liave, 
 the other would have, too. I've never once beaten thee, and 
 the bad words we may have said to each other would be 
 easily counted. Well, wife, I tell thee, do not begin to be 
 ill-tempered now, or do anything else than you have always 
 done. Everything must remain between us as in the past. 
 Tliis inheritance does not come from me ; nor from thee ; 
 but from the good God, for us two, ana ior our children. 
 And now, I advise thee, and liold it for as sure a tiling as if 
 it were written in the Bible, if you speak again of this to me 
 but once, be it with crying, or without, I will give thee a 
 beating wnth a new rope, such as that they may hear thee 
 cry from here to the Lake of Constance. Behold what is 
 said : now do as thou wilt." 
 
 It was resolute speaking ; much more resolute than the 
 diplomatic notes between Prussia and Austria. The wife 
 knew where siie was, and did not recommence her song. 
 Things remained between them as they had been. Before 
 abandoninor his brooms, Ilansli c^ave a turn of his hand to 
 them, and made a present of a dozen to all his customers, 
 carrying them to each in his own person. He has repeated 
 many a time since, and nearly always with tears in his eyes, 
 
 * ** Patraque," — machine out of repair, and uselesB. 
 Vol. IL— ^0 
 
450 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 that it was a day he could never forget, and that he never 
 would have believed people loved him so. 
 
 Farming his own land, he kept his activity and simplicity, 
 prayed and worked as he had always done ; but he knew the 
 difference between a farmer and a broom-seller, and did hon-= 
 our to his new position as he liad to his old one. He knew 
 well, already, Avhat was befitting in a farmer's house, and did 
 now for others as he had been thankful to have had done for 
 himself. 
 
 Tlie good God spared both of them to see their sons-in-law 
 happy in their wives, and their daughters-in-law full of re- 
 spect and tenderness for their husbands ; and were they yet 
 alive this day, they would see what deep roots their family 
 had struck in their native land, because it has remained 
 faithful to the vital germs of domestic life ; the love of work ; 
 and relioion : foundation that cannot be overthrown, un- 
 moved by mocking chance, or wavering winds. 
 
 I have no time, this month, to debate any of the debate 
 able matters in this story, though I have translated it that 
 we may together think of them as occasion serves. In the 
 meantime, note that the heads of question are these : — 
 
 I. (Already suggested in p. 1G9 of my letter for March, 
 1874.) What are the relative dignities and felicities of 
 affection, in simple and gentle loves ? How far do you think 
 the regard existing between Hansliand his wife may be com- 
 pared, for nobleness and delight, to Sir Philip Sidney's re- 
 gard for — his neighbour's wife ; or the relations between 
 Hansli and his sister, terminating in the brief ' was not able 
 to say much to her,' comparable to those between Sidney 
 and his sister, terminating in the completion of the brother's 
 Psalter by the sister's indistinguishably perfect song ? 
 
 n. If there be any difference, and you think the gentle 
 hearts have in anywise the better — how far do you think this 
 separation between gentle and simple inevitable ? Suppose 
 Sir Philip, for instance — among his many accomplishments — 
 had been also taught the art of making brooms, — (as indeed 
 I doubt not but his sister knew how to use them), — and time 
 had thus been left to the broom-makers of his day for the 
 fashionino- of sonnets ? or the reading- of more literature 
 
FOBS CLAVIOERA. 
 
 451 
 
 than a ^chapitre' on the Sunday afternoons? Might such 
 — not * division ' but * collation ' — of labour have bettered 
 both their lives ? 
 
 III. Or shall we rather be content with the apparent law 
 of Nature that there shall be divine Astrophels in the intel- 
 lectual heaven, and peaceful earthly glowworms on the banks 
 below ; or even — on the Evangelical theory of human nature 
 : — worms without any glow ? And shall we be content to see 
 our broom-maker's children, at the best, growing up, as wil- 
 lows by the brook — or in the simplest and innumerablest 
 crowd, as rushes in a marsh : — so lonor as thev have whole- 
 some pith and sufficing strength to be securely sat upon in 
 rush-bottomed chairs ; while their masters' and lords' chil- 
 dren grow as roses on the mount of Sharon, and untoiling 
 lilies in the vales of Lebanon ? 
 
 IV. And even if we admit that the lives Penshurst, and 
 by the woods of Muri, though thus to be kept separate, are 
 yet, each in their manner, good, how far is the good of either 
 of them dependent merely, as our reverend Novelist tells us, 
 on "work" (with lance or willow wand) and " religion," or 
 liow far on the particular circumstances and landscape of 
 Kent and Canton Berne, — while, in other parts of England 
 and Switzerland, less favourably conditioned, the ministra- 
 tion of Mr. Septimus Hansard and Mr. Felix Neff will be 
 always required, for the mitigation of the deeper human 
 miserv, — meditation on which is to make our sweet Eni^lish 
 ladies comfortable in nursing their cats? 
 
 Leaving the first two of these questions to the reader's 
 thoughts, I will answer the last two for him ; — The extremi- 
 ties of human degradation are not owing to natural causes ; 
 but to the habitual preying upon the labour of the poor by 
 the luxury of the rich ; and they are only encouraged and 
 increased by the local efforts of religious charity. The 
 clero'v can neither absolve the rich from their sins for 
 money — nor release them from their duties, for love. 
 Their business is not to soothe, by their saintly and dis- 
 tant example, the soft moments of cat-nursing ; but sternly 
 to forbid cat-nursing, till no child is left unnursed. And if 
 
452 
 
 FOBS GLAVIGERA. 
 
 this true discipline of the Church were carried out, and the 
 larger body of less saintly clerical gentlemen, and .Z/ifelix 
 Neffs, who now dine with the rich and preach to the poor, 
 were accustomed, on the contrary, to dine with the poor and 
 preach to the rich ; though still the various passions and 
 powers of the several orders would remain where the provi- 
 dence of Heaven placed them — and the useful reed and use- 
 less rose would still bind the wintry waters with their border, 
 and brighten the May sunshine with their bloom, — for each, 
 their happy being would be fulfilled in peace in the garden 
 of the world ; and the glow, if not of immortal, at least of 
 sacredl}'' bequeathed, life, and endlessly cherished memory, 
 abide even within its chambers of the tomb. 
 
FOIiS GLA VIOERA. 453 
 
 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 I. — I publish the following leg-al documents — the first articles for 
 which I have to expend any of St. George's money, — intact : venturing 
 not so much as the profanity of punctuation. The Memorandum is 
 drawn up by one of our leading counsel, from my sketch of what I 
 wanted. The points on which it may need some modification are re- 
 ferred to in my added notes ; and I now invite farther criticism or sug- 
 gestion from the subscribers to the Fund. 
 
 "2, Bond Court, Walbuook, London, E. C, 
 " June Iblhj 1875. 
 
 " St. George's Company. 
 Dear Sir, — According to the promise in our Mr. Tarrant's letter of 
 the 11th, we now beg to send you wha'i Mr. Win. Barber, after reading 
 your sketch, has approved of as the written fundamental laws of the 
 Company, — though we shall be quite prepared to find that some altera- 
 tions in it are still necessary to express your views correctly. 
 ** We are, 
 
 '^Dear Sir, 
 
 Yours faithfully, 
 
 Tarrant & Mackuell. 
 ** Professor Ruskin, Corpus Ch. Coll. , Oxford." 
 
 MEMORANDUM AND STATUTES OF THE COMPANY OF ST. 
 
 GEORGE. 
 
 The Company is constituted with the object of determining and in- 
 stituting in practice the wholesome laws of agricultural life and econ- 
 omy and of instructing the agriculLural labourer in the science art and 
 literature of good husbandry, (a) 
 
 With this object it is proposed to acquire by gift purchase or other- 
 wise plots or tracts of land in different parts of the country which will 
 bo brought into such state of cultivation or left uncultivated or turned 
 into waste or common land and applied to such purposes as having re- 
 gard to the nature of the soil and other surrounding circumstances may 
 in each case be thought to be most generally useful. 
 
 The members of the Comxmny shall be styled Companions of the Com- 
 pany of St George (b) Any ])crson may become a Companion by sub- 
 scribing not less than £ in money to Ihe funds of the Company or 
 by making a gift to the Company of land not less than £ in value 
 
454 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGEEA. 
 
 (c) and by having his name entered on the Roll of Companions with 
 due solemnity. 
 
 The name of every Companion shall be entered on the Roll of Com- 
 pnnioDs either by himself in the presence of two witnesses of full age 
 who shall attest such entry or if the Companion shall so desire by the 
 Master of the Company with the same formalities The Roll of Com- 
 panions shall be kept in safe custody within the walls of the College of 
 Corpus Christi in Oxford or at such other safe and commodious place 
 as the Companions shall from time to time direct. 
 
 Each Companion shall by virtue of the entry of his name on the Roll 
 be deemed to have bound himself by a solemn vow and promise as 
 strict as if the same had been ratified by oath to be true and loyal to the 
 Company and to the best of his power and might so far as in him lies 
 to forward and advance the objects and interests thereof and faithfully 
 to keep and obey the statutes and rules thereof yet so nevertheless that 
 he shall not be bound in any way to harass annoy injure or inconven- 
 ience his neighbour. 
 
 Chief among the Companions of the Company shall be the Master 
 thereof who so long as he shall hold office shall have full and absolute 
 power at his will and pleasure to make and repeal laws and bye laws {d) 
 and in all respects to rule regulate manage and direct the affairs of the 
 Company and receive apply and administer funds and subscriptions in 
 aid of its objects and to purchase acquire cultivate manage lease sell or 
 otherwise dispose of the estates and properties of the Company and 
 generally direct and control the operations thereof. 
 
 The Master shall be elected and may from time to time and at any 
 time be deposed by the votes of a majority in number of the Companions 
 in General Meeting assembled but except in the event of his resignation 
 or deposition shall hold office for life The first Master of the Company 
 shall be John Ruskin who shall however (subject to re-election) only 
 hold office until the first General Meeting of the Companions. 
 
 The Master shall render to each Companion and shall be at liberty if 
 he shall so think fit to print for public circulation a monthly report and 
 account of the operations and financial position of the Company. 
 
 No Master or other Companion of the Company shall either directly 
 or indirectly receive any pny profit emolument or advantage whatsoever 
 from out of by or by means of his office or position as a member of the 
 Company. 
 
 The practical supervision and management of the estates and proper- 
 ties of the Company shall subject to the direction and control of the 
 Master be entrusted to and carried out by land agents tenants and la- 
 bourers who shall be styled Retainers of the Company. 
 
 The name of each Retainer in the permanent employ of the Company 
 shall be entered in a Register to be called the Roll of Retainers and to 
 be kept at the same place as the Roll of Companions Such entry shall 
 be made either by the Retainer himself in the presence of one AvitneFS 
 of full age who shall attest the entry or if the Retainer shall so desire 
 by the Master with the same formalities. 
 
 No pecuniary liability shall attach to any Retainer of the Company 
 by virtue of his position as such but each Retainer shall by virtue of the 
 entry of his name on the Roll be deemed to have bound himself by a 
 solemn vow and promise as strict as if the same had been ratified by 
 oath to be true and loyal to the Company and faithfully to keep and 
 
FORS CLAVIGEJiA. 
 
 455 
 
 obey the statutes and rules thereof and the orders and commands of the 
 officers of the Company who from time to time may be set over him. 
 
 Each land agent and labourer being a Retainer of the Company shall 
 receive and be paid a fixed salary in return for his services and shall not 
 by perquisites commissions or any other means whatever either directly 
 or indirectly receive or acquire any pay profit emolument or advantages 
 whatever other than such fixed salary from out of or by means of his 
 office or position as a Retainer of the Company. 
 
 The rents and profits to be derived from the estates and properties of 
 the Company shall be applied in the first instance in the development of 
 the land (e) and the physical intellectual moral social and religious im- 
 provement of the residents thereon in such manner as the Master shall 
 from time to time direct or approve and the surplus rents and profits if 
 any shall be applied in reduction of the amount paid by the tenants in 
 proportion to their respective skill and industry either by a gradual re- 
 mission of rent towards the close of the tenancy or in such other way as 
 may be thought best but in no case shall the Companions personally de- 
 rive any rents or profits from the property of the Com[)any. 
 
 All land and hereditaments for the time being belonging to the Com- 
 pany shall be conveyed to and vested in any two or more of the Compan- 
 ions whom the Master may from time to time select for the office as 
 Trustees of the Company and sliall be dealt with by them according to 
 the directions of the Master. (/) 
 
 The property of the Company shall belong to the Companions in the 
 shares and proportions in which they shall have respectively contributed 
 or by succession or accruer become entitled to the same. 
 
 Each Companion shall be entitled by writing under his hand during 
 his lifetime or by will or codicil to api^K)int one person as his successor 
 in the Company and such person shall on entry ol' his name on the Roll 
 of Companions in compliance with the formalities hereinbefore pre- 
 scribed become a Companion of the Company and become entitled to 
 the share of his appointer in the property of the Company. (<;) 
 
 Each Companion shall at any time be entitled to resign his position 
 by giving to the Master a Notice under his hand of his desire and inten- 
 tion so to do. 
 
 If any Companion shall resign his position or die without having ap- 
 pointed a successor or if the person so appointed shall for calendar 
 months alter the date when notice of such resignation shall have been 
 received by the Master or after the date of such death as the case may 
 be fail to have his name entered on the Roll of Companions in compli- 
 ance with the formalities hereinbefore prescribed his share in the prop- 
 erty of the Company shall forthwith become forfeited and shall accrue 
 to the other Companions in the shares and proportions in which tbey 
 shall i?it€J' se be for the time being entitled to the property o£ the Com- 
 pany, [h) 
 
 The Company may at any time be dissolved by the Votes of three- 
 fourths of the Companions in General Meeting assembled and in the 
 event of the Company being so dissolved or being dissolved by any other 
 means not hereinbefore specially provided for the property of the Com- 
 pany shall subject to the debts liabilities and engagements thereof be- 
 come divisible among the Companions for the time being in the shares 
 and proportions in which they shall for the time being be entitled thereto 
 yet so nevertheless that all leases agreements for leases and other ten- 
 
456 
 
 FOES CLAVIOERA. 
 
 ancies for the time being subsisting on the property of the Company shall 
 bind the persons among whom the property comprised therein shall so 
 become divisible and shall continue as valid and effectual to all intents 
 and purposes as if the Company had not been dissolved. 
 
 Notes on the above Mkmorandum. 
 
 {a) This sentence must be changed into : such science art and 
 literature as are properly connected with husbandry." 
 
 {b) In my sketch, I wrote Companions of St. George. But as the 
 existence of St. George cannot be legally proved or assumed, the tauto- 
 logically legal phrase must be permitted. 
 
 {c) This clause cannot stand. The admission into the Company must 
 not be purchaseable ; also many persons capable of giving enthusiastic 
 and wise help as Companions, may be unable to subscribe money. 
 Nothing can be required as a condition of entrance, except the consent 
 of the Master, and signature promising obedience to the laws. 
 
 {d) This clause needs much development. For though the Master 
 must be entirely unrestrained in action within the limits of the Laws of 
 the Company, he must not change or add to them without some manner 
 of consultation with the Companions. Even in now founding the So- 
 ciety, I do nofc venture to write a constitution for it without inviting the 
 help of its existing members ; and when once its main laws are agreed 
 upon, they must be iuabrogable without the same concurrence of the 
 members which would be necessary to dissolve the Society altogether. 
 
 {e) To the development, and enlargement, of the Society's opera- 
 tions, also. 
 
 (/) I do not think the Master should have the power of choosing the 
 Trustees. I was obliged to do so, before any Society was in existence ; 
 but the Trustees have to verify the Master's accounts, and otherwise 
 act as a check upon him. They must not, therefore, be chosen by him. 
 
 (g) A questionable clause, which I have not at present time to dis- 
 cuss. 
 
 {h) Partly the corollary of {g). The word ' forfeited ' is morally, if 
 not legally, objectionable. No idea of forfeiture ought to attach to 
 the resolved surrender of transferable claim ; or to the accidental in- 
 ability to discover a fitting successor. 
 
 Reserving, therefore, the above clauses for future modification, the 
 rest of the Memorandum fully expresses what seems to me desirable for 
 the first basis of our constitution ; and I shall be glad to hear whether 
 any of the present subscribers to St. George's Fund will join me on 
 these conditions. 
 
 II. — I should willingly have printed the letter from which the 
 following extracts are taken, (with comments,) as a Fors by itself ; 
 but having other matters pressing, must content myself to leave it 
 
FOBS GLAVIOERA. 
 
 457 
 
 in the smaller print. The more interesting half of it is still reserved 
 for next month. 
 
 *'What long years have passed since my eyes first saw the calm 
 sweet scene beyond Wakefield Bridge ! I was but a small creature then, 
 and had never been far from my mother's door. It was a memorable 
 day for me when I toddled a full mile from the shady up-town street 
 where we lived, past strange windows, over unfamiliar flags, to see the 
 big weir and the chapel on the Bridge. Standing on tiptoe, I could just 
 see over the parapet and look down-stream. 
 
 *' That was my first peep into fair, green England, and destined never 
 to be forgotten. The gray old chapel, the shining water below, the 
 far- winding green banks spangled with buttercups, the grove- clad hills 
 of Heath and Kirkthorpe, — all seemed to pass into my heart for ever. 
 
 There was no railway then, only the Doncaster coach careering 
 over the Bridge with a brave sound of horn ; fields and farmsteads 
 Btood where the Kirkgate station is ; where the twenty black throats 
 of the foundry belch out flame and soot, there were only strawberiy- 
 grounds and blossoming pear-orchards, among which the throstles and 
 blackbirds were shouting for gladness. 
 
 "The chapel lay neglected in a nest of wild willows, and a peaceful 
 cobbler dwelt in it. As I looked at it, Duke Richard and King Edward 
 became living realities to me ; the dry bones of Pinnock's Catechism 
 started suddenly into life. That was the real old chapel of the fifteenth 
 century. Some years after, they ousted the cobbler, pulled down tho 
 old stones, restored it, and opened it for ritualistic worship ; but the 
 cheap stonework has crumbled away again, and it now looks as ancient 
 as in days of yore. Only, as 1 remember it, it had a white hoariness : 
 the foundry smoke has made it black at the present day. 
 
 *' Some of my companions had been farther out in the world than 
 myself. They pointed out the dusky shape of Heath Hull, seen 
 
 through the thinly-clad elm-trees, and told me liow old Lady 'a 
 
 ghost still walked there on stormy nights. Beyond was Kirkthorpe, 
 where the forlorn shapes of the exiled Spanish nuns had been seen flit- 
 ting about their graves in the churchyard. 
 
 There on the right was the tree-crowned mound of Sandal Castle, 
 which Cromwell had blown down; the dry ditch was full of primroses, 
 they told me ; those woods bounded Crofton, famous for its cowslip 
 fields ; and in Heath wood you would see the ground white with snow- 
 drops in March. 
 
 I do not think that it is the [)artiality of a native that makes ma 
 think you could hardly find a fairer inland pastoral scene, than the one 
 I beheld from Wakefield Bridge the first time I stood there. On the 
 chapel side there was the soft green English landscape, with woods and 
 spires and halls, and the brown sails of boats silently moving among tho 
 flowery banks ; on the town side there were picturesque traffic and 
 life ; the thundering weir, the wide still water beyond, the big dark- 
 red granaries, with balconies and archways to the water, and the lofty 
 white mills grinding out their cheering music. 
 
 But there were no worse shapes than honest, dusty millers* men, 
 And browned boatmen, decent people; no open vileness and foul 
 language were rampant in our quiet clean town in thc>se days. I can 
 remember how clean the pavement used to look there, and at Don- 
 
468 
 
 FOBS CLAVIGERA. 
 
 caster. Both towns are incredibly dirty now. I cannot bear to I00I5 
 at the filthy beslavered causeway, in places where 1 remember to have 
 never seen anything worse than the big round thunder drops I used to 
 watch with gleeful interest. 
 
 "In those days we were proud of the cleanness and sweet air and 
 gentility of Wakefield. Leeds was then considered rather vulgar, as a 
 factory town, and Bradford was obscure, rough, and wild ; but Wake- 
 field prided itself in lefined living on moderate means, and cultured 
 people of small income were fond of settling there. 
 Market day used to be a great event for us all. 
 
 •'Iwish that you could have seen the handsome farmers' wives 
 ranged round the church walls, with their baskets of apricots and 
 cream cheese, before reform came, and they swept away my dear old 
 school-house of the seventeenth century, to make an ugly barren desert 
 of a market ground. You might have seen, too, the pretty cottagers' 
 daughters, with their bunches of lavender and baskets of fruit, or heaps 
 of cowslips and primroses for the wine and vinegar Wakefield house- 
 wives prided themselves upon. On certain days they stood to be hired 
 as maid-servants, and were prized in the country round as neat, clean, 
 modesfc-spokeu girls. 
 
 *'I do not know where they are gone to now, — I suppose to the 
 factories. Anyhow, Wakefield ladies cry out that they must get ser- 
 vants from London, and Stafford, and Wales. So class gets parted 
 from class. 
 
 Things were different then. Well-to-do ladies prided themselves on 
 doing their marketing in person, and kindly feeling and acquaintance- 
 ship sprang up between town and country folk. My Wakefield friends 
 nowadays laugh at the idea of going to market. They order every- 
 thing through the cook, and hardly know their own tradespeople by 
 sight. We used to get delicious butter at tenpence a pound, and such 
 curds and cream cheese as I never taste now. *Cook' brings in in- 
 different butter mostly, at near two shillings. 
 
 '*As for the fanners' wives, they would not like to be seen with a 
 butter-basket. They mostly send the. dairy, produce off by rail to 
 people whom they never see, and thus class is more sundered from 
 class every day, even by the very facilities that railways afford. I can 
 remember that the townspeople had simple merry-makings and neigh- 
 bourly ways that this generation would scorn. Many a pleasant walk 
 we had to the farms and halls that belted the old town ; and boating 
 parties on the Calder, and tea-drinkings and dances — mostly extem- 
 pore, — in the easy fashion of Vicar Primrose's days. 
 
 But pleasure must be sought farther off now. Our young folks go 
 to London or Paris for their recreation. People seem to have no leisure 
 for being neighbourly, or to get settled in their houses. They seem to 
 be all expecting to make a heap of money, and to be much grander 
 presently, and finally to live in halls and villas, and look down on their 
 early friends. 
 
 '*But I am sorry for the young people. They run through every- 
 thing so soon, and have nothing left to hope for or dream of in a few 
 years. They are better dressed than we were, and have more accom- 
 plishments ; but I cannot help thinking that we young folks were 
 happier in the old times, though shillings v/ere not half so plentiful, 
 and we had only two frocks a year. 
 
FOES CLAVIGKKA. 
 
 459 
 
 " Tradespeople were different, too, in old Wakefield. 
 They expected to live with us all iheir lives ; they had high notiona 
 of honour as tradesmen, and they and their customers respected each 
 other. 
 
 They prided themselves on the ' wear ' of their goods. If they had 
 passed upon the housewives a piece of sized calico or shoddy flannel, 
 they would have heard of it for years after. 
 
 "Now the richer ladies go to Leeds or Manchester to make pur- 
 chases : the town tradesmen are soured and jealous. They put up big 
 plate-glass fronts, and send out flaming bills ; but one does not know 
 where to geo a piece of sound calico or stout linen, well spun and well 
 woven. 
 
 ''Give me back our dingy old shops where everything was genuine, 
 instead of these glass palaces where we often get pins without points, 
 needles without eyes, and sewing thread sixty yards to the hundred — 
 which I actually heard a young Quaker defend the other day as an 
 allowable trade practice." 
 
 III. — I venture to print the following sentences from *'a poor 
 mother's" letter, that ray reply may be more generally intelligible. I 
 wish I could say, useful ; but the want of an art-grammar is eveiy day 
 becoming more felt : — 
 
 *' I am rather ashamed to tell you how young he is (not quite eleven), 
 fearing you will say I have troubled you idly; but I was sincerely 
 anxious to know your views on the training of a boy for some definite 
 sort of art-work, and I have always fancied such training ought to 
 begin very early, — [yes, assuredly], — also, there are reasons why we 
 must decide early in what direction we shall look out for employment 
 for him." 
 
 (I never would advise any parents to look for employment in art as a 
 means of their children's support. It is only when the natural bias is 
 quite uncontrollable, that future eminence, and comfort of material 
 circumstances, can be looked for. And when it is uncontrollable, it 
 ceases to be a question whether we should control it. We have only to 
 guide it.) 
 
 " But I seem to dread the results of letting hira run idle until he is 
 fourteen or fifteen years old — [most wisely] — and a poor and busy 
 mother like me has not time to superintend the employment of a boy 
 as a richer one might. This makes me long to put him to work under 
 a master early. As he does fo little at book-learning, would the 
 practical learning of stone-cutting under the village stonemason (a good 
 man) be likely to lead to anything further ? 
 
 I do not know, but it would be of the greatest service to the boy 
 meanwhile. Let him learn good joiners* work also, and to plough, with 
 time allowed him for drawing. I feel more and more the need of a 
 useful grammar of art for young people, and simple elementary teach- 
 ing in public schools. I have always hoped to remedy this want, but 
 have been hindered hitherto.