Character.............................................................................................................................................................1

Samuel Smiles ..........................................................................................................................................1

CHAPTER I.INFLUENCE OF CHARACTER. .................................................................................1

CHAPTER II.HOME POWER.........................................................................................................14

CHAPTER III.COMPANIONSHIP AND EXAMPLES..................................................................28

CHAPTER IV.WORK......................................................................................................................38

CHAPTER V.COURAGE. ................................................................................................................54

CHAPTER VI.SELFCONTROL....................................................................................................69

CHAPTER VII.DUTYTRUTHFULNESS. ..................................................................................82

CHAPTER VIII.TEMPER................................................................................................................95

CHAPTER IX.MANNERART. ..................................................................................................103

CHAPTER XCOMPANIONSHIP OF BOOKS.............................................................................116

CHAPTER XI.COMPANIONSHIP IN MARRIAGE....................................................................131

CHAPTER XIITHE DISCIPLINE OF EXPERIENCE..................................................................149

Character is one of the greatest motive powers in the world. In its noblest embodiments, it exemplifies human

Men of genuine excellence, in every station of lifemen of industry, of integrity, of high principle, of

sterling honesty of purposecommand the spontaneous homage of mankind. It is natural to believe in such

men, to have confidence in them, and to imitate them. All that is good in the world is upheld by them, and

Although genius always commands admiration, character most secures respect. The former is more the

product of brainpower, the latter of heartpower; and in the long run it is the heart that rules in life. Men of

genius stand to society in the relation of its intellect, as men of character of its conscience; and while the

Great men are always exceptional men; and greatness itself is but comparative. Indeed, the range of most men

in life is so limited, that very few have the opportunity of being great. But each man can act his part honestly

and honourably, and to the best of his ability. He can use his gifts, and not abuse them. He can strive to make

the best of life. He can be true, just, honest, and faithful, even in small things. In a word, he can do his Duty

Commonplace though it may appear, this doing of one's Duty embodies the highest ideal of life and

character. There may be nothing heroic about it; but the common lot of men is not heroic. And though the

abiding sense of Duty upholds man in his highest attitudes, it also equally sustains him in the transaction of

the ordinary affairs of everyday existence. Man's life is "centred in the sphere of common duties." The most

influential of all the virtues are those which are the most in request for daily use. They wear the best, and last

the longest. Superfine virtues, which are above the standard of common men, may only be sources of

temptation and danger. Burke has truly said that "the human system which rests for its basis on the heroic

When Dr. Abbot, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, drew the character of his deceased friend Thomas

Sackville, (1) he did not dwell upon his merits as a statesman, or his genius as a poet, but upon his virtues as

a man in relation to the ordinary duties of life. "How many rare things were in him!" said he. "Who more

loving unto his wife? Who more kind unto his children?Who more fast unto his friend?Who more

moderate unto his enemy?Who more true to his word?" Indeed, we can always better understand and

appreciate a man's real character by the manner in which he conducts himself towards those who are the most

nearly related to him, and by his transaction of the seemingly commonplace details of daily duty, than by his

At the same time, while Duty, for the most part, applies to the conduct of affairs in common life by the

average of common men, it is also a sustaining power to men of the very highest standard of character. They

may not have either money, or property, or learning, or power; and yet they may be strong in heart and rich in

spirithonest, truthful, dutiful. And whoever strives to do his duty faithfully is fulfilling the purpose for

which he was created, and building up in himself the principles of a manly character. There are many persons

of whom it may be said that they have no other possession in the world but their character, and yet they stand

Intellectual culture has no necessary relation to purity or excellence of character. In the New Testament,

appeals are constantly made to the heart of man and to "the spirit we are of," whilst allusions to the intellect

are of very rare occurrence. "A handful of good life," says George Herbert, "is worth a bushel of learning."

Not that learning is to be despised, but that it must be allied to goodness. Intellectual capacity is sometimes

found associated with the meanest moral character with abject servility to those in high places, and arrogance

to those of low estate. A man may be accomplished in art, literature, and science, and yet, in honesty, virtue,

truthfulness, and the spirit of duty, be entitled to take rank after many a poor and illiterate peasant.

"You insist," wrote Perthes to a friend, "on respect for learned men. I say, Amen! But, at the same time, don't

forget that largeness of mind, depth of thought, appreciation of the lofty, experience of the world, delicacy of

manner, tact and energy in action, love of truth, honesty, and amiabilitythat all these may be wanting in a

When some one, in Sir Walter Scott's hearing, made a remark as to the value of literary talents and

accomplishments, as if they were above all things to be esteemed and honoured, he observed, "God help us!

what a poor world this would be if that were the true doctrine! I have read books enough, and observed and

conversed with enough of eminent and splendidlycultured minds, too, in my time; but I assure you, I have

heard higher sentiments from the lips of poor UNEDUCATED men and women, when exerting the spirit of

severe yet gentle heroism under difficulties and afflictions, or speaking their simple thoughts as to

circumstances in the lot of friends and neighbours, than I ever yet met with out of the Bible. We shall never

learn to feel and respect our real calling and destiny, unless we have taught ourselves to consider everything

Still less has wealth any necessary connection with elevation of character. On the contrary, it is much more

frequently the cause of its corruption and degradation. Wealth and corruption, luxury and vice, have very

close affinities to each other. Wealth, in the hands of men of weak purpose, of deficient selfcontrol, or of

illregulated passions, is only a temptation and a snarethe source, it may be, of infinite mischief to

On the contrary, a condition of comparative poverty is compatible with character in its highest form. A man

may possess only his industry, his frugality, his integrity, and yet stand high in the rank of true manhood. The

"He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a farthing, For without an honest manly heart no man was

One of the purest and noblest characters the writer ever knew was a labouring man in a northern county, who

brought up his family respectably on an income never amounting to more than ten shillings a week. Though

possessed of only the rudiments of common education, obtained at an ordinary parish school, he was a man

full of wisdom and thoughtfulness. His library consisted of the Bible, 'Flavel,' and 'Boston'books which,

excepting the first, probably few readers have ever heard of. This good man might have sat for the portrait of

Wordsworth's wellknown 'Wanderer.' When he had lived his modest life of work and worship, and finally

went to his rest, he left behind him a reputation for practical wisdom, for genuine goodness, and for

When Luther died, he left behind him, as set forth in his will, "no ready money, no treasure of coin of any

description." He was so poor at one part of his life, that he was under the necessity of earning his bread by

turning, gardening, and clockmaking. Yet, at the very time when he was thus working with his hands, he was

moulding the character of his country; and he was morally stronger, and vastly more honoured and followed,

Character is property. It is the noblest of possessions. It is an estate in the general goodwill and respect of

men; and they who invest in itthough they may not become rich in this world's goodswill find their

reward in esteem and reputation fairly and honourably won. And it is right that in life good qualities should

tellthat industry, virtue, and goodness should rank the highestand that the really best men should be

Simple honesty of purpose in a man goes a long way in life, if founded on a just estimate of himself and a

steady obedience to the rule he knows and feels to be right. It holds a man straight, gives him strength and

sustenance, and forms a mainspring of vigorous action. 'No man," once said Sir Benjamin Rudyard, "is bound

to be rich or great,no, nor to be wise; but every man is bound to be honest." (4)

But the purpose, besides being honest, must be inspired by sound principles, and pursued with undeviating

adherence to truth, integrity, and uprightness. Without principles, a man is like a ship without rudder or

compass, left to drift hither and thither with every wind that blows. He is as one without law, or rule, or order,

or government. "Moral principles," says Hume, "are social and universal. They form, in a manner, the

Epictetus once received a visit from a certain magnificent orator going to Rome on a lawsuit, who wished to

learn from the stoic something of his philosophy. Epictetus received his visitor coolly, not believing in his

sincerity. "You will only criticise my style," said he; "not really wishing to learn principles." "Well, but,"

said the orator, "if I attend to that sort of thing; I shall be a mere pauper, like you, with no plate, nor equipage,

nor land.""I don't WANT such things," replied Epictetus; "and besides, you are poorer than I am, after all.

Patron or no patron, what care I? You DO care. I am richer than you. I don't care what Caesar thinks of me. I

flatter no one. This is what I have, instead of your gold and silver plate. You have silver vessels, but

earthenware reasons, principles, appetites. My mind to me a kingdom is, and it furnishes me with abundant

and happy occupation in lieu of your restless idleness. All your possessions seem small to you; mine seem

Talent is by no means rare in the world; nor is even genius. But can the talent be trusted?can the genius?

Not unless based on truthfulnesson veracity. It is this quality more than any other that commands the

esteem and respect, and secures the confidence of others. Truthfulness is at the foundation of all personal

excellence. It exhibits itself in conduct. It is rectitudetruth in action, and shines through every word and

deed. It means reliableness, and convinces other men that it can be trusted. And a man is already of

consequence in the world when it is known that he can be relied on,that when he says he knows a thing, he

does know it,that when be says he will do a thing, he can do, and does it. Thus reliableness becomes a

In the affairs of life or of business, it is not intellect that tells so much as character,not brains so much as

heart,not genius so much as selfcontrol, patience, and discipline, regulated by judgment. Hence there is

no better provision for the uses of either private or public life, than a fair share of ordinary good sense guided

by rectitude. Good sense, disciplined by experience and inspired by goodness, issues in practical wisdom.

Indeed, goodness in a measure implies wisdomthe highest wisdomthe union of the worldly with the

spiritual. "The correspondences of wisdom and goodness," says Sir Henry Taylor, "are manifold; and that

they will accompany each other is to be inferred, not only because men's wisdom makes them good, but

It is because of this controlling power of character in life that we often see men exercise an amount of

influence apparently out of all proportion to their intellectual endowments. They appear to act by means of

some latent power, some reserved force, which acts secretly, by mere presence. As Burke said of a powerful

nobleman of the last century, "his virtues were his means." The secret is, that the aims of such men are felt to

Though the reputation of men of genuine character may be of slow growth, their true qualities cannot be

wholly concealed. They may be misrepresented by some, and misunderstood by others; misfortune and

adversity may, for a time, overtake them but, with patience and endurance, they will eventually inspire the

It has been said of Sheridan that, had he possessed reliableness of character, he might have ruled the world;

whereas, for want of it, his splendid gifts were comparatively useless. He dazzled and amused, but was

without weight or influence in life or politics. Even the poor pantomimist of Drury Lane felt himself his

superior. Thus, when Delpini one day pressed the manager for arrears of salary, Sheridan sharply reproved

him, telling him he had forgotten his station. "No, indeed, Monsieur Sheridan, I have not," retorted Delpini;

"I know the difference between us perfectly well. In birth, parentage, and education, you are superior to me;

Unlike Sheridan, Burke, his countryman, was a great man of character. He was thirtyfive before be gained a

seat in Parliament, yet he found time to carve his name deep in the political history of England. He was a man

of great gifts, and of transcendent force of character. Yet he had a weakness, which proved a serious

defectit was his want of temper; his genius was sacrificed to his irritability. And without this apparently

minor gift of temper, the most splendid endowments may be comparatively valueless to their possessor.

Character is formed by a variety of minute circumstances, more or less under the regulation and control of the

individual. Not a day passes without its discipline, whether for good or for evil. There is no act, however

trivial, but has its train of consequences, as there is no hair so small but casts its shadow. It was a wise saying

of Mrs. Schimmelpenninck's mother, never to give way to what is little; or by that little, however you may

Every action, every thought, every feeling, contributes to the education of the temper, the habits, and

understanding; and exercises an inevitable influence upon all the acts of our future life. Thus character is

undergoing constant change, for better or for worseeither being elevated on the one hand, or degraded on

the other. "There is no fault nor folly of my life," says Mr. Ruskin, "that does not rise up against me, and take

away my joy, and shorten my power of possession, of sight, of understanding. And every past effort of my

life, every gleam of rightness or good in it, is with me now, to help me in my grasp of this art and its vision."

The mechanical law, that action and reaction are equal, holds true also in morals. Good deeds act and react on

the doers of them; and so do evil. Not only so: they produce like effects, by the influence of example, on

those who are the subjects of them. But man is not the creature, so much as he is the creator, of

circumstances: (8) and, by the exercise of his freewill, he can direct his actions so that they shall be

productive of good rather than evil. "Nothing can work me damage but myself," said St. Bernard; "the harm

that I sustain I carry about with me; and I am never a real sufferer but by my own fault."

The best sort of character, however, cannot be formed without effort. There needs the exercise of constant

selfwatchfulness, selfdiscipline, and selfcontrol. There may be much faltering, stumbling, and temporary

defeat; difficulties and temptations manifold to be battled with and overcome; but if the spirit be strong and

the heart be upright, no one need despair of ultimate success. The very effort to advanceto arrive at a

higher standard of character than we have reachedis inspiring and invigorating; and even though we may

fall short of it, we cannot fail to be improved by every, honest effort made in an upward direction.

And with the light of great examples to guide usrepresentatives of humanity in its best formsevery one

is not only justified, but bound in duty, to aim at reaching the highest standard of character: not to become the

richest in means, but in spirit; not the greatest in worldly position, but in true honour; not the most

intellectual, but the most virtuous; not the most powerful and influential, but the most truthful, upright, and

It was very characteristic of the late Prince Consorta man himself of the purest mind, who powerfully

impressed and influenced others by the sheer force of his own benevolent nature when drawing up the

conditions of the annual prize to be given by Her Majesty at Wellington College, to determine that it should

be awarded, not to the cleverest boy, nor to the most bookish boy, nor to the most precise, diligent, and

prudent boy,but to the noblest boy, to the boy who should show the most promise of becoming a

Character exhibits itself in conduct, guided and inspired by principle, integrity, and practical wisdom. In its

highest form, it is the individual will acting energetically under the influence of religion, morality, and

reason. It chooses its way considerately, and pursues it steadfastly; esteeming duty above reputation, and the

approval of conscience more than the world's praise. While respecting the personality of others, it preserves

its own individuality and independence; and has the courage to be morally honest, though it may be

Although the force of example will always exercise great influence upon the formation of character, the

selforiginating and sustaining force of one's own spirit must be the mainstay. This alone can hold up the life,

and give individual independence and energy. "Unless man can erect himself above himself," said Daniel, a

poet of the Elizabethan era, "how poor a thing is man!" Without a certain degree of practical efficient

forcecompounded of will, which is the root, and wisdom, which is the stem of characterlife will be

indefinite and purposelesslike a body of stagnant water, instead of a running stream doing useful work and

When the elements of character are brought into action by determinate will, and, influenced by high purpose,

man enters upon and courageously perseveres in the path of duty, at whatever cost of worldly interest, he may

be said to approach the summit of his being. He then exhibits character in its most intrepid form, and

embodies the highest idea of manliness. The acts of such a man become repeated in the life and action of

others. His very words live and become actions. Thus every word of Luther's rang through Germany like a

trumpet. As Richter said of him, "His words were halfbattles." And thus Luther's life became transfused into

On the other hand, energy, without integrity and a soul of goodness, may only represent the embodied

principle of evil. It is observed by Novalis, in his 'Thoughts on Morals,' that the ideal of moral perfection has

no more dangerous rival to contend with than the ideal of the highest strength and the most energetic life, the

maximum of the barbarianwhich needs only a due admixture of pride, ambition, and selfishness, to be a

perfect ideal of the devil. Amongst men of such stamp are found the greatest scourges and devastators of the

worldthose elect scoundrels whom Providence, in its inscrutable designs, permits to fulfil their mission of

Very different is the man of energetic character inspired by a noble spirit, whose actions are governed by

rectitude, and the law of whose life is duty. He is just and upright,in his business dealings, in his public

action, and in his family lifejustice being as essential in the government of a home as of a nation. He will

be honest in all thingsin his words and in his work. He will be generous and merciful to his opponents, as

well as to those who are weaker than himself. It was truly said of Sheridan who, with all his improvidence,

"His wit in the combat, as gentle as bright, Never carried a heartstain away on its blade."

Such also was the character of Fox, who commanded the affection and service of others by his uniform

heartiness and sympathy. He was a man who could always be most easily touched on the side of his honour.

Thus, the story is told of a tradesman calling upon him one day for the payment of a promissory note which

he presented. Fox was engaged at the time in counting out gold. The tradesman asked to be paid from the

money before him. "No," said Fox, "I owe this money to Sheridan; it is a debt of honour; if any accident

happened to me, he would have nothing to show." "Then," said the tradesman, "I change MY debt into one of

honour;" and he tore up the note. Fox was conquered by the act: he thanked the man for his confidence, and

paid him, saying, "Then Sheridan must wait; yours is the debt of older standing."

The man of character is conscientious. He puts his conscience into his work, into his words, into his every

action. When Cromwell asked the Parliament for soldiers in lieu of the decayed servingmen and tapsters

who filled the Commonwealth's army, he required that they should be men "who made some conscience of

what they did;" and such were the men of which his celebrated regiment of "Ironsides" was composed.

The man of character is also reverential. The possession of this quality marks the noblest, and highest type of

manhood and womanhood: reverence for things consecrated by the homage of generationsfor high objects,

pure thoughts, and noble aims for the great men of former times, and the highminded workers amongst our

contemporaries. Reverence is alike indispensable to the happiness of individuals, of families, and of nations.

Without it there can be no trust, no faith, no confidence, either in man or Godneither social peace nor

social progress. For reverence is but another word for religion, which binds men to each other, and all to God.

"The man of noble spirit," says Sir Thomas Overbury, "converts all occurrences into experience, between

which experience and his reason there is marriage, and the issue are his actions. He moves by affection, not

for affection; he loves glory, scorns shame, and governeth and obeyeth with one countenance, for it comes

from one consideration. Knowing reason to be no idle gift of nature, he is the steersman of his own destiny.

Truth is his goddess, and he takes pains to get her, not to look like her. Unto the society of men he is a sun,

whose clearness directs their steps in a regular motion. He is the wise man's friend, the example of the

indifferent, the medicine of the vicious. Thus time goeth not from him, but with him, and he feels age more

by the strength of his soul than by the weakness of his body. Thus feels he no pain, but esteems all such

things as friends, that desire to file off his fetters, and help him out of prison." (11)

Energy of willselforiginating forceis the soul of every great character. Where it is, there is life; where

it is not, there is faintness, helplessness, and despondency. "The strong man and the waterfall," says the

proverb, "channel their own path." The energetic leader of noble spirit not only wins a way for himself, but

carries others with him. His every act has a personal significance, indicating vigour, independence, and self

reliance, and unconsciously commands respect, admiration, and homage. Such intrepidity of character

characterised Luther, Cromwell, Washington, Pitt, Wellington, and all great leaders of men.

"I am convinced," said Mr. Gladstone, in describing the qualities of the late Lord Palmerston in the House of

Commons, shortly after his death"I am convinced that it was the force of will, a sense of duty, and a

determination not to give in, that enabled him to make himself a model for all of us who yet remain and

follow him, with feeble and unequal steps, in the discharge of our duties; it was that force of will that in point

of fact did not so much struggle against the infirmities of old age, but actually repelled them and kept them at

a distance. And one other quality there is, at least, that may be noticed without the smallest risk of stirring in

any breast a painful emotion. It is this, that Lord Palmerston had a nature incapable of enduring anger or any

sentiment of wrath. This freedom from wrathful sentiment was not the result of painful effort, but the

spontaneous fruit of the mind. It was a noble gift of his original naturea gift which beyond all others it was

delightful to observe, delightful also to remember in connection with him who has left us, and with whom we

have no longer to do, except in endeavouring to profit by his example wherever it can lead us in the path of

duty and of right, and of bestowing on him those tributes of admiration and affection which he deserves at

The great leader attracts to himself men of kindred character, drawing them towards him as the loadstone

draws iron. Thus, Sir John Moore early distinguished the three brothers Napier from the crowd of officers by

whom he was surrounded, and they, on their part, repaid him by their passionate admiration. They were

captivated by his courtesy, his bravery, and his lofty disinterestedness; and he became the model whom they

resolved to imitate, and, if possible, to emulate. "Moore's influence," says the biographer of Sir William

Napier, "had a signal effect in forming and maturing their characters; and it is no small glory to have been the

hero of those three men, while his early discovery of their mental and moral qualities is a proof of Moore's

There is a contagiousness in every example of energetic conduct. The brave man is an inspiration to the

weak, and compels them, as it were, to follow him. Thus Napier relates that at the combat of Vera, when the

Spanish centre was broken and in flight, a young officer, named Havelock, sprang forward, and, waving his

hat, called upon the Spaniards within sight to follow him. Putting spurs to his horse, he leapt the abbatis

which protected the French front, and went headlong against them. The Spaniards were electrified; in a

moment they dashed after him, cheering for "EL CHICO BLANCO!" (the fair boy), and with one shock they

And so it is in ordinary life. The good and the great draw others after them; they lighten and lift up all who

are within reach of their influence. They are as so many living centres of beneficent activity. Let a man of

energetic and upright character be appointed to a position of trust and authority, and all who serve under him

become, as it were, conscious of an increase of power. When Chatham was appointed minister, his personal

influence was at once felt through all the ramifications of office. Every sailor who served under Nelson, and

When Washington consented to act as commanderinchief, it was felt as if the strength of the American

forces had been more than doubled. Many years late; in 1798, when Washington, grown old, had withdrawn

from public life and was living in retirement at Mount Vernon, and when it seemed probable that France

would declare war against the United States, President Adams wrote to him, saying, "We must have your

name, if you will permit us to use it; there will be more efficacy in it than in many an army." Such was the

esteem in which the great President's noble character and eminent abilities were held by his countrymen! (13)

An incident is related by the historian of the Peninsular War, illustrative of the personal influence exercised

by a great commander over his followers. The British army lay at Sauroren, before which Soult was

advancing, prepared to attack, in force. Wellington was absent, and his arrival was anxiously looked for.

Suddenly a single horseman was seen riding up the mountain alone. It was the Duke, about to join his troops.

One of Campbell's Portuguese battalions first descried him, and raised a joyful cry; then the shrill clamour,

caught up by the next regiment, soon swelled as it ran along the line into that appalling shout which the

British soldier is wont to give upon the edge of battle, and which no enemy ever heard unmoved. Suddenly he

stopped at a conspicuous point, for he desired both armies should know he was there, and a double spy who

was present pointed out Soult, who was so near that his features could be distinguished. Attentively

Wellington fixed his eyes on that formidable man, and, as if speaking to himself, he said: "Yonder is a great

commander; but he is cautious, and will delay his attack to ascertain the cause of those cheers; that will give

In some cases, personal character acts by a kind of talismanic influence, as if certain men were the organs of

a sort of supernatural force. "If I but stamp on the ground in Italy," said Pompey, "an army will appear." At

the voice of Peter the Hermit, as described by the historian, "Europe arose, and precipitated itself upon Asia."

It was said of the Caliph Omar that his walkingstick struck more terror into those who saw it than another

man's sword. The very names of some men are like the sound of a trumpet. When the Douglas lay mortally

wounded on the field of Otterburn, he ordered his name to be shouted still louder than before, saying there

was a tradition in his family that a dead Douglas should win a battle. His followers, inspired by the sound,

gathered fresh courage, rallied, and conquered; and thus, in the words of the Scottish poet:

There have been some men whose greatest conquests have been achieved after they themselves were dead.

"Never," says Michelet, "was Caesar more alive, more powerful, more terrible, than when his old and

wornout body, his withered corpse, lay pierced with blows; he appeared then purified, redeemed,that

which he had been, despite his many stainsthe man of humanity." (16) Never did the great character of

William of Orange, surnamed the Silent, exercise greater power over his countrymen than after his

assassination at Delft by the emissary of the Jesuits. On the very day of his murder the Estates of Holland

resolved "to maintain the good cause, with God's help, to the uttermost, without sparing gold or blood;" and

The same illustration applies to all history and morals. The career of a great man remains an enduring

monument of human. energy. The man dies and disappears; but his thoughts and acts survive, and leave an

indelible stamp upon his race. And thus the spirit of his life is prolonged and perpetuated, moulding the

thought and will, and thereby contributing to form the character of the future. It is the men that advance in the

highest and best directions, who are the true beacons of human progress. They are as lights set upon a hill,

illumining the moral atmosphere around them; and the light of their spirit continues to shine upon all

It is natural to admire and revere really great men. They hallow the nation to which they belong, and lift up

not only all who live in their time, but those who live after them. Their great example becomes the common

heritage of their race; and their great deeds and great thoughts are the most glorious of legacies to mankind.

They connect the present with the past, and help on the increasing purpose of the future; holding aloft the

standard of principle, maintaining the dignity of human character, and filling the mind with traditions and

Character, embodied in thought and deed, is of the nature of immortality. The solitary thought of a great

thinker will dwell in the minds of men for centuries until at length it works itself into their daily life and

practice. It lives on through the ages, speaking as a voice from the dead, and influencing minds living

thousands of years apart. Thus, Moses and David and Solomon, Plato and Socrates and Xenophon, Seneca

and Cicero and Epictetus, still speak to us as from their tombs. They still arrest the attention, and exercise an

influence upon character, though their thoughts be conveyed in languages unspoken by them and in their time

unknown. Theodore Parker has said that a single man like Socrates was worth more to a country than many

such states as South Carolina; that if that state went out of the world today, she would not have done so

Great workers and great thinkers are the true makers of history, which is but continuous humanity influenced

by men of character by great leaders, kings, priests, philosophers, statesmen, and patriotsthe true

aristocracy of man. Indeed, Mr. Carlyle has broadly stated that Universal History is, at bottom, but the history

of Great Men. They certainly mark and designate the epochs of national life. Their influence is active, as well

as reactive. Though their mind is, in a measure; the product of their age, the public mind is also, to a great

extent, their creation. Their individual action identifies the causethe institution. They think great thoughts,

cast them abroad, and the thoughts make events. Thus the early Reformers initiated the Reformation, and

with it the liberation of modern thought. Emerson has said that every institution is to be regarded as but the

lengthened shadow of some great man: as Islamism of Mahomet, Puritanism of Calvin, Jesuitism of Loyola,

Great men stamp their mind upon their age and nationas Luther did upon modern Germany, and Knox

upon Scotland. (18) And if there be one man more than another that stamped his mind on modern Italy, it was

Dante. During the long centuries of Italian degradation his burning words were as a watchfire and a beacon to

all true men. He was the herald of his nation's libertybraving persecution, exile, and death, for the love of

it. He was always the most national of the Italian poets, the most loved, the most read. From the time of his

death all educated Italians had his best passages by heart; and the sentiments they enshrined inspired their

lives, and eventually influenced the history of their nation. "The Italians," wrote Byron in 1821, "talk Dante,

write Dante, and think and dream Dante, at this moment, to an excess which would be ridiculous, but that he

A succession of variously gifted men in different agesextending from Alfred to Alberthas in like

manner contributed, by their life and example, to shape the multiform character of England. Of these,

probably the most influential were the men of the Elizabethan and Cromwellian, and the intermediate

periods amongst which we find the great names of Shakspeare, Raleigh, Burleigh, Sidney, Bacon, Milton,

Herbert, Hampden, Pym, Eliot, Vane, Cromwell, and many moresome of them men of great force, and

others of great dignity and purity of character. The lives of such men have become part of the public life of

England, and their deeds and thoughts are regarded as among the most cherished bequeathments from the

So Washington left behind him, as one of the greatest treasures of his country, the example of a stainless

lifeof a great, honest, pure, and noble charactera model for his nation to form themselves by in all time

to come. And in the case of Washington, as in so many other great leaders of men, his greatness did not so

much consist in his intellect, his skill, and his genius, as in his honour, his integrity, his truthfulness, his high

Men such as these are the true lifeblood of the country to which they belong. They elevate and uphold it,

fortify and ennoble it, and shed a glory over it by the example of life and character which they have

bequeathed. "The names and memories of great men," says an able writer, "are the dowry of a nation.

Widowhood, overthrow, desertion, even slavery, cannot take away from her this sacred inheritance....

Whenever national life begins to quicken.... the dead heroes rise in the memories of men, and appear to the

living to stand by in solemn spectatorship and approval. No country can be lost which feels herself

overlooked by such glorious witnesses. They are the salt of the earth, in death as well as in life. What they did

once, their descendants have still and always a right to do after them; and their example lives in their country,

a continual stimulant and encouragement for him who has the soul to adopt it." (20)

But it is not great men only that have to be taken into account in estimating the qualities of a nation, but the

character that pervades the great body of the people. When Washington Irving visited Abbotsford, Sir Walter

Scott introduced him to many of his friends and favourites, not only amongst the neighbouring farmers, but

the labouring peasantry. "I wish to show you," said Scott, "some of our really excellent plain Scotch people.

The character of a nation is not to be learnt from its fine folks, its fine gentlemen and ladies; such you meet

everywhere, and they are everywhere the same." While statesmen, philosophers, and divines represent the

thinking power of society, the men who found industries and carve out new careers, as well as the common

body of workingpeople, from whom the national strength and spirit are from time to time recruited, must

necessarily furnish the vital force and constitute the real backbone of every nation.

Nations have their character to maintain as well as individuals; and under constitutional

governmentswhere all classes more or less participate in the exercise of political powerthe national

character will necessarily depend more upon the moral qualities of the many than of the few. And the same

qualities which determine the character of individuals, also determine the character of nations. Unless they

are highminded, truthful, honest, virtuous, and courageous, they will be held in light esteem by other nations,

and be without weight in the world. To have character, they must needs also be reverential, disciplined, self

controlling, and devoted to duty. The nation that has no higher god than pleasure, or even dollars or calico,

must needs be in a poor way. It were better to revert to Homer's gods than be devoted to these; for the

heathen deities at least imaged human virtues, and were something to look up to.

As for institutions, however good in themselves, they will avail but little in maintaining the standard of

national character. It is the individual men, and the spirit which actuates them, that determine the moral

standing and stability of nations. Government, in the long run, is usually no better than the people governed.

Where the mass is sound in conscience, morals, and habit, the nation will be ruled honestly and nobly. But

where they are corrupt, selfseeking, and dishonest in heart, bound neither by truth nor by law, the rule of

The only true barrier against the despotism of public opinion, whether it be of the many or of the few, is

enlightened individual freedom and purity of personal character. Without these there can be no vigorous

manhood, no true liberty in a nation. Political rights, however broadly framed, will not elevate a people

individually depraved. Indeed, the more complete a system of popular suffrage, and the more perfect its

protection, the more completely will the real character of a people be reflected, as by a mirror, in their laws

and government. Political morality can never have any solid existence on a basis of individual immorality.

Even freedom, exercised by a debased people, would come to be regarded as a nuisance, and liberty of the

Nations, like individuals, derive support and strength from the feeling that they belong to an illustrious race,

that they are the heirs of their greatness, and ought to be the perpetuators of their glory. It is of momentous

importance that a nation should have a great past (21) to look back upon. It steadies the life of the present,

elevates and upholds it, and lightens and lifts it up, by the memory of the great deeds, the noble sufferings,

and the valorous achievements of the men of old. The life of nations, as of men, is a great treasury of

experience, which, wisely used, issues in social progress and improvement; or, misused, issues in dreams,

delusions, and failure. Like men, nations are purified and strengthened by trials. Some of the most glorious

chapters in their history are those containing the record of the sufferings by means of which their character

has been developed. Love of liberty and patriotic feeling may have done much, but trial and suffering nobly

A great deal of what passes by the name of patriotism in these days consists of the merest bigotry and

narrowmindedness; exhibiting itself in national prejudice, national conceit, amid national hatred. It does not

show itself in deeds, but in boastingsin howlings, gesticulations, and shrieking helplessly for helpin

flying flags and singing songsand in perpetual grinding at the hurdygurdy of longdead grievances and

long remedied wrongs. To be infested by SUCH a patriotism as this is, perhaps, amongst the greatest curses

But as there is an ignoble, so is there a noble patriotismthe patriotism that invigorates and elevates a

country by noble work that does its duty truthfully and manfullythat lives an honest, sober, and upright

life, and strives to make the best use of the opportunities for improvement that present themselves on every

side; and at the same time a patriotism that cherishes the memory and example of the great men of old, who,

by their sufferings in the cause of religion or of freedom, have won for themselves a deathless glory, and for

their nation those privileges of free life and free institutions of which they are the inheritors and possessors.

For a nation to be great, it need not necessarily be big, though bigness is often confounded with greatness. A

nation may be very big in point of territory and population and yet be devoid of true greatness. The people of

Israel were a small people, yet what a great life they developed, and how powerful the influence they have

exercised on the destinies of mankind! Greece was not big: the entire population of Attica was less than that

of South Lancashire. Athens was less populous than New York; and yet how great it was in art, in literature,

But it was the fatal weakness of Athens that its citizens had no true family or home life, while its freemen

were greatly outnumbered by its slaves. Its public men were loose, if not corrupt, in morals. Its women, even

the most accomplished, were unchaste. Hence its fall became inevitable, and was even more sudden than its

In like manner the decline and fall of Rome was attributable to the general corruption of its people, and to

their engrossing love of pleasure and idlenesswork, in the later days of Rome, being regarded only as fit

for slaves. Its citizens ceased to pride themselves on the virtues of character of their great forefathers; and the

empire fell because it did not deserve to live. And so the nations that are idle and luxuriousthat "will rather

lose a pound of blood," as old Burton says, "in a single combat, than a drop of sweat in any honest

labour"must inevitably die out, and laborious energetic nations take their place.

When Louis XIV. asked Colbert how it was that, ruling so great and populous a country as France, he had

been unable to conquer so small a country as Holland, the minister replied: "Because, Sire, the greatness of a

country does not depend upon the extent of its territory, but on the character of its people. It is because of the

industry, the frugality, and the energy of the Dutch that your Majesty has found them so difficult to

It is also related of Spinola and Richardet, the ambassadors sent by the King of Spain to negotiate a treaty at

the Hague in 1608, that one day they saw some eight or ten persons land from a little boat, and, sitting down

upon the grass, proceed to make a meal of breadandcheese and beer. "Who are those travellers asked the

ambassadors of a peasant. "These are worshipful masters, the deputies from the States," was his reply.

Spinola at once whispered to his companion, "We must make peace: these are not men to be conquered."

In fine, stability of institutions must depend upon stability of character. Any number of depraved units cannot

form a great nation. The people may seem to be highly civilised, and yet be ready to fall to pieces at first

touch of adversity. Without integrity of individual character, they can have no real strength, cohesion,

soundness. They may be rich, polite, and artistic; and yet hovering on the brink of ruin. If living for

themselves only, and with no end but pleasureeach little self his own little god such a nation is doomed,

Where national character ceases to be upheld, a nation may be regarded as next to lost. Where it ceases to

esteem and to practise the virtues of truthfulness, honesty, integrity, and justice, it does not deserve to live.

And when the time arrives in any country when wealth has so corrupted, or pleasure so depraved, or faction

so infatuated the people, that honour, order, obedience, virtue, and loyalty have seemingly become things of

the past; then, amidst the darkness, when honest menif, haply, there be such leftare groping about and

feeling for each other's hands, their only remaining hope will be in the restoration and elevation of Individual

Character; for by that alone can a nation be saved; and if character be irrecoverably lost, then indeed there

(8) Instead of saying that man is the creature of Circumstance, it would be nearer the mark to say that man is

the architect of Circumstance. It is Character which builds an existence out of Circumstance. Our strength is

measured by our plastic power. From the same materials one man builds palaces, another hovels: one

warehouses, another villas. Bricks and mortar are mortar and bricks, until the architect can make them

something else. Thus it is that in the same family, in the same circumstances, one man rears a stately edifice,

while his brother, vacillating and incompetent, lives for ever amid ruins: the block of granite, which was an

obstacle on the pathway of the weak, becomes a steppingstone on the pathway of the strong."G. H.

(9) Introduction to 'The Principal Speeches and Addresses of H.R.H. the Prince Consort' (1862), pp. 3940.

(10) Among the latest of these was Napoleon "the Great," a man of abounding energy, but destitute of

principle. He had the lowest opinion of his fellowmen. "Men are hogs, who feed on gold," he once said:

"Well, I throw them gold, and lead them whithersoever I will." When the Abbe de Pradt, Archbishop of

Malines, was setting out on his embassy to Poland in 1812, Napoleon's parting instruction to him was, "Tenez

bonne table et soignez les femmes," of which Benjamin Constant said that such an observation, addressed

to a feeble priest of sixty, shows Buonaparte's profound contempt for the human race, without distinction of

(12) 'History of the Peninsular War,' v. 319.Napier mentions another striking illustration of the influence

of personal qualities in young Edward Freer, of the same regiment (the 43rd), who, when he fell at the age of

nineteen, at the Battle of the Nivelle, had already seen more combats and sieges than he could count years.

"So slight in person, and of such surpassing beauty, that the Spaniards often thought him a girl disguised in

man's clothing, he was yet so vigorous, so active, so brave, that the most daring and experienced veterans

watched his looks on the field of battle, and, implicitly following where he led, would, like children, obey his

(13) When the dissolution of the Union at one time seemed imminent, and Washington wished to retire into

private life, Jefferson wrote to him, urging his continuance in office. "The confidence of the whole Union,"

he said, "centres in you. Your being at the helm will be more than an answer to every argument which can be

used to alarm and lead the people in any quarter into violence and secession.... There is sometimes an

eminence of character on which society has such peculiar claims as to control the predilection of the

individual for a particular walk of happiness, and restrain him to that alone arising from the present and future

benedictions of mankind. This seems to be your condition, and the law imposed on you by Providence in

forming your character and fashioning the events on which it was to operate; and it is to motives like these,

and not to personal anxieties of mine or others, who have no right to call on you for sacrifices, that I appeal

from your former determination, and urge a revisal of it, on the ground of change in the aspect of

(17) Erasmus so reverenced the character of Socrates that he said, when he considered his life and doctrines,

he was inclined to put him in the calendar of saints, and to exclaim, "SANCTE SOCRATES, ORA PRO

(18) "Honour to all the brave and true; everlasting honour to John Knox one of the truest of the true! That, in

the moment while he and his cause, amid civil broils, in convulsion and confusion, were still but struggling

for life, he sent the schoolmaster forth to all corners, and said, 'Let the people be taught:' this is but one, and,

and indeed, an inevitable and comparatively inconsiderable item in his great message to men. This message,

in its true compass, was, 'Let men know that they are men created by God, responsible to God who work in

any meanest moment of time what will last through eternity...' This great message Knox did deliver, with a

man's voice and strength; and found a people to believe him. Of such an achievement, were it to be made

once only, the results are immense. Thought, in such a country, may change its form, but cannot go out; the

country has attained MAJORITY thought, and a certain manhood, ready for all work that man can do,

endures there.... The Scotch national character originated in many circumstances: first of all, in the Saxon

stuff there was to work on; but next, and beyond all else except that, is the Presbyterian Gospel of John

(19) Moore's 'Life of Byron,' 8vo. ed. p.484.Dante was a religious as well as a political reformer. He was a

reformer three hundred years before the Reformation, advocating the separation of the spiritual from the civil

power, and declaring the temporal government of the Pope to be a usurpation. The following memorable

words were written over five hundred and sixty years ago, while Dante was still a member of the Roman

Catholic Church: "Every Divine law is found in one or other of the two Testaments; but in neither can I find

that the care of temporal matters was given to the priesthood. On the contrary, I find that the first priests were

removed from them by law, and the later priests, by command of Christ, to His disciples."DE

Dante also, still clinging to 'the Church he wished to reform,' thus anticipated the fundamental doctrine of the

Reformation: "Before the Church are the Old and New Testament; after the Church are traditions. It follows,

then, that the authority of the Church depends, not on traditions, but traditions on the Church."

(21) One of the last passages in the Diary of Dr. Arnold, written the year before his death, was as follows:

"It is the misfortune of France that her 'past' cannot be loved or respectedher future and her present cannot

be wedded to it; yet how can the present yield fruit, or the future have promise, except their roots be fixed in

the past? The evil is infinite, but the blame rests with those who made the past a dead thing, out of which no

(22) A public orator lately spoke with contempt of the Battle of Marathon, because only 192 perished on the

side of the Athenians, whereas by improved mechanism and destructive chemicals, some 50,000 men or more

may now be destroyed within a few hours. Yet the Battle of Marathon, and the heroism displayed in it, will

probably continue to be remembered when the gigantic butcheries of modern times have been forgotten.

HOME is the first and most important school of character. It is there that every human being receives his best

moral training, or his worst; for it is there that he imbibes those principles of conduct which endure through

It is a common saying that "Manners make the man;" and there is a second, that "Mind makes the man;" but

truer than either is a third, that "Home makes the man." For the hometraining includes not only manners and

mind, but character. It is mainly in the home that the heart is opened, the habits are formed, the intellect is

From that source, be it pure or impure, issue the principles and maxims that govern society. Law itself is but

the reflex of homes. The tiniest bits of opinion sown in the minds of children in private life afterwards issue

forth to the world, and become its public opinion; for nations are gathered out of nurseries, and they who hold

the leadingstrings of children may even exercise a greater power than those who wield the reins of

It is in the order of nature that domestic life should be preparatory to social, and that the mind and character

should first be formed in the home. There the individuals who afterwards form society are dealt with in detail,

and fashioned one by one. From the family they enter life, and advance from boyhood to citizenship. Thus the

home may be regarded as the most influential school of civilisation. For, after all, civilisation mainly resolves

itself into a question of individual training; and according as the respective members of society are well or

ill trained in youth, so will the community which they constitute be more or less humanised and civilised.

The training of any man, even the wisest, cannot fail to be powerfully influenced by the moral surroundings

of his early years. He comes into the world helpless, and absolutely dependent upon those about him for

nurture and culture. From the very first breath that he draws, his education begins. When a mother once asked

a clergyman when she should begin the education of her child, then four years old, he replied: "Madam, if

you have not begun already, you have lost those four years. From the first smile that gleams upon an infant's

But even in this case the education had already begun; for the child learns by simple imitation, without effort,

almost through the pores of the skin. "A figtree looking on a figtree becometh fruitful," says the Arabian

However apparently trivial the influences which contribute to form the character of the child, they endure

through life. The child's character is the nucleus of the man's; all aftereducation is but superposition; the

form of the crystal remains the same. Thus the saying of the poet holds true in a large degree, "The child is

father of the man;" or, as Milton puts it, "The childhood shows the man, as morning shows the day." Those

impulses to conduct which last the longest and are rooted the deepest, always have their origin near our birth.

It is then that the germs of virtues or vices, of feelings or sentiments, are first implanted which determine the

The child is, as it were, laid at the gate of a new world, and opens his eyes upon things all of which are full of

novelty and wonderment. At first it is enough for him to gaze; but byandby he begins to see, to observe, to

compare, to learn, to store up impressions and ideas; and under wise guidance the progress which he makes is

really wonderful. Lord Brougham has observed that between the ages of eighteen and thirty months, a child

learns more of the material world, of his own powers, of the nature of other bodies, and even of his own mind

and other minds, than he acquires in all the rest of his life. The knowledge which a child accumulates, and the

ideas generated in his mind, during this period, are so important, that if we could imagine them to be

afterwards obliterated, all the learning of a senior wrangler at Cambridge, or a firstclassman at Oxford,

would be as nothing to it, and would literally not enable its object to prolong his existence for a week.

It is in childhood that the mind is most open to impressions, and ready to be kindled by the first spark that

falls into it. Ideas are then caught quickly and live lastingly. Thus Scott is said to have received, his first bent

towards ballad literature from his mother's and grandmother's recitations in his hearing long before he himself

had learned to read. Childhood is like a mirror, which reflects in afterlife the images first presented to it.

The first thing continues for ever with the child. The first joy, the first sorrow, the first success, the first

failure, the first achievement, the first misadventure, paint the foreground of his life.

All this while, too, the training of the character is in progress of the temper, the will, and the habitson

which so much of the happiness of human beings in afterlife depends. Although man is endowed with a

certain selfacting, selfhelping power of contributing to his own development, independent of surrounding

circumstances, and of reacting upon the life around him, the bias given to his moral character in early life is

of immense importance. Place even the highestminded philosopher in the midst of daily discomfort,

immorality, and vileness, and he will insensibly gravitate towards brutality. How much more susceptible is

the impressionable and helpless child amidst such surroundings! It is not possible to rear a kindly nature,

sensitive to evil, pure in mind and heart, amidst coarseness, discomfort, and impurity.

Thus homes, which are the nurseries of children who grow up into men and women, will be good or bad

according to the power that governs them. Where the spirit of love and duty pervades the home where

head and heart bear rule wisely therewhere the daily life is honest and virtuouswhere the government is

sensible, kind, and loving, then may we expect from such a home an issue of healthy, useful, and happy

beings, capable, as they gain the requisite strength, of following the footsteps of their parents, of walking

uprightly, governing themselves wisely, and contributing to the welfare of those about them.

On the other hand, if surrounded by ignorance, coarseness, and selfishness, they will unconsciously assume

the same character, and grow up to adult years rude, uncultivated, and all the more dangerous to society if

placed amidst the manifold temptations of what is called civilised life. "Give your child to be educated by a

slave," said an ancient Greek, "and instead of one slave, you will then have two."

The child cannot help imitating what he sees. Everything is to him a modelof manner, of gesture, of

speech, of habit, of character. "For the child," says Richter, "the most important era of life is that of

childhood, when he begins to colour and mould himself by companionship with others. Every new educator

effects less than his predecessor; until at last, if we regard all life as an educational institution, a

circumnavigator of the world is less influenced by all the nations he has seen than by his nurse." (2) Models

are therefore of every importance in moulding the nature of the child; and if we would have fine characters,

we must necessarily present before them fine models. Now, the model most constantly before every child's

One good mother, said George Herbert, is worth a hundred schoolmasters. In the home she is "loadstone to

all hearts, and loadstar to all eyes." Imitation of her is constantimitation, which Bacon likens to "a globe of

precepts." But example is far more than precept. It is instruction in action. It is teaching without words, often

exemplifying more than tongue can teach. In the face of bad example, the best of precepts are of but little

avail. The example is followed, not the precepts. Indeed, precept at variance with practice is worse than

useless, inasmuch as it only serves to teach the most cowardly of viceshypocrisy. Even children are judges

of consistency, and the lessons of the parent who says one thing and does the opposite, are quickly seen

through. The teaching of the friar was not worth much, who preached the virtue of honesty with a stolen

By imitation of acts, the character becomes slowly and imperceptibly, but at length decidedly formed. The

several acts may seem in themselves trivial; but so are the continuous acts of daily life. Like snowflakes,

they. fall unperceived; each flake added to the pile produces no sensible change, and yet the accumulation of

snowflakes makes the avalanche. So do repeated acts, one following another, at length become consolidated

in habit, determine the action of the human being for good or for evil, and, in a word, form the character.

It is because the mother, far more than the father, influences the action and conduct of the child, that her good

example is of so much greater importance in the home. It is easy to understand how this should be so. The

home is the woman's domainher kingdom, where she exercises entire control. Her power over the little

subjects she rules there is absolute. They look up to her for everything. She is the example and model

Cowley, speaking of the influence of early example, and ideas early implanted in the mind, compares them to

letters cut in the bark of a young tree, which grow and widen with age. The impressions then made,

howsoever slight they may seem, are never effaced. The ideas then implanted in the mind are like seeds

dropped into the ground, which lie there and germinate for a time, afterwards springing up in acts and

thoughts and habits. Thus the mother lives again in her children. They unconsciously mould themselves after

her manner, her speech, her conduct, and her method of life. Her habits become theirs; and her character is

This maternal love is the visible providence of our race. Its influence is constant and universal. It begins with

the education of the human being at the outstart of life, and is prolonged by virtue of the powerful influence

which every good mother exercises over her children through life. When launched into the world, each to

take part in its labours, anxieties, and trials, they still turn to their mother for consolation, if not for counsel,

in their time of trouble and difficulty. The pure and good thoughts she has implanted in their minds when

children, continue to grow up into good acts, long after she is dead; and when there is nothing but a memory

It is not saying too much to aver that the happiness or misery, the enlightenment or ignorance, the civilisation

or barbarism of the world, depends in a very high degree upon the exercise of woman's power within her

special kingdom of home. Indeed, Emerson says, broadly and truly, that "a sufficient measure of civilisation

is the influence of good women." Posterity may be said to lie before us in the person of the child in the

mother's lap. What that child will eventually become, mainly depends upon the training and example which

Woman, above all other educators, educates humanly. Man is the brain, but woman is the heart of humanity;

he its judgment, she its feeling; he its strength, she its grace, ornament, and solace. Even the understanding of

the best woman seems to work mainly through her affections. And thus, though man may direct the intellect,

woman cultivates the feelings, which mainly determine the character. While he fills the memory, she

occupies the heart. She makes us love what he can only make us believe, and it is chiefly through her that we

The respective influences of the father and the mother on the training and development of character, are

remarkably illustrated in the life of St. Augustine. While Augustine's father, a poor freeman of Thagaste,

proud of his son's abilities, endeavoured to furnish his mind with the highest learning of the schools, and was

extolled by his neighbours for the sacrifices he made with that object "beyond the ability of his means"his

mother Monica, on the other hand, sought to lead her son's mind in the direction of the highest good, and with

pious care counselled him, entreated him, advised him to chastity, and, amidst much anguish and tribulation,

because of his wicked life, never ceased to pray for him until her prayers were heard and answered. Thus her

love at last triumphed, and the patience and goodness of the mother were rewarded, not only by the

conversion of her gifted son, but also of her husband. Later in life, and after her husband's death, Monica,

drawn by her affection, followed her son to Milan, to watch over him; and there she died, when he was in his

thirty third year. But it was in the earlier period of his life that her example and instruction made the deepest

There are many similar instances of early impressions made upon a child's mind, springing up into good acts

late in life, after an intervening period of selfishness and vice. Parents may do all that they can to develope an

upright and virtuous character in their children, and apparently in vain. It seems like bread cast upon the

waters and lost. And yet sometimes it happens that long after the parents have gone to their Restit may be

twenty years or morethe good precept, the good example set before their sons and daughters in childhood,

One of the most remarkable of such instances was that of the Reverend John Newton of Olney, the friend of

Cowper the poet. It was long subsequent to the death of both his parents, and after leading a vicious life as a

youth and as a seaman, that he became suddenly awakened to a sense of his depravity; and then it was that

the lessons which his mother had given him when a child sprang up vividly in his memory. Her voice came to

Another instance is that of John Randolph, the American statesman, who once said: "I should have been an

atheist if it had not been for one recollectionand that was the memory of the time when my departed

mother used to take my little hand in hers, and cause me on my knees to say, 'Our Father who art in heaven!'"

But such instance must, on the whole, be regarded as exceptional. As the character is biassed in early life, so

it generally remains, gradually assuming its permanent form as manhood is reached. "Live as long as you

may," said Southey, "the first twenty years are the longest half of your life," and they are by far the most

pregnant in consequences. When the wornout slanderer and voluptuary, Dr. Wolcot, lay on his deathbed,

one of his friends asked if he could do anything to gratify him. "Yes," said the dying man, eagerly, "give me

back my youth." Give him but that, and he would repenthe would reform. But it was all too late! His life

Gretry, the musical composer, thought so highly of the importance of woman as an educator of character, that

he described a good mother as "Nature's CHEFD'OEUVRE." And he was right: for good mothers, far more

than fathers, tend to the perpetual renovation of mankind, creating, as they do, the moral atmosphere of the

home, which is the nutriment of man's moral being, as the physical atmosphere is of his corporeal frame. By

good temper, suavity, and kindness, directed by intelligence, woman surrounds the indwellers with a

pervading atmosphere of cheerfulness, contentment, and peace, suitable for the growth of the purest as of the

The poorest dwelling, presided over by a virtuous, thrifty, cheerful, and cleanly woman, may thus be the

abode of comfort, virtue, and happiness; it may be the scene of every ennobling relation in family life; it may

be endeared to a man by many delightful associations; furnishing a sanctuary for the heart, a refuge from the

storms of life, a sweet restingplace after labour, a consolation in misfortune, a pride in prosperity, and a joy

The good home is thus the best of schools, not only in youth but in age. There young and old best learn

cheerfulness, patience, selfcontrol, and the spirit of service and of duty. Izaak Walton, speaking of George

Herbert's mother, says she governed her family with judicious care, not rigidly nor sourly, "but with such a

sweetness and compliance with the recreations and pleasures of youth, as did incline them to spend much of

The home is the true school of courtesy, of which woman is always the best practical instructor. "Without

woman," says the Provencal proverb, "men were but illlicked cubs." Philanthropy radiates from the home as

from a centre. "To love the little platoon we belong to in society," said Burke, "is the germ of all public

affections." The wisest and the best have not been ashamed to own it to be their greatest joy and happiness to

sit "behind the heads of children" in the inviolable circle of home. A life of purity and duty there is not the

least effectual preparative for a life of public work and duty; and the man who loves his home will not the

less fondly love and serve his country. But while homes, which are the nurseries of character, may be the best

of schools, they may also be the worst. Between childhood and manhood how incalculable is the mischief

which ignorance in the home has the power to cause! Between the drawing of the first breath and the last,

how vast is the moral suffering and disease occasioned by incompetent mothers and nurses! Commit a child

to the care of a worthless ignorant woman, and no culture in after life will remedy the evil you have done.

Let the mother be idle, vicious, and a slattern; let her home be pervaded by cavilling, petulance, and

discontent, and it will become a dwelling of misery a place to fly from, rather than to fly to; and the

children whose misfortune it is to be brought up there, will be morally dwarfed and deformedthe cause of

Napoleon Buonaparte was accustomed to say that "the future good or bad conduct of a child depended

entirely on the mother." He himself attributed his rise in life in a great measure to the training of his will, his

energy, and his selfcontrol, by his mother at home. "Nobody had any command over him," says one of his

biographers, "except his mother, who found means, by a mixture of tenderness, severity, and justice, to make

A curious illustration of the dependence of the character of children on that of the mother incidentally occurs

in one of Mr. Tufnell's school reports. The truth, he observes, is so well established that it has even been

made subservient to mercantile calculation. "I was informed," he says, "in a large factory, where many

children were employed, that the managers before they engaged a boy always inquired into the mother's

character, and if that was satisfactory they were tolerably certain that her children would conduct themselves

It has also been observed that in cases where the father has turned out badlybecome a drunkard, and "gone

to the dogs" provided the mother is prudent and sensible, the family will be kept together, and the children

probably make their way honourably in life; whereas in cases of the opposite sort, where the mother turns out

badly, no matter how wellconducted the father may be, the instances of aftersuccess in life on the part of

The greater part of the influence exercised by women on the formation of character necessarily remains

unknown. They accomplish their best work in the quiet seclusion of the home and the family, by sustained

effort and patient perseverance in the path of duty. Their greatest triumphs, because private and domestic, are

rarely recorded; and it is not often, even in the biographies of distinguished men, that we hear of the share

which their mothers have had in the formation of their character, and in giving them a bias towards goodness.

Yet are they not on that account without their reward. The influence they have exercised, though unrecorded,

We do not often hear of great women, as we do of great men. It is of good women that we mostly hear; and it

is probable that by determining the character of men and women for good, they are doing even greater work

than if they were to paint great pictures, write great books, or compose great operas. "It is quite true," said

Joseph de Maistre, "that women have produced no CHEFS DOEUVRE. They have written no 'Iliad,' nor

'Jerusalem Delivered,' nor 'Hamlet,' nor 'Phaedre,' nor 'Paradise Lost,' nor 'Tartuffe;' they have designed no

Church of St. Peter's, composed no 'Messiah,' carved no 'Apollo Belvidere,' painted no 'Last Judgment;' they

have invented neither algebra, nor telescopes, nor steamengines; but they have done something far greater

and better than all this, for it is at their knees that upright and virtuous men and women have been

De Maistre, in his letters and writings, speaks of his own mother with immense love and reverence. Her noble

character made all other women venerable in his eyes. He described her as his "sublime mother""an angel

to whom God had lent a body for a brief season." To her he attributed the bent of his character, and all his

bias towards good; and when he had grown to mature years, while acting as ambassador at the Court of St.

Petersburg, he referred to her noble example and precepts as the ruling influence in his life.

One of the most charming features in the character of Samuel Johnson, notwithstanding his rough and shaggy

exterior, was the tenderness with which he invariably spoke of his mother (5)a woman of strong

understanding, who firmly implanted in his mind, as he himself acknowledges, his first impressions of

religion. He was accustomed, even in the time of his greatest difficulties, to contribute largely, out of his

slender means, to her comfort; and one of his last acts of filial duty was to write 'Rasselas' for the purpose of

George Washington was only eleven years of agethe eldest of five childrenwhen his father died, leaving

his mother a widow. She was a woman of rare excellencefull of resources, a good woman of business, an

excellent manager, and possessed of much strength of character. She had her children to educate and bring

up, a large household to govern, and extensive estates to manage, all of which she accomplished with

complete success. Her good sense, assiduity, tenderness, industry, and vigilance, enabled her to overcome

every obstacle; and as the richest reward of her solicitude and toil, she had the happiness to see all her

children come forward with a fair promise into life, filling the spheres allotted to them in a manner equally

honourable to themselves, and to the parent who had been the only guide of their, principles, conduct, and

The biographer of Cromwell says little about the Protector's father, but dwells upon the character of his

mother, whom he describes as a woman of rare vigour and decision of purpose: "A woman," he says,

"possessed of the glorious faculty of selfhelp when other assistance failed her; ready for the demands of

fortune in its extremest adverse turn; of spirit and energy equal to her mildness and patience; who, with the

labour of her own hands, gave dowries to five daughters sufficient to marry them into families as honourable

but more wealthy than their own; whose single pride was honesty, and whose passion was love; who

preserved in the gorgeous palace at Whitehall the simple tastes that distinguished her in the old brewery at

Huntingdon; and whose only care, amidst all her splendour, was for the safety of her son in his dangerous

We have spoken of the mother of Napoleon Buonaparte as a woman of great force of character. Not less so

was the mother of the Duke of Wellington, whom her son strikingly resembled in features, person, and

character; while his father was principally distinguished as a musical composer and performer. (8) But,

strange to say, Wellington's mother mistook him for a dunce; and, for some reason or other, he was not such a

favourite as her other children, until his great deeds in afterlife constrained her to be proud of him.

The Napiers were blessed in both parents, but especially in their mother, Lady Sarah Lennox, who early

sought to inspire her sons' minds with elevating thoughts, admiration of noble deeds, and a chivalrous spirit,

which became embodied in their lives, and continued to sustain them, until death, in the path of duty and of

Among statesmen, lawyers, and divines, we find marked mention made of the mothers of Lord Chancellors

Bacon, Erskine, and Brougham all women of great ability, and, in the case of the first, of great learning; as

well as of the mothers of Canning, Curran, and President Adamsof Herbert, Paley, and Wesley. Lord

Brougham speaks in terms almost approaching reverence of his grandmother, the sister of Professor

Robertson, as having been mainly instrumental in instilling into his mind a strong desire for information, and

the first principles of that persevering energy in the pursuit of every kind of knowledge which formed his

Canning's mother was an Irishwoman of great natural ability, for whom her gifted son entertained the greatest

love and respect to the close of his career. She was a woman of no ordinary intellectual power. "Indeed," says

Canning's biographer, "were we not otherwise assured of the fact from direct sources, it would be impossible

to contemplate his profound and touching devotion to her, without being led to conclude that the object of

such unchanging attachment must have been possessed of rare and commanding qualities. She was esteemed

by the circle in which she lived, as a woman of great mental energy. Her conversation was animated and

vigorous, and marked by a distinct originality of manner and a choice of topics fresh and striking, and out of

the commonplace routine. To persons who were but slightly acquainted with her, the energy of her manner

Curran speaks with great affection of his mother, as a woman of strong original understanding, to whose wise

counsel, consistent piety, and lessons of honourable ambition, which she diligently enforced on the minds of

her children, he himself principally attributed his success in life. "The only inheritance," he used to say, "that

I could boast of from my poor father, was the very scanty one of an unattractive face and person; like his

own; and if the world has ever attributed to me something more valuable than face or person, or than earthly

wealth, it was that another and a dearer parent gave her child a portion from the treasure of her mind." (10)

When exPresident Adams was present at the examination of a girls' school at Boston, he was presented by

the pupils with an address which deeply affected him; and in acknowledging it, he took the opportunity of

referring to the lasting influence which womanly training and association had exercised upon his own life and

character. "As a child," he said, "I enjoyed perhaps the greatest of blessings that can be bestowed on

manthat of a mother, who was anxious and capable to form the characters of her children rightly. From her

I derived whatever instruction (religious especially, and moral) has pervaded a long lifeI will not say

perfectly, or as it ought to be; but I will say, because it is only justice to the memory of her I revere, that, in

the course of that life, whatever imperfection there has been, or deviation from what she taught me, the fault

The Wesleys were peculiarly linked to their parents by natural piety, though the mother, rather than the

father, influenced their minds and developed their characters. The father was a man of strong will, but

occasionally harsh and tyrannical in his dealings with his family; (11) while the mother, with much strength

of understanding and ardent love of truth, was gentle, persuasive, affectionate, and simple. She was the

teacher and cheerful companion of her children, who gradually became moulded by her example. It was

through the bias given by her to her sons' minds in religious matters that they acquired the tendency which,

even in early years, drew to them the name of Methodists. In a letter to her son, Samuel Wesley, when a

scholar at Westminster in 1709, she said: "I would advise you as much as possible to throw your business into

a certain METHOD, by which means you will learn to improve every precious moment, and find an

unspeakable facility in the performance of your respective duties." This "method" she went on to describe,

exhorting her son "in all things to act upon principle;" and the society which the brothers John and Charles

afterwards founded at Oxford is supposed to have been in a great measure the result of her exhortations.

In the case of poets, literary men, and artists, the influence of the mother's feeling and taste has doubtless had

great effect in directing the genius of their sons; and we find this especially illustrated in the lives of Gray,

Thomson, Scott, Southey, Bulwer, Schiller, and Goethe. Gray inherited, almost complete, his kind and loving

nature from his mother, while his father was harsh and unamiable. Gray was, in fact, a feminine manshy,

reserved, and wanting in energy,but thoroughly irreproachable in life and character. The poet's mother

maintained the family, after her unworthy husband had deserted her; and, at her death, Gray placed on her

grave, in Stoke Pogis, an epitaph describing her as "the careful tender mother of many children, one of whom

alone had the misfortune to survive her." The poet himself was, at his own desire, interred beside her

Goethe, like Schiller, owed the bias of his mind and character to his mother, who was a woman of

extraordinary gifts. She was full of joyous flowing motherwit, and possessed in a high degree the art of

stimulating young and active minds, instructing them in the science of life out of the treasures of her

abundant experience. (12) After a lengthened interview with her, an enthusiastic traveller said, "Now do I

understand how Goethe has become the man he is." Goethe himself affectionately cherished her memory.

"She was worthy of life!" he once said of her; and when he visited Frankfort, he sought out every individual

It was Ary Scheffer's motherwhose beautiful features the painter so loved to reproduce in his pictures of

Beatrice, St. Monica, and others of his worksthat encouraged his study of art, and by great selfdenial

provided him with the means of pursuing it. While living at Dordrecht, in Holland, she first sent him to Lille

to study, and afterwards to Paris; and her letters to him, while absent, were always full of sound motherly

advice, and affectionate womanly sympathy. "If you could but see me," she wrote on one occasion, "kissing

your picture, then, after a while, taking it up again, and, with a tear in my eye, calling you 'my beloved son,'

you would comprehend what it costs me to use sometimes the stern language of authority, and to occasion to

you moments of pain. * * * Work diligentlybe, above all, modest and humble; and when you find yourself

excelling others, then compare what you have done with Nature itself, or with the 'ideal' of your own mind,

and you will be secured, by the contrast which will be apparent, against the effects of pride and presumption."

Long years after, when Ary Scheffer was himself a grandfather, he remembered with affection the advice of

his mother, and repeated it to his children. And thus the vital power of good example lives on from generation

to generation, keeping the world ever fresh and young. Writing to his daughter, Madame Marjolin, in 1846,

his departed mother's advice recurred to him, and he said: "The word MUSTfix it well in your memory,

dear child; your grandmother seldom had it out of hers. The truth is, that through our lives nothing brings any

good fruit except what is earned by either the work of the hands, or by the exertion of one's self denial.

Sacrifices must, in short, be ever going on if we would obtain any comfort or happiness. Now that I am no

longer young, I declare that few passages in my life afford me so much satisfaction as those in which I made

sacrifices, or denied myself enjoyments. 'Das Entsagen' (the forbidden) is the motto of the wise man.

The French historian Michelet makes the following touching reference to his mother in the Preface to one of

his most popular books, the subject of much embittered controversy at the time at which it appeared:

"Whilst writing all this, I have had in my mind a woman, whose strong and serious mind would not have

failed to support me in these contentions. I lost her thirty years ago (I was a child then)nevertheless, ever

"She suffered with me in my poverty, and was not allowed to share my better fortune. When young, I made

her sad, and now I cannot console her. I know not even where her bones are: I was too poor then to buy earth

"And yet I owe her much. I feel deeply that I am the son of woman. Every instant, in my ideas and words (not

to mention my features and gestures), I find again my mother in myself. It is my mother's blood which gives

me the sympathy I feel for bygone ages, and the tender remembrance of all those who are now no more."

"What return then could I, who am myself advancing towards old age, make her for the many things I owe

her? One, for which she would have thanked methis protest in favour of women and mothers." (14)

But while a mother may greatly influence the poetic or artistic mind of her son for good, she may also

influence it for evil. Thus the characteristics of Lord Byronthe waywardness of his impulses, his defiance

of restraint, the bitterness of his hate, and the precipitancy of his resentmentswere traceable in no small

degree to the adverse influences exercised upon his mind from his birth by his capricious, violent, and

headstrong mother. She even taunted her son with his personal deformity; and it was no unfrequent

occurrence, in the violent quarrels which occurred between them, for her to take up the poker or tongs, and

hurl them after him as he fled from her presence. (15) It was this unnatural treatment that gave a morbid turn

to Byron's afterlife; and, careworn, unhappy, great, and yet weak as he was, he carried about with him the

mother's poison which he had sucked in his infancy. Hence he exclaims, in his 'Childe Harold':

"Yet must I think less wildly: I have thought Too long and darkly, till my brain became, In its own eddy

boiling and o'erwrought, A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame: And thus, UNTAUGHT IN YOUTH MY

In like manner, though in a different way, the character of Mrs. Foote, the actor's mother, was curiously

repeated in the life of her joyous, jovialhearted son. Though she had been heiress to a large fortune, she

soon spent it all, and was at length imprisoned for debt. In this condition she wrote to Sam, who had been

allowing her a hundred a year out of the proceeds of his acting: "Dear Sam, I am in prison for debt; come

and assist your loving mother, E. Foote." To which her son characteristically replied "Dear mother, so am

I; which prevents his duty being paid to his loving mother by her affectionate son, Sam Foote."

A foolish mother may also spoil a gifted son, by imbuing his mind with unsound sentiments. Thus

Lamartine's mother is said to have trained him in altogether erroneous ideas of life, in the school of Rousseau

and Bernardin de St.Pierre, by which his sentimentalism, sufficiently strong by nature, was exaggerated

instead of repressed: (16) and he became the victim of tears, affectation, and improvidence, all his life long. It

almost savours of the ridiculous to find Lamartine, in his 'Confidences,' representing himself as a "statue of

Adolescence raised as a model for young men." (17) As he was his mother's spoilt child, so he was the spoilt

child of his country to the end, which was bitter and sad. SainteBeuve says of him: "He was the continual

object of the richest gifts, which he had not the power of managing, scattering and wasting themall,

excepting, the gift of words, which seemed inexhaustible, and on which he continued to play to the end as on

We have spoken of the mother of Washington as an excellent woman of business; and to possess such a

quality as capacity for business is not only compatible with true womanliness, but is in a measure essential to

the comfort and wellbeing of every properly governed family. Habits of business do not relate to trade

merely, but apply to all the practical affairs of lifeto everything that has to be arranged, to be organised, to

be provided for, to be done. And in all these respects the management of a family, and of a household, is as

much a matter of business as the management of a shop or of a countinghouse. It requires method, accuracy,

organization, industry, economy, discipline, tact, knowledge, and capacity for adapting means to ends. All

this is of the essence of business; and hence business habits are as necessary to be cultivated by women who

would succeed in the affairs of homein other words, who would make home happyas by men in the

The idea has, however, heretofore prevailed, that women have no concern with such matters, and that

business habits and qualifications relate to men only. Take, for instance, the knowledge of figures. Mr. Bright

has said of boys, "Teach a boy arithmetic thoroughly, and he is a made man." And why?Because it teaches

him method, accuracy, value, proportions, relations. But how many girls are taught arithmetic well?Very

few indeed. And what is the consequence?When the girl becomes a wife, if she knows nothing of figures,

and is innocent of addition and multiplication, she can keep no record of income and expenditure, and there

will probably be a succession of mistakes committed which may be prolific in domestic contention. The

woman, not being up to her businessthat is, the management of her domestic affairs in conformity with the

simple principles of arithmetic will, through sheer ignorance, be apt to commit extravagances, though

Method, which is the soul of business, is also of essential importance in the home. Work can only be got

through by method. Muddle flies before it, and huggermugger becomes a thing unknown. Method demands

punctuality, another eminently business quality. The unpunctual woman, like the unpunctual man, occasions

dislike, because she consumes and wastes time, and provokes the reflection that we are not of sufficient

importance to make her more prompt. To the business man, time is money; but to the business woman,

Prudence is another important business quality in women, as in men. Prudence is practical wisdom, and

comes of the cultivated judgment. It has reference in all things to fitness, to propriety; judging wisely of the

right thing to be done, and the right way of doing it. It calculates the means, order, time, and method of

For these, amongst other reasons, habits of business are necessary to be cultivated by all women, in order to

their being efficient helpers in the world's daily life and work. Furthermore, to direct the power of the home

aright, women, as the nurses, trainers, and educators of children, need all the help and strength that mental

Mere instinctive love is not sufficient. Instinct, which preserves the lower creatures, needs no training; but

human intelligence, which is in constant request in a family, needs to be educated. The physical health of the

rising generation is entrusted to woman by Providence; and it is in the physical nature that the moral and

mental nature lies enshrined. It is only by acting in accordance with the natural laws, which before she can

follow woman must needs understand, that the blessings of health of body, and health of mind and morals,

can be secured at home. Without a knowledge of such laws, the mother's love too often finds its recompence

It is a mere truism to say that the intellect with which woman as well as man is endowed, has been given for

use and exercise, and not "to fust in her unused." Such endowments are never conferred without a purpose.

Woman was not meant to be either an unthinking drudge, or the merely pretty ornament of man's leisure. She

exists for herself, as well as for others; and the serious and responsible duties she is called upon to perform in

life, require the cultivated head as well as the sympathising heart. Her highest mission is not to be fulfilled by

the mastery of fleeting accomplishments, on which so much useful time is now wasted; for, though

accomplishments may enhance the charms of youth and beauty, of themselves sufficiently charming, they

The highest praise which the ancient Romans could express of a noble matron was that she sat at home and

span"DOMUM MANSIT, LANAM FECIT." In our own time, it has been said that chemistry enough to

keep the pot boiling, and geography enough to know the different rooms in her house, was science enough for

any woman; whilst Byron, whose sympathies for woman were of a very imperfect kind, professed that he

would limit her library to a Bible and a cookerybook. But this view of woman's character and culture is as

absurdly narrow and unintelligent, on the one hand, as the opposite view, now so much in vogue, is

extravagant and unnatural on the otherthat woman ought to be educated so as to be as much as possible the

equal of man; undistinguishable from him, except in sex; equal to him in rights and votes; and his competitor

in all that makes life a fierce and selfish struggle for place and power and money.

Speaking generally, the training and discipline that are most suitable for the one sex in early life, are also the

most suitable for the other; and the education and culture that fill the mind of the man will prove equally

wholesome for the woman. Indeed, all the arguments which have yet been advanced in favour of the higher

education of men, plead equally strongly in favour of the higher education of women. In all the departments

of home, intelligence will add to woman's usefulness and efficiency. It will give her thought and forethought,

enable her to anticipate and provide for the contingencies of life, suggest improved methods of management,

and give her strength in every way. In disciplined mental power she will find a stronger and safer protection

against deception and imposture than in mere innocent and unsuspecting ignorance; in moral and religious

culture she will secure sources of influence more powerful and enduring than in physical attractions; and in

due selfreliance and selfdependence she will discover the truest sources of domestic comfort and

But while the mind and character of women ought to be cultivated with a view to their own wellbeing, they

ought not the less to be educated liberally with a view to the happiness of others. Men themselves cannot be

sound in mind or morals if women be the reverse; and if, as we hold to be the case, the moral condition of a

people mainly depends upon the education of the home, then the education of women is to be regarded as a

matter of national importance. Not only does the moral character but the mental strength of man find their

best safeguard and support in the moral purity and mental cultivation of woman; but the more completely the

powers of both are developed, the more harmonious and well ordered will society bethe more safe and

When about fifty years since, the first Napoleon said that the great want of France was mothers, he meant, in

other words, that the French people needed the education of homes, provided over by good, virtuous,

intelligent women. Indeed, the first French Revolution presented one of the most striking illustrations of the

social mischiefs resulting from a neglect of the purifying influence of women. When that great national

outbreak occurred, society was impenetrated with vice and profligacy. Morals, religion, virtue, were

swamped by sensualism. The character of woman had become depraved. Conjugal fidelity was disregarded;

maternity was held in reproach; family and home were alike corrupted. Domestic purity no longer bound

society together. France was motherless; the children broke loose; and the Revolution burst forth, "amidst the

But the terrible lesson was disregarded, and again and again France has grievously suffered from the want of

that discipline, obedience, selfcontrol, and selfrespect which can only be truly learnt at home. It is said that

the Third Napoleon attributed the recent powerlessness of France, which left her helpless and bleeding at the

feet of her conquerors, to the frivolity and lack of principle of the people, as well as to their love of

pleasure which, however, it must be confessed, he himself did not a little to foster. It would thus seem that

the discipline which France still needs to learn, if she would be good and great, is that indicated by the First

The influence of woman is the same everywhere. Her condition influences the morals, manners, and character

of the people in all countries. Where she is debased, society is debased; where she is morally pure and

Hence, to instruct woman is to instruct man; to elevate her character is to raise his own; to enlarge her mental

freedom is to extend and secure that of the whole community. For Nations are but the outcomes of Homes,

But while it is certain that the character of a nation will be elevated by the enlightenment and refinement of

woman, it is much more than doubtful whether any advantage is to be derived from her entering into

competition with man in the rough work of business and polities. Women can no more do men's special work

in the world than men can do women's. And wherever woman has been withdrawn from her home and family

to enter upon other work, the result has been socially disastrous. Indeed, the efforts of some of the best

philanthropists have of late years been devoted to withdrawing women from toiling alongside of men in

It is still not uncommon in the North for the husbands to be idle at home, while the mothers and daughters are

working in the factory; the result being, in many cases, an entire subversion of family order, of domestic

discipline, and of home rule. (21) And for many years past, in Paris, that state of things has been reached

which some women desire to effect amongst ourselves. The women there mainly attend to businessserving

the BOUTIQUE, or presiding at the COMPTOIRwhile the men lounge about the Boulevards. But the

Nor is there any reason to believe that the elevation and improvement of women are to be secured by

investing them with political power. There are, however, in these days, many believers in the potentiality of

"votes," (22) who anticipate some indefinite good from the "enfranchisement" of women. It is not necessary

here to enter upon the discussion of this question. But it may be sufficient to state that the power which

women do not possess politically is far more than compensated by that which they exercise in private

lifeby their training in the home those who, whether as men or as women, do all the manly as well as

womanly work of the world. The Radical Bentham has said that man, even if he would, cannot keep power

from woman; for that she already governs the world "with the whole power of a despot," (23) though the

power that she mainly governs by is love. And to form the character of the whole human race, is certainly a

power far greater than that which women could ever hope to exercise as voters for members of Parliament, or

There is, however, one special department of woman's work demanding the earnest attention of all true

female reformers, though it is one which has hitherto been unaccountably neglected. We mean the better

economizing and preparation of human food, the waste of which at present, for want of the most ordinary

culinary knowledge, is little short of scandalous. If that man is to be regarded as a benefactor of his species

who makes two stalks of corn to grow where only one grew before, not less is she to be regarded as a public

benefactor who economizes and turns to the best practical account the foodproducts of human skill and

labour. The improved use of even our existing supply would be equivalent to an immediate extension of the

cultivable acreage of our countrynot to speak of the increase in health, economy, and domestic comfort.

Were our female reformers only to turn their energies in this direction with effect, they would earn the

gratitude of all households, and be esteemed as among the greatest of practical philanthropists.

(1) Civic virtues, unless they have their origin and consecration in private and domestic virtues, are but the

virtues of the theatre. He who has not a loving heart for his child, cannot pretend to have any true love for

(3) Speaking of the force of habit, St. Augustine says in his 'Confessions' "My will the enemy held, and

thence had made a chain for me, and bound me. For of a froward will was a lust made; and a lust served

became custom; and custom not resisted became necessity. By which links, as it were, joined together

(4) Mr. Tufnell, in 'Reports of Inspectors of Parochial School Unions in England and Wales,' 1850.

(5) See the letters (January 13th, 16th, 18th, 20th, and 23rd, 1759), written by Johnson to his mother when

she was ninety, and he himself was in his fiftieth year.Crokers BOSWELL, 8vo. Ed. pp. 113, 114.

(11) The father of the Wesleys had even determined at one time to abandon his wife because her conscience

forbade her to assent to his prayers for the then reigning monarch, and he was only saved from the

consequences of his rash resolve by the accidental death of William III. He displayed the same overbearing

disposition in dealing with his children; forcing his daughter Mehetabel to marry, against her will, a man

(12) Goethe himself says "Vom Vater hab' ich die Statur, Des Lebens ernstes Fuhren; Von Mutterchen die

(15) Mrs. Byron is said to have died in a fit of passion, brought on by reading her upholsterer's bills.

(19) That about onethird of all the children born in this country die under five years of age, can only he

attributable to ignorance of the natural laws, ignorance of the human constitution, and ignorance of the uses

of pure air, pure water, and of the art of preparing and administering wholesome food. There is no such

(20) Beaumarchais' 'Figaro,' which was received with such enthusiasm in France shortly before the outbreak

of the Revolution, may be regarded as a typical play; it represented the average morality of the upper as well

as the lower classes with respect to the relations between the sexes. "Label men how you please," says

Herbert Spencer, "with titles of 'upper' and 'middle' and 'lower,' you cannot prevent them from being units of

the same society, acted upon by the same spirit of the age, moulded after the same type of character. The

mechanical law, that action and reaction are equal, has its moral analogue. The deed of one man to another

tends ultimately to produce a like effect upon both, be the deed good or bad. Do but put them in relationship,

and no division into castes, no differences of wealth, can prevent men from assimilating.... The same

influences which rapidly adapt the individual to his society, ensure, though by a slower process, the general

uniformity of a national character.... And so long as the assimilating influences productive of it continue at

work, it is folly to suppose any one grade of a community can be morally different from the rest. In

whichever rank you see corruption, be assured it equally pervades all ranksbe assured it is the symptom of

a bad social diathesis. Whilst the virus of depravity exists in one part of the bodypolitic, no other part can

(21) Some twentyeight years since, the author wrote and published the following passage, not without

practical knowledge of the subject; and notwithstanding the great amelioration in the lot of factory workers,

effected mainly through the noble efforts of Lord Shaftesbury, the description is still to a large extent true:

"The factory system, however much it may have added to the wealth of the country, has had a most

deleterious effect on the domestic condition of the people. It has invaded the sanctuary of home, and broken

up family and social ties. It has taken the wife from the husband, and the children from their parents.

Especially has its tendency been to lower the character of woman. The performance of domestic duties is her

proper office,the management of her household, the rearing of her family, the economizing of the family

means, the supplying of the family wants. But the factory takes her from all these duties. Homes become no

longer homes. Children grow up uneducated and neglected. The finer affections become blunted. Woman is

no more the gentle wife, companion, and friend of man, but his fellow labourer and fellowdrudge. She is

exposed to influences which too often efface that modesty of thought and conduct which is one of the best

safeguards of virtue. Without judgment or sound principles to guide them, factorygirls early acquire the

feeling of independence. Ready to throw off the constraint imposed on them by their parents, they leave their

homes, and speedily become initiated in the vices of their associates. The atmosphere, physical as well as

moral, in which they live, stimulates their animal appetites; the influence of bad example becomes contagious

(22)A French satirist, pointing to the repeated PLEBISCITES and perpetual voting of late years, and to the

growing want of faith in anything but votes, said, in 1870, that we seemed to be rapidly approaching the

period when the only prayer of man and woman would be, "Give us this day our daily vote!"

(23) "Of primeval and necessary and absolute superiority, the relation of the mother to the child is far more

complete, though less seldom quoted as an example, than that of father and son.... By Sir Robert Filmer, the

supposed necessary as well as absolute power of the father over his children, was taken as the foundation and

origin, and thence justifying cause, of the power of the monarch in every political state. With more propriety

he might have stated the absolute dominion of a woman as the only legitimate form of

The natural education of the Home is prolonged far into life indeed, it never entirely ceases. But the time

arrives, in the progress of years, when the Home ceases to exercise an exclusive influence on the formation of

character; and it is succeeded by the more artificial education of the school and the companionship of friends

and comrades, which continue to mould the character by the powerful influence of example.

Men, young and oldbut the young more than the oldcannot help imitating those with whom they

associate. It was a saying of George Herbert's mother, intended for the guidance of her sons, "that as our

bodies take a nourishment suitable to the meat on which we feed, so do our souls as insensibly take in virtue

Indeed, it is impossible that association with those about us should not produce a powerful influence in the

formation of character. For men are by nature imitators, and all persons are more or less impressed by the

speech, the manners, the gait, the gestures, and the very habits of thinking of their companions. "Is example

nothing?" said Burke. "It is everything. Example is the school of mankind, and they will learn at no other."

Burke's grand motto, which he wrote for the tablet of the Marquis of Rockingham, is worth repeating: it was,

Imitation is for the most part so unconscious that its effects are almost unheeded, but its influence is not the

less permanent on that account. It is only when an impressive nature is placed in contact with an

impressionable one, that the alteration in the character becomes recognisable. Yet even the weakest natures

exercise some influence upon those about them. The approximation of feeling, thought, and habit is constant,

Emerson has observed that even old couples, or persons who have been housemates for a course of years,

grow gradually like each other; so that, if they were to live long enough, we should scarcely be able to know

them apart. But if this be true of the old, how much more true is it of the young, whose plastic natures are so

much more soft and impressionable, and ready to take the stamp of the life and conversation of those about

"There has been," observed Sir Charles Bell in one of his letters, "a good deal said about education, but they

appear to me to put out of sight EXAMPLE, which is allinall. My best education was the example set me

by my brothers. There was, in all the members of the family, a reliance on self, a true independence, and by

It is in the nature of things that the circumstances which contribute to form the character, should exercise

their principal influence during the period of growth. As years advance, example and imitation become

custom, and gradually consolidate into habit, which is of so much potency that, almost before we know it, we

It is related of Plato, that on one occasion he reproved a boy for playing at some foolish game. "Thou

reprovest me," said the boy, "for a very little thing." "But custom," replied Plato, "is not a little thing." Bad

custom, consolidated into habit, is such a tyrant that men sometimes cling to vices even while they curse

them. They have become the slaves of habits whose power they are impotent to resist. Hence Locke has said

that to create and maintain that vigour of mind which is able to contest the empire of habit, may be regarded

Though much of the education of character by example is spontaneous and unconscious, the young need not

necessarily be the passive followers or imitators of those about them. Their own conduct, far more than the

conduct of their companions, tends to fix the purpose and form the principles of their life. Each possesses in

himself a power of will and of free activity, which, if courageously exercised, will enable him to make his

own individual selection of friends and associates. It is only through weakness of purpose that young people,

as well as old, become the slaves of their inclinations, or give themselves up to a servile imitation of others.

It is a common saying that men are known by the company they keep. The sober do not naturally associate

with the drunken, the refined with the coarse, the decent with the dissolute. To associate with depraved

persons argues a low taste and vicious tendencies, and to frequent their society leads to inevitable degradation

of character. "The conversation of such persons," says Seneca, "is very injurious; for even if it does no

immediate harm, it leaves its seeds in the mind, and follows us when we have gone from the speakersa

If young men are wisely influenced and directed, and conscientiously exert their own free energies, they will

seek the society of those better than themselves, and strive to imitate their example. In companionship with

the good, growing natures will always find their best nourishment; while companionship with the bad will

only be fruitful in mischief. There are persons whom to know is to love, honour, and admire; and others

whom to know is to shun and despise,"DONT LE SAVOIR N'EST QUE BETERIE," as says Rabelais

when speaking of the education of Gargantua. Live with persons of elevated characters, and you will feel

lifted and lighted up in them: "Live with wolves," says the Spanish proverb, "and you will learn to howl."

Intercourse with even commonplace, selfish persons, may prove most injurious, by inducing a dry, dull

reserved, and selfish condition of mind, more or less inimical to true manliness and breadth of character. The

mind soon learns to run in small grooves, the heart grows narrow and contracted, and the moral nature

becomes weak, irresolute, and accommodating, which is fatal to all generous ambition or real excellence.

On the other hand, association with persons wiser, better, and more experienced than ourselves, is always

more or less inspiring and invigorating. They enhance our own knowledge of life. We correct our estimates

by theirs, and become partners in their wisdom. We enlarge our field of observation through their eyes, profit

by their experience, and learn not only from what they have enjoyed, butwhich is still more

instructivefrom what they have suffered. If they are stronger than ourselves, we become participators in

their strength. Hence companionship with the wise and energetic never fails to have a most valuable influence

on the formation of characterincreasing our resources, strengthening our resolves, elevating our aims, and

enabling us to exercise greater dexterity and ability in our own affairs, as well as more effective helpfulness

"I have often deeply regretted in myself," says Mrs. Schimmelpenninck, "the great loss I have experienced

from the solitude of my early habits. We need no worse companion than our unregenerate selves, and, by

living alone, a person not only becomes wholly ignorant of the means of helping his fellow creatures, but is

without the perception of those wants which most need help. Association with others, when not on so large a

scale as to make hours of retirement impossible, may be considered as furnishing to an individual a rich

multiplied experience; and sympathy so drawn forth, though, unlike charity, it begins abroad, never fails to

bring back rich treasures home. Association with others is useful also in strengthening the character, and in

enabling us, while we never lose sight of our main object, to thread our way wisely and well." (2)

An entirely new direction may be given to the life of a young man by a happy suggestion, a timely hint, or the

kindly advice of an honest friend. Thus the life of Henry Martyn the Indian missionary, seems to have been

singularly influenced by a friendship which he formed, when a boy, at Truro Grammar School. Martyn

himself was of feeble frame, and of a delicate nervous temperament. Wanting in animal spirits, he took but

little pleasure in school sports; and being of a somewhat petulant temper, the bigger boys took pleasure in

provoking him, and some of them in bullying him. One of the bigger boys, however, conceiving a friendship

for Martyn, took him under his protection, stood between him and his persecutors, and not only fought his

battles for him, but helped him with his lessons. Though Martyn was rather a backward pupil, his father was

desirous that he should have the advantage of a college education, and at the age of about fifteen he sent him

to Oxford to try for a Corpus scholarship, in which he failed. He remained for two years more at the Truro

Grammar School, and then went to Cambridge, where he was entered at St. John's College. Who should he

find already settled there as a student but his old champion of the Truro Grammar School? Their friendship

was renewed; and the elder student from that time forward acted as the Mentor, of the younger one. Martyn

was fitful in his studies, excitable and petulant, and occasionally subject to fits of almost uncontrollable rage.

His big friend, on the other hand, was a steady, patient, hardworking fellow; and he never ceased to watch

over, to guide, and to advise for good his irritable fellowstudent. He kept Martyn out of the way of evil

company, advised him to work hard, "not for the praise of men, but for the glory of God;" and so successfully

assisted him in his studies, that at the following Christmas examination he was the first of his year. Yet

Martyn's kind friend and Mentor never achieved any distinction himself; he passed away into obscurity,

leading, most probably, a useful though an unknown career; his greatest wish in life having been to shape the

character of his friend, to inspire his soul with the love of truth, and to prepare him for the noble work, on

A somewhat similar incident is said to have occurred in the college career of Dr. Paley. When a student at

Christ's College Cambridge, he was distinguished for his shrewdness as well as his clumsiness, and he was at

the same time the favourite and the butt of his companions. Though his natural abilities were great, he was

thoughtless, idle, and a spendthrift; and at the commencement of his third year be had made comparatively

little progress. After one of his usual nightdissipations, a friend stood by his bedside on the following

morning. "Paley," said he, "I have not been able to sleep for thinking about you. I have been thinking what a

fool you are! I have the means of dissipation, and can afford to be idle: YOU are poor, and cannot afford it. I

could do nothing, probably, even were I to try: YOU are capable of doing anything. I have lain awake all

night thinking about your folly, and I have now come solemnly to warn you. Indeed, if you persist in your

It is said that Paley was so powerfully affected by this admonition, that from that moment he became an

altered man. He formed an entirely new plan of life, and diligently persevered in it. He became one of the

most industrious of students. One by one he distanced his competitors, and at the end of the year be came out

Senior Wrangler. What he afterwards accomplished as an author and a divine is sufficiently well known.

No one recognised more fully the influence of personal example on the young than did Dr. Arnold. It was the

great lever with which he worked in striving to elevate the character of his school. He made it his principal

object, first to put a right spirit into the leading boys, by attracting their good and noble feelings; and then to

make them instrumental in propagating the same spirit among the rest, by the influence of imitation, example,

and admiration. He endeavoured to make all feel that they were fellowworkers with himself, and sharers

with him in the moral responsibility for the good government of the place. One of the first effects of this

highminded system of management was, that it inspired the boys with strength and selfrespect. They felt

that they were trusted. There were, of course, MAUVAIS SUJETS at Rugby, as there are at all schools; and

these it was the master's duty to watch, to prevent their bad example contaminating others. On one occasion

he said to an assistantmaster: "Do you see those two boys walking together? I never saw them together

before. You should make an especial point of observing the company they keep: nothing so tells the changes

Dr. Arnold's own example was an inspiration, as is that of every great teacher. In his presence, young men

learned to respect themselves; and out of the root of selfrespect there grew up the manly virtues. "His very

presence," says his biographer, "seemed to create a new spring of health and vigour within them, and to give

to life an interest and elevation which remained with them long after they had left him; and dwelt so

habitually in their thoughts as a living image, that, when death had taken him away, the bond appeared to be

still unbroken, and the sense of separation almost lost in the still deeper sense of a life and a Union

indestructible." (3) And thus it was that Dr. Arnold trained a host of manly and noble characters, who spread

So also was it said of Dugald Stewart, that he breathed the love of virtue into whole generations of pupils.

"To me," says the late Lord Cockburn, "his lectures were like the opening of the heavens. I felt that I had a

soul. His noble views, unfolded in glorious sentences, elevated me into a higher world... They changed my

Character tells in all conditions of life. The man of good character in a workshop will give the tone to his

fellows, and elevate their entire aspirations. Thus Franklin, while a workman in London, is said to have

reformed the manners of an entire workshop. So the man of bad character and debased energy will

unconsciously lower and degrade his fellows. Captain John Brown the "marchingon Brown"once said

to Emerson, that "for a settler in a new country, one good believing man is worth a hundred, nay, worth a

thousand men without character." His example is so contagious, that all other men are directly and

beneficially influenced by him, and he insensibly elevates and lifts them up to his own standard of energetic

Communication with the good is invariably productive of good. The good character is diffusive in his

influence. "I was common clay till roses were planted in me," says some aromatic earth in the Eastern fable.

Like begets like, and good makes good. "It is astonishing," says Canon Moseley, "how much good goodness

makes. Nothing that is good is alone, nor anything bad; it makes others good or others badand that other,

and so on: like a stone thrown into a pond, which makes circles that make other wider ones, and then others,

till the last reaches the shore.... Almost all the good that is in the world has, I suppose, thus come down to us

traditionally from remote times, and often unknown centres of good." (5) So Mr. Ruskin says, "That which is

born of evil begets evil; and that which is born of valour and honour, teaches valour and honour."

Hence it is that the life of every man is a daily inculcation of good or bad example to others. The life of a

good man is at the same time the most eloquent lesson of virtue and the most severe reproof of vice. Dr.

Hooker described the life of a pious clergyman of his acquaintance as "visible rhetoric," convincing even the

most godless of the beauty of goodness. And so the good George Herbert said, on entering upon the duties of

his parish: "Above all, I will be sure to live well, because the virtuous life of a clergyman is the most

powerful eloquence, to persuade all who see it to reverence and love, andat least to desire to live like him.

And this I will do," he added, "because I know we live in an age that hath more need of good examples than

precepts." It was a fine saying of the same good priest, when reproached with doing an act of kindness to a

poor man, considered beneath the dignity of his office,that the thought of such actions "would prove music

to him at midnight." (6) Izaak Walton speaks of a letter written by George Herbert to Bishop Andrewes,

about a holy life, which the latter "put into his bosom," and after showing it to his scholars, "did always

return it to the place where he first lodged it, and continued it so, near his heart, till the last day of his life."

Great is the power of goodness to charm and to command. The man inspired by it is the true king of men,

drawing all hearts after him. When General Nicholson lay wounded on his deathbed before Delhi, he dictated

this last message to his equally noble and gallant friend, Sir Herbert Edwardes: "Tell him," said he, "I

should have been a better man if I had continued to live with him, and our heavy public duties had not

prevented my seeing more of him privately. I was always the better for a residence with him and his wife,

There are men in whose presence we feel as if we breathed a spiritual ozone, refreshing and invigorating, like

inhaling mountain air, or enjoying a bath of sunshine. The power of Sir Thomas More's gentle nature was so

great that it subdued the bad at the same time that it inspired the good. Lord Brooke said of his deceased

friend, Sir Philip Sidney, that "his wit and understanding beat upon his heart, to make himself and others, not

The very sight of a great and good man is often an inspiration to the young, who cannot help admiring and

loving the gentle, the brave, the truthful, the magnanimous! Cbateaubriand saw Washington only once, but it

inspired him for life. After describing the interview, he says: "Washington sank into the tomb before any little

celebrity had attached to my name. I passed before him as the most unknown of beings. He was in all his

glory I in the depth of my obscurity. My name probably dwelt not a whole day in his memory. Happy,

however, was I that his looks were cast upon me. I have felt warmed for it all the rest of my life. There is a

When Niebuhr died, his friend, Frederick Perthes, said of him: "What a contemporary! The terror of all bad

and base men, the stay of all the sterling and honest, the friend and helper of youth." Perthes said on another

occasion: "It does a wrestling man good to be constantly surrounded by tried wrestlers; evil thoughts are put

to flight when the eye falls on the portrait of one in whose living presence one would have blushed to own

them." A Catholic moneylender, when about to cheat, was wont to draw a veil over the picture of his

favourite saint. So Hazlitt has said of the portrait of a beautiful female, that it seemed as if an unhandsome

action would be impossible in its presence. "It does one good to look upon his manly honest face," said a

poor German woman, pointing to a portrait of the great Reformer hung upon the wall of her humble dwelling.

Even the portrait of a noble or a good man, hung up in a room, is companionship after a sort. It gives us a

closer personal interest in him. Looking at the features, we feel as if we knew him better, and were more

nearly related to him. It is a link that connects us with a higher and better nature than our own. And though

we may be far from reaching the standard of our hero, we are, to a certain extent, sustained and fortified by

Fox was proud to acknowledge how much he owed to the example and conversation of Burke. On one

occasion he said of him, that "if he was to put all the political information he had gained from books, all that

he had learned from science, or that the knowledge of the world and its affairs taught him, into one scale, and

the improvement he had derived from Mr. Burke's conversation and instruction into the other, the latter

Professor Tyndall speaks of Faraday's friendship as "energy and inspiration." After spending an evening with

him he wrote: "His work excites admiration, but contact with him warms and elevates the heart. Here, surely,

is a strong man. I love strength, but let me not forget the example of its union with modesty, tenderness, and

Even the gentlest natures are powerful to influence the character of others for good. Thus Wordsworth seems

to have been especially impressed by the character of his sister Dorothy, who exercised upon his mind and

heart a lasting influence. He describes her as the blessing of his boyhood as well as of his manhood. Though

two years younger than himself, her tenderness and sweetness contributed greatly to mould his nature, and

"She gave me eyes, she gave me ears, And humble cares, and delicate fears; A heart, the fountain of sweet

Thus the gentlest natures are enabled, by the power of affection and intelligence, to mould the characters of

Sir William Napier attributed the early direction of his character, first to the impress made upon it by his

mother, when a boy; and afterwards to the noble example of his commander, Sir John Moore, when a man.

Moore early detected the qualities of the young officer; and he was one of those to whom the General

addressed the encouragement, "Well done, my majors!" at Corunna. Writing home to his mother, and

describing the little court by which Moore was surrounded, he wrote, "Where shall we find such a king?" It

was to his personal affection for his chief that the world is mainly indebted to Sir William Napier for his great

book, 'The History of the Peninsular War.' But he was stimulated to write the book by the advice of another

friend, the late Lord Langdale, while one day walking with him across the fields on which Belgravia is now

built. "It was Lord Langdale," he says, "who first kindled the fire within me." And of Sir William Napier

himself, his biographer truly says, that "no thinking person could ever come in contact with him without

The career of the late Dr. Marshall Hall was a lifelong illustration of the influence of character in forming

character. Many eminent men still living trace their success in life to his suggestions and assistance, without

which several valuable lines of study and investigation might not have been entered on, at least at so early a

period. He would say to young men about him, "Take up a subject and pursue it well, and you cannot fail to

succeed." And often he would throw out a new idea to a young friend, saying, "I make you a present of it;

Energy of character has always a power to evoke energy in others. It acts through sympathy, one of the most

influential of human agencies. The zealous energetic man unconsciously carries others along with him. His

example is contagious, and compels imitation. He exercises a sort of electric power, which sends a thrill

through every fibreflows into the nature of those about him, and makes them give out sparks of fire.

Dr. Arnold's biographer, speaking of the power of this kind exercised by him over young men, says: "It was

not so much an enthusiastic admiration for true genius, or learning, or eloquence, which stirred within them;

it was a sympathetic thrill, caught from a spirit that was earnestly at work in the world whose work was

healthy, sustained, and constantly carried forward in the fear of Goda work that was founded on a deep

Such a power, exercised by men of genius, evokes courage, enthusiasm, and devotion. It is this intense

admiration for individualssuch as one cannot conceive entertained for a multitudewhich has in all times

produced heroes and martyrs. It is thus that the mastery of character makes itself felt. It acts by inspiration,

Great minds are rich in radiating force, not only exerting power, but communicating and even creating it.

Thus Dante raised and drew after him a host of great spiritsPetrarch, Boccacio, Tasso, and many more.

From him Milton learnt to bear the stings of evil tongues and the contumely of evil days; and long years after,

Byron, thinking of Dante under the pinetrees of Ravenna, was incited to attune his harp to loftier strains

than he had ever attempted before. Dante inspired the greatest painters of Italy Giotto, Orcagna, Michael

Angelo, and Raphael. So Ariosto and Titian mutually inspired one another, and lighted up each other's glory.

Great and good men draw others after them, exciting the spontaneous admiration of mankind. This

admiration of noble character elevates the mind, and tends to redeem it from the bondage of self, one of the

greatest stumbling blocks to moral improvement. The recollection of men who have signalised themselves by

great thoughts or great deeds, seems as if to create for the time a purer atmosphere around us: and we feel as

"Tell me whom you admire," said SainteBeuve, "and I will tell you what you are, at least as regards your

talents, tastes, and character." Do you admire mean men?your own nature is mean. Do you admire rich

men?you are of the earth, earthy. Do you admire men of title?you are a toadeater, or a tufthunter. (8)

Do you admire honest, brave, and manly men?you are yourself of an honest, brave, and manly spirit.

It is in the season of youth, while the character is forming, that the impulse to admire is the greatest. As we

advance in life, we crystallize into habit; and "NIL ADMIRARI" too often becomes our motto. It is well to

encourage the admiration of great characters while the nature is plastic and open to impressions; for if the

good are not admiredas young men will have their heroes of some sortmost probably the great bad may

be taken by them for models. Hence it always rejoiced Dr. Arnold to hear his pupils expressing admiration of

great deeds, or full of enthusiasm for persons or even scenery. "I believe," said he, "that "NIL ADMIRARI"

is the devil's favourite text; and he could not choose a better to introduce his pupils into the more esoteric

parts of his doctrine. And, therefore, I have always looked upon a man infected with the disorder of

antiromance as one who has lost the finest part of his nature, and his best protection against everything low

It was a fine trait in the character of Prince Albert that he was always so ready to express generous admiration

of the good deeds of others. "He had the greatest delight," says the ablest delineator of his character, "in

anybody else saying a fine saying, or doing a great deed. He would rejoice over it, and talk about it for days;

and whether it was a thing nobly said or done by a little child, or by a veteran statesman, it gave him equal

pleasure. He delighted in humanity doing well on any occasion and in any manner." (10)

"No quality," said Dr. Johnson, "will get a man more friends than a sincere admiration of the qualities of

others. It indicates generosity of nature, frankness, cordiality, and cheerful recognition of merit." It was to the

sincereit might almost be said the reverentialadmiration of Johnson by Boswell, that we owe one of the

best biographies ever written. One is disposed to think that there must have been some genuine good qualities

in Boswell to have been attracted by such a man as Johnson, and to have kept faithful to his worship in spite

of rebuffs and snubbings innumerable. Macaulay speaks of Boswell as an altogether contemptible personas

a coxcomb and a boreweak, vain, pushing, curious, garrulous; and without wit, humour, or eloquence. But

Carlyle is doubtless more just in his characterisation of the biographer, in whomvain and foolish though he

was in many respectshe sees a man penetrated by the old reverent feeling of discipleship, full of love and

admiration for true wisdom and excellence. Without such qualities, Carlyle insists, the 'Life of Johnson' never

could have been written. "Boswell wrote a good book," he says, "because he had a heart and an eye to discern

wisdom, and an utterance to render it forth; because of his free insight, his lively talent, and, above all, of his

Most young men of generous mind have their heroes, especially if they be bookreaders. Thus Allan

Cunningham, when a mason's apprentice in Nithsdale, walked all the way to Edinburgh for the sole purpose

of seeing Sir Walter Scott as he passed along the street. We unconsciously admire the enthusiasm of the lad,

and respect the impulse which impelled him to make the journey. It is related of Sir Joshua Reynolds, that

when a boy of ten, he thrust his hand through intervening rows of people to touch Pope, as if there were a sort

of virtue in the contact. At a much later period, the painter Haydon was proud to see and to touch Reynolds

when on a visit to his native place. Rogers the poet used to tell of his ardent desire, when a boy, to see Dr.

Johnson; but when his hand was on the knocker of the house in Bolt Court, his courage failed him, and he

turned away. So the late Isaac Disraeli, when a youth, called at Bolt Court for the same purpose; and though

be HAD the courage to knock, to his dismay he was informed by the servant that the great lexicographer had

On the contrary, small and ungenerous minds cannot admire heartily. To their own great misfortune, they

cannot recognise, much less reverence, great men and great things. The mean nature admires meanly. The

toad's highest idea of beauty is his toadess. The small snob's highest idea of manhood is the great snob. The

slavedealer values a man according to his muscles. When a Guinea trader was told by Sir Godfrey Kneller,

in the presence of Pope, that he saw before him two of the greatest men in the world, he replied: "I don't

know how great you may be, but I don't like your looks. I have often bought a man much better than both of

Although Rochefoucauld, in one of his maxims, says that there is something that is not altogether

disagreeable to us in the misfortunes of even our best friends, it is only the small and essentially mean nature

that finds pleasure in the disappointment, and annoyance at the success of others. There are, unhappily, for

themselves, persons so constituted that they have not the heart to be generous. The most disagreeable of all

people are those who "sit in the seat of the scorner." Persons of this sort often come to regard the success of

others, even in a good work, as a kind of personal offence. They cannot bear to hear another praised,

especially if he belong to their own art, or calling, or profession. They will pardon a man's failures, but

cannot forgive his doing a thing better than they can do. And where they have themselves failed, they are

found to be the most merciless of detractors. The sour critic thinks of his rival:

The mean mind occupies itself with sneering, carping, and fault finding; and is ready to scoff at everything

but impudent effrontery or successful vice. The greatest consolation of such persons are the defects of men of

character. "If the wise erred not," says George Herbert, "it would go hard with fools." Yet, though wise men

may learn of fools by avoiding their errors, fools rarely profit by the example which, wise men set them. A

German writer has said that it is a miserable temper that cares only to discover the blemishes in the character

of great men or great periods. Let us rather judge them with the charity of Bolingbroke, who, when reminded

of one of the alleged weaknesses of Marlborough, observed,"He was so great a man that I forgot he had

Admiration of great men, living or dead, naturally evokes imitation of them in a greater or less degree. While

a mere youth, the mind of Themistocles was fired by the great deeds of his contemporaries, and he longed to

distinguish himself in the service of his country. When the Battle of Marathon had been fought, he fell into a

state of melancholy; and when asked by his friends as to the cause, he replied "that the trophies of Miltiades

would not suffer him to sleep." A few years later, we find him at the head of the Athenian army, defeating the

Persian fleet of Xerxes in the battles of Artemisium and Salamis,his country gratefully acknowledging that

It is related of Thucydides that, when a boy, he burst into tears on hearing Herodotus read his History, and the

impression made upon his mind was such as to determine the bent of his own genius. And Demosthenes was

so fired on one occasion by the eloquence of Callistratus, that the ambition was roused within him of

becoming an orator himself. Yet Demosthenes was physically weak, had a feeble voice, indistinct

articulation, and shortness of breath defects which he was only enabled to overcome by diligent study and

invincible determination. But, with all his practice, he never became a ready speaker; all his orations,

especially the most famous of them, exhibiting indications of careful elaboration,the art and industry of the

Similar illustrations of character imitating character, and moulding itself by the style and manner and genius

of great men, are to be found pervading all history. Warriors, statesmen, orators, patriots, poets, and

artistsall have been, more or less unconsciously, nurtured by the lives and actions of others living before

Great men have evoked the admiration of kings, popes, and emperors. Francis de Medicis never spoke to

Michael Angelo without uncovering, and Julius III. made him sit by his side while a dozen cardinals were

standing. Charles V. made way for Titian; and one day, when the brush dropped from the painter's hand,

Charles stooped and picked it up, saying, "You deserve to be served by an emperor." Leo X. threatened with

excommunication whoever should print and sell the poems of Ariosto without the author's consent. The same

pope attended the deathbed of Raphael, as Francis I. did that of Leonardo da Vinci.

Though Haydn once archly observed that he was loved and esteemed by everybody except professors of

music, yet all the greatest musicians were unusually ready to recognise each other's greatness. Haydn himself

seems to have been entirely free from petty jealousy. His admiration of the famous Porpora was such, that he

resolved to gain admission to his house, and serve him as a valet. Having made the acquaintance of the family

with whom Porpora lived, he was allowed to officiate in that capacity. Early each morning he took care to

brush the veteran's coat, polish his shoes, and put his rusty wig in order. At first Porpora growled at the

intruder, but his asperity soon softened, and eventually melted into affection. He quickly discovered his

valet's genius, and, by his instructions, directed it into the line in which Haydn eventually acquired so much

Haydn himself was enthusiastic in his admiration of Handel. "He is the father of us all," he said on one

occasion. Scarlatti followed Handel in admiration all over Italy, and, when his name was mentioned, be

crossed himself in token of veneration. Mozart's recognition of the great composer was not less hearty.

"When he chooses," said he, "Handel strikes like the thunderbolt." Beethoven hailed him as "The monarch of

the musical kingdom." When Beethoven was dying, one of his friends sent him a present of Handel's works,

in forty volumes. They were brought into his chamber, and, gazing on them with reanimated eye, be

Haydn not only recognised the genius of the great men who had passed away, but of his young

contemporaries, Mozart and Beethoven. Small men may be envious of their fellows, but really great men seek

out and love each other. Of Mozart, Haydn wrote "I only wish I could impress on every friend of music, and

on great men in particular, the same depth of musical sympathy, and profound appreciation of Mozart's

inimitable music, that I myself feel and enjoy; then nations would vie with each other to possess such a jewel

within their frontiers. Prague ought not only to strive to retain this precious man, but also to remunerate him;

for without this the history of a great genius is sad indeed.... It enrages me to think that the unparalleled

Mozart is not yet engaged by some imperial or royal court. Forgive my excitement; but I love the man so

Mozart was equally generous in his recognition of the merits of Haydn. "Sir," said he to a critic, speaking of

the latter, "if you and I were both melted down together, we should not furnish materials for one Haydn."

And when Mozart first heard Beethoven, he observed: "Listen to that young man; be assured that he will yet

Buffon set Newton above all other philosophers, and admired him so highly that he had always his portrait

before him while he sat at work. So Schiller looked up to Shakspeare, whom he studied reverently and

zealously for years, until he became capable of comprehending nature at firsthand, and then his admiration

Pitt was Canning's master and hero, whom he followed and admired with attachment and devotion. "To one

man, while he lived," said Canning, "I was devoted with all my heart and all my soul. Since the death of Mr.

Pitt I acknowledge no leader; my political allegiance lies buried in his grave." (11)

A French physiologist, M. Roux, was occupied one day in lecturing to his pupils, when Sir Charles Bell,

whose discoveries were even better known and more highly appreciated abroad than at home, strolled into his

classroom. The professor, recognising his visitor, at once stopped his exposition, saying: "MESSIEURS,

The first acquaintance with a great work of art has usually proved an important event in every young artist's

life. When Correggio first gazed on Raphael's 'Saint Cecilia,' he felt within himself an awakened power, and

exclaimed, "And I too am a painter" So Constable used to look back on his first sight of Claude's picture of

'Hagar,' as forming an epoch in his career. Sir George Beaumont's admiration of the same picture was such

The examples set by the great and good do not die; they continue to live and speak to all the generations that

succeed them. It was very impressively observed by Mr. Disraeli, in the House of Commons, shortly after the

death of Mr. Cobden:"There is this consolation remaining to us, when we remember our unequalled and

irreparable losses, that those great men are not altogether lost to usthat their words will often be quoted in

this Housethat their examples will often be referred to and appealed to, and that even their expressions will

form part of our discussions and debates. There are now, I may say, some members of Parliament who,

though they may not be present, are still members of this Housewho are independent of dissolutions, of the

caprices of constituencies, and even of the course of time. I think that Mr. Cobden was one of those men."

It is the great lesson of biography to teach what man can be and can do at his best. It may thus give each man

renewed strength and confidence. The humblest, in sight of even the greatest, may admire, and hope, and take

courage. These great brothers of ours in blood and lineage, who live a universal life, still speak to us from

their graves, and beckon us on in the paths which they have trod. Their example is still with us, to guide, to

influence, and to direct us. For nobility of character is a perpetual bequest; living from age to age, and

"The sage," say the Chinese, "is the instructor of a hundred ages. When the manners of Loo are heard of, the

stupid become intelligent, and the wavering determined." Thus the acted life of a good man continues to be a

The golden words that good men have uttered, the examples they have set, live through all time: they pass

into the thoughts and hearts of their successors, help them on the road of life, and often console them in the

hour of death. "And the most miserable or most painful of deaths," said Henry Marten, the Commonwealth

man, who died in prison, "is as nothing compared with the memory of a wellspent life; and great alone is he

who has earned the glorious privilege of bequeathing such a lesson and example to his successors!

(1) 'Letters of Sir Charles Bell,' p. 10. (2) 'Autobiography of Mary Anne Schimmelpenninck,' p. 179.

(5) From a letter of Canon Moseley, read at a Memorial Meeting held shortly after the death of the late Lord

(8) Philip de Comines gives a curious illustration of the subservient, though enforced, imitation of Philip,

Duke of Burgundy, by his courtiers. When that prince fell ill, and had his head shaved, he ordered that all his

nobles, five hundred in number, should in like manner shave their heads; and one of them, Pierre de

Hagenbach, to prove his devotion, no sooner caught sight of an unshaven nobleman, than he forthwith had

him seized and carried off to the barber!Philip de Comines (Bohn's Ed.), p. 243.

(10) Introduction to 'The Principal Speeches and Addresses of H.R.H. the Prince Consort,' p. 33.

WORK is one of the best educators of practical character. It evokes and disciplines obedience, selfcontrol,

attention, application, and perseverance; giving a man deftness and skill in his special calling, and aptitude

Work is the law of our beingthe living principle that carries men and nations onward. The greater number

of men have to work with their hands, as a matter of necessity, in order to live; but all must work in one way

Labour may be a burden and a chastisement, but it is also an honour and a glory. Without it, nothing can be

accomplished. All that is great in man comes through work; and civilisation is its product. Were labour

It is idleness that is the curse of mannot labour. Idleness eats the heart out of men as of nations, and

consumes them as rust does iron. When Alexander conquered the Persians, and had an opportunity of

observing their manners, he remarked that they did not seem conscious that there could be anything more

When the Emperor Severus lay on his deathbed at York, whither he had been borne on a litter from the foot

of the Grampians, his final watchword to his soldiers was, "LABOREMUS" (we must work); and nothing but

constant toil maintained the power and extended the authority of the Roman generals.

In describing the earlier social condition of Italy, when the ordinary occupations of rural life were considered

compatible with the highest civic dignity, Pliny speaks of the triumphant generals and their men, returning

contentedly to the plough. In those days the lands were tilled by the hands even of generals, the soil exulting

beneath a ploughshare crowned with laurels, and guided by a husbandman graced with triumphs: "IPSORUM

TERRA VOMERE LAUREATO ET TRIUMPHALI ARATORE." (1) It was only after slaves became

extensively employed in all departments of industry that labour came to be regarded as dishonourable and

servile. And so soon as indolence and luxury became the characteristics of the ruling classes of Rome, the

There is, perhaps, no tendency of our nature that has to be more carefully guarded against than indolence.

When Mr. Gurney asked an intelligent foreigner who had travelled over the greater part of the world, whether

he had observed any one quality which, more than another, could be regarded as a universal characteristic of

our species, his answer was, in broken English, "Me tink dat all men LOVE LAZY." It is characteristic of the

savage as of the despot. It is natural to men to endeavour to enjoy the products of labour without its toils.

Indeed, so universal is this desire, that James Mill has argued that it was to prevent its indulgence at the

expense of society at large, that the expedient of Government was originally invented. (2)

Indolence is equally degrading to individuals as to nations. Sloth never made its mark in the world, and never

will. Sloth never climbed a hill, nor overcame a difficulty that it could avoid. Indolence always failed in life,

and always will. It is in the nature of things that it should not succeed in anything. It is a burden, an

incumbrance, and a nuisancealways useless, complaining, melancholy, and miserable.

Burton, in his quaint and curious, bookthe only one, Johnson says, that ever took him out of bed two hours

sooner than he wished to risedescribes the causes of Melancholy as hingeing mainly on Idleness.

"Idleness," he says, "is the bane of body and mind, the nurse of naughtiness, the chief mother of all mischief,

one of the seven deadly sins, the devil's cushion, his pillow and chief reposal.... An idle dog will be mangy;

and how shall an idle person escape? Idleness of the mind is much worse than that of the body: wit, without

employment, is a diseasethe rust of the soul, a plague, a hell itself. As in a standing pool, worms and filthy

creepers increase, so do evil and corrupt thoughts in an idle person; the soul is contaminated.... Thus much I

dare boldly say: he or she that is idle, be they of what condition they will, never so rich, so well allied,

fortunate, happylet them have all things in abundance and felicity that heart can wish and desire, all

contentmentso long as he, or she, or they, are idle, they shall never be pleased, never well in body or mind,

but weary still, sickly still, vexed still, loathing still, weeping, sighing, grieving, suspecting, offended with the

world, with every object, wishing themselves gone or dead, or else carried away with some foolish phantasie

Burton says a great deal more to the same effect; the burden and lesson of his book being embodied in the

pregnant sentence with which it winds up: "Only take this for a corollary and conclusion, as thou tenderest

thine own welfare in this, and all other melancholy, thy good health of body and mind, observe this short

precept, Give not way to solitariness and idleness. BE NOT SOLITARYBE NOT IDLE." (4)

The indolent, however, are not wholly indolent. Though the body may shirk labour, the brain is not idle. If it

do not grow corn, it will grow thistles, which will be found springing up all along the idle man's course in

life. The ghosts of indolence rise up in the dark, ever staring the recreant in the face, and tormenting him:

True happiness is never found in torpor of the faculties, (5) but in their action and useful employment. It is

indolence that exhausts, not action, in which there is life, health, and pleasure. The spirits may be exhausted

and wearied by employment, but they are utterly wasted by idleness. Hense a wise physician was accustomed

to regard occupation as one of his most valuable remedial measures. "Nothing is so injurious," said Dr.

Marshall Hall, "as unoccupied time." An archbishop of Mayence used to say that "the human heart is like a

millstone: if you put wheat under it, it grinds the wheat into flour; if you put no wheat, it grinds on, but then

Indolence is usually full of excuses; and the sluggard, though unwilling to work, is often an active sophist.

"There is a lion in the path ;" or "The hill is hard to climb;" or "There is no use tryingI have tried, and

failed, and cannot do it." To the sophistries of such an excuser, Sir Samuel Romilly once wrote to a young

man: "My attack upon your indolence, loss of time, was most serious, and I really think that it can be to

nothing but your habitual want of exertion that can be ascribed your using such curious arguments as you do

in your defence. Your theory is this: Every man does all the good that he can. If a particular individual does

no good, it is a proof that he is incapable of doing it. That you don't write proves that you can't; and your

want of inclination demonstrates your want of talents. What an admirable system!and what beneficial

It has been truly said, that to desire to possess, without being burdened with the trouble of acquiring, is as

much a sign of weakness, as to recognise that everything worth having is only to be got by paying its price, is

the prime secret of practical strength. Even leisure cannot be enjoyed unless it is won by effort. If it have not

There must be work before and work behind, with leisure to fall back upon; but the leisure, without the work,

can no more be enjoyed than a surfeit. Life must needs be disgusting alike to the idle rich man as to the idle

poor man, who has no work to do, or, having work, will not do it. The words found tattooed on the right arm

of a sentimental beggar of forty, undergoing his eighth imprisonment in the gaol of Bourges in France, might

be adopted as the motto of all idlers: "LE PASSE M'A TROMPE; LE PRESENT ME TOURMENTE;

L'AVENIR M'EPOUVANTE;"(The past has deceived me; the present torments me; the future terrifies me)

The duty of industry applies to all classes and conditions of society. All have their work to do in the

irrespective conditions of lifethe rich as well as the poor. (7) The gentleman by birth and education,

however richly he may be endowed with worldly possessions, cannot but feel that he is in duty bound to

contribute his quota of endeavour towards the general wellbeing in which he shares. He cannot be satisfied

with being fed, clad, and maintained by the labour of others, without making some suitable return to the

society that upholds him. An honest highminded man would revolt at the idea of sitting down to and enjoying

a feast, and then going away without paying his share of the reckoning. To be idle and useless is neither an

honour nor a privilege; and though persons of small natures may be content merely to consume FRUGES

CONSUMERE NATImen of average endowment, of manly aspirations, and of honest purpose, will feel

"I don't believe," said Lord Stanley (now Earl of Derby) at Glasgow, "that an unemployed man, however

amiable and otherwise respectable, ever was, or ever can be, really happy. As work is our life, show me what

you can do, and I will show you what you are. I have spoken of love of one's work as the best preventive of

merely low and vicious tastes. I will go further, and say that it is the best preservative against petty anxieties,

and the annoyances that arise out of indulged selflove. Men have thought before now that they could take

refuge from trouble and vexation by sheltering themselves as it were in a world of their own. The experiment

has, often been tried, and always with one result. You cannot escape from anxiety and labourit is the

destiny of humanity.... Those who shirk from facing trouble, find that trouble comes to them. The indolent

may contrive that he shall have less than his share of the world's work to do, but Nature proportioning the

instinct to the work, contrives that the little shall be much and hard to him. The man who has only himself to

please finds, sooner or later, and probably sooner than later, that he has got a very hard master; and the

excessive weakness which shrinks from responsibility has its own punishment too, for where great interests

are excluded little matters become great, and the same wear and tear of mind that might have been at least

usefully and healthfully expended on the real business of life is often wasted in petty and imaginary

Even on the lowest groundthat of personal enjoymentconstant useful occupation is necessary. He who

labours not, cannot enjoy the reward of labour. "We sleep sound," said Sir Walter Scott, "and our waking

hours are happy, when they are employed; and a little sense of toil is necessary to the enjoyment of leisure,

It is true, there are men who die of overwork; but many more die of selfishness, indulgence, and idleness.

Where men break down by overwork, it is most commonly from want of duly ordering their lives, and

neglect of the ordinary conditions of physical health. Lord Stanley was probably right when he said, in his

address to the Glasgow students above mentioned, that he doubted whether "hard work, steadily and regularly

Then, again, length of YEARS is no proper test of length of LIFE. A man's life is to be measured by what he

does in it, and what he feels in it. The more useful work the man does, and the more he thinks and feels, the

more he really lives. The idle useless man, no matter to what extent his life may be prolonged, merely

The early teachers of Christianity ennobled the lot of toil by their example. "He that will not work," said Saint

Paul, "neither shall he eat;" and he glorified himself in that he had laboured with his hands, and had not been

chargeable to any man. When St. Boniface landed in Britain, he came with a gospel in one hand and a

carpenter's rule in the other; and from England he afterwards passed over into Germany, carrying thither the

art of building. Luther also, in the midst of a multitude of other employments, worked diligently for a living,

It was characteristic of Napoleon, when visiting a work of mechanical excellence, to pay great respect to the

inventor, and on taking his leave, to salute him with a low bow. Once at St. Helena, when walking with Mrs.

Balcombe, some servants came along carrying a load. The lady, in an angry tone, ordered them out of the

way, on which Napoleon interposed, saying, "Respect the burden, madam." Even the drudgery of the

humblest labourer contributes towards the general wellbeing of society; and it was a wise saying of a Chinese

Emperor, that "if there was a man who did not work, or a woman that was idle, somebody must suffer cold or

The habit of constant useful occupation is as essential for the happiness and wellbeing of woman as of man.

Without it, women are apt to sink into a state of listless ENNUI and uselessness, accompanied by sick

headache and attacks of "nerves." Caroline Perthes carefully warned her married daughter Louisa to beware

of giving way to such listlessness. "I myself," she said, "when the children are gone out for a halfholiday,

sometimes feel as stupid and dull as an owl by daylight; but one must not yield to this, which happens more

or less to all young wives. The best relief is WORK, engaged in with interest and diligence. Work, then,

constantly and diligently, at something or other; for idleness is the devil's snare for small and great, as your

Constant useful occupation is thus wholesome, not only for the body, but for the mind. While the slothful

man drags himself indolently through life, and the better part of his nature sleeps a deep sleep, if not morally

and spiritually dead, the energetic man is a source of activity and enjoyment to all who come within reach of

his influence. Even any ordinary drudgery is better than idleness. Fuller says of Sir Francis Drake, who was

early sent to sea, and kept close to his work by his master, that such "pains and patience in his youth knit the

joints of his soul, and made them more solid and compact." Schiller used to say that he considered it a great

advantage to be employed in the discharge of some daily mechanical dutysome regular routine of work,

Thousands can bear testimony to the truth of the saying of Greuze, the French painter, that

workemployment, useful occupationis one of the great secrets of happiness. Casaubon was once

induced by the entreaties of his friends to take a few days entire rest, but he returned to his work with the

When Charles Lamb was released for life from his daily drudgery of deskwork at the India Office, he felt

himself the happiest of men. "I would not go back to my prison," he said to a friend, "ten years longer, for ten

thousand pounds." He also wrote in the same ecstatic mood to Bernard Barton: "I have scarce steadiness of

head to compose a letter," he said; "I am free! free as air! I will live another fifty years.... Would I could sell

you some of my leisure! Positively the best thing a man can do isNothing; and next to that, perhaps, Good

Works." Two yearstwo long and tedious years passed; and Charles Lamb's feelings had undergone an

entire change. He now discovered that official, even humdrum work "the appointed round, the daily

task"had been good for him, though he knew it not. Time had formerly been his friend; it had now become

his enemy. To Bernard Barton he again wrote: "I assure you, NO work is worse than overwork; the mind

preys on itself the most unwholesome of food. I have ceased to care for almost anything.... Never did the

waters of heaven pour down upon a forlorner head. What I can do, and overdo, is to walk. I am a sanguinary

No man could be more sensible of the practical importance of industry than Sir Walter Scott, who was

himself one of the most laborious and indefatigable of men. Indeed, Lockhart says of him that, taking all ages

and countries together, the rare example of indefatigable energy, in union with serene selfpossession of

mind and manner, such as Scott's, must be sought for in the roll of great sovereigns or great captains, rather

than in that of literary genius. Scott himself was most anxious to impress upon the minds of his own children

the importance of industry as a means of usefulness and happiness in the world. To his son Charles, when at

school, he wrote: "I cannot too much impress upon your mind that LABOUR is the condition which God

has imposed on us in every station of life; there is nothing worth having that can be had without it, from the

bread which the peasant wins with the sweat of his brow, to the sports by which the rich man must get rid of

his ENNUI.... As for knowledge, it can no more be planted in the human mind without labour than a field of

wheat can be produced without the previous use of the plough. There is, indeed, this great difference, that

chance or circumstances may so cause it that another shall reap what the farmer sows; but no man can be

deprived, whether by accident or misfortune, of the fruits of his own studies; and the liberal and extended

acquisitions of knowledge which he makes are all for his own use. Labour, therefore, my dear boy, and

improve the time. In youth our steps are light, and our minds are ductile, and knowledge is easily laid up; but

if we neglect our spring, our summers will be useless and contemptible, our harvest will be chaff, and the

Southey was as laborious a worker as Scott. Indeed, work might almost be said to form part of his religion.

He was only nineteen when he wrote these words: "Nineteen years! certainly a fourth part of my life;

perhaps how great a part! and yet I have been of no service to society. The clown who scares crows for

twopence a day is a more useful man; he preserves the bread which I eat in idleness." And yet Southey had

not been idle as a boyon the contrary, he had been a most diligent student. He had not only read largely in

English literature, but was well acquainted, through translations, with Tasso, Ariosto, Homer, and Ovid. He

felt, however, as if his life had been purposeless, and he determined to do something. He began, and from that

time forward he pursued an unremitting career of literary labour down to the close of his life"daily

progressing in learning," to use his own words"not so learned as he is poor, not so poor as proud, not so

The maxims of men often reveal their character. (12) That of Sir Walter Scott was, "Never to be doing

nothing." Robertson the historian, as early as his fifteenth year, adopted the maxim of "VITA SINE LITERIS

MORS EST" (Life without learning is death). Voltaire's motto was, "TOUJOURS AU TRAVAIL" (Always

at work). The favourite maxim of Lacepede, the naturalist, was, "VIVRE C'EST VEILLER" (To live is to

observe): it was also the maxim of Pliny. When Bossuet was at college, he was so distinguished by his ardour

in study, that his fellow students, playing upon his name, designated him as "BOSSUETUS ARATRO"

(The ox used to the plough). The name of VITALIS (Life a struggle), which the Swedish poet Sjoberg

assumed, as Frederik von Hardenberg assumed that of NOVA LIS, described the aspirations and the labours

We have spoken of work as a discipline: it is also an educator of character. Even work that produces no

results, because it IS work, is better than torpor,inasmuch as it educates faculty, and is thus preparatory to

successful work. The habit of working teaches method. It compels economy of time, and the disposition of it

with judicious forethought. And when the art of packing life with useful occupations is once acquired by

practice, every minute will be turned to account; and leisure, when it comes, will be enjoyed with all the

Coleridge has truly observed, that "if the idle are described as killing time, the methodical man may be justly

said to call it into life and moral being, while he makes it the distinct object not only of the consciousness, but

of the conscience. He organizes the hours and gives them a soul; and by that, the very essence of which is to

fleet and to have been, he communicates an imperishable and spiritual nature. Of the good and faithful

servant, whose energies thus directed are thus methodized, it is less truly affirmed that he lives in time than

that time lives in him. His days and months and years, as the stops and punctual marks in the record of duties

performed, will survive the wreck of worlds, and remain extant when time itself shall be no more." (13)

It is because application to business teaches method most effectually, that it is so useful as an educator of

character. The highest working qualities are best trained by active and sympathetic contact with others in the

affairs of daily life. It does not matter whether the business relate to the management of a household or of a

nation. Indeed, as we have endeavoured to show in a preceding chapter, the able housewife must necessarily

be an efficient woman of business. She must regulate and control the details of her home, keep her

expenditure within her means, arrange everything according to plan and system, and wisely manage and

govern those subject to her rule. Efficient domestic management implies industry, application, method, moral

discipline, forethought, prudence, practical ability, insight into character, and power of organizationall of

Business qualities have, indeed, a very large field of action. They mean aptitude for affairs, competency to

deal successfully with the practical work of lifewhether the spur of action lie in domestic management, in

the conduct of a profession, in trade or commerce, in social organization, or in political government. And the

training which gives efficiency in dealing with these various affairs is of all others the most useful in practical

life. (14) Moreover, it is the best discipline of character; for it involves the exercise of diligence, attention,

Such a discipline is far more productive of happiness5 as well as useful efficiency in life, than any amount of

literary culture or meditative seclusion; for in the long run it will usually be found that practical ability carries

it over intellect, and temper and habits over talent. It must, however, he added that this is a kind of culture

that can only be acquired by diligent observation and carefully improved experience. "To be a good

blacksmith," said General Trochu in a recent publication, "one must have forged all his life: to be a good

administrator one should have passed his whole life in the study and practice of business."

It was characteristic of Sir Walter Scott to entertain the highest respect for able men of business; and he

professed that he did not consider any amount of literary distinction as entitled to be spoken of in the same

breath with a mastery in the higher departments of practical lifeleast of all with a firstrate captain.

The great commander leaves nothing to chance, but provides for every contingency. He condescends to

apparently trivial details. Thus, when Wellington was at the head of his army in Spain, he directed the precise

manner in which the soldiers were to cook their provisions. When in India, he specified the exact speed at

which the bullocks were to be driven; every detail in equipment was carefully arranged beforehand. And thus

not only was efficiency secured, but the devotion of his men, and their boundless confidence in his command.

Like other great captains, Wellington had an almost boundless capacity for work. He drew up the heads of a

Dublin Police Bill (being still the Secretary for Ireland), when tossing off the mouth of the Mondego, with

Junot and the French army waiting for him on the shore. So Caesar, another of the greatest commanders, is

said to have written an essay on Latin Rhetoric while crossing the Alps at the head of his army. And

Wallenstein when at the head of 60,000 men, and in the midst of a campaign with the enemy before him,

Washington, also, was an indefatigable man of business. From his boyhood he diligently trained himself in

habits of application, of study, and of methodical work. His manuscript schoolbooks, which are still

preserved, show that, as early as the age of thirteen, he occupied himself voluntarily in copying out such

things as forms of receipts, notes of hand, bills of exchange, bonds, indentures, leases, landwarrants, and

other dry documents, all written out with great care. And the habits which he thus early acquired were, in a

great measure, the foundation of those admirable business qualities which he afterwards so successfully

The man or woman who achieves success in the management of any great affair of business is entitled to

honour,it may be, to as much as the artist who paints a picture, or the author who writes a book, or the

soldier who wins a battle. Their success may have been gained in the face of as great difficulties, and after as

great struggles; and where they have won their battle, it is at least a peaceful one, and there is no blood on

The idea has been entertained by some, that business habits are incompatible with genius. In the Life of

Richard Lovell Edgeworth, (16) it is observed of a Mr. Bicknella respectable but ordinary man, of whom

little is known but that he married Sabrina Sidney, the ELEVE of Thomas Day, author of 'Sandford and

Merton'that "he had some of the too usual faults of a man of genius: he detested the drudgery of business."

But there cannot be a greater mistake. The greatest geniuses have, without exception, been the greatest

workers, even to the extent of drudgery. They have not only worked harder than ordinary men, but brought to

their work higher faculties and a more ardent spirit. Nothing great and durable was ever improvised. It is only

by noble patience and noble labour that the masterpieces of genius have been achieved.

Power belongs only to the workers; the idlers are always powerless. It is the laborious and painstaking men

who are the rulers of the world. There has not been a statesman of eminence but was a man of industry. "It is

by toil," said even Louis XIV., "that kings govern." When Clarendon described Hampden, he spoke of him as

"of an industry and vigilance not to be tired out or wearied by the most laborious, and of parts not to be

imposed on by the most subtle and sharp, and of a personal courage equal to his best parts." While in the

midst of his laborious though self imposed duties, Hampden, on one occasion, wrote to his mother: "My

lyfe is nothing but toyle, and hath been for many yeares, nowe to the Commonwealth, nowe to the Kinge....

Not so much tyme left as to doe my dutye to my deare parents, nor to sende to them." Indeed, all the

statesmen of the Commonwealth were great toilers; and Clarendon himself, whether in office or out of it, was

The same energetic vitality, as displayed in the power of working, has distinguished all the eminent men in

our own as well as in past times. During the AntiCorn Law movement, Cobden, writing to a friend,

described himself as "working like a horse, with not a moment to spare." Lord Brougham was a remarkable

instance of the indefatigably active and laborious man; and it might be said of Lord Palmerston, that he

worked harder for success in his extreme old age than he had ever done in the prime of his manhood

preserving his working faculty, his goodhumour and BONHOMMIE, unimpaired to the end. (17) He

himself was accustomed to say, that being in office, and consequently full of work, was good for his health. It

rescued him from ENNUI. Helvetius even held, that it is man's sense of ENNUI that is the chief cause of his

superiority over the brute,that it is the necessity which he feels for escaping from its intolerable suffering

that forces him to employ himself actively, and is hence the great stimulus to human progress.

Indeed, this living principle of constant work, of abundant occupation, of practical contact with men in the

affairs of life, has in all times been the best ripener of the energetic vitality of strong natures. Business habits,

cultivated and disciplined, are found alike useful in every pursuitwhether in politics, literature, science, or

art. Thus, a great deal of the best literary work has been done by men systematically trained in business

pursuits. The same industry, application, economy of time and labour, which have rendered them useful in

Most of the early English writers were men of affairs, trained to business; for no literary class as yet existed,

excepting it might be the priesthood. Chaucer, the father of English poetry, was first a soldier, and afterwards

a comptroller of petty customs. The office was no sinecure either, for he had to write up all the records with

his own hand; and when he had done his "reckonings" at the customhouse, he returned with delight to his

favourite studies at homeporing over his books until his eyes were "dazed" and dull.

The great writers in the reign of Elizabeth, during which there was such a development of robust life in

England, were not literary men according to the modern acceptation of the word, but men of action trained in

business. Spenser acted as secretary to the Lord Deputy of Ireland; Raleigh was, by turns, a courtier, soldier,

sailor, and discoverer; Sydney was a politician, diplomatist, and soldier; Bacon was a laborious lawyer before

he became Lord Keeper and Lord Chancellor; Sir Thomas Browne was a physician in country practice at

Norwich; Hooker was the hardworking pastor of a country parish; Shakspeare was the manager of a theatre,

in which he was himself but an indifferent actor, and he seems to have been even more careful of his money

investments than he was of his intellectual offspring. Yet these, all men of active business habits, are among

the greatest writers of any age: the period of Elizabeth and James I. standing out in the history of England as

In the reign of Charles I., Cowley held various offices of trust and confidence. He acted as private secretary

to several of the royalist leaders, and was afterwards engaged as private secretary to the Queen, in ciphering

and deciphering the correspondence which passed between her and Charles I.; the work occupying all his

days, and often his nights, during several years. And while Cowley was thus employed in the royal cause,

Milton was employed by the Commonwealth, of which he was the Latin secretary, and afterwards secretary

to the Lord Protector. Yet, in the earlier part of his life, Milton was occupied in the humble vocation of a

teacher. Dr. Johnson says, "that in his school, as in everything else which he undertook, he laboured with

great diligence, there is no reason for doubting" It was after the Restoration, when his official employment

ceased, that Milton entered upon the principal literary work of his life; but before he undertook the writing of

his great epic, he deemed it indispensable that to "industrious and select reading" he should add "steady

Locke held office in different reigns: first under Charles II. as Secretary to the Board of Trade and afterwards

under William III. as Commissioner of Appeals and of Trade and Plantations. Many literary men of eminence

held office in Queen Anne's reign. Thus Addison was Secretary of State; Steele, Commissioner of Stamps;

Prior, UnderSecretary of State, and afterwards Ambassador to France; Tickell, UnderSecretary of State,

and Secretary to the Lords Justices of Ireland; Congreve, Secretary of Jamaica;, and Gay, Secretary of

Indeed, habits of business, instead of unfitting a cultivated mind for scientific or literary pursuits, are often

the best training for them. Voltaire insisted with truth that the real spirit of business and literature are the

same; the perfection of each being the union of energy and thoughtfulness, of cultivated intelligence and

practical wisdom, of the active and contemplative essencea union commended by Lord Bacon as the

concentrated excellence of man's nature. It has been said that even the man of genius can write nothing worth

reading in relation to human affairs, unless he has been in some way or other connected with the serious

Hence it has happened that many of the best books, extant have been written by men of business, with whom

literature was a pastime rather than a profession. Gifford, the editor of the 'Quarterly,' who knew the drudgery

of writing for a living, once observed that "a single hour of composition, won from the business of the day, is

worth more than the whole day's toil of him who works at the trade of literature: in the one case, the spirit

comes joyfully to refresh itself, like a hart to the waterbrooks; in the other, it pursues its miserable way,

The first great men of letters in Italy were not mere men of letters; they were men of businessmerchants,

statesmen, diplomatists, judges, and soldiers. Villani, the author of the best History of Florence, was a

merchant; Dante, Petrarch, and Boccacio, were all engaged in more or less important embassies; and Dante,

before becoming a diplomatist, was for some time occupied as a chemist and druggist. Galileo, Galvani, and

Farini were physicians, and Goldoni a lawyer. Ariosto's talent for affairs was as great as his genius for poetry.

At the death of his father, he was called upon to manage the family estate for the benefit of his younger

brothers and sisters, which he did with ability and integrity. His genius for business having been recognised,

he was employed by the Duke of Ferrara on important missions to Rome and elsewhere. Having afterwards

been appointed governor of a turbulent mountain district, he succeeded, by firm and just governments in

reducing it to a condition of comparative good order and security. Even the bandits of the country respected

him. Being arrested one day in the mountains by a body of outlaws, he mentioned his name, when they at

It has been the same in other countries. Vattel, the author of the 'Rights of Nations,' was a practical

diplomatist, and a first rate man of business. Rabelais was a physician, and a successful practitioner;

Schiller was a surgeon; Cervantes, Lope de Vega, Calderon, Camoens, Descartes, Maupertius, La

Rochefoucauld, Lacepede, Lamark, were soldiers in the early part of their respective lives.

In our own country, many men now known by their writings, earned their living by their trade. Lillo spent the

greater part of his life as a working jeweller in the Poultry; occupying the intervals of his leisure in the

production of dramatic works, some of them of acknowledged power and merit. Izaak Walton was a

linendraper in Fleet Street, reading much in his leisure hours, and storing his mind with facts for future use in

his capacity of biographer. De Foe was by turns horsefactor, brick and tile maker, shopkeeper, author, and

Samuel Richardson successfully combined literature, with business; writing his novels in his backshop in

Salisbury Court, Fleet Street, and selling them over the counter in his frontshop. William Hutton, of

Birmingham, also successfully combined the occupations of bookselling and authorship. He says, in his

Autobiography, that a man may live half a century and not be acquainted with his own character. He did not

know that he was an antiquary until the world informed him of it, from having read his 'History of

Birmingham,' and then, he said, he could see it himself. Benjamin Franklin was alike eminent as a printer and

Coming down to our own time, we find Ebenezer Elliott successfully carrying on the business of a bariron

merchant in Sheffield, during which time he wrote and published the greater number of his poems; and his

success in business was such as to enable him to retire into the country and build a house of his own, in

which he spent the remainder of his days. Isaac Taylor, the author of the 'Natural History of Enthusiasm,' was

an engraver of patterns for Manchester calicoprinters; and other members of this gifted family were

The principal early works of John Stuart Mill were written in the intervals of official work, while he held the

office of principal examiner in the East India House,in which Charles Lamb, Peacock the author of

'Headlong Hall,' and Edwin Norris the philologist, were also clerks. Macaulay wrote his 'Lays of Ancient

Rome' in the War Office, while holding the post of Secretary of War. It is well known that the thoughtful

writings of Mr. Helps are literally "Essays written in the Intervals of Business." Many of our best living

authors are men holding important public officessuch as Sir Henry Taylor, Sir John Kaye, Anthony

Mr. Proctor the poet, better known as "Barry Cornwall," was a barrister and commissioner in lunacy. Most

probably he assumed the pseudonym for the same reason that Dr. Paris published his 'Philosophy in Sport

made Science in Earnest' anonymously because he apprehended that, if known, it might compromise his

professional position. For it is by no means an uncommon prejudice, still prevalent amongst City men, that a

person who has written a book, and still more one who has written a poem, is good for nothing in the way of

business. Yet Sharon Turner, though an excellent historian, was no worse a solicitor on that account; while

the brothers Horace and James Smith, authors of 'The Rejected Addresses,' were men of such eminence in

their profession, that they were selected to fill the important and lucrative post of solicitors to the Admiralty,

It was while the late Mr. Broderip, the barrister, was acting as a London police magistrate, that he was

attracted to the study of natural history, in which he occupied the greater part of his leisure. He wrote the

principal articles on the subject for the 'Penny Cyclopaedia,' besides several separate works of great merit,

more particularly the 'Zoological Recreations,' and 'Leaves from the Notebook of a Naturalist.' It is recorded

of him that, though he devoted so much of his time to the production of his works, as well as to the

Zoological Society and their admirable establishment in Regent's Park, of which he was one of the founders,

his studies never interfered with the real business of his life, nor is it known that a single question was ever

raised upon his conduct or his decisions. And while Mr. Broderip devoted himself to natural history, the late

Lord Chief Baron Pollock devoted his leisure to natural science, recreating himself in the practice of

photography and the study of mathematics, in both of which he was thoroughly proficient.

Among literary bankers we find the names of Rogers, the poet; Roscoe, of Liverpool, the biographer of

Lorenzo de Medici; Ricardo, the author of 'Political Economy and Taxation; (20) Grote, the author of the

'History of Greece;' Sir John Lubbock, the scientific antiquarian; (21) and Samuel Bailey, of Sheffield, the

author of 'Essays on the Formation and Publication of Opinions,' besides various important works on ethics,

Nor, on the other hand, have thoroughlytrained men of science and learning proved themselves inefficient

as firstrate men of business. Culture of the best sort trains the habit of application and industry, disciplines

the mind, supplies it with resources, and gives it freedom and vigour of actionall of which are equally

requisite in the successful conduct of business. Thus, in young men, education and scholarship usually

indicate steadiness of character, for they imply continuous attention, diligence, and the ability and energy

necessary to master knowledge; and such persons will also usually be found possessed of more than average

Montaigne has said of true philosophers, that "if they were great in science, they were yet much greater in

action;... and whenever they have been put upon the proof, they have been seen to fly to so high a pitch, as

made it very well appear their souls were strangely elevated and enriched with the knowledge of things." (22)

At the same time, it must be acknowledged that too exclusive a devotion to imaginative and philosophical

literature, especially if prolonged in life until the habits become formed, does to a great extent incapacitate a

man for the business of practical life. Speculative ability is one thing, and practical ability another; and the

man who, in his study, or with his pen in hand, shows himself capable of forming large views of life and

policy, may, in the outer world, be found altogether unfitted for carrying them into practical effect.

Speculative ability depends on vigorous thinkingpractical ability on vigorous acting; and the two qualities

are usually found combined in very unequal proportions. The speculative man is prone to indecision: he sees

all the sides of a question, and his action becomes suspended in nicely weighing the pros and cons, which are

often found pretty nearly to balance each other; whereas the practical man overleaps logical preliminaries,

arrives at certain definite convictions, and proceeds forthwith to carry his policy into action. (23)

Yet there have been many great men of science who have proved efficient men of business. We do not learn

that Sir Isaac Newton made a worse Master of the Mint because he was the greatest of philosophers. Nor

were there any complaints as to the efficiency of Sir John Herschel, who held the same office. The brothers

Humboldt were alike capable men in all that they undertook whether it was literature, philosophy, mining,

Niebuhr, the historian, was distinguished for his energy and success as a man of business. He proved so

efficient as secretary and accountant to the African consulate, to which he had been appointed by the Danish

Government, that he was afterwards selected as one of the commissioners to manage the national finances;

and he quitted that office to undertake the joint directorship of a bank at Berlin. It was in the midst of his

business occupations that he found time to study Roman history, to master the Arabic, Russian, and other

Sclavonic languages, and to build up the great reputation as an author by which he is now chiefly

Having regard to the views professed by the First Napoleon as to men of science, it was to have been

expected that he would endeavour to strengthen his administration by calling them to his aid. Some of his

appointments proved failures, while others were completely successful. Thus Laplace was made Minister of

the Interior; but he had no sooner been appointed than it was seen that a mistake had been made. Napoleon

afterwards said of him, that "Laplace looked at no question in its true point of view. He was always searching

after subtleties; all his ideas were problems, and he carried the spirit of the infinitesimal calculus into the

management of business." But Laplace's habits had been formed in the study, and he was too old to adapt

With Darn it was different. But Darn had the advantage of some practical training in business, having served

as an intendant of the army in Switzerland under Massena, during which he also distinguished himself as an

author. When Napoleon proposed to appoint him a councillor of state and intendant of the Imperial

Household, Darn hesitated to accept the office. "I have passed the greater part of my life," he said, "among

books, and have not had time to learn the functions of a courtier." "Of courtiers," replied Napoleon, "I have

plenty about me; they will never fail. But I want a minister, at once enlightened, firm, and vigilant; and it is

for these qualities that I have selected you." Darn complied with the Emperor's wishes, and eventually

became his Prime Minister, proving thoroughly efficient in that capacity, and remaining the same modest,

Men of trained working faculty so contract the habit of labour that idleness becomes intolerable to them; and

when driven by circumstances from their own special line of occupation, they find refuge in other pursuits.

The diligent man is quick to find employment for his leisure; and he is able to make leisure when the idle

man finds none. "He hath no leisure," says George Herbert, "who useth it not." "The most active or busy man

that hath been or can be," says Bacon, "hath, no question, many vacant times of leisure, while he expecteth

the tides and returns of business, except he be either tedious and of no despatch, or lightly and unworthily

ambitious to meddle with things that may be better done by others." Thus many great things have been done

during such "vacant times of leisure," by men to whom industry had become a second nature, and who found

Even hobbies are useful as educators of the working faculty. Hobbies evoke industry of a certain kind, and at

least provide agreeable occupation. Not such hobbies as that of Domitian, who occupied himself in catching

flies. The hobbies of the King of Macedon who made lanthorns, and of the King of France who made locks,

were of a more respectable order. Even a routine mechanical employment is felt to be a relief by minds acting

under highpressure: it is an intermission of laboura resta relaxation, the pleasure consisting in the work

But the best of hobbies are intellectual ones. Thus men of active mind retire from their daily business to find

recreation in other pursuitssome in science, some in art, and the greater number in literature. Such

recreations are among the best preservatives against selfishness and vulgar worldliness. We believe it was

Lord Brougham who said, "Blessed is the man that hath a hobby!" and in the abundant versatility of his

nature, he himself had many, ranging from literature to optics, from history and biography to social science.

Lord Brougham is even said to have written a novel; and the remarkable story of the 'Man in the Bell,' which

appeared many years ago in 'Blackwood,' is reputed to have been from his pen. Intellectual hobbies, however,

must not be ridden too hardelse, instead of recreating, refreshing, and invigorating a man's nature, they

may only have the effect of sending him back to his business exhausted, enervated, and depressed.

Many laborious statesmen besides Lord Brougham have occupied their leisure, or consoled themselves in

retirement from office, by the composition of works which have become part of the standard literature of the

world. Thus 'Caesar's Commentaries' still survive as a classic; the perspicuous and forcible style in which

they are written placing him in the same rank with Xenophon, who also successfully combined the pursuit of

When the great Sully was disgraced as a minister, and driven into retirement, he occupied his leisure in

writing out his 'Memoirs,' in anticipation of the judgment of posterity upon his career as a statesman. Besides

these, he also composed part of a romance after the manner of the Scuderi school, the manuscript of which

Turgot found a solace for the loss of office, from which he had been driven by the intrigues of his enemies, in

the study of physical science. He also reverted to his early taste for classical literature. During his long

journeys, and at nights when tortured by the gout, he amused himself by making Latin verses; though the

only line of his that has been preserved was that intended to designate the portrait of Benjamin Franklin:

Among more recent French statesmenwith whom, however, literature has been their profession as much as

politicsmay be mentioned De Tocqueville, Thiers, Guizot, and Lamartine, while Napoleon III. challenged

Literature has also been the chief solace of our greatest English statesmen. When Pitt retired from office, like

his great contemporary Fox, he reverted with delight to the study of the Greek and Roman classics. Indeed,

Grenville considered Pitt the best Greek scholar he had ever known. Canning and Wellesley, when in

retirement, occupied themselves in translating the odes and satires of Horace. Canning's passion for literature

entered into all his pursuits, and gave a colour to his whole life. His biographer says of him, that after a

dinner at Pitt's, while the rest of the company were dispersed in conversation, he and Pitt would be observed

poring over some old Grecian in a corner of the drawingroom. Fox also was a diligent student of the Greek

authors, and, like Pitt, read Lycophron. He was also the author of a History of James II., though the book is

One of the most able and laborious of our recent statesmenwith whom literature was a hobby as well as a

pursuitwas the late Sir George Cornewall Lewis. He was an excellent man of business diligent, exact,

and painstaking. He filled by turns the offices of President of the Poor Law Boardthe machinery of which

he created,Chancellor of the Exchequer, Home Secretary, and Secretary at War; and in each he achieved

the reputation of a thoroughly successful administrator. In the intervals of his official labours, he occupied

himself with inquiries into a wide range of subjectshistory, politics, philology, anthropology, and

antiquarianism. His works on 'The Astronomy of the Ancients,' and 'Essays on the Formation of the Romanic

Languages,' might have been written by the profoundest of German SAVANS. He took especial delight in

pursuing the abstruser branches of learning, and found in them his chief pleasure and recreation. Lord

Palmerston sometimes remonstrated with him, telling him he was "taking too much out of himself" by laying

aside official papers after officehours in order to study books; Palmerston himself declaring that he had no

Doubtless Sir George Lewis rode his hobby too hard, and but for his devotion to study, his useful life would

probably have been prolonged. Whether in or out of office, he read, wrote, and studied. He relinquished the

editorship of the 'Edinburgh Review' to become Chancellor of the Exchequer; and when no longer occupied

in preparing budgets, he proceeded to copy out a mass of Greek manuscripts at the British Museum. He took

particular delight in pursuing any difficult inquiry in classical antiquity. One of the odd subjects with which

he occupied himself was an examination into the truth of reported cases of longevity, which, according to his

custom, he doubted or disbelieved. This subject was uppermost in his mind while pursuing his canvass of

Herefordshire in 1852. On applying to a voter one day for his support, he was met by a decided refusal. "I am

sorry," was the candidate's reply, "that you can't give me your vote; but perhaps you can tell me whether

The contemporaries of Sir George Lewis also furnish many striking instances of the consolations afforded by

literature to statesmen wearied with the toils of public life. Though the door of office may be closed, that of

literature stands always open, and men who are at daggersdrawn in politics, join hands over the poetry of

Homer and Horace. The late Earl of Derby, on retiring from power, produced his noble version of 'The Iliad,'

which will probably continue to be read when his speeches have been forgotten. Mr. Gladstone similarly

occupied his leisure in preparing for the press his 'Studies on Homer,' (24) and in editing a translation of

'Farini's Roman State;' while Mr. Disraeli signalised his retirement from office by the production of his

'Lothair.' Among statesmen who have figured as novelists, besides Mr. Disraeli, are Lord Russell, who has

also contributed largely to history and biography; the Marquis of Normanby, and the veteran novelist, Lord

Lytton, with whom, indeed, politics may be said to have been his recreation, and literature the chief

To conclude: a fair measure of work is good for mind as well as body. Man is an intelligence sustained and

preserved by bodily organs, and their active exercise is necessary to the enjoyment of health. It is not work,

but overwork, that is hurtful; and it is not hard work that is injurious so much as monotonous work, fagging

work, hopeless work. All hopeful work is healthful; and to be usefully and hopefully employed is one of the

great secrets of happiness. Brainwork, in moderation, is no more wearing than any other kind of work. Duly

regulated, it is as promotive of health as bodily exercise; and, where due attention is paid to the physical

system, it seems difficult to put more upon a man than he can bear. Merely to eat and drink and sleep one's

way idly through life is vastly more injurious. The wearandtear of rust is even faster than the

But overwork is always bad economy. It is, in fact, great waste, especially if conjoined with worry. Indeed,

worry kills far more than work does. It frets, it excites, it consumes the bodyas sand and grit, which

occasion excessive friction, wear out the wheels of a machine. Overwork and worry have both to be guarded

against. For overbrainwork is strainwork; and it is exhausting and destructive according as it is in excess

of nature. And the brainworker may exhaust and overbalance his mind by excess, just as the athlete may

overstrain his muscles and break his back by attempting feats beyond the strength of his physical system.

(1)In the third chapter of his Natural History, Pliny relates in what high honour agriculture was held in the

earlier days of Rome; how the divisions of land were measured by the quantity which could be ploughed by a

yoke of oxen in a certain time (JUGERUM, in one day; ACTUS, at one spell); how the greatest recompence

to a general or valiant citizen was a JUGERUM; how the earliest surnames were derived from agriculture

(Pilumnus, from PILUM, the pestle for pounding corn; Piso, from PISO, to grind coin; Fabius, from FABA, a

bean; Lentulus, from LENS, a lentil; Cicero, from CICER, a chickpea; Babulcus, from BOS, how the highest

compliment was to call a man a good agriculturist, or a good husbandman (LOCUPLES, rich, LOCI

PLENUS, PECUNIA, from PECUS, how the pasturing of cattle secretly by night upon unripe crops was a

capital offence, punishable by hanging; how the rural tribes held the foremost rank, while those of the city

had discredit thrown upon them as being an indolent race; and how "GLORIAM DENIQUE IPSAM, A

FARRIS HONORE, 'ADOREAM' APPELLABANT;" ADOREA, or Glory, the reward of valour, being

(5) It is characteristic of the Hindoos to regard entire inaction as the most perfect state, and to describe the

(6) Lessing was so impressed with the conviction that stagnant satisfaction was fatal to man, that he went so

far as to say: "If the Allpowerful Being, holding in one hand Truth, and in the other the search for Truth,

said to me, 'Choose,' I would answer Him, 'O Allpowerful, keep for Thyself the Truth; but leave to me the

search for it, which is the better for me.'" On the other hand, Bossuet said: "Si je concevais une nature

purement intelligente, il me semble que je n'y mettrais qu'entendre et aimer la verite, et que cela seul la

(7) The late Sir John Patteson, when in his seventieth year, attended an annual ploughingmatch dinner at

Feniton, Devon, at which he thought it worth his while to combat the notion, still too prevalent, that because

a man does not work merely with his bones and muscles, he is therefore not entitled to the appellation of a

workingman. "In recollecting similar meetings to the present," he said, "I remember my friend, John Pyle,

rather throwing it in my teeth that I had not worked for nothing; but I told him, 'Mr. Pyle, you do not know

what you are talking about. We are all workers. The man who ploughs the field and who digs the hedge is a

worker; but there are other workers in other stations of life as well. For myself, I can say that I have been a

worker ever since I have been a boy.'... Then I told him that the office of judge was by no means a sinecure,

for that a judge worked as hard as any man in the country. He has to work at very difficult questions of law,

which are brought before him continually, giving him great anxiety; and sometimes the lives of his

fellowcreatures are placed in his hands, and are dependent very much upon the manner in which he places

the facts before the jury. That is a matter of no little anxiety, I can assure you. Let any man think as he will,

there is no man who has been through the ordeal for the length of time that I have, but must feel conscious of

(8) Lord Stanley's Address to the Students of Glasgow University, on his installation as Lord Rector, 1869.

(9) Writing to an abbot at Nuremberg, who had sent him a store of turningtools, Luther said: "I have made

considerable progress in clockmaking, and I am very much delighted at it, for these drunken Saxons need to

be constantly reminded of what the real time is; not that they themselves care much about it, for as long as

their glasses are kept filled, they trouble themselves very little as to whether clocks, or clockmakers, or the

(12) Southey expresses the opinion in 'The Doctor', that the character of a person may be better known by the

(14) The following passage, from a recent article in the PALL MALL GAZETTE, will commend itself to

general aproval: "There can be no question nowadays, that application to work, absorption in affairs, contact

with men, and all the stress which business imposes on us, gives a noble training to the intellect, and splendid

opportunity for discipline of character. It is an utterly low view of business which regards it as only a means

of getting a living. A man's business is his part of the world's work, his share of the great activities which

render society possible. He may like it or dislike it, but it is work, and as such requires application,

selfdenial, discipline. It is his drill, and he cannot be thorough in his occupation without putting himself into

it, checking his fancies, restraining his impulses, and holding himself to the perpetual round of small

details without, in fact, submitting to his drill. But the perpetual call on a man's readiness, sellcontrol, and

vigour which business makes, the constant appeal to the intellect, the stress upon the will, the necessity for

rapid and responsible exercise of judgment all these things constitute a high culture, though not the

highest. It is a culture which strengthens and invigorates if it does not refine, which gives force if not

polishthe FORTITER IN RE, if not the SUAVITER IN MODO. It makes strong men and ready men, and

men of vast capacity for affairs, though it does not necessarily make refined men or gentlemen."

(15) On the first publication of his 'Despatches,' one of his friends said to him, on reading the records of his

Indian campaigns: "It seems to me, Duke, that your chief business in India was to procure rice and bullocks."

"And so it was," replied Wellington: "for if I had rice and bullocks, I had men; and if I had men, I knew I

(17) A friend of Lord Palmerston has communicated to us the following anecdote. Asking him one day when

he considered a man to be in the prime of life, his immediate reply was, "Seventynine!" "But," he added,

with a twinkle in his eye, "as I have just entered my eightieth year, perhaps I am myself a little past it."

(19) Coleridge's advice to his young friends was much to the same effect. "With the exception of one

extraordinary man," he says, "I have never known an individual, least of all an individual of genius, healthy

or happy without a profession: i.e., some regular employment which does not depend on the will of the

moment, and which can be carried on so far mechanically, that an average quantum only of health, spirits,

and intellectual exertion are requisite to its faithful discharge. Three hours of leisure, unalloyed by any alien

anxiety, and looked forward to with delight as a change and recreation, will suffice to realise in literature a

larger product of what is truly genial, than weeks of compulsion.... If facts are required to prove the

possibility of combining weighty performances in literature with full and independent employment, the works

of Cicero and Xenophon, among the ancientsof Sir Thomas More, Bacon, Baxter, or (to refer at once to

later and contemporary instances) Darwin and Roscoe, are at once decisive of the question."

(20) Mr. Ricardo published his celebrated 'Theory of Rent,' at the urgent recommendation of James Mill (like

his son, a chief clerk in the India House), author of the 'History of British India.' When the 'Theory of Rent'

was written, Ricardo was so dissatisfied with it that he wished to burn it; but Mr. Mill urged him to publish it,

(21) The late Sir John Lubbock, his father, was also eminent as a mathematician and astronomer.

(22) Thales, once inveighing in discourse against the pains and care men put themselves to, to become rich,

was answered by one in the company that he did like the fox, who found fault with what he could not obtain.

Thereupon Thales had a mind, for the jest's sake, to show them the contrary; and having upon this occasion

for once made a muster of all his wits, wholly to employ them in the service of profit, he set a traffic on foot,

which in one year brought him in so great riches, that the most experienced in that trade could hardly in their

whole lives, with all their industry, have raked so much together. Montaignes ESSAYS, Book I., chap. 24.

(23) "The understanding," says Mr. Bailey, "that is accustomed to pursue a regular and connected train of

ideas, becomes in some measure incapacitated for those quick and versatile movements which are learnt in

the commerce of the world, and are indispensable to those who act a part in it. Deep thinking and practical

talents require indeed habits of mind so essentially dissimilar, that while a man is striving after the one, he

will be unavoidably in danger of losing the other." "Thence," he adds, "do we so often find men, who are

'giants in the closet,' prove but 'children in the world.'"'Essays on the Formation and Publication of

(24) Mr. Gladstone is as great an enthusiast in literature as Canning was. It is related of him that, while he

was waiting in his committeeroom at Liverpool for the returns coming in on the day of the South Lancashire

polling, he occupied himself in proceeding with the translation of a work which he was then preparing for the

THE world owes much to its men and women of courage. We do not mean physical courage, in which man is

at least equalled by the bulldog; nor is the bulldog considered the wisest of his species.

The courage that displays itself in silent effort and endeavour that dares to endure all and suffer all for

truth and dutyis more truly heroic than the achievements of physical valour, which are rewarded by

It is moral courage that characterises the highest order of manhood and womanhoodthe courage to seek

and to speak the truth; the courage to be just; the courage to be honest; the courage to resist temptation; the

courage to do one's duty. If men and women do not possess this virtue, they have no security whatever for the

Every step of progress in the history of our race has been made in the face of opposition and difficulty, and

been achieved and secured by men of intrepidity and valourby leaders in the van of thoughtby great

discoverers, great patriots, and great workers in all walks of life. There is scarcely a great truth or doctrine but

has had to fight its way to public recognition in the face of detraction, calumny, and persecution.

"Everywhere," says Heine, "that a great soul gives utterance to its thoughts, there also is a Golgotha."

"Many loved Truth and lavished life's best oil, Amid the dust of books to find her, Content at last, for

guerdon of their toil, With the cast mantle she had left behind her. Many in sad faith sought for her, Many

with crossed hands sighed for her, But these, our brothers, fought for her, At life's dear peril wrought for her,

So loved her that they died for her, Tasting the raptured fleetness Of her divine completeness." (1)

Socrates was condemned to drink the hemlock at Athens in his seventysecond year, because his lofty

teaching ran counter to the prejudices and partyspirit of his age. He was charged by his accusers with

corrupting the youth of Athens by inciting them to despise the tutelary deities of the state. He had the moral

courage to brave not only the tyranny of the judges who condemned him, but of the mob who could not

understand him. He died discoursing of the doctrine of the immortality of the soul; his last words to his

judges being, "It is now time that we departI to die, you to live; but which has the better destiny is

How many great men and thinkers have been persecuted in the name of religion! Bruno was burnt alive at

Rome, because of his exposure of the fashionable but false philosophy of his time. When the judges of the

Inquisition condemned him, to die, Bruno said proudly: "You are more afraid to pronounce my sentence than

To him succeeded Galileo, whose character as a man of science is almost eclipsed by that of the martyr.

Denounced by the priests from the pulpit, because of the views he taught as to the motion of the earth, he was

summoned to Rome, in his seventieth year, to answer for his heterodoxy. And he was imprisoned in the

Inquisition, if he was not actually put to the torture there. He was pursued by persecution even when dead, the

Roger Bacon, the Franciscan monk, was persecuted on account of his studies in natural philosophy, and he

was charged with, dealing in magic, because of his investigations in chemistry. His writings were

condemned, and he was thrown into prison, where he lay for ten years, during the lives of four successive

Ockham, the early English speculative philosopher, was excommunicated by the Pope, and died in exile at

Munich, where he was protected by the friendship of the then Emperor of Germany.

The Inquisition branded Vesalius as a heretic for revealing man to man, as it had before branded Bruno and

Galileo for revealing the heavens to man. Vesalius had the boldness to study the structure of the human body

by actual dissection, a practice until then almost entirely forbidden. He laid the foundations of a science, but

he paid for it with his life. Condemned by the Inquisition, his penalty was commuted, by the intercession of

the Spanish king, into a pilgrimage to the Holy Land; and when on his way back, while still in the prime of

life, he died miserably at Zante, of fever and wanta martyr to his love of science.

When the 'Novum Organon' appeared, a hueandcry was raised against it, because of its alleged tendency to

produce "dangerous revolutions," to "subvert governments," and to "overturn the authority of religion;" (2)

and one Dr. Henry Stubbe (whose name would otherwise have been forgotten) wrote a book against the new

philosophy, denouncing the whole tribe of experimentalists as "a Baconfaced generation." Even the

establishment of the Royal Society was opposed, on the ground that "experimental philosophy is subversive

While the followers of Copernicus were persecuted as infidels, Kepler was branded with the stigma of heresy,

"because," said he, "I take that side which seems to me to be consonant with the Word of God." Even the pure

and simpleminded Newton, of whom Bishop Burnet said that he had the WHITEST SOUL he ever

knewwho was a very infant in the purity of his mindeven Newton was accused of "dethroning the

Deity" by his sublime discovery of the law of gravitation; and a similar charge was made against Franklin for

Spinoza was excommunicated by the Jews, to whom he belonged, because of his views of philosophy, which

were supposed to be adverse to religion; and his life was afterwards attempted by an assassin for the same

reason. Spinoza remained courageous and selfreliant to the last, dying in obscurity and poverty.

The philosophy of Descartes was denounced as leading to irreligion; the doctrines of Locke were said to

produce materialism; and in our own day, Dr. Buckland, Mr. Sedgwick, and other leading geologists, have

been accused of overturning revelation with regard to the constitution and history of the earth. Indeed, there

has scarcely been a discovery in astronomy, in natural history, or in physical science, that has not been

Other great discoverers, though they may not have been charged with irreligion, have had not less obloquy of

a professional and public nature to encounter. When Dr. Harvey published his theory of the circulation of the

blood, his practice fell off, (3) and the medical profession stigmatised him as a fool. "The few good things I

have been able to do," said John Hunter, "have been accomplished with the greatest difficulty, and

encountered the greatest opposition." Sir Charles Bell, while employed in his important investigations as to

the nervous system, which issued in one of the greatest of physiological discoveries, wrote to a friend: "If I

were not so poor, and had not so many vexations to encounter, how happy would I be!" But he himself

observed that his practice sensibly fell off after the publication of each successive stage of his discovery.

Thus, nearly every enlargement of the domain of knowledge, which has made us better acquainted with the

heavens, with the earth, and with ourselves, has been established by the energy, the devotion, the

selfsacrifice, and the courage of the great spirits of past times, who, however much they have been opposed

or reviled by their contemporaries, now rank amongst those whom the enlightened of the human race most

Nor is the unjust intolerance displayed towards men of science in the past, without its lesson for the present.

It teaches us to be forbearant towards those who differ from us, provided they observe patiently, think

honestly, and utter their convictions freely and truthfully. It was a remark of Plato, that "the world is God's

epistle to mankind;" and to read and study that epistle, so as to elicit its true meaning, can have no other

effect on a well ordered mind than to lead to a deeper impression of His power, a clearer perception of His

While such has been the courage of the martyrs of science, not less glorious has been the courage of the

martyrs of faith. The passive endurance of the man or woman who, for conscience sake, is found ready to

suffer and to endure in solitude, without so much as the encouragement of even a single sympathising voice,

is an exhibition of courage of a far higher kind than that displayed in the roar of battle, where even the

weakest feels encouraged and inspired by the enthusiasm of sympathy and the power of numbers. Time

would fail to tell of the deathless names of those who through faith in principles, and in the face of difficulty,

danger, and suffering, "have wrought righteousness and waxed valiant" in the moral warfare of the world, and

been content to lay down their lives rather than prove false to their conscientious convictions of the truth.

Men of this stamp, inspired by a high sense of duty, have in past times exhibited character in its most heroic

aspects, and continue to present to us some of the noblest spectacles to be seen in history. Even women, full

of tenderness and gentleness, not less than men, have in this cause been found capable of exhibiting the most

unflinching courage. Such, for instance, as that of Anne Askew, who, when racked until her bones were

dislocated, uttered no cry, moved no muscle, but looked her tormentors calmly in the face, and refused either

to confess or to recant; or such as that of Latimer and Ridley, who, instead of bewailing their hard fate and

beating their breasts, went as cheerfully to their death as a bridegroom to the altarthe one bidding the other

to "be of good comfort," for that "we shall this day light such a candle in England, by God's grace, as shall

never be put out;" or such, again, as that of Mary Dyer, the Quakeress, hanged by the Puritans of New

England for preaching to the people, who ascended the scaffold with a willing step, and, after calmly

addressing those who stood about, resigned herself into the hands of her persecutors, and died in peace and

Not less courageous was the behaviour of the good Sir Thomas More, who marched willingly to the scaffold,

and died cheerfully there, rather than prove false to his conscience. When More had made his final decision

to stand upon his principles, he felt as if he had won a victory, and said to his soninlaw Roper: "Son Roper,

I thank Our Lord, the field is won!" The Duke of Norfolk told him of his danger, saying: "By the mass,

Master More, it is perilous striving with princes; the anger of a prince brings death!". "Is that all, my lord?"

said More; "then the difference between you and me is thisthat I shall die today, and you tomorrow."

While it has been the lot of many great men, in times of difficulty and danger, to be cheered and supported by

their wives, More had no such consolation. His helpmate did anything but console him during his

imprisonment in the Tower. (4) She could not conceive that there was any sufficient reason for his continuing

to lie there, when by merely doing what the King required of him, he might at once enjoy his liberty, together

with his fine house at Chelsea, his library, his orchard, his gallery, and the society of his wife and children. "I

marvel," said she to him one day, "that you, who have been alway hitherto taken for wise, should now so play

the fool as to lie here in this close filthy prison, and be content to be shut up amongst mice and rats, when you

might be abroad at your liberty, if you would but do as the bishops have done?" But More saw his duty from

a different point of view: it was not a mere matter of personal comfort with him; and the expostulations of his

wife were of no avail. He gently put her aside, saying cheerfully, "Is not this house as nigh heaven as my

More's daughter, Margaret Roper, on the contrary, encouraged her father to stand firm in his principles, and

dutifully consoled and cheered him during his long confinement. Deprived of penandink, he wrote his

letters to her with a piece of coal, saying in one of them: "If I were to declare in writing how much pleasure

your daughterly loving letters gave me, a PECK OF COALS would not suffice to make the pens." More was

a martyr to veracity: he would not swear a false oath; and he perished because he was sincere. When his head

had been struck off, it was placed on London Bridge, in accordance with the barbarous practice of the times.

Margaret Roper had the courage to ask for the head to be taken down and given to her, and, carrying her

affection for her father beyond the grave, she desired that it might be buried with her when she died; and long

after, when Margaret Roper's tomb was opened, the precious relic was observed lying on the dust of what had

Martin Luther was not called upon to lay down his life for his faith; but, from the day that he declared himself

against the Pope, he daily ran the risk of losing it. At the beginning of his great struggle, he stood almost

entirely alone. The odds against him were tremendous. "On one side," said he himself, "are learning, genius,

numbers, grandeur, rank, power, sanctity, miracles; on the other Wycliffe, Lorenzo Valla, Augustine, and

Luthera poor creature, a man of yesterday, standing wellnigh alone with a few friends." Summoned by the

Emperor to appear at Worms; to answer the charge made against him of heresy, he determined to answer in

person. Those about him told him that he would lose his life if he went, and they urged him to fly. "No," said

he, "I will repair thither, though I should find there thrice as many devils as there are tiles upon the

housetops!" Warned against the bitter enmity of a certain Duke George, he said"I will go there, though for

Luther was as good as his word; and he set forth upon his perilous journey. When he came in sight of the old

belltowers of Worms, he stood up in his chariot and sang, "EIN FESTE BURG IST UNSER GOTT."the

'Marseillaise' of the Reformationthe words and music of which he is said to have improvised only two days

before. Shortly before the meeting of the Diet, an old soldier, George Freundesberg, put his hand upon

Luther's shoulder, and said to him: "Good monk, good monk, take heed what thou doest; thou art going into a

harder fight than any of us have ever yet been in. But Luther's only answer to the veteran was, that he had

Luther's courageous defence before the Diet is on record, and forms one of the most glorious pages in history.

When finally urged by the Emperor to retract, he said firmly: "Sire, unless I am convinced of my error by the

testimony of Scripture, or by manifest evidence, I cannot and will not retract, for we must never act contrary

to our conscience. Such is my profession of faith, and you must expect none other from me. HIER STEHE

ICH: ICH KANN NICHT ANDERS: GOTT HELFE MIR!" (Here stand I: I cannot do otherwise: God help

me!). He had to do his dutyto obey the orders of a Power higher than that of kings; and he did it at all

Afterwards, when hard pressed by his enemies at Augsburg, Luther said that "if he had five hundred heads,

he would lose them all rather than recant his article concerning faith." Like all courageous men, his strength

only seemed to grow in proportion to the difficulties he had to encounter and overcome. "There is no man in

Germany," said Hutten, "who more utterly despises death than does Luther." And to his moral courage,

perhaps more than to that of any other single man, do we owe the liberation of modern thought, and the

The honourable and brave man does not fear death compared with ignominy. It is said of the Royalist Earl of

Strafford that, as he walked to the scaffold on Tower Hill, his step and manner were those of a general

marching at the head of an army to secure victory, rather than of a condemned man to undergo sentence of

death. So the Commonwealth's man, Sir John Eliot, went alike bravely to his death on the same spot, saying:

"Ten thousand deaths rather than defile my conscience, the chastity and purity of which I value beyond all

this world." Eliot's greatest tribulation was on account of his wife, whom he had to leave behind. When he

saw her looking down upon him from the Tower window, he stood up in the cart, waved his hat, and cried:

"To heaven, my love!to heaven!and leave you in the storm!" As he went on his way, one in the crowd

called out, "That is the most glorious seat you ever sat on;" to which he replied: "It is so, indeed!" and

Although success is the guerdon for which all men toil, they have nevertheless often to labour on

perseveringly, without any glimmer of success in sight. They have to live, meanwhile, upon their

couragesowing their seed, it may be, in the dark, in the hope that it will yet take root and spring up in

achieved result. The best of causes have had to fight their way to triumph through a long succession of

failures, and many of the assailants have died in the breach before the fortress has been won. The heroism

they have displayed is to be measured, not so much by their immediate success, as by the opposition they

The patriot who fights an alwayslosing battlethe martyr who goes to death amidst the triumphant shouts

of his enemiesthe discoverer, like Columbus, whose heart remains undaunted through the bitter years of

his "long wandering woe"are examples of the moral sublime which excite a profounder interest in the

hearts of men than even the most complete and conspicuous success. By the side of such instances as these,

how small by comparison seem the greatest deeds of valour, inciting men to rush upon death and die amidst

But the greater part of the courage that is needed in the world is not of a heroic kind. Courage may be

displayed in everyday life as well as in historic fields of action. There needs, for example, the common

courage to be honestthe courage to resist temptationthe courage to speak the truththe courage to be

what we really are, and not to pretend to be what we are notthe courage to live honestly within our own

A great deal of the unhappiness, and much of the vice, of the world is owing to weakness and indecision of

purposein other words, to lack of courage. Men may know what is right, and yet fail to exercise the

courage to do it; they may understand the duty they have to do, but will not summon up the requisite

resolution to perform it. The weak and undisciplined man is at the mercy of every temptation; he cannot say

"No," but falls before it. And if his companionship be bad, he will be all the easier led away by bad example

Nothing can be more certain than that the character can only be sustained and strengthened by its own

energetic action. The will, which is the central force of character, must be trained to habits of

decisionotherwise it will neither be able to resist evil nor to follow good. Decision gives the power of

standing firmly, when to yield, however slightly, might be only the first step in a downhill course to ruin.

Calling upon others for help in forming a decision is worse than useless. A man must so train his habits as to

rely upon his own powers and depend upon his own courage in moments of emergency. Plutarch tells of a

King of Macedon who, in the midst of an action, withdrew into the adjoining town under pretence of

sacrificing to Hercules; whilst his opponent Emilius, at the same time that he implored the Divine aid, sought

for victory sword in hand, and won the battle. And so it ever is in the actions of daily life.

Many are the valiant purposes formed, that end merely in words; deeds intended, that are never done; designs

projected, that are never begun; and all for want of a little courageous decision. Better far the silent tongue

but the eloquent deed. For in life and in business, despatch is better than discourse; and the shortest answer of

all is, DOING. "In matters of great concern, and which must be done," says Tillotson, "there is no surer

argument of a weak mind than irresolutionto be undetermined when the case is so plain and the necessity

so urgent. To be always intending to live a new life, but never to find time to set about it,this is as if a man

should put off eating and drinking and sleeping from one day to another, until he is starved and destroyed."

There needs also the exercise of no small degree of moral courage to resist the corrupting influences of what

is called "Society." Although "Mrs. Grundy" may be a very vulgar and commonplace personage, her

influence is nevertheless prodigious. Most men, but especially women, are the moral slaves of the class or

caste to which they belong. There is a sort of unconscious conspiracy existing amongst them against each

other's individuality. Each circle and section, each rank and class, has its respective customs and observances,

to which conformity is required at the risk of being tabooed. Some are immured within a bastile of fashion,

others of custom, others of opinion; and few there are who have the courage to think outside their sect, to act

outside their party, and to step out into the free air of individual thought and action. We dress, and eat, and

follow fashion, though it may be at the risk of debt, ruin, and misery; living not so much according to our

means, as according to the superstitious observances of our class. Though we may speak contemptuously of

the Indians who flatten their heads, and of the Chinese who cramp their toes, we have only to look at the

deformities of fashion amongst ourselves, to see that the reign of "Mrs. Grundy" is universal.

But moral cowardice is exhibited quite as much in public as in private life. Snobbism is not confined to the

toadying of the rich, but is quite as often displayed in the toadying of the poor. Formerly, sycophancy showed

itself in not daring to speak the truth to those in high places; but in these days it rather shows itself in not

daring to speak the truth to those in low places. Now that "the masses" (6) exercise political power, there is a

growing tendency to fawn upon them, to flatter them, and to speak nothing but smooth words to them. They

are credited with virtues which they themselves know they do not possess. The public enunciation of

wholesome because disagreeable truths is avoided; and, to win their favour, sympathy is often pretended for

It is not the man of the noblest characterthe highestcultured and bestconditioned manwhose favour is

now sought, so much as that of the lowest man, the leastcultured and worstconditioned man, because his

vote is usually that of the majority. Even men of rank, wealth, and education, are seen prostrating themselves

before the ignorant, whose votes are thus to be got. They are ready to be unprincipled and unjust rather than

unpopular. It is so much easier for some men to stoop, to bow, and to flatter, than to be manly, resolute, and

magnanimous; and to yield to prejudices than run counter to them. It requires strength and courage to swim

This servile pandering to popularity has been rapidly on the increase of late years, and its tendency has been

to lower and degrade the character of public men. Consciences have become more elastic. There is now one

opinion for the chamber, and another for the platform. Prejudices are pandered to in public, which in private

are despised. Pretended conversionswhich invariably jump with party interests are more sudden; and even

The same moral cowardice extends downwards as well as upwards. The action and reaction are equal.

Hypocrisy and timeserving above are accompanied by hypocrisy and timeserving below. Where men of high

standing have not the courage of their opinions, what is to be expected from men of low standing? They will

only follow such examples as are set before them. They too will skulk, and dodge, and prevaricatebe ready

to speak one way and act another just like their betters. Give them but a sealed box, or some

Popularity, as won in these days, is by no means a presumption in a man's favour, but is quite as often a

presumption against him. "No man," says the Russian proverb, "can rise to honour who is cursed with a stiff

backbone." But the backbone of the popularityhunter is of gristle; and he has no difficulty in stooping and

Where popularity is won by fawning upon the people, by withholding the truth from them, by writing and

speaking down to the lowest tastes, and still worse by appeals to classhatred, (7) such a popularity must be

simply contemptible in the sight of all honest men. Jeremy Bentham, speaking of a wellknown public

character, said: "His creed of politics results less from love of the many than from hatred of the few; it is too

much under the influence of selfish and dissocial affection." To how many men in our own day might not the

Men of sterling character have the courage to speak the truth, even when it is unpopular. It was said of

Colonel Hutchinson by his wife, that he never sought after popular applause, or prided himself on it: "He

more delighted to do well than to be praised, and never set vulgar commendations at such a rate as to act

contrary to his own conscience or reason for the obtaining them; nor would he forbear a good action which he

was bound to, though all the world disliked it; for he ever looked on things as they were in themselves, not

"Popularity, in the lowest and most common sense," said Sir John Pakington, on a recent occasion, (9) "is not

worth the having. Do your duty to the best of your power, win the approbation of your own conscience, and

When Richard Lovell Edgeworth, towards the close of his life, became very popular in his neighbourhood, he

said one day to his daughter: "Maria, I am growing dreadfully popular; I shall be good for nothing soon; a

man cannot be good for anything who is very popular." Probably he had in his mind at the time the Gospel

curse of the popular man, "Woe unto you, when all men shall speak well of you! for so did their fathers to the

Intellectual intrepidity is one of the vital conditions of independence and selfreliance of character. A man

must have the courage to be himself, and not the shadow or the echo of another. He must exercise his own

powers, think his own thoughts, and speak his own sentiments. He must elaborate his own opinions, and form

his own convictions. It has been said that he who dare not form an opinion, must be a coward; he who will

But it is precisely in this element of intrepidity that so many persons of promise fall short, and disappoint the

expectations of their friends. They march up to the scene of action, but at every step their courage oozes out.

They want the requisite decision, courage, and perseverance. They calculate the risks, and weigh the chances,

until the opportunity for effective effort has passed, it may be never to return.

Men are bound to speak the truth in the love of it. "I had rather suffer," said John Pym, the Commonwealth

man, "for speaking the truth, than that the truth should suffer for want of my speaking." When a man's

convictions are honestly formed, after fair and full consideration, he is justified in striving by all fair means to

bring them into action. There are certain states of society and conditions of affairs in which a man is bound to

speak out, and be antagonisticwhen conformity is not only a weakness, but a sin. Great evils are in some

cases only to be met by resistance; they cannot be wept down, but must be battled down.

The honest man is naturally antagonistic to fraud, the truthful man to lying, the justiceloving man to

oppression, the pureminded man to vice and iniquity. They have to do battle with these conditions, and if

possible overcome them. Such men have in all ages represented the moral force of the world. Inspired by

benevolence and sustained by courage, they have been the mainstays of all social renovation and progress.

But for their continuous antagonism to evil conditions, the world were for the most part given over to the

dominion of selfishness and vice. All the great reformers and martyrs were antagonistic menenemies to

falsehood and evildoing. The Apostles themselves were an organised band of social antagonists, who

contended with pride, selfishness, superstition, and irreligion. And in our own time the lives of such men as

Clarkson and Granville Sharpe, Father Mathew and Richard Cobden, inspired by singleness of purpose, have

It is the strong and courageous men who lead and guide and rule the world. The weak and timid leave no

trace behind them; whilst the life of a single upright and energetic man is like a track of light. His example is

remembered and appealed to; and his thoughts, his spirit, and his courage continue to be the inspiration of

It is energythe central element of which is willthat produces the miracles of enthusiasm in all ages.

Everywhere it is the mainspring of what is called force of character, and the sustaining power of all great

action. In a righteous cause the determined man stands upon his courage as upon a granite block; and, like

David, he will go forth to meet Goliath, strong in heart though an host be encamped against him.

Men often conquer difficulties because they feel they can. Their confidence in themselves inspires the

confidence of others. When Caesar was at sea, and a storm began to rage, the captain of the ship which

carried him became unmanned by fear. "What art thou afraid of?" cried the great captain; "thy vessel carries

Caesar!" The courage of the brave man is contagious, and carries others along with it. His stronger nature

awes weaker natures into silence, or inspires them with his own will and purpose.

The persistent man will not be baffled or repulsed by opposition. Diogenes, desirous of becoming the disciple

of Antisthenes, went and offered himself to the cynic. He was refused. Diogenes still persisting, the cynic

raised his knotty staff, and threatened to strike him if he did not depart. "Strike!" said Diogenes; "you will not

find a stick hard enough to conquer my perseverance." Antisthenes, overcome, had not another word to say,

Energy of temperament, with a moderate degree of wisdom, will carry a man further than any amount of

intellect without it. Energy makes the man of practical ability. It gives him VIS, force, MOMENTUM. It is

the active motive power of character; and if combined with sagacity and selfpossession, will enable a man

Hence it is that, inspired by energy of purpose, men of comparatively mediocre powers have often been

enabled to accomplish such extraordinary results. For the men who have most powerfully influenced the

world have not been so much men of genius as men of strong convictions and enduring capacity for work,

impelled by irresistible energy and invincible determination: such men, for example, as were Mahomet,

Courage, combined with energy and perseverance, will overcome difficulties apparently insurmountable. It

gives force and impulse to effort, and does not permit it to retreat. Tyndall said of Faraday, that "in his warm

moments he formed a resolution, and in his cool ones he made that resolution good." Perseverance, working

in the right direction, grows with time, and when steadily practised, even by the most humble, will rarely fail

of its reward. Trusting in the help of others is of comparatively little use. When one of Michael Angelo's

principal patrons died, he said: "I begin to understand that the promises of the world are for the most part vain

phantoms, and that to confide in one's self, and become something of worth and value, is the best and safest

Courage is by no means incompatible with tenderness. On the contrary, gentleness and tenderness have been

found to characterise the men, not less than the women, who have done the most courageous deeds. Sir

Charles Napier gave up sporting, because he could not bear to hurt dumb creatures. The same gentleness and

tenderness characterised his brother, Sir William, the historian of the Peninsular War. (10) Such also was the

character of Sir James Outram, pronounced by Sir Charles Napier to be "the Bayard of India, SANS PEUR

ET SANS REPROCHE"one of the bravest and yet gentlest of men; respectful and reverent to women,

tender to children, helpful of the weak, stern to the corrupt, but kindly as summer to the honest and deserving.

Moreover, he was himself as honest as day, and as pure as virtue. Of him it might be said with truth, what

Fulke Greville said of Sidney: "He was a true model of wortha man fit for conquest, reformation,

plantation, or what action soever is the greatest and hardest among men; his chief ends withal being above all

When Edward the Black Prince won the Battle of Poictiers, in which he took prisoner the French king and his

son, he entertained them in the evening at a banquet, when he insisted on waiting upon and serving them at

table. The gallant prince's knightly courtesy and demeanour won the hearts of his captives as completely as

his valour had won their persons; for, notwithstanding his youth, Edward was a true knight, the first and

bravest of his timea noble pattern and example of chivalry; his two mottoes, 'Hochmuth' and 'Ich dien'

(high spirit and reverent service) not inaptly expressing his prominent and pervading qualities.

It is the courageous man who can best afford to be generous; or rather, it is his nature to be so. When Fairfax,

at the Battle of Naseby, seized the colours from an ensign whom he had struck down in the fight, he handed

them to a common soldier to take care of. The soldier, unable to resist the temptation, boasted to his

comrades that he had himself seized the colours, and the boast was repeated to Fairfax. "Let him retain the

So when Douglas, at the Battle of Bannockburn, saw Randolph, his rival, outnumbered and apparently

overpowered by the enemy, he prepared to hasten to his assistance; but, seeing that Randolph was already

driving them back, he cried out, "Hold and halt! We are come too late to aid them; let us not lessen the

Quite as chivalrous, though in a very different field of action, was the conduct of Laplace to the young

philosopher Biot, when the latter had read to the French Academy his paper, "SUR LES EQUATIONS AUX

DIFFERENCE MELEES." The assembled SAVANS, at its close, felicitated the reader of the paper on his

originality. Monge was delighted at his success. Laplace also praised him for the clearness of his

demonstrations, and invited Biot to accompany him home. Arrived there, Laplace took from a closet in his

study a paper, yellow with age, and handed it to the young philosopher. To Biot's surprise, he found that it

contained the solutions, all worked out, for which he had just gained so much applause. With rare

magnanimity, Laplace withheld all knowledge of the circumstance from Biot until the latter had initiated his

reputation before the Academy; moreover, he enjoined him to silence; and the incident would have remained

An incident is related of a French artisan, exhibiting the same characteristic of selfsacrifice in another form.

In front of a lofty house in course of erection at Paris was the usual scaffold, loaded with men and materials.

The scaffold, being too weak, suddenly broke down, and the men upon it were precipitated to the

groundall except two, a young man and a middleaged one, who hung on to a narrow ledge, which

trembled under their weight, and was evidently on the point of giving way. "Pierre," cried the elder of the

two, "let go; I am the father of a family." "C'EST JUSTE!" said Pierre; and, instantly letting go his hold, he

The brave man is magnanimous as well as gentle. He does not take even an enemy at a disadvantage, nor

strike a man when he is down and unable to defend himself. Even in the midst of deadly strife such instances

of generosity have not been uncommon. Thus, at the Battle of Dettingen, during the heat of the action, a

squadron of French cavalry charged an English regiment; but when the young French officer who led them,

and was about to attack the English leader, observed that he had only one arm, with which he held his bridle,

It is related of Charles V., that after the siege and capture of Wittenburg by the Imperialist army, the monarch

went to see the tomb of Luther. While reading the inscription on it, one of the servile courtiers who

accompanied him proposed to open the grave, and give the ashes of the "heretic" to the winds. The monarch's

cheek flushed with honest indignation: "I war not with the dead," said he; "let this place be respected."

The portrait which the great heathen, Aristotle, drew of the Magnanimous Man, in other words the True

Gentleman, more than two thousand years ago, is as faithful now as it was then. "The magnanimous man," he

said, "will behave with moderation under both good fortune and bad. He will know how to be exalted and

how to be abased. He will neither be delighted with success nor grieved by failure. He will neither shun

danger nor seek it, for there are few things which he cares for. He is reticent, and somewhat slow of speech,

but speaks his mind openly and boldly when occasion calls for it. He is apt to admire, for nothing is great to

him. He overlooks injuries. He is not given to talk about himself or about others; for he does not care that he

himself should be praised, or that other people should be blamed. He does not cry out about trifles, and craves

On the other hand, mean men admire meanly. They have neither modesty, generosity, nor magnanimity. They

are ready to take advantage of the weakness or defencelessness of others, especially where they have

themselves succeeded, by unscrupulous methods, in climbing to positions of authority. Snobs in high places

are always much less tolerable than snobs of low degree, because they have more frequent opportunities of

making their want of manliness felt. They assume greater airs, and are pretentious in all that they do; and the

higher their elevation, the more conspicuous is the incongruity of their position. "The higher the monkey

Much depends on the way in which a thing is done. An act which might be taken as a kindness if done in a

generous spirit, when done in a grudging spirit, may be felt as stingy, if not harsh and even cruel. When Ben

Jonson lay sick and in poverty, the king sent him a paltry message, accompanied by a gratuity. The sturdy

plainspoken poet's reply was: "I suppose he sends me this because I live in an alley; tell him his soul lives in

From what we have said, it will be obvious that to be of an enduring and courageous spirit, is of great

importance in the formation of character. It is a source not only of usefulness in life, but of happiness. On the

other hand, to be of a timid and, still more, of a cowardly nature is one of the greatest misfortunes. A. wise

man was accustomed to say that one of the principal objects he aimed at in the education of his sons and

daughters was to train them in the habit of fearing nothing so much as fear. And the habit of avoiding fear is,

doubtless, capable of being trained like any other habit, such as the habit of attention, of diligence, of study,

Much of the fear that exists is the offspring of imagination, which creates the images of evils which MAY

happen, but perhaps rarely do; and thus many persons who are capable of summoning up courage to grapple

with and overcome real dangers, are paralysed or thrown into consternation by those which are imaginary.

Hence, unless the imagination be held under strict discipline, we are prone to meet evils more than

halfwayto suffer them by forestalment, and to assume the burdens which we ourselves create.

Education in courage is not usually included amongst the branches of female training, and yet it is really of

greater importance than either music, French, or the use of the globes. Contrary to the view of Sir Richard

Steele, that women should be characterised by a "tender fear," and "an inferiority which makes her lovely,"

we would have women educated in resolution and courage, as a means of rendering them more helpful, more

There is, indeed, nothing attractive in timidity, nothing loveable in fear. All weakness, whether of mind or

body, is equivalent to deformity, and the reverse of interesting. Courage is graceful and dignified, whilst fear,

in any form, is mean and repulsive. Yet the utmost tenderness and gentleness are consistent with courage.

Ary Scheffer, the artist, once wrote to his daughter: "Dear daughter, strive to be of good courage, to be

gentle hearted; these are the true qualities for woman. 'Troubles' everybody must expect. There is but one

way of looking at fate whatever that be, whether blessings or afflictionsto behave with dignity under

both. We must not lose heart, or it will be the worse both for ourselves and for those whom we love. To

struggle, and again and again to renew the conflict THIS is life's inheritance." (12)

In sickness and sorrow, none are braver and less complaining sufferers than women. Their courage, where

"Oh! femmes c'est a tort qu'on vous nommes timides, A la voix de vos coeurs vous etes intrepides."

Experience has proved that women can be as enduring as men, under the heaviest trials and calamities; but

too little pains are taken to teach them to endure petty terrors and frivolous vexations with fortitude. Such

little miseries, if petted and indulged, quickly run into sickly sensibility, and become the bane of their life,

The best corrective of this condition of mind is wholesome moral and mental discipline. Mental strength is as

necessary for the development of woman's character as of man's. It gives her capacity to deal with the affairs

of life, and presence of mind, which enable her to act with vigour and effect in moments of emergency.

Character, in a woman, as in a man, will always be found the best safeguard of virtue, the best nurse of

religion, the best corrective of Time. Personal beauty soon passes; but beauty of mind and character increases

"I meant she should be courteous, facile, sweet, Free from that solemn vice of greatness, pride; I meant each

softed virtue there should meet, Fit in that softer bosom to abide. Only a learned and a manly soul, I purposed

her, that should with even powers, The rock, the spindle, and the shears control Of destiny, and spin her own

The courage of woman is not the less true because it is for the most part passive. It is not encouraged by the

cheers of the world, for it is mostly exhibited in the recesses of private life. Yet there are cases of heroic

patience and endurance on the part of women which occasionally come to the light of day. One of the most

celebrated instances in history is that of Gertrude Von der Wart. Her husband, falsely accused of being an

accomplice in the murder of the Emperor Albert, was condemned to the most frightful of all

punishmentsto be broken alive on the wheel. With most profound conviction of her husband's innocence

the faithful woman stood by his side to the last, watching over him during two days and nights, braving the

empress's anger and the inclemency of the weather, in the hope of contributing to soothe his dying agonies.

But women have not only distinguished themselves for their passive courage: impelled by affection, or the

sense of duty, they have occasionally become heroic. When the band of conspirators, who sought the life of

James II. of Scotland, burst into his lodgings at Perth, the king called to the ladies, who were in the chamber

outside his room, to keep the door as well as they could, and give him time to escape. The conspirators had

previously destroyed the locks of the doors, so that the keys could not be turned; and when they reached the

ladies' apartment, it was found that the bar also had been removed. But, on hearing them approach, the brave

Catherine Douglas, with the hereditary courage of her family, boldly thrust her arm across the door instead of

the bar; and held it there until, her arm being broken, the conspirators burst into the room with drawn swords

and daggers, overthrowing the ladies, who, though unarmed, still endeavoured to resist them.

The defence of Lathom House by Charlotte de la Tremouille, the worthy descendant of William of Nassau

and Admiral Coligny, was another striking instance of heroic bravery on the part of a noble woman. When

summoned by the Parliamentary forces to surrender, she declared that she had been entrusted by her husband

with the defence of the house, and that she could not give it up without her dear lord's orders, but trusted in

God for protection and deliverance. In her arrangements for the defence, she is described as having "left

nothing with her eye to be excused afterwards by fortune or negligence, and added to her former patience a

most resolved fortitude." The brave lady held her house and home good against the enemy for a whole

yearduring three months of which the place was strictly besieged and bombardeduntil at length the siege

Nor can we forget the courage of Lady Franklin, who persevered to the last, when the hopes of all others had

died out, in prosecuting the search after the Franklin Expedition. On the occasion of the Royal Geographical

Society determining to award the Founder's Medal to Lady Franklin, Sir Roderick Murchison observed, that

in the course of a long friendship with her, he had abundant opportunities of observing and testing the sterling

qualities of a woman who had proved herself worthy of the admiration of mankind. "Nothing daunted by

failure after failure, through twelve long years of hope deferred, she had persevered, with a singleness of

purpose and a sincere devotion which were truly unparalleled. And now that her one last expedition of the

FOX, under the gallant M'Clintock, had realised the two great factsthat her husband had traversed wide

seas unknown to former navigators, and died in discovering a northwest passagethen, surely, the

adjudication of the medal would be hailed by the nation as one of the many recompences to which the widow

But that devotion to duty which marks the heroic character has more often been exhibited by women in deeds

of charity and mercy. The greater part of these are never known, for they are done in private, out of the public

sight, and for the mere love of doing good. Where fame has come to them, because of the success which has

attended their labours in a more general sphere, it has come unsought and unexpected, and is often felt as a

burden. Who has not heard of Mrs. Fry and Miss Carpenter as prison visitors and reformers; of Mrs.

Chisholm and Miss Rye as promoters of emigration; and of Miss Nightingale and Miss Garrett as apostles of

That these women should have emerged from the sphere of private and domestic life to become leaders in

philanthropy, indicates no small, degree of moral courage on their part; for to women, above all others, quiet

and ease and retirement are most natural and welcome. Very few women step beyond the boundaries of home

in search of a larger field of usefulness. But when they have desired one, they have had no difficulty in

finding it. The ways in which men and women can help their neighbours are innumerable. It needs but the

willing heart and ready hand. Most of the philanthropic workers we have named, however, have scarcely

been influenced by choice. The duty lay in their wayit seemed to be the nearest to themand they set

about doing it without desire for fame, or any other reward but the approval of their own conscience.

Among prisonvisitors, the name of Sarah Martin is much less known than that of Mrs. Fry, although she

preceded her in the work. How she was led to undertake it, furnishes at the same time an illustration of

Sarah Martin was the daughter of poor parents, and was left an orphan at an early age. She was brought up by

her grandmother, at Caistor, near Yarmouth, and earned her living by going out to families as

assistantdressmaker, at a shilling a day. In 1819, a woman was tried and sentenced to imprisonment in

Yarmouth Gaol, for cruelly beating and illusing her child, and her crime became the talk of the town. The

young dressmaker was much impressed by the report of the trial, and the desire entered her mind of visiting

the woman in gaol, and trying to reclaim her. She had often before, on passing the walls of the borough gaol,

felt impelled to seek admission, with the object of visiting the inmates, reading the Scriptures to them, and

At length she could not resist her impulse to visit the mother. She entered the gaolporch, lifted the knocker,

and asked the gaoler for admission. For some reason or other she was refused; but she returned, repeated her

request, and this time she was admitted. The culprit mother shortly stood before her. When Sarah Martin told

the motive of her visit, the criminal burst into tears, and thanked her. Those tears and thanks shaped the

whole course of Sarah Martin's afterlife; and the poor seamstress, while maintaining herself by her needle,

continued to spend her leisure hours in visiting the prisoners, and endeavouring to alleviate their condition.

She constituted herself their chaplain and schoolmistress, for at that time they had neither; she read to them

from the Scriptures, and taught them to read and write. She gave up an entire day in the week for this

purpose, besides Sundays, as well as other intervals of spare time, "feeling," she says, "that the blessing of

God was upon her." She taught the women to knit, to sew, and to cut out; the sale of the articles enabling her

to buy other materials, and to continue the industrial education thus begun. She also taught the men to make

straw hats, men's and boys' caps, gray cotton shirts, and even patchworkanything to keep them out of

idleness, and from preying on their own thoughts. Out of the earnings of the prisoners in this way, she formed

a fund, which she applied to furnishing them with work on their discharge; thus enabling them again to begin

the world honestly, and at the same time affording her, as she herself says, "the advantage of observing their

By attending too exclusively to this prisonwork, however, Sarah Martin's dressmaking business fell off; and

the question arose with her, whether in order to recover her business she was to suspend her prisonwork.

But her decision had already been made. "I had counted the cost," she said, "and my mind, was made up. If,

whilst imparting truth to others, I became exposed to temporal want, the privations so momentary to an

individual would not admit of comparison with following the Lord, in thus administering to others." She now

devoted six or seven hours every day to the prisoners, converting what would otherwise have been a scene of

dissolute idleness into a hive of orderly industry. Newly admitted prisoners were sometimes refractory, but

her persistent gentleness eventually won their respect and cooperation. Men old in years and crime, pert

London pickpockets, depraved boys and dissolute sailors, profligate women, smugglers, poachers, and the

promiscuous horde of criminals which usually fill the gaol of a seaport and county town, all submitted to the

benign influence of this good woman; and under her eyes they might be seen, for the first time in their lives,

striving to hold a pen, or to master the characters in a penny primer. She entered into their

confidenceswatched, wept, prayed, and felt for all by turns. She strengthened their good resolutions,

cheered the hopeless and despairing, and endeavoured to put all, and hold all, in the right road of amendment.

For more than twenty years this good and truehearted woman pursued her noble course, with little

encouragement, and not much help; almost her only means of subsistence consisting in an annual income of

ten or twelve pounds left by her grandmother, eked out by her little earnings at dressmaking. During the last

two years of her ministrations, the borough magistrates of Yarmouth, knowing that her selfimposed labours

saved them the expense of a schoolmaster and chaplain (which they had become bound by law to appoint),

made a proposal to her of an annual salary of �12 a year; but they did it in so indelicate a manner as greatly

to wound her sensitive feelings. She shrank from becoming the salaried official of the corporation, and

bartering for money those serviced which had throughout been labours of love. But the Gaol Committee

coarsely informed her, "that if they permitted her to visit the prison she must submit to their terms, or be

excluded." For two years, therefore, she received the salary of �12 a yearthe acknowledgment of the

Yarmouth corporation for her services as gaol chaplain and schoolmistress! She was now, however,

becoming old and infirm, and the unhealthy atmosphere of the gaol did much towards finally disabling her.

While she lay on her deathbed, she resumed the exercise of a talent she had occasionally practised before in

her moments of leisurethe composition of sacred poetry. As works of art, they may not excite admiration;

yet never were verses written truer in spirit, or fuller of Christian love. But her own life was a nobler poem

than any she ever wrotefull of true courage, perseverance, charity, and wisdom. It was indeed a

(2) Yet Bacon himself had written, "I would rather believe all the faiths in the Legend, and the Talmud, and

(3) Aubrey, in his 'Natural History of Wiltshire,' alluding to Harvey, says: "He told me himself that upon

(4) Sir Thomas More's first wife, Jane Colt, was originally a young country girl, whom he himself instructed

in letters, and moulded to his own tastes and manners. She died young, leaving a son and three daughters, of

whom the noble Margaret Roper most resembled More himself. His second wife was Alice Middleton, a

widow, some seven years older than More, not beautifulfor he characterized her as "NEC BELLA, NEC

PUELLA"but a shrewd worldly woman, not by any means disposed to sacrifice comfort and good cheer

for considerations such as those which so powerfully influenced the mind of her husband.

(5)Before being beheaded, Eliot said, "Death is but a little word; but ''tis a great work to die.'" In his 'Prison

Thoughts' before his execution, he wrote: "He that fears not to die, fears nothing.... There is a time to live,

and a time to die. A good death is far better and more eligible than an ill life. A wise man lives but so long as

his life is worth more than his death. The longer life is not always the better."

(6) Mr. J. S. Mill, in his book 'On Liberty,' describes "the masses," as "collective mediocrity." "The initiation

of all wise or noble things," he says, "comes, and must come, from individuals generally at first from some

one individual. The honour and glory of the average man is that he is capable of following that imitation; that

he can respond internally to wise and noble things, and be led to them with his eyes open.... In this age, the

mere example of nonconformity, the mere refusal to bend the knee to custom, is itself a service. Precisely

because the tyranny of opinion is such as to make eccentricity a reproach, it is desirable, in order to break

through that tyranny, that people should be eccentric. Eccentricity has always abounded when and where

strength of character has abounded; and the amount of eccentricity in a society has generally been

proportional to the amount of genius, mental vigour, and moral courage which it contained. That so few now

(7) Mr. Arthur Helps, in one of his thoughtful books, published in 1845, made some observations on this

point, which are not less applicable now. He there said: "it is a grievous thing to see literature made a vehicle

for encouraging the enmity of class to class. Yet this, unhappily, is not unfrequent now. Some great man

summed up the nature of French novels by calling them the Literature of Despair; the kind of writing that I

deprecate may be called the Literature of Envy.... Such writers like to throw their influence, as they might

say, into the weaker scale. But that is not the proper way of looking at the matter. I think, if they saw the

ungenerous nature of their proceedings, that alone would stop them. They should recollect that literature may

fawn upon the masses as well as the aristocracy; and in these days the temptation is in the former direction.

But what is most grievous in this kind of writing is the mischief it may do to the working people

themselves. If you have their true welfare at heart, you will not only care for their being fed and clothed, but

you will be anxious not to encourage unreasonable expectations in them not to make them ungrateful or

greedyminded. Above all, you will be solicitous to preserve some selfreliance in them. You will be careful

not to let them think that their condition can be wholly changed without exertion of their own. You would not

desire to have it so changed. Once elevate your ideal of what you wish to happen amongst the labouring

population, and you will not easily admit anything in your writings that may injure their moral or their mental

character, even if you thought it might hasten some physical benefit for them. That is the way to make your

genius most serviceable to mankind. Depend upon it, honest and bold things require to be said to the lower as

well as the higher classes; and the former are in these times much less likely to have, such things addressed to

(9) At a public meeting held at Worcester, in 1867, in recognition of Sir J. Pakington's services as Chairman

of Quarter Sessions for a period of twentyfour years, the following remarks, made by Sir John on the

occasion, are just and valuable as they are modest: "I am indebted for whatever measure of success I have

attained in my public life, to a combination of moderate abilities, with honesty of intention, firmness of

purpose, and steadiness of conduct. If I were to offer advice to any young man anxious to make himself

useful in public life, I would sum up the results of my experience in three short rulesrules so simple that

any man may understand them, and so easy that any man may act upon them. My first rule would beleave

it to others to judge of what duties you are capable, and for what position you are fitted; but never refuse to

give your services in whatever capacity it may be the opinion of others who are competent to judge that you

may benefit your neighbours or your country. My second rule iswhen you agree to undertake public duties,

concentrate every energy and faculty in your possession with the determination to discharge those duties to

the best of your ability. Lastly, I would counsel you that, in deciding on the line which you will take in public

affairs, you should be guided in your decision by that which, after mature deliberation, you believe to be

right, and not by that which, in the passing hour, may happen to be fashionable or popular."

(10) The following illustration of one of his minute acts of kindness is given in his biography: "He was one

day taking a long country walk near Freshford, when he met a little girl, about five years old, sobbing over a

broken bowl; she had dropped and broken it in bringing it back from the field to which she had taken her

father's dinner in it, and she said she would be beaten on her return home for having broken it; when, with a

sudden gleam of hope, she innocently looked up into his face, and said, 'But yee can mend it, can't ee?'

"My father explained that he could not mend the bowl, but the trouble he could, by the gift of a sixpence to

buy another. However, on opening his purse it was empty of silver, and he had to make amends by promising

to meet his little friend in the same spot at the same hour next day, and to bring the sixpence with him,

bidding her, meanwhile, tell her mother she had seen a gentleman who would bring her the money for the

bowl next day. The child, entirely trusting him, went on her way comforted. On his return home he found an

invitation awaiting him to dine in Bath the following evening, to meet some one whom he specially wished to

see. He hesitated for some little time, trying to calculate the possibility of giving the meeting to his little

friend of the broken bowl and of still being in time for the dinnerparty in Bath; but finding this could not be,

he wrote to decline accepting the invitation on the plea of 'a pre engagement,' saying to us, 'I cannot

(11) Miss Florence Nightingale has related the following incident as having occurred before Sebastopol: "I

remember a sergeant who, on picket, the rest of the picket killed and himself battered about the head,

stumbled back to camp, and on his way picked up a wounded man and brought him in on his shoulders to the

lines, where he fell down insensible. When, after many hours, he recovered his senses, I believe after

trepanning, his first words were to ask after his comrade, 'Is he alive?' 'Comrade, indeed; yes, he's aliveit is

the general.' At that moment the general, though badly wounded, appeared at the bedside. 'Oh, general, it's

you, is it, I brought in? I'm so glad; I didn't know your honour. But, , if I'd known it was you, I'd have

In the same letter, Miss Nightingale says: "England, from her grand mercantile and commercial successes,

has been called sordid; God knows she is not. The simple courage, the enduring patience, the good sense, the

strength to suffer in silencewhat nation shows more of this in war than is shown by her commonest

soldier? I have seen men dying of dysentery, but scorning to report themselves sick lest they should thereby

throw more labour on their comrades, go down to the trenches and make the trenches their deathbed. There is

Say what men will, there is something more truly Christian in the man who gives his time, his strength, his

life, if need be, for something not himselfwhether he call it his Queen, his country, or his coloursthan in

all the asceticism, the fasts, the humiliations, and confessions which have ever been made: and this spirit of

giving one's life, without calling it a sacrifice, is found nowhere so truly as in England."

(13) The sufferings of this noble woman, together with those of her unfortunate husband, were touchingly

described in a letter afterwards addressed by her to a female friend, which was published some years ago at

Haarlem, entitled, 'Gertrude von der Wart; or, Fidelity unto Death.' Mrs. Hemans wrote a poem of great

Selfcontrol is only courage under another form. It may almost be regarded as the primary essence of

character. It is in virtue of this quality that Shakspeare defines man as a being "looking before and after." It

forms the chief distinction between man and the mere animal; and, indeed, there can be no true manhood

Selfcontrol is at the root of all the virtues. Let a man give the reins to his impulses and passions, and from

that moment he yields up his moral freedom. He is carried along the current of life, and becomes the slave of

To be morally freeto be more than an animalman must be able to resist instinctive impulse, and this can

only be done by the exercise of selfcontrol. Thus it is this power which constitutes the real distinction

between a physical and a moral life, and that forms the primary basis of individual character.

In the Bible praise is given, not to the strong man who "taketh a city," but to the stronger man who "ruleth his

own spirit." This stronger man is he who, by discipline, exercises a constant control over his thoughts, his

speech, and his acts. Ninetenths of the vicious desires that degrade society, and which, when indulged, swell

into the crimes that disgrace it, would shrink into insignificance before the advance of valiant selfdiscipline,

selfrespect, and selfcontrol. By the watchful exercise of these virtues, purity of heart and mind become

The best support of character will always be found in habit, which, according as the will is directed rightly or

wrongly, as the case may be, will prove either a benignant ruler or a cruel despot. We may be its willing

subject on the one hand, or its servile slave on the other. It may help us on the road to good, or it may hurry

Habit is formed by careful training. And it is astonishing how much can be accomplished by systematic

discipline and drill. See how, for instance, out of the most unpromising materialssuch as roughs picked up

in the streets, or raw unkempt country lads taken from the ploughsteady discipline and drill will bring out

the unsuspected qualities of courage, endurance, and selfsacrifice; and how, in the field of battle, or even on

the more trying occasions of perils by seasuch as the burning of the SARAH SANDS or the wreck of the

BIRKENHEADsuch men, carefully disciplined, will exhibit the unmistakable characteristics of true

Nor is moral discipline and drill less influential in the formation of character. Without it, there will be no

proper system and order in the regulation of the life. Upon it depends the cultivation of the sense of

selfrespect, the education of the habit of obedience, the development of the idea of duty. The most

selfreliant, selfgoverning man is always under discipline: and the more perfect the discipline, the higher

will be his moral condition. He has to drill his desires, and keep them in subjection to the higher powers of

his nature. They must obey the word of command of the internal monitor, the conscience otherwise they

will be but the mere slaves of their inclinations, the sport of feeling and impulse.

"In the supremacy of selfcontrol," says Herbert Spencer, "consists one of the perfections of the ideal man.

Not to be impulsivenot to be spurred hither and thither by each desire that in turn comes uppermostbut

to be selfrestrained, self balanced, governed by the joint decision of the feelings in council assembled,

before whom every action shall have been fully debated and calmly determinedthat it is which education,

The first seminary of moral discipline, and the best, as we have already shown, is the home; next comes the

school, and after that the world, the great school of practical life. Each is preparatory to the other, and what

the man or woman becomes, depends for the most part upon what has gone before. If they have enjoyed the

advantage of neither the home nor the school, but have been allowed to grow up untrained, untaught, and

undisciplined, then woe to themselveswoe to the society of which they form part!

The bestregulated home is always that in which the discipline is the most perfect, and yet where it is the

least felt. Moral discipline acts with the force of a law of nature. Those subject to it yield themselves to it

unconsciously; and though it shapes and forms the whole character, until the life becomes crystallized in

habit, the influence thus exercised is for the most part unseen and almost unfelt.

The importance of strict domestic discipline is curiously illustrated by a fact mentioned in Mrs.

Schimmelpenninck's Memoirs, to the following effect: that a lady who, with her husband, had inspected most

of the lunatic asylums of England and the Continent, found the most numerous class of patients was almost

always composed of those who had been only children, and whose wills had therefore rarely been thwarted or

disciplined in early life; whilst those who were members of large families, and who had been trained in

Although the moral character depends in a great degree on temperament and on physical health, as well as on

domestic and early training and the example of companions, it is also in the power of each individual to

regulate, to restrain, and to discipline it by watchful and persevering selfcontrol. A competent teacher has

said of the propensities and habits, that they are as teachable as Latin and Greek, while they are much more

Dr. Johnson, though himself constitutionally prone to melancholy, and afflicted by it as few have been from

his earliest years, said that "a man's being in a good or bad humour very much depends upon his will." We

may train ourselves in a habit of patience and contentment on the one hand, or of grumbling and discontent

on the other. We may accustom ourselves to exaggerate small evils, and to underestimate great blessings. We

may even become the victim of petty miseries by giving way to them. Thus, we may educate ourselves in a

happy disposition, as well as in a morbid one. Indeed, the habit of viewing things cheerfully, and of thinking

about life hopefully, may be made to grow up in us like any other habit. (2) It was not an exaggerated

estimate of Dr. Johnson to say, that the habit of looking at the best side of any event is worth far more than a

Th religious man's life is pervaded by rigid selfdiscipline and selfrestraint. He is to be sober and vigilant,

to eschew evil and do good, to walk in the spirit, to be obedient unto death, to withstand in the evil day, and

having done all, to stand; to wrestle against spiritual wickedness, and against the rulers of the darkness of this

world; to be rooted and built up in faith, and not to be weary of welldoing; for in due season he shall reap, if

The man of business also must needs be subject to strict rule and system. Business, like life, is managed by

moral leverage; success in both depending in no small degree upon that regulation of temper and careful

selfdiscipline, which give a wise man not only a command over himself, but over others. Forbearance and

selfcontrol smooth the road of life, and open many ways which would otherwise remain closed. And so does

selfrespect: for as men respect themselves, so will they usually respect the personality of others.

It is the same in politics as in business. Success in that sphere of life is achieved less by talent than by temper,

less by genius than by character. If a man have not selfcontrol, he will lack patience, be wanting in tact, and

have neither the power of governing himself nor of managing others. When the quality most needed in a

Prime Minister was the subject of conversation in the presence of Mr. Pitt, one of the speakers said it was

"Eloquence;" another said it was "Knowledge;" and a third said it was "Toil," "No," said Pitt, "it is Patience!"

And patience means self control, a quality in which he himself was superb. His friend George Rose has said

of him that he never once saw Pitt out of temper. (3) Yet, although patience is usually regarded as a "slow"

virtue, Pitt combined with it the most extraordinary readiness, vigour, and rapidity of thought as well as

It is by patience and selfcontrol that the truly heroic character is perfected. These were among the most

prominent characteristics of the great Hampden, whose noble qualities were generously acknowledged even

by his political enemies. Thus Clarendon described him as a man of rare temper and modesty, naturally

cheerful and vivacious, and above all, of a flowing courtesy. He was kind and intrepid, yet gentle, of

unblameable conversation, and his heart glowed with love to all men. He was not a man of many words, but,

being of unimpeachable character, every word he uttered carried weight. "No man had ever a greater power

over himself.... He was very temperate in diet, and a supreme governor over all his passions and affections;

and he had thereby great power over other men's." Sir Philip Warwick, another of his political opponents,

incidentally describes his great influence in a certain debate: "We had catched at each other's locks, and

sheathed our swords in each other's bowels, had not the sagacity and great calmness of Mr. Hampden, by a

short speech, prevented it, and led us to defer our angry debate until the next morning."

A strong temper is not necessarily a bad temper. But the stronger the temper, the greater is the need of

selfdiscipline and self control. Dr. Johnson says men grow better as they grow older, and improve with

experience; but this depends upon the width, and depth, and generousness of their nature. It is not men's

faults that ruin them so much as the manner in which they conduct themselves after the faults have been

committed. The wise will profit by the suffering they cause, and eschew them for the future; but there are

those on whom experience exerts no ripening influence, and who only grow narrower and bitterer and more

What is called strong temper in a young man, often indicates a large amount of unripe energy, which will

expend itself in useful work if the road be fairly opened to it. It is said of Stephen Gerard, a Frenchman, who

pursued a remarkably successful career in the United States, that when he heard of a clerk with a strong

temper, he would readily take him into his employment, and set him to work in a room by himself; Gerard

being of opinion that such persons were the best workers, and that their energy would expend itself in work if

Strong temper may only mean a strong and excitable will. Uncontrolled, it displays itself in fitful outbreaks

of passion; but controlled and held in subjectionlike steam pentup within the organised mechanism of a

steamengine, the use of which is regulated and controlled by slidevalves and governors and levers it

may become a source of energetic power and usefulness. Hence, some of the greatest characters in history

have been men of strong temper, but of equally strong determination to hold their motive power under strict

The famous Earl of Strafford was of an extremely choleric and passionate nature, and had great struggles

with himself in his endeavours to control his temper. Referring to the advice of one of his friends, old

Secretary Cooke, who was honest enough to tell him of his weakness, and to caution him against indulging it,

he wrote: "You gave me a good lesson to be patient; and, indeed, my years and natural inclinations give me

heat more than enough, which, however, I trust more experience shall cool, and a watch over myself in time

altogether overcome; in the meantime, in this at least it will set forth itself more pardonable, because my

earnestness shall ever be for the honour, justice, and profit of my master; and it is not always anger, but the

misapplying of it, that is the vice so blameable, and of disadvantage to those that let themselves loose

Cromwell, also, is described as having been of a wayward and violent temper in his youthcross,

untractable, and masterless with a vast quantity of youthful energy, which exploded in a variety of

youthful mischiefs. He even obtained the reputation of a roysterer in his native town, and seemed to be

rapidly going to the bad, when religion, in one of its most rigid forms, laid hold upon his strong nature, and

subjected it to the iron discipline of Calvinism. An entirely new direction was thus given to his energy of

temperament, which forced an outlet for itself into public life, and eventually became the dominating

The heroic princes of the House of Nassau were all distinguished for the same qualities of selfcontrol,

selfdenial, and determination of purpose. William the Silent was so called, not because he was a taciturn

manfor he was an eloquent and powerful speaker where eloquence was necessarybut because he was a

man who could hold his tongue when it was wisdom not to speak, and because he carefully kept his own

counsel when to have revealed it might have been dangerous to the liberties of his country. He was so gentle

and conciliatory in his manner that his enemies even described him as timid and pusillanimous. Yet, when the

time for action came, his courage was heroic, his determination unconquerable. "The rock in the ocean," says

Mr. Motley, the historian of the Netherlands, "tranquil amid raging billows, was the favourite emblem by

Mr. Motley compares William the Silent to Washington, whom he in many respects resembled. The

American, like the Dutch patriot, stands out in history as the very impersonation of dignity, bravery, purity,

and personal excellence. His command over his feelings, even in moments of great difficulty and danger, was

such as to convey the impression, to those who did not know him intimately, that he was a man of inborn

calmness and almost impassiveness of disposition. Yet Washington was by nature ardent and impetuous; his

mildness, gentleness, politeness, and consideration for others, were the result of rigid selfcontrol and

unwearied selfdiscipline, which he diligently practised even from his boyhood. His biographer says of him,

that "his temperament was ardent, his passions strong, and amidst the multiplied scenes of temptation and

excitement through which he passed, it was his constant effort, and ultimate triumph, to check the one and

subdue the other." And again: "His passions were strong, and sometimes they broke out with vehemence, but

he had the power of checking them in an instant. Perhaps selfcontrol was the most remarkable trait of his

character. It was in part the effect of discipline; yet he seems by nature to have possessed this power in a

The Duke of Wellington's natural temper, like that of Napoleon, was irritable in the extreme; and it was only

by watchful self control that he was enabled to restrain it. He studied calmness and coolness in the midst of

danger, like any Indian chief. At Waterloo, and elsewhere, he gave his orders in the most critical moments,

without the slightest excitement, and in a tone of voice almost more than usually subdued. (6)

Wordsworth the poet was, in his childhood, "of a stiff, moody, and violent temper," and "perverse and

obstinate in defying chastisement." When experience of life had disciplined his temper, he learnt to exercise

greater selfcontrol; but, at the same time, the qualities which distinguished him as a child were afterwards

useful in enabling him to defy the criticism of his enemies. Nothing was more marked than Wordsworth's

selfrespect and selfdetermination, as well as his selfconsciousness of power, at all periods of his history.

Henry Martyn, the missionary, was another instance of a man in whom strength of temper was only so much

pentup, unripe energy. As a boy he was impatient, petulant, and perverse; but by constant wrestling against

his tendency to wrongheadedness, he gradually gained the requisite strength, so as to entirely overcome it,

A man may be feeble in organization, but, blessed with a happy temperament, his soul may be great, active,

noble, and sovereign. Professor Tyndall has given us a fine picture of the character of Faraday, and of his

selfdenying labours in the cause of science exhibiting him as a man of strong, original, and even fiery

nature, and yet of extreme tenderness and sensibility. "Underneath his sweetness and gentleness," he says,

"was the heat of a volcano. He was a man of excitable and fiery nature; but, through high selfdiscipline, he

had converted the fire into a central glow and motive power of life, instead of permitting it to waste itself in

There was one fine feature in Faraday's character which is worthy of noticeone closely akin to

selfcontrol: it was his self denial. By devoting himself to analytical chemistry, he might have speedily

realised a large fortune; but he nobly resisted the temptation, and preferred to follow the path of pure science.

"Taking the duration of his life into account," says Mr. Tyndall, "this son of a blacksmith and apprentice to a

bookbinder had to decide between a fortune of �150,000 on the one side, and his undowered science on the

other. He chose the latter, and died a poor man. But his was the glory of holding aloft among the nations the

Take a like instance of the selfdenial of a Frenchman. The historian Anquetil was one of the small number

of literary men in France who refused to bow to the Napoleonic yoke. He sank into great poverty, living on

breadandmilk, and limiting his expenditure to only three sous a day. "I have still two sous a day left," said

he, "for the conqueror of Marengo and Austerlitz." "But if you fall sick," said a friend to him, "you will need

the help of a pension. Why not do as others do? Pay court to the Emperoryou have need of him to live." "I

do not need him to die," was the historian's reply. But Anquetil did not die of poverty; he lived to the age of

ninetyfour, saying to a friend, on the eve of his death, "Come, see a man who dies still full of life!"

Sir James Outram exhibited the same characteristic of noble self denial, though in an altogether different

sphere of life. Like the great King Arthur, he was emphatically a man who "forbore his own advantage." He

was characterised throughout his whole career by his noble unselfishness. Though he might personally

disapprove of the policy he was occasionally ordered to carry out, he never once faltered in the path of duty.

Thus he did not approve of the policy of invading Scinde; yet his services throughout the campaign were

acknowledged by General Sir C. Napier to have been of the most brilliant character. But when the war was

over, and the rich spoils of Scinde lay at the conqueror's feet, Outram said: "I disapprove of the policy of this

Not less marked was his generous selfdenial when despatched with a strong force to aid Havelock in

fighting his way to Lucknow. As superior officer, he was entitled to take upon himself the chief command;

but, recognising what Havelock had already done, with rare disinterestedness, he left to his junior officer the

glory of completing the campaign, offering to serve under him as a volunteer. "With such reputation," said

Lord Clyde, "as Major General Outram has won for himself, he can afford to share glory and honour with

others. But that does not lessen the value of the sacrifice he has made with such disinterested generosity."

If a man would get through life honourably and peaceably, he must necessarily learn to practise selfdenial in

small things as well as great. Men have to bear as well as forbear. The temper has to be held in subjection to

the judgment; and the little demons of illhumour, petulance, and sarcasm, kept resolutely at a distance. If

once they find an entrance to the mind, they are very apt to return, and to establish for themselves a

It is necessary to one's personal happiness, to exercise control over one's words as well as acts: for there are

words that strike even harder than blows; and men may "speak daggers," though they use none. "UN COUP

DE LANGUE," says the French proverb, "EST PIRE QU'UN COUP DE LANCE." The stinging repartee that

rises to the lips, and which, if uttered, might cover an adversary with confusion, how difficult it sometimes is

to resist saying it! "Heaven keep us," says Miss Bremer in her 'Home,' "from the destroying power of words!

There are words which sever hearts more than sharp swords do; there are words the point of which sting the

Thus character exhibits itself in selfcontrol of speech as much as in anything else. The wise and forbearant

man will restrain his desire to say a smart or severe thing at the expense of another's feelings; while the fool

blurts out what he thinks, and will sacrifice his friend rather than his joke. "The mouth of a wise man," said

There are, however, men who are no fools, that are headlong in their language as in their acts, because of

their want of forbearance and selfrestraining patience. The impulsive genius, gifted with quick thought and

incisive speechperhaps carried away by the cheers of the momentlets fly a sarcastic sentence which may

return upon him to his own infinite damage. Even statesmen might be named, who have failed through their

inability to resist the temptation of saying clever and spiteful things at their adversary's expense. "The turn of

a sentence," says Bentham, "has decided the fate of many a friendship, and, for aught that we know, the fate

of many a kingdom." So, when one is tempted to write a clever but harsh thing, though it may be difficult to

restrain it, it is always better to leave it in the inkstand. "A goose's quill," says the Spanish proverb, "often

Carlyle says, when speaking of Oliver Cromwell, "He that cannot withal keep his mind to himself, cannot

practise any considerable thing whatsoever." It was said of William the Silent, by one of his greatest enemies,

that an arrogant or indiscreet word was never known to fall from his lips. Like him, Washington was

discretion itself in the use of speech, never taking advantage of an opponent, or seeking a shortlived triumph

in a debate. And it is said that in the long run, the world comes round to and supports the wise man who

We have heard men of great experience say that they have often regretted having spoken, but never once

regretted holding their tongue. "Be silent," says Pythagoras, "or say something better than silence." "Speak

fitly," says George Herbert, "or be silent wisely." St. Francis de Sales, whom Leigh Hunt styled "the

Gentleman Saint," has said: "It is better to remain silent than to speak the truth illhumouredly, and so spoil

an excellent dish by covering it with bad sauce." Another Frenchman, Lacordaire, characteristically puts

speech first, and silence next. "After speech," he says, "silence is the greatest power in the world." Yet a word

spoken in season, how powerful it may be! As the old Welsh proverb has it, "A golden tongue is in the mouth

It is related, as a remarkable instance of selfcontrol on the part of De Leon, a distinguished Spanish poet of

the sixteenth century, who lay for years in the dungeons of the Inquisition without light or society, because of

his having translated a part of the Scriptures into his native tongue, that on being liberated and restored to his

professorship, an immense crowd attended his first lecture, expecting some account of his long

imprisonment; but Do Leon was too wise and too gentle to indulge in recrimination. He merely resumed the

lecture which, five years before, had been so sadly interrupted, with the accustomed formula "HERI

There are, of course, times and occasions when the expression of indignation is not only justifiable but

necessary. We are bound to be indignant at falsehood, selfishness, and cruelty. A man of true feeling fires up

naturally at baseness or meanness of any sort, even in cases where he may be under no obligation to speak

out. "I would have nothing to do," said Perthes, "with the man who cannot be moved to indignation. There

are more good people than bad in the world, and the bad get the upper hand merely because they are bolder.

We cannot help being pleased with a man who uses his powers with decision; and we often take his side for

no other reason than because he does so use them. No doubt, I have often repented speaking; but not less

One who loves right cannot be indifferent to wrong, or wrongdoing. If he feels warmly, he will speak

"A noble heart doth teach a virtuous scorn To scorn to owe a duty overlong, To scorn to be for benefits

forborne, To scorn to lie, to scorn to do a wrong, To scorn to bear an injury in mind, To scorn a freeborn heart

We have, however, to be on our guard against impatient scorn. The best people are apt to have their impatient

side; and often, the very temper which makes men earnest, makes them also intolerant. (10) "Of all mental

gifts," says Miss Julia Wedgwood, "the rarest is intellectual patience; and the last lesson of culture is to

The best corrective of intolerance in disposition, is increase of wisdom and enlarged experience of life.

Cultivated good sense will usually save men from the entanglements in which moral impatience is apt to

involve them; good sense consisting chiefly in that temper of mind which enables its possessor to deal with

the practical affairs of life with justice, judgment, discretion, and charity. Hence men of culture and

experience are invariably, found the most forbearant and tolerant, as ignorant and narrowminded persons are

found the most unforgiving and intolerant. Men of large and generous natures, in proportion to their practical

wisdom, are disposed to make allowance for the defects and disadvantages of othersallowance for the

controlling power of circumstances in the formation of character, and the limited power of resistance of weak

and fallible natures to temptation and error. "I see no fault committed," said Goethe, "which I also might not

have committed." So a wise and good man exclaimed, when he saw a criminal drawn on his hurdle to

Life will always be, to a great extent, what we ourselves make it. The cheerful man makes a cheerful world,

the gloomy man a gloomy one. We usually find but our own temperament reflected in the dispositions of

those about us. If we are ourselves querulous, we will find them so; if we are unforgiving and uncharitable to

them, they will be the same to us. A person returning from an evening party not long ago, complained to a

policeman on his beat that an illlooking fellow was following him: it turned out to be only his own shadow!

And such usually is human life to each of us; it is, for the most part, but the reflection of ourselves.

If we would be at peace with others, and ensure their respect, we must have regard for their personality.

Every man has his peculiarities of manner and character, as he has peculiarities of form and feature; and we

must have forbearance in dealing with them, as we expect them to have forbearance in dealing with us. We

may not be conscious of our own peculiarities, yet they exist nevertheless. There is a village in South

America where gotos or goitres are so common that to be without one is regarded as a deformity. One day a

party of Englishmen passed through the place, when quite a crowd collected to jeer them, shouting: "See, see

Many persons give themselves a great deal of fidget concerning what other people think of them and their

peculiarities. Some are too much disposed to take the illnatured side, and, judging by themselves, infer the

worst. But it is very often the case that the uncharitableness of others, where it really exists, is but the

reflection of our own want of charity and want of temper. It still oftener happens, that the worry we subject

ourselves to, has its source in our own imagination. And even though those about us may think of us

uncharitably, we shall not mend matters by exasperating ourselves against them. We may thereby only

expose ourselves unnecessarily to their illnature or caprice. "The ill that comes out of our mouth," says

The great and good philosopher Faraday communicated the following piece of admirable advice, full of

practical wisdom, the result of a rich experience of life, in a letter to his friend Professor Tyndall: "Let me,

as an old man, who ought by this time to have profited by experience, say that when I was younger I found I

often misrepresented the intentions of people, and that they did not mean what at the time I supposed they

meant; and further, that, as a general rule, it was better to be a little dull of apprehension where phrases

seemed to imply pique, and quick in perception when, on the contrary, they seemed to imply kindly feeling.

The real truth never fails ultimately to appear; and opposing parties, if wrong, are sooner convinced when

replied to forbearingly, than when overwhelmed. All I mean to say is, that it is better to be blind to the results

of partisanship, and quick to see goodwill. One has more happiness in one's self in endeavouring to follow the

things that make for peace. You can hardly imagine how often I have been heated in private when opposed,

as I have thought unjustly and superciliously, and yet I have striven, and succeeded, I hope, in keeping down

While the painter Barry was at Rome, he involved himself, as was his wont, in furious quarrels with the

artists and dilettanti, about picturepainting and picturedealing, upon which his friend and countryman,

Edmund Burkealways the generous friend of struggling meritwrote to him kindly and sensibly: "Believe

me, dear Barry, that the arms with which the illdispositions of the world are to be combated, and the

qualities by which it is to be reconciled to us, and we reconciled to it, are moderation, gentleness, a little

indulgence to others, and a great deal of distrust of ourselves; which are not qualities of a mean spirit, as

some may possibly think them, but virtues of a great and noble kind, and such as dignify our nature as much

as they contribute to our repose and fortune; for nothing can be so unworthy of a well composed soul as to

pass away life in bickerings and litigations in snarling and scuffling with every one about us. We must be

at peace with our species, if not for their sakes, at least very much for our own." (12)

No one knew the value of selfcontrol better than the poet Burns, and no one could teach it more eloquently

to others; but when it came to practice, Burns was as weak as the weakest. He could not deny himself the

pleasure of uttering a harsh and clever sarcasm at another's expense. One of his biographers observes of him,

that it was no extravagant arithmetic to say that for every ten jokes he made himself a hundred enemies. But

this was not all. Poor Burns exercised no control over his appetites, but freely gave them rein:

Nor had he the selfdenial to resist giving publicity to compositions originally intended for the delight of the

taproom, but which continue secretly to sow pollution broadcast in the minds of youth. Indeed,

notwithstanding the many exquisite poems of this writer, it is not saying too much to aver that his immoral

writings have done far more harm than his purer writings have done good; and that it would be better that all

his writings should be destroyed and forgotten provided his indecent songs could be destroyed with them.

The remark applies alike to Beranger, who has been styled "The Burns of France." Beranger was of the same

bright incisive genius; he had the same love of pleasure, the same love of popularity; and while he flattered

French vanity to the top of its bent, he also painted the vices most loved by his countrymen with the pen of a

master. Beranger's songs and Thiers' History probably did more than anything else to reestablish the

Napoleonic dynasty in France. But that was a small evil compared with the moral mischief which many of

Beranger's songs are calculated to produce; for, circulating freely as they do in French households, they

exhibit pictures of nastiness and vice, which are enough to pollute and destroy a nation.

One of Burns's finest poems, written, in his twentyeighth year, is entitled 'A Bard's Epitaph.' It is a

description, by anticipation, of his own life. Wordsworth has said of it: "Here is a sincere and solemn avowal;

a public declaration from his own will; a confession at once devout, poetical and human; a history in the

"Reader, attendwhether thy soul Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, Or darkling grubs this earthly hole

One of the vices before which Burns felland it may be said to be a mastervice, because it is productive of

so many other vices was drinking. Not that he was a drunkard, but because he yielded to the temptations of

drink, with its degrading associations, and thereby lowered and depraved his whole nature. (13) But poor

Burns did not stand alone; for, alas! of all vices, the unrestrained appetite for drink was in his time, as it

Were it possible to conceive the existence of a tyrant who should compel his people to give up to him

onethird or more of their earnings, and require them at the same time to consume a commodity that should

brutalise and degrade them, destroy the peace and comfort of their families, and sow in themselves the seeds

of disease and premature deathwhat indignation meetings, what monster processions there would be!

'What eloquent speeches and apostrophes to the spirit of liberty!what appeals against a despotism so

monstrous and so unnatural! And yet such a tyrant really exists amongst usthe tyrant of unrestrained

appetite, whom no force of arms, or voices, or votes can resist, while men are willing to be his slaves.

The power of this tyrant can only be overcome by moral meansby selfdiscipline, selfrespect, and

selfcontrol. There is no other way of withstanding the despotism of appetite in any of its forms. No reform

of institutions, no extended power of voting, no improved form of government, no amount of scholastic

instruction, can possibly elevate the character of a people who voluntarily abandon themselves to sensual

indulgence. The pursuit of ignoble pleasure is the degradation of true happiness; it saps the morals, destroys

the energies, and degrades the manliness and robustness of individuals as of nations.

The courage of selfcontrol exhibits itself in many ways, but in none more clearly than in honest living. Men

without the virtue of selfdenial are not only subject to their own selfish desires, but they are usually in

bondage to others who are likeminded with themselves. What others do, they do. They must live according to

the artificial standard of their class, spending like their neighbours, regardless of the consequences, at the

same time that all are, perhaps, aspiring after a style of living higher than their means. Each carries the others

along with him, and they have not the moral courage to stop. They cannot resist the temptation of living high,

though it may be at the expense of others; and they gradually become reckless of debt, until it enthrals them.

In all this there is great moral cowardice, pusillanimity, and want of manly independence of character.

A rightminded man will shrink from seeming to be what he is not, or pretending to be richer than he really is,

or assuming a style of living that his circumstances will not justify. He will have the courage to live honestly

within his own means, rather than dishonestly upon the means of other people; for he who incurs debts in

striving to maintain a style of living beyond his income, is in spirit as dishonest as the man who openly picks

To many, this may seem an extreme view, but it will bear the strictest test. Living at the cost of others is not

only dishonesty, but it is untruthfulness in deed, as lying is in word. The proverb of George Herbert, that

"debtors are liars," is justified by experience. Shaftesbury somewhere says that a restlessness to have

something which we have not, and to be something which we are not, is the root of all immorality. (14) No

reliance is to be placed on the sayinga very dangerous oneof Mirabeau, that "LA PETITE MORALE

ETAIT L'ENNEMIE DE LA GRANDE." On the contrary, strict adherence to even the smallest details of

The honourable man is frugal of his means, and pays his way honestly. He does not seek to pass himself off

as richer than he is, or, by running into debt, open an account with ruin. As that man is not poor whose means

are small, but whose desires are uncontrolled, so that man is rich whose means are more than sufficient for

his wants. When Socrates saw a great quantity of riches, jewels, and furniture of great value, carried in pomp

through Athens, he said, "Now do I see how many things I do NOT desire." "I can forgive everything but

selfishness," said Perthes. "Even the narrowest circumstances admit of greatness with reference to 'mine and

thine'; and none but the very poorest need fill their daily life with thoughts of money, if they have but

A man may be indifferent to money because of higher considerations, as Faraday was, who sacrificed wealth

to pursue science; but if he would have the enjoyments that money can purchase, he must honestly earn it,

and not live upon the earnings of others, as those do who habitually incur debts which they have no means of

paying. When Maginn, always drowned in debt, was asked what he paid for his wine, he replied that he did

This "puttingdown in a book" has proved the ruin of a great many weakminded people, who cannot resist

the temptation of taking things upon credit which they have not the present means of paying for; and it would

probably prove of great social benefit if the law which enables creditors to recover debts contracted under

certain circumstances were altogether abolished. But, in the competition for trade, every encouragement is

given to the incurring of debt, the creditor relying upon the law to aid him in the last extremity. When Sydney

Smith once went into a new neighbourhood, it was given out in the local papers that he was a man of high

connections, and he was besought on all sides for his "custom." But he speedily undeceived his new

neighbours. "We are not great people at all," he said: "we are only common honest peoplepeople that pay

Hazlitt, who was a thoroughly honest though rather thriftless man, speaks of two classes of persons, not

unlike each otherthose who cannot keep their own money in their hands, and those who cannot keep their

hands from other people's. The former are always in want of money, for they throw it away on any object that

first presents itself, as if to get rid of it; the latter make away with what they have of their own, and are

perpetual borrowers from all who will lend to them; and their genius for borrowing, in the long run, usually

Sheridan was one of such eminent unfortunates. He was impulsive and careless in his expenditure, borrowing

money, and running into debt with everybody who would trust him. When he stood for Westminster, his

unpopularity arose chiefly from his general indebtedness. "Numbers of poor people," says Lord Palmerston in

one of his letters, "crowded round the hustings, demanding payment for the bills he owed them." In the midst

of all his difficulties, Sheridan was as lighthearted as ever, and cracked many a good joke at his creditors'

expense. Lord Palmerston was actually present at the dinner given by him, at which the sheriff's in possession

Yet however loose Sheridan's morality may have been as regarded his private creditors, he was honest(so far

as the public money was concerned. Once, at dinner, at which Lord Byron happened to be present, an

observation happened to be made as to the sturdiness of the Whigs in resisting office, and keeping to their

principleson which Sheridan turned sharply and said: "Sir, it is easy for my Lord this, or Earl that, or the

Marquis of t'other, with thousands upon thousands a year, some of it either presently derived or inherited in

sinecure or acquisitions from the public money, to boast of their patriotism, and keep aloof from temptation;

but they do not know from what temptation those have kept aloof who had equal pride, at least equal talents,

and not unequal passions, and nevertheless knew not, in the course of their lives, what it was to have a

shilling of their own." And Lord Byron adds, that, in saying this, Sheridan wept. (16)

The tone of public morality in moneymatters was very low in those days. Political peculation was not

thought discreditable; and heads of parties did not hesitate to secure the adhesion of their followers by a free

use of the public money. They were generous, but at the expense of otherslike that great local magnate,

When Lord Cornwallis was appointed LordLieutenant of Ireland, he pressed upon Colonel Napier, the

father of THE Napiers, the comptrollership of army accounts. "I want," said his Lordship, "AN HONEST

MAN, and this is the only thing I have been able to wrest from the harpies around me."

It is said that Lord Chatham was the first to set the example of disdaining to govern by petty larceny; and his

great son was alike honest in his administration. While millions of money were passing through Pitt's hands,

he himself was never otherwise than poor; and he died poor. Of all his rancorous libellers, not one ever

In former times, the profits of office were sometimes enormous. When Audley, the famous annuitymonger

of the sixteenth century, was asked the value of an office which he had purchased in the Court of Wards, he

replied: "Some thousands to any one who wishes to get to heaven immediately; twice as much to him who

does not mind being in purgatory; and nobody knows what to him who is not afraid of the devil."

Sir Walter Scott was a man who was honest to the core of his nature and his strenuous and determined efforts

to pay his debts, or rather the debts of the firm with which he had become involved, has always appeared to

us one of the grandest things in biography. When his publisher and printer broke down, ruin seemed to stare

him in the face. There was no want of sympathy for him in his great misfortune, and friends came forward

who offered to raise money enough to enable him to arrange with his creditors. "No! "said he, proudly; "this

right hand shall work it all off!" "If we lose everything else," he wrote to a friend, "we will at least keep our

honour unblemished." (17) While his health was already becoming undermined by overwork, he went on

"writing like a tiger," as he himself expressed it, until no longer able to wield a pen; and though he paid the

penalty of his supreme efforts with his life, he nevertheless saved his honour and his selfrespect.

Everybody knows bow Scott threw off 'Woodstock,' the 'Life of Napoleon' (which he thought would be his

death (18)), articles for the 'Quarterly,' 'Chronicles of the Canongate,' 'Prose Miscellanies,' and 'Tales of a

Grandfather'all written in the midst of pain, sorrow, and ruin. The proceeds of those various works went to

his creditors. "I could not have slept sound," he wrote, "as I now can, under the comfortable impression of

receiving the thanks of my creditors, and the conscious feeling of discharging my duty as a man of honour

and honesty. I see before me a long, tedious, and dark path, but it leads to stainless reputation. If I die in the

harrows, as is very likely, I shall die with honour. If I achieve my task, I shall have the thanks of all

And then followed more articles, memoirs, and even sermons'The Fair Maid of Perth,' a completely

revised edition of his novels, 'Anne of Geierstein,' and more 'Tales of a Grandfather'until he was suddenly

struck down by paralysis. But he had no sooner recovered sufficient strength to be able to hold a pen, than we

find him again at his desk writing the 'Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft,' a volume of Scottish History

for 'Lardner's Cyclopaedia,' and a fourth series of 'Tales of a Grandfather' in his French History. In vain his

doctors told him to give up work; he would not be dissuaded. "As for bidding me not work," he said to Dr.

Abercrombie, "Molly might just as well put the kettle on the fire and say, 'Now, kettle, don't boil;'" to which

By means of the profits realised by these tremendous efforts, Scott saw his debts in course of rapid

diminution, and he trusted that, after a few more years' work, he would again be a free man. But it was not to

be. He went on turning out such works as his 'Count Robert of Paris' with greatly impaired skill, until he was

prostrated by another and severer attack of palsy. He now felt that the plough was nearing the end of the

furrow; his physical strength was gone; he was "not quite himself in all things," and yet his courage and

perseverance never failed. "I have suffered terribly," he wrote in his Diary, "though rather in body than in

mind, and I often wish I could lie down and sleep without waking. But I WILL FIGHT IT OUT IF I CAN."

He again recovered sufficiently to be able to write 'Castle Dangerous,' though the cunning of the workman's

hand had departed. And then there was his last tour to Italy in search of rest and health, during which, while

at Naples, in spite of all remonstrances, he gave several hours every morning to the composition of a new

Scott returned to Abbotsford to die. "I have seen much," he said on his return, "but nothing like my own

housegive me one turn more." One of the last things he uttered, in one of his lucid intervals, was worthy of

him. "I have been," he said, "perhaps the most voluminous author of my day, and it IS a comfort to me to

think that I have tried to unsettle no man's faith, to corrupt no man's principles, and that I have written

nothing which on my deathbed I should wish blotted out." His last injunction to his soninlaw was:

"Lockhart, I may have but a minute to speak to you. My dear, be virtuousbe religiousbe a good man.

The devoted conduct of Lockhart himself was worthy of his great relative. The 'Life of Scott,' which he

afterwards wrote, occupied him several years, and was a remarkably successful work. Yet he himself derived

no pecuniary advantage from it; handing over the profits of the whole undertaking to Sir Walter's creditors in

payment of debts which he was in no way responsible, but influenced entirely by a spirit of honour, of regard

(2) "In all cases," says Jeremy Bentham, "when the power of the will can be exercised over the thoughts, let

those thoughts be directed towards happiness. Look out for the bright, for the brightest side of things, and

keep your face constantly turned to it.... A large part of existence is necessarily passed in inaction. By day (to

take an instance from the thousand in constant recurrence), when in attendance on others, and time is lost by

being kept waiting; by night when sleep is unwilling to close the eyelids, the economy of happiness

recommends the occupation of pleasurable thought. In walking abroad, or in resting at home, the mind cannot

be vacant; its thoughts may be useful, useless, or pernicious to happiness. Direct them aright; the habit of

(3) The following extract from a letter of M. Boyd, Esq., is given by Earl Stanhope in his 'Miscellanies':

"There was a circumstance told me by the late Mr. Christmas, who for many years held an important official

situation in the Bank of England. He was, I believe, in early life a clerk in the Treasury, or one of the

government offices, and for some time acted for Mr. Pitt as his confidential clerk, or temporary private

secretary. Christmas was one of the most obliging men I ever knew; and, from the, position he occupied, was

constantly exposed to interruptions, yet I never saw his temper in the least ruffled. One day I found him more

than usually engaged, having a mass of accounts to prepare for one of the lawcourtsstill the same

equanimity, and I could not resist the opportunity of asking the old gentleman the secret. 'Well, Mr. Boyd,

you shall know it. Mr. Pitt gave it to me: NOT TO LOSE MY TEMPER, IF POSSIBLE, AT ANY TIME,

AND NEVER DURING THE HOURS OF BUSINESS. My labours here (Bank of England) commence at

nine and end at three; and, acting on the advice of the illustrious statesman, I NEVER LOSE MY TEMPER

(10) Francis Horner, in one of his letters, says: "It is among the very sincere and zealous friends of liberty that

you will find the most perfect specimens of wrongheadedness; men of a dissenting, provincial cast of

virtuewho (according to one of Sharpe's favourite phrases) WILL drive a wedge the broad end foremost

utter strangers to all moderation in political business." Francis Horner's LIFE AND

(12) Yet Burke himself; though capable of giving Barry such excellent advice, was by no means immaculate

as regarded his own temper. When he lay ill at Beaconsfield, Fox, from whom he had become separated by

political differences arising out of the French Revolution, went down to see his old friend. But Burke would

not grant him an interview; he positively refused to see him. On his return to town, Fox told his friend Coke

the result of his journey; and when Coke lamented Burke's obstinacy, Fox only replied, goodnaturedly: "Ah!

never mind, Tom; I always find every Irishman has got a piece of potato in his head." Yet Fox, with his usual

generosity, when he heard of Burke's impending death, wrote a most kind and cordial letter to Mrs. Burke,

expressive of his grief and sympathy; and when Burke was no more, Fox was the first to propose that he

should be interred with public honours in Westminster Abbeywhich only Burke's own express wish, that

(13) When Curran, the Irish barrister, visited Burns's cabin in 1810, he found it converted into a public house,

and the landlord who showed it was drunk. "There," said he, pointing to a corner on one side of the fire, with

a most MALAPROPOS laugh"there is the very spot where Robert Burns was born." "The genius and the

fate of the man," says Curran, "were already heavy on my heart; but the drunken laugh of the landlord gave

me such a view of the rock on which he had foundered, that I could not stand it, but burst into tears."

(14) The chaplain of Horsemongerlane Gaol, in his annual report to the Surrey justices, thus states the result

of his careful study of the causes of dishonesty: "From my experience of predatory crime, founded upon

careful study of the character of a great variety of prisoners, I conclude that habitual dishonesty is to be

referred neither to ignorance, nor to drunkenness, nor to poverty, nor to overcrowding in towns, nor to

temptation from surrounding wealth nor, indeed, to any one of the many indirect causes to which it is

(17) Captain Basil Hall records the following conversation with Scott: "It occurs to me," I observed, "that

people are apt to make too much fuss about the loss of fortune, which is one of the smallest of the great evils

of life, and ought to be among the most tolerable.""Do you call it a small misfortune to be ruined in

moneymatters?" he asked. "It is not so painful, at all events, as the loss of friends.""I grant that," he said.

"As the loss of character?""True again." "As the loss of health?""Ay, there you have me," he muttered

to himself, in a tone so melancholy that I wished I had not spoken. "What is the loss of fortune to the loss of

peace of mind?" I continued. "In short," said he, playfully, "you will make it out that there is no harm in a

man's being plunged overheadandears in a debt he cannot remove." "Much depends, I think, on how it

was incurred, and what efforts are made to redeem itat least, if the sufferer be a rightminded man." "I hope

it does," he said, cheerfully and firmly.FRAGMENTS OF VOYAGES AND TRAVELS, 3rd series, pp.

(18) "These battles," he wrote in his Diary, "have been the death of many a man, I think they will be mine."

DUTY is a thing that is due, and must be paid by every man who would avoid present discredit and eventual

moral insolvency. It is an obligationa debtwhich can only be discharged by voluntary effort and resolute

Duty embraces man's whole existence. It begins in the home, where there is the duty which children owe to

their parents on the one hand, and the duty which parents owe to their children on the other. There are, in like

manner, the respective duties of husbands and wives, of masters and servants; while outside the home there

are the duties which men and women owe to each other as friends and neighbours, as employers and

"Render, therefore," says St. Paul, "to all their dues: tribute to whom tribute is due; custom to whom custom;

fear to whom fear; honour to whom honour. Owe no man anything, but to love one another; for he that loveth

Thus duty rounds the whole of life, from our entrance into it until our exit from itduty to superiors, duty to

inferiors, and duty to equalsduty to man, and duty to God. Wherever there is power to use or to direct,

there is duty. For we are but as stewards, appointed to employ the means entrusted to us for our own and for

The abiding sense of duty is the very crown of character. It is the upholding law of man in his highest

attitudes. Without it, the individual totters and falls before the first puff of adversity or temptation; whereas,

inspired by it, the weakest becomes strong and full of courage. "Duty," says Mrs. Jameson, "is the cement

which binds the whole moral edifice together; without which, all power, goodness, intellect, truth, happiness,

love itself, can have no permanence; but all the fabric of existence crumbles away from under us, and leaves

Duty is based upon a sense of justicejustice inspired by love, which is the most perfect form of goodness.

Duty is not a sentiment, but a principle pervading the life: and it exhibits itself in conduct and in acts, which

The voice of conscience speaks in duty done; and without its regulating and controlling influence, the

brightest and greatest intellect may be merely as a light that leads astray. Conscience sets a man upon his feet,

while his will holds him upright. Conscience is the moral governor of the heartthe governor of right action,

of right thought, of right faith, of right life and only through its dominating influence can the noble and

The conscience, however, may speak never so loudly, but without energetic will it may speak in vain. The

will is free to choose between the right course and the wrong one, but the choice is nothing unless followed

by immediate and decisive action. If the sense of duty be strong, and the course of action clear, the

courageous will, upheld by the conscience, enables a man to proceed on his course bravely, and to

accomplish his purposes in the face of all opposition and difficulty. And should failure be the issue, there will

"Be and continue poor, young man," said Heinzelmann," while others around you grow rich by fraud and

disloyalty; be without place or power while others beg their way upwards; bear the pain of disappointed

hopes, while others gain the accomplishment of theirs by flattery; forego the gracious pressure of the hand,

for which others cringe and crawl. Wrap yourself in your own virtue, and seek a friend and your daily bread.

If you have in your own cause grown gray with unbleached honour, bless God and die!"

Men inspired by high principles are often required to sacrifice all that they esteem and love rather than fail in

their duty. The old English idea of this sublime devotion to duty was expressed by the loyalist poet to his

And Sertorius has said: "The man who has any dignity of character, should conquer with honour, and not use

any base means even to save his life." So St. Paul, inspired by duty and faith, declared himself as not only

When the Marquis of Pescara was entreated by the princes of Italy to desert the Spanish cause, to which he

was in honour bound, his noble wife, Vittoria Colonna, reminded him of his duty. She wrote to him:

"Remember your honour, which raises you above fortune and above kings; by that alone, and not by the

splendour of titles, is glory acquiredthat glory which it will be your happiness and pride to transmit

unspotted to your posterity." Such was the dignified view which she took of her husband's honour; and when

he fell at Pavia, though young and beautiful, and besought by many admirers, she betook herself to solitude,

To live really, is to act energetically. Life is a battle to be fought valiantly. Inspired by high and honourable

resolve, a man must stand to his post, and die there, if need be. Like the old Danish hero, his determination

should be, "to dare nobly, to will strongly, and never to falter in the path of duty." The power of will, be it

great or small, which God has given us, is a Divine gift; and we ought neither to let it perish for want of using

on the one hand, nor profane it by employing it for ignoble purposes on the other. Robertson, of Brighton, has

truly said, that man's real greatness consists not in seeking his own pleasure, or fame, or advancement"not

that every one shall save his own life, not that every man shall seek his own glorybut that every man shall

What most stands in the way of the performance of duty, is irresolution, weakness of purpose, and indecision.

On the one side are conscience and the knowledge of good and evil; on the other are indolence, selfishness,

love of pleasure, or passion. The weak and illdisciplined will may remain suspended for a time between

these influences; but at length the balance inclines one way or the other, according as the will is called into

action or otherwise. If it be allowed to remain passive, the lower influence of selfishness or passion will

prevail; and thus manhood suffers abdication, individuality is renounced, character is degraded, and the man

Thus, the power of exercising the will promptly, in obedience to the dictates of conscience, and thereby

resisting the impulses of the lower nature, is of essential importance in moral discipline, and absolutely

necessary for the development of character in its best forms. To acquire the habit of welldoing, to resist evil

propensities, to fight against sensual desires, to overcome inborn selfishness, may require a long and

persevering discipline; but when once the practice of duty is learnt, it becomes consolidated in habit, and

The valiant good man is he who, by the resolute exercise of his freewill, has so disciplined himself as to have

acquired the habit of virtue; as the bad man is he who, by allowing his freewill to remain inactive, and giving

the bridle to his desires and passions, has acquired the habit of vice, by which he becomes, at last, bound as

A man can only achieve strength of purpose by the action of his own freewill. If he is to stand erect, it must

be by his own efforts; for he cannot be kept propped up by the help of others. He is master of himself and of

his actions. He can avoid falsehood, and be truthful; he can shun sensualism, and be continent; he can turn

aside from doing a cruel thing, and be benevolent and forgiving. All these lie within the sphere of individual

efforts, and come within the range of selfdiscipline. And it depends upon men themselves whether in these

respects they will be free, pure, and good on the one hand; or enslaved, impure, and miserable on the other.

Among the wise sayings of Epictetus we find the following: "We do not choose our own parts in life, and

have nothing to do with those parts: our simple duty is confined to playing them well. The slave may be as

free as the consul; and freedom is the chief of blessings; it dwarfs all others; beside it all others are

insignificant; with it all others are needless; without it no others are possible.... You must teach men that

happiness is not where, in their blindness and misery, they seek it. It is not in strength, for Myro and Ofellius

were not happy; not in wealth, for Croesus was not happy; not in power, for the Consuls were not happy; not

in all these together, for Nero and Sardanapulus and Agamemnon sighed and wept and tore their hair, and

were the slaves of circumstances and the dupes of semblances. It lies in yourselves; in true freedom, in the

absence or conquest of every ignoble fear; in perfect selfgovernment; and in a power of contentment and

peace, and the even flow of life amid poverty, exile, disease, and the very valley of the shadow of death." (3)

The sense of duty is a sustaining power even to a courageous man. It holds him upright, and makes him

strong. It was a noble saying of Pompey, when his friends tried to dissuade him from embarking for Rome in

a storm, telling him that he did so at the great peril of his life: "It is necessary for me to go," he said; "it is not

necessary for me to live." What it was right that he should do, he would do, in the face of danger and in

As might be expected of the great Washington, the chief motive power in his life was the spirit of duty. It was

the regal and commanding element in his character which gave it unity, compactness, and vigour. When he

clearly saw his duty before him, he did it at all hazards, and with inflexible integrity. He did not do it for

effect; nor did he think of glory, or of fame and its rewards; but of the right thing to be done, and the best way

Yet Washington had a most modest opinion of himself; and when offered the chief command of the

American patriot army, he hesitated to accept it until it was pressed upon him. When acknowledging in

Congress the honour which had been done him in selecting him to so important a trust, on the execution of

which the future of his country in a great measure depended, Washington said: "I beg it may be remembered,

lest some unlucky event should happen unfavourable to my reputation, that I this day declare, with the utmost

And in his letter to his wife, communicating to her his appointment as CommanderinChief, he said: "I have

used every endeavour in my power to avoid it, not only from my unwillingness to part with you and the

family, but from a consciousness of its being a trust too great for my capacity; and that I should enjoy more

real happiness in one month with you at home, than I have the most distant prospect of finding abroad, if my

stay were to be seven times seven years. But, as it has been a kind of destiny that has thrown me upon this

service, I shall hope that my undertaking it is designed for some good purpose. It was utterly out of my power

to refuse the appointment, without exposing my character to such censures as would have reflected dishonour

upon myself, and given pain to my friends. This, I am sure, could not, and ought not, to be pleasing to you,

Washington pursued his upright course through life, first as CommanderinChief, and afterwards as

President, never faltering in the path of duty. He had no regard for popularity, but held to his purpose,

through good and through evil report, often at the risk of his power and influence. Thus, on one occasion,

when the ratification of a treaty, arranged by Mr. Jay with Great Britain, was in question, Washington was

urged to reject it. But his honour, and the honour of his country, was committed, and he refused to do so. A

great outcry was raised against the treaty, and for a time Washington was so unpopular that he is said to have

been actually stoned by the mob. But he, nevertheless, held it to be his duty to ratify the treaty; and it was

carried out, in despite of petitions and remonstrances from all quarters. "While I feel," he said, in answer to

the remonstrants, "the most lively gratitude for the many instances of approbation from my country, I can no

otherwise deserve it than by obeying the dictates of my conscience." Wellington's watchword, like

Washington's, was duty; and no man could be more loyal to it than he was. (5) "There is little or nothing," he

once said, "in this life worth living for; but we can all of us go straight forward and do our duty." None

recognised more cheerfully than he did the duty of obedience and willing service; for unless men can serve

faithfully, they will not rule others wisely. There is no motto that becomes the wise man better than ICH

When the mortification of an officer, because of his being appointed to a command inferior to what he

considered to be his merits, was communicated to the Duke, he said: "In the course of my military career, I

have gone from the command of a brigade to that of my regiment, and from the command of an army to that

of a brigade or a division, as I was ordered, and without any feeling of mortification."

Whilst commanding the allied army in Portugal, the conduct of the native population did not seem to

Wellington to be either becoming or dutiful. "We have enthusiasm in plenty," he said, "and plenty of cries of

'VIVA!' We have illuminations, patriotic songs, and FETES everywhere. But what we want is, that each in

his own station should do his duty faithfully, and pay implicit obedience to legal authority."

This abiding ideal of duty seemed to be the governing principle of Wellington's character. It was always

uppermost in his mind, and directed all the public actions of his life. Nor did it fail to communicate itself to

those under him, who served him in the like spirit. When he rode into one of his infantry squares at Waterloo,

as its diminished numbers closed up to receive a charge of French cavalry, he said to the men, "Stand steady,

lads; think of what they will say of us in England;" to which the men replied, "Never fear, sirwe know our

Duty was also the dominant idea in Nelson's mind. The spirit in which he served his country was expressed in

the famous watchword, "England expects every man to do his duty," signalled by him to the fleet before

going into action at Trafalgar, as well as in the last words that passed his lips,"I have done my duty; I

And Nelson's companion and friendthe brave, sensible, homely minded Collingwoodhe who, as his

ship bore down into the great seafight, said to his flagcaptain, "Just about this time our wives are going to

church in England,"Collingwood too was, like his commander, an ardent devotee of duty. "Do your duty to

the best of your ability," was the maxim which he urged upon many young men starting on the voyage of life.

To a midshipman he once gave the following manly and sensible advice: "You may depend upon it, that it is

more in your own power than in anybody else's to promote both your comfort and advancement. A strict and

unwearied attention to your duty, and a complacent and respectful behaviour, not only to your superiors but

to everybody, will ensure you their regard, and the reward will surely come; but if it should not, I am

convinced you have too much good sense to let disappointment sour you. Guard carefully against letting

discontent appear in you. It will be sorrow to your friends, a triumph to your competitors, and cannot be

productive of any good. Conduct yourself so as to deserve the best that can come to you, and the

consciousness of your own proper behaviour will keep you in spirits if it should not come. Let it be your

ambition to be foremost in all duty. Do not be a nice observer of turns, but ever present yourself ready for

everything, and, unless your officers are very inattentive men, they will not allow others to impose more duty

This devotion to duty is said to be peculiar to the English nation; and it has certainly more or less

characterised our greatest public men. Probably no commander of any other nation ever went into action with

such a signal flying as Nelson at Trafalgarnot "Glory," or "Victory," or "Honour," or "Country" but

Shortly after the wreck of the BIRKENHEAD off the coast of Africa, in which the officers and men went

down firing a FEUDEJOIE after seeing the women and children safely embarked in the boats,

Robertson of Brighton, referring to the circumstance in one of his letters, said: "Yes! Goodness, Duty,

Sacrifice,these are the qualities that England honours. She gapes and wonders every now and then, like an

awkward peasant, at some other thingsrailway kings, electrobiology, and other trumperies; but nothing

stirs her grand old heart down to its central deeps universally and long, except the Right. She puts on her

shawl very badly, and she is awkward enough in a concertroom, scarce knowing a Swedish nightingale from

a jackdaw; butblessings large and long upon her!she knows how to teach her sons to sink like men

amidst sharks and billows, without parade, without display, as if Duty were the most natural thing in the

world; and she never mistakes long an actor for a hero, or a hero for an actor." (6)

It is a grand thing, after all, this pervading spirit of Duty in a nation; and so long as it survives, no one need

despair of its future. But when it has departed, or become deadened, and been supplanted by thirst for

pleasure, or selfish aggrandisement, or "glory"then woe to that nation, for its dissolution is near at hand!

If there be one point on which intelligent observers are agreed more than another as to the cause of the late

deplorable collapse of France as a nation, it was the utter absence of this feeling of duty, as well as of

truthfulness, from the mind, not only of the men, but of the leaders of the French people. The unprejudiced

testimony of Baron Stoffel, French military attache at Berlin, before the war, is conclusive on this point. In

his private report to the Emperor, found at the Tuileries, which was written in August, 1869, about a year

before the outbreak of the war, Baron Stoffel pointed out that the highlyeducated and disciplined German

people were pervaded by an ardent sense of duty, and did not think it beneath them to reverence sincerely

what was noble and lofty; whereas, in all respects, France presented a melancholy contrast. There the people,

having sneered at everything, had lost the faculty of respecting anything, and virtue, family life, patriotism,

honour, and religion, were represented to a frivolous generation as only fitting subjects for ridicule. (7) Alas!

Yet the time was, when France possessed many great men inspired by duty; but they were all men of a

comparatively remote past. The race of Bayard, Duguesclin, Coligny, Duquesne, Turenne, Colbert, and Sully,

seems to have died out and left no lineage. There has been an occasional great Frenchman of modern times

who has raised the cry of Duty; but his voice has been as that of one crying in the wilderness. De Tocqueville

was one of such; but, like all men of his stamp, he was proscribed, imprisoned, and driven from public life.

Writing on one occasion to his friend Kergorlay, he said: "Like you, I become more and more alive to the

happiness which consists in the fulfilment of Duty. I believe there is no other so deep and so real. There is

only one great object in the world which deserves our efforts, and that is the good of mankind." (8)

Although France has been the unquiet spirit among the nations of Europe since the reign of Louis XIV., there

have from time to time been honest and faithful men who have lifted up their voices against the turbulent

warlike tendencies of the people, and not only preached, but endeavoured to carry into practice, a gospel of

peace. Of these, the Abbe de St.Pierre was one of the most courageous. He had even the boldness to

denounce the wars of Louis XIV., and to deny that monarch's right to the epithet of 'Great,' for which he was

punished by expulsion from the Academy. The Abbe was as enthusiastic an agitator for a system of

international peace as any member of the modern Society of Friends. As Joseph Sturge went to St. Petersburg

to convert the Emperor of Russia to his views, so the Abbe went to Utrecht to convert the Conference sitting

there, to his project for a Diet; to secure perpetual peace. Of course he was regarded as an enthusiast,

Cardinal Dubois characterising his scheme as "the dream of an honest man." Yet the Abbe had found his

dream in the Gospel; and in what better way could he exemplify the spirit of the Master he served than by

endeavouring to abate the horrors and abominations of war? The Conference was an assemblage of men

representing Christian States: and the Abbe merely called upon them to put in practice the doctrines they

professed to believe. It was of no use: the potentates and their representatives turned to him a deaf ear.

The Abbe de St.Pierre lived several hundred years too soon. But he determined that his idea should not be

lost, and in 1713 he published his 'Project of Perpetual Peace.' He there proposed the formation of a European

Diet, or Senate, to be composed of representatives of all nations, before which princes should be bound,

before resorting to arms, to state their grievances and require redress. Writing about eighty years after the

publication of this project, Volney asked: "What is a people?an individual of the society at large. What a

war?a duel between two individual people. In what manner ought a society to act when two of its members

fight?Interfere, and reconcile or repress them. In the days of the Abbe de St.Pierre, this was treated as a

dream; but, happily for the human race, it begins to be realised." Alas for the prediction of Volney! The

twentyfive years that followed the date at which this passage was written, were distinguished by more

devastating and furious wars on the part of France than had ever been known in the world before.

The Abbe was not, however, a mere dreamer. He was an active practical philanthropist and anticipated many

social improvements which have since become generally adopted. He was the original founder of industrial

schools for poor children, where they not only received a good education, but learned some useful trade, by

which they might earn an honest living when they grew up to manhood. He advocated the revision and

simplification of the whole code of lawsan idea afterwards carried out by the First Napoleon. He wrote

against duelling, against luxury, against gambling, against monasticism, quoting the remark of Segrais, that

"the mania for a monastic life is the smallpox of the mind." He spent his whole income in acts of

charitynot in almsgiving, but in helping poor children, and poor men and women, to help themselves. His

object always was to benefit permanently those whom he assisted. He continued his love of truth and his

freedom of speech to the last. At the age of eighty he said: "If life is a lottery for happiness, my lot has been

one of the best." When on his deathbed, Voltaire asked him how he felt, to which he answered, "As about to

make a journey into the country." And in this peaceful frame of mind he died. But so outspoken had St.

Pierre been against corruption in high places, that Maupertius, his Successor at the Academy, was not

permitted to pronounce his ELOGE; nor was it until thirtytwo years after his death that this honour was

done to his memory by D'Alembert. The true and emphatic epitaph of the good, truthloving, truthspeaking

Duty is closely allied to truthfulness of character; and the dutiful man is, above all things, truthful in his

words as in his actions. He says and he does the right thing, in the right way, and at the right time.

There is probably no saying of Lord Chesterfield that commends itself more strongly to the approval of

manlyminded men, than that it is truth that makes the success of the gentleman. Clarendon, speaking of one

of the noblest and purest gentlemen of his age, says of Falkland, that he "was so severe an adorer of truth that

It was one of the finest things that Mrs. Hutchinson could say of her husband, that he was a thoroughly

truthful and reliable man: "He never professed the thing he intended not, nor promised what he believed out

of his power, nor failed in the performance of anything that was in his power to fulfil."

Wellington was a severe admirer of truth. An illustration may be given. When afflicted by deafness he

consulted a celebrated aurist, who, after trying all remedies in vain, determined, as a last resource, to inject

into the ear a strong solution of caustic. It caused the most intense pain, but the patient bore it with his usual

equanimity. The family physician accidentally calling one day, found the Duke with flushed cheeks and

bloodshot eyes, and when he rose he staggered about like a drunken man. The doctor asked to be permitted to

look at his ear, and then he found that a furious inflammation was going on, which, if not immediately

checked, must shortly reach the brain and kill him. Vigorous remedies were at once applied, and the

inflammation was checked. But the hearing of that ear was completely destroyed. When the aurist heard of

the danger his patient had run, through the violence of the remedy he had employed, he hastened to Apsley

House to express his grief and mortification; but the Duke merely said: "Do not say a word more about

ityou did all for the best." The aurist said it would be his ruin when it became known that he had been the

cause of so much suffering and danger to his Grace. "But nobody need know anything about it: keep your

own counsel, and, depend upon it, I won't say a word to any one." "Then your Grace will allow me to attend

you as usual, which will show the public that you have not withdrawn your confidence from me?" "No,"

replied the Duke, kindly but firmly; "I can't do that, for that would be a lie." He would not act a falsehood any

Another illustration of duty and truthfulness, as exhibited in the fulfilment of a promise, may be added from

the life of Blucher. When he was hastening with his army over bad roads to the help of Wellington, on the

18th of June, 1815, he encouraged his troops by words and gestures. "Forwards, childrenforwards!" "It is

impossible; it can't be done," was the answer. Again and again he urged them. "Children, we must get on; you

may say it can't be done, but it MUST be done! I have promised my brother Wellington PROMISED, do

Truth is the very bond of society, without which it must cease to exist, and dissolve into anarchy and chaos.

A household cannot be governed by lying; nor can a nation. Sir Thomas Browne once asked, "Do the devils

lie?" "No," was his answer; "for then even hell could not subsist." No considerations can justify the sacrifice

Of all mean vices, perhaps lying is the meanest. It is in some cases the offspring of perversity and vice, and in

many others of sheer moral cowardice. Yet many persons think so lightly of it that they will order their

servants to lie for them; nor can they feel surprised if, after such ignoble instruction, they find their servants

Sir Harry Wotton's description of an ambassador as "an honest man sent to lie abroad for the benefit of his

country," though meant as a satire, brought him into disfavour with James I. when it became published; for an

adversary quoted it as a principle of the king's religion. That it was not Wotton's real view of the duty of an

honest man, is obvious from the lines quoted at the head of this chapter, on 'The Character of a Happy Life,'

But lying assumes many formssuch as diplomacy, expediency, and moral reservation; and, under one guise

or another, it is found more or less pervading all classes of society. Sometimes it assumes the form of

equivocation or moral dodgingtwisting and so stating the things said as to convey a false impressiona

kind of lying which a Frenchman once described as "walking round about the truth."

There are even men of narrow minds and dishonest natures, who pride themselves upon their jesuitical

cleverness in equivocation, in their serpentwise shirking of the truth and getting out of moral backdoors, in

order to hide their real opinions and evade the consequences of holding and openly professing them.

Institutions or systems based upon any such expedients must necessarily prove false and hollow. "Though a

lie be ever so well dressed," says George Herbert, "it is ever overcome." Downright lying, though bolder and

more vicious, is even less contemptible than such kind of shuffling and equivocation.

Untruthfulness exhibits itself in many other forms: in reticency on the one hand, or exaggeration on the other;

in disguise or concealment; in pretended concurrence in others opinions; in assuming an attitude of

conformity which is deceptive; in making promises, or allowing them to be implied, which are never intended

to be performed; or even in refraining from speaking the truth when to do so is a duty. There are also those

who are all things to all men, who say one thing and do another, like Bunyan's Mr. Facingbothways; only

deceiving themselves when they think they are deceiving othersand who, being essentially insincere, fail to

evoke confidence, and invariably in the end turn out failures, if not impostors.

Others are untruthful in their pretentiousness, and in assuming merits which they do not really possess. The

truthful man is, on the contrary, modest, and makes no parade of himself and his deeds. When Pitt was in his

last illness, the news reached England of the great deeds of Wellington in India. "The more I hear of his

exploits," said Pitt, "the more I admire the modesty with which he receives the praises he merits for them. He

is the only man I ever knew that was not vain of what he had done, and yet had so much reason to be so."

So it is said of Faraday by Professor Tyndall, that "pretence of all kinds, whether in life or in philosophy, was

hateful to him." Dr. Marshall Hall was a man of like spiritcourageously truthful, dutiful, and manly. One

of his most intimate friends has said of him that, wherever he met with untruthfulness or sinister motive, he

would expose it, saying"I neither will, nor can, give my consent to a lie." The question, "right or wrong,"

once decided in his own mind, the right was followed, no matter what the sacrifice or the difficultyneither

There was no virtue that Dr. Arnold laboured more sedulously to instil into young men than the virtue of

truthfulness, as being the manliest of virtues, as indeed the very basis of all true manliness. He designated

truthfulness as "moral transparency," and he valued it more highly than any other quality. When lying was

detected, he treated it as a great moral offence; but when a pupil made an assertion, he accepted it with

confidence. "If you say so, that is quite enough; OF COURSE I believe your word." By thus trusting and

believing them, he educated the young in truthfulness; the boys at length coming to say to one another: "It's a

One of the most striking instances that could be given of the character of the dutiful, truthful, laborious man,

is presented in the life of the late George Wilson, Professor of Technology in the University of Edinburgh.

(11) Though we bring this illustration under the head of Duty, it might equally have stood under that of

Courage, Cheerfulness, or Industry, for it is alike illustrative of these several qualities.

Wilson's life was, indeed, a marvel of cheerful laboriousness; exhibiting the power of the soul to triumph

over the body, and almost to set it at defiance. It might be taken as an illustration of the saying of the

whalingcaptain to Dr. Kane, as to the power of moral force over physical: "Bless you, sir, the soul will any

A fragile but bright and lively boy, he had scarcely entered manhood ere his constitution began to exhibit

signs of disease. As early, indeed, as his seventeenth year, he began to complain of melancholy and

sleeplessness, supposed to be the effects of bile. "I don't think I shall live long," he then said to a friend; "my

mind willmust work itself out, and the body will soon follow it." A strange confession for a boy to make!

But he gave his physical health no fair chance. His life was all brainwork, study, and competition. When he

took exercise it was in sudden bursts, which did him more harm than good. Long walks in the Highlands

jaded and exhausted him; and he returned to his brain work unrested and unrefreshed.

It was during one of his forced walks of some twentyfour miles in the neighbourhood of Stirling, that he

injured one of his feet, and he returned home seriously ill. The result was an abscess, disease of the

anklejoint, and long agony, which ended in the amputation of the right foot. But he never relaxed in his

labours. He was now writing, lecturing, and teaching chemistry. Rheumatism and acute inflammation of the

eye next attacked him; and were treated by cupping, blisetring, and colchicum. Unable himself to write, he

went on preparing his lectures, which he dictated to his sister. Pain haunted him day and night, and sleep was

only forced by morphia. While in this state of general prostration, symptoms of pulmonary disease began to

show themselves. Yet he continued to give the weekly lectures to which he stood committed to the Edinburgh

School of Arts. Not one was shirked, though their delivery, before a large audience, was a most exhausting

duty. "Well, there's another nail put into my coffin," was the remark made on throwing off his topcoat on

At twentyseven, Wilson was lecturing ten, eleven, or more hours weekly, usually with setons or open

blisterwounds upon himhis "bosom friends," he used to call them. He felt the shadow of death upon him;

and he worked as if his days were numbered. "Don't be surprised," he wrote to a friend, "if any morning at

breakfast you hear that I am gone." But while he said so, he did not in the least degree indulge in the feeling

of sickly sentimentality. He worked on as cheerfully and hopefully as if in the very fulness of his strength.

"To none," said he, "is life so sweet as to those who have lost all fear to die."

Sometimes he was compelled to desist from his labours by sheer debility, occasioned by loss of blood from

the lungs; but after a few weeks' rest and change of air, he would return to his work, saying, "The water is

rising in the well again!" Though disease had fastened on his lungs, and was spreading there, and though

suffering from a distressing cough, he went on lecturing as usual. To add to his troubles, when one day

endeavouring to recover himself from a stumble occasioned by his lameness, he overstrained his arm, and

broke the bone near the shoulder. But he recovered from his successive accidents and illnesses in the most

extraordinary way. The reed bent, but did not break: the storm passed, and it stood erect as before.

There was no worry, nor fever, nor fret about him; but instead, cheerfulness, patience, and unfailing

perseverance. His mind, amidst all his sufferings, remained perfectly calm and serene. He went about his

daily work with an apparently charmed life, as if he had the strength of many men in him. Yet all the while he

knew he was dying, his chief anxiety being to conceal his state from those about him at home, to whom the

knowledge of his actual condition would have been inexpressibly distressing. "I am cheerful among

He went on teaching as beforelecturing to the Architectural Institute and to the School of Arts. One day,

after a lecture before the latter institute, he lay down to rest, and was shortly awakened by the rupture of a

bloodvessel, which occasioned him the loss of a considerable quantity of blood. He did not experience the

despair and agony that Keats did on a like occasion; (13) though he equally knew that the messenger of death

had come, and was waiting for him. He appeared at the family meals as usual, and next day he lectured twice,

punctually fulfilling his engagements; but the exertion of speaking was followed by a second attack of

haemorrhage. He now became seriously ill, and it was doubted whether he would survive the night. But he

did survive; and during his convalescence he was appointed to an important public officethat of Director of

the Scottish Industrial Museum, which involved a great amount of labour, as well as lecturing, in his capacity

From this time forward, his "dear museum," as he called it, absorbed all his surplus energies. While busily

occupied in collecting models and specimens for the museum, he filled up his oddsandends of time in

lecturing to Ragged Schools, Ragged Kirks, and Medical Missionary Societies. He gave himself no rest,

either of mind or body; and "to die working" was the fate he envied. His mind would not give in, but his poor

body was forced to yield, and a severe attack of haemorrhagebleeding from both lungs and stomach

(14)compelled him to relax in his labours. "For a month, or some forty days," he wrote"a dreadful Lent

the mind has blown geographically from 'Araby the blest,' but thermometrically from Iceland the accursed.

I have been made a prisoner of war, hit by an icicle in the lungs, and have shivered and burned alternately for

a large portion of the last month, and spat blood till I grew pale with coughing. Now I am better, and

tomorrow I give my concluding lecture (on Technology), thankful that I have contrived, notwithstanding all

my troubles, to carry on without missing a lecture to the last day of the Faculty of Arts, to which I belong."

How long was it to last? He himself began to wonder, for he had long felt his life as if ebbing away. At length

he became languid, weary, and unfit for work; even the writing of a letter cost him a painful effort, and. he

felt "as if to lie down and sleep were the only things worth doing." Yet shortly after, to help a Sundayschool,

he wrote his 'Five Gateways of Knowledge,' as a lecture, and afterwards expanded it into a book. He also

recovered strength sufficient to enable him to proceed with his lectures to the institutions to which he

belonged, besides on various occasions undertaking to do other people's work. "I am looked upon as good as

mad," he wrote to his brother, "because, on a hasty notice, I took a defaulting lecturer's place at the

Philosophical Institution, and discoursed on the Polarization of Light.... But I like work: it is a family

Then followed chronic malaisesleepless nights, days of pain, and more spitting of blood. "My only

painless moments," he says, "were when lecturing." In this state of prostration and disease, the indefatigable

man undertook to write the 'Life of Edward Forbes'; and he did it, like everything he undertook, with

admirable ability. He proceeded with his lectures as usual. To an association of teachers he delivered a

discourse on the educational value of industrial science. After he had spoken to his audience for an hour, he

left them to say whether he should go on or not, and they cheered him on to another halfhour's address. "It is

curious," he wrote, "the feeling of having an audience, like clay in your hands, to mould for a season as you

please. It is a terribly responsible power.... I do not mean for a moment to imply that I am indifferent to the

good opinion of othersfar otherwise; but to gain this is much less a concern with me than to deserve it. It

was not so once. I had no wish for unmerited praise, but I was too ready to settle that I did merit it. Now, the

word DUTY seems to me the biggest word in the world, and is uppermost in all my serious doings."

This was written only about four months before his death. A little later he wrote, "I spin my thread of life

from week to week, rather than from year to year." Constant attacks of bleeding from the lungs sapped his

little remaining strength, but did not altogether disable him from lecturing. He was amused by one of his

friends proposing to put him under trustees for the purpose of looking after his health. But he would not be

One day, in the autumn of 1859, he returned from his customary lecture in the University of Edinburgh with a

severe pain in his side. He was scarcely able to crawl upstairs. Medical aid was sent for, and he was

pronounced to be suffering from pleurisy and inflammation of the lungs. His enfeebled frame was ill able to

resist so severe a disease, and he sank peacefully to the rest he so longed for, after a few days' illness:

"Wrong not the dead with tears! A glorious bright tomorrow Endeth a weary life of pain and sorrow."

The life of George Wilsonso admirably and affectionately related by his sisteris probably one of the

most marvellous records of pain and longsuffering, and yet of persistent, noble, and useful work, that is to be

found in the whole history of literature. His entire career was indeed but a prolonged illustration of the lines

which he himself addressed to his deceased friend, Dr. John Reid, a likeminded man, whose memoir he

"Thou wert a daily lesson Of courage, hope, and faith; We wondered at thee living, We envy thee thy death.

Thou wert so meek and reverent, So resolute of will, So bold to bear the uttermost, And yet so calm and still."

(2) Amongst other great men of genius, Ariosto and Michael Angelo devoted to her their service and their

(3) See the Rev. F. W. Farrar's admirable book, entitled 'Seekers after God' (Sunday Library). The author

there says: "Epictetus was not a Christian. He has only once alluded to the Christians in his works, and then it

is under the opprobrious title of 'Galileans,' who practised a kind of insensibility in painful circumstances, and

an indifference to worldly interests, which Epictetus unjustly sets down to 'mere habit.' Unhappily, it was not

granted to these heathen philosophers in any true sense to know what Christianity was. They thought that it

was an attempt to imitate the results of philosophy, without having passed through the necessary discipline.

They viewed it with suspicion, they treated it with injustice. And yet in Christianity, and in Christianity

alone, they would have found an ideal which would have surpassed their loftiest anticipations."

(5) Wellington, like Washington, had to pay the penalty of his adherence to the cause he thought right, in his

loss of "popularity." He was mobbed in the streets of London, and had his windows smashed by the mob,

while his wife lay dead in the house. Sir Walter Scott also was hooted and pelted at Hawick by "the people,"

(7) We select the following passages from this remarkable report of Baron Stoffel, as being of more than

Who that has lived here (Berlin) will deny that the Prussians are energetic, patriotic, and teeming with

youthful vigour; that they are not corrupted by sensual pleasures, but are manly, have earnest convictions, do

not think it beneath them to reverence sincerely what is noble and lofty? What a melancholy contrast does

France offer in all this? Having sneered at everything, she has lost the faculty of respecting anything. Virtue,

family life, patriotism, honour, religion, are represented to a frivolous generation as fitting subjects of

ridicule. The theatres have become schools of shamelessness and obscenity. Drop by drop, poison is instilled

into the very core of an ignorant and enervated society, which has neither the insight nor the energy left to

amend its institutions, norwhich would be the most necessary step to takebecome better informed or

more moral. One after the other the fine qualities of the nation are dying out. Where is the generosity, the

loyalty, the charm of our ESPRIT, and our former elevation of soul? If this goes on, the time will come when

this noble race of France will be known only by its faults. And France has no idea that while she is sinking,

more earnest nations are stealing the march upon her, are distancing her on the road to progress, and are

"I am afraid that these opinions will not be relished in France. However correct, they differ too much from

what is usually said and asserted at home. I should wish some enlightened and unprejudiced Frenchmen to

come to Prussia and make this country their study. They would soon discover that they were living in the

midst of a strong, earnest, and intelligent nation, entirely destitute, it is true, of noble and delicate feelings, of

all fascinating charms, but endowed with every solid virtue, and alike distinguished for untiring industry,

order, and economy, as well as for patriotism, a strong sense of duty, and that consciousness of personal

dignity which in their case is so happily blended with respect for authority and obedience to the law. They

would see a country with firm, sound, and moral institutions, whose upper classes are worthy of their rank,

and, by possessing the highest degree of culture, devoting themselves to the service of the State, setting an

example of patriotism, and knowing how to preserve the influence legitimately their own. They would find a

State with an excellent administration where everything is in its right place, and where the most admirable

order prevails in every branch of the social and political system. Prussia may be well compared to a massive

structure of lofty proportions and astounding solidity, which, though it has nothing to delight the eye or speak

to the heart, cannot but impress us with its grand symmetry, equally observable in its broad foundations as in

"And what is France? What is French society in these latter days? A hurlyburly of disorderly elements, all

mixed and jumbled together; a country in which everybody claims the right to occupy the highest posts, yet

few remember that a man to be employed in a responsible position ought to have a wellbalanced mind,

ought to be strictly moral, to know something of the world, and possess certain intellectual powers; a country

in which the highest offices are frequently held by ignorant and uneducated persons, who either boast some

special talent, or whose only claim is social position and some versatility and address. What a baneful and

degrading state of things! And how natural that, while it lasts, France should be full of a people without a

position, without a calling, who do not know what to do with themselves, but are none the less eager to envy

"The French do not possess in any very marked degree the qualities required to render general conscription

acceptable, or to turn it to account. Conceited and egotistic as they are, the people would object to an

innovation whose invigorating force they are unable to comprehend, and which cannot be carried out without

virtues which they do not possessselfabnegation, conscientious recognition of duty, and a willingness to

sacrifice personal interests to the loftier demands of the country. As the character of individuals is only

improved by experience, most nations require a chastisement before they set about reorganising their political

institutions. So Prussia wanted a Jena to make her the strong and healthy country she is."

(8) Yet even in De Tocqueville's benevolent nature, there was a pervading element of impatience. In the very

letter in which the above passage occurs, he says: "Some persons try to be of use to men while they despise

them, and others because they love them. In the services rendered by the first, there is always something

incomplete, rough, and contemptuous, that inspires neither confidence nor gratitude. I should like to belong

to the second class, but often I cannot. I love mankind in general, but I constantly meet with individuals

whose baseness revolts me. I struggle daily against a universal contempt for my fellow,

creatures."MEMOIRS AND REMAINS OF DE TOCQUEVILLE, vol. i. p. 813. (Letter to Kergorlay,

(11) See the 'Memoir of George Wilson, M.D., F.R.S.E.' By his sister (Edinburgh, 1860).

(12) Such cases are not unusual. We personally knew a young lady, a countrywoman of Professor Wilson,

afflicted by cancer in the breast, who concealed the disease from her parents lest it should occasion them

distress. An operation became necessary; and when the surgeons called for the purpose of performing it, she

herself answered the door, received them with a cheerful countenance, led them upstairs to her room, and

submitted to the knife; and her parents knew nothing of the operation until it was all over. But the disease had

become too deeply seated for recovery, and the noble selfdenying girl died, cheerful and uncomplaining to

(13) "One night, about eleven o'clock, Keats returned home in a state of strange physical excitementit

might have appeared, to those who did not know him, one of fierce intoxication. He told his friend he had

been outside the stagecoach, had received a severe chill, was a little fevered, but added, 'I don't feel it now.'

He was easily persuaded to go to bed, and as he leapt into the cold sheets, before his head was on the pillow,

he slightly coughed and said, 'That is blood from my mouth; bring me the candle; let me see this blood' He

gazed steadfastly for some moments at the ruddy stain, and then, looking in his friend's face with an

expression of sudden calmness never to be forgotten, said, 'I know the colour of that bloodit is arterial

blood. I cannot be deceived in that colour; that drop is my deathwarrant. I must die!'" Houghton's LIFE

In the case of George Wilson, the bleeding was in the first instance from the stomach, though he afterwards

suffered from lung haemorrhage like Keats. Wilson afterwards, speaking of the Lives of Lamb and Keats,

which had just appeared, said he had been reading them with great sadness. "There is," said he, "something in

the noble brotherly love of Charles to brighten, and hallow, and relieve that sadness; but Keats's deathbed is

(14) On the doctors, who attended him in his first attack, mistaking the haemorrhage from the stomach for

haemorrhage from the lungs, he wrote: "It would have been but poor consolation to have had as an epitaph:

"Here lies George Wilson, Overtaken by Nemesis; He died not of Haemoptysis, But of Haematemesis."

It has been said that men succeed in life quite as much by their temper as by their talents. However this may

be, it is certain that their happiness in life depends mainly upon their equanimity of disposition, their patience

and forbearance, and their kindness and thoughtfulness for those about them. It is really true what Plato says,

There are some natures so happily constituted that they can find good in everything. There is no calamity so

great but they can educe comfort or consolation from itno sky so black but they can discover a gleam of

sunshine issuing through it from some quarter or another; and if the sun be not visible to their eyes, they at

least comfort themselves with the thought that it IS there, though veiled from them for some good and wise

Such happy natures are to be envied. They have a beam in the eye a beam of pleasure, gladness, religious

cheerfulness, philosophy, call it what you will. Sunshine is about their hearts, and their mind gilds with its

own hues all that it looks upon. When they have burdens to bear, they bear them cheerfully not repining,

nor fretting, nor wasting their energies in useless lamentation, but struggling onward manfully, gathering up

Let it not for a moment be supposed that men such as those we speak of are weak and unreflective. The

largest and most comprehensive natures are generally also the most cheerful, the most loving, the most

hopeful, the most trustful. It is the wise man, of large vision, who is the quickest to discern the moral

sunshine gleaming through the darkest cloud. In present evil he sees prospective good; in pain, he recognises

the effort of nature to restore health; in trials, he finds correction and discipline; and in sorrow and suffering,

When Jeremy Taylor had lost allwhen his house had been plundered, and his family driven outofdoors,

and all his worldly estate had been sequestratedhe could still write thus: "I am fallen into the hands of

publicans and sequestrators, and they have taken all from me; what now? Let me look about me. They have

left me the sun and moon, a loving wife, and many friends to pity me, and some to relieve me; and I can still

discourse, and, unless I list, they have not taken away my merry countenance and my cheerful spirit, and a

good conscience; they have still left me the providence of God, and all the promises of the Gospel, and my

religion, and my hopes of heaven, and my charity to them, too; and still I sleep and digest, I eat and drink, I

read and meditate.... And he that hath so many causes of joy, and so great, is very much in love with sorrow

and peevishness, who loves all these pleasures, and chooses to sit down upon his little handful of thorns." (1)

Although cheerfulness of disposition is very much a matter of inborn temperament, it is also capable of being

trained and cultivated like any other habit. We may make the best of life, or we may make the worst of it; and

it depends very much upon ourselves whether we extract joy or misery from it. There are always two sides of

life on which we can look, according as we choosethe bright side or the gloomy. We can bring the power

of the will to bear in making the choice, and thus cultivate the habit of being happy or the reverse. We can

encourage the disposition of looking at the brightest side of things, instead of the darkest. And while we see

The beam in the eye sheds brightness, beauty, and joy upon life in all its phases. It shines upon coldness, and

warms it; upon suffering, and comforts it; upon ignorance, and enlightens it; upon sorrow, and cheers it. The

beam in the eye gives lustre to intellect, and brightens beauty itself. Without it the sunshine of life is not felt,

flowers bloom in vain, the marvels of heaven and earth are not seen or acknowledged, and creation is but a

While cheerfulness of disposition is a great source of enjoyment in life, it is also a great safeguard of

character. A devotional writer of the present day, in answer to the question, How are we to overcome

temptations? says: "Cheerfulness is the first thing, cheerfulness is the second, and cheerfulness is the third." It

furnishes the best soil for the growth of goodness and virtue. It gives brightness of heart and elasticity of

spirit. It is the companion of charity, the nurse of patience the mother of wisdom. It is also the best of moral

and mental tonics. "The best cordial of all," said Dr. Marshall Hall to one of his patients, "is cheerfulness."

And Solomon has said that "a merry heart doeth good like a medicine." When Luther was once applied to for

a remedy against melancholy, his advice was: "Gaiety and courage innocent gaiety, and rational

honourable courageare the best medicine for young men, and for old men, too; for all men against sad

thoughts." (2) Next to music, if not before it, Luther loved children and flowers. The great gnarled man had a

Cheerfulness is also an excellent wearing quality. It has been called the bright weather of the heart. It gives

harmony of soul, and is a perpetual song without words. It is tantamount to repose. It enables nature to recruit

its strength; whereas worry and discontent debilitate it, involving constant wearandtear. How is it that we

see such men as Lord Palmerston growing old in harness, working on vigorously to the end? Mainly through

equanimity of temper and habitual cheerfulness. They have educated themselves in the habit of endurance, of

not being easily provoked, of bearing and forbearing, of hearing harsh and even unjust things said of them

without indulging in undue resentment, and avoiding worreting, petty, and selftormenting cares. An intimate

friend of Lord Palmerston, who observed him closely for twenty years, has said that he never saw him angry,

with perhaps one exception; and that was when the ministry responsible for the calamity in Affghanistan, of

which he was one, were unjustly accused by their opponents of falsehood, perjury, and wilful mutilation of

So far as can be learnt from biography, men of the greatest genius have been for the most part cheerful,

contented mennot eager for reputation, money, or powerbut relishing life, and keenly susceptible of

enjoyment, as we find reflected in their works. Such seem to have been Homer, Horace, Virgil, Montaigne,

Shakspeare, Cervantes. Healthy serene cheerfulness is apparent in their great creations. Among the same

class of cheerfulminded men may also be mentioned Luther, More, Bacon, Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, and

Michael Angelo. Perhaps they were happy because constantly occupied, and in the pleasantest of all

Milton, too, though a man of many trials and sufferings, must have been a man of great cheerfulness and

elasticity of nature. Though overtaken by blindness, deserted by friends, and fallen upon evil

days"darkness before and danger's voice behind" yet did he not bate heart or hope, but "still bore up and

Henry Fielding was a man borne down through life by debt, and difficulty, and bodily suffering; and yet Lady

Mary Wortley Montague has said of him that, by virtue of his cheerful disposition, she was persuaded he

Dr. Johnson, through all his trials and sufferings and hard fights with fortune, was a courageous and

cheerfulnatured man. He manfully made the best of life, and tried to be glad in it. Once, when a clergyman

was complaining of the dulness of society in the country, saying "they only talk of runts" (young cows),

Johnson felt flattered by the observation of Mrs. Thrale's mother, who said, "Sir, Dr. Johnson would learn to

talk of runts"meaning that he was a man who would make the most of his situation, whatever it was.

Johnson was of opinion that a man grew better as he grew older, and that his nature mellowed with age. This

is certainly a much more cheerful view of human nature than that of Lord Chesterfield, who saw life through

the eyes of a cynic, and held that "the heart never grows better by age: it only grows harder." But both

sayings may be true according to the point from which life is viewed, and the temper by which a man is

governed; for while the good, profiting by experience, and disciplining themselves by selfcontrol, will grow

Sir Walter Scott was a man full of the milk of human kindness. Everybody loved him. He was never five

minutes in a room ere the little pets of the family, whether dumb or lisping, had found out his kindness for all

their generation. Scott related to Captain Basil Hall an incident of his boyhood which showed the tenderness

of his nature. One day, a dog coming towards him, he took up a big stone, threw it, and hit the dog. The poor

creature had strength enough left to crawl up to him and lick his feet, although he saw its leg was broken. The

incident, he said, had given him the bitterest remorse in his afterlife; but he added, "An early circumstance

of that kind, properly reflected on, is calculated to have the best effect on one's character throughout life."

"Give me an honest laugher," Scott would say; and he himself laughed the heart's laugh. He had a kind word

for everybody, and his kindness acted all round him like a contagion, dispelling the reserve and awe which

his great name was calculated to inspire. "He'll come here," said the keeper of the ruins of Melrose Abbey to

Washington Irving"he'll come here sometimes, wi' great folks in his company, and the first I'll know of it

is hearing his voice calling out, 'Johnny! Johnny Bower!' And when I go out I'm sure to be greeted wi' a joke

or a pleasant word. He'll stand and crack and laugh wi' me, just like an auld wife; and to think that of a man

Dr. Arnold was a man of the same hearty cordiality of manner full of human sympathy. There was not a

particle of affectation or pretence of condescension about him. "I never knew such a humble man as the

doctor," said the parish clerk at Laleham; "he comes and shakes us by the hand as if he was one of us." "He

used to come into my house," said an old woman near Fox How, "and talk to me as if I were a lady."

Sydney Smith was another illustration of the power of cheerfulness. He was ever ready to look on the bright

side of things; the darkest cloud had to him its silver lining. Whether working as country curate, or as parish

rector, he was always kind, laborious, patient, and exemplary; exhibiting in every sphere of life the spirit of a

Christian, the kindness of a pastor, and the honour of a gentleman. In his leisure he employed his pen on the

side of justice, freedom, education, toleration, emancipation; and his writings, though full of commonsense

and bright humour, are never vulgar; nor did he ever pander to popularity or prejudice. His good spirits,

thanks to his natural vivacity and stamina of constitution, never forsook him; and in his old age, when borne

down by disease, he wrote to a friend: "I have gout, asthma, and seven other maladies, but am otherwise very

well." In one of the last letters he wrote to Lady Carlisle, he said: "If you hear of sixteen or eighteen pounds

of flesh wanting an owner, they belong to me. I look as if a curate had been taken out of me."

Great men of science have for the most part been patient, laborious, cheerfulminded men. Such were

Galileo, Descartes, Newton, and Laplace. Euler the mathematician, one of the greatest of natural

philosophers, was a distinguished instance. Towards the close of his life he became completely blind; but he

went on writing as cheerfully as before, supplying the want of sight by various ingenious mechanical devices,

and by the increased cultivation of his memory, which became exceedingly tenacious. His chief pleasure was

in the society of his grandchildren, to whom he taught their little lessons in the intervals of his severer

In like manner, Professor Robison of Edinburgh, the first editor of the 'Encyclopaedia Britannica,' when

disabled from work by a lingering and painful disorder, found his chief pleasure in the society of his

grandchild. "I am infinitely delighted," he wrote to James Watt, "with observing the growth of its little soul,

and particularly with its numberless instincts, which formerly passed unheeded. I thank the French theorists

for more forcibly directing my attention to the finger of God, which I discern in every awkward movement

and every wayward whim. They are all guardians of his life and growth and power. I regret indeed that I have

One of the sorest trials of a man's temper and patience was that which befell Abauzit, the natural philosopher,

while residing at Geneva; resembling in many respects a similar calamity which occurred to Newton, and

which he bore with equal resignation. Amongst other things, Abauzit devoted much study to the barometer

and its variations, with the object of deducing the general laws which regulated atmospheric pressure. During

twentyseven years he made numerous observations daily, recording them on sheets prepared for the

purpose. One day, when a new servant was installed in the house, she immediately proceeded to display her

zeal by "putting things torights." Abauzit's study, amongst other rooms, was made tidy and set in order.

When he entered it, he asked of the servant, "What have you done with the paper that was round the

barometer?" "Oh, sir," was the reply, "it was so dirty that I burnt it, and put in its place this paper, which you

will see is quite new." Abauzit crossed his arms, and after some moments of internal struggle, he said, in a

tone of calmness and resignation: "You have destroyed the results of twentyseven years labour; in future

The study of natural history more than that of any other branch of science, seems to be accompanied by

unusual cheerfulness and equanimity of temper on the part of its votaries; the result of which is, that the life

of naturalists is on the whole more prolonged than that of any other class of men of science. A member of the

Linnaean Society has informed us that of fourteen members who died in 1870, two were over ninety, five

were over eighty, and two were over seventy. The average age of all the members who died in that year was

Adanson, the French botanist, was about seventy years old when the Revolution broke out, and amidst the

shock he lost everything his fortune, his places, and his gardens. But his patience, courage, and resignation

never forsook him. He became reduced to the greatest straits, and even wanted food and clothing; yet his

ardour of investigation remained the same. Once, when the Institute invited him, as being one of its oldest

members, to assist at a SEANCE, his answer was that he regretted he could not attend for want of shoes. "It

was a touching sight," says Cuvier, "to see the poor old man, bent over the embers of a decaying fire, trying

to trace characters with a feeble hand on the little bit of paper which he held, forgetting all the pains of life in

some new idea in natural history, which came to him like some beneficent fairy to cheer him in his

loneliness." The Directory eventually gave him a small pension, which Napoleon doubled; and at length,

easeful death came to his relief in his seventyninth year. A clause in his will, as to the manner of his funeral,

illustrates the character of the man. He directed that a garland of flowers, provided by fiftyeight families

whom he had established in life, should be the only decoration of his coffina slight but touching image of

Such are only a few instances, of the cheerfulworkingness of great men, which might, indeed, be

multiplied to any extent. All large healthy natures are cheerful as well as hopeful. Their example is also

contagious and diffusive, brightening and cheering all who come within reach of their influence. It was said

of Sir John Malcolm, when he appeared in a saddened camp in India, that "it was like a gleam of sunlight,....

no man left him without a smile on his face. He was 'boy Malcolm' still. It was impossible to resist the

There was the same joyousness of nature about Edmund Burke. Once at a dinner at Sir Joshua Reynolds's,

when the conversation turned upon the suitability of liquors for particular temperaments, Johnson said,

"Claret is for boys, port for men, and brandy for heroes." "Then," said Burke, "let me have claret: I love to be

a boy, and to have the careless gaiety of boyish days." And so it is, that there are old young men, and young

old mensome who are as joyous and cheerful as boys in their old age, and others who are as morose and

In the presence of some priggish youths, we have heard a cheerful old man declare that, apparently, there

would soon be nothing but "old boys" left. Cheerfulness, being generous and genial, joyous and hearty, is

never the characteristic of prigs. Goethe used to exclaim of goodygoody persons, "Oh! if they had but the

heart to commit an absurdity!" This was when he thought they wanted heartiness and nature. "Pretty dolls!"

The true basis of cheerfulness is love, hope, and patience. Love evokes love, and begets loving kindness.

Love cherishes hopeful and generous thoughts of others. It is charitable, gentle, and truthful. It is a discerner

of good. It turns to the brightest side of things, and its face is ever directed towards happiness. It sees "the

glory in the grass, the sunshine on the flower." It encourages happy thoughts, and lives in an atmosphere of

cheerfulness. It costs nothing, and yet is invaluable; for it blesses its possessor, and grows up in abundant

happiness in the bosoms of others. Even its sorrows are linked with pleasures, and its very tears are sweet.

Bentham lays it down as a principle, that a man becomes rich in his own stock of pleasures in proportion to

the amount he distributes to others. His kindness will evoke kindness, and his happiness be increased by his

own benevolence. "Kind words," he says, "cost no more than unkind ones. Kind words produce kind actions,

not only on the part of him to whom they are addressed, but on the part of him by whom they are employed;

and this not incidentally only, but habitually, in virtue of the principle of association.".... "It may indeed

happen, that the effort of beneficence may not benefit those for whom it was intended; but when wisely

directed, it MUST benefit the person from whom it emanates. Good and friendly conduct may meet with an

unworthy and ungrateful return; but the absence of gratitude on the part of the receiver cannot destroy the

selfapprobation which recompenses the giver, and we may scatter the seeds of courtesy and kindliness

around us at so little expense. Some of them will inevitably fall on good ground, and grow up into

benevolence in the minds of others; and all of them will bear fruit of happiness in the bosom whence they

The poet Rogers used to tell a story of a little girl, a great favourite with every one who knew her. Some one

said to her, "Why does everybody love you so much?" She answered, "I think it is because I love everybody

so much." This little story is capable of a very wide application; for our happiness as human beings, generally

speaking, will be found to be very much in proportion to the number of things we love, and the number of

things that love us. And the greatest worldly success, however honestly achieved, will contribute

comparatively little to happiness, unless it be accompanied by a lively benevolence towards every human

Kindness is indeed a great power in the world. Leigh Hunt has truly said that "Power itself hath not one half

the might of gentleness." Men are always best governed through their affections. There is a French proverb

which says that, "LES HOMMES SE PRENNENT PAR LA DOUCEUR," and a coarser English one, to the

effect that "More wasps are caught by honey than by vinegar." "Every act of kindness," says Bentham, "is in

fact an exercise of power, and a stock of friendship laid up; and why should not power exercise itself in the

Kindness does not consist in gifts, but in gentleness and generosity of spirit. Men may give their money

which comes from the purse, and withhold their kindness which comes from the heart. The kindness that

displays itself in giving money, does not amount to much, and often does quite as much harm as good; but the

kindness of true sympathy, of thoughtful help, is never without beneficent results.

The good temper that displays itself in kindness must not be confounded with softness or silliness. In its best

form, it is not a merely passive but an active condition of being. It is not by any means indifferent, but largely

sympathetic. It does not characterise the lowest and most gelatinous forms of human life, but those that are

the most highly organized. True kindness cherishes and actively promotes all reasonable instrumentalities for

doing practical good in its own time; and, looking into futurity, sees the same spirit working on for the

It is the kindlydispositioned men who are the active men of the world, while the selfish and the sceptical,

who have no love but for themselves, are its idlers. Buffon used to say, that he would give nothing for a

young man who did not begin life with an enthusiasm of some sort. It showed that at least he had faith in

Egotism, scepticism, and selfishness are always miserable companions in life, and they are especially

unnatural in youth. The egotist is nextdoor to a fanatic. Constantly occupied with self, he has no thought to

spare for others. He refers to himself in all things, thinks of himself, and studies himself, until his own little

Worst of all are the grumblers and growlers at fortunewho find that "whatever is is wrong," and will do

nothing to set matters rightwho declare all to be barren "from Dan even to Beersheba." These grumblers

are invariably found the least efficient helpers in the school of life. As the worst workmen are usually the

readiest to "strike," so the least industrious members of society are the readiest to complain. The worst wheel

There is such a thing as the cherishing of discontent until the feeling becomes morbid. The jaundiced see

everything about them yellow. The illconditioned think all things awry, and the whole world outofjoint.

All is vanity and vexation of spirit. The little girl in PUNCH, who found her doll stuffed with bran, and

forthwith declared everything to be hollow and wanted to "go into a nunnery," had her counterpart in real life.

Many fullgrown people are quite as morbidly unreasonable. There are those who may be said to "enjoy bad

health;" they regard it as a sort of property. They can speak of "MY headache""MY backache," and so

forth, until in course of time it becomes their most cherished possession. But perhaps it is the source to them

of much coveted sympathy, without which they might find themselves of comparatively little importance in

We have to be on our guard against small troubles, which, by encouraging, we are apt to magnify into great

ones. Indeed, the chief source of worry in the world is not real but imaginary evil small vexations and

trivial afflictions. In the presence of a great sorrow, all petty troubles disappear; but we are too ready to take

some cherished misery to our bosom, and to pet it there. Very often it is the child of our fancy; and, forgetful

of the many means of happiness which lie within our reach, we indulge this spoilt child of ours until it

masters us. We shut the door against cheerfulness, and surround ourselves with gloom. The habit gives a

colouring to our life. We grow querulous, moody, and unsympathetic. Our conversation becomes full of

regrets. We are harsh in our judgment of others. We are unsociable, and think everybody else is so. We make

our breast a storehouse of pain, which we inflict upon ourselves as well as upon others.

This disposition is encouraged by selfishness: indeed, it is for the most part selfishness unmingled, without

any admixture of sympathy or consideration for the feelings of those about us. It is simply wilfulness in the

wrong direction. It is wilful, because it might be avoided. Let the necessitarians argue as they may, freedom

of will and action is the possession of every man and woman. It is sometimes our glory, and very often it is

our shame: all depends upon the manner in which it is used. We can choose to look at the bright side of

things, or at the dark. We can follow good and eschew evil thoughts. We can be wrongheaded and

wronghearted, or the reverse, as we ourselves determine. The world will be to each one of us very much what

we make it. The cheerful are its real possessors, for the world belongs to those who enjoy it.

It must, however, be admitted that there are cases beyond the reach of the moralist. Once, when a

miserablelooking dyspeptic called upon a leading physician and laid his case before him, "Oh!" said the

doctor, "you only want a good hearty laugh: go and see Grimaldi." "Alas!" said the miserable patient, "I am

Grimaldi!" So, when Smollett, oppressed by disease, travelled over Europe in the hope of finding health, he

saw everything through his own jaundiced eyes. "I'll tell it," said Smellfungus, "to the world." "You had

better tell it," said Sterne, "to your physician." The restless, anxious, dissatisfied temper, that is ever ready to

run and meet care halfway, is fatal to all happiness and peace of mind. How often do we see men and

women set themselves about as if with stiff bristles, so that one dare scarcely approach them without fear of

being pricked! For want of a little occasional command over one's temper, an amount of misery is occasioned

in society which is positively frightful. Thus enjoyment is turned into bitterness, and life becomes like a

journey barefooted amongst thorns and briers and prickles. "Though sometimes small evils," says Richard

Sharp, "like invisible insects, inflict great pain, and a single hair may stop a vast machine, yet the chief secret

of comfort lies in not suffering trifles to vex us; and in prudently cultivating an undergrowth of small

St. Francis de Sales treats the same topic from the Christian's point of view. "How carefully," he says, "we

should cherish the little virtues which spring up at the foot of the Cross!" When the saint was asked, "What

virtues do you mean?" he replied: "Humility, patience, meekness, benignity, bearing one another's burden,

condescension, softness of heart, cheerfulness, cordiality, compassion, forgiving injuries, simplicity,

candour all, in short of that sort of little virtues. They, like unobtrusive violets, love the shade; like them

are sustained by dew; and though, like them, they make little show, they shed a sweet odour on all around."

And again he said: "If you would fall into any extreme, let it be on the side of gentleness. The human mind is

so constructed that it resists rigour, and yields to softness. A mild word quenches anger, as water quenches

the rage of fire; and by benignity any soil may be rendered fruitful. Truth, uttered with courtesy, is heaping

coals of fire on the heador rather, throwing roses in the face. How can we resist a foe whose weapons are

Meeting evils by anticipation is not the way to overcome them. If we perpetually carry our burdens about

with us, they will soon bear us down under their load. When evil comes, we must deal with it bravely and

hopefully. What Perthes wrote to a young man, who seemed to him inclined to take trifles as well as sorrows

too much to heart, was doubtless good advice: "Go forward with hope and confidence. This is the advice

given thee by an old man, who has had a full share of the burden and heat of life's day. We must ever stand

upright, happen what may, and for this end we must cheerfully resign ourselves to the varied influences of

this many coloured life. You may call this levity, and you are partly right; for flowers and colours are but

trifles light as air, but such levity is a constituent portion of our human nature, without which it would sink

under the weight of time. While on earth we must still play with earth, and with that which blooms and fades

upon its breast. The consciousness of this mortal life being but the way to a higher goal, by no means

precludes our playing with it cheerfully; and, indeed, we must do so, otherwise our energy in action will

Cheerfulness also accompanies patience, which is one of the main conditions of happiness and success in life.

"He that will be served," says George Herbert, "must be patient." It was said of the cheerful and patient King

Alfred, that "good fortune accompanied him like a gift of God." Marlborough's expectant calmness was great,

and a principal secret of his success as a general. "Patience will overcome all things," he wrote to Godolphin,

in 1702. In the midst of a great emergency, while baffled and opposed by his allies, he said, "Having done all

Last and chiefest of blessings is Hope, the most common of possessions; for, as Thales the philosopher said,

"Even those who have nothing else have hope." Hope is the great helper of the poor. It has even been styled

"the poor man's bread." It is also the sustainer and inspirer of great deeds. It is recorded of Alexander the

Great, that when he succeeded to the throne of Macedon, he gave away amongst his friends the greater part of

the estates which his father had left him; and when Perdiccas asked him what he reserved for himself,

The pleasures of memory, however great, are stale compared with those of hope; for hope is the parent of all

effort and endeavour; and "every gift of noble origin is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath." It may be

said to be the moral engine that moves the world, and keeps it in action; and at the end of all there stands

before us what Robertson of Ellon styled "The Great Hope." "If it were not for Hope," said Byron, "where

would the Future be?in hell! It is useless to say where the Present is, for most of us know; and as for the

Past, WHAT predominates in memory?Hope baffled. ERGO, in all human affairs it is Hope, Hope, Hope!"

Manner is one of the principal external graces of character. It is the ornament of action, and often makes the

commonest offices beautiful by the way in which it performs them. It is a happy way of doing things,

adorning even the smallest details of life, and contributing to render it, as a whole, agreeable and pleasant.

Manner is not so frivolous or unimportant as some may think it to be; for it tends greatly to facilitate the

business of life, as well as to sweeten and soften social intercourse. "Virtue itself," says Bishop Middleton,

Manner has a good deal to do with the estimation in which men are held by the world; and it has often more

influence in the government of others than qualities of much greater depth and substance. A manner at once

gracious and cordial is among the greatest aids to success, and many there are who fail for want of it. (1) For

a great deal depends upon first impressions; and these are usually favourable or otherwise according to a

While rudeness and gruffness bar doors and shut hearts, kindness and propriety of behaviour, in which good

manners consist, act as an "open sesame" everywhere. Doors unbar before them, and they are a passport to

There is a common saying that "Manners make the man;" but this is not so true as that "Man makes the

manners." A man may be gruff, and even rude, and yet be good at heart and of sterling character; yet he

would doubtless be a much more agreeable, and probably a much more useful man, were he to exhibit that

suavity of disposition and courtesy of manner which always gives a finish to the true gentleman.

Mrs. Hutchinson, in the noble portraiture of her husband, to which we have already had occasion to refer,

thus describes his manly courteousness and affability of disposition: "I cannot say whether he were more

truly magnanimous or less proud; he never disdained the meanest person, nor flattered the greatest; he had a

loving and sweet courtesy to the poorest, and would often employ many spare hours with the commonest

soldiers and poorest labourers; but still so ordering his familiarity, that it never raised them to a contempt, but

A man's manner, to a certain extent, indicates his character. It is the external exponent of his inner nature. It

indicates his taste, his feelings, and his temper, as well as the society to which he has been accustomed. There

is a conventional manner, which is of comparatively little importance; but the natural manner, the outcome of

Grace of manner is inspired by sentiment, which is a source of no slight enjoyment to a cultivated mind.

Viewed in this light, sentiment is of almost as much importance as talents and acquirements, while it is even

more influential in giving the direction to a man s tastes and character. Sympathy is the golden key that

unlocks the hearts of others. It not only teaches politeness and courtesy, but gives insight and unfolds

Artificial rules of politeness are of very little use. What passes by the name of "Etiquette" is often of the

essence of unpoliteness and untruthfulness. It consists in a great measure of posturemaking, and is easily

seen through. Even at best, etiquette is but a substitute for good manners, though it is often but their mere

Good manners consist, for the most part, in courteousness and kindness. Politeness has been described as the

art of showing, by external signs, the internal regard we have for others. But one may be perfectly polite to

another without necessarily having a special regard for him. Good manners are neither more nor less than

beautiful behaviour. It has been well said, that "a beautiful form is better than a beautiful face, and a beautiful

behaviour is better than a beautiful form; it gives a higher pleasure than statues or picturesit is the finest of

The truest politeness comes of sincerity. It must be the outcome of the heart, or it will make no lasting

impression; for no amount of polish can dispense with truthfulness. The natural character must be allowed to

appear, freed of its angularities and asperities. Though politeness, in its best form, should (as St. Francis de

Sales says) resemble water"best when clearest, most simple, and without taste,"yet genius in a man will

always cover many defects of manner, and much will be excused to the strong and the original. Without

genuineness and individuality, human life would lose much of its interest and variety, as well as its manliness

True courtesy is kind. It exhibits itself in the disposition to contribute to the happiness of others, and in

refraining from all that may annoy them. It is grateful as well as kind, and readily acknowledges kind actions.

Curiously enough, Captain Speke found this quality of character recognised even by the natives of Uganda on

the shores of Lake Nyanza, in the heart of Africa, where, he says. "Ingratitude, or neglecting to thank a

True politeness especially exhibits itself in regard for the personality of others. A man will respect the

individuality of another if he wishes to be respected himself. He will have due regard for his views and

opinions, even though they differ from his own. The wellmannered man pays a compliment to another, and

sometimes even secures his respect, by patiently listening to him. He is simply tolerant and forbearant, and

refrains from judging harshly; and harsh judgments of others will almost invariably provoke harsh judgments

The unpolite impulsive man will, however, sometimes rather lose his friend than his joke. He may surely be

pronounced a very foolish person who secures another's hatred at the price of a moment's gratification. It was

a saying of Brunel the engineer himself one of the kindestnatured of menthat "spite and ill nature are

among the most expensive luxuries in life." Dr. Johnson once said: "Sir, a man has no more right to SAY an

uncivil thing than to ACT oneno more right to say a rude thing to another than to knock him down."

A sensible polite person does not assume to be better or wiser or richer than his neighbour. He does not boast

of his rank, or his birth, or his country; or look down upon others because they have not been born to like

privileges with himself. He does not brag of his achievements or of his calling, or "talk shop" whenever he

opens his mouth. On the contrary, in all that he says or does, he will be modest, unpretentious, unassuming;

exhibiting his true character in performing rather than in boasting, in doing rather than in talking.

Want of respect for the feelings of others usually originates in selfishness, and issues in hardness and

repulsiveness of manner. It may not proceed from malignity so much as from want of sympathy and want of

delicacya want of that perception of, and attention to, those little and apparently trifling things by which

pleasure is given or pain occasioned to others. Indeed, it may be said that in selfsacrificingness, so to speak,

in the ordinary intercourse of life, mainly consists the difference between being well and ill bred.

Without some degree of selfrestraint in society, a man may be found almost insufferable. No one has

pleasure in holding intercourse with such a person, and he is a constant source of annoyance to those about

him. For want of selfrestraint, many men are engaged all their lives in fighting with difficulties of their own

making, and rendering success impossible by their own crossgrained ungentleness; whilst others, it may be

much less gifted, make their way and achieve success by simple patience, equanimity, and selfcontrol.

It has been said that men succeed in life quite as much by their temper as by their talents. However this may

be, it is certain that their happiness depends mainly on their temperament, especially upon their disposition to

be cheerful; upon their complaisance, kindliness of manner, and willingness to oblige othersdetails of

conduct which are like the smallchange in the intercourse of life, and are always in request.

Men may show their disregard of others in various unpolite ways as, for instance, by neglect of propriety

in dress, by the absence of cleanliness, or by indulging in repulsive habits. The slovenly dirty person, by

rendering himself physically disagreeable, sets the tastes and feelings of others at defiance, and is rude and

David Ancillon, a Huguenot preacher of singular attractiveness, who studied and composed his sermons with

the greatest care, was accustomed to say "that it was showing too little esteem for the public to take no pains

in preparation, and that a man who should appear on a ceremonialday in his nightcap and dressinggown,

The perfection of manner is easethat it attracts no man's notice as such, but is natural and unaffected.

Artifice is incompatible with courteous frankness of manner. Rochefoucauld has said that "nothing so much

prevents our being natural as the desire of appearing so." Thus we come round again to sincerity and

truthfulness, which find their outward expression in graciousness, urbanity, kindliness, and consideration for

the feelings of others. The frank and cordial man sets those about him at their ease. He warms and elevates

them by his presence, and wins all hearts. Thus manner, in its highest form, like character, becomes a genuine

"The love and admiration," says Canon Kingsley, "which that truly brave and loving man, Sir Sydney Smith,

won from every one, rich and poor, with whom he came in contact seems to have arisen from the one fact,

that without, perhaps, having any such conscious intention, he treated rich and poor, his own servants and the

noblemen his guests, alike, and alike courteously, considerately, cheerfully, affectionatelyso leaving a

Good manners are usually supposed to be the peculiar characteristic of persons gently born and bred, and of

persons moving in the higher rather than in the lower spheres of society. And this is no doubt to a great extent

true, because of the more favourable surroundings of the former in early life. But there is no reason why the

poorest classes should not practise good manners towards each other as well as the richest.

Men who toil with their hands, equally with those who do not, may respect themselves and respect one

another; and it is by their demeanour to each otherin other words, by their mannersthat selfrespect as

well as mutual respect are indicated. There is scarcely a moment in their lives, the enjoyment of which might

not be enhanced by kindliness of this sortin the workshop, in the street, or at home. The civil workman will

exercise increased power amongst his class, and gradually induce them to imitate him by his persistent

steadiness, civility, and kindness. Thus Benjamin Franklin, when a workingman, is said to have reformed

One may be polite and gentle with very little money in his purse. Politeness goes far, yet costs nothing. It is

the cheapest of all commodities. It is the humblest of the fine arts, yet it is so useful and so pleasuregiving,

Every nation may learn something of others; and if there be one thing more than another that the English

workingclass might afford to copy with advantage from their Continental neighbours, it is their politeness.

The French and Germans, of even the humblest classes, are gracious in manner, complaisant, cordial, and

wellbred. The foreign workman lifts his cap and respectfully salutes his fellowworkman in passing. There

is no sacrifice of manliness in this, but grace and dignity. Even the lowest poverty of the foreign workpeople

is not misery, simply because it is cheerful. Though not receiving onehalf the income which our

workingclasses do, they do not sink into wretchedness and drown their troubles in drink; but contrive to

Good taste is a true economist. It may be practised on small means, and sweeten the lot of labour as well as of

ease. It is all the more enjoyed, indeed, when associated with industry and the performance of duty. Even the

lot of poverty is elevated by taste. It exhibits itself in the economies of the household. It gives brightness and

grace to the humblest dwelling. It produces refinement, it engenders goodwill, and creates an atmosphere of

cheerfulness. Thus good taste, associated with kindliness, sympathy, and intelligence, may elevate and adorn

The first and best school of manners, as of character, is always the Home, where woman is the teacher. The

manners of society at large are but the reflex of the manners of our collective homes, neither better nor worse.

Yet, with all the disadvantages of ungenial homes, men may practise selfculture of manner as of intellect,

and learn by good examples to cultivate a graceful and agreeable behaviour towards others. Most men are

like so many gems in the rough, which need polishing by contact with other and better natures, to bring out

their full beauty and lustre. Some have but one side polished, sufficient only to show the delicate graining of

the interior; but to bring out the full qualities of the gem needs the discipline of experience, and contact with

A good deal of the success of manner consists in tact, and it is because women, on the whole, have greater

tact than men, that they prove its most influential teachers. They have more self restraint than men, and are

naturally more gracious and polite. They possess an intuitive quickness and readiness of action, have a keener

insight into character, and exhibit greater discrimination and address. In matters of social detail, aptness and

dexterity come to them like nature; and hence wellmannered men usually receive their best culture by

Tact is an intuitive art of manner, which carries one through a difficulty better than either talent or

knowledge. "Talent," says a public writer, "is power: tact is skill. Talent is weight: tact is momentum. Talent

knows what to do: tact knows how to do it. Talent makes a man respectable: tact makes him respected. Talent

The difference between a man of quick tact and of no tact whatever was exemplified in an interview which

once took place between Lord Palmerston and Mr. Behnes, the sculptor. At the last sitting which Lord

Palmerston gave him, Behnes opened the conversation with"Any news, my Lord, from France? How do

we stand with Louis Napoleon?" The Foreign Secretary raised his eyebrows for an instant, and quietly

replied, "Really, Mr. Behnes, I don't know: I have not seen the newspapers!" Poor Behnes, with many

excellent qualities and much real talent, was one of the many men who entirely missed their way in life

Such is the power of manner, combined with tact, that Wilkes, one of the ugliest of men, used to say, that in

winning the graces of a lady, there was not more than three days' difference between him and the handsomest

But this reference to Wilkes reminds us that too much importance must not be attached to manner, for it does

not afford any genuine test of character. The wellmannered man may, like Wilkes, be merely acting a part,

and that for an immoral purpose. Manner, like other fine arts, gives pleasure, and is exceedingly agreeable to

look upon; but it may be assumed as a disguise, as men "assume a virtue though they have it not." It is but the

exterior sign of good conduct, but may be no more than skindeep. The most highly polished person may be

thoroughly depraved in heart; and his superfine manners may, after all, only consist in pleasing gestures and

On the other hand, it must be acknowledged that some of the richest and most generous natures have been

wanting in the graces of courtesy and politeness. As a rough rind sometimes covers the sweetest fruit, so a

rough exterior often conceals a kindly and hearty nature. The blunt man may seem even rude in manner, and

John Knox and Martin Luther were by no means distinguished for their urbanity. They had work to do which

needed strong and determined rather than wellmannered men. Indeed, they were both thought to be

unnecessarily harsh and violent in their manner. "And who art thou," said Mary Queen of Scots to Knox,

"that presumest to school the nobles and sovereign of this realm?" "Madam," replied Knox, "a subject born

within the same." It is said that his boldness, or roughness, more than once made Queen Mary weep. When

Regent Morton heard of this, he said, "Well, 'tis better that women should weep than bearded men."

As Knox was retiring from the Queen's presence on one occasion, he overheard one of the royal attendants

say to another, "He is not afraid!" Turning round upon them, he said: "And why should the pleasing face of a

gentleman frighten me? I have looked on the faces of angry men, and yet have not been afraid beyond

measure." When the Reformer, wornout by excess of labour and anxiety, was at length laid to his rest, the

Regent, looking down into the open grave, exclaimed, in words which made a strong impression from their

Luther also was thought by some to be a mere compound of violence and ruggedness. But, as in the case of

Knox, the times in which he lived were rude and violent; and the work he had to do could scarcely have been

accomplished with gentleness and suavity. To rouse Europe from its lethargy, he had to speak and to write

with force, and even vehemence. Yet Luther's vehemence was only in words. His apparently rude exterior

covered a warm heart. In private life he was gentle, loving, and affectionate. He was simple and homely, even

to commonness. Fond of all common pleasures and enjoyments, he was anything but an austere man, or a

bigot; for he was hearty, genial, and even "jolly." Luther was the common people's hero in his lifetime, and

Samuel Johnson was rude and often gruff in manner. But he had been brought up in a rough school. Poverty

in early life had made him acquainted with strange companions. He had wandered in the streets with Savage

for nights together, unable between them to raise money enough to pay for a bed. When his indomitable

courage and industry at length secured for him a footing in society, he still bore upon him the scars of his

early sorrows and struggles. He was by nature strong and robust, and his experience made him

unaccommodating and selfasserting. When he was once asked why he was not invited to dine out as Garrick

was, he answered, "Because great lords and ladies did not like to have their mouths stopped;" and Johnson

was a notorious mouthstopper, though what he said was always worth listening to.

Johnson's companions spoke of him as "Ursa Major;" but, as Goldsmith generously said of him, "No man

alive has a more tender heart; he has nothing of the bear about him but his skin." The kindliness of Johnson's

nature was shown on one occasion by the manner in which he assisted a supposed lady in crossing Fleet

Street. He gave her his arm, and led her across, not observing that she was in liquor at the time. But the spirit

of the act was not the less kind on that account. On the other hand, the conduct of the bookseller on whom

Johnson once called to solicit employment, and who, regarding his athletic but uncouth person, told him he

had better "go buy a porter's knot and carry trunks," in howsoever bland tones the advice might have been

While captiousness of manner, and the habit of disputing and contradicting everything said, is chilling and

repulsive, the opposite habit of assenting to, and sympathising with, every statement made, or emotion

expressed, is almost equally disagreeable. It is unmanly, and is felt to be dishonest. "It may seem difficult,"

says Richard Sharp, "to steer always between bluntness and plaindealing, between giving merited praise and

lavishing indiscriminate flattery; but it is very easygood humour, kindheartedness, and perfect simplicity,

At the same time, many are unpolitenot because they mean to be so, but because they are awkward, and

perhaps know no better. Thus, when Gibbon had published the second and third volumes of his 'Decline and

Fall,' the Duke of Cumberland met him one day, and accosted him with, "How do you do, Mr. Gibbon? I see

you are always AT IT in the old waySCRIBBLE, SCRIBBLE, SCRIBBLE!" The Duke probably intended

to pay the author a compliment, but did not know how better to do it, than in this blunt and apparently rude

Again, many persons are thought to be stiff, reserved, and proud, when they are only shy. Shyness is

characteristic of most people of Teutonic race. It has been styled "the English mania," but it pervades, to a

greater or less degree, all the Northern nations. The ordinary Englishman, when he travels abroad, carries his

shyness with him. He is stiff, awkward, ungraceful, undemonstrative, and apparently unsympathetic; and

though he may assume a brusqueness of manner, the shyness is there, and cannot be wholly concealed. The

naturally graceful and intensely social French cannot understand such a character; and the Englishman is their

standing jokethe subject of their most ludicrous caricatures. George Sand attributes the rigidity of the

natives of Albion to a stock of FLUIDE BRITANNIQUE which they carry about with them, that renders

them impassive under all circumstances, and "as impervious to the atmosphere of the regions they traverse as

The average Frenchman or Irishman excels the average Englishman, German, or American in courtesy and

ease of manner, simply because it is his nature. They are more social and less selfdependent than men of

Teutonic origin, more demonstrative and less reticent; they are more communicative, conversational, and

freer in their intercourse with each other in all respects; whilst men of German race are comparatively stiff,

reserved, shy, and awkward. At the same time, a people may exhibit ease, gaiety, and sprightliness of

character, and yet possess no deeper qualities calculated to inspire respect. They may have every grace of

manner, and yet be heartless, frivolous, selfish. The character may be on the surface only, and without any

There can be no doubt as to which of the two sorts of peoplethe easy and graceful, or the stiff and

awkwardit is most agreeable to meet, either in business, in society, or in the casual intercourse of life.

Which make the fastest friends, the truest men of their word, the most conscientious performers of their duty,

The dry GAUCHE Englishmanto use the French phrase, L'ANGLAIS EMPETREis certainly a

somewhat disagreeable person to meet at first. He looks as if he had swallowed a poker. He is shy himself,

and the cause of shyness in others. He is stiff, not because he is proud, but because he is shy; and he cannot

shake it off, even if he would. Indeed, we should not be surprised to find that even the clever writer who

describes the English Philistine in all his enormity of awkward manner and absence of grace, were himself as

When two shy men meet, they seem like a couple of icicles. They sidle away and turn their backs on each

other in a room, or when travelling creep into the opposite corners of a railwaycarriage. When shy

Englishmen are about to start on a journey by railway, they walk along the train, to discover an empty

compartment in which to bestow themselves; and when once ensconced, they inwardly hate the next man

who comes in. So; on entering the diningroom of their club, each shy man looks out for an unoccupied

table, until sometimesall the tables in the room are occupied by single diners. All this apparent

"The disciples of Confucius," observes Mr. Arthur Helps, "say that when in the presence of the prince, his

manner displayed RESPECTFUL UNEASINESS. There could hardly be given any two words which more

fitly describe the manner of most Englishmen when in society." Perhaps it is due to this feeling that Sir Henry

Taylor, in his 'Statesman,' recommends that, in the management of interviews, the minister should be as "near

to the door" as possible; and, instead of bowing his visitor out, that he should take refuge, at the end of an

interview, in the adjoining room. "Timid and embarrassed men," he says, "will sit as if they were rooted to

the spot, when they are conscious that they have to traverse the length of a room in their retreat. In every

case, an interview will find a more easy and pleasing termination WHEN THE DOOR IS AT HAND as the

The late Prince Albert, one of the gentlest and most amiable, was also one of the most retiring of men. He

struggled much against his sense of shyness, but was never able either to conquer or conceal it. His

biographer, in explaining its causes, says: "It was the shyness of a very delicate nature, that is not sure it will

please, and is without the confidence and the vanity which often go to form characters that are outwardly

But the Prince shared this defect with some of the greatest of Englishmen. Sir Isaac Newton was probably the

shyest man of his age. He kept secret for a time some of his greatest discoveries, for fear of the notoriety they

might bring him. His discovery of the Binomial Theorem and its most important applications, as well as his

still greater discovery of the Law of Gravitation, were not published for years after they were made; and

when he communicated to Collins his solution of the theory of the moon's rotation round the earth, he forbade

him to insert his name in connection with it in the 'Philosophical Transactions,' saying: "It would, perhaps,

From all that can be learnt of Shakspeare, it is to be inferred that he was an exceedingly shy man. The manner

in which his plays were sent into the worldfor it is not known that he edited or authorized the publication

of a single one of themand the dates at which they respectively appeared, are mere matters of conjecture.

His appearance in his own plays in second and even thirdrate partshis indifference to reputation, and even

his apparent aversion to be held in repute by his contemporarieshis disappearance from London (the seat

and centre of English histrionic art) so soon as he had realised a moderate competency and his retirement

about the age of forty, for the remainder of his days, to a life of obscurity in a small town in the midland

countiesall seem to unite in proving the shrinking nature of the man, and his unconquerable shyness.

It is also probable that, besides being shyand his shyness may, like that of Byron, have been increased by

his limpShakspeare did not possess in any high degree the gift of hope. It is a remarkable circumstance,

that whilst the great dramatist has, in the course of his writings, copiously illustrated all other gifts,

affections, and virtues, the passages are very rare in which Hope is mentioned, and then it is usually in a

Many of his sonnets breathe the spirit of despair and hopelessness. (7) He laments his lameness; (8)

apologizes for his profession as an actor; (9) expresses his "fear of trust" in himself, and his hopeless, perhaps

misplaced, affection; (10) anticipates a "coffin'd doom;" and utters his profoundly pathetic cry "for restful

It might naturally be supposed that Shakspeare's profession of an actor, and his repeated appearances in

public, would speedily overcome his shyness, did such exist. But inborn shyness, when strong, is not so

easily conquered. (11) Who could have believed that the late Charles Mathews, who entertained crowded

houses night after night, was naturally one of the shyest of men? He would even make long circuits (lame

though he was) along the byelanes of London to avoid recognition. His wife says of him, that he looked

"sheepish" and confused if recognised; and that his eyes would fall, and his colour would mount, if he heard

Nor would it at first sight have been supposed that Lord Byron was affected with shyness, and yet he was a

victim to it; his biographer relating that, while on a visit to Mrs. Pigot, at Southwell, when he saw strangers

approaching, he would instantly jump out of the window, and escape on to the lawn to avoid them.

But a still more recent and striking instance is that of the late Archbishop Whately, who, in the early part of

his life, was painfully oppressed by the sense of shyness. When at Oxford, his white rough coat and white hat

obtained for him the soubriquet of "The White Bear;" and his manners, according to his own account of

himself, corresponded with the appellation. He was directed, by way of remedy, to copy the example of the

bestmannered men he met in society; but the attempt to do this only increased his shyness, and he failed. He

found that he was all the while thinking of himself, rather than of others; whereas thinking of others, rather

Finding that he was making no progress, Whately was driven to utter despair; and then he said to himself:

"Why should I endure this torture all my life to no purpose? I would bear it still if there was any success to be

hoped for; but since there is not, I will die quietly, without taking any more doses. I have tried my very

utmost, and find that I must be as awkward as a bear all my life, in spite of it. I will endeavour to think as

little about it as a bear, and make up my mind to endure what can't be cured." From this time forth he

struggled to shake off all consciousness as to manner, and to disregard censure as much as possible. In

adopting this course, he says: "I succeeded beyond my expectations; for I not only got rid of the personal

suffering of shyness, but also of most of those faults of manner which consciousness produces; and acquired

at once an easy and natural mannercareless, indeed, in the extreme, from its originating in a stern defiance

of opinion, which I had convinced myself must be ever against me; rough and awkward, for smoothness and

grace are quite out of my way, and, of course, tutorially pedantic; but unconscious, and therefore giving

expression to that goodwill towards men which I really feel; and these, I believe, are the main points." (13)

Washington, who was an Englishman in his lineage, was also one in his shyness. He is described incidentally

by Mr. Josiah Quincy, as "a little stiff in his person, not a little formal in his manner, and not particularly at

ease in the presence of strangers. He had the air of a country gentleman not accustomed to mix much in

society, perfectly polite, but not easy in his address and conversation, and not graceful in his movements."

Although we are not accustomed to think of modern Americans as shy, the most distinguished American

author of our time was probably the shyest of men. Nathaniel Hawthorne was shy to the extent of morbidity.

We have observed him, when a stranger entered the room where he was, turn his back for the purpose of

avoiding recognition. And yet, when the crust of his shyness was broken, no man could be more cordial and

We observe a remark in one of Hawthorne's latelypublished 'Notebooks,' (14) that on one occasion he met

Mr. Helps in society, and found him "cold." And doubtless Mr. Helps thought the same of him. It was only

the case of two shy men meeting, each thinking the other stiff and reserved, and parting before their mutual

film of shyness had been removed by a little friendly intercourse. Before pronouncing a hasty judgment in

such cases, it would be well to bear in mind the motto of Helvetius, which Bentham says proved such a real

We have thus far spoken of shyness as a defect. But there is another way of looking at it; for even shyness has

its bright side, and contains an element of good. Shy men and shy races are ungraceful and undemonstrative,

because, as regards society at large, they are comparatively unsociable. They do not possess those elegances

of manner, acquired by free intercourse, which distinguish the social races, because their tendency is to shun

society rather than to seek it. They are shy in the presence of strangers, and shy even in their own families.

They hide their affections under a robe of reserve, and when they do give way to their feelings, it is only in

some very hidden innerchamber. And yet the feelings ARE there, and not the less healthy and genuine that

It was not a little characteristic of the ancient Germans, that the more social and demonstrative peoples by

whom they were surrounded should have characterised them as the NIEMEC, or Dumb men. And the same

designation might equally apply to the modern English, as compared, for example, with their nimbler, more

communicative and vocal, and in all respects more social neighbours, the modern French and Irish.

But there is one characteristic which marks the English people, as it did the races from which they have

mainly sprung, and that is their intense love of Home. Give the Englishman a home, and he is comparatively

indifferent to society. For the sake of a holding which he can call his own, he will cross the seas, plant

himself on the prairie or amidst the primeval forest, and make for himself a home. The solitude of the

wilderness has no fears for him; the society of his wife and family is sufficient, and he cares for no other.

Hence it is that the people of Germanic origin, from whom the English and Americans have alike sprung,

make the best of colonizers, and are now rapidly extending themselves as emigrants and settlers in all parts of

The French have never made any progress as colonizers, mainly because of their intense social instinctsthe

secret of their graces of manner,and because they can never forget that they are Frenchmen. (15) It seemed

at one time within the limits of probability that the French would occupy the greater part of the North

American continent. From Lower Canada their line of forts extended up the St. Lawrence, and from Fond du

Lac on Lake Superior, along the River St. Croix, all down the Mississippi, to its mouth at New Orleans. But

the great, selfreliant, industrious "Niemec," from a fringe of settlements along the seacoast, silently

extended westward, settling and planting themselves everywhere solidly upon the soil; and nearly all that

now remains of the original French occupation of America, is the French colony of Acadia, in Lower Canada.

And even there we find one of the most striking illustrations of that intense sociability of the French which

keeps them together, and prevents their spreading over and planting themselves firmly in a new country, as it

is the instinct of the men of Teutonic race to do. While, in Upper Canada, the colonists of English and Scotch

descent penetrate the forest and the wilderness, each settler living, it may be, miles apart from his nearest

neighbour, the Lower Canadians of French descent continue clustered together in villages, usually consisting

of a line of houses on either side of the road, behind which extend their long strips of farmland, divided and

subdivided to an extreme tenuity. They willingly submit to all the inconveniences of this method of farming

for the sake of each other's society, rather than betake themselves to the solitary backwoods, as English,

Germans, and Americans so readily do. Indeed, not only does the American backwoodsman become

accustomed to solitude, but he prefers it. And in the Western States, when settlers come too near him, and the

country seems to become "overcrowded," he retreats before the advance of society, and, packing up his

"things" in a waggon, he sets out cheerfully, with his wife and family, to found for himself a new home in the

Thus the Teuton, because of his very shyness, is the true colonizer. English, Scotch, Germans, and Americans

are alike ready to accept solitude, provided they can but establish a home and maintain a family. Thus their

comparative indifference to society has tended to spread this race over the earth, to till and to subdue it; while

the intense social instincts of the French, though issuing in much greater gracefulness of manner, has stood in

their way as colonizers; so that, in the countries in which they have planted themselvesas in Algiers and

There are other qualities besides these, which grow out of the comparative unsociableness of the Englishman.

His shyness throws him back upon himself, and renders him selfreliant and self dependent. Society not

being essential to his happiness, he takes refuge in reading, in study, in invention; or he finds pleasure in

industrial work, and becomes the best of mechanics. He does not fear to entrust himself to the solitude of the

ocean, and he becomes a fisherman, a sailor, a discoverer. Since the early Northmen scoured the northern

seas, discovered America, and sent their fleets along the shores of Europe and up the Mediterranean, the

The English are inartistic for the same reason that they are unsociable. They may make good colonists,

sailors, and mechanics; but they do not make good singers, dancers, actors, artistes, or modistes. They neither

dress well, act well, speak well, nor write well. They want stylethey want elegance. What they have to do

they do in a straightforward manner, but without grace. This was strikingly exhibited at an International

Cattle Exhibition held at Paris a few years ago. At the close of the Exhibition, the competitors came up with

the prize animals to receive the prizes. First came a gay and gallant Spaniard, a magnificent man, beautifully

dressed, who received a prize of the lowest class with an air and attitude that would have become a grandee

of the highest order. Then came Frenchmen and Italians, full of grace, politeness, and CHICthemselves

elegantly dressed, and their animals decorated to the horns with flowers and coloured ribbons harmoniously

blended. And last of all came the exhibitor who was to receive the first prizea slouching man, plainly

dressed, with a pair of farmer's gaiters on, and without even a flower in his buttonhole. "Who is he?" asked

the spectators. "Why, he is the Englishman," was the reply. "The Englishman!that the representative of a

great country!" was the general exclamation. But it was the Englishman all over. He was sent there, not to

exhibit himself, but to show "the best beast," and he did it, carrying away the first prize. Yet he would have

To remedy this admitted defect of grace and want of artistic taste in the English people, a school has sprung

up amongst us for the more general diffusion of fine art. The Beautiful has now its teachers and preachers,

and by some it is almost regarded in the light of a religion. "The Beautiful is the Good""The Beautiful is

the True""The Beautiful is the priest of the Benevolent," are among their texts. It is believed that by the

study of art the tastes of the people may be improved; that by contemplating objects of beauty their nature

will become purified; and that by being thereby withdrawn from sensual enjoyments, their character will be

But though such culture is calculated to be elevating and purifying in a certain degree, we must not expect too

much from it. Grace is a sweetener and embellisher of life, and as such is worthy of cultivation. Music,

painting, dancing, and the fine arts, are all sources of pleasure; and though they may not be sensual, yet they

are sensuous, and often nothing more. The cultivation of a taste for beauty of form or colour, of sound or

attitude, has no necessary effect upon the cultivation of the mind or the development of the character. The

contemplation of fine works of art will doubtless improve the taste, and excite admiration; but a single noble

action done in the sight of men will more influence the mind, and stimulate the character to imitation, than

the sight of miles of statuary or acres of pictures. For it is mind, soul, and heartnot taste or art that make

It is indeed doubtful whether the cultivation of artwhich usually ministers to luxuryhas done so much

for human progress as is generally supposed. It is even possible that its too exclusive culture may effeminate

rather than strengthen the character, by laying it more open to the temptations of the senses. "It is the nature

of the imaginative temperament cultivated by the arts," says Sir Henry Taylor, "to undermine the courage,

and, by abating strength of character, to render men more easily subservientSEQUACES, CEREOS, ET

AD MANDATA DUCTILES." (17) The gift of the artist greatly differs from that of the thinker; his highest

idea is to mould his subjectwhether it be of painting, or music, or literatureinto that perfect grace of

form in which thought (it may not be of the deepest) finds its apotheosis and immortality.

Art has usually flourished most during the decadence of nations, when it has been hired by wealth as the

minister of luxury. Exquisite art and degrading corruption were contemporary in Greece as well as in Rome.

Phidias and Iktinos had scarcely completed the Parthenon, when the glory of Athens had departed; Phidias

died in prison; and the Spartans set up in the city the memorials of their own triumph and of Athenian defeat.

It was the same in ancient Rome, where art was at its greatest height when the people were in their most

degraded condition. Nero was an artist, as well as Domitian, two of the greatest monsters of the Empire. If the

"Beautiful" had been the "Good," Commodus must have been one of the best of men. But according to

Again, the greatest period of modern Roman art was that in which Pope Leo X. flourished, of whose reign it

has been said, that "profligacy and licentiousness prevailed amongst the people and clergy, as they had done

almost uncontrolled ever since the pontificate of Alexander VI." In like manner, the period at which art

reached its highest point in the Low Countries was that which immediately succeeded the destruction of civil

and religious liberty, and the prostration of the national life under the despotism of Spain. If art could elevate

a nation, and the contemplation of The Beautiful were calculated to make men The Goodthen Paris ought

to contain a population of the wisest and best of human beings. Rome also is a great city of art; and yet there,

the VIRTUS or valour of the ancient Romans has characteristically degenerated into VERTU, or a taste for

knicknacks; whilst, according to recent accounts, the city itself is inexpressibly foul. (18)

Art would sometimes even appear to have a close connection with dirt; and it is said of Mr. Ruskin, that when

searching for works of art in Venice, his attendant in his explorations would sniff an illodour, and when it

was strong would say, "Now we are coming to something very old and fine!"meaning in art. (19) A little

common education in cleanliness, where it is wanting, would probably be much more improving, as well as

wholesome, than any amount of education in fine art. Ruffles are all very well, but it is folly to cultivate them

Whilst, therefore, grace of manner, politeness of behaviour, elegance of demeanour, and all the arts that

contribute to make life pleasant and beautiful, are worthy of cultivation, it must not be at the expense of the

more solid and enduring qualities of honesty, sincerity, and truthfulness. The fountain of beauty must be in

the heart; more than in the eye, and if art do not tend to produce beautiful life and noble practice, it will be of

comparatively little avail. Politeness of manner is not worth much, unless accompanied by polite action.

Grace may be but skin deepvery pleasant and attractive, and yet very heartless. Art is a source of

innocent enjoyment, and an important aid to higher culture; but unless it leads to higher culture, it will

probably be merely sensuous. And when art is merely sensuous, it is enfeebling and demoralizing rather than

strengthening or elevating. Honest courage is of greater worth than any amount of grace; purity is better than

elegance; and cleanliness of body, mind, and heart, than any amount of fine art.

In fine, while the cultivation of the graces is not to be neglected, it should ever be held in mind that there is

something far higher and nobler to be aimed atgreater than pleasure, greater than art, greater than wealth,

greater than power, greater than intellect, greater than geniusand that is, purity and excellence of character.

Without a solid sterling basis of individual goodness, all the grace, elegance, and art in the world would fail

(1) Locke thought it of greater importance that an educator of youth should be wellbred and welltempered,

than that he should be either a thorough classicist or man of science. Writing to Lord Peterborough on his

son's education, Locke said: "Your Lordship would have your son's tutor a thorough scholar, and I think it not

much matter whether he be any scholar or no: if he but understand Latin well, and have a general scheme of

the sciences, I think that enough. But I would have him WELLBRED and WELLTEMPERED."

(6) Introduction to the 'Principal Speeches and Addresses of His Royal Highness the Prince Consort,' 1862.

(7) "When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beween my outcast state, And troubled deaf

heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate; WISHING ME LIKE TO ONE

MORE RICH IN HOPE, Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, Desiring this man's art, and that

man's scope, With what I most enjoy, contented least; Yet in these thoughts, MYSELF ALMOST

(9) "Alas! 'tis true, I have gone here and there, And MADE MYSELF A MOTLEY TO THE VIEW, Gored

mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear, Made old offences of affections new," CX.

"Oh, for my sake do you with fortune chide! The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for

my life provide, THAN PUBLIC MEANS, WHICH PUBLIC MANNERS BREED; Thence comes it that my

name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdued, To what it works in like the dyer's hand,"

(10) "In our two loves there is but one respect, Though in our loves a separable spite, Which though it alter

not loves sole effect; Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight, I may not evermore acknowledge thee,

(11) It is related of Garrick, that when subpoenaed on Baretti's trial, and required to give his evidence before

the courtthough he had been accustomed for thirty years to act with the greatest self possession in the

presence of thousandshe became so perplexed and confused, that he was actually sent from the

(12)Mrs. Mathews' 'Life and Correspondence of Charles Mathews,' (Ed. 1860) p. 232.

(14) Emerson is said to have had Nathaniel Hawthorne in his mind when writing the following passage in his

'Society and Solitude:' "The most agreeable compliment you could pay him was, to imply that you had not

observed him in a house or a street where you had met him. Whilst he suffered at being seen where he was,

he consoled himself with the delicious thought of the inconceivable number of places where he was not. All

he wished of his tailor was to provide that sober mean of colour and cut which would never detain the eye for

a moment.... He had a remorse, running to despair, of his social GAUCHERIES, and walked miles and miles

to get the twitchings out of his face, and the starts and shrugs out of his arms and shoulders. 'God may forgive

(15) In a series of clever articles in the REVUE DES DEUX MONDES, entitled, 'Six mille Lieues a toute

Vapeur,' giving a description of his travels in North America, Maurice Sand keenly observed the

comparatively antisocial proclivities of the American compared with the Frenchman. The one, he says, is

inspired by the spirit of individuality, the other by the spirit of society. In America he sees the individual

absorbing society; as in France he sees society absorbing the individual. "Ce peuple AngloSaxon," he says,

"qui trouvait devant lui la terre, l'instrument de travail, sinon inepuisable, du mons inepuise, s'est mis a

l'exploiter sous l'inspiration de l'egoisme; et nous autres Francais, nous n'avons rien su en faire, parceque

NOUS NE POUVONS RIEN DANS L'ISOLEMENT.... L'Americain supporte la solitude avec un stoicisme

admirable, mais effrayant; il ne l'aime pas, il ne songe qu'a la detruire.... Le Francais est tout autre. Il aime

son parent, son ami, son compagnon, et jusqu'a son voisin d'omnibus ou de theatre, si sa figure lui est

sympathetique. Pourquoi? Parce qu'il le regarde et cherche son ame, parce qu'il vit dans son semblable autant

qu'en luimeme. Quand il est longtemps seul, il deperit, et quand il est toujours seul, it meurt."

All this is perfectly true, and it explains why the comparatively unsociable Germans, English, and Americans,

are spreading over the earth, while the intensely sociable Frenchmen, unable to enjoy life without each other's

society, prefer to stay at home, and France fails to extend itself beyond France.

(16) The Irish have, in many respects, the same strong social instincts as the French. In the United States they

cluster naturally in the towns, where they have their "Irish Quarters," as in England. They are even more Irish

there than at home, and can no more forget that they are Irishmen than the French can that they are

Frenchmen. "I deliberately assert," says Mr. Maguire, in his recent work on 'The Irish in America,' "that it is

not within the power of language to describe adequately, much less to exaggerate, the evils consequent on the

unhappy tendency of the Irish to congregate in the large towns of America." It is this intense socialism of the

Irish that keeps them in a comparatively handto mouth condition in all the States of the Union.

(18) Nathaniel Hawthorne, in his 'First Impressions of France and Italy,' says his opinion of the uncleanly

character of the modern Romans is so unfavourable that he hardly knows how to express it "But the fact is

that through the Forum, and everywhere out of the commonest foottrack and roadway, you must look well

to your steps.... Perhaps there is something in the minds of the people of these countries that enables them to

dissever small ugliness from great sublimity and beauty. They spit upon the glorious pavement of St. Peter's,

and wherever else they like; they place paltrylooking wooden confessionals beneath its sublime arches, and

ornament them with cheap little coloured prints of the Crucifixion; they hang tin hearts, and other tinsel and

trumpery, at the gorgeous shrines of the saints, in chapels that are encrusted with gems, or marbles almost as

precious; they put pasteboard statues of saints beneath the dome of the Pantheon; in short, they let the

sublime and the ridiculous come close together, and are not in the least troubled by the proximity."

(19) Edwin Chadwick's 'Address to the Economic Science and Statistic Section,' British Association

A man may usually be known by the books he reads, as well as by the company he keeps; for there is a

companionship of books as well as of men; and one should always live in the best company, whether it be of

A good book may be among the best of friends. It is the same to day that it always was, and it will never

change. It is the most patient and cheerful of companions. It does not turn its back upon us in times of

adversity or distress. It always receives us with the same kindness; amusing and instructing us in youth, and

Men often discover their affinity to each other by the mutual love they have for a bookjust as two persons

sometimes discover a friend by the admiration which both entertain for a third. There is an old proverb,

"Love me, love my dog." But there is more wisdom in this: "Love me, love my book." The book is a truer and

higher bond of union. Men can think, feel, and sympathise with each other through their favourite author.

"Books," said Hazlitt, "wind into the heart; the poet's verse slides into the current of our blood. We read them

when young, we remember them when old. We read there of what has happened to others; we feel that it has

happened to ourselves. They are to be had everywhere cheap and good. We breathe but the air of books. We

A good book is often the best urn of a life, enshrining the best thoughts of which that life was capable; for the

world of a man's life is, for the most part, but the world of his thoughts. Thus the best books are treasuries of

good words and golden thoughts, which, remembered and cherished, become our abiding companions and

comforters. "They are never alone," said Sir Philip Sidney, "that are accompanied by noble thoughts." The

good and true thought may in time of temptation be as an angel of mercy purifying and guarding the soul. It

also enshrines the germs of action, for good words almost invariably inspire to good works.

Thus Sir Henry Lawrence prized above all other compositions Wordsworth's 'Character of the Happy

Warrior,' which he endeavoured to embody in his own life. It was ever before him as an exemplar. He

thought of it continually, and often quoted it to others. His biographer says: "He tried to conform his own life

and to assimilate his own character to it; and he succeeded, as all men succeed who are truly in earnest." (1)

Books possess an essence of immortality. They are by far the most lasting products of human effort. Temples

crumble into ruin; pictures and statues decay; but books survive. Time is of no account with great thoughts,

which are as fresh today as when they first passed through their authors' minds ages ago. What was then

said and thought still speaks to us as vividly as ever from the printed page. The only effect of time has been to

sift and winnow out the bad products; for nothing in literature can long survive but what is really good. (2)

Books introduce us into the best society; they bring us into the presence of the greatest minds that have ever

lived. We hear what they said and did; we see them as if they were really alive; we are participators in their

thoughts; we sympathise with them, enjoy with them, grieve with them; their experience becomes ours, and

we feel as if we were in a measure actors with them in the scenes which they describe.

The great and good do not die, even in this world. Embalmed in books their spirits walk abroad. The book is

a living voice. It is an intellect to which one still listens. Hence we ever remain under the influence of the

The imperial intellects of the world are as much alive now as they were ages ago. Homer still lives; and

though his personal history is hidden in the mists of antiquity, his poems are as fresh today as if they had

been newly written. Plato still teaches his transcendent philosophy; Horace, Virgil, and Dante still sing as

when they lived; Shakspeare is not dead: his body was buried in 1616, but his mind is as much alive in

The humblest and poorest may enter the society of these great spirits without being thought intrusive. All

who can read have got the ENTREE. Would you laugh?Cervantes or Rabelais will laugh with you. Do you

grieve?there is Thomas a Kempis or Jeremy Taylor to grieve with and console you. Always it is to books,

and the spirits of great men embalmed in them, that we turn, for entertainment, for instruction and solacein

Man himself is, of all things in the world, the most interesting to man. Whatever relates to human lifeits

experiences, its joys, its sufferings, and its achievementshas usually attractions for him beyond all else.

Each man is more or less interested in all other men as his fellowcreaturesas members of the great family

of humankind; and the larger a man's culture, the wider is the range of his sympathies in all that affects the

Men's interest in each other as individuals manifests itself in a thousand waysin the portraits which they

paint, in the busts which they carve, in the narratives which they relate of each other. "Man," says Emerson,

"can paint, or make, or think, nothing but Man." Most of all is this interest shown in the fascination which

personal history possesses for him. "Man s sociality of nature," says Carlyle, "evinces itself, in spite of all

that can be said, with abundance of evidence, by this one fact, were there no other: the unspeakable delight he

Great, indeed, is the human interest felt in biography! What are all the novels that find such multitudes of

readers, but so many fictitious biographies? What are the dramas that people crowd to see, but so much acted

biography? Strange that the highest genius should be employed on the fictitious biography, and so much

Yet the authentic picture of any human being's life and experience ought to possess an interest greatly beyond

that which is fictitious, inasmuch as it has the charm of reality. Every person may learn something from the

recorded life of another; and even comparatively trivial deeds and sayings may be invested with interest, as

The records of the lives of good men are especially useful. They influence our hearts, inspire us with hope,

and set before us great examples. And when men have done their duty through life in a great spirit, their

influence will never wholly pass away. "The good life," says George Herbert, "is never out of season."

Goethe has said that there is no man so commonplace that a wise man may not learn something from him. Sir

Walter Scott could not travel in a coach without gleaning some information or discovering some new trait of

character in his companions. (3) Dr. Johnson once observed that there was not a person in the streets but he

should like to know his biographyhis experiences of life, his trials, his difficulties, his successes, and his

failures. How much more truly might this be said of the men who have made their mark in the world's

history, and have created for us that great inheritance of civilization of which we are the possessors!

Whatever relates to such mento their habits, their manners, their modes of living, their personal history,

their conversation, their maxims, their virtues, or their greatnessis always full of interest, of instruction, of

The great lesson of Biography is to show what man can be and do at his best. A noble life put fairly on record

acts like an inspiration to others. It exhibits what life is capable of being made. It refreshes our spirit,

encourages our hopes, gives us new strength and courage and faithfaith in others as well as in ourselves. It

stimulates our aspirations, rouses us to action, and incites us to become copartners with them in their work.

To live with such men in their biographies, and to be inspired by their example, is to live with the best of

At the head of all biographies stands the Great Biography, the Book of Books. And what is the Bible, the

most sacred and impressive of all booksthe educator of youth, the guide of manhood, and the consoler of

agebut a series of biographies of great heroes and patriarchs, prophets, kings, and judges, culminating in

the greatest biography of all, the Life embodied in the New Testament? How much have the great examples

there set forth done for mankind! How many have drawn from them their truest strength, their highest

wisdom, their best nurture and admonition! Truly does a great Roman Catholic writer describe the Bible as a

book whose words "live in the ear like a music that can never be forgottenlike the sound of church bells

which the convert hardly knows how he can forego. Its felicities often seem to be almost things rather than

mere words. It is part of the national mind, and the anchor of national seriousness. The memory of the dead

passes into it, The potent traditions of childhood are stereotyped in its verses. The power of all the griefs and

trials of man is hidden beneath its words. It is the representative of his best moments, and all that has been

about him of soft, and gentle, and pure, and penitent, and good, speaks to him for ever out of his English

Bible. It is his sacred thing, which doubt has never dimmed and controversy never soiled. In the length and

breadth of the land there is not a Protestant with one spark of religiousness about him whose spiritual

It would, indeed, be difficult to overestimate the influence which the lives of the great and good have

exercised upon the elevation of human character. "The best biography," says Isaac Disraeli, "is a reunion with

human existence in its most excellent state." Indeed, it is impossible for one to read the lives of good men,

much less inspired men, without being unconsciously lighted and lifted up in them, and growing insensibly

nearer to what they thought and did. And even the lives of humbler persons, of men of faithful and honest

spirit, who have done their duty in life well, are not without an elevating influence upon the character of those

History itself is best studied in biography. Indeed, history is biographycollective humanity as influenced

and governed by individual men. "What is all history," says Emerson, "but the work of ideas, a record of the

incomparable energy which his infinite aspirations infuse into man?" In its pages it is always persons we see

more than principles. Historical events are interesting to us mainly in connection with the feelings, the

sufferings, and interests of those by whom they are accomplished. In history we are surrounded by men long

dead, but whose speech and whose deeds survive. We almost catch the sound of their voices; and what they

did constitutes the interest of history. We never feel personally interested in masses of men; but we feel and

sympathise with the individual actors, whose biographies afford the finest and most real touches in all great

Among the great writers of the past, probably the two that have been most influential in forming the

characters of great men of action and great men of thought, have been Plutarch and Montaigne the one by

presenting heroic models for imitation, the other by probing questions of constant recurrence in which the

human mind in all ages has taken the deepest interest. And the works of both are for the most part cast in a

biographic form, their most striking illustrations consisting in the exhibitions of character and experience

Plutarch's 'Lives,' though written nearly eighteen hundred years ago, like Homer's 'Iliad,' still holds its ground

as the greatest work of its kind. It was the favourite book of Montaigne; and to Englishmen it possesses the

special interest of having been Shakspeare's principal authority in his great classical dramas. Montaigne

pronounced Plutarch to be "the greatest master in that kind of writing"the biographic; and he declared that

he "could no sooner cast an eye upon him but he purloined either a leg or a wing."

Alfieri was first drawn with passion to literature by reading Plutarch. "I read," said he, "the lives of Timoleon,

Caesar, Brutus, Pelopidas, more than six times, with cries, with tears, and with such transports, that I was

almost furious.... Every time that I met with one of the grand traits of these great men, I was seized with such

vehement agitation as to be unable to sit still." Plutarch was also a favourite with persons of such various

minds as Schiller and Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon and Madame Roland. The latter was so fascinated by the

book that she carried it to church with her in the guise of a missal, and read it surreptitiously during the

It has also been the nurture of heroic souls such as Henry IV. of France, Turenne, and the Napiers. It was one

of Sir William Napier's favourite books when a boy. His mind was early imbued by it with a passionate

admiration for the great heroes of antiquity; and its influence had, doubtless, much to do with the formation

of his character, as well as the direction of his career in life. It is related of him, that in his last illness, when

feeble and exhausted, his mind wandered back to Plutarch's heroes; and he descanted for hours to his

soninlaw on the mighty deeds of Alexander, Hannibal, and Caesar. Indeed, if it were possible to poll the

great body of readers in all ages whose minds have been influenced and directed by books, it is probable

thatexcepting always the Biblethe immense majority of votes would be cast in favour of Plutarch.

And how is it that Plutarch has succeeded in exciting an interest which continues to attract and rivet the

attention of readers of all ages and classes to this day? In the first place, because the subject of his work is

great men, who occupied a prominent place in the world's history, and because he had an eye to see and a pen

to describe the more prominent events and circumstances in their lives. And not only so, but he possessed the

power of portraying the individual character of his heroes; for it is the principle of individuality which gives

the charm and interest to all biography. The most engaging side of great men is not so much what they do as

what they are, and does not depend upon their power of intellect but on their personal attractiveness. Thus,

there are men whose lives are far more eloquent than their speeches, and whose personal character is far

It is also to be observed, that while the best and most carefully drawn of Plutarch's portraits are of lifesize,

many of them are little more than busts. They are wellproportioned but compact, and within such reasonable

compass that the best of themsuch as the lives of Caesar and Alexandermay be read in half an hour.

Reduced to this measure, they are, however, greatly more imposing than a lifeless Colossus, or an

exaggerated giant. They are not overlaid by disquisition and description, but the characters naturally unfold

themselves. Montaigne, indeed, complained of Plutarch's brevity. "No doubt," he added, "but his reputation is

the better for it, though in the meantime we are the worse. Plutarch would rather we should applaud his

judgment than commend his knowledge, and had rather leave us with an appetite to read more than glutted

with what we have already read. He knew very well that a man may say too much even on the best subjects....

Such as have lean and spare bodies stuff themselves out with clothes; so they who are defective in matter,

Plutarch possessed the art of delineating the more delicate features of mind and minute peculiarities of

conduct, as well as the foibles and defects of his heroes, all of which is necessary to faithful and accurate

portraiture. "To see him," says Montaigne, "pick out a light action in a man's life, or a word, that does not

seem to be of any importance, is itself a whole discourse." He even condescends to inform us of such homely

particulars as that Alexander carried his head affectedly on one side; that Alcibiades was a dandy, and had a

lisp, which became him, giving a grace and persuasive turn to his discourse; that Cato had red hair and gray

eyes, and was a usurer and a screw, selling off his old slaves when they became unfit for hard work; that

Caesar was bald and fond of gay dress; and that Cicero (like Lord Brougham) had involuntary twitchings of

Such minute particulars may by some be thought beneath the dignity of biography, but Plutarch thought them

requisite for the due finish of the complete portrait which he set himself to draw; and it is by small details of

characterpersonal traits, features, habits, and characteristicsthat we are enabled to see before us the men

as they really lived. Plutarch's great merit consists in his attention to these little things, without giving them

undue preponderance, or neglecting those which are of greater moment. Sometimes he hits off an individual

trait by an anecdote, which throws more light upon the character described than pages of rhetorical

description would do. In some cases, he gives us the favourite maxim of his hero; and the maxims of men

Then, as to foibles, the greatest of men are not visually symmetrical. Each has his defect, his twist, his craze;

and it is by his faults that the great man reveals his common humanity. We may, at a distance, admire him as

a demigod; but as we come nearer to him, we find that he is but a fallible man, and our brother. (6)

Nor are the illustrations of the defects of great men without their uses; for, as Dr. Johnson observed, "If

nothing but the bright side of characters were shown, we should sit down in despondency, and think it utterly

Plutarch, himself justifies his method of portraiture by averring that his design was not to write histories, but

lives. "The most glorious exploits," he says, "do not always furnish us with the clearest discoveries of virtue

or of vice in men. Sometimes a matter of much less moment, an expression or a jest, better informs us of their

characters and inclinations than battles with the slaughter of tens of thousands, and the greatest arrays of

armies or sieges of cities. Therefore, as portraitpainters are more exact in their lines and features of the face

and the expression of the eyes, in which the character is seen, without troubling themselves about the other

parts of the body, so I must be allowed to give my more particular attention to the signs and indications of the

souls of men; and while I endeavour by these means to portray their lives, I leave important events and great

Things apparently trifling may stand for much in biography as well as history, and slight circumstances may

influence great results. Pascal has remarked, that if Cleopatra's nose had been shorter, the whole face of the

world would probably have been changed. But for the amours of Pepin the Fat, the Saracens might have

overrun Europe; as it was his illegitimate son, Charles Martel, who overthrew them at Tours, and eventually

That Sir Walter Scott should have sprained his foot in running round the room when a child, may seem

unworthy of notice in his biography; yet 'Ivanhoe,' 'Old Mortality,' and all the Waverley novels depended

upon it. When his son intimated a desire to enter the army, Scott wrote to Southey, "I have no title to combat

a choice which would have been my own, had not my lameness prevented." So that, had not Scott been lame,

he might have fought all through the Peninsular War, and had his breast covered with medals; but we should

probably have had none of those works of his which have made his name immortal, and shed so much glory

upon his country. Talleyrand also was kept out of the army, for which he had been destined, by his lameness;

but directing his attention to the study of books, and eventually of men, he at length took rank amongst the

Byron's clubfoot had probably not a little to do with determining his destiny as a poet. Had not his mind been

embittered and made morbid by his deformity, he might never have written a linehe might have been the

noblest fop of his day. But his misshapen foot stimulated his mind, roused his ardour, threw him upon his

So, too, of Scarron, to whose hunchback we probably owe his cynical verse; and of Pope, whose satire was in

a measure the outcome of his deformityfor he was, as Johnson described him, "protuberant behind and

before." What Lord Bacon said of deformity is doubtless, to a great extent, true. "Whoever," said he, "hath

anything fixed in his person that doth induce contempt, hath also a perpetual spur in himself to rescue and

deliver himself from scorn; therefore, all deformed persons are extremely bold."

As in portraiture, so in biography, there must be light and shade. The portraitpainter does not pose his sitter

so as to bring out his deformities; nor does the biographer give undue prominence to the defects of the

character he portrays. Not many men are so outspoken as Cromwell was when he sat to Cooper for his

miniature: "Paint me as I am," said he, "warts and all." Yet, if we would have a faithful likeness of faces and

characters, they must be painted as they are. "Biography," said Sir Walter Scott, "the most interesting of

every species of composition, loses all its interest with me when the shades and lights of the principal

characters are not accurately and faithfully detailed. I can no more sympathise with a mere eulogist, than I

Addison liked to know as much as possible about the person and character of his authors, inasmuch as it

increased the pleasure and satisfaction which he derived from the perusal of their books. What was their

history, their experience, their temper and disposition? Did their lives resemble their books? They thought

noblydid they act nobly? "Should we not delight," says Sir Egerton Brydges, "to have the frank story of the

lives and feelings of Wordsworth, Southey, Coleridge, Campbell, Rogers, Moore, and Wilson, related by

themselves?with whom they lived early; how their bent took a decided course; their likes and dislikes;

their difficulties and obstacles; their tastes, their passions; the rocks they were conscious of having split upon;

When Mason was reproached for publishing the private letters of Gray, he answered, "Would you always

have my friends appear in fulldress?" Johnson was of opinion that to write a man's life truly, it is necessary

that the biographer should have personally known him. But this condition has been wanting in some of the

best writers of biographies extant. (9) In the case of Lord Campbell, his personal intimacy with Lords

Lyndhurst and Brougham seems to have been a positive disadvantage, leading him to dwarf the excellences

and to magnify the blots in their characters. Again, Johnson says: "If a man profess to write a life, he must

write it really as it was. A man's peculiarities, and even his vices, should be mentioned, because they mark his

character." But there is always this difficulty,that while minute details of conduct, favourable or otherwise,

can best be given from personal knowledge, they cannot always be published, out of regard for the living; and

when the time arrives when they may at length be told, they are then no longer remembered. Johnson himself

expressed this reluctance to tell all he knew of those poets who had been his contemporaries, saying that he

For this reason, amongst others, we rarely obtain an unvarnished picture of character from the near relatives

of distinguished men; and, interesting though all autobiography is, still less can we expect it from the men

themselves. In writing his own memoirs, a man will not tell all that he knows about himself. Augustine was a

rare exception, but few there are who will, as he did in his 'Confessions,' lay bare their innate viciousness,

deceitfulness, and selfishness. There is a Highland proverb which says, that if the best man's faults were

written on his forehead he would pull his bonnet over his brow. "There is no man," said Voltaire, "who has

not something hateful in himno man who has not some of the wild beast in him. But there are few who will

honestly tell us how they manage their wild beast." Rousseau pretended to unbosom himself in his

'Confessions;' but it is manifest that he held back far more than he revealed. Even Chamfort, one of the last

men to fear what his contemporaries might think or say of him, once observed: "It seems to me impossible,

in the actual state of society, for any man to exhibit his secret heart, the details of his character as known to

himself, and, above all, his weaknesses and his vices, to even his best friend."

An autobiography may be true so far as it goes; but in communicating only part of the truth, it may convey an

impression that is really false. It may be a disguisesometimes it is an apologyexhibiting not so much

what a man really was, as what he would have liked to be. A portrait in profile may be correct, but who

knows whether some scar on the offcheek, or some squint in the eye that is not seen, might not have entirely

altered the expression of the face if brought into sight? Scott, Moore, Southey, all began autobiographies, but

the task of continuing them was doubtless felt to be too difficult as well as delicate, and they were abandoned.

French literature is especially rich in a class of biographic memoirs, of which we have few counterparts in

English. We refer to their MEMOIRES POUR SERVIR, such as those of Sully, De Comines, Lauzun, De

Retz, De Thou, Rochefoucalt, in which we have recorded an immense mass of minute and circumstantial

information relative to many great personages of history. They are full of anecdotes illustrative of life and

character, and of details which might be called frivolous, but that they throw a flood of light on the social

habits and general civilisation of the periods to which they relate. The MEMOIRES of SaintSimon are

something more: they are marvellous dissections of character, and constitute the most extraordinary

SaintSimon might almost be regarded in the light of a posthumous courtspy of Louis the Fourteenth. He

was possessed by a passion for reading character, and endeavouring to decipher motives and intentions in the

faces, expressions, conversation, and byplay of those about him. "I examine all my personages closely," said

he "watch their mouth, eyes, and ears constantly." And what he heard and saw he noted down with

extraordinary vividness and dash. Acute, keen, and observant, he pierced the masks of the courtiers, and

detected their secrets. The ardour with which he prosecuted his favourite study of character seemed

insatiable, and even cruel. "The eager anatomist," says SainteBeuve, "was not more ready to plunge the

scalpel into the stillpalpitating bosom in search of the disease that had baffled him."

La Bruyere possessed the same gift of accurate and penetrating observation of character. He watched and

studied everybody about him. He sought to read their secrets; and, retiring to his chamber, he deliberately

painted their portraits, returning to them from time to time to correct some prominent featurehanging over

them as fondly as an artist over some favourite study adding trait to trait, and touch to touch, until at length

It may be said that much of the interest of biography, especially of the more familiar sort, is of the nature of

gossip; as that of the MEMOIRES POUR SERVIR is of the nature of scandal, which is no doubt true. But

both gossip and scandal illustrate the strength of the interest which men and women take in each other's

personality; and which, exhibited in the form of biography, is capable of communicating the highest pleasure,

and yielding the best instruction. Indeed biography, because it is instinct of humanity, is the branch of

literature whichwhether in the form of fiction, of anecdotal recollection, or of personal narrative is the

There is no room for doubt that the surpassing interest which fiction, whether in poetry or prose, possesses

for most minds, arises mainly from the biographic element which it contains. Homer's 'Iliad' owes its

marvellous popularity to the genius which its author displayed in the portrayal of heroic character. Yet he

does not so much describe his personages in detail as make them develope themselves by their actions.

"There are in Homer," said Dr. Johnson, "such characters of heroes and combination of qualities of heroes,

that the united powers of mankind ever since have not produced any but what are to be found there."

The genius of Shakspeare also was displayed in the powerful delineation of character, and the dramatic

evolution of human passions. His personages seem to be realliving and breathing before us. So too with

Cervantes, whose Sancho Panza, though homely and vulgar, is intensely human. The characters in Le Sage's

'Gil Blas,' in Goldsmith's 'Vicar of Wakefield,' and in Scott's marvellous musterroll, seem to us almost as

real as persons whom we have actually known; and De Foe's greatest works are but so many biographies,

painted in minute detail, with reality so apparently stamped upon every page, that it is difficult to believe his

Robinson Crusoe and Colonel Jack to have been fictitious instead of real persons.

Though the richest romance lies enclosed in actual human life, and though biography, because it describes

beings who have actually felt the joys and sorrows, and experienced the difficulties and triumphs, of real life,

is capable of being made more attractive, than the most perfect fictions ever woven, it is remarkable that so

few men of genius have been attracted to the composition of works of this kind. Great works of fiction

abound, but great biographies may be counted on the fingers. It may be for the same reason that a great

painter of portraits, the late John Philip, R.A., explained his preference for subjectpainting, because, said he,

"Portraitpainting does not pay." Biographic portraiture involves laborious investigation and careful

collection of facts, judicious rejection and skilful condensation, as well as the art of presenting the character

portrayed in the most attractive and lifelike form; whereas, in the work of fiction, the writer's imagination is

free to create and to portray character, without being trammelled by references, or held down by the actual

There is, indeed, no want among us of ponderous but lifeless memoirs, many of them little better than

inventories, put together with the help of the scissors as much as of the pen. What Constable said of the

portraits of an inferior artist"He takes all the bones and brains out of his heads"applies to a large class of

portraiture, written as well as painted. They have no more life in them than a piece of waxwork, or a

clothesdummy at a tailor's door. What we want is a picture of a man as he lived, and lo! we have an

exhibition of the biographer himself. We expect an embalmed heart, and we find only clothes.

There is doubtless as high art displayed in painting a portrait in words, as there is in painting one in colours.

To do either well requires the seeing eye and the skilful pen or brush. A common artist sees only the features

of a face, and copies them; but the great artist sees the living soul shining through the features, and places it

on the canvas. Johnson was once asked to assist the chaplain of a deceased bishop in writing a memoir of his

lordship; but when he proceeded to inquire for information, the chaplain could scarcely tell him anything.

Hence Johnson was led to observe that "few people who have lived with a man know what to remark about

In the case of Johnson's own life, it was the seeing eye of Boswell that enabled him to note and treasure up

those minute details of habit and conversation in which so much of the interest of biography consists.

Boswell, because of his simple love and admiration of his hero, succeeded where probably greater men would

have failed. He descended to apparently insignificant, but yet most characteristic, particulars. Thus he

apologizes for informing the reader that Johnson, when journeying, "carried in his hand a large English

oakstick:" adding, "I remember Dr. Adam Smith, in his rhetorical lectures at Glasgow, told us he was glad

to know that Milton wore latchets in his shoes instead of buckles." Boswell lets us know how Johnson

looked, what dress he wore, what was his talk, what were his prejudices. He painted him with all his scars,

and a wonderful portrait it isperhaps the most complete picture of a great man ever limned in words.

But for the accident of the Scotch advocate's intimacy with Johnson, and his devoted admiration of him, the

latter would not probably have stood nearly so high in literature as he now does. It is in the pages of Boswell

that Johnson really lives; and but for Boswell, he might have remained little more than a name. Others there

are who have bequeathed great works to posterity, but of whose lives next to nothing is known. What would

we not give to have a Boswell's account of Shakspeare? We positively know more of the personal history of

Socrates, of Horace, of Cicero, of Augustine, than we do of that of Shakspeare. We do not know what was his

religion, what were his politics, what were his experiences, what were his relations to his contemporaries.

The men of his own time do not seem to have recognised his greatness; and Ben Jonson, the court poet,

whose blankverse Shakspeare was content to commit to memory and recite as an actor, stood higher in

popular estimation. We only know that he was a successful theatrical manager, and that in the prime of life he

retired to his native place, where he died, and had the honours of a village funeral. The greater part of the

biography which has been constructed respecting him has been the result, not of contemporary observation or

of record, but of inference. The best inner biography of the man is to be found in his sonnets.

Men do not always take an accurate measure of their contemporaries. The statesman, the general, the

monarch of today fills all eyes and ears, though to the next generation he may be as if he had never been.

"And who is king today?" the painter Greuze would ask of his daughter, during the throes of the first French

Revolution, when men, great for the time, were suddenly thrown to the surface, and as suddenly dropt out of

sight again, never to reappear. "And who is king today? After all," Greuze would add, "Citizen Homer and

Citizen Raphael will outlive those great citizens of ours, whose names I have never before heard of." Yet of

the personal history of Homer nothing is known, and of Raphael comparatively little. Even Plutarch, who

wrote the lives of others: so well, has no biography, none of the eminent Roman writers who were his

contemporaries having so much as mentioned his name. And so of Correggio, who delineated the features of

There have been men who greatly influenced the life of their time, whose reputation has been much greater

with posterity than it was with their contemporaries. Of Wickliffe, the patriarch of the Reformation, our

knowledge is extremely small. He was but as a voice crying in the wilderness. We do not really know who

was the author of 'The Imitation of Christ' a book that has had an immense circulation, and exercised a vast

religious influence in all Christian countries. It is usually attributed to Thomas a Kempis but there is reason to

believe that he was merely its translator, and the book that is really known to be his, (10) is in all respects so

inferior, that it is difficult to believe that 'The Imitation' proceeded from the same pen. It is considered more

probable that the real author was John Gerson, Chancellor of the University of Paris, a most learned and

Some of the greatest men of genius have had the shortest biographies. Of Plato, one of the great fathers of

moral philosophy, we have no personal account. If he had wife and children, we hear nothing of them. About

the life of Aristotle there is the greatest diversity of opinion. One says he was a Jew; another, that he only got

his information from a Jew: one says he kept an apothecary's shop; another, that he was only the son of a

physician: one alleges that he was an atheist; another, that he was a Trinitarian, and so forth. But we know

almost as little with respect to many men of comparatively modern times. Thus, how little do we know of the

lives of Spenser, author of 'The Faerie Queen,' and of Butler, the author of 'Hudibras,' beyond the fact that

they lived in comparative obscurity, and died in extreme poverty! How little, comparatively, do we know of

the life of Jeremy Taylor, the golden preacher, of whom we should like to have known so much!

The author of 'Philip Van Artevelde' has said that "the world knows nothing of its greatest men." And

doubtless oblivion has enwrapt in its folds many great men who have done great deeds, and been forgotten.

Augustine speaks of Romanianus as the greatest genius that ever lived, and yet we know nothing of him but

his name; he is as much forgotten as the builders of the Pyramids. Gordiani's epitaph was written in five

Many, indeed, are the lives worthy of record that have remained unwritten. Men who have written books

have been the most fortunate in this respect, because they possess an attraction for literary men which those

whose lives have been embodied in deeds do not possess. Thus there have been lives written of Poets

Laureate who were mere men of their time, and of their time only. Dr. Johnson includes some of them in his

'Lives of the Poets,' such as Edmund Smith and others, whose poems are now no longer known. The lives of

some men of letterssuch as Goldsmith, Swift, Sterne, and Steelehave been written again and again,

whilst great men of action, men of science, and men of industry, are left without a record. (11)

We have said that a man may be known by the company he keeps in his books. Let us mention a few of the

favourites of the best known men. Plutarch's admirers have already been referred to. Montaigne also has

been the companion of most meditative men. Although Shakspeare must have studied Plutarch carefully,

inasmuch as he copied from him freely, even to his very words, it is remarkable that Montaigne is the only

book which we certainly know to have been in the poet's library; one of Shakspeare's existing autographs

having been found in a copy of Florio's translation of 'The Essays,' which also contains, on the flyleaf, the

Milton's favourite books were Homer, Ovid, and Euripides. The latter book was also the favourite of Charles

James Fox, who regarded the study of it as especially useful to a public speaker. On the other hand, Pitt took

especial delight in Miltonwhom Fox did not appreciatetaking pleasure in reciting, from 'Paradise Lost,'

the grand speech of Belial before the assembled powers of Pandemonium. Another of Pitt's ,favourite books

was Newton's 'Principia.' Again, the Earl of Chatham's favourite book was 'Barrow's Sermons,' which he read

so often as to be able to repeat them from memory; while Burke's companions were Demosthenes, Milton,

Curran's favourite was Homer, which he read through once a year. Virgil was another of his favourites; his

biographer, Phillips, saying that he once saw him reading the 'Aeneid' in the cabin of a Holyhead packet,

Of the poets, Dante's favourite was Virgil; Corneille's was Lucan; Schiller's was Shakspeare; Gray's was

Spenser; whilst Coleridge admired Collins and Bowles. Dante himself was a favourite with most great poets,

from Chaucer to Byron and Tennyson. Lord Brougham, Macaulay, and Carlyle have alike admired and

eulogized the great Italian. The former advised the students at Glasgow that, next to Demosthenes, the study

of Dante was the best preparative for the eloquence of the pulpit or the bar. Robert Hall sought relief in Dante

from the racking pains of spinal disease; and Sydney Smith took to the same poet for comfort and solace in

his old age. It was characteristic of Goethe that his favourite book should have been Spinoza's 'Ethics,' in

which he said he had found a peace and consolation such as he had been able to find in no other work. (12)

Barrow's favourite was St. Chrysostom; Bossuet's was Homer. Bunyan's was the old legend of Sir Bevis of

Southampton, which in all probability gave him the first idea of his 'Pilgrim's Progress.' One of the best

prelates that ever sat on the English bench, Dr. John Sharp, said"Shakspeare and the Bible have made me

Archbishop of York." The two books which most impressed John Wesley when a young man, were 'The

Imitation of Christ' and Jeremy Taylor's 'Holy Living and Dying.' Yet Wesley was accustomed to caution his

young friends against overmuch reading. "Beware you be not swallowed up in books," he would say to them;

Wesley's own Life has been a great favourite with many thoughtful readers. Coleridge says, in his preface to

Southey's 'Life of Wesley,' that it was more often in his hands than any other in his ragged bookregiment.

"To this work, and to the Life of Richard Baxter," he says, "I was used to resort whenever sickness and

languor made me feel the want of an old friend of whose company I could never be tired. How many and

many an hour of selfoblivion do I owe to this Life of Wesley; and how often have I argued with it,

questioned, remonstrated, been peevish, and asked pardon; then again listened, and cried, 'Right! Excellent!'

and in yet heavier hours entreated it, as it were, to continue talking to me; for that I heard and listened, and

Soumet had only a very few hooks in his library, but they were of the bestHomer, Virgil, Dante, Camoens,

Tasso, and Milton. De Quincey's favourite few were Donne, Chillingworth, Jeremy Taylor, Milton, South,

Barrow, and Sir Thomas Browne. He described these writers as "a pleiad or constellation of seven golden

stars, such as in their class no literature can match," and from whose works he would undertake "to build up

Frederick the Great of Prussia manifested his strong French leanings in his choice of books; his principal

favourites being Bayle, Rousseau, Voltaire, Rollin, Fleury, Malebranche, and one English authorLocke.

His especial favourite was Bayle's Dictionary, which was the first book that laid hold of his mind; and he

thought so highly of it, that he himself made an abridgment and translation of it into German, which was

published. It was a saying of Frederick's, that "books make up no small part of true happiness." In his old age

It seems odd that Marshal Blucher's favourite book should have been Klopstock's 'Messiah,' and Napoleon

Buonaparte's favourites, Ossian's 'Poems' and the 'Sorrows of Werther.' But Napoleon's range of reading was

very extensive. It included Homer, Virgil, Tasso; novels of all countries; histories of all times; mathematics,

legislation, and theology. He detested what he called "the bombast and tinsel" of Voltaire. The praises of

Homer and Ossian he was never wearied of sounding. "Read again," he said to an officer on board the

BELLEROPHO"read again the poet of Achilles; devour Ossian. Those are the poets who lift up the soul,

The Duke of Wellington was an extensive reader; his principal favourites were Clarendon, Bishop Butler,

Smith's 'Wealth of Nations,' Hume, the Archduke Charles, Leslie, and the Bible. He was also particularly

interested by French and English memoirs more especially the French MEMOIRES POUR SERVIR of all

kinds. When at Walmer, Mr. Gleig says, the Bible, the Prayer Book, Taylor's 'Holy Living and Dying,' and

Caesar's 'Commentaries,' lay within the Duke's reach; and, judging by the marks of use on them, they must

While books are among the best companions of old age, they are often the best inspirers of youth. The first

book that makes a deep impression on a young man's mind, often constitutes an epoch in his life. It may fire

the heart, stimulate the enthusiasm, and by directing his efforts into unexpected channels, permanently

influence his character. The new book, in which we form an intimacy with a new friend, whose mind is wiser

and riper than our own, may thus form an important startingpoint in the history of a life. It may sometimes

From the day when James Edward Smith was presented with his first botanical lessonbook, and Sir Joseph

Banks fell in with Gerard's 'Herbal'from the time when Alfieri first read Plutarch, and Schiller made his

first acquaintance with Shakspeare, and Gibbon devoured the first volume of 'The Universal History'each

dated an inspiration so exalted, that they felt as if their real lives had only then begun.

In the earlier part of his youth, La Fontaine was distinguished for his idleness, but hearing an ode by

Malherbe read, he is said to have exclaimed, "I too am a poet," and his genius was awakened. Charles

Bossuet's mind was first fired to study by reading, at an early age, Fontenelle's 'Eloges' of men of science.

Another work of Fontenelle's'On the Plurality of Worlds'influenced the mind of Lalande in making

choice of a profession. "It is with pleasure," says Lalande himself in a preface to the book, which be

afterwards edited, "that I acknowledge my obligation to it for that devouring activity which its perusal first

In like manner, Lacepede was directed to the study of natural history by the perusal of Buffon's 'Histoire

Naturelle,' which he found in his father's library, and read over and over again until he almost knew it by

heart. Goethe was greatly influenced by the reading of Goldsmith's 'Vicar of Wakefield,' just at the critical

moment of his mental development; and he attributed to it much of his best education. The reading of a prose

'Life of Gotz vou Berlichingen' afterwards stimulated him to delineate his character in a poetic form. "The

figure of a rude, wellmeaning selfhelper," he said, "in a wild anarchic time, excited my deepest sympathy."

Keats was an insatiable reader when a boy; but it was the perusal of the 'Faerie Queen,' at the age of

seventeen, that first lit the fire of his genius. The same poem is also said to have been the inspirer of Cowley,

who found a copy of it accidentally lying on the window of his mother's apartment; and reading and admiring

Coleridge speaks of the great influence which the poems of Bowles had in forming his own mind. The works

of a past age, says he, seem to a young man to be things of another race; but the writings of a contemporary

"possess a reality for him, and inspire an actual friendship as of a man for a man. His very admiration is the

wind which fans and feeds his hope. The poems themselves assume the properties of flesh and blood." (15)

But men have not merely been stimulated to undertake special literary pursuits by the perusal of particular

books; they have been also stimulated by them to enter upon particular lines of action in the serious business

of life. Thus Henry Martyn was powerfully influenced to enter upon his heroic career as a missionary by

perusing the Lives of Henry Brainerd and Dr. Carey, who had opened up the furrows in which he went forth

Bentham has described the extraordinary influence which the perusal of 'Telemachus' exercised upon his

mind in boyhood. "Another book," said he, "and of far higher character (than a collection of Fairy Tales, to

which he refers), was placed in my hands. It was 'Telemachus.' In my own imagination, and at the age of six

or seven, I identified my own personality with that of the hero, who seemed to me a model of perfect virtue;

and in my walk of life, whatever it may come to be, why (said I to myself every now and then)why should

not I be a Telemachus? .... That romance may be regarded as THE FOUNDATIONSTONE OF MY

WHOLE CHARACTERthe startingpost from whence my career of life commenced. The first dawning in

Cobbett's first favourite, because his only book, which he bought for threepence, was Swift's 'Tale of a Tub,'

the repeated perusal of which had, doubtless, much to do with the formation of his pithy, straightforward, and

hardhitting style of writing. The delight with which Pope, when a schoolboy, read Ogilvy's 'Homer' was,

most probably, the origin of the English 'Iliad;' as the 'Percy Reliques' fired the juvenile mind of Scott, and

stimulated him to enter upon the collection and composition of his 'Border Ballads.' Keightley's first reading

of 'Paradise Lost,' when a boy, led to his afterwards undertaking his Life of the poet. "The reading," he says,

"of 'Paradise Lost' for the first time forms, or should form, an era in the life of every one possessed of taste

and poetic feeling. To my mind, that time is ever present.... Ever since, the poetry of Milton has formed my

constant studya source of delight in prosperity, of strength and consolation in adversity."

Good books are thus among the best of companions; and, by elevating the thoughts and aspirations, they act

as preservatives against low associations. "A natural turn for reading and intellectual pursuits," says Thomas

Hood, "probably preserved me from the moral shipwreck so apt to befal those who are deprived in early life

of their parental pilotage. My books kept me from the ring, the dogpit, the tavern, the saloon. The closet

associate of Pope and Addison, the mind accustomed to the noble though silent discourse of Shakspeare and

It has been truly said, that the best books are those which most resemble good actions. They are purifying,

elevating, and sustaining; they enlarge and liberalize the mind; they preserve it against vulgar worldliness;

they tend to produce highminded cheerfulness and equanimity of character; they fashion, and shape, and

humanize the mind. In the Northern universities, the schools in which the ancient classics are studied, are

Erasmus, the great scholar, was even of opinion that books were the necessaries of life, and clothes the

luxuries; and he frequently postponed buying the latter until he had supplied himself with the former. His

greatest favourites were the works of Cicero, which he says he always felt himself the better for reading. "I

can never," he says, "read the works of Cicero on 'Old Age,' or 'Friendship,' or his 'Tusculan Disputations,'

without fervently pressing them to my lips, without being penetrated with veneration for a mind little short of

inspired by God himself." It was the accidental perusal of Cicero's 'Hortensius' which first detached St.

Augustineuntil then a profligate and abandoned sensualistfrom his immoral life, and started him upon

the course of inquiry and study which led to his becoming the greatest among the Fathers of the Early

Church. Sir William Jones made it a practice to read through, once a year, the writings of Cicero, "whose life

When the good old Puritan Baxter came to enumerate the valuable and delightful things of which death

would deprive him, his mind reverted to the pleasures he had derived from books and study. "When I die," he

said, "I must depart, not only from sensual delights, but from the more manly pleasures of my studies,

knowledge, and converse with many wise and godly men, and from all my pleasure in reading, hearing,

public and private exercises of religion, and such like. I must leave my library, and turn over those pleasant

books no more. I must no more come among the living, nor see the faces of my faithful friends, nor be seen

of man; houses, and cities, and fields, and countries, gardens, and walks, will be as nothing to me. I shall no

more hear of the affairs of the world, of man, or wars, or other news; nor see what becomes of that beloved

It is unnecessary to speak of the enormous moral influence which books have exercised upon the general

civilization of mankind, from the Bible downwards. They contain the treasured knowledge of the human race.

They are the record of all labours, achievements, speculations, successes, and failures, in science, philosophy,

religion, and morals. They have been the greatest motive powers in all times. "From the Gospel to the Contrat

Social," says De Bonald, "it is books that have made revolutions." Indeed, a great book is often a greater

thing than a great battle. Even works of fiction have occasionally exercised immense power on society. Thus

Rabelais in France, and Cervantes in Spain, overturned at the same time the dominion of monkery and

chivalry, employing no other weapons but ridicule, the natural contrast of human terror. The people laughed,

and felt reassured. So 'Telemachus' appeared, and recalled men back to the harmonies of nature.

"Poets," says Hazlitt, "are a longerlived race than heroes: they breathe more of the air of immortality. They

survive more entire in their thoughts and acts. We have all that Virgil or Homer did, as much as if we had

lived at the same time with them. We can hold their works in our hands, or lay them on our pillows, or put

them to our lips. Scarcely a trace of what the others did is left upon the earth, so as to be visible to common

eyes. The one, the dead authors, are living men, still breathing and moving in their writings; the others, the

conquerors of the world, are but the ashes in an urn. The sympathy (so to speak) between thought and thought

is more intimate and vital than that between thought and action. Thought is linked to thought as flame kindles

into flame; the tribute of admiration to the MANES of departed heroism is like burning incense in a marble

monument. Words, ideas, feelings, with the progress of time harden into substances: things, bodies, actions,

moulder away, or melt into a soundinto thin air.... Not only a man's actions are effaced and vanish with

him; his virtues and generous qualities die with him also. His intellect only is immortal, and bequeathed

(2) Emerson, in his 'Society and Solitude,' says "In contemporaries, it is not so easy to distinguish between

notoriety and fame. Be sure, then, to read no mean books. Shun the spawn of the press or the gossip of the

hour.... The three practical rules I have to offer are these: 1. Never read a book that is not a year old; 2.

Never read any but famed books; 3. Never read any but what you like." Lord Lytton's maxim is: "In science,

(3) A friend of Sir Walter Scott, who had the same habit, and prided himself on his powers of conversation,

one day tried to "draw out" a fellowpassenger who sat beside him on the outside of a coach, but with

indifferent success. At length the conversationalist descended to expostulation. "I have talked to you, my

friend," said he, "on all the ordinary subjectsliterature, farming, merchandise, gaming, gamelaws,

horseraces, suits at law, politics, and swindling, and blasphemy, and philosophy: is there any one subject

that you will favour me by opening upon?" The wight writhed his countenance into a grin: "Sir," said he, "can

you say anything clever about BENDLEATHER?" As might be expected, the conversationalist was

(4) Coleridge, in his 'Lay Sermon,' points out, as a fact of history, how large a part of our present knowledge

and civilization is owing, directly or indirectly, to the Bible; that the Bible has been the main lever by which

the moral and intellectual character of Europe has been raised to its present comparative height; and he

specifies the marked and prominent difference of this book from the works which it is the fashion to quote as

guides and authorities in morals, politics, and history. "In the Bible," he says, "every agent appears and acts

as a selfsubstituting individual: each has a life of its own, and yet all are in life. The elements of necessity

and freewill are reconciled in the higher power of an omnipresent Providence, that predestinates the whole in

the moral freedom of the integral parts. Of this the Bible never suffers us to lose sight. The root is never

detached from the ground, it is God everywhere; and all creatures conform to His decreesthe righteous by

(6) "Tant il est vrai," says Voltaire, "que les hommes, qui sont audessus des autres par les talents, s'en

(9) It was wanting in Plutarch, in Southey ('Life of Nelson'), and in Forster ('Life of Goldsmith'); yet it must

be acknowledged that personal knowledge gives the principal charm to Tacitus's 'Agricola,' Roper's 'Life of

More,' Johnson's 'Lives of Savage and Pope,' Boswell's 'Johnson,' Lockhart's 'Scott,' Carlyle's 'Sterling,' and

(11) The Life of Sir Charles Bell, one of our greatest physiologists, was left to be written by Amedee Pichot,

a Frenchman; and though Sir Charles Bell's letters to his brother have since been published, his Life still

remains to be written. It may also be added that the best Life of Goethe has been written by an Englishman,

(12) It is not a little remarkable that the pious Schleiermacher should have concurred in opinion with Goethe

as to the merits of Spinoza, though he was a man excommunicated by the Jews, to whom he belonged, and

denounced by the Christians as a man little better than an atheist. "The Great Spirit of the world," says

Schleiermacher, in his REDE UBER DIE RELIGION, "penetrated the holy but repudiated Spinoza; the

Infinite was his beginning and his end; the universe his only and eternal love. He was filled with religion and

religious feeling: and therefore is it that he stands alone unapproachable, the master in his art, but elevated

Cousin also says of Spinoza: "The author whom this pretended atheist most resembles is the unknown

(14) Napoleon also read Milton carefully, and it has been related of him by Sir Colin Campbell, who resided

with Napoleon at Elba, that when speaking of the Battle of Austerlitz, he said that a particular disposition of

his artillery, which, in its results, had a decisive effect in winning the battle, was suggested to his mind by the

recollection of four lines in Milton. The lines occur in the sixth book, and are descriptive of Satan's artifice

"In hollow cube Training his devilish engin'ry, impal'd On every side WITH SHADOWING SQUADRONS

"The indubitable fact," says Mr. Edwards, in his book 'On Libraries,' "that these lines have a certain

appositeness to an important manoeuvre at Austerlitz, gives an independent interest to the story; but it is

highly imaginative to ascribe the victory to that manoeuvre. And for the other preliminaries of the tale, it is

unfortunate that Napoleon had learned a good deal about war long before he had learned anything about

(17) Notwithstanding recent censures of classical studies as a useless waste of time, there can be no doubt

that they give the highest finish to intellectual culture. The ancient classics contain the most consummate

models of literary art; and the greatest writers have been their most diligent students. Classical culture was

the instrument with which Erasmus and the Reformers purified Europe. It distinguished the great patriots of

the seventeenth century; and it has ever since characterised our greatest statesmen. "I know not how it is,"

says an English writer, "but their commerce with the ancients appears to me to produce, in those who

constantly practise it, a steadying and composing effect upon their judgment, not of literary works only, but

of men and events in general. They are like persons who have had a weighty and impressive experience; they

are more truly than others under the empire of facts, and more independent of the language current among

THE character of men, as of women, is powerfully influenced by their companionship in all the stages of life.

We have already spoken of the influence of the mother in forming the character of her children. She makes

the moral atmosphere in which they live, and by which their minds and souls are nourished, as their bodies

are by the physical atmosphere they breathe. And while woman is the natural cherisher of infancy and the

instructor of childhood, she is also the guide and counsellor of youth, and the confidant and companion of

manhood, in her various relations of mother, sister, lover, and wife. In short, the influence of woman more or

The respective social functions and duties of men and women are clearly defined by nature. God created man

AND woman, each to do their proper work, each to fill their proper sphere. Neither can occupy the position,

nor perform the functions, of the other. Their several vocations are perfectly distinct. Woman exists on her

own account, as man does on his, at the same time that each has intimate relations with the other. Humanity

needs both for the purposes of the race, and in every consideration of social progress both must necessarily be

Though companions and equals, yet, as regards the measure of their powers, they are unequal. Man is

stronger, more muscular, and of rougher fibre; woman is more delicate, sensitive, and nervous. The one

excels in power of brain, the other in qualities of heart; and though the head may rule, it is the heart that

influences. Both are alike adapted for the respective functions they have to perform in life; and to attempt to

impose woman's work upon man would be quite as absurd as to attempt to impose man's work upon woman.

Men are sometimes womanlike, and women are sometimes manlike; but these are only exceptions which

Although man's qualities belong more to the head, and woman's more to the heartyet it is not less

necessary that man's heart should be cultivated as well as his head, and woman's head cultivated as well as

her heart. A heartless man is as much out ofkeeping in civilized society as a stupid and unintelligent

woman. The cultivation of all parts of the moral and intellectual nature is requisite to form the man or woman

of healthy and well balanced character. Without sympathy or consideration for others, man were a poor,

stunted, sordid, selfish being; and without cultivated intelligence, the most beautiful woman were little better

It used to be a favourite notion about woman, that her weakness and dependency upon others constituted her

principal claim to admiration. "If we were to form an image of dignity in a man," said Sir Richard Steele, "we

should give him wisdom and valour, as being essential to the character of manhood. In like manner, if you

describe a right woman in a laudable sense, she should have gentle softness, tender fear, and all those parts of

life which distinguish her from the other sex, with some subordination to it, but an inferiority which makes

her lovely." Thus, her weakness was to be cultivated, rather than her strength; her folly, rather than her

wisdom. She was to be a weak, fearful, tearful, characterless, inferior creature, with just sense enough to

understand the soft nothings addressed to her by the "superior" sex. She was to be educated as an ornamental

appanage of man, rather as an independent intelligenceor as a wife, mother, companion, or friend.

Pope, in one of his 'Moral Essays,' asserts that "most women have no characters at all;" and again he says:

"Ladies, like variegated tulips, show: 'Tis to their changes half their charms we owe, Fine by defect and

This satire characteristically occurs in the poet's 'Epistle to Martha Blount,' the housekeeper who so

tyrannically ruled him; and in the same verses he spitefully girds at Lady Mary Wortley Montague, at whose

feet he had thrown himself as a lover, and been contemptuously rejected. But Pope was no judge of women,

It is still too much the practice to cultivate the weakness of woman rather than her strength, and to render her

attractive rather than selfreliant. Her sensibilities are developed at the expense of her health of body as well

as of mind. She lives, moves, and has her being in the sympathy of others. She dresses that she may attract,

and is burdened with accomplishments that she may be chosen. Weak, trembling, and dependent, she incurs

the risk of becoming a living embodiment of the Italian proverb"so good that she is good for nothing."

On the other hand, the education of young men too often errs on the side of selfishness. While the boy is

incited to trust mainly to his own efforts in pushing his way in the world, the girl is encouraged to rely almost

entirely upon others. He is educated with too exclusive reference to himself and she is educated with too

exclusive reference to him. He is taught to be selfreliant and selfdependent, while she is taught to be

distrustful of herself, dependent, and selfsacrificing in all things. Thus, the intellect of the one is cultivated

at the expense of the affections, and the affections of the other at the expense of the intellect.

It is unquestionable that the highest qualities of woman are displayed in her relationship to others, through the

medium of her affections. She is the nurse whom nature has given to all humankind. She takes charge of the

helpless, and nourishes and cherishes those we love. She is the presiding genius of the fireside, where she

creates an atmosphere of serenity and contentment suitable for the nurture and growth of character in its best

forms. She is by her very constitution compassionate, gentle, patient, and selfdenying. Loving, hopeful,

trustful, her eye sheds brightness everywhere. It shines upon coldness and warms it, upon suffering and

"Her silver flow Of subtlepaced counsel in distress, Right to the heart and brain, though undescried,

Winning its way with extreme gentleness Through all the outworks of suspicion's pride."

Woman has been styled "the angel of the unfortunate." She is ready to help the weak, to raise the fallen, to

comfort the suffering. It was characteristic of woman, that she should have been the first to build and endow

an hospital. It has been said that wherever a human being is in suffering, his sighs call a woman to his side.

When Mungo Park, lonely, friendless, and famished, after being driven forth from an African village by the

men, was preparing to spend the night under a tree, exposed to the rain and the wild beasts which there

abounded, a poor negro woman, returning from the labours of the field, took compassion upon him,

But while the most characteristic qualities of woman are displayed through her sympathies and affections, it

is also necessary for her own happiness, as a selfdependent being, to develope and strengthen her character,

by due selfculture, selfreliance, and selfcontrol. It is not desirable, even were it possible, to close the

beautiful avenues of the heart. Selfreliance of the best kind does not involve any limitation in the range of

human sympathy. But the happiness of woman, as of man, depends in a great measure upon her individual

completeness of character. And that selfdependence which springs from the due cultivation of the

intellectual powers, conjoined with a proper discipline of the heart and conscience, will enable her to be more

useful in life as well as happy; to dispense blessings intelligently as well as to enjoy them; and most of all

To maintain a high standard of purity in society, the culture of both sexes must be in harmony, and keep

equal pace. A pure womanhood must be accompanied by a pure manhood. The same moral law applies alike

to both. It would be loosening the foundations of virtue, to countenance the notion that because of a

difference in sex, man were at liberty to set morality at defiance, and to do that with impunity, which, if done

by a woman, would stain her character for life. To maintain a pure and virtuous condition of society,

therefore, man as well as woman must be pure and virtuous; both alike shunning all acts impinging on the

heart, character, and conscienceshunning them as poison, which, once imbibed, can never be entirely

thrown out again, but mentally embitters, to a greater or less extent, the happiness of afterlife.

And here we would venture to touch upon a delicate topic. Though it is one of universal and engrossing

human interest, the moralist avoids it, the educator shuns it, and parents taboo it. It is almost considered

indelicate to refer to Love as between the sexes; and young persons are left to gather their only notions of it

from the impossible lovestories that fill the shelves of circulating libraries. This strong and absorbing

feeling, this BESOIN D'AIMERwhich nature has for wise purposes made so strong in woman that it

colours her whole life and history, though it may form but an episode in the life of manis usually left to

follow its own inclinations, and to grow up for the most part unchecked, without any guidance or direction

Although nature spurns all formal rules and directions in affairs of love, it might at all events be possible to

implant in young minds such views of Character as should enable them to discriminate between the true and

the false, and to accustom them to hold in esteem those qualities of moral purity and integrity, without which

life is but a scene of folly and misery. It may not be possible to teach young people to love wisely, but they

may at least be guarded by parental advice against the frivolous and despicable passions which so often usurp

its name. "Love," it has been said, "in the common acceptation of the term, is folly; but love, in its purity, its

loftiness, its unselfishness, is not only a consequence, but a proof, of our moral excellence. The sensibility to

moral beauty, the forgetfulness of self in the admiration engendered by it, all prove its claim to a high moral

influence. It is the triumph of the unselfish over the selfish part of our nature."

It is by means of this divine passion that the world is kept ever fresh and young. It is the perpetual melody of

humanity. It sheds an effulgence upon youth, and throws a halo round age. It glorifies the present by the light

it casts backward, and it lightens the future by the beams it casts forward. The love which is the outcome of

esteem and admiration, has an elevating and purifying effect on the character. It tends to emancipate one from

the slavery of self. It is altogether unsordid; itself is its only price. It inspires gentleness, sympathy, mutual

faith, and confidence. True love also in a measure elevates the intellect. "All love renders wise in a degree,"

says the poet Browning, and the most gifted minds have been the sincerest lovers. Great souls make all

affections great; they elevate and consecrate all true delights. The sentiment even brings to light qualities

before lying dormant and unsuspected. It elevates the aspirations, expands the soul, and stimulates the mental

powers. One of the finest compliments ever paid to a woman was that of Steele, when he said of Lady

Elizabeth Hastings, "that to have loved her was a liberal education." Viewed in this light, woman is an

educator in the highest sense, because, above all other educators, she educates humanly and lovingly.

It has been said that no man and no woman can be regarded as complete in their experience of life, until they

have been subdued into union with the world through their affections. As woman is not woman until she has

known love, neither is man man. Both are requisite to each other's completeness. Plato entertained the idea

that lovers each sought a likeness in the other, and that love was only the divorced half of the original human

being entering into union with its counterpart. But philosophy would here seem to be at fault, for affection

The true union must needs be one of mind as well as of heart, and based on mutual esteem as well as mutual

affection. "No true and enduring love," says Fichte, "can exist without esteem ; every other draws regret after

it, and is unworthy of any noble human soul." One cannot really love the bad, but always something that we

esteem and respect as well as admire. In short, true union must rest on qualities of character, which rule in

But there is something far more than mere respect and esteem in the union between man and wife. The

feeling on which it rests is far deeper and tenderersuch, indeed, as never exists between men or between

women. "In matters of affection," says Nathaniel Hawthorne, "there is always an impassable gulf between

man and man. They can never quite grasp each other's hands, and therefore man never derives any intimate

help, any heartsustenance, from his brother man, but from womanhis mother, his sister, or his wife." (2)

Man enters a new world of joy, and sympathy, and human interest, through the porch of love. He enters a

new world in his home the home of his own makingaltogether different from the home of his boyhood,

where each day brings with it a succession of new joys and experiences. He enters also, it may be, a new

world of trials and sorrows, in which he often gathers his best culture and discipline. "Family life," says

SainteBeuve, "may be full of thorns and cares; but they are fruitful: all others are dry thorns." And again: "If

a man's home, at a certain period of life, does not contain children, it will probably be found filled with follies

A life exclusively occupied in affairs of business insensibly tends to narrow and harden the character. It is

mainly occupied with selfwatching for advantages, and guarding against sharp practice on the part of others.

Thus the character unconsciously tends to grow suspicious and ungenerous. The best corrective of such

influences is always the domestic; by withdrawing the mind from thoughts that are wholly gainful, by taking

it out of its daily rut, and bringing it back to the sanctuary of home for refreshment and rest:

"That truest, rarest light of social joy, Which gleams upon the man of many cares."

"Business," says Sir Henry Taylor, "does but lay waste the approaches to the heart, whilst marriage garrisons

the fortress." And however the head may be occupied, by labours of ambition or of businessif the heart be

not occupied by affection for others and sympathy with themlife, though it may appear to the outer world

A man's real character will always be more visible in his household than anywhere else; and his practical

wisdom will be better exhibited by the manner in which he bears rule there, than even in the larger affairs of

business or public life. His whole mind may be in his business; but, if he would be happy, his whole heart

must be in his home. It is there that his genuine qualities most surely display themselvesthere that he

shows his truthfulness, his love, his sympathy, his consideration for others, his uprightness, his

manlinessin a word, his character. If affection be not the governing principle in a household, domestic life

may be the most intolerable of despotisms. Without justice, also, there can be neither love, confidence, nor

Erasmus speaks of Sir Thomas More's home as "a school and exercise of the Christian religion." "No

wrangling, no angry word was heard in it; no one was idle; every one did his duty with alacrity, and not

without a temperate cheerfulness." Sir Thomas won all hearts to obedience by his gentleness. He was a man

clothed in household goodness; and he ruled so gently and wisely, that his home was pervaded by an

atmosphere of love and duty. He himself spoke of the hourly interchange of the smaller acts of kindness with

the several members of his family, as having a claim upon his time as strong as those other public

occupations of his life which seemed to others so much more serious and important.

But the man whose affections are quickened by homelife, does not confine his sympathies within that

comparatively narrow sphere. His love enlarges in the family, and through the family it expands into the

world. "Love," says Emerson, "is a fire that, kindling its first embers in the narrow nook of a private bosom,

caught from a wandering spark out of another private heart, glows and enlarges until it warms and beams

upon multitudes of men and women, upon the universal heart of all, and so lights up the whole world and

It is by the regimen of domestic affection that the heart of man is best composed and regulated. The home is

the woman's kingdom, her state, her worldwhere she governs by affection, by kindness, by the power of

gentleness. There is nothing which so settles the turbulence of a man's nature as his union in life with a

highminded woman. There he finds rest, contentment, and happinessrest of brain and peace of spirit. He

will also often find in her his best counsellor, for her instinctive tact will usually lead him right when his own

unaided reason might be apt to go wrong. The true wife is a staff to lean upon in times of trial and difficulty;

and she is never wanting in sympathy and solace when distress occurs or fortune frowns. In the time of youth,

she is a comfort and an ornament of man's life; and she remains a faithful helpmate in maturer years, when

What a happy man must Edmund Burke have been, when he could say of his home, "Every care vanishes the

moment I enter under my own roof!" And Luther, a man full of human affection, speaking of his wife, said,

"I would not exchange my poverty with her for all the riches of Croesus without her." Of marriage he

observed: "The utmost blessing that God can confer on a man is the possession of a good and pious wife,

with whom he may live in peace and tranquillityto whom he may confide his whole possessions, even his

life and welfare." And again he said, "To rise betimes, and to marry young, are what no man ever repents of

For a man to enjoy true repose and happiness in marriage, he must have in his wife a soulmate as well as a

helpmate. But it is not requisite that she should be merely a pale copy of himself. A man no more desires in

his wife a manly woman, than the woman desires in her husband a feminine man. A woman's best qualities

do not reside in her intellect, but in her affections. She gives refreshment by her sympathies, rather than by

her knowledge. "The brainwomen," says Oliver Wendell Holmes, "never interest us like the heartwomen."

(5) Men are often so wearied with themselves, that they are rather predisposed to admire qualities and tastes

in others different from their own. "If I were suddenly asked," says Mr. Helps, "to give a proof of the

goodness of God to us, I think I should say that it is most manifest in the exquisite difference He has made

between the souls of men and women, so as to create the possibility of the most comforting and charming

companionship that the mind of man can imagine." (6) But though no man may love a woman for her

understanding, it is not the less necessary for her to cultivate it on that account. (7) There may be difference

in character, but there must be harmony of mind and sentiment two intelligent souls as well as two loving

"Two heads in council, two beside the hearth, Two in the tangled business of the world, Two in the liberal

There are few men who have written so wisely on the subject of marriage as Sir Henry Taylor. What he says

about the influence of a happy union in its relation to successful statesmanship, applies to all conditions of

life. The true wife, he says, should possess such qualities as will tend to make home as much as may be a

place of repose. To this end, she should have sense enough or worth enough to exempt her husband as much

as possible from the troubles of family management, and more especially from all possibility of debt. "She

should be pleasing to his eyes and to his taste: the taste goes deep into the nature of all menlove is hardly

apart from it; and in a life of care and excitement, that home which is not the seat of love cannot be a place of

repose; rest for the brain, and peace for the spirit, being only to be had through the softening of the affections.

He should look for a clear understanding, cheerfulness, and alacrity of mind, rather than gaiety and brilliancy,

and for a gentle tenderness of disposition in preference to an impassioned nature. Lively talents are too

"Her love should be A love that clings not, nor is exigent, Encumbers not the active purposes, Nor drains

their source; but profers with free grace Pleasure at pleasure touched, at pleasure waived, A washing of the

weary traveller's feet, A quenching of his thirst, a sweet repose, Alternate and preparative; in groves Where,

loving much the flower that loves the shade, And loving much the shade that that flower loves, He yet is

unbewildered, unenslaved, Thence starting light, and pleasantly let go When serious service calls. (8)

Some persons are disappointed in marriage, because they expect too much from it; but many more, because

they do not bring into the copartnership their fair share of cheerfulness, kindliness, forbearance, and

common sense. Their imagination has perhaps pictured a condition never experienced on this side Heaven;

and when real life comes, with its troubles and cares, there is a sudden wakingup as from a dream. Or they

look for something approaching perfection in their chosen companion, and discover by experience that the

fairest of characters have their weaknesses. Yet it is often the very imperfection of human nature, rather than

its perfection, that makes the strongest claims on the forbearance and sympathy of others, and, in affectionate

The golden rule of married life is, "Bear and forbear." Marriage, like government, is a series of compromises.

One must give and take, refrain and restrain, endure and be patient. One may not be blind to another's

failings, but they may be borne with good natured forbearance. Of all qualities, good temper is the one that

wears and works the best in married life. Conjoined with selfcontrol, it gives patiencethe patience to bear

and forbear, to listen without retort, to refrain until the angry flash has passed. How true it is in marriage, that

Burns the poet, in speaking of the qualities of a good wife, divided them into ten parts. Four of these he gave

to good temper, two to good sense, one to wit, one to beautysuch as a sweet face, eloquent eyes, a fine

person, a graceful carriage; and the other two parts he divided amongst the other qualities belonging to or

attending on a wifesuch as fortune, connections, education (that is, of a higher standard than ordinary),

family blood, but he said: "Divide those two degrees as you please, only remember that all these minor

proportions must be expressed by fractions, for there is not any one of them that is entitled to the dignity of

It has been said that girls are very good at making nets, but that it would be better still if they would learn to

make cages. Men are often as easily caught as birds, but as difficult to keep. If the wife cannot make her

home bright and happy, so that it shall be the cleanest, sweetest, cheerfulest place that her husband can find

refuge ina retreat from the toils and troubles of the outer worldthen God help the poor man, for he is

No wise person will marry for beauty mainly. It may exercise a powerful attraction in the first place, but it is

found to be of comparatively little consequence afterwards. Not that beauty of person is to be underestimated,

for, other things being equal, handsomeness of form and beauty of features are the outward manifestations of

health. But to marry a handsome figure without character, fine features unbeautified by sentiment or

goodnature, is the most deplorable of mistakes. As even the finest landscape, seen daily, becomes

monotonous, so does the most beautiful face, unless a beautiful nature shines through it. The beauty of

today becomes commonplace tomorrow; whereas goodness, displayed through the most ordinary features,

is perennially lovely. Moreover, this kind of beauty improves with age, and time ripens rather than destroys

it. After the first year, married people rarely think of each other's features, and whether they be classically

beautiful or otherwise. But they never fail to be cognisant of each other's temper. "When I see a man," says

Addison, "with a sour rivelled face, I cannot forbear pitying his wife; and when I meet with an open

ingenuous countenance, I think of the happiness of his friends, his family, and his relations."

We have given the views of the poet Burns as to the qualities necessary in a good wife. Let us add the advice

given by Lord Burleigh to his son, embodying the experience of a wise statesman and practised man of the

world. "When it shall please God," said he, "to bring thee to man's estate, use great providence and

circumspection in choosing thy wife; for from thence will spring all thy future good or evil. And it is an

action of thy life, like unto a stratagem of war, wherein a man can err but once.... Enquire diligently of her

disposition, and how her parents have been inclined in their youth. (9) Let her not be poor, how generous

(wellborn) soever; for a man can buy nothing in the market with gentility. Nor choose a base and uncomely

creature altogether for wealth; for it will cause contempt in others, and loathing in thee. Neither make choice

of a dwarf, or a fool; for by the one thou shalt beget a race of pigmies, while the other will be thy continual

disgrace, and it will yirke (irk) thee to hear her talk. For thou shalt find it to thy great grief, that there is

A man's moral character is, necessarily, powerfully influenced by his wife. A lower nature will drag him

down, as a higher will lift him up. The former will deaden his sympathies, dissipate his energies, and distort

his life; while the latter, by satisfying his affections, will strengthen his moral nature, and by giving him

repose, tend to energise his intellect. Not only so, but a woman of high principles will insensibly elevate the

aims and purposes of her husband, as one of low principles will unconsciously degrade them. De Tocqueville

was profoundly impressed by this truth. He entertained the opinion that man could have no such mainstay in

life as the companionship of a wife of good temper and high principle. He says that in the course of his life,

he had seen even weak men display real public virtue, because they had by their side a woman of noble

character, who sustained them in their career, and exercised a fortifying influence on their views of public

duty; whilst, on the contrary, he had still oftener seen men of great and generous instincts transformed into

vulgar selfseekers, by contact with women of narrow natures, devoted to an imbecile love of pleasure, and

De Tocqueville himself had the good fortune to be blessed with an admirable wife: (10) and in his letters to

his intimate friends, he spoke most gratefully of the comfort and support he derived from her sustaining

courage, her equanimity of temper, and her nobility of character. The more, indeed, that De Tocqueville saw

of the world and of practical life, the more convinced he became of the necessity of healthy domestic

conditions for a man's growth in virtue and goodness. (11) Especially did he regard marriage as of

inestimable importance in regard to a man's true happiness; and he was accustomed to speak of his own as the

wisest action of his life. "Many external circumstances of happiness," he said, "have been granted to me. But

more than all, I have to thank Heaven for having bestowed on me true domestic happiness, the first of human

blessings. As I grow older, the portion of my life which in my youth I used to look down upon, every day

becomes more important in my eyes, and would now easily console me for the loss of all the rest." And

again, writing to his bosomfriend, De Kergorlay, he said: "Of all the blessings which God has given to me,

the greatest of all in my eyes is to have lighted on Marie. You cannot imagine what she is in great trials.

Usually so gentle, she then becomes strong and energetic. She watches me without my knowing it; she

softens, calms, and strengthens me in difficulties which disturb ME, but leave her serene." (12) In another

letter he says: "I cannot describe to you the happiness yielded in the long run by the habitual society of a

woman in whose soul all that is good in your own is reflected naturally, and even improved. When I say or do

a thing which seems to me to be perfectly right, I read immediately in Marie's countenance an expression of

proud satisfaction which elevates me. And so, when my conscience reproaches me, her face instantly clouds

over. Although I have great power over her mind, I see with pleasure that she awes me; and so long as I love

her as I do now, I am sure that I shall never allow myself to be drawn into anything that is wrong."

In the retired life which De Tocqueville led as a literary man political life being closed against him by the

inflexible independence of his characterhis health failed, and he became ill, irritable, and querulous. While

proceeding with his last work, 'L'Ancien Regime et la Revolution,' he wrote: "After sitting at my desk for five

or six hours, I can write no longer; the machine refuses to act. I am in great want of rest, and of a long rest. If

you add all the perplexities that besiege an author towards the end of his work, you will be able to imagine a

very wretched life. I could not go on with my task if it were not for the refreshing calm of Marie's

companionship. It would be impossible to find a disposition forming a happier contrast to my own. In my

perpetual irritability of body and mind, she is a providential resource that never fails me." (13)

M. Guizot was, in like manner, sustained and encouraged, amidst his many vicissitudes and disappointments,

by his noble wife. If he was treated with harshness by his political enemies, his consolation was in the tender

affection which filled his home with sunshine. Though his public life was bracing and stimulating, he felt,

nevertheless, that it was cold and calculating, and neither filled the soul nor elevated the character. "Man

longs for a happiness," he says in his 'Memoires,' more complete and more tender than that which all the

labours and triumphs of active exertion and public importance can bestow. What I know today, at the end of

my race, I have felt when it began, and during its continuance. Even in the midst of great undertakings,

domestic affections form the basis of life; and the most brilliant career has only superficial and incomplete

The circumstances connected with M. Guizot's courtship and marriage are curious and interesting. While a

young man living by his pen in Paris, writing books, reviews, and translations, he formed a casual

acquaintance with Mademoiselle Pauline de Meulan, a lady of great ability, then editor of the PUBLICISTE.

A severe domestic calamity having befallen her, she fell ill, and was unable for a time to carry on the heavy

literary work connected with her journal. At this juncture a letter without any signature reached her one day,

offering a supply of articles, which the writer hoped would be worthy of the reputation of the PUBLICISTE.

The articles duly arrived, were accepted, and published. They dealt with a great variety of subjectsart,

literature, theatricals, and general criticism. When the editor at length recovered from her illness, the writer of

the articles disclosed himself: it was M. Guizot. An intimacy sprang up between them, which ripened into

From that time forward, she shared in all her husband's joys and sorrows, as well as in many of his labours.

Before they became united, he asked her if she thought she should ever become dismayed at the vicissitudes

of his destiny, which he then saw looming before him. She replied that he might assure himself that she

would always passionately enjoy his triumphs, but never heave a sigh over his defeats. When M. Guizot

became first minister of Louis Philippe, she wrote to a friend: "I now see my husband much less than I desire,

but still I see him.... If God spares us to each other, I shall always be, in the midst of every trial and

apprehension, the happiest of beings." Little more than six months after these words were written, the

devoted wife was laid in her grave; and her sorrowing husband was left thenceforth to tread the journey of

Burke was especially happy in his union with Miss Nugent, a beautiful, affectionate, and highminded woman.

The agitation and anxiety of his public life was more than compensated by his domestic happiness, which

seems to have been complete. It was a saying of Burke, thoroughly illustrative of his character, that "to love

the little platoon we belong to in society is the germ of all public affections." His description of his wife, in

"She is handsome; but it is a beauty not arising from features, from complexion, or from shape. She has all

three in a high degree, but it is not by these she touches the heart; it is all that sweetness of temper,

benevolence, innocence, and sensibility, which a face can express, that forms her beauty. She has a face that

just raises your attention at first sight; it grows on you every moment, and you wonder it did no more than

"Her eyes have a mild light, but they awe when she pleases; they command, like a good man out of office, not

"Her stature is not tall; she is not made to be the admiration of everybody, but the happiness of one.

"She has all the firmness that does not exclude delicacy; she has all the softness that does not imply

"Her voice is a soft low musicnot formed to rule in public assemblies, but to charm those who can

distinguish a company from a crowd; it has this advantageYOU MUST COME CLOSE TO HER TO

"To describe her body describes her mindone is the transcript of the other; her understanding is not shown

in the variety of matters it exerts itself on, but in the goodness of the choice she makes.

"She does not display it so much in saying or doing striking things, as in avoiding such as she ought not to

"No person of so few years can know the world better; no person was ever less corrupted by the knowledge

"Her politeness flows rather from a natural disposition to oblige, than from any rules on that subject, and

therefore never fails to strike those who understand good breeding and those who do not.

"She has a steady and firm mind, which takes no more from the solidity of the female character than the

solidity of marble does from its polish and lustre. She has such virtues as make us value the truly great of our

own sex. She has all the winning graces that make us love even the faults we see in the weak and beautiful, in

Let us give, as a companion picture, the not less beautiful delineation of a husband, that of Colonel

Hutchinson, the Commonwealth man, by his widow. Shortly before his death, he enjoined her "not to grieve

at the common rate of desolate women." And, faithful to his injunction, instead of lamenting his loss, she

"They who dote on mortal excellences," she says, in her Introduction to the 'Life,' "when, by the inevitable

fate of all things frail, their adored idols are taken from them, may let loose the winds of passion to bring in a

flood of sorrow, whose ebbing tides carry away the dear memory of what they have lost; and when comfort is

essayed to such mourners, commonly all objects are removed out of their view which may with their

remembrance renew the grief; and in time these remedies succeed, and oblivion's curtain is by degrees drawn

over the dead face; and things less lovely are liked, while they are not viewed together with that which was

most excellent. But I, that am under a command not to grieve at the common rate of desolate women, (14)

while I am studying which way to moderate my woe, and if it were possible to augment my love, I can for the

present find out none more just to your dear father, nor consolatory to myself, than the preservation of his

memory, which I need not gild with such flattering commendations as hired preachers do equally give to the

truly and titularly honourable. A naked undressed narrative, speaking the simple truth of him, will deck him

with more substantial glory, than all the panegyrics the best pens could ever consecrate to the virtues of the

"For conjugal affection to his wife, it was such in him as whosoever would draw out a rule of honour,

kindness, and religion, to be practised in that estate, need no more but exactly draw out his example. Never

man had a greater passion for a woman, nor a more honourable esteem of a wife: yet he was not uxorious, nor

remitted he that just rule which it was her honour to obey, but managed the reins of government with such

prudence and affection, that she who could not delight in such an honourable and advantageable subjection,

"He governed by persuasion, which he never employed but to things honourable and profitable to herself; he

loved her soul and her honour more than her outside, and yet he had ever for her person a constant

indulgence, exceeding the common temporary passion of the most uxorious fools. If he esteemed her at a

higher rate than she in herself could have deserved, he was the author of that virtue he doated on, while she

only reflected his own glories upon him. All that she was, was HIM, while he was here, and all that she is

"So liberal was he to her, and of so generous a temper, that he hated the mention of severed purses, his estate

being so much at her disposal that he never would receive an account of anything she expended. So constant

was he in his love, that when she ceased to be young and lovely he began to show most fondness. He loved

her at such a kind and generous rate as words cannot express. Yet even this, which was the highest love he or

any man could have, was bounded by a superior: he loved her in the Lord as his fellowcreature, not his idol;

but in such a manner as showed that an affection, founded on the just rules of duty, far exceeds every way all

the irregular passions in the world. He loved God above her, and all the other dear pledges of his heart, and

Lady Rachel Russell is another of the women of history celebrated for her devotion and faithfulness as a wife.

She laboured and pleaded for her husband's release so long as she could do so with honour; but when she saw

that all was in vain, she collected her courage, and strove by her example to strengthen the resolution of her

dear lord. And when his last hour had nearly come, and his wife and children waited to receive his parting

embrace, she, brave to the end, that she might not add to his distress, concealed the agony of her grief under a

seeming composure; and they parted, after a tender adieu, in silence. After she had gone, Lord William said,

We have spoken of the influence of a wife upon a man's character. There are few men strong enough to resist

the influence of a lower character in a wife. If she do not sustain and elevate what is highest in his nature, she

will speedily reduce him to her own level. Thus a wife may be the making or the unmaking of the best of

men. An illustration of this power is furnished in the life of Bunyan. The profligate tinker had the good

fortune to marry, in early life, a worthy young woman of good parentage. "My mercy," he himself says, "was

to light upon a wife whose father and mother were accounted godly. This woman and I, though we came

together as poor as poor might be (not having so much household stuff as a dish or a spoon betwixt us both),

yet she had for her part, 'The Plain Man's Pathway to Heaven,' and 'The Practice of Piety,' which her father

had left her when he died." And by reading these and other good books; helped by the kindly influence of his

wife, Bunyan was gradually reclaimed from his evil ways, and led gently into the paths of peace.

Richard Baxter, the Nonconformist divine, was far advanced in life before he met the excellent woman who

eventually became his wife. He was too laboriously occupied in his vocation of minister to have any time to

spare for courtship; and his marriage was, as in the case of Calvin, as much a matter of convenience as of

love. Miss Charlton, the lady of his choice, was the owner of property in her own right; but lest it should be

thought that Baxter married her for "covetousness," he requested, first, that she should give over to her

relatives the principal part of her fortune, and that "he should have nothing that before her marriage was

hers;" secondly, that she should so arrange her affairs "as that he might be entangled in no lawsuits;" and,

thirdly, "that she should expect none of the time that his ministerial work might require." These several

conditions the bride having complied with, the marriage took place, and proved a happy one. "We lived," said

Baxter, "in inviolated love and mutual complacency, sensible of the benefit of mutual help, nearly nineteen

years." Yet the life of Baxter was one of great trials and troubles, arising from the unsettled state of the times

in which he lived. He was hunted about from one part of the country to another, and for several years he had

no settled dwellingplace. "The women, he gently remarks in his 'Life,' "have most of that sort of trouble, but

my wife easily bore it all." In the sixth year of his marriage Baxter was brought before the magistrates at

Brentford, for holding a conventicle at Acton, and was sentenced by them to be imprisoned in Clerkenwell

Gaol. There he was joined by his wife, who affectionately nursed him during his confinement. "She was

never so cheerful a companion to me," he says, "as in prison, and was very much against me seeking to be

released." At length he was set at liberty by the judges of the Court of Common Pleas, to whom he had

appealed against the sentence of the magistrates. At the death of Mrs. Baxter, after a very troubled yet happy

and cheerful life, her husband left a touching portrait of the graces, virtues, and Christian character of this

The noble Count Zinzendorf was united to an equally noble woman, who bore him up through life by her

great spirit, and sustained him in all his labours by her unfailing courage. "Twentyfour years' experience has

shown me," he said, "that just the helpmate whom I have is the only one that could suit my vocation. Who

else could have so carried through my family affairs?who lived so spotlessly before the world? Who so

wisely aided me in my rejection of a dry morality?.... Who would, like she, without a murmur, have seen her

husband encounter such dangers by land and sea?who undertaken with him, and sustained, such

astonishing pilgrimages? Who, amid such difficulties, could have held up her head and supported me?.... And

finally, who, of all human beings, could so well understand and interpret to others my inner and outer being

as this one, of such nobleness in her way of thinking, such great intellectual capacity, and free from the

One of the brave Dr. Livingstone's greatest trials during his travels in South Africa was the death of his

affectionate wife, who had shared his dangers, and accompanied him in so many of his wanderings. In

communicating the intelligence of her decease at Shupanga, on the River Zambesi, to his friend Sir Roderick

Murchison, Dr. Livingstone said: "I must confess that this heavy stroke quite takes the heart out of me.

Everything else that has happened only made me more determined to overcome all difficulties; but after this

sad stroke I feel crushed and void of strength. Only three short months of her society, after four years

separation! I married her for love, and the longer I lived with her I loved her the more. A good wife, and a

good, brave, kindhearted mother was she, deserving all the praises you bestowed upon her at our parting

dinner, for teaching her own and the native children, too, at Kolobeng. I try to bow to the blow as from our

Heavenly Father, who orders all things for us.... I shall do my duty still, but it is with a darkened horizon that

Sir Samuel Romilly left behind him, in his Autobiography, a touching picture of his wife, to whom he

attributed no small measure of the success and happiness that accompanied him through life. "For the last

fifteen years," he said, "my happiness has been the constant study of the most excellent of wives: a woman in

whom a strong understanding, the noblest and most elevated sentiments, and the most courageous virtue, are

united to the warmest affection, and to the utmost delicacy of mind and heart; and all these intellectual

perfections are graced by the most splendid beauty that human eyes ever beheld." (17) Romilly's affection

and admiration for this noble woman endured to the end; and when she died, the shock proved greater than

his sensitive nature could bear. Sleep left his eyelids, his mind became unhinged, and three days after her

Sir Francis Burdett, to whom Romilly had been often politically opposed, fell into such a state of profound

melancholy on the death of his wife, that he persistently refused nourishment of any kind, and died before the

removal of her remains from the house; and husband and wife were laid side by side in the same grave.

It was grief for the loss of his wife that sent Sir Thomas Graham into the army at the age of fortythree.

Every one knows the picture of the newlywedded pair by Gainsboroughone of the most exquisite of that

painter's works. They lived happily together for eighteen years, and then she died, leaving him inconsolable.

To forget his sorrowand, as some thought, to get rid of the weariness of his life without herGraham

joined Lord Hood as a volunteer, and distinguished himself by the recklessness of his bravery at the siege of

Toulon. He served all through the Peninsular War, first under Sir John Moore, and afterwards under

Wellington; rising through the various grades of the service, until he rose to be second in command. He was

commonly known as the "hero of Barossa," because of his famous victory at that place; and he was

eventually raised to the peerage as Lord Lynedoch, ending his days peacefully at a very advanced age. But to

the last he tenderly cherished the memory of his dead wife, to the love of whom he may be said to have owed

all his glory. "Never," said Sheridan of him, when pronouncing his eulogy in the House of

And so have noble wives cherished the memory of their husbands. There is a celebrated monument in

Vienna, erected to the memory of one of the best generals of the Austrian army, on which there is an

inscription, setting forth his great services during the Seven Years' War, concluding with the words, "NON

PATRIA, NEC IMPERATOR, SED CONJUX POSUIT." When Sir Albert Morton died, his wife's grief was

such that she shortly followed him, and was laid by his side. Wotton's two lines on the event have been

"He first deceased; she for a little tried To live without him, liked it not, and died."

So, when Washington's wife was informed that her dear lord had suffered his last agonyhad drawn his last

breath, and departed she said: "'Tis well; all is now over. I shall soon follow him; I have no more trials to

Not only have women been the best companions, friends, and consolers, but they have in many cases been the

most effective helpers of their husbands in their special lines of work. Galvani was especially happy in his

wife. She was the daughter of Professor Galeazzi; and it is said to have been through her quick observation of

the circumstance of the leg of a frog, placed near an electrical machine, becoming convulsed when touched

by a knife, that her husband was first led to investigate the science which has since become identified with his

name. Lavoisier's wife also was a woman of real scientific ability, who not only shared in her husband's

pursuits, but even undertook the task of engraving the plates that accompanied his 'Elements.'

The late Dr. Buckland had another true helper in his wife, who assisted him with her pen, prepared and

mended his fossils, and furnished many of the drawings and illustrations of his published works.

"Notwithstanding her devotion to her husband's pursuits," says her son, Frank Buckland, in the preface to one

of his father's works, "she did not neglect the education of her children, but occupied her mornings in

superintending their instruction in sound and useful knowledge. The sterling value of her labours they now, in

afterlife, fully appreciate, and feel most thankful that they were blessed with so good a mother." (19)

A still more remarkable instance of helpfulness in a wife is presented in the case of Huber, the Geneva

naturalist. Huber was blind from his seventeenth year, and yet he found means to study and master a branch

of natural history demanding the closest observation and the keenest eyesight. It was through the eyes of his

wife that his mind worked as if they had been his own. She encouraged her husband's studies as a means of

alleviating his privation, which at length he came to forget; and his life was as prolonged and happy as is

usual with most naturalists. He even went so far as to declare that he should be miserable were he to regain

his eyesight. "I should not know," he said, "to what extent a person in my situation could be beloved; besides,

to me my wife is always young, fresh, and pretty, which is no light matter." Huber's great work on 'Bees' is

still regarded as a masterpiece, embodying a vast amount of original observation on their habits and natural

history. Indeed, while reading his descriptions, one would suppose that they were the work of a singularly

keensighted man, rather than of one who had been entirely blind for twentyfive years at the time at which he

Not less touching was the devotion of Lady Hamilton to the service of her husband, the late Sir William

Hamilton, Professor of Logic and Metaphysics in the University of Edinburgh. After he had been stricken by

paralysis through overwork at the age of fiftysix, she became hands, eyes, mind, and everything to him. She

identified herself with his work, read and consulted books for him, copied out and corrected his lectures, and

relieved him of all business which she felt herself competent to undertake. Indeed, her conduct as a wife was

nothing short of heroic; and it is probable that but for her devoted and more than wifely help, and her rare

practical ability, the greatest of her husband's works would never have seen the light. He was by nature

unmethodical and disorderly, and she supplied him with method and orderliness. His temperament was

studious but indolent, while she was active and energetic. She abounded in the qualities which he most

lacked. He had the genius, to which her vigorous nature gave the force and impulse.

When Sir William Hamilton was elected to his Professorship, after a severe and even bitter contest, his

opponents, professing to regard him as a visionary, predicted that he could never teach a class of students,

and that his appointment would prove a total failure. He determined, with the help of his wife, to justify the

choice of his supporters, and to prove that his enemies were false prophets. Having no stock of lectures on

hand, each lecture of the first course was written out day by day, as it was to be delivered on the following

morning. His wife sat up with him night after night, to write out a fair copy of the lectures from the rough

sheets, which he drafted in the adjoining room. "On some occasions," says his biographer, "the subject of the

lectures would prove less easily managed than on others; and then Sir William would be found writing as late

as nine o'clock in the morning, while his faithful but wearied amanuensis had fallen asleep on a sofa." (20)

Sometimes the finishing touches to the lecture were left to be given just before the classhour. Thus helped,

Sir William completed his course; his reputation as a lecturer was established; and he eventually became

The woman who soothes anxiety by her presence, who charms and allays irritability by her sweetness of

temper, is a consoler as well as a true helper. Niebuhr always spoke of his wife as a fellowworker with him

in this sense. Without the peace and consolation which be found in her society, his nature would have fretted

in comparative uselessness. "Her sweetness of temper and her love," said he, "raise me above the earth, and

in a manner separate me from this life." But she was a helper in another and more direct way. Niebuhr was

accustomed to discuss with his wife every historical discovery, every political event, every novelty in

literature; and it was mainly for her pleasure and approbation, in the first instance, that he laboured while

The wife of John Stuart Mill was another worthy helper of her husband, though in a more abstruse

department of study, as we learn from his touching dedication of the treatise 'On Liberty': "To the beloved

and deplored memory of her who was the inspirer, and in part the author, of all that is best in my

writingsthe friend and wife, whose exalted sense of truth and right was my strongest incitement, and

whose approbation was my chief reward, I dedicate this volume." Not less touching is the testimony borne by

another great living writer to the character of his wife, in the inscription upon the tombstone of Mrs. Carlyle

in Haddington Churchyard, where are inscribed these words: "In her bright existence, she had more sorrows

than are common, but also a soft amiability, a capacity of discernment, and a noble loyalty of heart, which are

rare. For forty years she was the true and loving helpmate of her husband, and by act and word unweariedly

The married life of Faraday was eminently happy. In his wife he found, at the same time, a true helpmate and

soulmate. She supported, cheered, and strengthened him on his way through life, giving him "the clear

contentment of a heart at ease." In his diary he speaks of his marriage as "a source of honour and happiness

far exceeding all the rest." After twentyeight years' experience, he spoke of it as "an event which, more than

any other, had contributed to his earthly happiness and healthy state of mind.... The union (said he) has in

nowise changed, except only in the depth and strength of its character." And for six andforty years did the

union continue unbroken; the love of the old man remaining as fresh, as earnest, as heartwhole, as in the

"A golden chain let down from heaven, Whose links are bright and even; That falls like sleep on lovers, and

Besides being a helper, woman is emphatically a consoler. Her sympathy is unfailing. She soothes, cheers,

and comforts. Never was this more true than in the case of the wife of Tom Hood, whose tender devotion to

him, during a life that was a prolonged illness, is one of the most affecting things in biography. A woman of

excellent good sense, she appreciated her husband's genius, and, by encouragement and sympathy, cheered

and heartened him to renewed effort in many a weary struggle for life. She created about him an atmosphere

of hope and cheerfulness, and nowhere did the sunshine of her love seem so bright as when lighting up the

Nor was he unconscious of her worth. In one of his letters to her, when absent from his side, Hood said: "I

never was anything, Dearest, till I knew you; and I have been a better, happier, and more prosperous man

ever since. Lay by that truth in lavender, Sweetest, and remind me of it when I fail. I am writing warmly and

fondly, but not without good cause. First, your own affectionate letter, lately received; next, the remembrance

of our dear children, pledgeswhat darling ones!of our old familiar love; then, a delicious impulse to

pour out the overflowings of my heart into yours; and last, not least, the knowledge that your dear eyes will

read what my hand is now writing. Perhaps there is an afterthought that, whatever may befall me, the wife of

my bosom will have the acknowledgment of her tenderness, worth, excellence all that is wifely or

womanly, from my pen." In another letter, also written to his wife during a brief absence, there is a natural

touch, showing his deep affection for her: "I went and retraced our walk in the park, and sat down on the

But not only was Mrs. Hood a consoler, she was also a helper of her husband in his special work. He had

such confidence in her judgment, that he read, and reread, and corrected with her assistance all that he

wrote. Many of his pieces were first dedicated to her; and her ready memory often supplied him with the

necessary references and quotations. Thus, in the roll of noble wives of men of genius, Mrs. Hood will

Not less effective as a literary helper was Lady Napier, the wife of Sir William Napier, historian of the

Peninsular War. She encouraged him to undertake the work, and without her help he would have experienced

great difficulty in completing it. She translated and epitomized the immense mass of original documents,

many of them in cipher, on which it was in a great measure founded. When the Duke of Wellington was told

of the art and industry she had displayed in deciphering King Joseph's portfolio, and the immense mass of

correspondence taken at Vittoria, he at first would hardly believe it, adding"I would have given 20,000L.

to any person who could have done this for me in the Peninsula." Sir William Napier's handwriting being

almost illegible, Lady Napier made out his rough interlined manuscript, which he himself could scarcely

read, and wrote out a full fair copy for the printer; and all this vast labour she undertook and accomplished,

according to the testimony of her husband, without having for a moment neglected the care and education of

a large family. When Sir William lay on his deathbed, Lady Napier was at the same time dangerously ill; but

she was wheeled into his room on a sofa, and the two took their silent farewell of each other. The husband

died first; in a few weeks the wife followed him, and they sleep side by side in the same grave.

Many other similar truehearted wives rise up in the memory, to recite whose praises would more than fill up

our remaining space such as Flaxman's wife, Ann Denham, who cheered and encouraged her husband

through life in the prosecution of his art, accompanying him to Rome, sharing in his labours and anxieties,

and finally in his triumphs, and to whom Flaxman, in the fortieth year of their married life, dedicated his

beautiful designs illustrative of Faith, Hope, and Charity, in token of his deep and undimmed

affection;such as Katherine Boutcher, "darkeyed Kate," the wife of William Blake, who believed her

husband to be the first genius on earth, worked off the impressions of his plates and coloured them beautifully

with her own hand, bore with him in all his erratic ways, sympathised with him in his sorrows and joys for

fortyfive years, and comforted him until his dying hourhis last sketch, made in his seventyfirst year,

being a likeness of himself, before making which, seeing his wife crying by his side, he said, "Stay, Kate! just

keep as you are; I will draw your portrait, for you have ever been an angel to me;"such again as Lady

Franklin, the true and noble woman, who never rested in her endeavours to penetrate the secret of the Polar

Sea and prosecute the search for her longlost husbandundaunted by failure, and persevering in her

determination with a devotion and singleness of purpose altogether unparalleled;or such again as the wife

of Zimmermann, whose intense melancholy she strove in vain to assuage, sympathizing with him, listening to

him, and endeavouring to understand himand to whom, when on her deathbed, about to leave him for ever,

she addressed the touching words, "My poor Zimmermann! who will now understand thee?"

Wives have actively helped their husbands in other ways. Before Weinsberg surrendered to its besiegers, the

women of the place asked permission of the captors to remove their valuables. The permission was granted,

and shortly after, the women were seen issuing from the gates carrying their husbands on their shoulders.

Lord Nithsdale owed his escape from prison to the address of his wife, who changed garments with him,

sending him forth in her stead, and herself remaining prisoner,an example which was successfully repeated

But the most remarkable instance of the release of a husband through the devotion of a wife, was that of the

celebrated Grotius. He had lain for nearly twenty months in the strong fortress of Loevestein, near Gorcum,

having been condemned by the government of the United Provinces to perpetual imprisonment. His wife,

having been allowed to share his cell, greatly relieved his solitude. She was permitted to go into the town

twice a week, and bring her husband books, of which he required a large number to enable him to prosecute

his studies. At length a large chest was required to hold them. This the sentries at first examined with great

strictness, but, finding that it only contained books (amongst others Arminian books) and linen, they at length

gave up the search, and it was allowed to pass out and in as a matter of course. This led Grotius' wife to

conceive the idea of releasing him; and she persuaded him one day to deposit himself in the chest instead of

the outgoing books. When the two soldiers appointed to remove it took it up, they felt it to be considerably

heavier than usual, and one of them asked, jestingly, "Have we got the Arminian himself here?" to which the

readywitted wife replied, "Yes, perhaps some Arminian books." The chest reached Gorcum in safety; the

captive was released; and Grotius escaped across the frontier into Brabant, and afterwards into France, where

Trial and suffering are the tests of married life. They bring out the real character, and often tend to produce

the closest union. They may even be the spring of the purest happiness. Uninterrupted joy, like uninterrupted

success, is not good for either man or woman. When Heine's wife died, he began to reflect upon the loss he

had sustained. They had both known poverty, and struggled through it handinhand; and it was his greatest

sorrow that she was taken from him at the moment when fortune was beginning to smile upon him, but too

late for her to share in his prosperity. "Alas I" said he, "amongst my griefs must I reckon even her lovethe

strongest, truest, that ever inspired the heart of womanwhich made me the happiest of mortals, and yet was

to me a fountain of a thousand distresses, inquietudes, and cares? To entire cheerfulness, perhaps, she never

attained; but for what unspeakable sweetness, what exalted, enrapturing joys, is not love indebted to sorrow!

Amidst growing anxieties, with the torture of anguish in my heart, I have been made, even by the loss which

caused me this anguish and these anxieties, inexpressibly happy! When tears flowed over our cheeks, did not

a nameless, seldomfelt delight stream through my breast, oppressed equally by joy and sorrow!"

There is a degree of sentiment in German love which seems strange to English readers,such as we find

depicted in the lives of Novalis, Jung Stilling, Fichte, Jean Paul, and others that might be named. The German

betrothal is a ceremony of almost equal importance to the marriage itself; and in that state the sentiments are

allowed free play, whilst English lovers are restrained, shy, and as if ashamed of their feelings. Take, for

instance, the case of Herder, whom his future wife first saw in the pulpit. "I heard," she says, "the voice of an

angel, and soul's words such as I had never heard before. In the afternoon I saw him, and stammered out my

thanks to him; from this time forth our souls were one." They were betrothed long before their means would

permit them to marry; but at length they were united. "We were married," says Caroline, the wife, "by the

roselight of a beautiful evening. We were one heart, one soul." Herder was equally ecstatic in his language.

"I have a wife," he wrote to Jacobi, "that is the tree, the consolation, and the happiness of my life. Even in

Take, again, the case of Fichte, in whose history his courtship and marriage form a beautiful episode. He was

a poor German student, living with a family at Zurich in the capacity of tutor, when he first made the

acquaintance of Johanna Maria Hahn, a niece of Klopstock. Her position in life was higher than that of

Fichte; nevertheless, she regarded him with sincere admiration. When Fichte was about to leave Zurich, his

troth plighted to her, she, knowing him to be very poor, offered him a gift of money before setting out. He

was inexpressibly hurt by the offer, and, at first, even doubted whether she could really love him; but, on

second thoughts, he wrote to her, expressing his deep thanks, but, at the same time, the impossibility of his

accepting such a gift from her. He succeeded in reaching his destination, though entirely destitute of means.

After a long and hard struggle with the world, extending over many years, Fichte was at length earning

money enough to enable him to marry. In one of his charming letters to his betrothed he said:"And so,

dearest, I solemnly devote myself to thee, and thank thee that thou hast thought me not unworthy to be thy

companion on the journey of life.... There is no land of happiness here belowI know it nowbut a land of

toil, where every joy but strengthens us for greater labour. Handinhand we shall traverse it, and encourage

and strengthen each other, until our spiritsoh, may it be together!shall rise to the eternal fountain of all

The married life of Fichte was very happy. His wife proved a true and highminded helpmate. During the War

of Liberation she was assiduous in her attention to the wounded in the hospitals, where she caught a

malignant fever, which nearly carried her off. Fichte himself caught the same disease, and was for a time

completely prostrated; but he lived for a few more years and died at the early age of fiftytwo, consumed by

What a contrast does the courtship and married life of the blunt and practical William Cobbett present to the

aesthetical and sentimental love of these highly refined Germans! Not less honest, not less true, but, as some

would think, comparatively coarse and vulgar. When he first set eyes upon the girl that was afterwards to

become his wife, she was only thirteen years old, and he was twentyonea sergeantmajor in a foot

regiment stationed at St. John's in New Brunswick. He was passing the door of her father's house one day in

winter, and saw the girl out in the snow, scrubbing a washingtub. He said at once to himself, "That's the girl

for me." He made her acquaintance, and resolved that she should be his wife so soon as he could get

On the eve of the girl's return to Woolwich with her father, who was a sergeantmajor in the artillery,

Cobbett sent her a hundred and fifty guineas which he had saved, in order that she might be able to live

without hard work until his return to England. The girl departed, taking with her the money; and five years

later Cobbett obtained his discharge. On reaching London, he made haste to call upon the sergeantmajor's

daughter. "I found," he says, "my little girl a servantofallwork (and hard work it was), at five pounds a

year, in the house of a Captain Brisac; and, without hardly saying a word about the matter, she put into my

hands the whole of my hundred and fifty guineas, unbroken." Admiration of her conduct was now added to

love of her person, and Cobbett shortly after married the girl, who proved an excellent wife. He was, indeed,

never tired of speaking her praises, and it was his pride to attribute to her all the comfort and much of the

Though Cobbett was regarded by many in his lifetime as a coarse, hard, practical man, full of prejudices,

there was yet a strong undercurrent of poetry in his nature; and, while he declaimed against sentiment, there

were few men more thoroughly imbued with sentiment of the best kind. He had the tenderest regard for the

character of woman. He respected her purity and her virtue, and in his 'Advice to Young Men,' he has painted

the true womanly womanthe helpful, cheerful, affectionate wifewith a vividness and brightness, and, at

the same time, a force of good sense, that has never been surpassed by any English writer. Cobbett was

anything but refined, in the conventional sense of the word; but he was pure, temperate, selfdenying,

industrious, vigorous, and energetic, in an eminent degree. Many of his views were, no doubt, wrong, but

they were his own, for he insisted on thinking for himself in everything. Though few men took a firmer grasp

of the real than he did, perhaps still fewer were more swayed by the ideal. In wordpictures of his own

emotions, he is unsurpassed. Indeed, Cobbett might almost be regarded as one of the greatest prose poets of

(1) Mungo Park declared that he was more affected by this incident than by any other that befel him in the

course of his travels. As he lay down to sleep on the mat spread for him on the floor of the hut, his

benefactress called to the female part of the family to resume their task of spinning cotton, in which they

continued employed far into the night. "They lightened their labour with songs," says the traveller, "one of

which was composed extempore, for I was myself the subject of it; it was sung by one of the young women,

the rest joining in a chorus. The air was sweet and plaintive, and the words, literally translated, were these:

'The winds roared, and the rains fell. The poor white man, faint and weary, came and sat under our tree. He

has no mother to bring him milk, no wife to grind his corn.' Chorus'Let us pity the white man, no mother

has he!' Trifling as this recital may appear, to a person in my situation the circumstance was affecting in the

highest degree. I was so oppressed by such unexpected kindness, that sleep fled before my eyes."

(4) Mr. Arthur Helps, in one of his Essays, has wisely said: "You observe a man becoming day by day richer,

or advancing in station, or increasing in professional reputation, and you set him down as a successful man in

life. But if his home is an illregulated one, where no links of affection extend throughout the family

whose former domestics (and he has had more of them than he can well remember) look back upon their

sojourn with him as one unblessed by kind words or deedsI contend that that man has not been successful.

Whatever good fortune he may have in the world, it is to be remembered that he has always left one

important fortress untaken behind him. That man's life does not surely read well whose benevolence has

found no central home. It may have sent forth rays in various directions, but there should have been a warm

focus of lovethat homenest which is formed round a good mans heart."CLAIMS OF LABOUR.

(5) "The red heart sends all its instincts up to the white brain, to be analysed, chilled, blanched, and so

become pure reasonwhich is just exactly what we do NOT want of women as women. The current should

run the other way. The nice, calm, cold thought, which, in women, shapes itself so rapidly that they hardly

know it as thought, should always travel to the lips VIA the heart. It does so in those women whom all love

and admire.... The brainwomen never interest us like the heartwomen; white roses please less than

(7) "Depend upon it, men set more value on the cultivated minds than on the accomplishments of women,

which they are rarely able to appreciate. It is a common error, but it is an error, that literature unfits women

for the everyday business of life. It is not so with men. You see those of the most cultivated minds constantly

devoting their time and attention to the most homely objects. Literature gives women a real and proper

weight in society, but then they must use it with discretion." THE REV. SYDNEY SMITH.

(9) Fuller, the Church historian, with his usual homely motherwit, speaking of the choice of a wife, said

(10) She was an Englishwomana Miss Motley. It maybe mentioned that amongst other distinguished

Frenchmen who have married English wives, were Sismondi, Alfred de Vigny, and Lamartine.

(11) "Plus je roule dans ce monde, et plus je suis amene a penser qu'il n'y a que le bonheur domestique qui

(14) Colonel Hutchinson was an uncompromising republican, thoroughly brave, highminded, and pious. At

the Restoration, he was discharged from Parliament, and from all offices of state for ever. He retired to his

estate at Owthorp, near Nottingham, but was shortly after arrested and imprisoned in the Tower. From thence

he was removed to Sandown Castle, near Deal, where he lay for eleven months, and died on September 11th,

1664. The wife petitioned for leave to share his prison, but was refused. When he felt himself dying, knowing

the deep sorrow which his death would occasion to his wife, he left this message, which was conveyed to her:

"Let her, as she is above other women, show herself on this occasion a good Christian, and above the pitch of

ordinary women." Hence the wife's allusion to her husband's "command" in the above passage.

(15) Mrs. Lucy Hutchinson to her children concerning their father: 'Memoirs of the Life of Col. Hutchinson'

(16) On the Declaration of American Independence, the first John Adams, afterwards President of the United

States, bought a copy of the 'Life and Letters of Lady Russell,' and presented it to his wife, "with an express

intent and desire" (as stated by himself), "that she should consider it a mirror in which to contemplate herself;

for, at that time, I thought it extremely probable, from the daring and dangerous career I was determined to

run, that she would one day find herself in the situation of Lady Russell, her husband without a head:"

Speaking of his wife in connection with the fact, Mr. Adams added: "Like Lady Russell, she never, by word

or look, discouraged me from running all hazards for the salvation of my country's liberties. She was willing

to share with me, and that her children should share with us both, in all the dangerous consequences we had

(18) It is a singular circumstance that in the parish church of St. Bride, Fleet Street, there is a tablet on the

wall with an inscription to the memory of Isaac Romilly, F.R.S., who died in 1759, of a broken heart, seven

days after the decease of a beloved wifeCHAMBERS' BOOK OF DAYS, vol. ii. p. 539.

(19) Mr. Frank Buckland says "During the long period that Dr. Buckland was engaged in writing the book

which I now have the honour of editing, my mother sat up night after night, for weeks and months

consecutively, writing to my father's dictation; and this often till the sun's rays, shining through the shutters at

early morn, warned the husband to cease from thinking, and the wife to rest her weary hand. Not only with

her pen did she render material assistance, but her natural talent in the use of her pencil enabled her to give

accurate illustrations and finished drawings, many of which are perpetuated in Dr. Buckland's works. She was

also particularly clever and neat in mending broken fossils; and there are many specimens in the Oxford

Museum, now exhibiting their natural forms and beauty, which were restored by her perseverance to shape

(21) The following extract from Mr. Veitch's biography will give one an idea of the extraordinary labours of

Lady Hamilton, to whose unfailing devotion to the service of her husband the world of intellect has been so

much indebted: "The number of pages in her handwriting," says Mr. Veitch,"filled with abstruse

metaphysical matter, original and quoted, bristling with proportional and syllogistic formulaethat are still

preserved, is perfectly marvellous. Everything that was sent to the press, and all the courses of lectures, were

written by her, either to dictation, or from a copy. This work she did in the truest spirit of love and devotion.

She had a power, moreover, of keeping her husband up to what he had to do. She contended wisely against a

sort of energetic indolence which characterised him, and which, while he was always labouring, made him

apt to put aside the task actually before himsometimes diverted by subjects of inquiry suggested in the

course of study on the matter in hand, sometimes discouraged by the difficulty of reducing to order the

immense mass of materials he had accumulated in connection with it. Then her resolution and cheerful

disposition sustained and refreshed him, and never more so than when, during the last twelve years of his life,

his bodily strength was broken, and his spirit, though languid, yet ceased not from mental toil. The truth is,

that Sir William's marriage, his comparatively limited circumstances, and the character of his wife, supplied

to a nature that would have been contented to spend its mighty energies in work that brought no reward but in

the doing of it, and that might never have been made publicly known or available, the practical force and

impulse which enabled him to accomplish what he actually did in literature and philosophy. It was this

influence, without doubt, which saved him from utter absorption in his world of rare, noble, and elevated, but

everincreasingly unattainable ideas. But for it, the serene sea of abstract thought might have held him

becalmed for life; and in the absence of all utterance of definite knowledge of his conclusions, the world

might have been left to an ignorant and mysterious wonder about the unprofitable scholar."

Practical wisdom is only to be learnt in the school of experience. Precepts and instructions are useful so far as

they go, but, without the discipline of real life, they remain of the nature of theory only. The hard facts of

existence have to be faced, to give that touch of truth to character which can never be imparted by reading or

To be worth anything, character must be capable of standing firm upon its feet in the world of daily work,

temptation, and trial; and able to bear the wearandtear of actual life. Cloistered virtues do not count for

much. The life that rejoices in solitude may be only rejoicing in selfishness. Seclusion may indicate contempt

for others; though more usually it means indolence, cowardice, or selfindulgence. To every human being

belongs his fair share of manful toil and human duty; and it cannot be shirked without loss to the individual

himself, as well as to the community to which he belongs. It is only by mixing in the daily life of the world,

and taking part in its affairs, that practical knowledge can be acquired, and wisdom learnt. It is there that we

find our chief sphere of duty, that we learn the discipline of work, and that we educate ourselves in that

patience, diligence, and endurance which shape and consolidate the character. There we encounter the

difficulties, trials, and temptations which, according as we deal with them, give a colour to our entire after

life; and there, too, we become subject to the great discipline of suffering, from which we learn far more than

Contact with others is also requisite to enable a man to know himself. It is only by mixing freely in the world

that one can form a proper estimate of his own capacity. Without such experience, one is apt to become

conceited, puffedup, and arrogant; at all events, he will remain ignorant of himself, though he may

Swift once said: "It is an uncontroverted truth, that no man ever made an illfigure who understood his own

talents, nor a good one who mistook them." Many persons, however, are readier to take measure of the

capacity of others than of themselves. "Bring him to me," said a certain Dr. Tronchin, of Geneva, speaking of

Rousseau"Bring him to me, that I may see whether he has got anything in him!"the probability being

that Rousseau, who knew himself better, was much more likely to take measure of Tronchin than Tronchin

A due amount of selfknowledge is, therefore, necessary for those who would BE anything or DO anything

in the world. It is also one of the first essentials to the formation of distinct personal convictions. Frederic

Perthes once said to a young friend: "You know only too well what you CAN do; but till you have learned

what you CANNOT do, you will neither accomplish anything of moment, nor know inward peace."

Any one who would profit by experience will never be above asking for help. He who thinks himself already

too wise to learn of others, will never succeed in doing anything either good or great. We have to keep our

minds and hearts open, and never be ashamed to learn, with the assistance of those who are wiser and more

The man made wise by experience endeavours to judge correctly of the thugs which come under his

observation, and form the subject of his daily life. What we call common sense is, for the most part, but the

result of common experience wisely improved. Nor is great ability necessary to acquire it, so much as

patience, accuracy, and watchfulness. Hazlitt thought the most sensible people to be met with are intelligent

men of business and of the world, who argue from what they see and know, instead of spinning cobweb

For the same reason, women often display more good sense than men, having fewer pretensions, and judging

of things naturally, by the involuntary impression they make on the mind. Their intuitive powers are quicker,

their perceptions more acute, their sympathies more lively, and their manners more adaptive to particular

ends. Hence their greater tact as displayed in the management of others, women of apparently slender

intellectual powers often contriving to control and regulate the conduct of men of even the most

impracticable nature. Pope paid a high compliment to the tact and good sense of Mary, Queen of William III.,

when he described her as possessing, not a science, but (what was worth all else) prudence.

The whole of life may be regarded as a great school of experience, in which men and women are the pupils.

As in a school, many of the lessons learnt there must needs be taken on trust. We may not understand them,

and may possibly think it hard that we have to learn them, especially where the teachers are trials, sorrows,

temptations, and difficulties; and yet we must not only accept their lessons, but recognise them as being

To what extent have the pupils profited by their experience in the school of life? What advantage have they

taken of their opportunities for learning? What have they gained in discipline of heart and mind?how much

in growth of wisdom, courage, self control? Have they preserved their integrity amidst prosperity, and

enjoyed life in temperance and moderation? Or, has life been with them a mere feast of selfishness, without

care or thought for others? What have they learnt from trial and adversity? Have they learnt patience,

submission, and trust in God?or have they learnt nothing but impatience, querulousness, and discontent?

The results of experience are, of course, only to be achieved by living; and living is a question of time. The

man of experience learns to rely upon Time as his helper. "Time and I against any two," was a maxim of

Cardinal Mazarin. Time has been described as a beautifier and as a consoler; but it is also a teacher. It is the

food of experience, the soil of wisdom. It may be the friend or the enemy of youth; and Time will sit beside

the old as a consoler or as a tormentor, according as it has been used or misused, and the past life has been

Time," says George Herbert, "is the rider that breaks youth." To the young, how bright the new world

looks!how full of novelty, of enjoyment, of pleasure! But as years pass, we find the world to be a place of

sorrow as well as of joy. As we proceed through life, many dark vistas open upon usof toil, suffering,

difficulty, perhaps misfortune and failure. Happy they who can pass through and amidst such trials with a

firm mind and pure heart, encountering trials with cheerfulness, and standing erect beneath even the heaviest

A little youthful ardour is a great help in life, and is useful as an energetic motive power. It is gradually

cooled down by Time, no matter how glowing it has been, while it is trained and subdued by experience. But

it is a healthy and hopeful indication of character,to be encouraged in a right direction, and not to be

sneered down and repressed. It is a sign of a vigorous unselfish nature, as egotism is of a narrow and selfish

one; and to begin life with egotism and selfsufficiency is fatal to all breadth and vigour of character. Life, in

such a case, would be like a year in which there was no spring. Without a generous seedtime, there will be an

unflowering summer and an unproductive harvest. And youth is the springtime of life, in which, if there be

not a fair share of enthusiasm, little will be attempted, and still less done. It also considerably helps the

working quality, inspiring confidence and hope, and carrying one through the dry details of business and duty

"It is the due admixture of romance and reality," said Sir Henry Lawrence, "that best carries a man through

life... The quality of romance or enthusiasm is to be valued as an energy imparted to the human mind to

prompt and sustain its noblest efforts." Sir Henry always urged upon young men, not that they should repress

enthusiasm, but sedulously cultivate and direct the feeling, as one implanted for wise and noble purposes.

"When the two faculties of romance and reality," he said, "are duly blended, reality pursues a straight rough

path to a desirable and practicable result; while romance beguiles the road by pointing out its beautiesby

bestowing a deep and practical conviction that, even in this dark and material existence, there may be found a

joy with which a stranger intermeddleth nota light that shineth more and more unto the perfect day." (1)

It was characteristic of Joseph Lancaster, when a boy of only fourteen years of age, after reading 'Clarkson on

the Slave Trade,' to form the resolution of leaving his home and going out to the West Indies to teach the poor

blacks to read the Bible. And he actually set out with a Bible and 'Pilgrim's Progress' in his bundle, and only a

few shillings in his purse. He even succeeded in reaching the West Indies, doubtless very much at a loss how

to set about his proposed work; but in the meantime his distressed parents, having discovered whither he had

gone, had him speedily brought back, yet with his enthusiasm unabated; and from that time forward he

unceasingly devoted himself to the truly philanthropic work of educating the destitute poor. (2)

There needs all the force that enthusiasm can give to enable a man to succeed in any great enterprise of life.

Without it, the obstruction and difficulty he has to encounter on every side might compel him to succumb;

but with courage and perseverance, inspired by enthusiasm, a man feels strong enough to face any danger, to

grapple with any difficulty. What an enthusiasm was that of Columbus, who, believing in the existence of a

new world, braved the dangers of unknown seas; and when those about him despaired and rose up against

him, threatening to cast him into the sea, still stood firm upon his hope and courage until the great new world

The brave man will not be baffled, but tries and tries again until he succeeds. The tree does not fall at the first

stroke, but only by repeated strokes and after great labour. We may see the visible success at which a man has

arrived, but forget the toil and suffering and peril through which it has been achieved. When a friend of

Marshal Lefevre was complimenting him on his possessions and good fortune, the Marshal said: "You envy

me, do you? Well, you shall have these things at a better bargain than I had. Come into the court: I'll fire at

you with a gun twenty times at thirty paces, and if I don't kill you, all shall be your own. What! you won't!

Very well; recollect, then, that I have been shot at more than a thousand times, and much nearer, before I

The apprenticeship of difficulty is one which the greatest of men have had to serve. It is usually the best

stimulus and discipline of character. It often evokes powers of action that, but for it, would have remained

dormant. As comets are sometimes revealed by eclipses, so heroes are brought to light by sudden calamity. It

seems as if, in certain cases, genius, like iron struck by the flint, needed the sharp and sudden blow of

adversity to bring out the divine spark. There are natures which blossom and ripen amidst trials, which would

Thus it is good for men to be roused into action and stiffened into selfreliance by difficulty, rather than to

slumber away their lives in useless apathy and indolence. (3) It is the struggle that is the condition of victory.

If there were no difficulties, there would be no need of efforts; if there were no temptations, there would be

no training in selfcontrol, and but little merit in virtue; if there were no trial and suffering, there would be no

education in patience and resignation. Thus difficulty, adversity, and suffering are not all evil, but often the

For the same reason, it is often of advantage for a man to be under the necessity of having to struggle with

poverty and conquer it. "He who has battled," says Carlyle, "were it only with poverty and hard toil, will be

found stronger and more expert than he who could stay at home from the battle, concealed among the

Scholars have found poverty tolerable compared with the privation of intellectual food. Riches weigh much

more heavily upon the mind. "I cannot but choose say to Poverty," said Richter, "Be welcome! so that thou

come not too late in life." Poverty, Horace tells us, drove him to poetry, and poetry introduced him to Varus

and Virgil and Maecenas. "Obstacles," says Michelet, "are great incentives. I lived for whole years upon a

Virgil, and found myself well off. An odd volume of Racine, purchased by chance at a stall on the quay,

The Spaniards are even said to have meanly rejoiced the poverty of Cervantes, but for which they supposed

the production of his great works might have been prevented. When the Archbishop of Toledo visited the

French ambassador at Madrid, the gentlemen in the suite of the latter expressed their high admiration of the

writings of the author of 'Don Quixote,' and intimated their desire of becoming acquainted with one who had

given them so much pleasure. The answer they received was, that Cervantes had borne arms in the service of

his country, and was now old and poor. 'What!" exclaimed one of the Frenchmen, "is not Senor Cervantes in

good circumstances? Why is he not maintained, then, out of the public treasury?" "Heaven forbid!" was the

reply, "that his necessities should be ever relieved, if it is those which make him write; since it is his poverty

It is not prosperity so much as adversity, not wealth so much as poverty, that stimulates the perseverance of

strong and healthy natures, rouses their energy and developes their character. Burke said of himself: "I was

not rocked, and swaddled, and dandled into a legislator. 'NITOR IN ADVERSUM' is the motto for a man like

you." Some men only require a great difficulty set in their way to exhibit the force of their character and

genius; and that difficulty once conquered becomes one of the greatest incentives to their further progress.

It is a mistake to suppose that men succeed through success; they much oftener succeed through failure. By

far the best experience of men is made up of their remembered failures in dealing with others in the affairs of

life. Such failures, in sensible men, incite to better selfmanagement, and greater tact and self control, as a

means of avoiding them in the future. Ask the diplomatist, and he will tell you that he has learned his art

through being baffled, defeated, thwarted, and circumvented, far more than from having succeeded. Precept,

study, advice, and example could never have taught them so well as failure has done. It has disciplined them

experimentally, and taught them what to do as well as what NOT to dowhich is often still more important

Many have to make up their minds to encounter failure again and again before they succeed; but if they have

pluck, the failure will only serve to rouse their courage, and stimulate them to renewed efforts. Talma, the

greatest of actors, was hissed off the stage when he first appeared on it. Lacordaire, one of the greatest

preachers of modern times, only acquired celebrity after repeated failures. Montalembert said of his first

public appearance in the Church of St. Roch: "He failed completely, and on coming out every one said,

'Though he may be a man of talent, he will never be a preacher.'" Again and again he tried until he succeeded;

and only two years after his DEBUT, Lacordaire was preaching in Notre Dame to audiences such as few

When Mr. Cobden first appeared as a speaker, at a public meeting in Manchester, he completely broke down,

and the chairman apologized for his failure. Sir James Graham and Mr. Disraeli failed and were derided at

first, and only succeeded by dint of great labour and application. At one time Sir James Graham had almost

given up public speaking in despair. He said to his friend Sir Francis Baring: "I have tried it every

wayextempore, from notes, and committing all to memoryand I can't do it. I don't know why it is, but I

am afraid I shall never succeed." Yet, by dint of perseverance, Graham, like Disraeli, lived to become one of

Failures in one direction have sometimes had the effect of forcing the farseeing student to apply himself in

another. Thus Prideaux's failure as a candidate for the post of parishclerk of Ugboro, in Devon, led to his

applying himself to learning, and to his eventual elevation to the bishopric of Worcester. When Boileau,

educated for the bar, pleaded his first cause, he broke down amidst shouts of laughter. He next tried the

pulpit, and failed there too. And then he tried poetry, and succeeded. Fontenelle and Voltaire both failed at

the bar. So Cowper, through his diffidence and shyness, broke down when pleading his first cause, though he

lived to revive the poetic art in England. Montesquieu and Bentham both failed as lawyers, and forsook the

bar for more congenial pursuitsthe latter leaving behind him a treasury of legislative procedure for all time.

Goldsmith failed in passing as a surgeon; but he wrote the 'Deserted Village' and the 'Vicar of Wakefield;'

whilst Addison failed as a speaker, but succeeded in writing 'Sir Roger de Coverley,' and his many famous

Even the privation of some important bodily sense, such as sight or hearing, has not been sufficient to deter

courageous men from zealously pursuing the struggle of life. Milton, when struck by blindness, "still bore up

and steered right onward." His greatest works were produced during that period of his life in which be

The lives of some of the greatest men have been a continuous struggle with difficulty and apparent defeat.

Dante produced his greatest work in penury and exile. Banished from his native city by the local faction to

which he was opposed, his house was given up to plunder, and he was sentenced in his absence to be burnt

alive. When informed by a friend that he might return to Florence, if he would consent to ask for pardon and

absolution, he replied: "No! This is not the way that shall lead me back to my country. I will return with hasty

steps if you, or any other, can open to me a way that shall not derogate from the fame or the honour of Dante;

but if by no such way Florence can be entered, then to Florence I shall never return." His enemies remaining

implacable, Dante, after a banishment of twenty years, died in exile. They even pursued him after death,

when his book, 'De Monarchia,' was publicly burnt at Bologna by order of the Papal Legate.

Camoens also wrote his great poems mostly in banishment. Tired of solitude at Santarem, he joined an

expedition against the Moors, in which he distinguished himself by his bravery. He lost an eye when

boarding an enemy's ship in a seafight. At Goa, in the East Indies, he witnessed with indignation the cruelty

practised by the Portuguese on the natives, and expostulated with the governor against it. He was in

consequence banished from the settlement, and sent to China. In the course of his subsequent adventures and

misfortunes, Camoens suffered shipwreck, escaping only with his life and the manuscript of his 'Lusiad.'

Persecution and hardship seemed everywhere to pursue him. At Macao he was thrown into prison. Escaping

from it, he set sail for Lisbon, where he arrived, after sixteen years' absence, poor and friendless. His 'Lusiad,'

which was shortly after published, brought him much fame, but no money. But for his old Indian slave

Antonio, who begged for his master in the streets, Camoens must have perished. (5) As it was, he died in a

public almshouse, worn out by disease and hardship. An inscription was placed over his grave:"Here lies

Luis de Camoens: he excelled all the poets of his time: he lived poor and miserable; and he died so,

MDLXXIX." This record, disgraceful but truthful, has since been removed; and a lying and pompous epitaph,

in honour of the great national poet of Portugal, has been substituted in its stead.

Even Michael Angelo was exposed, during the greater part of his life, to the persecutions of the

enviousvulgar nobles, vulgar priests, and sordid men of every degree, who could neither sympathise with

him, nor comprehend his genius. When Paul IV. condemned some of his work in 'The Last Judgment,' the

artist observed that "The Pope would do better to occupy himself with correcting the disorders and

indecencies which disgrace the world, than with any such hypercriticisms upon his art."

Tasso also was the victim of almost continual persecution and calumny. After lying in a madhouse for seven

years, he became a wanderer over Italy; and when on his deathbed, he wrote: "I will not complain of the

malignity of fortune, because I do not choose to speak of the ingratitude of men who have succeeded in

But Time brings about strange revenges. The persecutors and the persecuted often change places; it is the

latter who are great the former who are infamous. Even the names of the persecutors would probably long

ago have been forgotten, but for their connection with the history of the men whom they have persecuted.

Thus, who would now have known of Duke Alfonso of Ferrara, but for his imprisonment of Tasso? Or, who

would have heard of the existence of the Grand Duke of Wurtemburg of some ninety years back, but for his

Science also has had its martyrs, who have fought their way to light through difficulty, persecution, and

suffering. We need not refer again to the cases of Bruno, Galileo, and others, (6) persecuted because of the

supposed heterodoxy of their views. But there have been other unfortunates amongst men of science, whose

genius has been unable to save them from the fury of their enemies. Thus Bailly, the celebrated French

astronomer (who had been mayor of Paris), and Lavoisier, the great chemist, were both guillotined in the first

French Revolution. When the latter, after being sentenced to death by the Commune, asked for a few days'

respite, to enable him to ascertain the result of some experiments he had made during his confinement, the

tribunal refused his appeal, and ordered him for immediate executionone of the judges saying, that "the

Republic had no need of philosophers." In England also, about the same time, Dr. Priestley, the father of

modern chemistry, had his house burnt over his head, and his library destroyed, amidst shouts of "No

philosophers!" and he fled from his native country to lay his bones in a foreign land.

The work of some of the greatest discoverers has been done in the midst of persecution, difficulty, and

suffering. Columbus, who discovered the New World and gave it as a heritage to the Old, was in his lifetime

persecuted, maligned, and plundered by those whom he had enriched. Mungo Park's drowning agony in the

African river he had discovered, but which he was not to live to describe; Clapperton's perishing of fever on

the banks of the great lake, in the heart of the same continent, which was afterwards to be rediscovered and

described by other explorers; Franklin's perishing in the snowit might be after he had solved the long

sought problem of the Northwest Passageare among the most melancholy events in the history of

The case of Flinders the navigator, who suffered a six years' imprisonment in the Isle of France, was one of

peculiar hardship. In 1801, he set sail from England in the INVESTIGATOR, on a voyage of discovery and

survey, provided with a French pass, requiring all French governors (notwithstanding that England and

France were at war) to give him protection and succour in the sacred name of science. In the course of his

voyage he surveyed great part of Australia, Van Diemen's Land, and the neighbouring islands. The

INVESTIGATOR, being found leaky and rotten, was condemned, and the navigator embarked as passenger

in the PORPOISE for England, to lay the results of his three years' labours before the Admiralty. On the

voyage home the PORPOISE was wrecked on a reef in the South Seas, and Flinders, with part of the crew, in

an open boat, made for Port Jackson, which they safely reached, though distant from the scene of the wreck

not less than 750 miles. There he procured a small schooner, the CUMBERLAND, no larger than a

Gravesend sailingboat, and returned for the remainder of the crew, who had been left on the reef. Having

rescued them, he set sail for England, making for the Isle of France, which the CUMBERLAND reached in a

sinking condition, being a wretched little craft badly found. To his surprise, he was made a prisoner with all

his crew, and thrown into prison, where he was treated with brutal harshness, his French pass proving no

protection to him. What aggravated the horrors of Flinders' confinement was, that he knew that Baudin, the

French navigator, whom he had encountered while making his survey of the Australian coasts, would reach

Europe first, and claim the merit of all the discoveries he had made. It turned out as he had expected; and

while Flinders was still imprisoned in the Isle of France, the French Atlas of the new discoveries was

published, all the points named by Flinders and his precursors being named afresh. Flinders was at length

liberated, after six years' imprisonment, his health completely broken; but he continued correcting his maps,

and writing out his descriptions to the last. He only lived long enough to correct his final sheet for the press,

Courageous men have often turned enforced solitude to account in executing works of great pith and moment.

It is in solitude that the passion for spiritual perfection best nurses itself. The soul communes with itself in

loneliness until its energy often becomes intense. But whether a man profits by solitude or not will mainly

depend upon his own temperament, training, and character. While, in a largenatured man, solitude will

make the pure heart purer, in the smallnatured man it will only serve to make the hard heart still harder: for

though solitude may be the nurse of great spirits, it is the torment of small ones.

It was in prison that Boetius wrote his 'Consolations of Philosophy,' and Grotius his 'Commentary on St.

Matthew,' regarded as his masterwork in Biblical Criticism. Buchanan composed his beautiful 'Paraphrases

on the Psalms' while imprisoned in the cell of a Portuguese monastery. Campanella, the Italian patriot monk,

suspected of treason, was immured for twentyseven years in a Neapolitan dungeon, during which, deprived

of the sun's light, he sought higher light, and there created his 'Civitas Solis,' which has been so often

reprinted and reproduced in translations in most European languages. During his thirteen years' imprisonment

in the Tower, Raleigh wrote his 'History of the World,' a project of vast extent, of which he was only able to

finish the first five books. Luther occupied his prison hours in the Castle of Wartburg in translating the Bible,

and in writing the famous tracts and treatises with which he inundated all Germany.

It was to the circumstance of John Bunyan having been cast into gaol that we probably owe the 'Pilgrim's

Progress.' He was thus driven in upon himself; having no opportunity for action, his active mind found vent

in earnest thinking and meditation; and indeed, after his enlargement, his life as an author virtually ceased.

His 'Grace Abounding' and the 'Holy War' were also written in prison. Bunyan lay in Bedford Gaol, with a

few intervals of precarious liberty, during not less than twelve years; (7) and it was most probably to his

prolonged imprisonment that we owe what Macaulay has characterised as the finest allegory in the world.

All the political parties of the times in which Bunyan lived, imprisoned their opponents when they had the

opportunity and the power. Bunyan's prison experiences were principally in the time of Charles II. But in the

preceding reign of Charles I., as well as during the Commonwealth, illustrious prisoners were very numerous.

The prisoners of the former included Sir John Eliot, Hampden, Selden, Prynne (8) (a most voluminous

prisonwriter), and many more. It was while under strict confinement in the Tower, that Eliot composed his

noble treatise, 'The Monarchy of Man.' George Wither, the poet, was another prisoner of Charles the First,

and it was while confined in the Marshalsea that he wrote his famous 'Satire to the King.' At the Restoration

he was again imprisoned in Newgate, from which he was transferred to the Tower, and he is supposed by

The Commonwealth also had its prisoners. Sir William Davenant, because of his loyalty, was for some time

confined a prisoner in Cowes Castle, where he wrote the greater part of his poem of 'Gondibert': and it is said

that his life was saved principally through the generous intercession of Milton. He lived to repay the debt, and

to save Milton's life when "Charles enjoyed his own again." Lovelace, the poet and cavalier, was also

imprisoned by the Roundheads, and was only liberated from the Gatehouse on giving an enormous bail.

Though he suffered and lost all for the Stuarts, he was forgotten by them at the Restoration, and died in

Besides Wither and Bunyan, Charles II. imprisoned Baxter, Harrington (the author of 'Oceana'), Penn, and

many more. All these men solaced their prison hours with writing. Baxter wrote some of the most remarkable

passages of his 'Life and Times' while lying in the King's Bench Prison; and Penn wrote his 'No Cross no

Crown' while imprisoned in the Tower. In the reign of Queen Anne, Matthew Prior was in confinement on a

vampedup charge of treason for two years, during which he wrote his 'Alma, or Progress of the Soul.'

Since then, political prisoners of eminence in England have been comparatively few in number. Among the

most illustrious were De Foe, who, besides standing three times in the pillory, spent much of his time in

prison, writing 'Robinson Crusoe' there, and many of his best political pamphlets. There also he wrote his

'Hymn to the Pillory,' and corrected for the press a collection of his voluminous writings. (9) Smollett wrote

his 'Sir Lancelot Greaves' in prison, while undergoing confinement for libel. Of recent prisonwriters in

England, the best known are James Montgomery, who wrote his first volume of poems while a prisoner in

York Castle; and Thomas Cooper, the Chartist, who wrote his 'Purgatory of Suicide' in Stafford Gaol.

Silvio Pellico was one of the latest and most illustrious of the prison writers of Italy. He lay confined in

Austrian gaols for ten years, eight of which he passed in the Castle of Spielberg in Moravia. It was there that

he composed his charming 'Memoirs,' the only materials for which were furnished by his fresh living habit of

observation; and out of even the transient visits of his gaoler's daughter, and the colourless events of his

monotonous daily life, he contrived to make for himself a little world of thought and healthy human interest.

Kazinsky, the great reviver of Hungarian literature, spent seven years of his life in the dungeons of Buda,

Brunne, Kufstein, and Munkacs, during which he wrote a 'Diary of his Imprisonment,' and amongst other

things translated Sterno's 'Sentimental Journey;' whilst Kossuth beguiled his two years' imprisonment at Buda

Men who, like these, suffer the penalty of law, and seem to fail, at least for a time, do not really fail. Many,

who have seemed to fail utterly, have often exercised a more potent and enduring influence upon their race,

than those whose career has been a course of uninterupted success. The character of a man does not depend

on whether his efforts are immediately followed by failure or by success. The martyr is not a failure if the

truth for which he suffered acquires a fresh lustre through his sacrifice. (10) The patriot who lays down his

life for his cause, may thereby hasten its triumph; and those who seem to throw their lives away in the van of

a great movement, often open a way for those who follow them, and pass over their dead bodies to victory.

The triumph of a just cause may come late; but when it does come, it is due as much to those who failed in

The example of a great death may be an inspiration to others, as well as the example of a good life. A great

act does not perish with the life of him who performs it, but lives and grows up into like acts in those who

survive the doer thereof and cherish his memory. Of some great men, it might almost be said that they have

The names of the men who have suffered in the cause of religion, of science, and of truth, are the men of all

others whose memories are held in the greatest esteem and reverence by mankind. They perished, but their

truth survived. They seemed to fail, and yet they eventually succeeded. (11) Prisons may have held them, but

their thoughts were not to be confined by prisonwalls. They have burst through, and defied the power of

"Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for a

It was a saying of Milton that, "who best can suffer best can do." The work of many of the greatest men,

inspired by duty, has been done amidst suffering and trial and difficulty. They have struggled against the tide,

and reached the shore exhausted, only to grasp the sand and expire. They have done their duty, and been

content to die. But death hath no power over such men; their hallowed memories still survive, to soothe and

purify and bless us. "Life," said Goethe, "to us all is suffering. Who save God alone shall call us to our

reckoning? Let not reproaches fall on the departed. Not what they have failed in, nor what they have suffered,

Thus, it is not ease and facility that tries men, and brings out the good that is in them, so much as trial and

difficulty. Adversity is the touchstone of character. As some herbs need to be crushed to give forth their

sweetest odour, so some natures need to be tried by suffering to evoke the excellence that is in them. Hence

trials often unmask virtues, and bring to light hidden graces. Men apparently useless and purposeless, when

placed in positions of difficulty and responsibility, have exhibited powers of character before unsuspected;

and where we before saw only pliancy and selfindulgence, we now see strength, valour, and selfdenial.

As there are no blessings which may not he perverted into evils, so there are no trials which may not be

converted into blessings. All depends on the manner in which we profit by them or otherwise. Perfect

happiness is not to be looked for in this world. If it could be secured, it would be found profitless. The

hollowest of all gospels is the gospel of ease and comfort. Difficulty, and even failure, are far better teachers.

Sir Humphry Davy said: "Even in private life, too much prosperity either injures the moral man, and

occasions conduct which ends in suffering; or it is accompanied by the workings of envy, calumny, and

Failure improves tempers and strengthens the nature. Even sorrow is in some mysterious way linked with joy

and associated with tenderness. John Bunyan once said how, "if it were lawful, he could even pray for greater

trouble, for the greater comfort's sake." When surprise was expressed at the patience of a poor Arabian

woman under heavy affliction, she said, "When we look on God's face we do not feel His hand."

Suffering is doubtless as divinely appointed as joy, while it is much more influential as a discipline of

character. It chastens and sweetens the nature, teaches patience and resignation, and promotes the deepest as

"The best of men That e'er wore earth about Him was a sufferer; A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit

Suffering may be the appointed means by which the highest nature of man is to be disciplined and developed.

Assuming happiness to be the end of being, sorrow may be the indispensable condition through which it is to

be reached. Hence St. Paul's noble paradox descriptive of the Christian life,"as chastened, and not killed;

as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing all

Even pain is not all painful. On one side it is related to suffering, and on the other to happiness. For pain is

remedial as well as sorrowful. Suffering is a misfortune as viewed from the one side, and a discipline as

viewed from the other. But for suffering, the best part of many men's nature would sleep a deep sleep. Indeed,

it might almost be said that pain and sorrow were the indispensable conditions of some men's success, and the

necessary means to evoke the highest development of their genius. Shelley has said of poets:

"Most wretched men are cradled into poetry by wrong, They learn in suffering what they teach in song."

Does any one suppose that Burns would have sung as he did, had he been rich, respectable, and "kept a gig;"

or Byron, if he had been a prosperous, happilymarried Lord Privy Seal or PostmasterGeneral?

Sometimes a heartbreak rouses an impassive nature to life. "What does he know," said a sage, "who has not

suffered?" When Dumas asked Reboul, "What made you a poet?" his answer was, "Suffering!" It was the

death, first of his wife, and then of his child, that drove him into solitude for the indulgence of his grief, and

eventually led him to seek and find relief in verse. (14) It was also to a domestic affliction that we owe the

beautiful writings of Mrs. Gaskell. "It was as a recreation, in the highest sense of the word," says a recent

writer, speaking from personal knowledge, "as an escape from the great void of a life from which a cherished

presence had been taken, that she began that series of exquisite creations which has served to multiply the

number of our acquaintances, and to enlarge even the circle of our friendships." (15)

Much of the best and most useful work done by men and women has been done amidst

afflictionsometimes as a relief from it, sometimes from a sense of duty overpowering personal sorrow. "If

I had not been so great an invalid," said Dr. Darwin to a friend, "I should not have done nearly so much work

as I have been able to accomplish." So Dr. Donne, speaking of his illnesses, once said: "This advantage you

and my other friends have by my frequent fevers is, that I am so much the oftener at the gates of Heaven; and

by the solitude and close imprisonment they reduce me to, I am so much the oftener at my prayers, in which

Schiller produced his greatest tragedies in the midst of physical suffering almost amounting to torture. Handel

was never greater than when, warned by palsy of the approach of death, and struggling with distress and

suffering, he sat down to compose the great works which have made his name immortal in music. Mozart

composed his great operas, and last of all his 'Requiem,' when oppressed by debt, and struggling with a fatal

disease. Beethoven produced his greatest works amidst gloomy sorrow, when oppressed by almost total

deafness. And poor Schubert, after his short but brilliant life, laid it down at the early age of thirtytwo; his

sole property at his death consisting of his manuscripts, the clothes he wore, and sixtythree florins in money.

Some of Lamb's finest writings were produced amidst deep sorrow, and Hood's apparent gaiety often sprang

Again, in science, we have the noble instance of the suffering Wollaston, even in the last stages of the mortal

disease which afflicted him, devoting his numbered hours to putting on record, by dictation, the various

discoveries and improvements he had made, so that any knowledge he had acquired, calculated to benefit his

Afflictions often prove but blessings in disguise. "Fear not the darkness," said the Persian sage; it "conceals

perhaps the springs of the waters of life." Experience is often bitter, but wholesome; only by its teaching can

we learn to suffer and be strong. Character, in its highest forms, is disciplined by trial, and "made perfect

through suffering." Even from the deepest sorrow, the patient and thoughtful mind will gather richer wisdom

"The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decayed, Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made."

"Consider," said Jeremy Taylor, "that sad accidents, and a state of afflictions, is a school of virtue. It reduces

our spirits to soberness, and our counsels to moderation; it corrects levity, and interrupts the confidence of

sinning.... God, who in mercy and wisdom governs the world, would never have suffered so many sadnesses,

and have sent them, especially, to the most virtuous and the wisest men, but that He intends they should be

the seminary of comfort, the nursery of virtue, the exercise of wisdom, the trial of patience, the venturing for

And again:"No man is more miserable than he that hath no adversity. That man is not tried, whether he be

good or bad; and God never crowns those virtues which are only FACULTIES and DISPOSITIONS; but

Prosperity and success of themselves do not confer happiness; indeed, it not unfrequently happens that the

least successful in life have the greatest share of true joy in it. No man could have been more successful than

Goethepossessed of splendid health, honour, power, and sufficiency of this world's goodsand yet he

confessed that he had not, in the course of his life, enjoyed five weeks of genuine pleasure. So the Caliph

Abdalrahman, in surveying his successful reign of fifty years, found that he had enjoyed only fourteen days

of pure and genuine happiness. (18) After this, might it not be said that the pursuit of mere happiness is an

Life, all sunshine without shade, all happiness without sorrow, all pleasure without pain, were not life at

allat least not human life. Take the lot of the happiestit is a tangled yarn. It is made up of sorrows and

joys; and the joys are all the sweeter because of the sorrows; bereavements and blessings, one following

another, making us sad and blessed by turns. Even death itself makes life more loving; it binds us more

closely together while here. Dr. Thomas Browne has argued that death is one of the necessary conditions of

human happiness; and he supports his argument with great force and eloquence. But when death comes into a

household, we do not philosophisewe only feel. The eyes that are full of tears do not see; though in course

of time they come to see more clearly and brightly than those that have never known sorrow.

The wise person gradually learns not to expect too much from life. While he strives for success by worthy

methods, he will be prepared for failures, he will keep his mind open to enjoyment, but submit patiently to

suffering. Wailings and complainings of life are never of any use; only cheerful and continuous working in

Nor will the wise man expect too much from those about him. If he would live at peace with others, he will

bear and forbear. And even the best have often foibles of character which have to be endured, sympathised

with, and perhaps pitied. Who is perfect? Who does not suffer from some thorn in the flesh? Who does not

stand in need of toleration, of forbearance, of forgiveness? What the poor imprisoned Queen Caroline Matilda

of Denmark wrote on her chapelwindow ought to be the prayer of all,"Oh! keep me innocent! make

Then, how much does the disposition of every human being depend upon their innate constitution and their

early surroundings; the comfort or discomfort of the homes in which they have been brought up; their

inherited characteristics; and the examples, good or bad, to which they have been exposed through life!

At the same time, life will always be to a large extent what we ourselves make it. Each mind makes its own

little world. The cheerful mind makes it pleasant, and the discontented mind makes it miserable. "My mind to

me a kingdom is," applies alike to the peasant as to the monarch. The one may be in his heart a king, as the

other may be a slave. Life is for the most part but the mirror of our own individual selves. Our mind gives to

all situations, to all fortunes, high or low, their real characters. To the good, the world is good; to the bad, it is

bad. If our views of life be elevatedif we regard it as a sphere of useful effort, of high living and high

thinking, of working for others' good as well as our ownit will be joyful, hopeful, and blessed. If, on the

contrary, we regard it merely as affording opportunities for selfseeking, pleasure, and aggrandisement, it

There is much in life that, while in this state, we can never comprehend. There is, indeed, a great deal of

mystery in life much that we see "as in a glass darkly." But though we may not apprehend the full meaning

of the discipline of trial through which the best have to pass, we must have faith in the completeness of the

We have each to do our duty in that sphere of life in which we have been placed. Duty alone is true; there is

no true action but in its accomplishment. Duty is the end and aim of the highest life; the truest pleasure of all

is that derived from the consciousness of its fulfilment. Of all others, it is the one that is most thoroughly

satisfying, and the least accompanied by regret and disappointment. In the words of George Herbert, the

And when we have done our work on earthof necessity, of labour, of love, or of duty,like the silkworm

that spins its little cocoon and dies, we too depart. But, short though our stay in life may be, it is the

appointed sphere in which each has to work out the great aim and end of his being to the best of his power;

and when that is done, the accidents of the flesh will affect but little the immortality we shall at last put on:

"Therefore we can go die as sleep, and trust Half that we have Unto an honest faithful grave; Making our

(2) Joseph Lancaster was only twenty years of age when (in 1798) he opened his first school in a spare room

in his father's house, which was soon filled with the destitute children of the neighbourhood. The room was

shortly found too small for the numbers seeking admission, and one place after another was hired, until at

length Lancaster had a special building erected, capable of accommodating a thousand pupils; outside of

which was placed the following notice:"All that will, may send their children here, and have them

educated freely; and those that do not wish to have education for nothing, may pay for it if they please." Thus

(3) A great musician once said of a promising but passionless cantatrice"She sings well, but she wants

something, and in that something everything. If I were single, I would court her; I would marry her; I would

maltreat her; I would break her heart; and in six months she would be the greatest singer in Europe!"

(5) A cavalier, named Ruy de Camera, having called upon Camoens to furnish a poetical version of the seven

penitential psalms, the poet, raising his head from his miserable pallet, and pointing to his faithful slave,

exclaimed: "Alas! when I was a poet, I was young, and happy, and blest with the love of ladies; but now, I am

a forlorn deserted wretch! Seethere stands my poor Antonio, vainly supplicating FOURPENCE to

purchase a little coals. I have not them to give him!" The cavalier, Sousa quaintly relates, in his 'Life of

Camoens,' closed his heart and his purse, and quitted the room. Such were the grandees of Portugal!Lord

(7) A Quaker called on Bunyan one day with "a message from the Lord," saying he had been to half the gaols

of England, and was glad at last to have found him. To which Bunyan replied: "If the Lord sent thee, you

would not have needed to take so much trouble to find me out, for He knew that I have been in Bedford Gaol

(8) Prynne, besides standing in the pillory and having his ears cut off, was imprisoned by turns in the Tower,

Mont Orgueil (Jersey), Dunster Castle, Taunton Castle, and Pendennis Castle. He after wards pleaded

zealously for the Restoration, and was made Keeper of the Records by Charles II. It has been computed that

Prynne wrote, compiled, and printed about eight quarto pages for every workingday of his life, from his

reaching man's estate to the day of his death. Though his books were for the most part appropriated by the

trunkmakers, they now command almost fabulous prices, chiefly because of their rarity.

(9) He also projected his 'Review' in prisonthe first periodical of the kind, which pointed the way to the

host of 'Tatlers,' 'Guardians,' and 'Spectators,' which followed it. The 'Review' consisted of 102 numbers,

forming nine quarto volumes, all of which were written by De Foe himself, while engaged in other and

(10) A passage in the Earl of Carlisles Lecture on Pope'Heaven was made for those who have failed in this

world'struck me very forcibly several years ago when I read it in a newspaper, and became a rich vein of

thought, in which I often quarried, especially when the sentence was interpreted by the Cross, which was

(11) "Not all who seem to fail, have failed indeed; Not all who fail have therefore worked in vain: For all our

acts to many issues lead; And out of earnest purpose, pure and plain, Enforced by honest toil of hand or brain,

The Lord will fashion, in His own good time, (Be this the labourer's proudlyhumble creed,) Such ends as, to

His wisdom, fitliest chime With His vast love's eternal harmonies. There is no failure for the good and wise:

What though thy seed should fall by the wayside And the birds snatch it;yet the birds are fed; Or they may

bear it far across the tide, To give rich harvests after thou art dead." POLITICS FOR THE PEOPLE, 1848.

(12) "What is it," says Mr. Helps, "that promotes the most and the deepest thought in the human race? It is

not learning; it is not the conduct of business; it is not even the impulse of the affections. It is suffering; and

that, perhaps, is the reason why there is so much suffering in the world. The angel who went down to trouble

the waters and to make them healing, was not, perhaps, entrusted with so great a boon as the angel who

benevolently inflicted upon the sufferers the disease from which they suffered."BREVIA.

(13) These lines were written by Deckar, in a spirit of boldness equal to its piety. Hazlitt has or said of them,

that they "ought to embalm his memory to every one who has a sense either of religion, or philosophy, or

(14) Reboul, originally a baker of Nismes, was the author of many beautiful poemsamongst others, of the

exquisite piece known in this country by its English translation, entitled 'The Angel and the Child.'