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Character

by Samuel Smiles · English · Gutenberg #2541 · 710,819 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Character

Author: Samuel Smiles


        
Release date: March 1, 2001 [eBook #2541]
                Most recently updated: December 11, 2008

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2541

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CHARACTER

By Samuel Smiles




CHAPTER I.--INFLUENCE OF CHARACTER.



     "Unless above himself he can Erect himself, how poor a thing
     is man"--DANIEL.

     "Character is moral order seen through the medium, of an
     individual nature.... Men of character are the conscience of
     the society to which they belong."--EMERSON.

     "The prosperity of a country depends, not on the abundance
     of its revenues, nor on the strength of its fortifications,
     nor on the beauty of its public buildings; but it consists
     in the number of its cultivated citizens, in its men of
     education, enlightenment, and character; here are to be
     found its true interest, its chief strength, its real
     power."--MARTIN LUTHER.


Character is one of the greatest motive powers in the world. In its
noblest embodiments, it exemplifies human nature in its highest forms,
for it exhibits man at his best.

Men of genuine excellence, in every station of life--men of industry,
of integrity, of high principle, of sterling honesty of purpose--command
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 without their presence in it the world
would not be worth living in.

Although genius always commands admiration, character most secures
respect. The former is more the product of brain-power, the latter of
heart-power; 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 former are admired, the
latter are followed.

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 in that sphere in which Providence has placed
him.

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 virtues is sure to
have a superstructure of weakness or of profligacy."

When Dr. Abbot, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, drew the character
of his deceased friend Thomas Sackville, [101] 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 public exhibition of himself as an author, an
orator, or a statesman.

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 spirit--honest, 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 as firmly upon it as any crowned king.

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 amiability--that all these may be wanting in a man who may yet be
very learned." [102]

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
splendidly-cultured 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 as
moonshine, compared with the education of the heart." [103]

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 self-control, or of ill-regulated passions,
is only a temptation and a snare--the source, it may be, of infinite
mischief to themselves, and often to others.

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 advice which Burns's father gave him was the best:

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

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 well-known '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
helpfulness in every good work, which greater and richer men might have
envied.

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, than all the princes of Germany.

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
it--though they may not become rich in this world's goods--will find
their reward in esteem and reputation fairly and honourably won. And it
is right that in life good qualities should tell--that industry, virtue,
and goodness should rank the highest--and that the really best men
should be foremost.

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." [104]

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 PARTY of humankind against vice and disorder, its common
enemy."

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 great to me.
Your desire is insatiate--mine is satisfied." [105]

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 truthfulness--on
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 rectitude--truth 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 he says he will do a thing, he can do, and
does it. Thus reliableness becomes a passport to the general esteem and
confidence of mankind.

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 self-control, 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 wisdom--the
highest wisdom--the 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 because their goodness
makes them wise." [106]

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 be pure and noble, and they act upon others with a constraining
power.

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 respect and command the
confidence which they really deserve.

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; but in life, character, and behaviour, I am superior to
you."

Unlike Sheridan, Burke, his countryman, was a great man of character. He
was thirty-five before he 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 defect--it 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 despise it, you will be practically
governed.

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 worse--either
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." [107]

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: [108] 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 self-watchfulness, self-discipline,
and self-control. 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 advance--to arrive
at a higher standard of character than we have reached--is 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 us--representatives of
humanity in its best forms--every 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 honest.

It was very characteristic of the late Prince Consort--a 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 large-hearted, high-motived man. [109]

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
unpopular, trusting tranquilly to time and experience for recognition.

Although the force of example will always exercise great influence upon
the formation of character, the self-originating 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
force--compounded of will, which is the root, and wisdom, which is the
stem of character--life will be indefinite and purposeless--like a body
of stagnant water, instead of a running stream doing useful work and
keeping the machinery of a district in motion.

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 half-battles." And thus Luther's life became transfused
into the life of his country, and still lives in the character of modern
Germany.

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
barbarian--which 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
world--those elect scoundrels whom Providence, in its inscrutable
designs, permits to fulfil their mission of destruction upon earth. [1010]

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 life--justice being as essential in the
government of a home as of a nation. He will be honest in all things--in
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, was generous, and
never gave pain--that,

     "His wit in the combat, as gentle as bright,
     Never carried a heart-stain 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 serving-men 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 generations--for 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 God--neither 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." [1011]

Energy of will--self-originating force--is 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 nature--a 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 our hands."

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 own
penetration and judgment of character."

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!" [10the fair boy], and with one shock they
broke through the French and sent them flying downhill. [1012]

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 knew he was in
command, shared the inspiration of the hero.

When Washington consented to act as commander-in-chief, 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! [1013]

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 time for
the Sixth Division to arrive, and I shall beat him"--which he did. [1014]

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 walking-stick 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:--

"The Douglas dead, his name hath won the field." [1015]

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 worn-out
body, his withered corpse, lay pierced with blows; he appeared
then purified, redeemed,--that which he had been, despite his many
stains--the man of humanity." [1016] 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 they kept their word.

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 succeeding generations.

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 instincts of all
that is most worthy and noble in life.

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
to-day, she would not have done so much for the world as Socrates. [1017]

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 patriots--the
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
cause--the 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, Quakerism of Fox, Methodism of Wesley, Abolitionism
of Clarkson.

Great men stamp their mind upon their age and nation--as Luther did upon
modern Germany, and Knox upon Scotland. [1018] 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 liberty--braving 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 deserves their admiration." [1019]

A succession of variously gifted men in different ages--extending from
Alfred to Albert--has 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 more--some 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 past.

So Washington left behind him, as one of the greatest treasures of his
country, the example of a stainless life--of a great, honest, pure, and
noble character--a 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 and controlling sense of duty--in a word, in his
genuine nobility of character.

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." [1020]

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
working-people, 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 governments--where all classes more or less
participate in the exercise of political power--the 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, self-seeking, and dishonest in heart,
bound neither by truth nor by law, the rule of rogues and wirepullers
becomes inevitable.

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 press but a vent for
licentiousness and moral abomination.

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 [1021]
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
borne more than all.

A great deal of what passes by the name of patriotism in these days
consists of the merest bigotry and narrow-mindedness; exhibiting itself
in national prejudice, national conceit, amid national hatred. It does
not show itself in deeds, but in boastings--in howlings, gesticulations,
and shrieking helplessly for help--in flying flags and singing
songs--and in perpetual grinding at the hurdy-gurdy of long-dead
grievances and long-remedied wrongs. To be infested by SUCH a patriotism
as this is, perhaps, amongst the greatest curses that can befall any
country.

But as there is an ignoble, so is there a noble patriotism--the
patriotism that invigorates and elevates a country by noble work--that
does its duty truthfully and manfully--that 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.

Nations are not to be judged by their size any more than individuals:

    "it is not growing like a tree
    In bulk, doth make Man better be."

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, in philosophy, and in
patriotism! [1022]

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 rise.

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 idleness--work, 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
luxurious--that "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 overcome."

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 bread-and-cheese 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 pleasure--each little
self his own little god--such a nation is doomed, and its decay is
inevitable.

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 men--if,
haply, there be such left--are 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 will be
nothing left worth saving.




CHAPTER II.--HOME POWER.



        "So build we up the being that we are,
         Thus deeply drinking in the soul of things,
         We shall be wise perforce."  WORDSWORTH.

    "The millstreams that turn the clappers of the world
     arise in solitary places."--HELPS.

     "In the course of a conversation with Madame Campan,
     Napoleon Buonaparte remarked: 'The old systems of
     instruction seem to be worth nothing; what is yet wanting in
     order that the people should be properly educated?'
     'MOTHERS,' replied Madame Campan. The reply struck the
     Emperor. 'Yes!' said he 'here is a system of education in
     one word. Be it your care, then, to train up mothers who
     shall know how to educate their children.'"--AIME MARTIN.

        "Lord! with what care hast Thou begirt us round!
          Parents first season us.  Then schoolmasters
         Deliver us to laws.  They send us bound
          To rules of reason."--GEORGE HERBERT.


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 manhood, and cease only with life.

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 home-training 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 awakened, and
character moulded for good or for evil.

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 leading-strings
of children may even exercise a greater power than those who wield the
reins of government. [111]

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 cheek, your
opportunity begins."

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 proverb. And so it is with children; their first great
instructor is example.

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 after-education 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 character for life.

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 by-and-by 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
first-classman 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
after-life 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 habits--on which so much of the happiness
of human beings in after-life depends. Although man is endowed with
a certain self-acting, self-helping 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 highest-minded 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 there--where the daily life is honest and
virtuous--where 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
model--of 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." [112] 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 eye is the Mother.

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 constant--imitation, 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 vices--hypocrisy. 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 goose in his sleeve.

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 domain--her 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 constantly before their eyes, whom they unconsciously observe and
imitate.

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 visibly repeated in them.

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 out-start 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 of her left, her children
rise up and call her blessed.

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 he has received from
his first and most influential educator.

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 are enabled
to arrive at virtue.

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 impression upon his mind, and determined his future character.

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 Rest--it may be twenty years or more--the good precept, the good
example set before their sons and daughters in childhood, at length
springs up and bears fruit.

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 him as it were from the dead, and led him gently back to
virtue and goodness.

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
recollection--and 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
worn-out 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 repent--he would reform. But it was all too late! His life had
become bound and enthralled by the chains of habit.' [113]

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 CHEF-D'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
manliest natures.

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 resting-place after labour, a consolation in misfortune, a pride
in prosperity, and a joy at all times.

The good home is thus the best of schools, not only in youth but in age.
There young and old best learn cheerfulness, patience, self-control,
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
their time in her company, which was to her great content."

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 ill-licked 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
deformed--the cause of misery to themselves as well as to others.

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 self-control, 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 him love, respect, and obey her: from her he learnt the
virtue of obedience."

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 creditably. NO ATTENTION WAS PAID
TO THE CHARACTER OF THE FATHER." [114]

It has also been observed that in cases where the father has turned out
badly--become 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
well-conducted the father may be, the instances of after-success in life
on the part of the children are comparatively rare.

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, lives after them, and goes on propagating itself in
consequences for ever.

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 steam-engines;
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
trained--the most excellent productions in the world."

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 [115]--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 paying her little debts
and defraying her funeral charges.

George Washington was only eleven years of age--the eldest of five
children--when his father died, leaving his mother a widow. She was a
woman of rare excellence--full 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 habits. [116]

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 self-help 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
eminence." [117]

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. [118] 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 after-life
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 honour.

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 Adams--of
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 prominent characteristic throughout life.

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 had even something of the air of eccentricity." [119]

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." [1110]

When ex-President 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 man--that of a mother, who was anxious and capable to form
the characters of her children rightly. From her I derived whatever
instruction [11religious especially, and moral] has pervaded a long
life--I 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 is mine, and not hers."

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; [1111]
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 man--shy, 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 worshipped grave.

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 mother-wit, 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. [1112] 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 who had been kind to his mother, and thanked them all.

It was Ary Scheffer's mother--whose beautiful features the painter so
loved to reproduce in his pictures of Beatrice, St. Monica, and others
of his works--that encouraged his study of art, and by great self-denial
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 diligently--be, 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 MUST--fix 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' [11the forbidden] is the motto of the wise man. Self-denial is
the quality of which Jesus Christ set us the example." [1113]

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 [11I was a child
then]--nevertheless, ever living in my memory, she follows me from age
to age.

"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 to bury her!"

"And yet I owe her much. I feel deeply that I am the son of woman.
Every instant, in my ideas and words [11not 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
me--this protest in favour of women and mothers." [1114]

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 Byron--the waywardness of his impulses, his
defiance of restraint, the bitterness of his hate, and the precipitancy
of his resentments--were 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. [1115] It was
this unnatural treatment that gave a morbid turn to Byron's after-life;
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 HEART TO TAME,
        MY SPRINGS OF LIFE WERE POISONED."

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,
jovial-hearted 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: [1116] 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." [1117] 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. Sainte-Beuve says of him: "He was the continual object of the
richest gifts, which he had not the power of managing, scattering
and wasting them--all, excepting, the gift of words, which seemed
inexhaustible, and on which he continued to play to the end as on an
enchanted flute." [1118]

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 life--to 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 counting-house. 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 home--in other words, who
would make home happy--as by men in the affairs of trade, of commerce,
or of manufacture.

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
business--that 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 unintentional, which may be most
injurious to her family peace and comfort.

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 hugger-mugger 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, method is more--it is peace, comfort, and
domestic prosperity.

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 doing. Prudence learns from
experience, quickened by knowledge.

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 culture can give them.

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 only in a child's coffin. [1119]

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.
The Creator may be lavish in His gifts, but he is never wasteful.

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 will be found of very little
use in the affairs of real life.

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 cookery-book. 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 other--that 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 self-reliance and self-dependence she will discover the truest
sources of domestic comfort and happiness.

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 be--the more safe and certain its elevation and
advancement.

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 yells
and the fierce violence of women." [1120]

But the terrible lesson was disregarded, and again and again France
has grievously suffered from the want of that discipline, obedience,
self-control, and self-respect 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 Napoleon--home education by good
mothers.

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
enlightened, society will be proportionately elevated.

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,
and Peoples of Mothers.

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 coalpits,
factories, nailshops, and brickyards.

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. [1121] 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
business--serving the BOUTIQUE, or presiding at the COMPTOIR--while
the men lounge about the Boulevards. But the result has only been
homelessness, degeneracy, and family and social decay.

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," [1122] 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 life--by 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," [1123]
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 even as lawmakers.

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 food-products
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 country--not 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.




CHAPTER III.--COMPANIONSHIP AND EXAMPLES



    "Keep good company, and you shall be of the number."
                                 -- GEORGE HERBERT.

    "For mine own part,
    I Shall be glad to learn of noble men."--SHAKSPEARE

    "Examples preach to th' eye--Care then, mine says,
    Not how you end but how you spend your days."
                  HENRY MARTEN--'LAST THOUGHTS.'

     "Dis moi qui t'admire, et je dirai qui tu es."--SAINTE-BEUVE

     "He that means to be a good limner will be sure to draw
     after the most excellent copies and guide every stroke of
     his pencil by the better pattern that lays before him; so he
     that desires that the table of his life may be fair, will be
     careful to propose the best examples, and will never be
     content till he equals or excels them."--OWEN FELTHAM


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 old--but the young more than the old--cannot 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 or vice by the example or
conversation of good or bad company."

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,
"Remember--resemble--persevere."

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, and the action of example unceasing.

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 them!

"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 all-in-all. 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 imitation I obtained it."
[121]

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 have in a measure yielded up to it our
personal freedom.

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 as one of the chief
ends of moral discipline.

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 speakers--a plague sure to spring up in future
resurrection."

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, but--which is still more
instructive--from 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 character--increasing 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 of others.

"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." [122]

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 fellow-student. 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 which he shortly after entered, of an Indian missionary.

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 he had
made comparatively little progress. After one of his usual
night-dissipations, 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 indolence, and go on in this way, I must renounce your society
altogether!"

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 he 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 fellow-workers 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 self-respect. 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 assistant-master: "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
in a boy's character."

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 self-respect 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." [123] And thus it was that Dr. Arnold trained
a host of manly and noble characters, who spread the influence of his
example in all parts of the world.

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 whole nature." [124]

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 "marching-on 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 activity.

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 bad--and 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." [125] 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, and--at 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." [126] 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, however short. Give my love to them
both!"

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 in word or opinion, but in life and action, good
and great."

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! Chateaubriand 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 virtue even in the looks of a great man."

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 money-lender, 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 his depicted presence constantly before us.

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
would preponderate."

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 sweetness, in the
character of Faraday."

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 open his mind to the influences of poetry:

        "She gave me eyes, she gave me ears,
         And humble cares, and delicate fears;
         A heart, the fountain of sweet tears,
                 And love and thought and joy."

Thus the gentlest natures are enabled, by the power of affection and
intelligence, to mould the characters of men destined to influence and
elevate their race through all time.

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 being strongly impressed with the genius of the man."

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; there is fortune in
it, if you pursue it with energy."

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 fibre--flows 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 God--a work that was founded on a deep
sense of its duty and its value." [127]

Such a power, exercised by men of genius, evokes courage, enthusiasm,
and devotion. It is this intense admiration for individuals--such as
one cannot conceive entertained for a multitude--which has in all times
produced heroes and martyrs. It is thus that the mastery of character
makes itself felt. It acts by inspiration, quickening and vivifying the
natures subject to its influence.

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 spirits--Petrarch, 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
pine-trees 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 if our aims and purposes were unconsciously elevated.

"Tell me whom you admire," said Sainte-Beuve, "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 toad-eater, or a tuft-hunter. [128] 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 admired--as
young men will have their heroes of some sort--most 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 anti-romance as one who has lost the finest part of his
nature, and his best protection against everything low and foolish." [129]

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." [1210]

"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 sincere--it might almost be said the reverential--admiration
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 person--as a coxcomb and a bore--weak, vain, pushing,
curious, garrulous; and without wit, humour, or eloquence. But Carlyle
is doubtless more just in his characterisation of the biographer, in
whom--vain and foolish though he was in many respects--he 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 love and
childlike openmindedness."

Most young men of generous mind have their heroes, especially if they
be book-readers. 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 he HAD the courage to knock, to
his dismay he was informed by the servant that the great lexicographer
had breathed his last only a few hours before.

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 slave-dealer 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 you
together, all bones and muscles, for ten guineas!"

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:

    "When Heaven with such parts has blest him,
    Have I not reason to detest him?"

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 that defect."

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 had been saved through his wisdom and
valour.

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 orator being visible
in almost every sentence.

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 artists--all have been, more or less unconsciously, nurtured by the
lives and actions of others living before them or presented for their
imitation.

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 distinction.

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, he 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, he exclaimed,
pointing at them with his finger, "There--there is the truth!"

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 dearly!"

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 make a great name in the
world."

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
first-hand, and then his admiration became even more ardent than before.

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." [1211]

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
class-room. The professor, recognising his visitor, at once stopped his
exposition, saying: "MESSIEURS, C'EST ASSEZ POUR AUJOURD'HUI, VOUS AVEZ
VU SIR CHARLES BELL!"

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 that he always took it with him in his carriage when he travelled
from home.

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 us--that their words will often be
quoted in this House--that 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 House--who 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 constantly tending to
reproduce its like.

"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 gospel of freedom and emancipation to all who succeed him:

          "To live in hearts we leave behind,
          is not to die."

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 well-spent life; and great alone is he
who has earned the glorious privilege of bequeathing such a lesson and
example to his successors!"




CHAPTER IV.--WORK.


     "Arise therefore, and be doing, and the Lord be with thee."
     --l CHRONICLES xxii. 16.

        "Work as if thou hadst to live for aye;
        Worship as if thou wert to die to-day."--TUSCAN PROVERB.

          "C'est par le travail qu'on regne."--LOUIS XIV

       "Blest work! if ever thou wert curse of God,
        What must His blessing be!"--J. B. SELKIRK.

     "Let every man be OCCUPIED, and occupied in the highest
     employment of which his nature is capable, and die with the
     consciousness that he has done his best"--Sydney Smith.


WORK is one of the best educators of practical character. It evokes
and disciplines obedience, self-control, attention, application, and
perseverance; giving a man deftness and skill in his special calling,
and aptitude and dexterity in dealing with the affairs of ordinary life.

Work is the law of our being--the 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
or another, if they would enjoy life as it ought to be enjoyed.

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
abolished, the race of Adam were at once stricken by moral death.

It is idleness that is the curse of man--not 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 servile than a life of pleasure, or
more princely than a life of toil.

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 TUNC MANIBUS IMPERATORUM COLEBANTUR AGRI: UT FAS EST CREDERE,
GAUDENTE TERRA VOMERE LAUREATO ET TRIUMPHALI ARATORE." [131] 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 downfall of the empire, sooner or later, was
inevitable.

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. [132]

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
nuisance--always useless, complaining, melancholy, and miserable.

Burton, in his quaint and curious, book--the only one, Johnson says,
that ever took him out of bed two hours sooner than he wished to
rise--describes 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
disease--the 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, happy--let them have
all things in abundance and felicity that heart can wish and desire, all
contentment--so 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 or other." [133]

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 SOLITARY--BE NOT IDLE." [134]

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:

      "The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices,
       Make instrument to scourge us."

True happiness is never found in torpor of the faculties, [135] 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 'tis itself it wears away."

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 trying--I 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, &c., 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 effects would it be attended with, if it
were but universally received!"

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 been earned
by work, the price has not been paid for it. [136]

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;"--[13The 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 life--the
rich as well as the poor. [137] 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 NATI--men of average endowment, of manly aspirations, and of
honest purpose, will feel such a condition to be incompatible with real
honour and true dignity.

"I don't believe," said Lord Stanley [13now 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 self-love. 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 labour--it 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 vexations, such as breed and multiply in the
unoccupied brain." [138]

Even on the lowest ground--that of personal enjoyment--constant 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, even when earned by study and
sanctioned by the discharge of duty."

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
carried on, ever yet hurt anybody."

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 vegetates.

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, earning his bread by
gardening, building, turning, and even clockmaking. [139]

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 hunger in the empire."

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 half-holiday,
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 grandfather says, and he says
true." [1310]

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 duty--some regular routine of work, that
rendered steady application necessary.

Thousands can bear testimony to the truth of the saying of Greuze, the
French painter, that work--employment, useful occupation--is 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 remark, that it was easier to bear illness doing
something, than doing nothing.

When Charles Lamb was released for life from his daily drudgery of
desk-work 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 is--Nothing; and next to that, perhaps, Good Works." Two
years--two 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 murderer of time. But the
oracle is silent."

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 self-possession 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 winter of our old age unrespected and desolate."
[1311]

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 boy--on 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 proud as happy."

The maxims of men often reveal their character. [1312] 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" [13Life without learning is death]. Voltaire's motto was,
"TOUJOURS AU TRAVAIL" [13Always at work]. The favourite maxim of Lacepede,
the naturalist, was, "VIVRE C'EST VEILLER" [13To 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 "BOS-SUETUS ARATRO" [13The ox used to the
plough]. The name of VITA-LIS [13Life a struggle], which the Swedish poet
Sjoberg assumed, as Frederik von Hardenberg assumed that of NOVA-LIS,
described the aspirations and the labours of both these men of genius.

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 greater zest.

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." [1313]

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
organization--all of which are required in the efficient management of
business of whatever sort.

Business qualities have, indeed, a very large field of action. They mean
aptitude for affairs, competency to deal successfully with the practical
work of life--whether 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. [1314] Moreover, it is the best discipline
of character; for it involves the exercise of diligence, attention,
self-denial, judgment, tact, knowledge of and sympathy with others.

Such a discipline is far more productive of happiness 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
life--least of all with a first-rate 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. [1315]

Like other great captains, Wellington had an almost boundless capacity
for work. He drew up the heads of a Dublin Police Bill [13being 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, dictated from headquarters the
medical treatment of his poultry-yard.

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 school-books, 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, land-warrants, 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
brought to bear in the affairs of government.

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 their hands.

The idea has been entertained by some, that business habits are
incompatible with genius. In the Life of Richard Lovell Edgeworth, [1316]
it is observed of a Mr. Bicknell--a 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 a man of
indefatigable application and industry.

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 Anti-Corn 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 good-humour
and BONHOMMIE, unimpaired to the end. [1317] 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 pursuit--whether 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 the one sphere of
employment, have been found equally available in the other.

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 custom-house, he
returned with delight to his favourite studies at home--poring 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 the era
of its greatest literary activity and splendour.

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 observation" and "insight into all seemly and
generous arts and affairs." [1318]

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,
Under-Secretary of State, and afterwards Ambassador to France; Tickell,
Under-Secretary of State, and Secretary to the Lords Justices of
Ireland; Congreve, Secretary of Jamaica;, and Gay, Secretary of Legation
at Hanover.

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 essence--a 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 everyday business of life.

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, panting and
jaded, with the dogs and hunger of necessity behind." [1319]

The first great men of letters in Italy were not mere men of letters;
they were men of business--merchants, 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 once
offered to escort him in safety wherever he chose.

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 horse-factor, brick and
tile maker, shopkeeper, author, and political agent.

Samuel Richardson successfully combined literature, with business;
writing his novels in his back-shop in Salisbury Court, Fleet Street,
and selling them over the counter in his front-shop. 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
bookseller--an author, a philosopher and a statesman.

Coming down to our own time, we find Ebenezer Elliott successfully
carrying on the business of a bar-iron 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 calico-printers;
and other members of this gifted family were followers of the same
branch of art.

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 offices--such as Sir Henry Taylor, Sir John Kaye,
Anthony Trollope, Tom Taylor, Matthew Arnold, and Samuel Warren.

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,
and they filled it admirably.

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; [1320] Grote, the author of the 'History
of Greece;' Sir John Lubbock, the scientific antiquarian; [1321] and
Samuel Bailey, of Sheffield, the author of 'Essays on the Formation and
Publication of Opinions,' besides various important works on ethics,
political economy, and philosophy.

Nor, on the other hand, have thoroughly-trained men of science and
learning proved themselves inefficient as first-rate 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 action--all 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 promptitude, address, resource, and dexterity.

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." [1322]

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 thinking--practical 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. [1323]

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,
philology, diplomacy, or statesmanship.

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
remembered.

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 them to the purposes of
practical life.

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, honourable, and disinterested man that he had ever been through
life.

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 it easier to work than to be idle.

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 high-pressure: it is an intermission of
labour--a rest--a relaxation, the pleasure consisting in the work itself
rather than in the result.

But the best of hobbies are intellectual ones. Thus men of active
mind retire from their daily business to find recreation in other
pursuits--some 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 hard--else, 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 letters with the business of active life.

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 was found amongst
his papers at his death.

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:

      "Eripuit caelo fulmen, sceptrumque tyrannis."

Among more recent French statesmen--with whom, however, literature
has been their profession as much as politics--may be mentioned
De Tocqueville, Thiers, Guizot, and Lamartine, while Napoleon III.
challenged a place in the Academy by his 'Life of Caesar.'

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 drawing-room. 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 only a fragment, and, it must be
confessed, is rather a disappointing work.

One of the most able and laborious of our recent statesmen--with whom
literature was a hobby as well as a pursuit--was 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 Board--the 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 subjects--history, 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 office-hours in order to
study books; Palmerston himself declaring that he had no time to read
books--that the reading of manuscript was quite enough for him.

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 anybody in your parish has died at an extraordinary age!"

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
daggers-drawn 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,' [1324] 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 Normandy, and the veteran novelist,
Lord Lytton, with whom, indeed, politics may be said to have been his
recreation, and literature the chief employment of his life.

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. Brain-work, 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 wear-and-tear of rust is even faster
than the tear-and-wear of work.

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 body--as sand and grit,
which occasion excessive friction, wear out the wheels of a machine.
Overwork and worry have both to be guarded against. For over-brain-work
is strain-work; and it is exhausting and destructive according as it is
in excess of nature. And the brain-worker 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.




CHAPTER V.--COURAGE.


        "It is not but the tempest that doth show
         The seaman's cunning; but the field that tries
         The captain's courage; and we come to know
         Best what men are, in their worst jeopardies."--DANIEL.

    "If thou canst plan a noble deed,
     And never flag till it succeed,
     Though in the strife thy heart should bleed,
     Whatever obstacles control,
     Thine hour will come--go on, true soul!
     Thou'lt win the prize, th

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