TheWorksOfRobertLouisStevensonVol.16

ByRobertLouisStevenson

TheWorksOfRobertLouisStevenson

INTRODUCTION

FROMthethirteenthcenturyonwards,thename,underthevariousdisguisesofStevinstoun,Stevensoun,Stevensonne,Stenesone,andStewinsoune,spreadacrossScotlandfromthemouthoftheFirthofForthtothemouthoftheFirthofClyde.Four timesat least it occurs as aplace-name.There is aparishofStevenston in Cunningham; a second place of the name in the Barony ofBothwellinLanark;athirdonLyne,aboveDrochilCastle; thefourthontheTyne,nearTraprainLaw.StevensonofStevenson(co.Lanark)sworefealtytoEdward I. in 1296, and the last of that family died after the Restoration.Stevensons of Hirdmanshiels, in Midlothian, rode in the Bishops’ Raid ofAberlady,servedasjurors,stoodbailforneighbours—HunterofPolwood,forinstance—and became extinct about the same period, or possibly earlier. AStevenson of Luthrie and another of Pitroddie make their bows, give theirnames,andvanish.Andbytheyear1700itdoesnotappearthatanyacreofScotslandwasvestedinanyStevenson.Here is, so far, a melancholy picture of backward progress, and a familyposting towards extinction. But the law (however administered, and I ambound toaver that, inScotland“itcouldnaweelbewaur”)actsasakindofdredge,andwithdispassionateimpartialitybringsupintothelightofday,andshowsusforamoment,inthejury-boxoronthegallows,thecreepingthings

of the past. By these broken glimpseswe are able to trace the existence ofmanyotherandmoreingloriousStevensons,pickingaprivatewaythroughthebrawlthatmakesScotshistory.TheyweremembersofParliamentforPeebles,Stirling, Pittenweem, Kilrenny, and Inverurie. We find them burgesses ofEdinburgh;indwellersinBiggar,Perth,andDalkeith.ThomaswastheforesterofNewbattlePark,Gavinwasabaker,Johnamaltman,Francisachirurgeon,and “Schir William” a priest. In the feuds of Humes and Heatleys,Cunninghams,Montgomeries,Mures,Ogilvies, andTurnbulls,we find theminconspicuouslyinvolved,andapparentlygettingratherbetterthantheygave.SchirWilliam(reverendgentleman)wascruellieslaughteredontheLinksofKincraigin1532;James(”inthemill-townofRoberton”),murderedin1590;Archibald (“in Gallowfarren”), killed with shots of pistols and hagbuts in1608.Threeviolentdeathsinaboutseventyyears,againstwhichwecanonlyput the case of Thomas, servant to Hume of Cowden Knowes, who wasarraigned with his two young masters for the death of the Bastard ofMellerstanes in 1569. John (“in Dalkeith”) stood sentry without HolyroodwhilethebandedlordsweredespatchingRizziowithin.William,attheringingofPerthbell,ranbeforeCowrieHouse“withanesword,and,enteringtotheyearde, saw George Craiggingilt with ane twa-handit sword and utherisnychtbouris;atquilktimeJamesBoigcryitoweranewynds,‘Awahame!yewillallbehangit’”—apieceofadvicewhichWilliamtook,andimmediately“depairtit.” John got a maid with child to him in Biggar, and seeminglydesertedher;shewashangedontheCastleHillforinfanticide,June1614;andMartin,elderinDalkeith,eternallydisgracedthenamebysigningwitnessinawitchtrial,1661.Thesearetwoofourblacksheep.UndertheRestoration,oneStevensonwasabailieinEdinburgh,andanotherthelesseeoftheCanonmills.TherewereatthesameperiodtwophysiciansofthenameinEdinburgh,oneofwhom,Dr.Archibald,appears tohavebeena famousman inhisdayandgeneration.TheCourthadcontinualneedofhim;itwashewhoreported,forinstance,onthestateofRumbold;andhewasforsometimeintheenjoymentof apensionof a thousandpoundsScots (about eightypounds sterling) at atimewhenfivehundredpounds isdescribedas“anopulentfuture.”Idonotknow if I should be glad or sorry that he failed to keep favour; but on 6thJanuary 1682 (rather a cheerless New Year’s present) his pension wasexpunged.Thereneedbenodoubt,atleast,ofmyexultationatthefactthathewasknightedandrecordedarms.Notquitesogenteel,butstillinpubliclife,HughwasUnder-Clerkto thePrivyCouncil,andlikedbeingsoextremely.IgatherthisfromhisconductinSeptember1681,when,withallthelordsandtheirservants,hetookthewofulandsoul-destroyingTest,swearingit“wordbyworduponhisknees.”And,behold!itwasinvain,forHughwasturnedoutofhissmallpostin1684.SirArchibaldandHughwerebothplainlyinclinedtobetrimmers;buttherewasonewitnessofthenameofStevensonwhoheld

high the banner of the Covenant—John, “Land-Labourer, in the parish ofDaily,inCarrick,”that“eminentlypiousman.”Heseemstohavebeenapoorsickly soul, and shows himself disabled with scrofula, and prostrate andgroaning aloud with fever; but the enthusiasm of the martyr burned highwithinhim.“Iwasmadetotakejoyfullythespoilingofmygoods,andwithpleasureforHisname’ssakewanderedindesertsandinmountains, indensandcavesoftheearth.Ilayfourmonthsinthecoldestseasonoftheyearinahaystackinmy father’s garden, and a whole February in the open fields not far fromCamragen, and this I didwithout the least prejudice from the night air; onenight,whenlyinginthefieldsneartotheCarrick-Miln,Iwasallcoveredwithsnowinthemorning.ManynightshaveIlainwithpleasureinthechurchyardofOldDaily,andmadeagravemypillow;frequentlyhaveI resorted to theoldwalls about the glen, near to Camragen, and there sweetly rested.” ThevisiblehandofGodprotectedanddirectedhim.Dragoonswere turnedasidefromthebramble-bushwherehelayhidden.Miracleswereperformedforhisbehoof.“Igotahorseandawomantocarrythechild,andcametothesamemountain,whereIwanderedbythemistbefore;itiscommonlyknownbythenameofKellsrhins:whenwecame togoup themountain, there cameon agreatrain,whichwethoughtwastheoccasionofthechild’sweeping,andsheweptsobitterly,thatallwecoulddocouldnotdivertherfromit,sothatshewasreadytoburst.Whenwegottothetopofthemountain,wheretheLordhadbeenformerlykindtomysoul inprayer, I lookedroundmeforastone,andespyingone,Iwentandbroughtit.Whenthewomanwithmesawmesetdownthestone,shesmiled,andaskedwhatIwasgoingtodowithit. I toldherIwasgoingtosetitupasmyEbenezer,becausehitherto,andinthatplace,the Lord had formerly helped, and I hoped would yet help. The rain stillcontinuing,thechildweepingbitterly,Iwenttoprayer,andnosoonerdidIcrytoGod,butthechildgaveoverweeping,andwhenwegotupfromprayer,therainwas pouring down on every side, but in thewaywherewewere to gothere fell not one drop; the place not rained on was as big as an ordinaryavenue.”AndsogreatasaintwasthenaturalbuttofSatan’spersecutions.“Iretired to the fields for secretprayeraboutmidnight.When Iwent topray Iwas much straitened, and could not get one request, but ‘Lord pity,’ ‘Lordhelp’;thisIcameoverfrequently;atlengththeterrorofSatanfellonmeinahighdegree,andallIcouldsayeventhenwas—‘Lordhelp.’Icontinuedintheduty for some time,notwithstandingof this terror.At length I got up tomyfeet,andtheterrorstillincreased;thentheenemytookmebythearm-pits,andseemedtoliftmeupbymyarms.Isawalochjustbeforeme,andIconcludedhedesignedtothrowmetherebyforce;andhadhegotleavetodoso,itmighthavebrought a great reproachupon religion.”But itwasotherwiseordered,andthecauseofpietyescapedthatdanger.

On the whole, the Stevensons may be described as decent, reputable folk,followinghonesttrades—millers,maltsters,anddoctors,playingthecharacterparts intheWaverleyNovelswithpropriety, ifwithoutdistinction;andtoanorphanlookingabouthimintheworldforapotentialancestry,offeringaplainand quite unadorned refuge, equally free from shame and glory. John, theland-labourer, is the one living andmemorable figure, and he, alas! cannotpossibly bemore near than a collateral. Itwas onAugust 12, 1678, that heheardMr.JohnWelshontheCraigdowhill,and“tooktheheavens,earth,andsuninthefirmamentthatwasshiningonus,asalsotheambassadorwhomadetheoffer,andtheclerkwhoraisedthepsalms,towitnessthatIdidgivemyselfawaytotheLordinapersonalandperpetualcovenantnevertobeforgotten”;and already, in 1675, the birth of my direct ascendant was registered inGlasgow.So that Ihavebeenpursuingancestors toofardown;andJohntheland-labourer isdebarredme,and Imust relinquish from the trophiesofmyhousehis raresoul-strengtheningandcomfortingcordial. It is thesamecasewiththeEdinburghbailieandthemilleroftheCanonmills,worthyman!andwiththatpubliccharacter,HughtheUnder-Clerk,andmorethanall,withSirArchibald,thephysician,whorecordedarms.AndIamreducedtoafamilyofinconspicuousmaltstersinwhatwasthenthecleanandhandsomelittlecityontheClyde.The name has a certain air of being Norse. But the story of Scottishnomenclature is confounded by a continual process of translation and half-translation from the Gaelic which in olden daysmay have been sometimesreversed. Roy becomes Reid; Gow, Smith. A great Highland clan uses thenameofRobertson;aseptinAppinthatofLivingstone;MacleaninGlencoeanswerstoJohnstoneatLockerby.AndwefindsuchhybridsasMacalexanderfor Macallister. There is but one rule to be deduced: that howeveruncompromisinglySaxonanamemayappear,youcanneverbesure itdoesnot designate a Celt. My great-grandfather wrote the name Stevenson butpronounced it Steenson, after the fashion of the immortal minstrel in“Redgauntlet”; and this elision of a medial consonant appears a Gaelicprocess; and, curiously enough, I have comeacross no less than twoGaelicforms: John Macstophane cordinerius in Crossraguel, 1573, and WilliamM’Steen inDunskeith (co.Ross), 1605. Stevenson, Steenson,Macstophane,M’Steen:whichistheoriginal?whichthetranslation?Orweretheseseparatecreations of the patronymic, some English, some Gaelic? The curiouslycompact territory in which we find them seated—Ayr, Lanark, Peebles,Stirling,Perth,Fife,andtheLothians—wouldseemtoforbidthesupposition.“STEVENSON—oraccordingtotraditionofoneoftheproscribedoftheclanMacGregor, who was born among the willows or in a hill-side sheep-pen—‘Sonofmylove,’aheraldicbarsinister,buthistoryrevealsareasonforthebirthamongthewillowsfarotherthanthesinisteraspectofthename”:these

are the dark words of Mr. Cosmo Innes; but history or tradition, beinginterrogated, tells a somewhat tangled tale. The heir of Macgregor ofGlenorchy,murdered about 1353 by theArgyll Campbells, appears to havebeen the original “Son ofmy love”; and hismore loyal clansmen took thenametofightunder.Itmaybesupposedthestoryoftheirresistancebecamepopular,andthenameinsomesortidentifiedwiththeideaofoppositiontotheCampbells.Twiceafterwards,onsomerenewedaggression,in1502and1552,wefindtheMacgregorsagainbandingthemselvesintoaseptof“Sonsofmylove”; andwhen the great disaster fell on them in 1603, thewhole originallegendre-appears,andwehavetheheirofAlasterofGlenstraeborn“amongthewillows”ofafugitivemother,andthemoreloyalclansmenagainrallyingunderthenameofStevenson.Astorywouldnotbetoldsooftenunlessithadsome base in fact; nor (if there were no bond at all between the RedMacgregorsandtheStevensons)wouldthatextraneousandsomewhatuncouthnamebesomuchrepeatedinthelegendsoftheChildrenoftheMist.ButIamenabled,bymyverylivelyandobligingcorrespondent,Mr.GeorgeA. Macgregor Stevenson of New York, to give an actual instance. Hisgrandfather, great-grandfather, great-great-grandfather, and great-great-great-grandfather, all used the names of Macgregor and Stevenson as occasionserved;beingperhapsMacgregorbynightandStevensonbyday.Thegreat-great-great-grandfatherwasamightymanofhishands,marchedwiththeclanin the ’Forty-five, and returnedwith spolia opima in the shape of a sword,which he had wrested from an officer in the retreat, and which is in thepossession of my correspondent to this day. His great-grandson (thegrandfather of my correspondent), being converted to Methodism by somewayside preacher, discarded in amoment his name, his old nature, and hispoliticalprinciples,andwiththezealofaproselytesealedhisadherencetotheProtestantSuccessionbybaptisinghisnextsonGeorge.ThisGeorgebecamethepublisherandeditoroftheWesleyanTimes.HischildrenwerebroughtupinignoranceoftheirHighlandpedigree;andmycorrespondentwaspuzzledtooverhearhisfatherspeakofhimasatrueMacgregor,andamazedtofind,inrummagingaboutthatpeacefulandpioushouse,theswordoftheHanoverianofficer. After he was grown up and was better informed of his descent, “Ifrequently asked my father,” he writes, “why he did not use the name ofMacgregor;hisrepliesweresignificant,andgiveapictureoftheman:‘Itisn’tagoodMethodistname.Youcanuseit,butitwilldoyounogood.’Yettheoldgentleman, by way of pleasantry, used to announce himself to friends as‘ColonelMacgregor.’”Here, then, are certainMacgregors habitually using the name of Stevenson,andatlast,undertheinfluenceofMethodism,adoptingitentirely.Doubtlessaproscribedclancouldnotbeparticular; they tookanameasaman takesanumbrella against a shower; as Rob Roy took Campbell, and his son took

Drummond.But this case is different; Stevensonwas not taken and left—itwasconsistentlyadheredto.ItdoesnotintheleastfollowthatallStevensonsare of the clan Alpin; but it does follow that some may be. And I cannotconcealfrommyselfthepossibilitythatJamesStevensoninGlasgow,myfirstauthenticancestor,mayhavehadaHighlandaliasuponhisconscienceandaclaymoreinhisbackparlour.Toonemore tradition Imayallude, thatweare somehowdescended fromaFrenchbarber-surgeonwhocametoSt.AndrewsintheserviceofoneoftheCardinalBeatons.Nodetailswereadded.ButtheverynameofFrancewassodetestedinmyfamilyforthreegenerations,thatIamtemptedtosupposetheremaybesomethinginit.

CHAPTERI

IT is believed that in 1665, JamesStevenson inNetherCarsewell, parishofNeilston, county of Renfrew, and presumably a tenant farmer, married oneJean Keir; and in 1675, without doubt, there was born to these two a sonRobert,possiblyamaltsterinGlasgow.In1710,Robertmarried,forasecondtime, Elizabeth Cumming, and there was born to them, in 1720, anotherRobert, certainlyamaltster inGlasgow. In1742,Robert the secondmarriedMargaretFulton (Margret, shecalledherself),bywhomhehad tenchildren,amongwhomwereHugh,bornFebruary1749,andAlan,bornJune1752.With these two brothers my story begins. Their deaths were simultaneous;theirlivesunusuallybriefandfull.TraditionwhisperedmeinchildhoodtheyweretheownersofanisletnearSt.Kitts;anditiscertaintheyhadrisentobeattheheadofconsiderableinterestsintheWestIndies,whichHughmanagedabroadandAlanathome,atanagewhenothersarestill curvetingaclerk’sstool.My kinsman,Mr. Stevenson of Stirling, has heard his fathermentionthattherehadbeen“somethingromantic”aboutAlan’smarriage:and,alas!hehasforgottenwhat.Itwasearlyatleast.HiswifewasJean,daughterofDavidLillie,abuilder inGlasgow,andseveral times“Deaconof theWrights”: thedateofthemarriagehasnotreachedme:buton8thJune1772,whenRobert,the only child of the union, was born, the husband and father had scarcepassed,orhadnotyetattained,his twentiethyear.Herewasayouthmakinghastetogivehostagestofortune.Butthisearlysceneofprosperityinloveandbusinesswasonthepointofclosing.Therehunginthehouseofthisyoungfamily,andsuccessivelyinthoseofmygrandfather and father, an oil painting of a ship of many tons burthen.Doubtless the brothers had an interest in the vessel; I was told she hadbelonged to them outright; and the picture was preserved through years of

hardship, and remains to this day in the possession of the family, the onlymemorialofmygreat-grandsireAlan.Itwasonthisshipthathesailedonhislastadventure,summonedtotheWestIndiesbyHugh.Anagenthadprovedunfaithfulonaseriousscale;anditusedtobetoldmeinmychildhoodhowthe brothers pursued him from one island to another in an open boat, wereexposed to the pernicious dews of the tropics, and simultaneously struckdown.Thedates andplacesof their deaths (nowbeforeme)would seem toindicateamorescatteredandprolongedpursuit:Hugh,onthe16thApril1774,inTobago,withinsightofTrinidad;Alan,solateasMay26th,andsofarawayas“SanttKittes,” in theLeewardIslands—both,saysthefamilyBible,“ofafiver”(!).ThedeathofHughwasprobablyannouncedbyAlaninaletter,towhichwemayreferthedetailsoftheopenboatandthedew.Thus,atleast,insomethinglikethecourseofpost,bothwerecalledaway,theonetwenty-five,theother twenty-two; their brief generationbecameextinct, their short-livedhouse fell with them; and “in these lawless parts and lawless times”—thewords aremy grandfather’s—their propertywas stolen or became involved.Manyyearslater,Iunderstandsomesmallrecoverytohavebeenmade;butatthemomentalmostthewholemeansofthefamilyseemtohaveperishedwiththeyoungmerchants.On the27thApril, elevendays afterHughStevenson,twenty-ninebeforeAlan,diedDavidLillie,theDeaconoftheWrights;sothatmotherandsonwereorphanedinonemonth.Thus,fromafewscrapsofpaperbearing little beyond dates, we construct the outlines of the tragedy thatshadowedthecradleofRobertStevenson.JeanLilliewas a youngwomanof strong sense,well fitted to contendwithpoverty, and of a pious disposition, which it is like that these misfortunesheated.LikesomanyotherwidowedScotswomen,shevowedhersonshouldwaghishead inapulpit;buthermeanswere inadequate toherambition.Acharityschool,andsometimeunderaMr.M’Intyre,“afamouslinguist,”wereall she could afford in the way of education to the would-be minister. HelearnednoGreek;inoneplacehementionsthat theOrationsofCicerowerehis highest book in Latin; in another that he had “delighted” in Virgil andHorace;buthisdelightcouldneverhavebeenscholarly.Thisappearstohavebeen thewhole of his trainingprevious to an eventwhich changedhis owndestiny and moulded that of his descendants—the second marriage of hismother.TherewasaMerchant-BurgessofEdinburghof thenameofThomasSmith.The Smith pedigree has been traced a little more particularly than theStevensons’,withasimilardearthofillustriousnames.Onecharacterseemstohave appeared, indeed, for a moment at the wings of history: a skipper ofDundeewhosmuggledoversomeJacobitebig-wigatthetimeofthe’Fifteen,andwasafterwardsdrownedinDundeeharbourwhilegoingonboardhisship.With this exception, the generations of the Smiths present no conceivable

interesteventoadescendant;andThomas,ofEdinburgh,wasthefirsttoissuefrom respectableobscurity.His father, a skipperout ofBroughtyFerry,wasdrownedatseawhileThomaswasstillyoung.Heseemstohaveownedashipor two—whalers, I suppose,orcoasters—and tohavebeenamemberof theDundee Trinity House, whatever that implies. On his death the widowremained in Broughty, and the son came to push his future in Edinburgh.ThereisastorytoldofhiminthefamilywhichIrepeatherebecauseIshallhavetotelllateronasimilar,butmoreperfectlyauthenticated,experienceofhis stepson, Robert Stevenson. Word reached Thomas that his mother wasunwell,andhepreparedtoleaveforBroughtyonthemorrow.Itwasbetweentwo and three in the morning, and the early northern daylight was alreadyclear,whenheawokeandbeheldthecurtainsatthebed-footdrawnasideandhis mother appear in the interval, smile upon him for a moment, and thenvanish.Thesequelisstereotype:hetookthetimebyhiswatch,andarrivedatBroughtytolearnitwastheverymomentofherdeath.Theincidentisatleastcuriousinhavinghappenedtosuchaperson—asthetaleisbeingtoldofhim.In all else, he appears as a man, ardent, passionate, practical, designed foraffairs and prospering in them far beyond the average. He founded a solidbusinessinlampsandoils,andwasthesoleproprietorofaconcerncalledtheGreenside Company’s Works—“a multifarious concern it was,” writes mycousin, Professor Swan, “of tinsmiths, coppersmiths, brassfounders,blacksmiths, and japanners.” He was also, it seems, a shipowner andunderwriter.Hebuilthimself“aland”—Nos.1and2Baxter’sPlace,thennosuch unfashionable neighbourhood—and died, leaving his only son in easycircumstances, and giving to his three surviving daughters portions of fivethousandpoundsandupwards.Thereisnostandardofsuccessinlife;butinoneofitsmeanings,thisistosucceed.Inwhatweknowofhisopinions,hemakesa figurehighlycharacteristicofthe time. A high Tory and patriot, a captain—so I find it in my notes—ofEdinburghSpearmen,andonduty in theCastleduring theMuirandPalmertroubles,hebequeathedtohisdescendantsabloodlessswordandasomewhatviolenttradition,bothlongpreserved.ThejudgewhosatonMuirandPalmer,thefamousBraxfield,letfallfromthebenchtheobiterdictum—“IneverlikedtheFrenchallmydays,butnowIhatethem.”IfThomasSmith,theEdinburghSpearman,wereincourt,hemusthavebeentemptedtoapplaud.Thepeopleof that land were his abhorrence; he loathed Buonaparte like Antichrist.Towards theendhefell intoakindofdotage;his familymustentertainhimwith games of tin soldiers, which he took a childish pleasure to array andoverset;but thosewhoplayedwithhimmustbeupon theirguard, for ifhisside,whichwasalwaysthatoftheEnglishagainsttheFrench,shouldchancetobedefeated,therewouldbetroubleinBaxter’sPlace.Fortheseopinionshemayalmostbesaidtohavesuffered.BaptisedandbroughtupintheChurchof

Scotland,hehad,uponsomeconscientiousscruple,joinedthecommunionofthe Baptists. Like other Nonconformists, these were inclined to the Liberalside in politics, and, at least in the beginning, regarded Buonaparte as adeliverer.FromthetimeofhisjoiningtheSpearmen,ThomasSmithbecamein consequence a bugbear to his brethren in the faith. “They that take thesword shall perishwith the sword,” they toldhim; theygavehim“no rest”;“his position became intolerable”; it was plain hemust choose between hispoliticalandhisreligioustenets;andinthelastyearsofhislife,about1812,hereturnedtotheChurchofhisfathers.August1786wasthedateofhischiefadvancement,when,havingdesignedasystemofoillightstotaketheplaceoftheprimitivecoalfiresbeforeinuse,hewasdubbedengineertothenewly-formedBoardofNorthernLighthouses.Notonlywerehisfortunesbetteredbytheappointment,buthewasintroducedtoanewandwiderfieldfortheexerciseofhisabilities,andanewwayoflifehighlyagreeable tohis activeconstitution.He seems tohave rejoiced in thelongjourneys,andtohavecombinedthemwiththepracticeoffieldsports.“Atall, stout man coming ashore with his gun over his arm”—so he wasdescribedtomyfather—theonlydescriptionthathascomedowntome—byalight-keeper old in the service.Nor did this change come alone.On the 9thJuly of the same year, Thomas Smith had been left for the second time awidower.Ashewas stillbut thirty-threeyearsold,prospering inhisaffairs,newly advanced in theworld, and encumbered at the timewith a family ofchildren,fiveinnumber,itwasnaturalthatheshouldentertainthenotionofanotherwife.Expeditiousinbusiness,hewasnolesssoinhischoice;anditwasnot later thanJune1787—formygrandfather isdescribedasstill inhisfifteenthyear—thathemarriedthewidowofAlanStevenson.Theperilousexperimentofbringingtogethertwofamiliesforoncesucceeded.Mr.Smith’stwoeldestdaughters,JeanandJanet,ferventinpiety,unweariedin kind deeds, were well qualified both to appreciate and to attract thestepmother; andher son,on theotherhand, seems tohave found immediatefavourintheeyesofMr.Smith.It is,perhaps,easytoexaggeratetheready-made resemblances; the tiredwomanmust have donemuch to fashion girlswho were under ten; theman, lusty and opinionated, must have stamped astrongimpressionontheboyoffifteen.Butthecleavageofthefamilywastoomarked,theidentityofcharacterandinterestproducedbetweenthetwomenontheonehand,andthethreewomenontheother,wastoocompletetohavebeen the result of influence alone.Particularbondsofunionmusthavepre-existedoneachside.Andthereisnodoubtthatthemanandtheboymetwithcommonambitions,andacommonbent,tothepracticeofthatwhichhadnotsolongbeforeacquiredthenameofcivilengineering.Fortheprofessionwhichisnowsothronged,famous,andinfluential,wasthen

a thingof yesterday.Mygrandfather had an anecdote ofSmeaton, probablylearnedfromJohnClerkofEldin,theircommonfriend.SmeatonwasaskedbytheDukeofArgylltovisittheWestHighlandcoastforaprofessionalpurpose.Herefused,appalled,itseems,bytheroughtravelling.“Youcanrecommendsome other fit person?” asked the Duke. “No,” said Smeaton, “I’m sorry Ican’t.”“What!”criedtheDuke,“aprofessionwithonlyonemanin it!Pray,who taught you?” “Why,” said Smeaton, “I believe I may say I was self-taught,an’tpleaseyourgrace.”Smeaton,atthedateofThomasSmith’sthirdmarriage,wasyetliving;andastheonehadgrowntothenewprofessionfromhisplaceattheinstrument-maker’s,theotherwasbeginningtoenteritbytheway of his trade. The engineer of to-day is confronted with a library ofacquired results; tables and formulæ to the value of folios full have beencalculatedandrecorded;andthestudentfindseverywhereinfrontofhimthefootprints of the pioneers. In the eighteenth century the field was largelyunexplored; theengineermust readwithhisowneyes the faceofnature;hearoseavolunteer, from theworkshopor themill, toundertakeworkswhichwereatonce inventionsandadventures. Itwasnot a science then—itwasaliving art; and it visibly grew under the eyes and between the hands of itspractitioners.Thecharmofsuchanoccupationwasstronglyfeltbystepfatherandstepson.ItchancedthatThomasSmithwasareformer;thesuperiorityofhisproposedlampand reflectorsoveropen firesof coal securedhis appointment; andnosooner had he set his hand to the task than the interest of that employmentmasteredhim.Thevacantstageonwhichhewastoact,andwhereallhadyetto be created—the greatness of the difficulties, the smallness of the meansintrustedhim—wouldrouseamanofhisdispositionlikeacalltobattle.Thelad introducedbymarriageunderhis roofwasofacharacter to sympathise;the public usefulness of the service would appeal to his judgment, theperpetual need for fresh expedients stimulate his ingenuity. And there wasanotherattractionwhich,intheyoungermanatleast,appealedto,andperhapsfirst aroused a profound and enduring sentiment of romance: I mean theattractionofthelife.Theseasintowhichhislabourscarriedthenewengineerwerestillscarcecharted,thecoastsstilldark;hiswayonshorewasoftenfarbeyondtheconvenienceofanyroad;theislesinwhichhemustsojournwerestill partly savage.Hemust tossmuch inboats; hemust often adventureonhorsebackbythedubiousbridle-trackthroughunfrequentedwildernesses;hemustsometimesplanthislighthouseintheverycampofwreckers;andhewascontinually enforced to the vicissitudes of outdoor life. The joy of mygrandfather in this career was strong as the love of woman. It lasted himthroughyouthandmanhood, itburnedstrong inage,andat theapproachofdeath his last yearningwas to renew these loved experiences.What he felthimself he continued to attribute to all around him. And to this supposed

sentimentinothersIfindhimcontinually,almostpathetically,appealing:ofteninvain.Snaredby these interests, theboy seems tohavebecomealmost atonce theeagerconfidantandadviserofhisnewconnection;theChurch,ifhehadeverentertainedtheprospectverywarmly,fadedfromhisview;andattheageofnineteen I find him already in a post of some authority, superintending theconstruction of the lighthouse on the isle of LittleCumbrae, in the Firth ofClyde.The change of aim seems to have caused or been accompanied by achangeof character. It sounds absurd to couple thenameofmygrandfatherwiththewordindolence;buttheladwhohadbeendestinedfromthecradletotheChurch, andwhohad attained the ageof fifteenwithout acquiringmorethan a moderate knowledge of Latin, was at least no unusual student. Andfrom the day of his charge at Little Cumbrae he steps before us what heremained until the end, a man of the most zealous industry, greedy ofoccupation,greedyofknowledge,asternhusbandoftime,areader,awriter,unflagginginhistaskofself-improvement.Thenceforwardhissummerswerespentdirectingworksandrulingworkmen,nowinuninhabited,nowinhalf-savageislands;hiswintersweresetapart,firstattheAndersonianInstitution,then at the University of Edinburgh to improve himself in mathematics,chemistry,naturalhistory,agriculture,moralphilosophy,andlogic;abeardedstudent—althoughnodoubt scrupulously shaved. I findone reference to hisyearsinclasswhichwillhaveameaningforallwhohavestudiedinScottishUniversities.Hementionsarecommendationmadebytheprofessoroflogic.“The high-school men,” he writes, “and beardedmen like myself, were allattention.”Ifmygrandfatherwerethroughoutlifeathoughttoostudiousoftheart ofgettingon,muchmustbe forgiven to thebeardedandbelated studentwholookedacross,withasenseofdifference,at“thehigh-schoolmen.”Herewas a gulf to be crossed; but already he could feel that he had made abeginning,andthatmusthavebeenaproudhourwhenhedevotedhisearliestearnings to the repayment of the charitable foundation in which he hadreceivedtherudimentsofknowledge.In yet another way he followed the example of his father-in-law, and from1794to1807,whentheaffairsoftheBellRockmadeitnecessaryforhimtoresign,heservedindifferentcorpsofvolunteers.Inthelastoftheseherosetoapositionofdistinction,nolessthancaptainoftheGrenadierCompany,andhis colonel, in accepting his resignation, entreated he would do them “thefavour of continuing as an honorarymember of a corpswhich has been somuchindebtedforyourzealandexertions.”To very piouswomen themen of the house are apt to appearworldly. Thewife, as she puts on her new bonnet before church, is apt to sigh over thatassiduity which enabled her husband to pay the milliner’s bill. And in the

householdoftheSmithsandStevensonsthewomenwerenotonlyextremelypious,but themenwereinrealitya trifleworldly.Religioustheybothwere;conscious, likeallScots,of thefragilityandunrealityof thatsceneinwhichweplayouruncomprehendedparts; likeallScots, realisingdailyandhourlythesenseofanotherwill thanoursandaperpetualdirection in theaffairsoflife.But the current of their endeavours flowed in amore obvious channel.Theyhadgotonsofar; togetonfurtherwas theirnextambition—togatherwealth,toriseinsociety,toleavetheirdescendantshigherthanthemselves,tobe(insomesense)amongthefoundersoffamilies.Scottwasinthesametownnourishingsimilardreams.Butintheeyesofthewomenthesedreamswouldbefoolishandidolatrous.IhavebeforemesomevolumesofoldlettersaddressedtoMrs.Smithandthetwogirls,herfavourites,whichdepictinastronglighttheircharactersandthesocietyinwhichtheymoved.ThisistoJean;butthesameafflictedladywroteindifferentlytoJean,toJanet,and toMrs. Smith, whom she calls “my Edinburghmother.” It is plain thethree were as one person, moving to acts of kindness, like the Graces,inarmed.Toomuchstressmustnotbelaidonthestyleofthiscorrespondence;Clarinda survived,not far away, andmayhavemet the ladieson theCaltonHill;andmanyofthewritersappear,underneaththeconventionsoftheperiod,to be genuinelymoved.Butwhat unpleasantly strikes a reader is that thesedevout unfortunates found a revenue in their devotion. It is everywhere thesametale:onthesideofthesoft-heartedladies,substantialactsofhelp;ontheside of the correspondents, affection, italics, texts, ecstasies, and imperfectspelling.When amidwife is recommended, not at all for proficiency in herimportantart,butbecauseshehas“asisterwhomI[thecorrespondent]esteemand respect, and [who] is a spiritual daughter of my Hon Father in theGosple,”themaskseemstobetornoff,andthewagesofgodlinessappeartooopenly. Capacity is a secondary matter in a midwife, temper in a servant,affection in a daughter, and the repetition of a shibboleth fulfils the law.Commondecencyisattimesforgotinthesamepagewiththemostsanctifiedadviceandaspiration.ThusIamintroducedtoacorrespondentwhoappearstohavebeenatthetimethehousekeeperatInvermay,andwhowritestocondolewithmygrandmotherinaseasonofdistress.Fornearlyhalfasheetshekeepstothepointwithanexcellentdiscretioninlanguage;thensuddenlybreaksout:Andby the tailof thedocument,which is torn, I seeshegoeson toask thebereavedfamilytoseekheranewplace.Itisextraordinarythatpeopleshouldhavebeensodeceivedinsocarelessanimpostor; thatafewsprinkled“Godwillings”shouldhaveblindedthemtotheessenceofthisvenomousletter;andthattheyshouldhavebeenatthepainstobinditinwithothers(manyofthemhighly touching) in their memorial of harrowing days. But the good ladies

werewithoutguile andwithout suspicion; theywerevictimsmarked for theaxe,andthereligiousimpostorssnuffedupthewindastheydrewnear.Ihavereferredabovetomygrandmother;itwasnoslipofthepen:forbyanextraordinary arrangement, in which it is hard not to suspect themanaginghand of a mother, Jean Smith became the wife of Robert Stevenson. Mrs.Smithhad failed inherdesign tomakeher sonaminister, andshe sawhimdailymore immersed inbusinessandworldlyambition.One thing remainedthatshemightdo:shemightsecureforhimagodlywife,thatgreatmeansofsanctification; and she had two under her hand, trained by herself, her dearfriends and daughters both in law and love—Jean and Janet. Jean’scomplexionwas extremely pale, Janet’s was florid;my grandmother’s nosewasstraight,mygreat-aunt’saquiline;butbythesoundofthevoice,notevenasonwasabletodistinguishonefromother.Themarriageofamanoftwenty-seven and a girl of twenty who have lived for twelve years as brother andsister, is difficult to conceive. It took place, however, and thus in 1799 thefamilywasstillfurthercementedbytheunionofarepresentativeofthemaleorworldlyelementwithoneofthefemaleanddevout.This essential difference remained unbridged, yet never diminished thestrengthof theirrelation.Mygrandfatherpursuedhisdesignofadvancinginthe world with some measure of success; rose to distinction in his calling,grew to be the familiar of members of Parliament, judges of the Court ofSession, and “landed gentlemen”; learned a ready address, had a flow ofinterestingconversation,andwhenhewasreferredtoas“ahighlyrespectablebourgeois,” resented the description. My grandmother remained to the enddevoutandunambitious,occupiedwithherBible,herchildren,andherhouse;easilyshocked,andassociating largelywithacliqueofgodlyparasites. Idonotknowifshecalledinthemidwifealreadyreferredto;buttheprincipleonwhichthatladywasrecommended,sheacceptedfully.Thecookwasagodlywoman, the butcher a Christianman, and the table suffered. The scene hasbeen often described to me of my grandfather sawing with darkenedcountenanceatsomeindissolublejoint—“Preserveme,mydear,whatkindofareedy,stringybeastisthis?”—ofthejointremoved,thepuddingsubstitutedand uncovered; and of my grandmother’s anxious glance and hasty,deprecatorycomment, “Justmismanaged!”Yetwith the invincibleobstinacyofsoftnatures,shewouldadheretothegodlywomanandtheChristianman,orfindothersofthesamekidneytoreplacethem.Oneofherconfidantshadonceanarrowescape;anunwieldyoldwoman,shehadfallenfromanoutsidestairinacloseoftheOldTown;andmygrandmotherrejoicedtocommunicatetheprovidentialcircumstance thatabakerhadbeenpassingunderneathwithhisbreaduponhishead.“Iwould like toknowwhatkindofprovidence thebakerthoughtit!”criedmygrandfather.

But thesallymusthavebeenunique. Inallelse that Ihaveheardor readofhim, so far fromcriticising, hewasdoinghisutmost tohonour and even toemulatehiswife’spronouncedopinions.Intheonlyletterwhichhascometomyhand ofThomasSmith’s, I find him informing hiswife that hewas “intimeforafternoonchurch“;similarassurancesorcognateexcusesaboundinthecorrespondenceofRobertStevenson;anditiscomicalandprettytoseethetwogenerationspayingthesamecourt toafemalepietymorehighlystrung:ThomasSmith to themotherofRobertStevenson—RobertStevenson to thedaughterofThomasSmith.Andifforoncemygrandfathersufferedhimselftobehurried,byhissenseofhumourandjustice,intothatremarkaboutthecaseof Providence and theBaker, I should be sorry for any of his childrenwhoshould have stumbled into the same attitude of criticism. In the apocalypticstyleofthehousekeeperofInvermay,woebetothatperson!Buttherewasnofear; husband and sons all entertained for the pious, tender soul the samechivalrousandmovedaffection.Ihavespokenwithonewhorememberedher,andwhohadbeentheintimateandequalofhersons,andIfoundthiswitnesshad been struck, as I had been, with a sense of disproportion between thewarmth of the adoration felt and the nature of the woman, whether asdescribedor observed.Shediligently read andmarkedherBible; shewas atendernurse;shehadasenseofhumourunderstrongcontrol;shetalkedandfoundsomeamusementather(orratheratherhusband’s)dinner-parties.Itisconceivable that even my grandmother was amenable to the seductions ofdress;at least I findherhusbandinquiringanxiouslyabout“thegownsfromGlasgow,” and very careful to describe the toilet of the Princess Charlotte,whomhehadseeninchurch“inaPelisseandBonnetof thesamecolourofclothas theBoys’Dress jackets, trimmedwithbluesatin ribbons; thehatorBonnet,Mr.Spittalsaid,wasaParisianslouch,andhadaplumeofthreewhitefeathers.”But all this leaves a blank impression, and it is rather by readingbackward in theseoldmusty letters,whichhavemovedmenow to laughterandnowtoimpatience,thatIgleanoccasionalglimpsesofhowsheseemedtoher contemporaries, and trace (at work in her queer world of godly andgrateful parasites) a mobile and responsive nature. Fashion moulds us, andparticularlywomen, deeper thanwe sometimes think; but a littlewhile ago,and,insomecircles,womenstoodorfellbythedegreeoftheirappreciationofoldpictures;intheearlyyearsofthecentury(andsurelywithmorereason)acharacterlikethatofmygrandmotherwarmed,charmed,andsubdued,likeastrainofmusic,theheartsofthemenofherownhousehold.AndthereislittledoubtthatMrs.Smith,asshelookedonatthedomesticlifeofhersonandherstep-daughter,andnumberedtheheadsintheirincreasingnursery,musthavebreathedferventthankstoherCreator.Yetthiswastobeafamilyunusuallytried;itwasnotfornothingthatoneofthe godlywomen salutedMiss Janet Smith as “a veteran in affliction”; and

theywereallbeforemiddlelifeexperiencedinthatformofservice.Bythe1stofJanuary1808,besidesapairofstill-borntwins,fivechildrenhadbeenbornandstillsurvivedtotheyoungcouple.Bythe11thtwoweregone;bythe28thathirdhadfollowed,andthetwootherswerestillindanger.Inthelettersofaformernurserymaid—Igivehername,JeanMitchell,honoriscausa—weareenabled to feel, even at this distance of time, some of the bitterness of thatmonthofbereavement.Bythe29thofFebruary,theReverendJohnCampbell,amanofobvioussenseandhumanvalue,buthateful to thepresentbiographer,becausehewrotesomanylettersandconveyedsolittleinformation,summedupthisfirstperiodofafflictioninalettertoMissSmith:“Yourdearsisterbutalittlewhileagohadafullnursery,and thedearbloomingcreaturessittingaroundher tablefilledherbreastwithhopethatonedaytheyshouldfillactivestationsinsocietyandbecomeanornamentintheChurchbelow.Butah!”Nearahundredyearsagotheselittlecreaturesceasedtobe,andfornotmuchless a period the tears have been dried. And to this day, looking in thesestitched sheaves of letters, we hear the sound ofmany soft-hearted womensobbingforthelost.Neverwassuchamassacreoftheinnocents;teethingandchincoughandscarletfeverandsmall-poxrantheround;andlittleLillies,andSmiths, and Stevensons fell like moths about a candle; and nearly all thesympatheticcorrespondentsdeploreandrecallthelittlelossesoftheirown.“Itis impossible to describe theHeavnly looks of theDearBabe the three lastdaysofhis life,”writesMrs.Laurie toMrs.Smith.“Never—never,mydearaunt,couldIwishtoefacetherememberanceofthisDearChild.Never,never,my dear aunt!” And so soon the memory of the dead and the dust of thesurvivorsareburiedinonegrave.Therewasanotherdeathin1812;itpassesalmostunremarked;asinglefuneralseemed but a small event to these “veterans in affliction”; and by 1816 thenurserywasfullagain.Sevenlittlehopefulsenlivenedthehouse;someweregrowing up; to the elder girlmy grandfather alreadywrote notes in currenthandatthetailofhisletterstohiswife:andtotheelderboyshehadbeguntoprint,withlaboriouscare,sheetsofchildishgossipandpedanticapplications.Here, for instance, under date ofMay 26th, 1816, is part of amythologicalaccount ofLondon,with amoral for the three gentlemen, “MessieursAlan,Robert,andJamesStevenson,”towhomthedocumentisaddressed:Fromthesameabsence,hewritestohiswifeonaSunday:Atwinkleofhumourlightsupthisevocationofthedistantscene—thehumourofhappymenandhappyhomes.Yetitispenneduponthethresholdoffreshsorrow.JamesandMary—heoftheverseandsheofthehymn—didnotmuchmore thansurvive towelcometheir returningfather.Onthe25th,oneof thegodlywomenwritestoJanet:

Itwouldbehardtolayonflatterywithamoresureanddaringhand.Iquoteitasamodelofaletterofcondolence;besureitwouldconsole.Verydifferent,perhaps quite as welcome, is this from a lighthouse inspector to mygrandfather:The child who is taken becomes canonised, and the looks of the homeliestbabe seem in the retrospect “heavenly the three last daysofhis life.”But itappears that James and Mary had indeed been children more than usuallyengaging;arecordwaspreservedalongwhileinthefamilyoftheirremarksand“littleinnocentandinterestingstories,”andtheblowandtheblankwerethemoresensible.Early the next month Robert Stevenson must proceed upon his voyage ofinspection,partbyland,partbysea.Helefthiswifeplungedinlowspirits;thethoughtofhis loss,andstillmoreofherconcern,wascontinuallypresent inhismind,andhedrawsinhislettershomeaninterestingpictureofhisfamilyrelations:—Strangethat,afterhislongexperience,mygrandfathershouldhavelearnedsolittleof the attitude and even thedialect of the spiritually-minded; that afterforty-four years in a most religious circle, he could drop without sense ofincongruityfromaperiodofacceptedphrasesto“trusthiswifewasgettingupherspirits,”orthinktoreassureherastothecharacterofCaptainWemyssbymentioning thathehad readprayerson thedeckofhis frigate“agreeably tothe Articles of War”! Yet there is no doubt—and it is one of the mostagreeablefeaturesof thekindlyseries—thathewasdoinghisbest toplease,andthereislittledoubtthathesucceeded.Almostallmygrandfather’sprivatelettershavebeendestroyed.Thiscorrespondencehasnotonlybeenpreservedentire,butstitchedupinthesamecoverswiththeworksofthegodlywomen,the Reverend JohnCampbell, and the painfulMrs. Ogle. I did not think tomention thegooddame,but shecomes inusefully as anexample.Amongstthetreasuresoftheladiesofmyfamily,herlettershavebeenhonouredwithavolume to themselves. I readaboutahalfof themmyself; thenhandedoverthe task tooneofstauncher resolution,withorders tocommunicateanyfactthatshouldbefoundtoilluminatethesepages.Notonewasfound;itwasheronly art to communicate by post second-rate sermons at second-hand; andsuch,Itakeit,wasthecorrespondenceinwhichmygrandmotherdelighted.IfI am right, that of Robert Stevenson, with his quaint smack of thecontemporary “Sandford and Merton,” his interest in the whole page ofexperience,hisperpetualquest,andfinescentofallthatseemsromantictoaboy,hisneedlesspompof language,hisexcellentgoodsense,hisunfeigned,unstained,unweariedhumankindliness,wouldseemtoher, inacomparison,dryandtrivialandworldly.Andiftheseletterswerebyanexceptioncherishedandpreserved,itwouldbeforoneorbothoftworeasons—becausetheydealt

withandwerebitter-sweetremindersofatimeofsorrow;orbecauseshewaspleased,perhapstouched,bythewriter’sguilelesseffortstoseemspiritually-minded.After this date therewere twomorebirths and twomoredeaths, so that thenumber of the family remained unchanged; in all five children survived toreachmaturityandtooutlivetheirparents.

CHAPTERII

ITwerehardtoimagineacontrastmoresharplydefinedthanthatbetweenthelivesofthemenandwomenofthisfamily:theonesochambered,socentredin the affections and the sensibilities; the other so active, healthy, andexpeditious. FromMay toNovember, Thomas Smith and Robert Stevensonwereon themail, in the saddle,or at sea; andmygrandfather, inparticular,seemstohavebeenpossessedwithademonofactivityintravel.In1802,bydirection of the Northern Lighthouse Board, he had visited the coast ofEngland from St. Bees, in Cumberland, and round by the Scilly Islands tosomeplaceundecipherablebyme; inalladistanceof2500miles. In1806Ifind him starting “on a tour round the south coast of England, from theHumber to theSevern.”Peacewasnot longdeclarederehe foundmeans tovisitHolland,wherehewasintimetosee,inthenavy-yardatHelvoetsluys,“about twenty of Bonaparte’s English flotilla lying in a state of decay, theobjectofcuriositytoEnglishmen.”By1834heseemstohavebeenacquaintedwiththecoastofFrancefromDieppetoBordeaux;andamainpartofhisdutyasEngineertotheBoardofNorthernLightswasoneroundofdangerousandlaborioustravel.In1786,whenThomasSmithfirstreceivedtheappointment,theextendedandformidablecoastofScotlandwaslightedatasinglepoint—theIsleofMay,inthejawsoftheFirthofForth,where,onatoweralreadyahundredandfiftyyearsold,anopencoal-fireblazedinanironchauffer.Thewholearchipelago,thusnightlyplungedindarkness,wasshunnedbysea-goingvessels,and thefavouritecourseswerenorthaboutShetlandandwestaboutSt.Kilda.WhentheBoardmet,fournewlightsformedtheextentoftheirintentions—KinnairdHead,inAberdeenshire,attheeasternelbowofthecoast;NorthRonaldsay,inOrkney,tokeepthenorthandguideshipspassingtothesouth’ardofShetland;IslandGlass,onHarris,tomarktheinnershoreoftheHebridesandilluminatethenavigationoftheMinch;andtheMullofKintyre.Theseworksweretobeattemptedagainstobstacles,materialandfinancial,thatmighthavestaggeredthemostbold.Smithhadnoshipathiscommandtill1791;theroadsinthoseoutlandish quarters where his business lay were scarce passable when they

existed,andthetowerontheMullofKintyrestoodelevenmonthsunlightedwhiletheapparatustoiledandfounderedbythewayamongrocksandmosses.Notonlyhadtowers tobebuiltandapparatus transplanted, thesupplyofoilmust be maintained, and the men fed, in the same inaccessible and distantscenes;awholeservice,withitsroutineandhierarchy,hadtobecalledoutofnothing; and a new trade (that of lightkeeper) to be taught, recruited, andorganised.ThefundsoftheBoardwereatthefirstlaughablyinadequate.Theyembarked on their career on a loan of twelve hundred pounds, and theirincome in 1789, after relief by a freshAct of Parliament, amounted to lessthanthreehundred.ItmustbesupposedthatthethoughtsofThomasSmith,inthese early years,were sometimes colouredwith despair; and since he builtand lighted one tower after another, and created and bequeathed to hissuccessors the elements of an excellent administration, it may be concededthathewasnotafterallanunfortunatechoiceforafirstengineer.Waraddedfreshcomplications.In1794Smithcame“verynear tobetaken”by a French squadron. In 1813 Robert Stevenson was cruising about theneighbourhoodofCapeWrath in the immediate fearofCommodoreRogers.The men, and especially the sailors, of the lighthouse service must beprotectedbyamedalandticketfromthebrutalactivityofthepress-gang.Andthezealofvolunteerpatriotswasattimesembarrassing.Mygrandfatherproducedinanswerhiscredentialsandletterofcredit;butthejustice,afterperusingthem,“verygravelyobservedthattheywere‘mustybitsof paper,’” and proposed to maintain the arrest. Some more enlightenedmagistrates at Penzance relieved him of suspicion and left him at liberty topursuehis journey,—“which Ididwithsomucheagerness,”headds,“that IgavethetwocoallightsontheLizardonlyaverytransientlook.”LighthouseoperationsinScotlanddifferedessentiallyincharacterfromthoseinEngland.TheEnglishcoastisincomparisonahabitable,homelyplace,wellsuppliedwithtowns;theScottishpresentshundredsofmilesofsavageislandsand desolate moors. The Parliamentary committee of 1834, profoundlyignorantofthisdistinction, insistedwithmygrandfatherthat theworkat thevariousstationsshouldbe letoutoncontract“in theneighbourhood,”wheresheepanddeer, andgulls and cormorants, and a few raggedgillies, perhapscrouchinginabee-hivehouse,madeuptheonlyneighbours.Insuchsituationsrepairs and improvements could only be overtaken by collecting (as mygrandfather expressed it) a few “lads,” placing them under charge of aforeman, and despatching them about the coast as occasion served. Theparticular danger of these seas increased the difficulty. The course of thelighthouse tender lies amid iron-bound coasts, among tide-races, thewhirlpools of the Pentland Firth, flocks of islands, flocks of reefs,many ofthem uncharted. The aid of steamwas not yet. At first in random coasting

sloop,andafterwardsinthecutterbelongingtotheservice,theengineermustply and run amongst these multiplied dangers, and sometimes late into thestormyautumn.Forpagestogethermygrandfather’sdiarypreservesarecordof theserudeexperiences;ofhardwindsandroughseas;andof“thetry-sailandstorm-jib,thoseoldfriendswhichIneverliketosee.”Theydonottempttoquotation,butitwastheman’selement,inwhichhelived,anddelightedtolive,andsomespecimenmustbepresented.OnFriday,September10th,1830,theRegentlyinginLerwickBay,wehavethisentry:“Thegaleincreases,withcontinued rain.” On the morrow, Saturday, 11th, the weather appeared tomoderate,andtheyputtosea,onlytobedrivenbyeveningintoLevenswick.Theretheylay,“rollingmuch,”withbothanchorsaheadandthesquareyardondeck, till themorningofSaturday,18th.Saturday andSunday theywereplying to the southward with a “strong breeze and a heavy sea,” and onSundayeveninganchoredinOtterswick.“Monday,20th,itblowssofreshthatwehavenocommunicationwith the shore.WeseeMr.Romeon thebeach,but we cannot communicate with him. It blows ‘mere fire,’ as the sailorsexpress it.”And for three daysmore the diary goes onwith tales of davitsunshipped,highseas,stronggalesfromthesouthward,andtheshipdriventorefuge in Kirkwall or Deer Sound. I have many a passage before me totranscribe, inwhichmy grandfather draws himself as aman ofminute andanxiousexactitudeaboutdetails.Itmustnotbeforgottenthatthesevoyagesinthetenderweretheparticularpleasureandrewardofhisexistence;thathehadin him a reserve of romance which carried him delightedly over thesehardships and perils; that to him it was “great gain” to be eight nights andseven days in the savage bay of Levenswick—to read a book in the muchagitatedcabin—togoondeckandhearthegalescreaminhisears,andseethelandscapedarkwithrain,andtheshipplungeathertwoanchors—andtoturninatnightandwakeagainatmorning,inhisnarrowberth, totheclamorousandcontinuedvoicesofthegale.His perils and escapeswere beyond counting. I shall only refer to two: thefirst, because of the impression made upon himself; the second, from theincidentalpicture itpresentsof thenorthislanders.Onthe9thOctober1794hetookpassagefromOrkneyinthesloopElizabethofStromness.Shemadeafair passage tillwithinviewofKinnairdHead,where, as shewasbecalmedsomethreemiles in theoffing,andwindseemed to threatenfromthesouth-east, the captain landed him, to continue his journey more expeditiouslyashore.A gale immediately followed, and the Elizabethwas driven back toOrkneyandlostwithallhands.ThesecondescapeIhavebeeninthehabitofhearing related by an eye-witness,my own father, from the earliest days ofchildhood.OnaSeptembernight,theRegentlayinthePentlandFirthinafogandaviolentandwindlessswell.Itwasstilldark,whentheywerealarmedbythe sound of breakers, and an anchorwas immediately let go. The peep of

dawndiscovered themswinging indesperateproximity to the IsleofSwonaandthesurfburstingcloseundertheirstern.Therewasinthisplaceahamletof the inhabitants, fisher-folk andwreckers; their huts stood close about theheadofthebeach.Allslept;thedoorswereclosed,andtherewasnosmoke,andtheanxiouswatchersonboardshipseemedtocontemplateavillageofthedead. Itwas thoughtpossible to launchaboat and tow theRegent fromherplaceofdanger;andwith thisviewasignalofdistresswasmadeandagunfiredwithared-hotpokerfromthegalley.Itsdetonationawokethesleepers.Doorafterdoorwasopened,andinthegreylightofthemorningfisherafterfisherwas seen to come forth, yawning and stretching himself, nightcap onhead.Fisherafterfisher,Iwrote,andmypentripped;foritshouldratherstandwreckerafterwrecker.Therewasnoemotion,noanimation,itscarceseemedanyinterest;notahandwasraised;butallcallouslyawaitedtheharvestofthesea,and theirchildrenstoodby theirsideandwaitedalso.Totheendofhislife, my father remembered that amphitheatre of placid spectators on thebeach,andwithaspecialandnaturalanimosity,theboysofhisownage.Butpresentlyalightairsprangup,andfilledthesails,andfainted,andfilledthemagain;andlittlebylittletheRegentfetchedwayagainsttheswell,andclawedoffshoreintotheturbulentfirth.The purpose of these voyages was to effect a landing on open beaches oramong shelving rocks, not for persons only, but for coals and food, and thefragile furniture of light-rooms. It was often impossible. In 1831 I findmygrandfather“hoveringforaweek“aboutthePentlandSkerriesforachancetoland;anditwasalmostalwaysdifficult.Muchknackandenterprisewereearlydevelopedamongtheseamenoftheservice; theirmanagementofboatsis tothis day a matter of admiration; and I find my grandfather in his diarydepicting the nature of their excellence in one happily descriptive phrase,when he remarks thatCaptainSoutar had landed “the small stores and ninecasksofoilwithalltheactivityofasmuggler.”Anditwasonethingtoland,anothertogetonboardagain.Ihavehereapassagefromthediary,whereitseemstohavebeentouch-and-go.“IlandedatTarbetness,ontheeasternsideofthepoint,inameregaleorblastofwindfromwest-south-west,at2p.m.Itblewsofreshthatthecaptain,inakindofdespair,wentofftotheship,leavingmyselfandthestewardashore.WhileIwasinthelightroom,Ifeltitshakingandwaving,notwith the tremorof theBellRock,butwith thewavingofatree!Thisthelightkeepersseemedtobequitefamiliarto,theprincipalkeeperremarkingthat‘itwasverypleasant,’perhapsmeaninginterestingorcurious.Thecaptainworkedthevesselintosmoothwaterwithadmirabledexterity,andIgotonboardagainabout6p.m. fromtheothersideof thepoint.”ButnoteventhedexterityofSoutarcouldprevailalways;andmygrandfathermustattimes have been left in strange berths and with but rude provision. I mayinstancethecaseofmyfather,whowasstorm-boundthreedaysuponanislet,

sleeping in the uncemented and unchimneyed houses of the islanders, andsubsistingonadietofnettlesoupandlobsters.ThenameofSoutarhastwiceescapedmypen,andIfeelIowehimavignette.Soutar first attracted notice as mate of a praam at the Bell Rock, and rosegraduallytobecaptainoftheRegent.Hewasactive,admirablyskilledinhistrade,andamanincapableoffear.Once,inLondon,hefellamongagangofconfidence-men,naturallydeceivedbyhisrusticityandhisprodigiousaccent.They plied him with drink—a hopeless enterprise, for Soutar could not bemadedrunk;theyproposedcards,andSoutarwouldnotplay.Atlast,oneofthem, regardinghimwitha formidablecountenance, inquired ifhewerenotfrightened? “I’m no’ very easy fleyed,” replied the captain. And the rookswithdrew after some easier pigeon. So many perils shared, and the partialfamiliarity of so many voyages, had given this man a stronghold in mygrandfather’sestimation;andthereisnodoubtbuthehadthearttocourtandpleasehimwithmuchhypocriticalskill.HeusuallydinedonSundaysin thecabin.Heusedtocomedowndailyafterdinnerforaglassofportorwhisky,ofteninhisfullrigofsou’-wester,oilskins,andlongboots;andIhaveoftenhearditdescribedhowinsinuatinglyhecarriedhimselfontheseappearances,artfully combining the extreme of deference with a blunt and seamanlikedemeanour.My father and uncles, with the devilish penetration of the boy,were far frombeing deceived; andmy father, indeed,was favouredwith anobject-lessonnottobemistaken.Hehadcreptonerainynightintoanapple-barrelondeck,andfromthisplaceofambushoverheardSoutarandacomradeconversing in their oilskins. The smooth sycophant of the cabin hadwhollydisappeared, and the boy listened with wonder to a vulgar and truculentruffian.OfSoutar,Imaysaytantumvidi,havingmethimintheLeithdocksnow more than thirty years ago, when he abounded in the praises of mygrandfather, encouraged me (in the most admirable manner) to pursue hisfootprints, and left impressed for everonmymemory the imageofhisownBardolphiannose.Hediednotlongafter.Theengineerwasnotonlyexposed to thehazardsof the sea;hemustoftenfordhiswaybylandtoremoteandscarceaccessibleplaces,beyondreachofthemail or the post-chaise, beyond even the tracery of the bridle-path, andguidedbynativesacrossbogandheather.Upto1807mygrandfatherseemstohavetravelledmuchonhorseback;buthethengaveuptheidea—“such,”hewrites with characteristic emphasis and capital letters, “is the Plague ofBaiting.” He was a good pedestrian; at the age of fifty-eight I find himcoveringseventeenmilesover themoorsof theMackaycountry in less thansevenhours,andthatisnotbadtravellingforascramble.Thepieceofcountrytraversedwas already a familiar track, being that betweenLochEriboll andCapeWrath;andIthinkIcanscarcedobetterthanreproducefromthediarysome traits of his first visit. The tender lay in Loch Eriboll; by five in the

morning they satdown tobreakfastonboard;by six theywereashore—mygrandfather,Mr.Slightanassistant,andSoutarofthejollynose,andhadbeentakeninchargebytwoyounggentlemenof theneighbourhoodandapairofgillies.AboutnoontheyreachedtheKyleofDurnessandpassedtheferry.Byhalf-past three they were at Cape Wrath—not yet known by the emphaticabbreviationof“TheCape”—andbehelduponallsidesofthemunfrequentedshores,anexpanseofdesertmoor,andthehigh-piledWesternOcean.Thesiteofthetowerwaschosen.Perhapsitisbyinheritanceofblood,butIknowfewthingsmoreinspiritingthanthislocationofalighthouseinadesignatedspaceofheatherandair, throughwhichthesea-birdsarestillflying.By9p.m.thereturn journey had brought them again to the shores of theKyle.The nightwas dirty, and as the seawas high and the ferry-boat small, Soutar andMr.Stevensonwereleftonthefarside,whiletherestofthepartyembarkedandwerereceivedintothedarkness.Theymade,infact,asafethoughanalarmingpassage;buttheferrymanrefusedtorepeattheadventure;andmygrandfatherand the captain long paced the beach, impatient for their turn to pass, andtormentedwithrisinganxietyastothefateoftheircompanions.Atlengththeysought theshelterofashepherd’shouse.“Wehadmiserableup-putting,” thediary continues, “andonboth sides of the ferrymuch anxiety ofmind.Ourbedswerecleanstraw,andbutforthecircumstanceoftheboat,IshouldhavesleptassoundlyaseverIdidafterawalk throughmossandmireofsixteenhours.”To go round the lights, even to-day, is to visit past centuries. The tide oftourists that flowsyearly inScotland,vulgarisingallwhere it approaches, isstilldefinedbycertainbarriers.ItwillbelongerethereisahotelatSumburghorahydropathicatCapeWrath;itwillbelongereanychar-à-banc,ladenwithtourists, shall drive up to BarraHead orMonach, the Island of theMonks.TheyarefartherfromLondonthanSt.Petersburg,andexceptforthetowers,sounding and shining all nightwith fog-bells and the radiance of the light-room,glitteringbydaywiththetrivialbrightnessofwhitepaint,theseislandandmoorlandstationsseeminaccessibletothecivilisationofto-day,andeventotheendofmygrandfather’scareertheisolationwasfargreater.Thererannopost at all in theLong Island; from the lighthouseonBarraHeadaboatmustbesentforlettersasfarasTobermory,betweensixtyandseventymilesofopensea;andthepostsofShetland,whichhadsurprisedSirWalterScottin1814,were still unimproved in 1833,whenmy grandfather reported on thesubject. The group contained at the time a population of 30,000 souls, andenjoyed a tradewhich had increased in twenty years sevenfold, to betweenthreeandfourthousandtons.Yetthemailsweredespatchedandreceivedbychance coasting vessels at the rate of a penny a letter; six and eightweeksoften elapsed between opportunities, and when a mail was to be made up,sometimes at a moment’s notice, the bellman was sent hastily through the

streets ofLerwick.BetweenShetland andOrkney, only seventymiles apart,therewas“notradecommunicationwhatever.”Such was the state of affairs, only sixty years ago, with the three largestclusters of the Scottish Archipelago; and forty-seven years earlier, whenThomasSmithbeganhisrounds,orforty-two,whenRobertStevensonbecameconjoinedwith him in these excursions, the barbarismwas deep, the peoplesunkinsuperstition,thecircumstancesoftheirlifeperhapsuniqueinhistory.LerwickandKirkwall, likeGuamor theBayof Islands,werebutbarbarousportswherewhalerscalled to takeupand to returnexperiencedseamen.Ontheoutlyingislandstheclergylivedisolated,thinkingotherthoughts,dwellingin a different country from their parishioners, likemissionaries in theSouthSeas. My grandfather’s unrivalled treasury of anecdote was never writtendown; it embellishedhis talkwhile heyetwas, anddiedwithhimwhenhedied; and such as have been preserved relate principally to the islands ofRonaldsay andSanday, twoof theOrkneygroup.Theseborderedononeofthewater-highwaysofcivilisation;agreatfleetpassedannuallyintheirview,and of the shipwrecks of the world they were the scene and cause of aproportion wholly incommensurable to their size. In one year, 1798, mygrandfather found the remains of no fewer than five vessels on the isle ofSanday,whichisscarcelytwelvemileslong.ThepeopleofNorthRonaldsaystillspokeNorse,or,rather,mixeditwiththeirEnglish. The walls of their huts were built to a great thickness of roundedstonesfromthesea-beach;theroofflagged,loadedwithearth,andperforatedbyasingleholefortheescapeofsmoke.Thegrassgrewbeautifullygreenontheflathouse-top,wherethefamilywouldassemblewiththeirdogsandcats,as on a pastoral lawn; there were no windows, and in my grandfather’sexpression,“therewas reallynodemonstrationofahouseunless itwere thediminutive door.” He once landed on Ronaldsay with two friends. “Theinhabitantscrowdedandpressedsomuchuponthestrangersthatthebailiff,orresidentfactoroftheisland,blewwithhisox-horn,callingouttothenativestostandoffandletthegentlemencomeforwardtothelaird;uponwhichoneoftheislanders,asspokesman,calledout,‘Godha’eus,man!thouneedsnamak’sicanoise.It’sno’everydayweha’ethreehattedmenonourisle.’”WhentheSurveyorofTaxescame(forthefirst time,perhaps)toSanday,andbeganintheKing’s name to complainof theunconscionable swarmsof dogs, and tomenace the inhabitantswith taxation, itchanced thatmygrandfatherandhisfriend,Dr.PatrickNeill,werereceivedbyanoldladyinaRonaldsayhut.Herhut,whichwas similar to themodeldescribed, stoodonaNess,orpointoflandjuttingintothesea.Theyweremadewelcomeinthefirelitcellar,placed“incaseyorstraw-workedchairs,aftertheNorwegianfashion,witharms,anda canopy overhead,” and given milk in a wooden dish. These hospitalitiesattended to, theold lady turnedatonce toDr.Neill,whomshe took for the

SurveyorofTaxes.“Sir,”saidshe,“ginye’lltelltheKingthatIcannakeeptheNess freeo’ theBangers (sheep)without twahun’s,and twaguidhun’s too,he’llpassmethreathetaxondugs.”Thisfamiliarconfidence,thesetraitsofengagingsimplicity,arecharactersofasecludedpeople.Mankind—and,aboveall,islanders—comeveryswiftlytoabearing,and findvery readily,upononeconventionoranother,a tolerablecorporate life.Thedanger is to those fromwithout,whohavenotgrownupfromchildhoodintheislands,butappearsuddenlyinthatnarrowhorizon,life-sizedapparitions.Forthesenobondofhumanityexists,nofeelingofkinshipisawakenedbytheirperil;theywillassistatashipwreck,likethefisher-folkofLunga,asspectators,andwhenthefatalsceneisover,andthebeachstrewnwith dead bodies, they will fence their fields with mahogany, and, after adecentgrace,supclarettotheirporridge.Itisnotwickedness:itisscarceevil;it is only, in its highest power, the sense of isolation and the wisedisinterestednessoffeebleandpoorraces.Thinkhowmanyvikingshipshadsailedby these islands in thepast,howmanyvikingshad landed,andraisedturmoil,andbrokenupthebarrowsof thedead,andcarriedoff thewinesofthe living; and blame them, if you are able, for that belief (which may becalledoneof theparablesof thedevil’sgospel) thatamanrescuedfromthesea will prove the bane of his deliverer. It might be thought that mygrandfather,comingthereunknown,anduponanemploymentsohatefultotheinhabitants, must have run the hazard of his life. But this were tomisunderstand.Hecamefrankedby the lairdand theclergyman;hewas theKing’s officer; theworkwas “openedwith prayer by theRev.Walter Trail,minister of theparish”;Godand theKinghaddecided it, and thepeopleofthese pious islands bowed their heads. There landed, indeed, in NorthRonaldsay,duringthelastdecadeoftheeighteenthcentury,atravellerwhoselife seems really to have been imperilled. A very little man of a swarthycomplexion, he came ashore, exhausted and unshaved, from a long boatpassage,andlaydowntosleepinthehomeoftheparishschoolmaster.Buthehad been seen landing.The inhabitants had identified him for a Pict, as, bysomesingularconfusionofname,theycalledthedarkanddwarfishaboriginalpeopleof the land.Immediately theobscurefermentofarace-hatred,grownintoasuperstition,begantoworkintheirbosoms,andtheycrowdedaboutthehouse and the room-door with fearful whisperings. For some time theschoolmasterheldthematbay,andatlastdespatchedamessengertocallmygrandfather. He came: he found the islanders beside themselves at thisunwelcome resurrection of the dead and the detested; he was shown, asadminicular of testimony, the traveller’s uncouth and thick-soled boots; heargued, and finding argument unavailing, consented to enter the room andexaminewithhisowneyes thesleepingPict.Oneglancewassufficient: theman was now a missionary, but he had been before that an Edinburgh

shopkeeperwithwhommygrandfatherhaddealt.Hecame forth againwiththisreport,andthefolkoftheisland,whollyrelieved,dispersedtotheirownhouses.Theyweretimidassheepandignorantaslimpets;thatwasall.ButtheLorddeliverusfromthetendermerciesofafrightenedflock!I will give twomore instances of their superstition.When SirWalter ScottvisitedtheStonesofStennis,mygrandfatherputinhispocketahundred-footline,whichheunfortunatelylost.This is for the one; the last shall be a sketch by the master hand of Scotthimself:—

Fromaboutthebeginningofthecenturyupto1807RobertStevensonwasinpartnershipwith Thomas Smith. In the last-named year the partnershipwasdissolved; Thomas Smith returning to his business, and my grandfatherbecomingsoleengineertotheBoardofNorthernLights.Imust try, by excerpts fromhis diary and correspondence, to convey to thereader some idea of the ardency and thoroughness with which he threwhimself into the largest and least of his multifarious engagements in thisservice.ButfirstImustsayawordortwouponthelifeoflightkeepers,andthetemptationstowhichtheyaremoreparticularlyexposed.Thelightkeeperoccupies a position apart among men. In sea-towers the complement hasalwaysbeen threesince thedeplorablebusiness in theEddystone,whenonekeeperdied,and thesurvivor, signalling invain for relief,wascompelled tolivefordayswiththedeadbody.Theseusuallypasstheirtimebythepleasanthumanexpedientofquarrelling;andsometimes,Iamassured,notoneofthethree is on speaking termswith any other. On shore stations, which on theScottishcoastaresometimeshardly less isolated, theusualnumber is two,aprincipal and an assistant. The principal is dissatisfiedwith the assistant, orperhapstheassistantkeepspigeons,andtheprincipalwantsthewaterfromtheroof. Their wives and families are with them, living cheek by jowl. Thechildrenquarrel;JockiehitsJimsieintheeye,andthemothersmakehastetomingleinthedissension.Perhapsthereistroubleaboutabrokendish;perhapsMrs.AssistantismorehighlybornthanMrs.Principalandgivesherselfairs;and the men are drawn in and the servants presently follow. “Churchprivilegeshavebeendeniedthekeeper’sandtheassistant’sservants,”Ireadinonecase,andtheeminentlyScotsperiphrasismeansneithermorenorlessthanexcommunication,“onaccountofthediscordantandquarrelsomestateofthefamilies. The cause, when inquired into, proves to be tittle-tattle on bothsides.”Thetendercomesround;theforemenandartificersgofromstationtostation; the gossip flies through the whole system of the service, and thestories, disfigured and exaggerated, return to their own birthplace with thereturningtender.TheEnglishBoardwasapparentlyshockedbythepictureof

these dissensions. “When the Trinity House can,” I find my grandfatherwriting at Beachy Head, in 1834, “they do not appoint two keepers, theydisagreesoill.Amanwhohasafamilyisassistedbyhisfamily;andinthisway, to my experience and present observation, the business is very muchneglected. One keeper is, inmy view, a bad system. This day’s visit to anEnglishlighthouseconvincesmeofthis,asthelightkeeperwaswalkingonastaffwiththegout,andthebusinessperformedbyoneofhisdaughters,agirlof thirteenorfourteenyearsofage.”Thismanreceivedahundredayear!Itshows a different reading of human nature, perhaps typical of Scotland andEngland, that I find inmygrandfather’s diary the following pregnant entry:”The lightkeepers, agreeing ill, keep one another to their duty.” But theScottish systemwas not alone founded on this cynical opinion. The dignityand thecomfortof thenorthern lightkeeperwerebothattended to.Hehadauniform to “raise him in his own estimation, and in that of his neighbour,which is of consequence to a person of trust. The keepers,”my grandfathergoeson,inanotherplace,“areattendedtoinallthedetailofaccommodationinthebeststyleasshipmasters;andthisisbelievedtohaveasensibleeffectupon their conduct, and to regulate their general habits as members ofsociety.”Henotes,withthesamedipofink,that“thebrasseswerenotclean,and the persons of the keepers not trig”; and thuswe find himwriting to aculprit:“Ihavetocomplainthatyouarenotcleanlyinyourperson,andthatyourmannerofspeechisungentle,andratherinclinestorudeness.Youmustthereforetakeadifferentviewofyourdutiesasalightkeeper.”Ahighidealforthe service appears in these expressions, andwill bemore amply illustratedfurtheron.But even theScottish lightkeeperwas frail.During theunbrokensolitudeofthewintermonths,wheninspectionisscarcepossible,itmustseemavaintoiltopolishthebrasshand-railofthestair,ortokeepanunrewardedvigilinthelightroom;andthekeepersarehabituallytemptedtothebeginningsofsloth,andmustunremittinglyresist.Hewhotemporiseswithhisconscienceis already lost. Imust tellhereananecdote that illustrates thedifficultiesofinspection. In thedaysofmyuncleDavidandmyfather therewasastationwhich they regarded with jealousy. The two engineers compared notes andwereagreed.Thetowerwasalwaysclean,butseemedalwaystobeartracesofa hasty cleansing, as though the keepers hadbeen suddenly forewarned.Oninquiry,itprovedthatsuchwasthecase,andthatawanderingfiddlerwastheunfailing harbinger of the engineer.At lastmy fatherwas storm-stayed oneSundayinaportat theothersideof the island.Thevisitwasquiteoverdue,andashewalkedacrossupontheMondaymorninghepromisedhimselfthatheshouldatlasttakethekeepersunprepared.Theywerebothwaitingforhiminuniformatthegate;thefiddlerhadbeenthereonSaturday!My grandfather, as will appear from the following extracts, was much amartinet, and had a habit of expressing himself on paper with an almost

startlingemphasis.Personally,withhispowerfulvoice,sanguinecountenance,andeccentricandoriginallocutions,hewaswellqualifiedtoinspireasalutaryterrorintheservice.Thereisthegreatwordout.TalesandTale-bearing,alwayswiththeemphaticcapitals,runcontinuallyinhiscorrespondence.Iwillgivebuttwoinstances:—Apparently,however,mygrandfatherwasnothimselfinaccessibletotheTale-bearer,asthefollowingindicates:—Mygrandfatherwaskingintheservicetohisfingertips.Allshouldgoinhisway, from the principal lightkeeper’s coat to the assistant’s fender, from thegravelinthegarden-walkstothebadsmellinthekitchen,ortheoil-spotsonthestore-roomfloor.Itmightbethoughttherewasnothingmorecalculatedtoawakemen’sresentment,andyethisrulewasnotmorethoroughthanitwasbeneficent.Histhoughtforthekeeperswascontinual,anditdidnotendwiththeirlives.Hetriedtomanagetheirsuccessions;hethoughtnopainstoogreattoarrangebetweenawidowandasonwhohadsucceededhisfather;hewasoften harassed and perplexed by tales of hardship; and I find him writing,almostindespair,oftheirimprovidenthabitsandthedestitutionthatawaitedtheirfamiliesuponadeath.“Thehousebeingcompletelyfurnished,theycomeintopossessionwithoutnecessaries,andtheygooutNAKED.Theinsuranceseemstohavefailed,andwhatnextistobetried?”Whiletheylivedhewrotebehindtheirbackstoarrangefortheeducationoftheirchildren,ortogetthemother situations if they seemedunsuitable for theNorthernLights.WhenhewasatalighthouseonaSundayheheldprayersandheardthechildrenread.When a keeper was sick, he lent him his horse and sent him mutton andbrandy from the ship. “The assistant’s wife having been this morningconfined,therewassentashoreabottleofsherryandafewrusks—apracticewhichIhavealwaysobservedinthisservice,”hewrites.Theydwelt,manyofthem,inuninhabitedislesordesertforelands,totallycutofffromshops.Manyof them were, besides, fallen into a rustic dishabitude of life, so that evenwhentheyvisitedacitytheycouldscarcebetrustedwiththeirownaffairs,as(for example) he who carried home to his children, thinking they wereoranges,abagoflemons.Andmygrandfatherseemstohaveacted,atleastinhisearlyyears,asakindofgratuitousagentfortheservice.ThusIfindhimwriting to a keeper in 1806, when hismindwas already pre-occupiedwitharrangementsfortheBellRock:“IammuchafraidIstandveryunfavourablywith you as a man of promise, as I was to send several things of which IbelieveIhavemore thanoncegot thememorandum.All Icansay is that inthis respectyouarenot singular.Thismakesmenobetter;but really Ihavebeendrivenaboutbeyondallexampleinmypastexperience,andhavebeenessentially obliged to neglect my own urgent affairs.” No servant of the

NorthernLightscametoEdinburghbuthewasentertainedatBaxter’sPlacetobreakfast.There,athisowntable,mygrandfathersatdowndelightedlywithhisbroad-spoken,homespunofficers.Hiswholerelationtotheservicewas,infact, patriarchal; and I believe I may say that throughout its ranks he wasadored.Ihavespokenwithmanywhoknewhim;Iwashisgrandson,andtheirwordsmayhaveverywellbeenwordsofflattery;buttherewasonethingthatcouldnotbeaffected,andthatwasthelookandlightthatcameintotheirfacesatthenameofRobertStevenson.In theearlypartof thecentury theforemanbuilderwasayoungmanof thenameofGeorgePeebles,anativeofAnstruther.Mygrandfatherhadplacedinhim a very high degree of confidence, and hewas already designated to beforeman at theBell Rock,when, onChristmas-day 1806, on hisway homefromOrkney, hewas lost in the schooner Traveller. The tale of the loss oftheTravellerisalmostareplicaofthatoftheElizabethofStromness;liketheElizabeth shecameas far asKinnairdHead,was then surprisedbya storm,drivenbacktoOrkney,andbilgedandsankontheislandofFlotta.Itseemsitwasabouttheduskofthedaywhentheshipstruck,andmanyofthecrewandpassengerswere drowned.About the same hour,my grandfatherwas in hisofficeatthewriting-table;andtheroombeginningtodarken,helaiddownhispenandfellasleep.InadreamhesawthedooropenandGeorgePeeblescomein, “reeling to and fro, and staggering like a drunken man,” with waterstreamingfromhisheadandbodytothefloor.Thereitgatheredintoawavewhich, sweeping forward, submerged my grandfather.Well, no matter howdeep;versionsvary;andat lastheawoke,andbeholditwasadream!But itmay be conceived how profoundly the impression was written even on themindofamanaversefromsuchideas,whenthenewscameofthewreckonFlottaandthedeathofGeorge.George’svouchersandaccountshadperishedwithhimself;anditappearedhewasindebttotheCommissioners.ButmygrandfatherwrotetoOrkneytwice,collectedevidenceofhisdisbursements,andprovedhimtobeseventypoundsahead.Withthissum,heappliedtoGeorge’sbrothers,andhaditapportionedbetween theirmother and themselves.He approached theBoard and got anannuityof£5bestowedonthewidowPeebles;andwefindhimwritingheralongletterofexplanationandadvice,andpressingonherthedutyofmakingawill.Thathe should thusact executorwasno singular instance.Butbesidesthisweareabletoassistatsomeofthestagesofarathertouchingexperiment:nolessthananattempttosecureCharlesPeeblesheirtoGeorge’sfavour.Heis despatched, under the character of “a fine youngman”; recommended togentlemenfor“advice,ashe’sastrangerinyourplace,andindeedtothiskindofcharge, thisbeinghisfirstoutsetasForeman”;andfora longwhileafter,the letter-book, in the midst of that thrilling first year of the Bell Rock, isencumberedwithpagesofinstructionandencouragement.Thenatureofabill,

and the precautions that are to be observed about discounting it, areexpounded at length and with clearness. “You are not, I hope, neglecting,Charles,toworktheharbouratspring-tides;andseethatyoupaythegreatestattentiontogetthewellsoastosupplythekeeperwithwater,forheisaveryhelplessfellow,andsounfondofhardworkthatIfearhecoulddoilltokeephimself inwaterbygoing to theother side for it.”—“With regard to spirits,Charles, I seevery littleoccasion for it.”Theseabruptapostrophessound tome like thevoiceof an awakenedconscience;but theywould seem tohavereverberated invain in theearsofCharles.Therewas trouble inPladda,hissceneofoperations;hismenranawayfromhim, therewasat leasta talkofcalling in the Sheriff. “I fear,” writes my grandfather, “you have been tooindulgent,andIamsorrytoaddthatmendonotanswertobetoowelltreated,acircumstancewhichIhaveexperienced,andwhichyouwilllearnasyougoon inbusiness.” Iwonder,wasnotCharlesPeebleshimself a case inpoint?Eitherdeath, at least, ordisappointment anddischarge,musthaveendedhisserviceintheNorthernLights;andinlatercorrespondenceIlookinvainforanymentionofhisname—Charles,Imean,notPeebles:foraslateas1839mygrandfatherispatientlywritingtoanotherofthefamily:“Iamsorryyoutookthetroubleofapplyingtomeaboutyourson,asitliesquiteoutofmywaytoforwardhisviewsinthelineofhisprofessionasaDraper.”

AprofessionallifeofRobertStevensonhasbeenalreadygiventotheworldbyhissonDavid,andtothatIwouldreferthoseinterestedinsuchmatters.Butmyowndesign,whichistorepresenttheman,wouldbeveryillcarriedoutifIsufferedmyselformyreadertoforgetthathewas,firstofallandlastofall,anengineer.HischiefclaimtothestyleofamechanicalinventorisonaccountoftheJiborBalanceCraneoftheBellRock,whicharebeautifulcontrivances.But thegreatmerit of this engineerwasnot in the fieldof engines.Hewasaboveall thingsaprojectorofworksinthefaceofnature,andamodifierofnature itself. A road to be made, a tower to be built, a harbour to beconstructed, a river to be trained and guided in its channel—thesewere theproblemswithwhich hismindwas continually occupied; and for these andsimilarendshetravelledtheworldformorethanhalfacentury,likeanartist,note-bookinhand.Heoncestoodandlookedonattheemptyingofacertainoil-tube;hedidsowatchinhand,andaccuratelytimedtheoperation;andinsodoingofferedtheperfecttypeofhisprofession.Thefactacquiredmightneverbeofuse:itwasacquired: another link in the world’s huge chain of processes was broughtdown to figures and placed at the service of the engineer. “The very termmensuration soundsengineer-like,” I findhimwriting; and in truthwhat theengineermost properly dealswith is thatwhich can bemeasured,weighed,and numbered. The time of any operation in hours andminutes, its cost in

pounds, shillings, andpence, the strainuponagivenpoint in foot-pounds—thesearehisconquests,withwhichhemustcontinuallyfurnishhismind,andwhich, after he has acquired them, hemust continually apply and exercise.Theymustbenotonlyentriesinnote-books,tobehurriedlyconsulted;intheactor’sphrase,hemustbestaleinthem;inawordofmygrandfather’s,theymustbe“fixedinthemindlikethetenfingersandtentoes.”These are the certaintiesof the engineer; so far he finds a solid footing andclearviews.Buttheprovinceofformulasandconstantsisrestricted.Eventhemechanicalengineercomesatlasttoanendofhisfigures,andmuststandup,apracticalman,facetofacewiththediscrepanciesofnatureandthehiatusesoftheory.Afterthemachineisfinished,andthesteamturnedon,thenextistodrive it; and experience and an exquisite sympathymust teach himwhere aweight should be applied or a nut loosened. With the civil engineer, moreproperlysocalled(ifanythingcanbeproperwiththisawkwardcoinage),theobligationstartswiththebeginning.Heisalwaysthepracticalman.Therains,the winds and the waves, the complexity and the fitfulness of nature, arealwaysbeforehim.Hehastodealwiththeunpredictable,withthoseforces(inSmeaton’s phrase) that “are subject to no calculation”; and still he mustpredict,stillcalculatethem,athisperil.Hisworkisnotyetinbeing,andhemustforeseeitsinfluence:howitshalldeflectthetide,exaggeratethewaves,damback the rain-water,or attract the thunderbolt.Hevisits apieceof sea-board: and from the inclination and soil of the beach, from the weeds andshell-fish, from the configuration of the coast and the depth of soundingsoutside,hemustdeducewhatmagnitudeofwavesistobelookedfor.Hevisitsariver,itssummerwaterbabblingonshallows;andhemustnotonlyread,inathousandindications,themeasureofwinterfreshets,butbeabletopredicttheviolenceofoccasionalgreatfloods.Nay,andmore:hemustnotonlyconsiderthatwhichis,butthatwhichmaybe.ThusIfindmygrandfatherwriting,inareportontheNorthEskBridge:“Alesswaterwaymighthavesufficed,butthevalleys may come to be meliorated by drainage.” One field drained afteranotherthroughallthatconfluenceofvales,andwecometoatimewhentheyshallprecipitate,bysomuchamorecopiousandtransientflood,asthegushoftheflowingdrain-pipeissuperiortotheleakageofapeat.Itisplainthereisherebutarestricteduseforformulas.Inthissortofpractice,the engineer has need of some transcendental sense. Smeaton, the pioneer,bade him obey his “feelings”;my father, that “power of estimating obscureforceswhichsuppliesacoefficientofitsowntoeveryrule.”Therulesmustbeeverywhere indeed; but they must everywhere be modified by thistranscendental coefficient, everywhere bent to the impression of the trainedeyeandthefeelingsoftheengineer.Asentimentofphysicallawsandofthescale of nature, which shall have been strong in the beginning andprogressivelyfortifiedbyobservation,mustbehisguideinthelastrecourse.I

had themostopportunity toobservemy father.Hewouldpasshourson thebeach,broodingover thewaves,countingthem,notingtheir leastdeflection,notingwhentheybroke.OnTweedside,orbyLyneorManor,wehavespenttogetherwholeafternoons;tome,atthetime,extremelywearisome;tohim,asIamnowsorrytothink,bitterlymortifying.Theriverwastomeaprettyandvariousspectacle;Icouldnotsee—Icouldnotbemadetosee—itotherwise.Tomy father itwas a chequer-board of lively forces,which he traced frompool to shallowwithminute appreciation and enduring interest. “That bankwasbeingundercut,”hemight say;“why?Supposeyouwere toputagroinouthere,wouldnotthefilumfluminisbecastabruptlyoffacrossthechannel?and where would it impinge upon the other shore? and what would be theresult?Orsupposeyouweretoblastthatboulder,whatwouldhappen?Followit—usetheeyesGodhasgivenyou—canyounotseethatagreatdealoflandwouldbereclaimeduponthisside?”Itwastomelikeschoolinholidays;buttohim,untilIhadwornhimoutwithmyinvincibletriviality,adelight.Thushe pored over the engineer’s voluminous handy-book of nature; thus must,too,haveporedmygrandfatheranduncles.Butitisoftheessenceofthisknowledge,orthisknackofmind,tobelargelyincommunicable. “It cannot be imparted to another,” says my father. Theverbal casting-net is thrown in vain over these evanescent, inferentialrelations.Hence the insignificance ofmuch engineering literature. So far asthesciencecanbereducedtoformulasordiagrams,thebookistothepoint;sofar as the art depends on intimate study of theways of nature, the author’swordswill toooftenbe foundvapid.This fact—engineering looksoneway,andliteratureanother—waswhatmygrandfatheroverlooked.Allhislifelong,hispenwasinhishand,pilingupatreasuryofknowledge,preparinghimselfagainstallpossiblecontingencies.Scarceanythingfellunderhisnoticebutheperceivedinitsomerelationtohiswork,andchronicleditinthepagesofhisjournal in his always lucid, but sometimes inexact and wordy, style. TheTravellingDiary(sohecalled it)waskept infasciclesofruledpaper,whichwereat lastboundup, rudely indexed,andputbyfor future reference.Suchvolumesashavereachedmecontainasurprisingmedley:thewholedetailsofhis employment in the Northern Lights and his general practice; the wholebiographyofanenthusiasticengineer.Muchofitisusefulandcurious;muchmerelyotiose; andmuch canonlybedescribed as an attempt to impart thatwhich cannot be imparted in words. Of such are his repeated and heroicdescriptionsof reefs;monumentsofmisdirected literaryenergy,which leaveuponthemindofthereadernoeffectbutthatofamultiplicityofwordsandthesuggestedvignetteofalustyoldgentlemanscramblingamongtangle.Itistoberememberedthathecametoengineeringwhileyetitwasintheeggandwithouta library,and thathesawtheboundsof thatprofessionwidendaily.Hesawironships,steamers,andthelocomotiveengine,introduced.Helived

to travel from Glasgow to Edinburgh in the inside of a forenoon, and torememberthathehimselfhad“oftenbeentwelvehoursuponthejourney,andhisgrandfather (Lillie) twodays”!Theprofessionwasstillbut in its secondgeneration,andhadalreadybrokendownthebarriersoftimeandspace.Whoshould set a limit to its future encroachments? And hence, with a kind ofsanguine pedantry, he pursued his design of “keeping upwith the day” andposting himself and his family on everymortal subject. Of this unpracticalidealismweshallmeetwithmanyinstances;therewasnotatrade,andscarcean accomplishment, but he thought it should form part of the outfit of anengineer; and not content with keeping an encyclopædic diary himself, hewould fain have set all his sons towork continuing and extending it. Theyweremorehappily inspired.My father’s engineeringpocket-bookwasnot abulky volume;with its store of pregnant notes and vital formulas, it servedhimthrough life,andwasnotyet filledwhenhecame todie.AsforRobertStevensonandtheTravellingDiary,Ishouldbeungratefultocomplain,forithassuppliedmewithmanylivelytraitsforthisandsubsequentchapters;butImuststillremembermuchoftheperiodofmystudythereasasojournintheValleyoftheShadow.Thedutyoftheengineeristwofold—todesignthework,andtoseetheworkdone.Wehaveseenalreadysomethingofthevociferousthoroughnessoftheman,uponthecleaningoflampsandthepolishingofreflectors.Inbuilding,inroad-making,intheconstructionofbridges,ineverydetailandbywayofhisemployments, he pursued the same ideal. Perfection (with a capital P andviolently underscored)was his design.A crack for a penknife, thewaste of“six-and-thirtyshillings,”“thelossofadayoratide,”ineachofthesehesawandwasrevoltedbythefingerofthesloven;andtospiritsintenseashis,andimmersedinvitalundertakings,theslovenlyisthedishonest,andwastedtimeisinstantlytranslatedintolivesendangered.Onthisconsistentidealismthereisbutone thing thatnowand then trencheswitha touchof incongruity,andthat ishis loveof thepicturesque.Aswhenhe laidout a roadonHogarth’slineofbeauty;badeaforemanbecareful, inquarrying,not“todisfigure theisland”;or regretted in a report that “thegreat stone, called theDevil in theHole,wasblastedorbrokendowntomakeroad-metal,andforotherpurposesofthework.”

CHAPTERIII

OFFthemouthsoftheTayandtheForth,thirteenmilesfromFifeness,elevenfromArbroath,andfourteenfromtheRedHeadofAngus,liestheInchcapeorBellRock.Itextendstoalengthofaboutfourteenhundredfeet,butthepartof

itdiscoveredatlowwatertonotmorethanfourhundredandtwenty-seven.Atalittlemorethanhalf-floodinfineweathertheseamlessoceanjoinsoverthereef,andathigh-waterspringsitisburiedsixteenfeet.Asthetidegoesdown,thehigherreachesoftherockareseentobeclothedbyConfervarupestrisasby a sward of grass; upon themore exposed edges, where the currents aremost swift and the breach of the sea heaviest, Baderlock or Henwareflourishes; and the great Tangle grows at the depth of several fathomswithluxuriance.Beforemanarrived,andintroducedintothesilenceoftheseathesmokeandclangourofablacksmith’sshop,itwasafavouriteresting-placeofseals.Thecrabandlobsterhauntinthecrevices;andlimpets,mussels,andthewhitebuckieabound.Accordingtoatradition,abellhadbeenoncehunguponthisrockbyanabbotof Arbroath, “and being taken down by a sea-pirate, a year thereafter heperisheduponthesamerock,withshipandgoods,intherighteousjudgmentofGod.”From thedaysof theabbotand the sea-piratenomanhadset footupontheInchcape,savefishersfromtheneighbouringcoast,orperhaps—fora moment, before the surges swallowed them—the unfortunate victims ofshipwreck.Thefishersapproachedtherockwithanextremetimidity;buttheirharvestappears tohavebeengreat,and theadventurenomoreperilous thanlucrative. In 1800, on the occasion of my grandfather’s first landing, andduringthetwoorthreehourswhichtheebb-tideandthesmoothwaterallowedthem to pass upon its shelves, his crew collected upwards of twohundredweightofoldmetal:piecesofakedgeanchorandacabinstove,crow-bars, a hinge and lock of a door, a ship’smarking-iron, a piece of a ship’scaboose,asoldier’sbayonet,acannonball,severalpiecesofmoney,ashoe-buckle,andthelike.SuchwerethespoilsoftheBellRock.Butthenumberofvesselsactuallylostuponthereefwasasnothingtothosethatwerecastawayinfruitlessefforts toavoidit.Placedright inthefairwayoftwonavigations,andoneofthesetheentrancetotheonlyharbourofrefugebetweentheDownsandtheMorayFirth,itbreathedabroadalongthewholecoastanatmosphereofterrorandperplexity;andnoshipsailedthatpartoftheNorthSeaatnight,butwhattheearsofthoseonboardwouldbestrainedtocatchtheroaringoftheseasontheBellRock.From1794onward, themindofmygrandfatherhadbeenexercisedwiththeideaof a lightupon this formidabledanger.Tobuild a towerona sea rock,eleven miles from shore, and barely uncovered at low water of neaps,appeared a fascinating enterprise. It was something yet unattempted,unessayed;andevennow,afterithasbeenlightedformorethaneightyyears,itisstillanexploitthathasneverbeenrepeated.Mygrandfatherwas,besides,butayoungman,ofanexperiencecomparativelyrestricted,andareputationconfined to Scotland; andwhen he prepared his firstmodels, and exhibitedtheminMerchants’Hall,hecanhardlybeacquittedofaudacity.JohnClerkof

Eldinstoodhisfriendfromthebeginning,keptthekeyofthemodelroom,towhich he carried “eminent strangers,” and found words of counsel andencouragement beyond price. “Mr. Clerk had been personally known toSmeaton,andusedoccasionallytospeakofhimtome,”saysmygrandfather;and again: “I felt regret that I had not the opportunity of a greater range ofpracticetofitmeforsuchanundertaking;butIwasfortifiedbyanexpressionofmyfriendMr.Clerk inoneofourconversations. ‘Thiswork,’saidhe, ‘isunique, and can be little forwarded by experience of ordinary masonicoperations. In this case Smeaton’s “Narrative” must be the text-book, andenergyandperseverancethepratique.’”ABill for theworkwas introduced intoParliament and lost in theLords in1802-3.JohnRenniewasafterwards,atmygrandfather’ssuggestion,calledincouncil,withthestyleofchiefengineer.Theprecisemeaningattachedtothesewordsbyanyofthepartiesappearsirrecoverable.Chiefengineershouldhavefull authority, full responsibility, and aproper shareof the emoluments; andthere were none of these for Rennie. I find in an appendix a paper whichresumesthecontroversyonthissubject;anditwillbeenoughtosayherethatRenniedidnotdesigntheBellRock,thathedidnotexecuteit,andthathewasnotpaidforit.Fromsomuchofthecorrespondenceashascomedowntome,the acquaintance of this man, eleven years his senior, and already famous,appears to have been both useful and agreeable to Robert Stevenson. It isamusing to findmygrandfather seeking high and low for a brace of pistolswhich his colleague had lost by theway betweenAberdeen andEdinburgh;andwritingtoMessrs.Dollond,“IhavenotthoughtitnecessarytotroubleMr.Renniewiththisorder,butIbegyouwillseetogettwominutesofhimashepasses your door”—a proposal calculated rather from the latitude ofEdinburghthanfromLondon,evenin1807.It ispretty, too, toobservewithwhat affectionate regard Smeaton was held in mind by his immediatesuccessors. “Poor old fellow,” writes Rennie to Stevenson, “I hope he willnowandthentakeapeepatus,andinspireyouwithfortitudeandcouragetobrave all difficulties and dangers to accomplish a work which will, ifsuccessful, immortalise you in the annals of fame.” The style might bebettered,butthesentimentischarming.Smeatonwas, indeed, the patron saint of the Bell Rock. Undeterred by thesinister fate of Winstanley, he had tackled and solved the problem of theEddystone;buthissolutionhadnotbeeninallrespectsperfect.Itremainedformy grandfather to outdo him in daring, by applying to a tidal rock thoseprincipleswhichhadbeenalready justifiedby thesuccessof theEddystone,andtoperfectthemodelbymorethanoneexemplarydeparture.Smeatonhadadopted in his floors the principle of the arch; each therefore exercised anoutwardthrustuponthewalls,whichmustbemetandcombatedbyembeddedchains.Mygrandfather’s flooring-stones,on theotherhand,were flat,made

partoftheouterwall,andwerekeyedanddovetailedintoacentralstone,soasto bind the work together and be positive elements of strength. In 1703Winstanleystill thought itpossible toerecthisstrangepagoda,withitsopengallery, its florid scrolls and candlesticks: like a rich man’s folly for anornamental water in a park. Smeaton followed; then Stevenson in his turncorrected such flaws as were left in Smeaton’s design; and with hisimprovements,itisnottoomuchtosaythemodelwasmadeperfect.Smeatonand Stevenson had between them evolved and finished the sea-tower. Nosubsequent builder has departed in anything essential from the principles oftheirdesign.Itremains,anditseemstousasthoughitmustremainforever,an ideal attained. Every stone in the building, it may interest the reader toknow,my grandfather had himself cut out in themodel; and themanner inwhich the courses were fitted, joggled, trenailed, wedged, and the bondbroken,isintricateasapuzzleandbeautifulbyingenuity.In1806asecondBillpassedbothHouses,andthepreliminaryworkswereatoncebegun.ThesameyeartheNavyhadtakenagreatharvestofprizesintheNorthSea,oneofwhich,aPrussianfishingdogger,flat-bottomedandroundedatthestemandstern,waspurchasedtobeafloatinglightship,andre-namedthePharos.ByJuly1807shewasoverhauled,riggedforhernewpurpose,andturned into the leeof theIsleofMay.“Itwasproposed that thewholepartyshouldmeet inherandpass thenight;butshe rolled fromside toside insoextraordinaryamanner, thateventhemostseahardyfled.Itwashumorouslyobserved of this vessel that shewas in danger ofmaking a round turn andappearingwithherkeeluppermost;andthatshewouldeventurnahalfpennyif laid upon deck.” By two o’clock on the morning of the 15th July thispurgatorialvesselwasmooredbytheBellRock.AsloopoffortytonshadbeeninthemeantimebuiltatLeith,andnamedtheSmeaton:bythe7thofAugustmygrandfathersetsailinher—Iamnowformanypagestoletmygrandfatherspeakforhimself,andtellinhis ownwords the story of his capital achievement. The tall quarto of 533pages from which the following narrative has been dug out is practicallyunknowntothegeneralreader,yetgoodjudgeshaveperceiveditsmerit,andithasbeennamed(withflatteringwit)“TheRomanceofStoneandLime”and“TheRobinsonCrusoeofCivilEngineering.”Thetowerwasbutfouryearsinthebuilding;ittookRobertStevenson,inthemidstofhismanyavocations,noless than fourteen to prepare theAccount. The title-page is a solid piece ofliteratureofupwardsofahundredwords;thetableofcontentsrunstothirteenpages;andthededication(tothatreveredmonarch,GeorgeIV)musthavecosthimnolittlestudyandcorrespondence.WalterScottwascalledincouncil,andoffered one miscorrection which still blots the page. In spite of all thispondering and filing, there remain pages not easy to construe, and

inconsistencies not easy to explain away. I have sought to make thesedisappear, and to lighten a little the baggage with which my grandfathermarches; here and there I have rejointed and rearranged a sentence, alwayswithhisownwords,andallwithareverentandfaithfulhand;andIofferheretothereaderthetrueMonumentofRobertStevensonwithalittleofthemossremoved from the inscription, and the Portrait of the artist with somesuperfluouscanvascutaway.

Sunday,16thAug.Everything being arranged for sailing to the rock on Saturday the 15th, thevesselmighthaveproceededontheSunday;butunderstandingthatthiswouldnot be so agreeable to the artificers it was deferred untilMonday.Herewecannot help observing that the men allotted for the operations at the rockseemed to enter upon the undertakingwith a degree of considerationwhichfullymarked their opinion as to the hazardous nature of the undertaking onwhichtheywereabouttoenter.TheywentinabodytochurchonSunday,andwhetheritwasintheordinarycourse,ordesignedfortheoccasion,thewriteris not certain, but the service was, in many respects, suitable to theircircumstances.Monday,17thAug.Thetidehappeningtofall lateintheeveningofMondaythe17th, theparty,countingtwenty-fourinnumber,embarkedonboardoftheSmeatonaboutteno’clockp.m.,andsailedfromArbroathwithagentlebreezeatwest.Ourship’scolourshavingbeenflyingalldayincomplimenttothecommencementofthework, the other vessels in the harbour also saluted,whichmade a very gayappearance. A number of the friends and acquaintances of those on boardhaving been thus collected, the piers, though at a late hour, were perfectlycrowded,andjustas theSmeatonclearedtheharbour,allonboardunitedingiving three hearty cheers, which were returned by those on shore in suchgoodearnest,that,inthestilloftheevening,thesoundmusthavebeenheardin all parts of the town, reechoing from the walls and lofty turrets of thevenerableAbbey ofAberbrothwick. Thewriter feltmuch satisfaction at themannerof this parting scene, thoughhemustown that thepresent rejoicingwas,onhispart,mingledwithoccasionalreflectionsupontheresponsibilityofhissituation,whichextendedtothesafetyofallwhoshouldbeengagedinthisperilouswork.Withsuchsensationsheretiredtohiscabin;butastheartificerswereratherinclinedtomoveaboutthedeckthantoremainintheirconfinedberths below, his repose was transient, and the vessel being small every

motionwasnecessarilyheard.Somewhoweremusicallyinclinedoccasionallysung; but he listened with peculiar pleasure to the sailor at the helm, whohummedoverDibdin’scharacteristicair:—

Tuesday,18thAug.Theweatherhadbeenverygentleallnight,and,aboutfourinthemorningofthe18th,theSmeatonanchored.Agreeablytoanarrangedplanofoperations,allhandswerecalledatfiveo’clocka.m.,justasthehighestpartoftheBellRock began to show its sable head among the light breakers, whichoccasionallywhitenedwith the foamingsea.The twoboatsbelonging to thefloating lightattended theSmeaton, tocarry theartificers to therock,asherboatcouldonlyaccommodateaboutsixoreightsitters.Everyonewasmoreeagerthanhisneighbourtoleapintotheboats,anditrequiredagooddealofmanagementonthepartofthecoxswainstogetmenunaccustomedtoaboatto take their places for rowing and at the same time trimming her properly.The landing-master and foreman went into one boat, while the writer tookchargeofanother,andsteeredittoandfromtherock.Thisbecamethemorenecessary in the early stages of thework, as places could not be spared formore than two, or at most three, seamen to each boat, who were alwaysstationed,oneatthebow,tousetheboat-hookinfendingorpushingoff,andthe other at the aftermost oar, to give the proper time in rowing, while themiddleoarsweredouble-banked,androwedbytheartificers.Astheweatherwasextremelyfine,withlightairsofwindfromtheeast,welandedwithoutdifficultyuponthecentralpartoftherockathalf-pastfive,butthe water had not yet sufficiently left it for commencing the work. Thisinterval, however, did not pass unoccupied. The first and last of all theprincipaloperationsattheBellRockwereaccompaniedbythreeheartycheersfrom all hands, and, on occasions like the present, the steward of the shipattended,wheneachmanwas regaledwithaglassof rum.As thewater lefttherockaboutsix,somebegantoboretheholesforthegreatbatsorholdfasts,forfixingthebeamsoftheBeacon-house,whilethesmithwasfullyattendedinlayingoutthesiteofhisforge,uponasomewhatshelteredspotoftherock,which also recommended itself from the vicinity of a pool of water fortemperinghis irons.Thesepreliminarystepsoccupiedaboutanhour,andasnothing further could be done during this tide towards fixing the forge, theworkmen gratified their curiosity by roaming about the rock, which theyinvestigatedwith great eagerness till the tide overflowed it. Thosewho hadbeensickpickeddulse(Fucuspalmatus),whichtheyatewithmuchseemingappetite;othersweremoreintentuponcollectinglimpetsforbait,toenjoytheamusementoffishingwhentheyreturnedonboardofthevessel.Indeed,nonecame away empty-handed, as everything found upon the Bell Rock was

considered valuable, being connected with some interesting association.Several coins and numerous bits of shipwrecked iron, were picked up, ofalmosteverydescription;and,inparticular,amarking-ironletteredJAMES—acircumstanceofwhichitwasthoughtpropertogivenoticetothepublic,asitmightleadtotheknowledgeofsomeunfortunateshipwreck,perhapsunheardoftillthissimpleoccurrenceledtothediscovery.Whentherockbegantobeoverflowed, the landing-master arranged the crews of the respective boats,appointing twelvepersons toeach.According toa rulewhich thewriterhadlaiddowntohimself,hewasalwaysthelastpersonwholefttherock.InashorttimetheBellRockwaslaidcompletelyunderwater,andtheweatherbeingextremelyfine,theseawassosmooththatitsplacecouldnotbepointedout from the appearance of the surface—a circumstance which sufficientlydemonstratesthedangerousnatureofthisrock,evenduringtheday,andinthesmoothest and calmest state of the sea. During the interval between themorning and the evening tides, the artificers were variously employed infishing and reading; others were busy in drying and adjusting their wetclothes,andoneortwoamusedtheircompanionswiththeviolinandGermanflute.Aboutsevenintheeveningthesignalbellforlandingontherockwasagainrung,wheneverymanwasathisquarters.Inthisserviceitwasthoughtmoreappropriatetousethebellthantopipetoquarters,astheuseofthisinstrumentislessknowntothemechanicthanthesoundofthebell.Thelanding,asinthemorning,wasat theeasternharbour.Duringthistidetheseaweedwasprettywellclearedfromthesiteoftheoperations,andalsofromthetracksleadingtothedifferent landing-places; forwalkingupon theruggedsurfaceof theBellRock,when coveredwith seaweed,was found to be extremely difficult andeven dangerous. Every hand that could possibly be occupied was nowemployedinassistingthesmithtofituptheapparatusforhisforge.At9p.m.theboatsreturnedtothetender,afterothertwohours’work,inthesameorderas formerly—perhaps as much gratified with the success that attended thework of this day as with any other in the whole course of the operations.Althoughitcouldnotbesaidthatthefatiguesofthisdayhadbeengreat,yetall on board retired early to rest.The sea being calm, andnomovement ondeck,itwasprettygenerallyremarkedinthemorningthatthebellawakenedthegreaternumberonboardfromtheirfirstsleep;andthoughthisobservationwas not altogether applicable to the writer himself, yet he was not a littlepleasedtofindthatthirtypeoplecouldallatoncebecomesoreconciledtoanight’squarterswithinafewhundredpacesoftheBellRock.Wednesday,19thAug.Being extremely anxious at this time to get forwardwith fixing the smith’s

forge, on which the progress of the work at present depended, the writerrequested that hemight be called at daybreak to learn the landing-master’sopinionof theweather from the appearanceof the rising sun, a criterionbywhichexperiencedseamencangenerallyjudgeprettyaccuratelyofthestateoftheweatherforthefollowingday.Aboutfiveo’clock,oncomingupondeck,the sun’s upper limb or disc had just begun to appear as if rising from theocean,andinlessthanaminutehewasseeninthefullestsplendour;butafterashortintervalhewasenvelopedinasoftcloudysky,whichwasconsideredemblematical of fineweather.His rayshadnot yet sufficientlydispelled thecloudswhichhidthelandfromview,andtheBellRockbeingstilloverflowed,thewholewasoneexpanseofwater.Thissceneinitselfwashighlygratifying;and, when the morning bell was tolled, we were gratified with the happyforebodings of goodweather and the expectation of having both amorningandaneveningtide’sworkontherock.Theboatwhich thewritersteeredhappened tobe the lastwhichapproachedtherockatthistide;and,instandingupinthestern,whileatsomedistance,tosee how the leading boat entered the creek, he was astonished to observesomethingintheformofahumanfigure,inarecliningposture,upononeofthe ledges of the rock. He immediately steered the boat through a narrowentrance to theeasternharbour,witha thousandunpleasantsensations inhismind. He thought a vessel or boat must have been wrecked upon the rockduringthenight;anditseemedprobablethattherockmightbestrewedwithdead bodies, a spectacle which could not fail to deter the artificers fromreturningsofreelytotheirwork.Inthemidstof thesereveriestheboat tookthegroundatanimproperlanding-placebut,withoutwaitingtopushheroff,he leapt upon the rock, and making his way hastily to the spot which hadprivatelygivenhimalarm,hehadthesatisfactiontoascertainthathehadonlybeen deceived by the peculiar situation and aspect of the smith’s anvil andblock,which very completely represented the appearance of a lifeless bodyupon the rock. The writer carefully suppressed his feelings, the simplementionofwhichmighthavehadabadeffectupontheartificers,andhishastepassedforananxietytoexaminetheapparatusofthesmith’sforge,leftinanunfinishedstateateveningtide.In thecourseof thismorning’sworktwoor threeapparentlydistantpealsofthunderwereheard,andtheatmospheresuddenlybecamethickandfoggy.ButastheSmeaton,ourpresenttender,wasmooredatnogreatdistancefromtherock,thecrewonboardcontinuedblowingwithahorn,andoccasionallyfiredamusket,sothattheboatsgottotheshipwithoutdifficulty.Thursday,20thAug.Thewindthismorninginclinedfromthenorth-east,andtheskyhadaheavy

and cloudy appearance, but the sea was smooth, though there was anundulating motion on the surface, which indicated easterly winds, andoccasioned a slight surf upon the rock.But the boats found no difficulty inlandingatthewesterncreekathalf-pastseven,and,afteragoodtide’swork,leftitagainaboutaquarterfromeleven.Intheeveningtheartificerslandedathalf-pastseven,andcontinuedtillhalf-pasteight,havingcompletedthefixingofthesmith’sforge,hisvice,andawoodenboardorbench,whichwerealsobatted to a ledge of the rock, to the great joy of all, under a salute of threeheartycheers.Fromanoversightonthepartofthesmith,whohadneglectedtobringhistinder-boxandmatchesfromthevessel, theworkwaspreventedfrombeingcontinuedforatleastanhourlonger.Thesmith’sshopwas,ofcourse,inopenspace:thelargebellowswerecarriedto and from the rock every tide, for the serviceable condition of which,togetherwiththetinder-box,fuel,andembersoftheformerfire,thesmithwasheld responsible. Those who have been placed in situations to feel theinconveniency andwant of this useful artisan,will be able to appreciate hisvalue in a case like the present. It often happened, to our annoyance anddisappointment, in the early state of the work, when the smith was in themiddleofafavouriteheatinmakingsomeusefularticle,orinsharpeningthetools,aftertheflood-tidehadobligedthepickmentostrikework,aseawouldcomerollingovertherocks,dashoutthefire,andendangerhisindispensableimplement,thebellows.Iftheseawassmooth,whilethesmithoftenstoodatworkknee-deepinwater,thetiderosebyimperceptibledegrees,firstcoolingthe exterior of the fireplace, or hearth, and then quietly blackening andextinguishing the fire frombelow.Thewriterhas frequentlybeenamusedatthe perplexing anxiety of the blacksmith when coaxing his fire andendeavouringtoaverttheeffectsoftherisingtide.Friday,21stAug.Everythingconnectedwiththeforgebeingnowcompleted,theartificersfoundno want of sharp tools, and the work went forward with great alacrity andspirit.Itwasalsoallegedthattherockhadamorehabitableappearancefromthe volumes of smokewhich ascended from the smith’s shop and the busynoiseofhisanvil,theoperationsofthemasons,themovementsoftheboats,and shipping at a distance—all contributed to give life and activity to thescene. This noise and traffic had, however, the effect of almost completelybanishingtheherdofsealswhichhadhithertofrequentedtherockasaresting-place during the period of low water. The rock seemed to be peculiarlyadaptedtotheirhabits,for,exceptingtwoorthreedaysatneap-tides,apartofitalwaysdriesatlowwater—atleast,duringthesummerseason—andastherewas good fishing-ground in the neighbourhood, without a human being to

disturb or molest them, it had become a very favourite residence of theseamphibiousanimals,thewriterhavingoccasionallycountedfromfiftytosixtyplayingabout the rockat a time.Butwhen theycame tobedisturbedeverytide, and their seclusionwas broken in upon by the kindling of great fires,together with the beating of hammers and picks during low water, afterhoveringaboutforatime,theychangedtheirplace,andseldommorethanoneortwoweretobeseenabouttherockuponthemoredetachedoutlayerswhichdrypartially,whencetheyseemedtolookwiththatsortofcuriositywhichisobservableintheseanimalswhenfollowingaboat.Saturday,22ndAug.Hitherto theartificershad remainedonboard theSmeaton,whichwasmadefasttooneofthemooringbuoysatadistanceonlyofaboutaquarterofamilefromtherock,and,ofcourse,averygreatconveniencytothework.Beingsonear,theseamencouldneverbemistakenastotheprogressofthetide,orstateoftheseaupontherock,norcouldtheboatsbemuchatalosstopullonboardofthevesselduringfog,oreveninveryroughweather;asshecouldbecastloosefromhermooringsatpleasure,andbrought totheleesideof therock.But the Smeaton being only about forty register tons, her accommodationswereextremelylimited.Itmay,therefore,beeasilyimaginedthatanadditionof twenty-fourpersons toherowncrewmusthave rendered the situationofthoseonboardratheruncomfortable.Theonlyplaceforthemen’shammocksonboardbeinginthehold,theywereunavoidablymuchcrowded:andiftheweatherhad required thehatches tobe fasteneddown, sogreatanumberofmencouldnotpossiblyhavebeenaccommodated.Toaddtothisevil,theco-booseorcooking-placebeingupondeck, itwouldnothavebeenpossible tohavecookedforsolargeacompanyintheeventofbadweather.The stock ofwaterwas now getting short, and some necessaries being alsowanted for the floating light, the Smeatonwas despatched forArbroath; andthewriter,withtheartificers,atthesametimeshiftedtheirquartersfromhertothefloatinglight.Although the rock barelymade its appearance at this period of the tides tilleighto’clock,yet,havingnowafullmiletorowfromthefloatinglighttotherock,insteadofaboutaquarterofamilefromthemooringsoftheSmeaton,itwasnecessarytobeearlierastir,andtoformdifferentarrangements;breakfastwasaccordinglyservedupatseveno’clockthismorning.Fromtheexcessivemotionofthefloatinglight,thewriterhadlookedforwardratherwithanxietytotheremovaloftheworkmentothisship.Someamongthem,whohadbeencongratulatingthemselvesuponhavingbecomesea-hardywhileonboardtheSmeaton,hadacompleterelapseuponreturningtothefloatinglight.Thiswasthe casewith thewriter. From the spacious and convenient berthage of the

floatinglight,theexchangetotheartificerswas,inthisrespect,muchforthebetter.Theboatswerealsocommodious,measuringsixteenfeetinlengthonthe keel, so that, in fine weather, their complement of sitters was sixteenpersons for each, with which, however, they were rather crowded, but shecouldnotstowtwoboatsoflargerdimensions.Whentherewaswhatiscalledabreezeofwind,andaswellinthesea,thepropernumberforeachboatcouldnot,withpropriety,beratedatmorethantwelvepersons.When the tide-bell rung the boatswere hoisted out, and two active seamenwereemployed tokeep themfromreceivingdamagealongside.Thefloatinglight beingverybuoyant,was soquick inhermotions thatwhen thosewhowere about to step fromher gunwale into a boat, placed themselves upon acleatorstepontheship’sside,withthemanorrailropesintheirhands,theyhad often to wait for some time till a favourable opportunity occurred forsteppingintotheboat.Whileinthissituation,withthevesselrollingfromsidetoside,watchingthepropertimeforlettinggotheman-ropes,itrequiredthegreatestdexterityandpresenceofmind to leap into theboats.Onewhowasratherawkwardwouldoftenwaitaconsiderableperiodinthisposition:atonetimehissideoftheshipwouldbesodepressedthathewouldtouchtheboattowhich he belonged, while the next sea would elevate him somuch that hewouldseehiscomradesintheboatontheoppositesideoftheship,hisfriendsintheoneboatcallingtohimto“Jump,”whilethoseintheboatontheotherside,ashecameagainandagainintotheirview,wouldjocoselysay,“Areyouthereyet?Youseemtoenjoyaswing.”Inthissituationitwascommontoseeapersonuponeach sideof the ship for a lengthof time,waiting toquithishold.On leaving the rock to-day a trial of seamanshipwasproposed amongst therowers, for by this time the artificers had become tolerably expert in thisexercise. By inadvertency some of the oars provided had beenmade of firinstead of ash, and although a considerable stock had been laid in, theworkmen, being at first awkward in the art, were constantly breaking theiroars; indeeditwasnouncommonthingtoseethebrokenbladesofapairofoarsfloatingastern,inthecourseofapassagefromtherocktothevessel.Themen,uponthewhole,hadbutlittleworktoperforminthecourseofaday;forthoughtheyexertedthemselvesextremelyhardwhileontherock,yet, intheearlystateoftheoperations,thiscouldnotbecontinuedformorethanthreeorfourhoursatatime,andastheirrationswerelarge—consistingofonepoundandahalfofbeef,onepoundofshipbiscuit,eightouncesoatmeal,twoouncesbarley,twoouncesbutter,threequartsofsmallbeer,withvegetablesandsalt—theygotintoexcellentspiritswhenfreeofsea-sickness.Therowingoftheboats against eachotherbecamea favourite amusement,whichwas rather afortunate circumstance, as it must have been attended with muchinconveniencehad itbeenfoundnecessary toemployasufficientnumberof

sailors for this purpose. The writer, therefore, encouraged this spirit ofemulation, and the speed of their respective boats became a favourite topic.Premiumsforboat-raceswereinstituted,whichwerecontendedforwithgreateagerness, and the respective crews kept their stations in the boats with asmuchprecisionas theykept theirbedsonboardof the ship.With theseandother pastimes, when the weather was favourable, the time passed awayamong the inmates of the forecastle andwaist of the ship.Thewriter looksbackwithinterestuponthehoursofsolitudewhichhespentinthislonelyshipwithhissmalllibrary.This being the first Saturday that the artificers were afloat, all hands wereservedwithaglassof rumandwateratnight, todrink the sailors’ favouritetoastof“WivesandSweethearts.”Itwascustomary,upontheseoccasions,fortheseamenandartificerstocollectinthegalley,whenthemusicalinstrumentswereputinrequisition:for,accordingtoinvariablepractice,everymanmustplayatune,singasong,ortellastory.Sunday,23rdAug.Having,onthepreviousevening,arrangedmatterswiththelanding-masterastothebusinessoftheday,thesignalwasrungforallhandsathalf-pastseventhismorning. In the early state of the spring-tides the artificerswent to therockbeforebreakfast,butasthetidesfelllaterintheday,itbecamenecessaryto take this meal before leaving the ship. At eight o’clock all hands wereassembled on the quarter-deck for prayers, a solemnity which was gonethrough in as orderly a manner as circumstances would admit. When theweatherpermitted,theflagsoftheshipwerehungupasanawningorscreen,forming the quarter-deck into a distinct compartment; the pendantwas alsohoistedatthemainmast,andalargeensignflagwasdisplayedoverthestern;and lastly, the ship’s companion, or top of the staircase, was covered withtheflag proper of the Lighthouse Service, on which the Bible was laid. Aparticulartollofthebellcalledallhandstothequarter-deck,whenthewriterreadachapteroftheBible,and,thewholeship’scompanybeinguncovered,he also read the impressive prayer composed by theReverendDr.Brunton,oneoftheministersofEdinburgh.Upon concluding this service,whichwas attendedwith becoming reverenceandattention,allonboardretiredtotheirrespectiveberthstobreakfast,and,athalf-pastnine,thebellagainrungfortheartificerstotaketheirstationsintheirrespective boats. Some demur having been evinced on board about thepropriety of working on Sunday, which had hitherto been touched upon asdelicatelyaspossible,allhandsbeingcalledaft,thewriter,fromthequarter-deck,statedgenerallythenatureoftheservice,expressinghishopesthateverymanwouldfeelhimselfcalledupontoconsidertheerectionofalighthouseon

theBellRock, ineverypointofview,asaworkofnecessityandmercy.Heknewthatscrupleshadexistedwithsome,andthesehad, indeed,beenfairlyand candidly urged before leaving the shore; but itwas expected that, afterhavingseen thecriticalnatureof therock,and thenecessityof themeasure,every man would now be satisfied of the propriety of embracing allopportunities of landing on the rock when the state of the weather wouldpermit.Thewriter further took them towitness that it didnotproceed fromwantofrespectfortheappointmentsandestablishedformsofreligionthathehadhimself adopted the resolution of attending theBellRockworks on theSunday;but,ashehoped,fromaconvictionthatitwashisboundenduty,onthestrictestprinciplesofmorality.At thesame time itwas intimated that, ifanywereofadifferentopinion,theyshouldbeperfectlyatlibertytoholdtheirsentiments without the imputation of contumacy or disobedience; the onlydifferencewouldbeinregardtothepay.Uponstatingthismuch,hesteppedintohisboat,requestingallwhoweresodisposedtofollowhim.Thesailors,fromtheirhabits,foundnoscrupleonthissubject,andalloftheartificers,thoughalittletardy,alsoembarked,exceptingfour of the masons, who, from the beginning, mentioned that they woulddeclineworkingonSundays.Itmayherebenoticedthatthroughoutthewholeof the operations it was observable that themen wrought, if possible, withmorekeennessupontheSundaysthanatothertimes,fromanimpressionthatthey were engaged in a work of imperious necessity, which required everypossibleexertion.On returning to the floating light, after finishing the tide’swork,theboatswerereceivedbythepartoftheship’screwleftonboardwiththeusualattentionofhandingropestotheboatsandhelpingtheartificersonboard;but the fourmasonswhohadabsented themselves fromtheworkdidnotappearupondeck.Monday,24thAug.Theboatsleftthefloatinglightataquarter-pastnineo’clockthismorning,andthe work began at three-quarters past nine; but as the neap-tides wereapproachingtheworkingtimeattherockbecamegraduallyshorter,anditwasnow with difficulty that two and a half hours’ work could be got. But sokeenly had the workmen entered into the spirit of the Beacon-houseoperations,thattheycontinuedtoboretheholesintherocktillsomeofthemwereknee-deepinwater.Theoperationsatthistimewereentirelydirectedtotheerectionofthebeacon,inwhicheverymanfeltanequalinterest,asatthiscriticalperiodtheslightestcasualty to any of the boats at the rock might have been fatal to himselfindividually,whileitwasperhapspeculiartothewritermoreimmediatelytofeelforthesafetyofthewhole.Eachlogoruprightbeamofthebeaconwasto

be fixed to the rock by two strong andmassive bats or stanchions of iron.These bats, for the fixture of the principal and diagonal beams and bracingchains, required fifty-fourholes, eachmeasuring two inches indiameterandeighteen inches indepth.Therehadalreadybeen soconsiderableaprogressmadeinboringandexcavatingtheholesthatthewriter’shopesofgettingthebeacon erected this year began to bemore andmore confirmed, although itwasnowadvancingtowardswhatwasconsideredthelatterendoftheproperworkingseasonat theBellRock.Theforemanjoiner,Mr.FrancisWatt,wasaccordinglyappointedtoattendattherockto-day,whenthenecessarylevelsweretakenforthesteporseatofeachparticularbeamofthebeacon,thattheymight be cut to their respective lengths, to suit the inequalities of the rock;severalofthestanchionswerealsotriedintotheirplaces,andothernecessaryobservationsmade, to preventmistakes on the application of the apparatus,and to facilitate the operations when the beams came to be set up, whichwouldrequiretobedoneinthecourseofasingletide.Tuesday,25thAug.We had now experienced an almost unvaried tract of light airs of easterlywind,withclearweather in thefore-partof thedayandfog in theevenings.To-day,however,itsensiblychanged;whenthewindcametothesouth-west,andblewafreshbreeze.Atninea.m.thebellrung,andtheboatswerehoistedout,andthoughtheartificerswerenowprettywellaccustomedtotrippingupanddownthesidesofthefloatinglight,yetitrequiredmoreseamanshipthismorning than usual. It therefore afforded somemerriment to thosewho hadgotfairlyseatedintheirrespectiveboatstoseethedifficultieswhichattendedtheircompanions,andthehesitatingmannerinwhichtheyquittedholdoftheman-ropes in leaving the ship.Thepassage to the rockwas tedious, and theboatsdidnotreachittillhalf-pastten.Itbeingnowtheperiodofneap-tides,thewateronlypartiallylefttherock,andsomeofthemenwhowereboringonthelowerledgesofthesiteofthebeaconstoodknee-deep inwater.The situationof the smith to-daywasparticularlydisagreeable,buthisserviceswereatall timesindispensable.Asthetidedidnot leave thesiteof the forge,hestood in thewater,andas therewassomeroughness on the surface it was with considerable difficulty that, with theassistanceofthesailors,hewasenabledtopreservealivehisfire;and,whilehis feet were immersed in water, his face was not only scorched butcontinuallyexposedtovolumesofsmoke,accompaniedwithsparksfromthefire,whichwereoccasionallysetupowingtothestrengthanddirectionofthewind.Wednesday,

26thAugThe wind had shifted this morning to N.N.W., with rain, and was blowingwhatsailorscallafreshbreeze.Tospeak,perhaps,somewhatmoreintelligiblyto thegeneral reader, thewindwas such that a fishing-boat could just carryfullsail.Butasitwasofimportance,speciallyintheoutsetofthebusiness,tokeep up the spirit of enterprise for landing on all practicable occasions, thewriter,afterconsultingwiththelanding-master,orderedthebelltoberungforembarking,andathalf-pasteleventheboatsreachedtherock,andleftitagainataquarter-pasttwelve,without,however,beingabletodomuchwork,asthesmithcouldnotbeset toworkfromthesmallnessof theebband thestrongbreachofsea,whichlashedwithgreatforceamongthebarsoftheforge.JustaswewereabouttoleavetherockthewindshiftedtotheS.W.,and,fromafreshgale,itbecamewhatseamentermahardgale,orsuchaswouldhaverequiredthefishermantotakeintwoorthreereefsinhissail.Itisacuriousfact that the respective tides of ebb and flood are apparent upon the shoreaboutanhourandahalfsoonerthanatthedistanceofthreeorfourmilesintheoffing.Butwhatseemschieflyinterestinghereisthatthetidesaroundthissmall sunken rock should follow exactly the same laws as on the extensiveshores of the mainland. When the boats left the Bell Rock to-day it wasoverflowedbytheflood-tide,butthefloatinglightdidnotswingroundtotheflood-tideformorethananhourafterwards.Underthisdisadvantagetheboatshadtostrugglewiththeebb-tideandahardgaleofwind,sothatitwaswiththegreatestdifficultytheyreachedthefloatinglight.Hadthisgalehappenedinspring-tideswhenthecurrentwasstrongwemusthavebeendriventoseainaveryhelplesscondition.Theboatwhich thewritersteeredwasconsiderablybehind theother,oneofthemasonshavingunluckilybrokenhisoar.Ourprospectofgettingonboard,ofcourse,becamedoubtful,andoursituationwasratherperilous,astheboatshippedsomuchseathatitoccupiedtwooftheartificerstobaleandclearherofwater.Whentheoargavewaywewereabouthalfamilefromtheship,but,being fortunately towindward,wegot into thewakeof the floating light,atabout250fathomsastern,justasthelanding-master’sboatreachedthevessel.Heimmediatelystreamedorfloatedalife-buoyastern,withalinewhichwasalways in readiness, and by means of this useful implement the boat wastowed alongside of the floating light, where, from her rolling motion, itrequirednosmallmanagementtogetsafelyonboard,asthemenwerewornoutwiththeirexertionsinpullingfromtherock.Onthepresentoccasionthecrewsofbothboatswerecompletelydrenchedwithspray,andthosewhosatuponthebottomoftheboatstobalethemweresometimesprettydeepinthewater before it could be cleared out.After getting on board, all handswereallowedanextradram,and,havingshiftedandgotawarmandcomfortable

dinner,theaffair,itisbelieved,waslittlemorethoughtof.Thursday,27thAug.Thetideswerenowinthatstatewhichsailorstermthedeadoftheneap,anditwasnotexpectedthatanypartoftherockwouldbeseenabovewaterto-day;at any rate, it was obvious, from the experience of yesterday, that noworkcouldbedoneupon it,and therefore theartificerswerenot required to land.Thewindwasatwest,withlightbreezes,andfineclearweather;andasitwasanobjectwith thewriter to know the actual state of theBellRock at neap-tides,hegotoneoftheboatsmanned,and,beingaccompaniedbythelanding-master,wenttoitataquarter-pasttwelve.Thepartsoftherockthatappearedabove water being very trifling, were covered by every wave, so that nolanding was made. Upon trying the depth of water with a boat-hook,particularlyon the sites of the lighthouse andbeacon, on the former, at lowwater, the depthwas found to be three feet, and on the central parts of thelatter it was ascertained to be two feet eight inches. Having made theseremarks,theboatreturnedtotheshipattwop.m.,andtheweatherbeinggood,theartificerswerefoundamusingthemselveswithfishing.TheSmeatoncamefromArbroaththisafternoon,andmadefasttohermoorings,havingbroughtlettersandnewspapers,withparcelsofcleanlinen,etc.,fortheworkmen,whowere also made happy by the arrival of three of their comrades from theworkyardashore.Fromthesementheynotonlyreceivedall thenewsof theworkyard, but seemed themselves to enjoy great pleasure in communicatingwhatevertheyconsideredtobeinterestingwithregardtotherock.Somealsogot letters fromtheir friendsatadistance, thepostageofwhich for themenafloatwasalwaysfree,sothattheycorrespondedthemorereadily.Thesiteofthebuildinghavingalreadybeencarefullytracedoutwiththepick-axe, the artificers this day commenced the excavation of the rock for thefoundationorfirstcourseofthelighthouse.Fourmenonlywereemployedatthiswork,while twelve continued at the site of the beacon-house, atwhichevery possible opportunity was embraced, till this essential part of theoperationsshouldbecompleted.Wednesday2ndSept.Thefloatinglight’sbellrungthismorningathalf-pastfouro’clock,asasignalfor theboats tobegot ready,and the landing tookplaceathalf-past five. Inpassing the Smeaton at hermoorings near the rock, her boat followedwitheightadditionalartificerswhohadcome fromArbroathwithherat last trip,but there being no room for them in the floating light’s boats, they hadcontinuedonboard.Theweatherdidnotlookverypromisinginthemorning,

thewindblowingprettyfreshfromW.S.W.:andhaditnotbeenthatthewritercalculated upon having a vessel somuch at command, in all probability hewould not have ventured to land. The Smeaton rode at what sailors call asalvagee, with a cross-head made fast to the floating buoy. This kind ofattachment was found to bemore convenient than themode of passing thehawserthroughtheringofthebuoywhenthevesselwastobemadefast.Shehadthenonlytobesteeredveryclosetothebuoy,whenthesalvageewaslaidholdofwith aboat-hook, and thebiteof thehawser thrownover the cross-head.Butthesalvagee,bythismethod,wasalwaysleftatthebuoy,andwas,of course,more liable to chafe andwear than a hawser passed through thering, which could be wattled with canvas, and shifted at pleasure. Thesalvageeandcrossmethodis,however,muchpractised;buttheexperienceofthismorningshowedittobeveryunsuitableforvesselsridinginanexposedsituationforanylengthoftime.Soonaftertheartificerslandedtheycommencedwork;buttheWindcomingtoblowhard,theSmeaton’sboatandcrew,whohadbroughttheircomplementofeightmen to the rock,wentoff toexamineher riding ropes, and see thattheywereinproperorder.Theboathadnosoonerreachedthevesselthanshewent adrift, carrying the boat alongwith her. By the time that shewas gotroundtomakeatacktowardstherock,shehaddriftedatleastthreemilestoleeward, with the praam boat astern; and, having both theWind and a tideagainst her, the writer perceived, with no little anxiety, that she could notpossiblyreturntotherocktilllongafteritsbeingoverflowed;for,owingtotheanomaly of the tides formerly noticed, the Bell Rock is completely underwaterwhentheebbabatestotheoffing.In this perilous predicament, indeed, he foundhimself placed betweenhopeand despair—but certainly the latter was by much the most predominantfeelingofhismind—situateupona sunken rock in themiddleof theocean,which,intheprogressoftheflood-tide,wastobelaidunderwatertothedepthof at least twelve feet in a stormy sea. There were this morning thirty-twopersonsinallupontherock,withonlytwoboats,whosecomplement,eveningoodweather, did not exceed twenty-four sitters; but to row to the floatinglightwithsomuchwind,andinsoheavyasea,acomplementofeightmenforeachboatwasasmuchascould,withpropriety,beattempted,sothat,inthisway, about one-half of our number was unprovided for. Under thesecircumstances, had the writer ventured to despatch one of the boats inexpectationofeitherworkingtheSmeatonsooneruptowardstherock,or inhopesofgettingherboatbrought toour assistance, thismusthavegivenanimmediate alarm to the artificers, each of whom would have insisted upontaking to his own boat, and leaving the eight artificers belonging to theSmeatontotheirchance.Ofcourseascufflemighthaveensued,anditishardtosay,intheardourofmencontendingforlife,whereitmighthaveended.It

hasevenbeenhintedtothewriterthatapartyofthepickmenweredeterminedtokeepexclusivelytotheirownboatagainstallhazards.TheunfortunatecircumstanceoftheSmeatonandherboathavingdriftedwas,foraconsiderable time,onlyknown to thewriter and to the landing-master,whoremovedto thefartherpointof therock,wherehekepthiseyesteadilyupontheprogressof thevessel.While theartificerswereatwork,chiefly insittingorkneelingpostures,excavatingtherock,orboringwiththejumpers,and while their numerous hammers, with the sound of the smith’s anvil,continued, the situation of things did not appear so awful. In this state ofsuspense,withalmostcertaindestructionathand,thewaterbegantoriseuponthose who were at work on the lower parts of the sites of the beacon andlighthouse.Fromtherunofseaupontherock,theforgefirewasalsosoonerextinguished this morning than usual, and the volumes of smoke havingceased, objects in every direction became visible from all parts of the rock.Afterhavinghadaboutthreehours’work,themenbegan,prettygenerally,tomaketowards their respectiveboatsfor their jacketsandstockings,when, totheirastonishment,insteadofthree,theyfoundonlytwoboats,thethirdbeingadriftwiththeSmeaton.Notawordwasutteredbyanyone,butallappearedtobesilentlycalculatingtheirnumbers,andlookingtoeachotherwithevidentmarks of perplexity depicted in their countenances. The landing-master,conceivingthatblamemightbeattachedtohimforallowingtheboattoleavethe rock, still kept at a distance. At this critical moment the author wasstanding upon an elevated part of Smith’s Ledge, where he endeavoured tomarktheprogressoftheSmeaton,notalittlesurprisedthathercrewdidnotcut thepraamadrift,whichgreatly retardedherway, and amazed that someeffortwasnotmaking to bring at least theboat, and attempt our relief.Theworkmenlookedsteadfastlyuponthewriter,andturnedoccasionallytowardsthevessel,stillfartoleeward.Allthispassedinthemostperfectsilence,andthemelancholysolemnityofthegroupmadeanimpressionnevertobeeffacedfromhismind.Thewriterhadallalongbeenconsideringofvariousschemes—providingthemencouldbekeptunder command—whichmightbeput inpractice for thegeneralsafety,inhopesthattheSmeatonmightbeabletopickuptheboatstoleeward,whentheywereobligedtoleavetherock.Hewas,accordingly,abouttoaddress theartificerson theperilousnatureof theircircumstances,and topropose that all hands should unstrip their upper clothing when the higherpartsoftherockwerelaidunderwater;thattheseamenshouldremoveeveryunnecessaryweightandencumbrancefromtheboats;thataspecifiednumberofmenshouldgo intoeachboat,and that the remaindershouldhangby thegunwales,while theboatswere tobe rowedgently towards theSmeaton, asthecoursetothePharos,orfloatinglight,layrathertowindwardoftherock.But when he attempted to speak hismouthwas so parched that his tongue

refused utterance, and he now learned by experience that the saliva is asnecessaryasthetongueitselfforspeech.Heturnedtooneofthepoolsontherockandlappedalittlewater,whichproducedimmediaterelief.Butwhatwashishappiness,whenonrisingfromthisunpleasantbeverage,someonecalledout,“Aboat!aboat!”and,onlookingaround,atnogreatdistance,alargeboatwas seen through thehazemaking towards the rock.This atonceenlivenedand rejoiced everyheart.The timeousvisitorproved tobe JamesSpink, theBellRockpilot,whohadcomeexpressfromArbroathwithletters.SpinkhadforsometimeseentheSmeaton,andhadevensupposed,fromthestateoftheweather, that all handswereonboardof her till he approachedmorenearlyandobservedpeopleupontherock;butnotsupposingthattheassistanceofhisboatwasnecessarytocarrytheartificersofftherock,heanchoredonthelee-sideandbegan to fish,waiting,asusual, till the letterswere sent for, as thepilot-boatwas too large and unwieldy for approaching the rockwhen therewasanyroughnessorrunoftheseaattheentranceofthelandingcreeks.Upon this fortunate change of circumstances, sixteen of the artificers weresent,at two trips, inoneof theboats,with instructions forSpink toproceedwiththemtothefloatinglight.Thisbeingaccomplished,theremainingsixteenfollowedinthetwoboatsbelongingtotheserviceoftherock.Everyonefeltthemost perfect happiness at leaving theBell Rock thismorning, though averyhardanddangerouspassage to the floating lightstillawaitedus,as thewind by this time had increased to a pretty hard gale, accompanied with aconsiderableswellofsea.Everyonewasascompletelydrenchedinwaterasifhehadbeendraggedasternoftheboats.Thewriter,inparticular,beingatthehelm, found, on getting on board, that his face and ears were completelycoatedwithathinfilmofsaltfromtheseaspray,whichbrokeconstantlyoverthebowsoftheboat.Aftermuchbalingofwaterandsevereworkattheoars,the three boats reached the floating light, where some new difficultiesoccurredingettingonboardinsafety,owingpartlytotheexhaustedstateofthemen,andpartlytotheviolentrollingofthevessel.As the tide flowed, it was expected that the Smeaton would have got towindward; but, seeing that all was safe, after tacking for several hours andmaking littleprogress, sheboreaway forArbroath,with thepraam-boat.Astherewasnowtoomuchwindforthepilot-boattoreturntoArbroath,shewasmadefastasternofthefloatinglight,andthecrewremainedonboardtillnextday, when the weather moderated. There can be very little doubt that theappearance of James Spink with his boat on this critical occasion was themeans of preventing the loss of lives at the rock thismorning.When thesecircumstances,someyearsafterwards,cametotheknowledgeoftheBoard,asmallpensionwasorderedtoourfaithfulpilot,theninhisseventiethyear;andhe still continues to wear the uniform clothes and badge of the Lighthouseservice. Spink is a remarkably strong man, whose tout ensemble is highly

characteristicofaNorth-countryfisherman.Heusuallydressesinapé-jacket,cutafteraparticular fashion,andwearsa large, flat,bluebonnet.AstrikinglikenessofSpinkinhispilot-dress,withthebadgeorinsigniaonhisleftarmwhich is characteristicof theboatmen in the serviceof theNorthernLights,hasbeentakenbyHowe,andisinthewriter’spossession.Thursday,3rd.Sept.Thebellrungthismorningatfiveo’clock,butthewritermustacknowledge,fromthecircumstancesofyesterday,thatitssoundwasextremelyunwelcome.This appears also to have been the feelings of the artificers, for when theycame tobemustered,outof twenty-six,onlyeight,besides the foremanandseamen,appearedupondecktoaccompanythewritertotherock.Sucharethebanefuleffectsofanythinglikemisfortuneoraccidentconnectedwithaworkof this description. The use of argument to persuade themen to embark incasesofthiskindwouldhavebeenoutofplace,asitisnotonlydiscomfort,oreventheriskofthelossofalimb,butlifeitselfthatbecomesthequestion.Theboats, notwithstanding the thinness of our ranks, left the vessel at half-pastfive.Theroughweatherofyesterdayhavingprovedbutasummer’sgale,thewindcameto-dayingentlebreezes;yet, theatmospherebeingcloudy,ithadnotaveryfavourableappearance.Theboatsreachedtherockatsixa.m.,andtheeightartificerswholandedwereemployedinclearingoutthebat-holesforthebeacon-house,andhadaveryprosperoustideoffourhours’work,beingthelongestyetexperiencedbyhalfanhour.Theboatslefttherockagainatteno’clock,andtheweatherhavingclearedupaswedrewnearthevessel,theeighteenartificerswhohadremainedonboardwereobservedupondeck,butastheboatsapproachedtheysoughttheirwaybelow, being quite ashamed of their conduct. Thiswas the only instance ofrefusal to go to the rock which occurred during the whole progress of thework, excepting thatof the fourmenwhodeclinedworkinguponSunday, acasewhichthewriterdidnotconceivetobeatallanalogoustothepresent.Itmayherebementioned,muchtothecreditofthesefourmen,thattheystoodforemostinembarkingfortherockthismorning.Saturday,5thSept.It was fortunate that a landingwas not attempted this evening, for at eighto’clockthewindshiftedtoE.S.E.,andattenithadbecomeahardgale,whenfifty fathomsof the floating light’shempencablewereveeredout.Thegalestill increasing, the ship rolled and laboured excessively, and at midnighteightyfathomsofcablewereveeredout;whiletheseacontinuedtostrikethevesselwithadegreeofforcewhichhadnotbeforebeenexperienced.

Sunday,6thSept.DuringthelastnighttherewaslittlerestonboardofthePharos,anddaylight,though anxiously wished for, brought no relief, as the gale continued withunabatedviolence.Theseastrucksoharduponthevessel’sbowsthatitrosein great quantities, or in “green seas,” as the sailors termed it, which werecarriedby thewindas faraftas thequarter-deck,andnotunfrequentlyoverthesternoftheshipaltogether.Itfelloccasionallysoheavilyontheskylightofthewriter’scabin,thoughsofaraftastobewithinfivefeetofthehelm,thattheglasswasbrokentopiecesbeforethedead-lightcouldbegotintoitsplace,sothatthewaterpoureddowningreatquantities.Inshuttingoutthewater,theadmissionoflightwasprevented,andinthemorningallcontinuedinthemostcomfortlessstateofdarkness.Aboutteno’clocka.m.thewindshiftedtoN.E.,andblew,ifpossible,harderthanbefore,anditwasaccompaniedbyamuchheavier swell of sea. In the course of the gale, the part of the cable in thehause-holehadbeensooftenshiftedthatnearlythewholelengthofoneofherhempen cables, of 120 fathoms, had been veered out, besides the chain-moorings.Thecable,foritspreservation,wasalsocarefullyservedorwattledwithpiecesofcanvasroundthewindlass,andwithleatherwellgreasedinthehause-hole. In this state things remained during the whole day, every seawhichstruckthevessel—andtheseasfollowedeachotherinclosesuccession—causingher toshake,andallonboardoccasionally to tremble.Ateachofthesestrokesoftheseatherollingandpitchingofthevesselceasedforatime,andhermotionwas felt as if shehad either broke adrift before thewindorwereintheactofsinking;but,whenanotherseacame,sherangedupagainstitwith great force, and this became the regular intimation of our being stillridingatanchor.Abouteleveno’clock, thewriterwithsomedifficultygotoutofbed,but, inattemptingtodress,hewasthrowntwiceuponthefloorattheoppositeendofthe cabin. In an undressed state hemade shift to get about half-way up thecompanion-stairs,withanintentiontoobservethestateof theseaandoftheshipupondeck;buthenosoonerlookedoverthecompanionthanaheavyseastruckthevessel,whichfellonthequarter-deck,andrusheddownstairsintheofficers’cabininsoconsiderableaquantitythatitwasfoundnecessarytoliftoneofthescuttlesinthefloor,toletthewaterintothelimbersoftheship,asitdashedfromsidetosideinsuchamannerastorunintothelowertierofbeds.Havingbeenfoiledinthisattempt,andbeingcompletelywetted,heagaingotbelowandwent tobed. In thisstateof theweather theseamenhad tomoveaboutthenecessaryorindispensabledutiesoftheshipwiththemostcautioususebothofhandsandfeet,whileitrequiredalltheartofthelandsmantokeepwithintheprecinctsofhisbed.Thewriterevenfoundhimselfsomuchtossed

about that it became necessary, in somemeasure, to shut himself in bed, inordertoavoidbeingthrownuponthefloor.Indeed,suchwasthemotionoftheship that it seemedwholly impracticable to remain inanyother thana lyingposture.Ondeckthemoststormyaspectpresenteditself,whilebelowallwaswetandcomfortless.Abouttwoo’clockp.m.agreatalarmwasgiventhroughouttheshipfromtheeffects of a very heavy sea which struck her, and almost filled the waist,pouringdown into theberthsbelow, throughevery chink andcreviceof thehatches and skylights. From the motion of the vessel being thus suddenlydeadened or checked, and from the flowing in of the water above, it isbelieved there was not an individual on board who did not think, at themoment, that the vessel had foundered, and was in the act of sinking. Thewritercouldwithstandthisnolonger,andassoonassheagainbegantorangetotheseahedeterminedtomakeanotherefforttogetupondeck.Inthefirstinstance,however,hegropedhiswayindarknessfromhisowncabinthroughtheberthsoftheofficers,whereallwasquietness.Henextenteredthegalleyandothercompartmentsoccupiedbytheartificers.Herealsoallwasshutupindarkness, the fire having been drowned out in the early part of the gale.Severaloftheartificerswereemployedinprayer,repeatingpsalmsandotherdevotional exercises in a full tone of voice; others protesting that, if theyshouldfortunatelygetoncemoreonshore,nooneshouldeverseethemafloatagain. With the assistance of the landing-master, the writer made his way,holdingon stepby step, among thenumerous impedimentswhich lay in theway.Suchwasthecreakingnoiseofthebulkheadsorpartitions,thedashingofthewater,andthewhistlingnoiseofthewinds,thatitwashardlypossibletobreak inupon such a confusionof sounds. Inoneor two instances, anxiousand repeated inquiries were made by the artificers as to the state of thingsupondeck,towhichthecaptainmadetheusualanswer,thatitcouldnotblowlonginthisway,andthatwemustsoonhavebetterweather.Thenextberthinsuccession,movingforwardintheship,wasthatallottedfortheseamen.Herethe scene was considerably different. Having reached the middle of thisdarksome berthwithout its inmates being aware of any intrusion, thewriterhadtheconsolationofremarkingthat,althoughtheytalkedofbadweatherandthecrossaccidentsofthesea,yettheconversationwascarriedoninthatsortof tone andmanner which bespoke an ease and composure ofmind highlycreditable to themandpleasing tohim.Thewriter immediatelyaccosted theseamen about the state of the ship. To these inquiries they replied that thevesselbeinglight,andhavingbutlittleholdofthewater,notop-rigging,withexcellentground-tackle,andeverythingbeingfreshandnew,theyfeltperfectconfidenceintheirsituation.Itbeing impossible toopenanyof thehatches in theforepartof theship incommunicatingwiththedeck,thewatchwaschangedbypassingthroughthe

severalberths to thecompanion-stair leadingto thequarter-deck.Thewriter,therefore,madethebestofhiswayaft,and,onasecondattempttolookout,hesucceeded,andsawindeedanastonishingsight.Theseaorwavesappearedtobe tenor fifteen feet inheightofunbrokenwater, andeveryapproachingbillowseemedasifitwouldoverwhelmourvessel,butshecontinuedtoriseupon thewaves and to fall between the seas in averywonderfulmanner. Itseemedtobeonlythoseseaswhichcaughtherintheactofrisingwhichstruckherwith somuch violence and threw such quantities ofwater aft.On decktherewas only one solitary individual looking out, to give the alarm in theeventoftheshipbreakingfromhermoorings.Theseamanonwatchcontinuedonly twohours;hewhokeptwatchat this timewasa tall, slendermanofablack complexion; he had no greatcoat nor over-all of any kind, but wassimplydressedinhisordinaryjacketandtrousers;hishatwastiedunderhischin with a napkin, and he stood aft the foremast, to which he had lashedhimselfwithagasketorsmallroperoundhiswaist,topreventhisfallingupondeckorbeingwashedoverboard.Whenthewriter lookedup,heappearedtosmile,whichaffordedafurthersymptomoftheconfidenceofthecrewintheirship.Thispersononwatchwasascompletelywettedasifhehadbeendrawnthroughthesea,whichwasgivenasareasonforhisnotputtingonagreatcoat,thathemightwetasfewofhisclothesaspossible,andhaveadryshiftwhenhe went below. Upon deck everything that was movable was out of sight,having either been stowed below, previous to the gale, or been washedoverboard. Some trifling parts of the quarter boards were damaged by thebreachofthesea;andoneoftheboatsupondeckwasaboutone-thirdfullofwater,theoyle-holeordrainhavingbeenaccidentallystoppedup,andpartofhergunwalehadreceivedconsiderableinjury.Theseobservationswerehastilymade, and not without occasionally shutting the companion, to avoid beingwetted by the successive seas which broke over the bows and fell upondifferent parts of the deck according to the impetus with which the wavesstruckthevessel.Bythistimeitwasaboutthreeo’clockintheafternoon,andthe gale, which had now continued with unabated force for twenty-sevenhours,hadnottheleastappearanceofgoingoff.Inthedismalprospectofundergoinganothernightlikethelast,andbeinginimminenthazardofpartingfromourcable,thewriterthoughtitnecessarytoadvisewiththemasterandofficersoftheshipastotheprobableeventofthevessel’s drifting from hermoorings. They severally gave it as their opinionthatwehadnoweverychanceofridingoutthegale,which,inallprobability,couldnotcontinuewiththesamefurymanyhourslonger;andthatevenifsheshouldpartfromheranchor,thestorm-sailshadbeenlaidtohand,andcouldbebentinaveryshorttime.TheyfurtherstatedthatfromthedirectionofthewindbeingN.E.,shewouldsailup theFirthofForth toLeithRoads.But ifthisshouldappeardoubtful,afterpassingtheIslandandLightofMay,itmight

be advisable at once to steer for Tyningham Sands, on the western side ofDunbar,and thererun thevesselashore. If thisshouldhappenat the timeofhigh-water, or during the ebbingof the tide, theywere of opinion, from theflatness and strength of the floating light, that no danger would attend hertaking the ground, even with a very heavy sea. The writer, seeing theconfidencewhich these gentlemen possessedwith regard to the situation ofthings, found himself as much relieved with this conversation as he hadpreviouslybeenwiththeseemingindifferenceof theforecastle-men,andthesmile of thewatchupondeck, though literally lashed to the foremast.Fromthistimehefelthimselfalmostperfectlyatease;atanyrate,hewasentirelyresignedtotheultimateresult.Aboutsixo’clockintheeveningtheship’scompanywasheardmovingupondeck,whichonthepresentoccasionwasratherthecauseofalarm.Thewriteraccordinglyranghisbelltoknowwhatwasthematter,whenhewasinformedbythesteward that theweather lookedconsiderablybetter,and that themenupondeckwereendeavouringtoshipthesmoke-funnelofthegalleythatthepeoplemight get somemeat. Thiswas amore favourable account than hadbeenanticipated.Duringthelasttwenty-onehourshehimselfhadnotonlyhadnothingtoeat,buthehadalmostneverpassedathoughtonthesubject.Uponthe mention of a change of weather, he sent the steward to learn how theartificersfelt,andonhisreturnhestatedthattheynowseemedtobeallveryhappy,sincethecookhadbeguntolightthegalley-fireandmakepreparationsfor thesuet-puddingofSunday,whichwastheonlydishtobeattemptedforthemess,fromtheeasewithwhichitcouldbothbecookedandservedup.Theprincipalchangefeltupontheshipasthewindabatedwasherincreasedrollingmotion,butthepitchingwasmuchdiminished,andnowhardlyanyseacame farther aft than the foremast: but she rolled so extremely hard asfrequentlytodipandtakeinwateroverthegunwalesandrailsinthewaist.Bynine o’clock all hands had been refreshed by the exertions of the cook andsteward,andwerehappyin theprospectof theworstof thegalebeingover.Theusualcomplementofmenwasalsonowsetonwatch,andmorequietnesswasexperiencedthroughouttheship.Althoughthepreviousnighthadbeenaveryrestlessone,ithadnottheeffectofinducingreposeinthewriter’sberthonthesucceedingnight;forhavingbeensomuchtossedaboutinbedduringthelastthirtyhours,hefoundnoeasyspottoturnto,andhisbodywasallsoretothetouch,whichillaccordedwiththeunyieldingmaterialswithwhichhisbed-placewassurrounded.Monday,7thSept.Thismorning,abouteighto’clock, thewriterwasagreeablysurprised to seethe scuttle of his cabin skylight removed, and the bright rays of the sun

admitted.Althoughtheshipcontinuedtorollexcessively,andtheseawasstillrunning very high, yet the ordinary business on board seemed to be goingforward on deck. It was impossible to steady a telescope, so as to lookminutely at the progress of the waves and trace their breach upon the BellRock; but the height towhich the cross-runningwaves rose in sprayswhentheymeteachotherwastrulygrand,andthecontinuedroarandnoiseoftheseawasveryperceptibletotheear.Toestimatetheheightofthespraysatfortyorfiftyfeetwouldsurelybewithinthemark.Thoseoftheworkmenwhowerenotmuchafflictedwithsea-sicknesscameupondeck,andthewetnessbelowbeingdriedup,thecabinswereagainbroughtintoahabitablestate.Everyoneseemedtomeetasifafteralongabsence,congratulatinghisneighbouruponthereturnofgoodweather.Littlecouldbesaidastothecomfortofthevessel,butafterridingoutsuchagale,noonefelttheleastdoubtorhesitationastothe safety and good condition of her moorings. The master and mate wereextremelyanxious,however,toheaveinthehempencable,andseethestateoftheclinchorironringofthechain-cable.Butthevesselrolledatsucharatethattheseamencouldnotpossiblykeeptheirfeetatthewindlassnorworkthehandspikes,thoughithadbeenseveraltimesattemptedsincethegaletookoff.About twelve noon, however, the vessel’s motion was observed to beconsiderablyless,andthesailorswereenabledtowalkupondeckwithsomedegree of freedom. But, to the astonishment of every one, it was soondiscovered that the floating light was adrift! The windlass was instantlymanned,and themensoongaveout that therewasnostrainuponthecable.Themizzen sail, which was bent for the occasional purpose ofmaking thevessel ridemore easily to the tide,was immediately set, and the other sailswere also hoisted in a short time,when, in no small consternation,we boreawayaboutonemiletothesouth-westwardoftheformerstation,andthereletgothebestboweranchorandcableintwentyfathomswater,torideuntiltheswell of the sea should fall,when itmight be practicable to grapple for themoorings,andfindabetteranchoragefortheship.Tuesday,15thSept.Thismorning,atfivea.m.,thebellrungasasignalforlandingupontherock,asoundwhich,afteralapseoftendays,itisbelievedwaswelcomedbyeveryone on board. There being a heavy breach of sea at the eastern creek, welanded,thoughnotwithoutdifficulty,onthewesternside,everyoneseemingmoreeager thananother togetupon the rock;andneverdidhungrymensitdowntoaheartymealwithmoreappetitethantheartificersbegantopickthedulsefromtherocks.Thismarineplanthadtheeffectofrevivingthesickly,andseemedtobenolessrelishedbythosewhoweremorehardy.While the water was ebbing, and the men were roaming in quest of their

favouritemorsel, thewriterwasexamining theeffectsof thestormupon theforgeandlooseapparatusleftupontherock.Sixlargeblocksofgranitewhichhadbeenlanded,bywayofexperiment,onthe1stinstant,werenowremovedfromtheirplacesand,bytheforceofthesea,thrownoverarisingledgeintoaholeat thedistanceof twelveor fifteenpaces from theplaceonwhich theyhadbeenlanded.Thiswasaprettygoodevidencebothoftheviolenceofthestorm and the agitation of the sea upon the rock. The safety of the smith’sforgewasalwaysanobjectofessential regard.Theash-panof thehearthorfireplace,withitsweightycast-ironback,hadbeenwashedfromtheirplacesof supposed security; the chains of attachment had been broken, and theseponderousarticleswerefoundataveryconsiderabledistanceinaholeonthewestern sideof the rock;while the tools andpicksof theAberdeenmasonswerescatteredabout ineverydirection. It is,however, remarkable thatnotasinglearticlewasultimatelylost.Thisbeingthenightonwhichthefloatinglightwasadvertisedtobelighted,itwasaccordinglyexhibited,tothegreatjoyofeveryone.Wednesday,16thSept.Thewriterwasmadehappyto-daybythereturnoftheLighthouseyachtfromavoyagetotheNorthernLighthouses.Havingimmediatelyremovedonboardof this fine vessel of eighty-one tons register, the artificers gladly followed;for,thoughtheyfoundthemselvesmorepinchedforaccommodationonboardoftheyacht,andstillmoresointheSmeaton,yettheygreatlypreferredeitherof these to the Pharos, or floating light, on account of her rolling motion,thoughinallrespectsfittedupfortheirconveniency.The writer called them to the quarter-deck and informed them that, havingbeenonemonthafloat,intermsoftheiragreementtheywerenowatlibertytoreturn to theworkyardatArbroath if theypreferred this tocontinuingat theBellRock.But they replied that, in the prospect of soon getting the beaconerectedupontherock,andhavingmadeachangefromthefloatinglight,theywerenowperfectlyreconciled to theirsituation,andwouldremainafloat tilltheendoftheworkingseason.Thursday,17thSept.ThewindwasatN.E.thismorning,andthoughtherewereonlylightairs,yettherewasaprettyheavyswellcomingashoreupontherock.Theboatslandedathalf-pastseveno’clocka.m.,atthecreekonthesouthernsideoftherock,markedPortHamilton.Butasoneoftheboatswasintheactofenteringthiscreek, the seaman at the bow-oar, who had just entered the service, havinginadvertently expressed some fear from a heavy sea which came rolling

towards the boat, and one of the artificers having at the same time lookedroundandmissedastrokewithhisoar,suchapreponderancewasthusgivento the rowers upon the opposite side that when thewave struck the boat itthrewher upon a ledge of shelving rocks,where thewater left her, and shehaving kanted to seaward, the next wave completely filled her with water.Aftermakingconsiderableeffortstheboatwasagaingotafloatinthepropertrack of the creek, so that we landed without any other accident than acompleteducking.Therebeingnopossibilityofgettingashiftofclothes,theartificers beganwith all speed towork, so as to bring themselves into heat,whilethewriterandhisassistantskeptasmuchaspossibleinmotion.Havingremainedmorethananhourupontherock,theboatsleftitathalf-pastnine;and, after getting on board, thewriter recommended to the artificers, as thebestmodeofgettingintoastateofcomfort,tostripofftheirwetclothesandgotobedforanhourortwo.Nofurtherinconveniencywasfelt,andnooneseemedtocomplainoftheaffectioncalled“catchingcold.”Friday,18thSept.AnimportantoccurrenceconnectedwiththeoperationsofthisseasonwasthearrivaloftheSmeatonatfourp.m.,havingintowthesixprincipalbeamsofthebeacon-house,togetherwithallthestanchionsandotherworkonboardforfixing it on the rock. The mooring of the floating light was a great pointgained,butintheerectionofthebeaconatthislateperiodoftheseasonnewdifficultiespresented themselves.The successof suchanundertakingat anyseasonwasprecarious,becauseasingledayofbadweatheroccurringbeforethenecessaryfixturescouldbemademightsweepthewholeapparatusfromtherock.Notwithstandingthesedifficulties,thewriterhaddeterminedtomakethe trial,althoughhecouldalmosthavewished,upon lookingat thestateofthecloudsandthedirectionofthewind,thattheapparatusforthebeaconhadbeenstillintheworkyard.Saturday,19thSept.Themainbeamsofthebeaconweremadeupintwoseparaterafts,fixedwithbarsandboltsofiron.Oneoftheserafts,notbeingimmediatelywanted,wasleftasternofthefloatinglight,andtheotherwaskeptintowbytheSmeaton,at the buoy nearest to the rock. TheLighthouse yacht rode at another buoywithallhandsonboardthatcouldpossiblybesparedoutofthefloatinglight.The party of artificers and seamen which landed on the rock countedaltogether forty in number. At half-past eight o’clock a derrick, or mast ofthirty feet inheight,waserectedandproperly supportedwithguy-ropes, forsuspendingtheblockforraisingthefirstprincipalbeamofthebeacon;anda

winchmachinewas alsobolteddown to the rock forworking thepurchase-tackle.Upon raising the derrick, all hands on the rock spontaneously gave threehearty cheers, as a favourable omen of our future exertions in pointing outmorepermanentlythepositionoftherock.Eventothissinglesparoftimber,could it be preserved, a drowningmanmight lay hold.When the Smeatondriftedonthe2ndofthismonthsuchasparwouldhavebeensufficienttosaveustillshecouldhavecometoourrelief.Sunday,20thSept.The wind this morning was variable, but the weather continued extremelyfavourablefortheoperationsthroughoutthewholeday.Atsixa.m.theboatswereinmotion,andtheraft,consistingoffourof thesixprincipalbeamsofthebeacon-house,eachmeasuringaboutsixteen inchessquare,andfifty feetinlength,wastowedtotherock,whereitwasanchored,thatitmightgrounduponitasthewaterebbed.Thesailorsandartificers,includingallhands,to-day counted no fewer than fifty-two, being perhaps the greatest number ofpersonsevercollectedupon theBellRock. Itwasearly in the tidewhen theboats reached the rock, and themenworked a considerable timeup to theirmiddleinwater,everyonebeingmoreeagerthanhisneighbourtobeuseful.EventhefourartificerswhohadhithertodeclinedworkingonSundaywereto-daymostzealousintheirexertions.Theyhadindeedbecomesoconvincedofthe precarious nature and necessity of the work that they never afterwardsabsentedthemselvesfromtherockonSundaywhenalandingwaspracticable.Havingmadefastapieceofverygoodnewline,atabouttwo-thirdsfromthelowerendofoneofthebeams,thepurchase-tackleofthederrickwashookedintotheturnsoftheline,anditwasspeedilyraisedbythenumberofmenonthe rock and the power of the winch tackle.When this log was lifted to asufficient height, its foot, or lower end,wasstepped into the spotwhich hadbeenpreviouslypreparedforit.Twoofthegreatironstanchionswerethensetin their respective holes on each side of the beam,when a ropewas passedround them and the beam, to prevent it from slipping till it could bemorepermanentlyfixed.Thederrick,oruprightsparusedforcarryingthetackletoraise the first beam,was placed in such a position as to become useful forsupportingtheupperendofit,whichnowbecame,initsturn,thepropofthetackleforraisingthesecondbeam.Thewholedifficultyofthisoperationwasin the raising and propping of the first beam, which became a convenientderrickforraisingthesecond,theseagainapairofshearsforliftingthethird,andtheshearsatriangleforraisingthefourth.Havingthusgotfourofthesixprincipalbeamssetonend,itrequiredaconsiderabledegreeoftroubletogettheir upper ends to fit. Here they formed the apex of a cone, and were all

together mortised into a large piece of beechwood, and secured, for thepresent,withropes,inatemporarymanner.Duringtheshortperiodofonetideallthatcouldfurtherbedonefortheirsecuritywastoputasinglescrew-boltthrough the great kneed bats or stanchions on each side of the beams, andscrewthenuthome.In thismanner these four principal beamswere erected, and left in a prettysecurestate.Themenhadcommencedwhiletherewasabouttwoorthreefeetof water upon the side of the beacon, and as the sea was smooth theycontinuedtheworkequallylongduringflood-tide.Twooftheboatsbeingleftat the rock to take off the joiners,whowere busily employed on the upperpartstilltwoo’clockp.m.,thistide’sworkmaybesaidtohavecontinuedforaboutsevenhours,whichwasthelongestthathadhithertobeengotupontherockbyatleastthreehours.When the first boats left the rockwith the artificers employed on the lowerpart of the work during the flood-tide, the beacon had quite a novelappearance.Thebeamserected formeda commonbaseof about thirty-threefeet,meetingat the top,whichwasaboutforty-fivefeetabove therock,andherehalfadozenoftheartificerswerestillatwork.Afterclearingtherocktheboatsmadeastop,whenthreeheartycheersweregiven,whichwerereturnedwith equal goodwill by those upon the beacon, from the personal interestwhich everyone felt in theprosperity of thiswork, so intimately connectedwithhissafety.All hands having returned to their respective ships, they got a shift of dryclothesandsomerefreshment.BeingSunday,theywereafterwardsconvenedbysignalonboardoftheLighthouseyacht,whenprayerswereread;foreveryheart upon this occasion felt gladness, and every mind was disposed to bethankfulforthehappyandsuccessfulterminationoftheoperationsofthisday.Monday,21stSept.The remaining two principal beamswere erected in the course of this tide,which,with theassistanceof thosesetupyesterday,was found tobeaverysimpleoperation.Tuesday,22ndSept.The six principal beams of the beacon were thus secured, at least in atemporarymanner, in thecourseof two tides,or in the short spaceof aboutelevenhoursandahalf.Such is theprogress thatmaybemadewhenactivehands and willing minds set properly to work in operations of this kind.Havingnowgottheweightypartofthisworkover,andbeingtherebyrelieved

of the difficulty both of landing and victualling such a number ofmen, theSmeaton could now be spared, and she was accordingly despatched toArbroathforasupplyofwaterandprovisions,andcarriedwithhersixoftheartificerswhocouldbestbespared.Wednesday,23rdSept.Ingoingoutoftheeasternharbour,theboatwhichthewritersteeredshippedasea,thatfilledheraboutone-thirdwithwater.Shehadalsobeenhidforashorttime,bythewavesbreakingupontherock,fromthesightofthecrewoftheprecedingboat,whoweremuchalarmedforoursafety, imaginingforatimethatshehadgonedown.TheSmeaton returned fromArbroath this afternoon, but therewas somuchsea that she could not be made fast to her moorings, and the vessel wasobliged to return to Arbroath without being able either to deliver theprovisionsortaketheartificersonboard.TheLighthouseyachtwasalsosoonobligedtofollowherexample,astheseawasbreakingheavilyoverherbows.Aftergettingtworeefsinthemainsail,andthethirdorstorm-jibset,thewindbeingS.W.,shebenttowindward,thoughblowingahardgale,andgotintoSt.AndrewsBay,wherewepassedthenightundertheleeofFifeness.Thursday,24thSept.Attwoo’clockthismorningwewereinSt.AndrewsBay,standingoffandonshore,withstronggalesofwindatS.W.;atsevenwewereofftheentranceoftheTay;ateightstoodtowardstherock,andattenpassedtoleewardofit,butcouldnotattemptalanding.Thebeacon,however,appearedtoremainingoodorder,andbysixp.m.thevesselhadagainbeatenuptoSt.AndrewsBay,andgotintosomewhatsmootherwaterforthenight.Friday,25thSept.Atseveno’clockboreawayfortheBellRock,butfindingaheavysearunningonitwereunabletoland.Thewriter,however,hadthesatisfactiontoobserve,with his telescope, that everything about the beacon appeared entire; andalthough the sea had amost frightful appearance, yet it was the opinion ofeveryonethat,sincetheerectionofthebeacon,theBellRockwasdivestedofmanyofitsterrors,andhaditbeenpossibletohavegottheboatshoistedoutandmanned,itmighthaveevenbeenfoundpracticabletoland.Atsixitblewsohard that itwas foundnecessary to strike the topmast and take in a thirdreefofthemainsail,andunderthislowcanvaswesoonreachedSt.AndrewsBay,andgotagainundertheleeofthelandforthenight.Theartificers,beingsea-hardy,werequitereconciledtotheirquartersonboardof theLighthouse

yacht; but it is believed that hardly any consideration would have inducedthemagaintotakeuptheirabodeinthefloatinglight.Saturday,26thSept.Atdaylight theyachtsteered towards theBellRock,andateighta.m.madefasttohermoorings;atten,allhands,totheamountofthirty,landed,whenthewriterhadthehappinesstofindthatthebeaconhadwithstoodtheviolenceofthegaleandtheheavybreachofsea,everythingbeingfoundinthesamestateinwhichithadbeenleftonthe21st.Theartificerswerenowenabledtoworkupon the rock throughout thewhole day, both at low and highwater, but itrequiredthestrictestattentiontothestateoftheweather,incaseoftheirbeingovertakenwithagale,whichmightpreventthepossibilityofgettingthemofftherock.Two somewhat memorable circumstances in the annals of the Bell Rockattendedtheoperationsofthisday:onewastheremovalofMr.JamesDove,theforemansmith,withhisapparatus,fromtherocktotheupperpartofthebeacon,wheretheforgewasnowerectedonatemporaryplatform,laidonthecrossbeamsorupper framing.Theotherwas theartificershavingdined forthefirsttimeupontherock,theirdinnerbeingcookedonboardoftheyacht,andsenttothembyoneoftheboats.Butwhataffordedthegreatesthappinessand reliefwas the removalof the largebellows,whichhadall alongbeenasourceofmuchtroubleandperplexity,bytheirhamperingandincommodingtheboatwhichcarriedthesmithsandtheirapparatus.Saturday,3rdOct.Thewindbeingwestto-day,theweatherwasveryfavourableforoperationsattherock,andduringthemorningandeveningtides,withtheaidoftorchlight,themasonshadsevenhours’workupon the siteof thebuilding.Thesmithsand joiners, who landed at half-past six a.m., did not leave the rock till aquarter-past eleven p.m., having been at work, with little intermission, forsixteen hours and three-quarters. When the water left the rock, they wereemployedat the lowerpartsof thebeacon, andas the tide roseor fell, theyshifted the place of their operations. From these exertions, the fixing andsecuringofthebeaconmaderapidadvancement,asthemenwerenowlandedinthemorning,andremainedthroughouttheday.But,asasuddenchangeofweathermighthavepreventedtheirbeingtakenoffatthepropertimeoftide,aquantityofbreadandwaterwasalwayskeptonthebeacon.Duringthisperiodofworkingatthebeaconalltheday,andoftenagreatpartofthenight,thewriterwasmuchonboardofthetender;but,whilethemasonscouldworkontherock,andfrequentlyalsowhileitwascoveredbythetide,

heremainedonthebeacon;especiallyduringthenight,ashemadeapointofbeing on the rock to the latest hour, andwas generally the last personwhosteppedintotheboat.Hehadlaidthisdownaspartofhisplanofprocedure;and in this way had acquired, in the course of the first season, a prettycompleteknowledgeandexperienceofwhatcouldactuallybedoneattheBellRock, under all circumstances of the weather. By this means also hisassistants, and the artificers and mariners, got into a systematic habit ofproceedingatthecommencementofthework,which,itisbelieved,continuedthroughoutthewholeoftheoperations.Sunday,4thOct.The external part of the beacon was now finished, with its supports andbracing-chains,andwhateverelsewasconsiderednecessaryforitsstability,inso far as the seasonwould permit; and althoughmuchwas still wanting tocomplete this fabric, yet it was in such a state that it could be left withoutmuchfearoftheconsequencesofastorm.Thepaintingoftheupperpartwasnearlyfinished thisafternoonandtheSmeatonhadbroughtoffaquantityofbrushwoodandotherarticles,forthepurposeofheatingorcharringthelowerpart of the principal beams, before being laid overwith successive coats ofboilingpitch,totheheightoffromeighttotwelvefeet,orashighastheriseofspring-tides. A small flagstaff having also been erected to-day, a flag wasdisplayed for the first time from the beacon, bywhich its perspective effectwasgreatlyimproved.Onthis,asonalllikeoccasionsattheBellRock,threehearty cheers were given; and the steward served out a dram of rum to allhands,while theLighthouseyacht,Smeaton,and floating light,hoisted theircoloursincomplimenttotheerection.Monday,5thOct.In the afternoon, and just as the tide’s work was over, Mr. John Rennie,engineer, accompanied by his sonMr. George, on their way to the harbourworksofFraserburgh,inAberdeenshire,paidavisittotheBellRock,inaboatfromArbroath.Itbeingthentoolateinthetideforlanding,theyremainedonboardof theLighthouseyachtallnight,whenthewriter,whohadnowbeensecluded from society for several weeks, enjoyed much of Mr. Rennie’sinterestingconversation,bothongeneral topics, andprofessionallyupon theprogressoftheBellRockworks,onwhichhewasconsultedaschiefengineer.Tuesday,6thOct.The artificers landed this morning at nine, after which one of the boats

returned to the ship for the writer andMessrs. Rennie, who, upon landing,weresalutedwithadisplayofthecoloursfromthebeaconandbythreecheersfrom theworkmen. Everythingwas now in a prepared state for leaving therock, and giving up theworks afloat for this season, excepting some smallarticles,whichwouldstilloccupythesmithsandjoinersforafewdayslonger.They accordingly shifted on board of the Smealon,while the yacht left therockforArbroath,withMessrs.Rennie, thewriter,and the remainderof theartificers. But, before taking leave, the steward served out a farewell glass,when three hearty cheers were given, and an earnest wish expressed thateverything, in the springof1808,mightbe found in the same stateofgoodorderasitwasnowabouttobeleft.

Monday,29thFeb.ThewritersailedfromArbroathatonea.m.intheLighthouseyacht.Atseventhefloatinglightwashailed,andallonboardfoundtobewell.Thecrewwereobservedtohaveaveryhealthy-likeappearance,andlookedbetterthanatthecloseoftheworksupontherock.Theyseemedonlytoregretonething,whichwas the secession of their cook, Thomas Elliot—not on account of hisprofessional skill, but for his facetious and curious manner. Elliot hadsomethingpeculiar inhishistory,andwas reportedbyhiscomrades tohaveseenbetterdays.Hewas,however,happywithhis situationonboardof thefloating light, and having a taste for music, dancing, and acting plays, hecontributed much to the amusement of the ship’s company in their drearyabodeduring thewintermonths.Hehad also recommendedhimself to theirnoticeasagoodshipkeeperforasitdidnotanswerElliottogooftenashore,hehadalwaysgivenuphisturnofleavetohisneighbours.Athisowndesirehewas at length paid off,when he had a considerable balance ofwages toreceive,whichhesaidwouldbesufficienttocarryhimtotheWestIndies,andheaccordinglytookleaveoftheLighthouseservice.Tuesday,1stMarch.AtdaybreaktheLighthouseyacht,attendedbyaboatfromthefloatinglight,again stood towards the Bell Rock. The weather felt extremely cold thismorning, the thermometer being at 34 degrees, with the wind at east,accompanied by occasional showers of snow, and the marine barometerindicated29.80.Athalf-pastseventhesearanwithsuchforceupontherockthatitseemeddoubtfulifalandingcouldbeeffected.Athalf-pasteight,whenitwasfairlyabovewater,thewritertookhisplaceinthefloatinglight’sboatwith the artificers,while theyacht’s boat followed, according to thegeneral

ruleofhavingtwoboatsafloatinlandingexpeditionsofthiskind,that,incaseofaccidenttooneboat,theothermightassist.Inseveralunsuccessfulattemptstheboatswerebeatbackbythebreachoftheseaupontherock.Ontheeasternside itseparated into twodistinctwaves,whichcamewithasweeproundtothewesternside,where theymet;andat the instanceof theirconfluence thewater rose in spray toaconsiderableheight.Watchingwhat thesailors termasmooth,wecaughtafavourableopportunity,andinaverydexterousmannertheboatswererowedbetweenthetwoseas,andmadeafavourablelandingatthewesterncreek.At the latter end of last season, as was formerly noticed, the beacon waspaintedwhite,andfromthebleachingoftheweatherandthespraysoftheseatheupperpartswerekeptclean;butwithintherangeofthetidetheprincipalbeamswereobservedtobethicklycoatedwithagreenstuff,theconfervaofbotanists.Notwithstanding the intrusionof theseworks,whichhad formerlybanishedthenumeroussealsthatplayedabouttherock,theywerenowseeningreatnumbers,havingbeen inanalmostundisturbedstate forsixmonths. Ithadnowalso,forthefirsttime,gotsomeinhabitantsofthefeatheredtribe:inparticular the scarth or cormorant, and the large herring-gull, hadmade thebeacon a resting-place, from its vicinity to their fishing-grounds. About adozenofthesebirdshadresteduponthecross-beams,which,insomeplaces,werecoatedwith theirdung;andtheirflight,as theboatsapproached,wasavery unlooked-for indication of life and habitation on the Bell Rock,conveyingthemomentaryideaoftheconversionofthisfatalrock,frombeingaterrortothemariner,intoaresidenceofmanandasafeguardtoshipping.Upon narrowly examining the great iron stanchions with which the beamswerefixedtotherock,thewriterhadthesatisfactionoffindingthattherewasnottheleastappearanceofworkingorshiftingatanyofthejointsorplacesofconnection; and, excepting the loosening of the bracing-chains, everythingwas found in thesameentire state inwhich ithadbeen left in themonthofOctober. This, in the estimation of the writer, was a matter of no smallimportance to the future successof thework.He from thatmoment saw thepracticability and propriety of fitting up the beacon, not only as a place ofrefuge in caseof accident to theboats in landing,but as a residence for theartificersduringtheworkingmonths.While upon the top of the beacon thewriter was reminded by the landing-masterthattheseawasrunninghigh,andthatitwouldbenecessarytosetoffwhiletherockaffordedanythinglikesheltertotheboats,whichbythistimehadbeenmadefastbyalonglinetothebeacon,androdewithmuchagitation,each requiring two men with boat-hooks to keep them from striking eachother, or from ranging up against the beacon. But even under thesecircumstancesthegreatestconfidencewasfeltbyeveryone,fromthesecurity

afforded by this temporary erection. For, supposing the wind had suddenlyincreasedtoagale,andthatithadbeenfoundunadvisabletogointotheboats;or,supposingtheyhaddriftedorsprungaleakfromstrikingupontherocks;inanyof thesepossible andnot at all improbable cases, thosewhomight thushavebeenleftupontherockhadnowsomethingto layholdof,and, thoughoccupyingthisdrearyhabitationof thesea-gullandthecormorant,affordingonlybreadandwater,yetlifewouldbepreserved,andthemindwouldstillbesupportedbythehopeofbeingultimatelyrelieved.Wednesday,25thMay.On the 25th of May the writer embarked at Arbroath, on board of the SirJosephBanks,fortheBellRock,accompaniedbyMr.Logansenior,foremanbuilder,with twelvemasons, and two smiths, togetherwith thirteen seamen,includingthemaster,mate,andsteward.Thursday,26thMay.Mr.JamesWilson,nowcommanderofthePharos,floatinglight,andlanding-master, in the roomofMr. Sinclair,who had left the service, came into thewriter’scabinthismorningatsixo’clock,andintimatedthattherewasagoodappearance of landing on the rock. Everything being arranged, both boatsproceededincompany,andateighta.m.theyreachedtherock.Thelighthousecolours were immediately hoisted upon the flag-staff of the beacon, acomplimentwhichwas duly returned by the tender and floating light,whenthreeheartycheersweregiven,andaglassofrumwasservedouttoallhandstodrinksuccesstotheoperationsof1808.Friday,27thMay.Thismorning thewindwas at east, blowing a freshgale, theweatherbeinghazy,withaconsiderablebreachofseasettinginupontherock.Themorningbell was therefore rung, in some doubt as to the practicability ofmaking alanding.Afterallowingtherocktogetfullyup,ortobesufficientlyleftbythetide, that the boatsmight have some shelter from the range of the sea, theyproceededateighta.m.,anduponthewholemadeaprettygoodlanding;andaftertwohoursandthree-quarters’workreturnedtotheshipinsafety.In theafternoon thewindconsiderably increased, and, asaprettyheavyseawasstillrunning,thetenderrodeveryhard,whenMr.Taylor,thecommander,found it necessary to take in the bowsprit, and strike the fore and maintopmasts, thatshemightridemoreeasily.Afterconsultingabout thestateoftheweather,itwasresolvedtoleavetheartificersonboardthisevening,and

carry only the smiths to the rock, as the sharpening of the ironswas ratherbehind, fromtheirbeingsomuchbrokenandbluntedby thehardand toughnatureoftherock,whichbecamemuchmorecompactandhardasthedepthofexcavationwasincreased.Besidesavoidingtheriskofencumberingtheboatswithanumberofmenwhohadnotyetgotthefullcommandoftheoarinabreach of sea, the writer had another motive for leaving them behind. Hewantedtoexaminethesiteofthebuildingwithoutinterruption,andtotakethecomparativelevelsofthedifferentinequalitiesofitsarea;andasitwouldhavebeen painful to have seenmen standing idle upon theBellRock,where allmovedwithactivity, itwas judgedbetter to leave themonboard.Theboatslandedathalf-pastsevenp.m.,andthelanding-master,withtheseamen,wasemployed during this tide in cutting the seaweeds from the several pathsleading to the landing-places, to render walking more safe, for, from theslipperystateofthesurfaceoftherock,manyseveretumbleshadtakenplace.In the meantime the writer took the necessary levels, and having carefullyexaminedthesiteofthebuildingandconsideredallitsparts,itstillappearedtobenecessary toexcavate to theaveragedepthof fourteen inchesover thewholeareaofthefoundation.Saturday,28thMay.Thewindstillcontinuedfromtheeastwardwithaheavyswell;andto-dayitwas accompanied with foggy weather and occasional showers of rain.Notwithstanding this, such was the confidence which the erection of thebeaconhadinspiredthattheboatslandedtheartificersontherockunderveryunpromisingcircumstances,athalf-pasteight,andtheycontinuedatworktillhalf-pasteleven,beingaperiodofthreehours,whichwasconsideredagreattide’sworkinthepresentlowstateofthefoundation.Threeofthemasonsonboardweresoafflictedwithsea-sickness that theyhadnotbeenable to takeanyfoodforalmostthreedays,andtheywereliterallyassistedintotheboatsthismorningby their companions. Itwas, however, not a little surprising tosee how speedily thesemen revived upon landing on the rock and eating alittledulse.Twoofthemafterwardsassistedthesailorsincollectingthechipsof stone and carrying them out of the way of the pickmen; but the thirdcomplainedofapaininhishead,andwasstillunabletodoanything.Insteadof returning to the tender with the boats, these three men remained on thebeacon all day, and had their victuals sent to them along with the smiths’.FromMr.Dove,theforemansmith,theyhadmuchsympathy,forhepreferredremainingonthebeaconatallhazards,tobehimselfrelievedfromthemaladyof sea-sickness. The wind continuing high, with a heavy sea, and the tidefallinglate,itwasnotjudgedpropertolandtheartificersthisevening,butinthetwilighttheboatsweresenttofetchthepeopleonboardwhohadbeenleft

ontherock.Sunday,29thMay.ThewindwasfromtheS.W.to-day,andthesignal-bellrung,asusual,aboutan hour before the period for landing on the rock. The writer was rathersurprised,however,tohearthelanding-masterrepeatedlycall,“Allhandsfortherock!”and,comingondeck,hewasdisappointedtofindtheseamenonlyintheboats.Uponinquiry,itappearedthatsomemisunderstandinghadtakenplaceaboutthewagesoftheartificersforSundays.Theyhadpreferredwagesforsevendaysstatedly to theformermodeofallowingadayforeach tide’sworkonSunday,astheydidnotliketheappearanceofworkingfordoubleoreven treblewagesonSunday,andwould ratherhave itunderstood that theirworkonthatdayarosemorefromtheurgencyofthecasethanwithaviewtoemolument.Thishavingbeenjudgedcreditabletotheirreligiousfeelings,andreadilyadjusted to theirwish, theboatsproceeded to therock,and theworkcommencedatninea.m.Monday,30thMay.Mr.FrancisWattcommenced,withfivejoiners,tofitupatemporaryplatformupon the beacon, about twenty-five feet above the highest part of the rock.Thisplatformwastobeusedasthesiteofthesmith’sforge,afterthebeaconshouldbefittedupasabarrack;andherealsothemortarwastobemixedandpreparedforthebuilding,anditwasaccordinglytermedtheMortarGallery.Thelanding-master’screwcompletedthedischargingfromtheSmeatonofhercargoof thecast-iron rails and timber. Itmustnotherebeomitted tonoticethattheSmeatontookinballastfromtheBellRock,consistingoftheshiversor chips of stone produced by the workmen in preparing the site of thebuilding,whichwerenowaccumulatingingreatquantitiesontherock.Thesetheboats loaded, afterdischarging the iron.Theobject in carryingoff thesechips, besides ballasting the vessel,was to get thempermanently out of theway, as theywere apt to shift about fromplace to placewith every gale ofwind; and it often required a considerable time to clear the foundation asecondtimeofthisrubbish.ThecircumstanceofballastingashipattheBellRockaffordedgreatentertainment,especiallytothesailors;anditwasperhapswithtruthremarkedthattheSmeatonwasthefirstvesselthathadevertakenon board ballast at the Bell Rock.Mr. Pool, the commander of this vessel,afterwards acquainted thewriter that,when the ballastwas landed upon thequayatLeith,manypersonscarriedawayspecimensof it,aspartofacargofromtheBellRock;whenheadded, thatsuchwas the interestexcited, fromthenumberofspecimenscarriedaway,thatsomeofhisfriendssuggestedthat

he shouldhave sent thewhole to theCrossofEdinburgh,where eachpiecemighthavesoldforapenny.Tuesday,31stMay.Intheeveningtheboatswenttotherock,andbroughtthejoinersandsmiths,andtheirsicklycompanions,onboardofthetender.Thesealsobroughtwiththem twobaskets fullof fish,which theyhadcaughtathigh-water from thebeacon, reporting, at the same time, to their comrades, that the fish wereswimminginsuchnumbersovertherockathigh-waterthatitwascompletelyhidfromtheirsight,andnothingseenbutthemovementofthousandsoffish.Theywerealmostexclusivelyofthespeciescalledthepodlie,oryoungcoal-fish. This discovery, made for the first time to-day by the workmen, wasconsidered fortunate, as an additional circumstance likely to produce aninclinationamongtheartificerstotakeuptheirresidenceinthebeacon,whenitcametobefittedupasabarrack.Tuesday,7thJune.At three o’clock in the morning the ship’s bell was rung as the signal forlandingattherock.Whenthelandingwastobemadebeforebreakfast,itwascustomarytogiveeachoftheartificersandseamenadramandabiscuit,andcoffeewaspreparedbythestewardforthecabins.Exactlyatfouro’clockthewholepartylandedfromthreeboats,includingoneofthosebelongingtothefloatinglight,withapartofthatship’screw,whichalwaysattendedtheworksinmoderateweather.Thelanding-master’sboat,calledtheSeaman,butmorecommonlycalledtheLifeboat,tookthelead.Thenextboat,calledtheMason,wasgenerallysteeredbythewriter;whilethefloatinglight’sboat,Pharos,wasunderthemanagementoftheboatswainofthatship.Having now so considerable a party ofworkmen and sailors on the rock, itmay be proper here to notice how their labourswere directed. Preparationshaving been made last month for the erection of a second forge upon thebeacon, the smiths commenced their operations both upon the lower andhigherplatforms.Theywereemployed insharpening thepicksand irons forthe masons, and making bats and other apparatus of various descriptionsconnected with the fitting of the railways. The landing-master’s crew wereoccupiedinassistingthemillwrightsinlayingtherailwaystohand.Sailors,ofallotherdescriptionsofmen,arethemostaccommodatingintheuseoftheirhands. They worked freely with the boring-irons, and assisted in all theoperationsoftherailways,actingbyturnsasboatmen,seamen,andartificers.WehadnosuchcharacterontheBellRockasthecommonlabourer.All theoperationsofthisdepartmentwerecheerfullyundertakenbytheseamen,who,

bothontherockandonshipboard,weretheinseparablecompanionsofeverywork connected with the erection of the Bell Rock Lighthouse. It willnaturally be supposed that about twenty-five masons, occupied with theirpicks in executing and preparing the foundation of the lighthouse, in thecourseofa tideofabout threehours,wouldmakeaconsiderable impressionupon an area even of forty-two feet in diameter. But in proportion as thefoundation was deepened, the rock was found to be much more hard anddifficulttowork,whilethebalingandpumpingofwaterbecamemuchmoretroublesome.Ajoinerwaskeptalmostconstantlyemployedinfittingthepickstotheirhandles,which,aswellasthepointstotheirons,wereveryfrequentlybroken.The Bell Rock this morning presented by far the most busy and activeappearance it had exhibited since the erection of the principal beams of thebeacon. The surface of the rock was crowded with men, the two forgesflaming,theoneabovetheother,uponthebeacon,whiletheanvilsthunderedwith the rebounding noise of their wooden supports, and formed a curiouscontrastwith the occasional clamour of the surges. Thewindwaswesterly,andtheweatherbeingextremelyagreeable,sosoonafterbreakfastasthetidehadsufficientlyoverflowedtherocktofloattheboatsoverit,thesmiths,withanumberoftheartificers,returnedtothebeacon,carryingtheirfishing-tacklealongwith them. In the course of the forenoon, the beacon exhibited a stillmoreextraordinaryappearancethantherockhaddoneinthemorning.Theseabeing smooth, it seemed tobe afloatupon thewater,with anumberofmensupporting themselves inall thevarietyofattitudeandposition:while, fromtheupperpartof thiswoodenhouse, thevolumesof smokewhichascendedfromtheforgesgavethewholeaverycuriousandfancifulappearance.Inthecourseofthistideitwasobservedthataheavyswellwassettinginfromthe eastward, and the appearance of the sky indicated a change ofweather,whilethewindwasshiftingabout.Thebarometeralsohadfallenfrom30in.to29.6.Itwas,therefore,judgedprudenttoshiftthevesseltotheS.W.ormoredistant buoy. Her bowsprit was also soon afterwards taken in, the topmastsstruck, andeverythingmade snug, as seamen term it, for agale.During thecourseof thenight thewindincreasedandshifted to theeastward,whenthevesselrolledveryhard,andtheseaoftenbrokeoverherbowswithgreatforce.Wednesday,8thJune.Althoughthemotionofthetenderwasmuchlessthanthatofthefloatinglight—atleast,inregardtotherollingmotion—yetshesended,orpitched,much.Beingalsoofaveryhandsomebuild,andwhatseamentermverycleanaft,theseaoftenstruckhercounterwithsuchforcethatthewriter,whopossessedtheaftermost cabin, being unaccustomed to this new vessel, could not divest

himself of uneasiness; forwhen her stern fell into the sea, it struckwith somuchviolence as tobemore like the resistanceof a rock than the sea.Thewater,atthesametime,oftenrushedwithgreatforceuptherudder-case,and,forcingupthevalveofthewater-closet,thefloorofhiscabinwasattimeslaidunderwater.Thegalecontinuedtoincrease,andthevesselrolledandpitchedin such amanner that the hawser bywhich the tenderwasmade fast to thebuoysnapped,andshewentadrift. In theactofswingingroundto thewindshe shipped a very heavy sea, which greatly alarmed the artificers, whoimagined thatwe had got upon the rock; but this, from the direction of thewind,wasimpossible.Thewriter,however,sprungupondeck,wherehefoundthe sailors busily employed in rigging out the bowsprit and in setting sail.From theeasterlydirectionof thewind, itwasconsideredmostadvisable tosteerfortheFirthofForth,andtherewaitachangeofweather.Attwop.m.weaccordingly passed the Isle ofMay, at six anchored in Leith Roads, and ateight thewriter landed,when he came in upon his friends,whowere not alittle surprised at his unexpected appearance, which gave an instantaneousalarmforthesafetyofthingsattheBellRock.Thursday,9thJune.Thewind still continued to blow very hard at E. byN., and the Sir JosephBanksrodeheavily,andevendriftedwithbothanchorsahead,inLeithRoads.The artificers did not attempt to leave the ship last night; but there beingupwardsoffiftypeopleonboard,andthedecksgreatlylumberedwiththetwolargeboats,theywereinaverycrowdedandimpatientstateonboard.Butto-day theygotashore,andamused themselvesbywalkingabout thestreetsofEdinburgh,someinveryhumbleapparel,fromhavingonlytheworstoftheirjacketswiththem,which,thoughquitesuitablefortheirwork,werehardlyfitforpublicinspection,beingnotonlytattered,butgreatlystainedwiththeredcolouroftherock.Friday,10thJune.To-daythewindwasatS.E.,withlightbreezesandfoggyweather.Atsixa.m.the writer again embarked for the Bell Rock, when the vessel immediatelysailed.Atelevenp.m., therebeingnowind, thekedge-anchorwas letgooffAnstruther,oneofthenumeroustownsonthecoastofFife,wherewewaitedthereturnofthetide.Saturday,11thJune.Atsixa.m.theSirJosephgotunderweigh,andatelevenwasagainmadefast

tothesouthernbuoyattheBellRock.Thoughitwasnowlateinthetide,thewriter,beinganxioustoascertainthestateofthingsafterthegale,landedwiththe artificers to thenumberof forty-four.Everythingwas found in an entirestate;but,asthetidewasnearlygone,onlyhalfanhour’sworkhadbeengotwhenthesiteofthebuildingwasoverflowed.Intheeveningtheboatsagainlandedatnine,and,afteragoodtide’sworkofthreehourswithtorchlight,theworkwasleftoffatmidnight.Tothedistantshippingtheappearanceofthingsundernighton theBellRock,whentheworkwasgoingforward,musthavebeen very remarkable, especially to those who were strangers to theoperations.Mr.JohnReid,principallightkeeper,whoalsoactedasmasterofthe floating light during the working months at the rock, described theappearanceofthenumerouslightssituatedsolowinthewater,whenseenatthe distance of two or three miles, as putting him in mind of Milton’sdescriptionofthefiendsinthelowerregions,adding,“foritseemsgreatlytosurpassWill-o’-the-wisp,oranyofthoseearthlyspectresofwhichwehavesooftenheard.”Monday13thJune.Fromthedifficultiesattendingthelandingontherock,owingtothebreachofsea which had for days past been around it, the artificers showed somebackwardness at getting into the boats this morning; but after a littleexplanation thiswas got over. It was always observable that for some timeafter anything like danger had occurred at the rock, the workmen becamemuch more cautious, and on some occasions their timidity was rathertroublesome. It fortunately happened, however, that along with the writer’sassistantsandthesailorstherewerealsosomeoftheartificersthemselveswhofeltnosuchscruples,and in thisway thesedifficultieswere themoreeasilysurmounted. Inmatterswhere life is indanger it becomesnecessary to treateven unfounded prejudices with tenderness, as an accident, under certaincircumstances,wouldnotonlyhavebeenparticularlypainful to thosegivingdirections,buthaveprovedhighlydetrimental to thework, especially in theearlystagesofitsadvancement.At four o’clock fifty-eight persons landed; but the tides being extremelylanguid,thewateronlyleftthehigherpartsoftherock,andnoworkcouldbedoneat thesiteof thebuilding.Athirdforgewas,however,put inoperationduringa short time, for thegreaterconveniencyof sharpening thepicksandirons,andforpurposesconnectedwiththepreparationsforfixingtherailwayson the rock.Theweather towards the evening became thick and foggy, andtherewashardlyabreathofwindtorufflethesurfaceofthewater.Haditnot,therefore,beenforthenoisefromtheanvilsofthesmithswhohadbeenleftonthebeaconthroughouttheday,whichaffordedaguidefortheboats,alanding

couldnothavebeenattemptedthisevening,especiallywithsuchacompanyofartificers.Thiscircumstanceconfirmedthewriter’sopinionwithregardtothe propriety of connecting large bells to be rung with machinery in thelighthouse,tobetolleddayandnightduringthecontinuanceoffoggyweather.Thursday,23rdJune.Theboatslandedthisevening,whentheartificershadagaintwohours’work.The weather still continuing very thick and foggy, more difficulty wasexperienced ingettingonboardof thevessels to-night thanhadoccurredonany previous occasion, owing to a light breeze of wind which carried thesoundof thebell, and theother signalsmadeonboardof thevessels, awayfromtherock.HavingfortunatelymadeoutthepositionofthesloopSmeatonattheN.E.buoy—towhichweweremuchassistedbythebarkingoftheship’sdog,—wepartedwiththeSmeaton’sboat,whentheboatsofthetendertookafresh departure for that vessel, which lay about half a mile to the south-westward.Yetsuchistheverydeceivingstateofthetides,that,althoughtherewas a small binnacle and compass in the landing-master’s boat, we had,nevertheless,passedtheSirJosephagoodway,when,fortunately,oneofthesailorscatchedthesoundofablowing-horn.Theonlyfirearmsonboardwereapairofswivelsofone-inchcalibre;but it isquitesurprisinghowmuchthesound is lost in foggyweather, as the report was heard but at a very shortdistance.Thesoundfromtheexplosionofgunpowderissoinstantaneousthattheeffectofthesmallgunswasnotsogoodaseithertheblowingofahornorthetollingofabell,whichaffordedamoreconstantandsteadydirectionforthepilot.Wednesday,6thJuly.Landedontherockwiththethreeboatsbelongingtothetenderatfivep.m.,and began immediately to bale the water out of the foundation-pit with anumberofbuckets,while thepumpswere alsokept in actionwith relaysofartificers and seamen. The work commenced upon the higher parts of thefoundationasthewaterleftthem,butitwasnowprettygenerallyreducedtoalevel.Abouttwentymencouldbeconvenientlyemployedateachpump,anditis quite astonishing in how short a time so great a body of water could bedrawn off. Thewater in the foundation-pit at this timemeasured about twofeetindepth,onanareaofforty-twofeetindiameter,andyetitwasdrawnoffin thecourseofabouthalfanhour.After this theartificerscommencedwiththeirpicksandcontinuedatworkfortwohoursandahalf,someofthesailorsbeingatthesametimebusilyemployedinclearingthefoundationofchipsandinconveyingtheironstoandfromthesmithsonthebeacon,wheretheywere

sharped. At eight o’clock the sea broke in upon us and overflowed thefoundation-pit,whentheboatsreturnedtothetender.Thursday,7thJuly.The landing-master’sbell rung thismorningabout fouro’clock,andathalf-pastfive,thefoundationbeingcleared,theworkcommencedonthesiteofthebuilding. But from the moment of landing, the squad of joiners andmillwrights was at work upon the higher parts of the rock in laying therailways, while the anvils of the smith resounded on the beacon, and suchcolumnsofsmokeascendedfromtheforgesthattheywereoftenmistakenbystrangersatadistanceforashiponfire.Aftercontinuingthreehoursatworkthefoundationofthebuildingwasagainoverflowed,andtheboatsreturnedtothe ship at half-past eight o’clock. The masons and pickmen had, at thisperiod, a pretty long day on board of the tender, but the smiths and joinerswere kept constantly at work upon the beacon, the stability and greatconveniencyofwhichhadnowbeensofullyshownthatnodoubtremainedasto theproprietyof fitting itupasabarrack.Theworkmenwereaccordinglyemployed, during the period of high-water, in making preparations for thispurpose.Thefoundation-pitnowassumedtheappearanceofagreatplatform,and thelatetideshadbeensofavourablethatitbecameapparentthatthefirstcourse,consisting of a few irregular and detached stones for making up certaininequalitiesintheinteriorpartsofthesiteofthebuilding,mightbelaidinthecourse of the present spring-tides. Having been enabled to-day to get thedimensions of the foundation, or first stone, accurately taken, amouldwasmadeof itsfigure,whenthewriter left therock,after thetide’sworkof thismorning,inafastrowing-boatforArbroath;and,uponlanding,twomenwereimmediately set to work upon one of the blocks from Mylnefield quarry,whichwas prepared in the course of the following day, as the stone-cuttersrelievedeachother,andworkedbothnightandday,sothatitwassentoffinoneofthestone-lighterswithoutdelay.Saturday,9thJuly.Thesiteofthefoundation-stonewasverydifficulttowork,fromitsdepthinthe rock;butbeingnownearlyprepared, it formedaveryagreeablekindofpastimeathigh-waterforallhandstolandthestoneitselfupontherock.Thelanding-master’screwandartificersaccordinglyenteredwithgreatspiritintothisoperation.ThestonewasplaceduponthedeckoftheHedderwickpraam-boat,whichhadjustbeenbroughtfromLeith,andwasdecoratedwithcoloursfor the occasion. Flagswere also displayed from the shipping in the offing,

anduponthebeacon.Herethewritertookhisstationwiththegreaterpartoftheartificers,whosupported themselves ineverypossiblepositionwhile theboatstowedthepraamfromhermooringsandbroughtherimmediatelyoverthe siteof thebuilding,wherehergrapplinganchorswere let go.The stonewasthenliftedoffthedeckbyatacklehookedintoaLewisbatinsertedintoit,when it was gently lowered into thewater and grounded on the site of thebuilding,amidstthecheeringacclamationsofaboutsixtypersons.Sunday,10thJuly.At eleveno’clock the foundation-stonewas laid to hand. Itwas of a squareform,containingabouttwentycubicfeet,andhadthefigures,ordate,of1808simply cut upon it with a chisel. A derrick, or spar of timber, having beenerected at the edge of the hole and guyed with ropes, the stone was thenhookedtothetackleandloweredintoitsplace,whenthewriter,attendedbyhisassistants—Mr.PeterLogan,Mr.FrancisWatt,andMr.JamesWilson,—applied the square, the level, and themallet, and pronounced the followingbenediction:“MaytheGreatArchitectoftheUniversecompleteandblessthisbuilding,”onwhichthreeheartycheersweregiven,andsuccesstothefutureoperationswasdrunkwiththegreatestenthusiasm.Tuesday,26thJuly.ThewindbeingatS.E.thisevening,wehadaprettyheavyswellofseaupontherock,andsomedifficultyattendedourgettingoffinsafety,astheboatsgotagroundin thecreekandwere indangerofbeingupset.Uponextinguishingthe torch-lights, about twelve in number, the darkness of the night seemedquite horrible; the water being also much charged with the phosphorescentappearancewhich is familiar to every one on shipboard, thewaves, as theydashed upon the rock,were in some degree like somuch liquid flame.Thescene,uponthewhole,wastrulyawful!Wednesday,27thJuly.In leaving the rock this evening everything, after the torches wereextinguished, had the samedismal appearance as last night, but soperfectlyacquaintedwerethelanding-masterandhiscrewwiththepositionofthingsatthe rock, that comparatively little inconveniency was experienced on theseoccasionswhentheweatherwasmoderate;suchistheeffectofhabit,eveninthe most unpleasant situations. If, for example, it had been proposed to apersonaccustomedtoacitylife,atoncetotakeuphisquartersoffasunkenreefand landupon it inboatsat allhoursof thenight, thepropositionmust

have appeared quite impracticable and extravagant; but this practice comingprogressively upon the artificers, it was ultimately undertaken with thegreatestalacrity.Notwithstandingthis,however,itmustbeacknowledgedthatitwasnottillaftermuchlabourandperil,andmanyananxioushour,thatthewriter is enabled to state that the site of the Bell Rock Lighthouse is fullypreparedforthefirstentirecourseofthebuilding.Friday,12thAug.The artificers landed thismorning at half-past ten, and after an hour and ahalf’sworkeightstoneswerelaid,whichcompletedthefirstentirecourseofthebuilding, consistingof123blocks, the last ofwhichwas laidwith threeheartycheers.Saturday,10thSept.Landed at nine a.m., and by a quarter-past twelve noon twenty-three stoneshadbeenlaid.Theworksbeingnowsomewhatelevatedbythelowercourses,wegotquitof theveryserious inconvenienceofpumpingwater toclear thefoundation-pit.Thisgavemuchfacilitytotheoperations,andwasnoticedwithexpressionsofasmuchhappinessby theartificersas theseamenhadshownwhenrelievedofthecontinualtroubleofcarryingthesmith’sbellowsofftherockpriortotheerectionofthebeacon.Wednesday,21stSept.Mr.ThomasMacurich,mateoftheSmeaton,andJamesScott,oneofthecrew,ayoungmanabouteighteenyearsofage,immediatelywentintotheirboattomakefastahawsertotheringinthetopofthefloatingbuoyofthemoorings,andwereforthwithtoproceedtolandtheircargo,somuchwanted,attherock.The tides at this period were very strong, and the mooring-chain, whensweeping theground,hadcaughtholdofa rockorpieceofwreckbywhichthe chain was so shortened that when the tide flowed the buoy got almostunder water, and little more than the ring appeared at the surface. WhenMacurichandScottwereintheactofmakingthehawserfasttothering,thechaingotsuddenlydisentangledatthebottom,andthislargebuoy,measuringaboutsevenfeetinheightandthreefeetindiameteratthemiddle,taperingtoboth ends, beingwhat seamen term aNun-buoy, vaulted or sprung upwithsuch force that it upset the boat, which instantly filled with water. Mr.Macurich, with much exertion, succeeded in getting hold of the boat’sgunwale,stillabovethesurfaceofthewater,andbythismeanswassaved;butthe youngman Scott was unfortunately drowned. He had in all probability

beenstruckabout theheadby the ringof thebuoy, foralthoughsurroundedwith the oars and the thwarts of the boat which floated near him, yet heseemedentirelytowantthepowerofavailinghimselfofsuchassistance,andappearedtobequiteinsensible,whilePool,themasteroftheSmeaton.calledloudly to him; and before assistance could be got from the tender, he wascarriedawaybythestrengthofthecurrentanddisappeared.The young man Scott was a great favourite in the service, having hadsomethinguncommonlymildandcomplaisantinhismanner;andhislosswastherefore universally regretted. The circumstances of his case were alsopeculiarlydistressing tohismother,asherhusband,whowasaseaman,hadforthreeyearspastbeenconfinedtoaFrenchprison,andthedeceasedwasthechiefsupportofthefamily.Inorderinsomemeasuretomakeupthelosstothepoorwomanforthemonthlyalimentregularlyallowedherbyherlateson,itwassuggestedthatayoungerboy,abrotherofthedeceased,mightbetakeninto theservice.Thisappeared toberatheradelicateproposition,but itwaslefttothelanding-mastertoarrangeaccordingtocircumstances;suchwastheresignation, and at the same time the spirit, of the poor woman, that shereadily accepted the proposal, and in a few days the younger Scott wasactuallyafloatintheplaceofhisbrother.Onrepresentingthisdistressingcaseto theBoard, theCommissionerswere pleased to grant an annuity of £5 toScott’smother.TheSmeaton,nothavingbeenmadefast tothebuoy,had,withtheebb-tide,driftedtoleewardaconsiderablewayeastwardoftherock,andcouldnot,tillthereturnoftheflood-tide,beworkeduptohermoorings,sothatthepresenttidewaslost,notwithstandingallexertionswhichhadbeenmadebothashoreandafloatwiththiscargo.Theartificerslandedatsixa.m.;but,asnomaterialscouldbegotupontherockthismorning,theywereemployedinboringtrenailholesandinvariousotheroperations,andafterfourhours’worktheyreturnedonboardthetender.WhentheSmeatongotuptohermoorings,thelanding-master’screwimmediatelybegan tounloadher.Therebeing toomuchwindfor towing thepraamsin theusualway, theywerewarped to therock in themost laborious manner by their windlasses, with successive grapplings andhawsers laid out for this purpose. At six p.m. the artificers landed, andcontinuedatworktillhalf-pastten,whentheremainingseventeenstoneswerelaidwhichcompletedthethirdentirecourse,orfourthofthelighthouse,withwhichthebuildingoperationswereclosedfortheseason.

Wednesday,24thMay.The last nightwas the first that thewriterhadpassed inhisoldquartersonboardofthefloatinglightforabouttwelvemonths,whentheweatherwasso

fine and the sea so smooth that even here he felt but little or no motion,excepting at the turnof the tide,when thevessel gets intowhat the seamentermthetroughofthesea.Atsixa.m.Mr.Watt,whoconductedtheoperationsoftherailwaysandbeacon-house,hadlandedwithnineartificers.Athalf-pastone p.m. Mr. Peter Logan had also landed with fifteen masons, andimmediatelyproceeded to setup thecrane.The sheer-craneorapparatus forliftingthestonesoutofthepraam-boatsattheeasterncreekhadbeenalreadyerected, and the railways now formed about two-thirds of an entire circleround the building: some progress had likewise been made with the reachtowards the western landing-place. The floors being laid, the beacon nowassumed the appearance of a habitation. TheSmeaton was at her moorings,withtheFerniepraam-boatastern,forwhichshewaslayingdownmoorings,and the tender being also at her station, theBellRock had again put on itsformerbusyaspect.Wednesday,31stMay.The landing-master’s bell, often no very favourite sound, rung at six thismorning;butonthisoccasion,itisbelieved,itwasgladlyreceivedbyallonboard,asthewelcomesignalofthereturnofbetterweather.Themasonslaidthirteen stones to-day, which the seamen had landed, together with otherbuilding materials. During these twenty-four hours the wind was from thesouth, blowing fresh breezes, accompanied with showers of snow. In themorning the snow showers were so thick that it was with difficulty thelanding-master,whoalwayssteered the leadingboat,couldmakehisway totherockthroughthedrift.ButattheBellRockneithersnownorrain,norfognor wind, retarded the progress of the work, if unaccompanied by a heavyswellorbreachofthesea.The weather during the months of April and May had been uncommonlyboisterous,andsocoldthat thethermometerseldomexceeded40º,while thebarometerwasgenerallyabout29.50.Wehadnotonlyhailandsleet,butthesnowon the lastdayofMay layon thedecksandriggingof theship to thedepth of about three inches; and, although now entering upon themonth ofJune,thelengthofthedaywasthechiefindicationofsummer.Yetsuchistheeffectofhabit,andsuchwastheexpertnessofthelanding-master’screw,that,evenin thisdescriptionofweather,seldomatide’sworkwaslost.Suchwasthe ardour and zeal of the heads of the several departments at the rock,including Mr. Peter Logan, foreman builder, Mr. Francis Watt, foremanmillwright, and CaptainWilson, landing-master, that it was on no occasionnecessary to address them, excepting in the way of precaution or restraint.Under these circumstances, however, the writer not unfrequently feltconsiderableanxiety,ofwhichthisday’sexperiencewillaffordanexample.

Thursday,1stJune.Thismorning,ataquarter-pasteight,theartificerswerelandedasusual,and,after three hours and three-quarters’work, five stoneswere laid, the greaterpartofthistidehavingbeentakenupincompletingtheboringandtrenailingofthestonesformerlylaid.Atnoonthewriter,withtheseamenandartificers,proceededtothetender,leavingonthebeaconthejoiners,andseveralofthosewho were troubled with sea-sickness—among whom was Mr. Logan, whoremainedwithMr.Watt—countingaltogetherelevenpersons.Duringthefirstand middle parts of these twenty-four hours the wind was from the east,blowingwhattheseamenterm“freshbreezes”;butintheafternoonitshiftedto E.N.E., accompaniedwith so heavy a swell of sea that the Smeaton andtenderstrucktheirtopmasts,launchedintheirbolt-sprits,and“madeallsnug”for a gale.At four p.m. theSmeatonwas obliged to slip hermoorings, andpassed the tender, drifting before the wind, with only the foresail set. Inpassing,Mr.PoolhailedthathemustrunfortheFirthofForthtopreventthevesselfrom“ridingunder.”Onboardof the tender thewriter’s chief concernwasabout theelevenmenleftuponthebeacon.Directionswereaccordinglygiventhateverythingaboutthevesselshouldbeputinthebestpossiblestate,topresentaslittleresistancetothewindaspossible,thatshemighthavethebetterchanceofridingoutthegale.Amongthesepreparationsthebestbowercablewasbent,soastohaveasecondanchorinreadinessincasethemooring-hawsershouldgiveway,thateverymeansmightbeusedforkeepingthevesselwithinsightoftheprisonersonthebeacon,andtherebykeeptheminasgoodspiritsaspossible.Fromthesamemotivetheboatswerekeptafloat that theymightbeless infearof thevessel leaving her station. The landing-master had, however, repeatedlyexpressed his anxiety for the safety of the boats, andwishedmuch to havethem hoisted on board. At seven p.m. one of the boats, as he feared, wasunluckilyfilledwithseafromawavebreakingintoher,anditwaswithgreatdifficulty that she couldbebaledout andgotonboard,with the lossofheroars,rudder,andloosethwarts.Suchwasthemotionoftheshipthatintakingthis boat on board her gunwale was stove in, and she otherwise receivedconsiderabledamage.Nightapproached,butitwasstillfoundquiteimpossibletogonear the rock.Consulting, therefore, thesafetyof thesecondboat, shealsowashoistedonboardofthetender.At this time the cabins of the beaconwere only partially covered, and hadneitherbeenprovidedwithbeddingnoraproperfireplace,whilethestockofprovisionswasbut slender. In theseuncomfortablecircumstances thepeopleonthebeaconwereleftforthenight,norwasthesituationofthoseonboardof the tendermuch better. The rolling and pitchingmotion of the shipwas

excessive;and,exceptingtothosewhohadbeenaccustomedtoaresidenceinthe floating light, it seemed quite intolerable. Nothing was heard but thehissingofthewindsandthecreakingofthebulkheadsorpartitionsoftheship;the night was, therefore, spent in the most unpleasant reflections upon theconditionofthepeopleonthebeacon,especiallyintheprospectofthetenderbeingdriven fromhermoorings.But, even in such a case, it afforded someconsolation that the stability of the fabric was never doubted, and that theboatsof the floating lightwereatnogreatdistance,and ready to render thepeopleontherocktheearliestassistancewhichtheweatherwouldpermit.Thewriter’scabinbeinginthesternmostpartoftheship,whichhadwhatsailorsterm a good entry, orwas sharp built, the sea, as before noticed, struck hercounterwithsomuchviolencethatthewater,witharushingnoise,continuallyforced its way up the rudder-case, lifted the valve of the water-closet, andoverran the cabin floor. In these circumstances daylightwas eagerly lookedfor,andhailedwithdelight,aswellbythoseafloatasbytheartificersupontherock.Friday,2ndJune.In the course of the night the writer held repeated conversations with theofficeronwatch,whoreported that theweathercontinuedmuchin thesamestate, and that the barometer still indicated 29.20 inches. At six a.m. thelanding-master considered the weather to have somewhat moderated; and,fromcertainappearancesof thesky,hewasofopinion thatachangefor thebetterwouldsoontakeplace.Heaccordinglyproposedtoattemptalandingatlow-water, and either get the people off the rock, or at least ascertainwhatstate theywere in.At nine a.m.he left thevesselwith a boatwellmanned,carryingwithhimasupplyofcookedprovisionsandatea-kettlefullofmulledportwineforthepeopleonthebeacon,whohadnothadanyregulardietforabout thirty hours, while they were exposed during that period, in a greatmeasure, both to the winds and the sprays of the sea. The boat havingsucceededinlanding,shereturnedatelevena.m.withtheartificers,whohadgotoffwithconsiderabledifficulty,andwhowereheartilywelcomedbyallonboard.Upon inquiry it appeared that threeof the stones last laidupon thebuildinghadbeenpartiallyliftedfromtheirbedsbytheforceofthesea,andwerenowheld only by the trenails, and that the cast-iron sheer-crane had again beenthrown down and completely broken.With regard to the beacon, the sea athigh-water had lifted part of themortar gallery or lowest floor, andwashedawayall the lime-casksandothermovablearticles from it;but theprincipalpartsofthisfabrichadsustainednodamage.OnpressingMessrs.LoganandWatt on the situation of things in the course of the night, Mr. Logan

emphaticallysaid;“Thatthebeaconhadanill-fauredtwistwhentheseabrokeuponitathigh-water,butthattheywerenotveryapprehensiveofdanger.”Oninquiringastohowtheyspentthenight,itappearedthattheyhadmadeshiftto keep a small fire burning, and by means of some old sails defendedthemselvesprettywellfromtheseasprays.ItwasparticularlymentionedthatbytheexertionsofJamesGlen,oneofthejoiners, a number of articles were saved from being washed off themortargallery.Glenwasalsoveryusefulinkeepingupthespiritsoftheforlornparty.In the early part of life he had undergonemany curious adventures at sea,which he now recounted somewhat after the manner of the tales of the“ArabianNights.”Whenoneobservedthatthebeaconwasamostcomfortlesslodging,Glenwouldpresentlyintroducesomeofhisexploitsandhardships,incomparison with which the state of things at the beacon bore an aspect ofcomfortandhappiness.Lookingtotheirslenderstockofprovisions,andtheirperilous anduncertain chance of speedy relief, hewould launchout into anaccount of one of his expeditions in theNorth Sea, when the vessel, beingmuchdisabledinastorm,wasdrivenbeforethewindwiththelossofalmostall their provisions; and the ship being much infested with rats, the crewhunted theseverminwithgreateagerness tohelp their scantyallowance.BysuchmeansGlenhadtheaddresstomakehiscompanions,insomemeasure,satisfied,oratleastpassive,withregardtotheirmiserableprospectsuponthishalf-tide rock in the middle of the ocean. This incident is noticed, moreparticularly,toshowtheeffectsofsuchahappyturnofmind,evenunderthemostdistressingandill-fatedcircumstances.Saturday,17thJune.At eight a.m. the artificers and sailors, forty-five in number, landed on therock,andafterfourhours’worksevenstoneswerelaid.Theremainderofthistide, from the threatening appearance of the weather, was occupied intrenailingandmakingallthingsassecureaspossible.Attwelvenoontherockandbuildingwere againoverflowed,when themasons and seamenwent onboardofthetender,butMr.Watt,withhissquadoftenmen,remainedonthebeaconthroughouttheday.AsitblewfreshfromtheN.W.intheevening,itwas found impracticable either to land the building artificers or to take theartificersoffthebeacon,andtheywereaccordinglyleftthereallnight,butincircumstancesverydifferent fromthoseof the1stof thismonth.Thehouse,being now in a more complete state, was provided with bedding, and theyspent the night pretty well, though they complained of having been muchdisturbed at the timeof high-water by the shaking and tremulousmotion oftheirhouseandbytheplashingnoiseoftheseauponthemortargallery.HereJamesGlen’sversatilepowerswereagainatwork incheeringup thosewho

seemed tobealarmed,and insecuringeverythingas faraspossible.On thisoccasionhehadonlytorecalltotherecollectionsofsomeofthemtheformernightwhichtheyhadspentonthebeacon,thewindandseabeingthenmuchhigher,andtheirhabitationinafarlesscomfortablestate.ThewindstillcontinuingtoblowfreshfromtheN.W.,atfivep.m.thewritercausedasignaltobemadefromthetenderfortheSmeatonandPatriottosliptheirmoorings,whentheyranforLunanBay,ananchorageontheeastsideoftheRedhead.Thoseonboardofthetenderspentbutaveryroughnight,andperhapssleptlesssoundlythantheircompanionsonthebeacon,especiallyasthewindwasatN.W.,whichcausedthevesseltoridewithhersterntowardstheBellRock;sothat,intheeventofanythinggivingway,shecouldhardlyhaveescapedbeingstrandeduponit.Sunday,18thJune.Theweatherhavingmoderatedto-day,thewindshiftedtothewestward.Ataquarter-past nine a.m. the artificers landed from the tender and had thepleasure to find their friends who had been left on the rock quite hearty,allegingthatthebeaconwasthepreferablequartersofthetwo.Saturday,24thJune.Mr.PeterLogan, the foremanbuilder, andhis squad, twenty-one innumber,landedthismorningatthreeo’clock,andcontinuedatworkfourhoursandaquarter, andafter laying seventeen stones returned to the tender.At six a.m.Mr. FrancisWatt and his squad of twelvemen landed, and proceededwiththeir respective operations at the beacon and railways, andwere left on therockduringthewholedaywithoutthenecessityofhavinganycommunicationwiththetender,thekitchenofthebeacon-housebeingnowfittedup.Itwasto-day,also,thatPeterFortune—amostobligingandwell-knowncharacterintheLighthouseservice—wasremovedfromthetendertothebeaconascookandsteward,withastockofprovisionsasampleashis limitedstoreroomwouldadmit.Whenasmanystoneswerebuiltascomprisedthisday’swork,thedemandformortar was proportionally increased, and the task of the mortar-makers onthese occasions was both laborious and severe. This operation was chieflyperformedbyJohnWatt—astrong,activequarrierbyprofession,—whowasaperfectcharacter inhisway,andextremelyzealous inhisdepartment.Whilethe operations of themortar-makers continued, the forge upon their gallerywasnotgenerally inuse;but,as theworkinghoursof thebuildersextendedwith the height of the building, the forge could not be so longwanted, andthenasadconfusionoftenensueduponthecircumscribedfloorofthemortar

gallery,astheoperationsofWattandhisassistantstrenchedgreatlyuponthoseofthesmiths.Underthesecircumstancestheboundaryofthesmithswasmuchcircumscribed, and they were personally annoyed, especially in blowyweather,withthedustofthelimeinitspowderedstate.Themortar-makers,ontheotherhand,wereoftennotalittledistressedwiththeheatofthefireandthe sparks elicited on the anvil, and not unaptly complained that theywereplacedbetween“thedevilandthedeepsea.”Sunday,25thJune.Theworkbeingnowabouttenfeetinheight,admittedofarope-ladderbeingdistendedbetweenthebeaconandthebuilding.Bythis“Jacob’sLadder,”astheseamentermedit,acommunicationwaskeptupwiththebeaconwhiletherockwasconsiderablyunderwater.Oneendofitbeingfurnishedwithtackle-blocks,wasfixedtothebeamsofthebeacon,atthelevelofthemortargallery,whilethefurtherendwasconnectedwiththeuppercourseofthebuildingbymeansoftwoLewisbatswhichwereliftedfromcoursetocourseastheworkadvanced. In the samemannera rope furnishedwitha travellingpulleywasdistended for thepurposeof transporting themortar-buckets, andother lightarticles between the beacon and the building, which also proved a greatconveniency to the work. At this period the rope-ladder and tackle for themortarhadadescentfromthebeacontothebuilding;byandbytheywereonalevel,andtowardstheendoftheseason,whenthesolidparthadattaineditsfullheight,theascentwasfromthemortargallerytothebuilding.Friday,30thJune.The artificers landed on the rock this morning at a quarter-past six, andremained at work five hours. The cooking apparatus being now in fulloperation, all hands had breakfast on the beacon at the usual hour, andremained there throughout the day. The crane upon the building had to beraised to-day from the eighth to the ninth course, an operation which nowrequiredall thestrength thatcouldbemusteredforworking theguy-tackles;for as the top of the cranewas at this time about thirty-five feet above therock,itbecamemuchmoreunmanageable.Whilethebeamwasintheactofswingingroundfromoneguytoanother,agreatstrainwassuddenlybroughtupon the opposite tackle, with the end of which the artificers had veryimproperlyneglectedtotakeaturnroundsomestationaryobject,whichwouldhavegiven them thecompletecommandof the tackle.Owing to this simpleomission,thecranegotapreponderancytooneside,andfelluponthebuildingwith a terrible crash. The surrounding artificers immediately flew in everydirection to get out of its way; but Michael Wishart, the principal builder,

havingunluckilystumbledupononeoftheuncuttrenails,felluponhisback.Hisbodyfortunatelygotbetweenthemovablebeamandtheuprightshaftofthecrane,andwasthussaved;buthisfeetgotentangledwiththewheelsofthecraneandwereseverelyinjured.Wishart,beingarobustyoungman,enduredhismisfortunewithwonderful firmness;hewas laidupononeof thenarrowframedbedsof thebeaconanddespatched inaboat to the tender,where thewriterwaswhen this accident happened, not a little alarmedonmissing thecranefromthetopofthebuilding,andatthesametimeseeingaboatrowingtowardsthevesselwithgreatspeed.WhentheboatcamealongsidewithpoorWishart, stretched upon a bed covered with blankets, a moment of greatanxietyfollowed,whichwas,however,muchrelievedwhen,onsteppingintotheboat,hewasaccostedbyWishart, though ina feeblevoice, andwithanaspect pale as death from excessive bleeding. Directions having beenimmediatelygiventothecoxswaintoapplytoMr.Kennedyattheworkyardtoprocurethebestsurgicalaid,theboatwassentoffwithoutdelaytoArbroath.Thewriterthenlandedattherock,whenthecranewasinaveryshorttimegotintoitsplaceandagainputinaworkingstate.Monday,3rdJuly.The writer having come to Arbroath with the yacht, had an opportunity ofvisitingMichaelWishart,theartificerwhohadmetwithsosevereanaccidentat the rock on the 30th ult., and had the pleasure to find him in a state ofrecovery. From Dr. Stevenson’s account, under whose charge he had beenplaced,hopeswereentertainedthatamputationwouldnotbenecessary,ashispatientstillkeptfreeoffeveroranyappearanceofmortification;andWishartexpressedahopethathemight,atleast,beultimatelycapableofkeepingthelightattheBellRock,asitwasnotnowlikelythathewouldassistfurtherinbuildingthehouse.Saturday,8thJuly.Itwasremarkedto-day,withnosmalldemonstrationofjoy,thatthetide,beingneap, did not, for the first time, overflow the building at high-water. Flagswere accordingly hoisted on the beacon-house and crane on the top of thebuilding, which were repeated from the floating light, Lighthouse yacht,tender,Smeaton,Patriot,andthetwopraams.Asaluteofthreegunswasalsofiredfromtheyachtathigh-water,when,all theartificersbeingcollectedonthetopofthebuilding,threecheersweregivenintestimonyofthisimportantcircumstance.Aglassofrumwasthenservedouttoallhandsontherockandonboardoftherespectiveships.Sunday,

16thJuly.Besides laying, boring, trenailing, wedging, and grouting thirty-two stones,severalotheroperationswereproceededwithontherockatlow-water,whensomeoftheartificerswereemployedattherailwaysandathigh-wateratthebeacon-house. The seamen having prepared a quantity of tarpaulin or clothlaidoverwithsuccessivecoatsofhot tar, the joinershad justcompleted thecoveringoftheroofwithit.Thissortofcoveringwaslighterandmoreeasilymanagedthansheet-leadinsuchasituation.Asafurtherdefenceagainsttheweatherthewholeexteriorofthistemporaryresidencewaspaintedwiththreecoatsofwhite-leadpaint.Betweenthetimberframingofthehabitablepartofthebeacontheintersticesweretobestuffedwithmossasalightsubstancethatwouldresistdampnessandchecksiftingwinds;thewholeinteriorwasthentobe linedwith green baize cloth, so that bothwithout andwithin the cabinsweretohaveaverycomfortableappearance.Althoughthebuildingartificersgenerallyremainedontherockthroughouttheday, and the millwrights, joiners, and smiths, while their number wasconsiderable,remainedalsoduringthenight,yetthetenderhadhithertobeenconsideredastheirnightquarters.ButthewindhavinginthecourseofthedayshiftedtotheN.W.,andasthepassagetothetender,intheboats,waslikelytobe attendedwith difficulty, thewhole of the artificers, withMr. Logan, theforeman, preferred remaining all night on the beacon, which had of latebecomethesolitaryabodeofGeorgeForsyth,ajobbingupholsterer,whohadbeen employed in lining the beacon-house with cloth and in fitting up thebedding.Forsythwasatall,thin,andratherloose-mademan,whohadanutteraversionatclimbinguponthetrap-laddersofthebeacon,butespeciallyattheprocess of boating, and the motion of the ship, which he said “was deathitself.”He therefore pertinaciously insistedwith the landing-master in beingleft upon the beacon, with a small black dog as his only companion. Thewriter, however, felt some delicacy in leaving a single individual upon therock,whomusthavebeensoveryhelplessincaseofaccident.Thisfabrichad,from the beginning, been rather intended by the writer to guard againstaccidentfromthelossordamageofaboat,andasaplaceformakingmortar,asmith’s shop, and a store for tools during the working months, than aspermanent quarters; norwas it at allmeant to be possesseduntil the joiner-workwascompletelyfinished,andhisowncabin,andthatfortheforeman,inreadiness,whenitwasstilltobelefttothechoiceoftheartificerstooccupythe tender or the beacon. He, however, considered Forsyth’s partiality andconfidenceinthelatterasratherafortunateoccurrence.Wednesday,19thJuly.Thewholeoftheartificers,twenty-threeinnumber,nowremovedoftheirown

accordfromthetender,tolodgeinthebeacon,togetherwithPeterFortune,apersonsingularlyadaptedforaresidenceofthiskind,bothfromtheurbanityofhismannersandtheversatilityofhistalents.Fortune,inhisperson,wasofsmallstature,andrathercorpulent.BesidesbeingagoodScotscook,hehadacted both as groom and house-servant; he had been a soldier, a sutler, awriter’sclerk,andanapothecary,fromwhichhepossessedtheartofwritingand suggesting recipes, and had hence, also, perhaps, acquired a turn formakingcollectionsinnaturalhistory.ButinhispracticeinsurgeryontheBellRock,forwhichhereceivedanannualfeeofthreeguineas,heissupposedtohave been rather partial to the use of the lancet. In short, Peter wasthefactotum of the beacon-house, where he ostensibly acted in the severalcapacitiesofcook,steward,surgeon,andbarber,andkeptastatementof therationsorexpenditureoftheprovisionswiththestrictestintegrity.In the present important state of the building, when it had just attained theheightofsixteenfeet,andtheuppercourses,andespeciallytheimperfectone,wereinthewashoftheheaviestseas,anexpressboatarrivedattherockwithaletterfromMr.Kennedy,oftheworkyard,statingthatinconsequenceoftheintendedexpeditiontoWalcheren,anembargohadbeenlaidonshippingatalltheportsofGreatBritain:thatboththeSmeatonandPatriotweredetainedatArbroath,andthatbutfortheproperviewwhichMr.Ramsey,theportofficer,hadtakenofhisorders,neithertheexpressboatnoronewhichhadbeensentwith provisions and necessaries for the floating light would have beenpermittedtoleavetheharbour.ThewritersetoffwithoutdelayforArbroath,andon landingusedeverypossiblemeanswith theofficialpeople,but theirordersweredeemedsoperemptorythatevenboatswerenotpermittedtosailfromanyportuponthecoast.Inthemeantime,thecollectoroftheCustomsatMontroseapplied to theBoardatEdinburgh,butcould,ofhimself,grantnorelieftotheBellRockshipping.AtthiscriticalperiodMr.AdamDuff,thenSheriffofForfarshire,nowofthecountyofEdinburgh,andexofficiooneoftheCommissionersoftheNorthernLighthouses,happenedtobeatArbroath.Mr.Dufftookanimmediateinterestin representing the circumstances of the case to the Board of Customs atEdinburgh.Butsuchwerethedoubtsentertainedonthesubjectthat,onhavingpreviously received the appeal from the collector atMontrose, the case hadbeen submitted to the consideration of the Lords of the Treasury, whosedecisionwasnowwaitedfor.Inthisstateofthingsthewriterfeltparticularlydesiroustogetthethirteenthcoursefinished,thatthebuildingmightbeinamoresecurestateintheeventofbadweather.Anopportunitywasthereforeembracedonthe25th,insailingwithprovisionsforthefloatinglight,tocarrythenecessarystonestotherockfor this purpose,whichwere landed and built on the 26th and 27th.But so

closelywasthewatchkeptupthataCustom-houseofficerwasalwaysplacedonboardof theSmeatonandPatriotwhile theywereafloat, till the embargowasespeciallyremovedfromthelighthousevessels.TheartificersattheBellRock had been reduced to fifteen, who were regularly supplied withprovisions,alongwiththecrewofthefloatinglight,mainlythroughtheportofficer’sliberalinterpretationofhisorders.Tuesday,1stAug.Therebeingaconsiderableswellandbreachofseaupon therockyesterday,the stones could not be got landed till the day following, when the windshifted to the southward and theweather improved.But to-day no less thanseventy-eight blocksof stonewere landed, ofwhich fortywerebuilt,whichcompleted the fourteenth and part of the fifteenth courses. The number ofworkmennow resident in the beacon-housewere augmented to twenty-four,includingthelanding-master’screwfromthetenderandtheboat’screwfromthefloatinglight,whoassistedatlandingthestones.Thosedailyatworkupontherockatthisperiodamountedtoforty-six.Acabinhadbeenlaidoutforthewriteronthebeacon,buthisapartmenthadbeenthelastwhichwasfinished,andhehadnotyet takenpossessionof it; for thoughhegenerally spent thegreaterpartoftheday,atthistime,upontherock,yethealwayssleptonboardofthetender.Friday,11thAug.ThewindwasatS.E.onthe11th,andtherewassoveryheavyaswellofseaupontherockthatnoboatcouldapproachit.Saturday,12thAug.ThegalestillcontinuingfromtheS.E.,theseabrokewithgreatviolencebothupon the building and the beacon. The former being twenty-three feet inheight,theupperpartofthecraneerectedonithavingbeenliftedfromcourseto course as thebuilding advanced,wasnowabout thirty-six feet above therock.Fromobservationsmadeontheriseoftheseabythiscrane,theartificerswereenabledtoestimateitsheighttobeaboutfiftyfeetabovetherock,whilethespraysfellwithamostalarmingnoiseupontheircabins.Atlow-water,intheevening,asignalwasmadefromthebeacon,attheearnestdesireofsomeoftheartificers,fortheboatstocometotherock;andalthoughthiscouldnotbeeffectedwithoutconsiderablehazard,itwas,however,accomplished,whentwelve of their number, being much afraid, applied to the foreman to berelieved, and went on board of the tender. But the remaining fourteen

continuedon the rock,withMr.PeterLogan, the foremanbuilder.Althoughthis ruleofallowinganoption toeverymaneither to remainon the rockorreturn to the tender was strictly adhered to, yet, as it would have beenextremely inconvenient tohavehad themenparcelledout in thismanner, itbecamenecessarytoembracethefirstopportunityofsendingthosewhohadleft the beacon to the workyard, with as little appearance of intention aspossible, lest it should hurt their feelings, or prevent others from actingaccording to theirwishes, either in landingon the rockor remainingon thebeacon.Tuesday,15thAug.The wind had fortunately shifted to the S.W. this morning, and though aconsiderable breach was still upon the rock, yet the landing-master’s crewwereenabledtogetonepraam-boat,lightlyloadedwithfivestones,broughtinsafety to the western creek; these stones were immediately laid by theartificers,who gladly embraced the return of goodweather to proceedwiththeiroperations.Thewriterhadthisdaytakenpossessionofhiscabinin thebeacon-house. It was small, but commodious, and was found particularlyconvenientincoarseandblowingweather,insteadofbeingobligedtomakeapassagetothetenderinanopenboatatalltimes,bothduringthedayandthenight,whichwasoftenattendedwithmuchdifficultyanddanger.Saturday,19thAug.Forsomedayspasttheweatherhadbeenoccasionallysothickandfoggythatno smalldifficultywasexperienced ingoingevenbetween the rockand thetender,thoughquiteathand.Butthefloatinglight’sboatlostherwaysofarinreturning on board that the first land shemade, after rowing all night, wasFifeness,adistanceofaboutfourteenmiles.Theweatherhavingclearedinthemorning,thecrewstoodoffagainforthefloatinglight,andgotonboardinahalf-famished andmuch exhausted state, having been constantly rowing foraboutsixteenhours.Sunday,20thAug.Theweatherbeingveryfavourableto-day,fifty-threestoneswerelanded,andthebuilderswerenotalittlegratifiedinhavingbuiltthetwenty-secondcourse,consistingoffifty-onestones,beingthefirstcoursewhichhadbeencompletedinoneday.This,asamatterofcourse,producedthreeheartycheers.Attwelvenoon prayers were read for the first time on the Bell Rock; those present,countingthirty,werecrowdedintotheupperapartmentofthebeacon,where

thewriter took a central position,while twoof the artificers, joining hands,supportedtheBible.Friday,25thAug.To-daytheartificerslaidforty-fivestones,whichcompletedthetwenty-fourthcourse, reckoning above the first entire one, and the twenty-sixth above therock.Thisfinishedthesolidpartofthebuilding,andterminatedtheheightofthe outward casing of granite,which is thirty-one feet six inches above therockorsiteofthefoundation-stone,andaboutseventeenfeetabovehighwaterofspring-tides.Beingaparticularcrisisintheprogressofthelighthouse,thelandingandlayingofthelaststonefortheseasonwasobservedwiththeusualceremonies.From observations often made by the writer, in so far as such can beascertained, it appears that nowave in the open seas, in an unbroken state,risesmorethanfromseventoninefeetabovethegeneralsurfaceoftheocean.TheBellRockLighthousemaythereforenowbeconsideredatfromeighttoten feet above the height of thewaves; and, although the sprays and heavyseashaveoftenbeenobserved, in thepresentstateof thebuilding, torise totheheightoffiftyfeet,andfallwithatremendousnoiseonthebeacon-house,yet such seas were not likely to make any impression on a mass of solidmasonry,containingabout1400tons.Wednesday,30thAug.Thewholeoftheartificerslefttherockatmid-day,whenthetendermadesailforArbroath,which she reached about six p.m. The vessel being decoratedwith colours, and having fired a salute of three guns on approaching theharbour,theworkyardartificers,withamultitudeofpeople,assembledattheharbour,whenmutualcheeringandcongratulationstookplacebetweenthoseafloatandthoseonthequays.Thetenderhadnow,withlittleexception,beensixmonthsonthestationattheBellRock,andduringthelastfourmonthsfewof thesquadofbuildershadbeenashore. Inparticular,Mr.PeterLogan, theforeman, andMr. Robert Selkirk, principal builder, had never once left therock.The artificers, havingmadegoodwagesduring their stay, like seamenuponareturnvoyage,wereextremelyhappy,andspenttheeveningwithmuchinnocentmirthandjollity.InreflectinguponthestateofthemattersattheBellRockduringtheworkingmonths,when thewriterwasmuchwith theartificers,nothingcanequal thehappy manner in which these excellent workmen spent their time. TheyalwayswentfromArbroathtotheirarduoustaskcheering,andtheygenerallyreturned in the samehearty state.While at the rock,between the tides, they

amusedthemselvesinreading,fishing,music,playingcards,draughts,etc.,orinsportingwithoneanother.IntheworkyardatArbroaththeyoungmenwerealmost,withoutexception,employedintheeveningatschool, inwritingandarithmetic,andnotafewwerelearningarchitecturaldrawing,forwhichtheyhad every convenience and facility, and were, in a very obliging manner,assistedin theirstudiesbyMr.DavidLogan,clerkof theworks.It thereforeaffords themostpleasingreflections to lookbackuponthepursuitsofaboutsixty individualswho foryears conducted themselves,onall occasions, in asoberandrationalmanner.

Thursday,10thMay.Thewind had shifted to-day toW.N.W.,when thewriter,with considerabledifficulty,wasenabledtolandupontherockforthefirst timethisseason,attena.m.Uponexaminingthestateofthebuilding,andapparatusingeneral,hehad the satisfaction to find everything in good order. Themortar in all thejointswasperfectlyentire.Thebuilding,nowthirtyfeetinheight,wasthicklycoatedwithfucitotheheightofaboutfifteenfeet,calculatingfromtherock;ontheeasternside,indeed,thegrowthofseaweedwasobservabletothefullheightofthirtyfeet,andevenonthetoporupperbedofthelast-laidcourse,especiallytowardstheeasternside,ithadgerminated,soastorenderwalkinguponitsomewhatdifficult.Thebeacon-housewasinaperfectlysoundstate,andapparentlyjustasithadbeenleftinthemonthofNovember.Butthetidesbeingneap,thelowerparts,particularlywherethebeamsrestedontherock,couldnotnowbeseen.ThefloorofthemortargalleryhavingbeenalreadylaiddownbyMr.Wattandhismenon a former visit,wasmerely soakedwith the sprays; but the joisting-beamswhichsupportedithad,inthecourseofthewinter,beencoveredwithafinedownyconfervaproducedbytherangeofthesea.Theywerealsoagooddealwhitenedwiththemuteofthecormorantandothersea-fowls,whichhadroosteduponthebeaconinwinter.Uponascendingto theapartments, itwasfoundthatthemotionoftheseahadthrownopenthedoorofthecook-house:thiswas only shutwith a single latch, that in case of shipwreck at theBellRock the mariner might find ready access to the shelter of this forlornhabitation,whereasupplyofprovisionswaskept;andbeingwithintwomilesandahalfofthefloatinglight,asignalcouldreadilybeobserved,whenaboatmightbesent tohisreliefassoonastheweatherpermitted.Anarrangementforthispurposeformedoneoftheinstructionsonboardofthefloatinglight,but happily no instance occurred for putting it in practice. The hearth orfireplace of the cook-house was built of brick in as secure a manner aspossible to prevent accident from fire; but some of the plaster-work had

shakenloose,fromitsdampstateandthetremulousmotionofthebeaconinstormyweather.Thewriternextascendedtothefloorwhichwasoccupiedbythecabinsofhimselfandhisassistants,whichwere in tolerablygoodorder,havingonlyadampandmustysmell.Thebarrackfortheartificers,overall,wasnextvisited; ithadnowaverydrearyanddesertedappearancewhenitsformer thronged state was recollected. In some parts the water had comethroughtheboarding,andhaddiscolouredtheliningofgreencloth,butitwas,nevertheless,inagoodhabitablecondition.Whiletheseamenwereemployedinlandingastockofprovisions,afewoftheartificerssettoworkwithgreateagerness to sweep and clean the several apartments. The exterior of thebeacon was, in the meantime, examined, and found in perfect order. Thepainting,thoughithadasomewhatblanchedappearance,adheredfirmlybothonthesidesandroof,andonlytwoorthreepanesofglasswerebrokeninthecupola,whichhadeitherbeenblownoutbytheforceofthewindorperhapsbrokenbysea-fowl.Having on this occasion continued upon the building and beacon aconsiderabletimeafterthetidehadbeguntoflow,theartificerswereoccupiedinremovingtheforgefromthetopofthebuilding,towhichthegangwayorwoodenbridgegavegreatfacility;and,althoughitstretchedorhadaspanofforty-twofeet,itsconstructionwasextremelysimple,whiletheroadwaywasperfectlyfirmandsteady.Inreturningfromthisvisittotherockeveryonewaspretty well soused in spray before reaching the tender at two o’clock p.m.,where things awaited the landing party in as comfortable a way as such asituationwouldadmit.Friday,11thMay.Thewindwasstilleasterly,accompaniedwithratheraheavyswellofseafortheoperationsinhand.Alandingwas,however,madethismorning,whentheartificerswere immediately employed in scraping the seaweedoff theuppercourseofthebuilding,inordertoapplythemouldsofthefirstcourseofthestaircase,thatthejoggle-holesmightbemarkedoffintheuppercourseofthesolid.Thiswasalsonecessarypreviouslytothewriter’sfixingthepositionofthe entrance door, which was regulated chiefly by the appearance of thegrowthoftheseaweedonthebuilding,indicatingthedirectionoftheheaviestseas,ontheoppositesideofwhichthedoorwasplaced.Thelanding-master’screwsucceeded in towing into thecreekon thewestern sideof the rock thepraam-boat with the balance-crane, which had now been on board of thepraamforfivedays.Theseveralpiecesofthismachine,havingbeenconveyedalong the railways upon the waggons to a position immediately under thebridge,wereelevatedtoitslevel,orthirtyfeetabovetherock,inthefollowingmanner. A chain-tackle was suspended over a pulley from the cross-beam

connecting the tops of the kingposts of the bridge,whichwasworked by awinch-machinewithwheel,pinion,andbarrel,roundwhichlastthechainwaswound. This apparatus was placed on the beacon side of the bridge, at thedistanceofabouttwelvefeetfromthecross-beamandpulleyinthemiddleofthe bridge. Immediately under the cross-beam a hatch was formed in theroadwayofthebridge,measuringsevenfeetinlengthandfivefeetinbreadth,madetoshutwithfoldingboardslikeadoubledoor,throughwhichstonesandotherarticleswereraised;thefoldingdoorswerethenletdown,andthestoneor loadwas gently lowered upon awaggonwhichwaswheeled on railwaytrucks towards the lighthouse. In this manner the several castings of thebalance-craneweregotuptothetopofthesolidofthebuilding.The several apartments of the beacon-house having been cleaned out andsuppliedwithbedding,asufficientstockofprovisionswasputintothestore,when Peter Fortune, formerly noticed, lighted his fire in the beacon for thefirst time this season. Sixteen artificers at the same time mounted to theirbarrack-room,andall theforemenoftheworksalsotookpossessionoftheircabin,allheartilyrejoicedatgettingridofthetroubleofboatingandthesicklymotionofthetender.Saturday,12thMay.ThewindwasatE.N.E.,blowingsofresh,andaccompaniedwithsomuchsea,thatnostonescouldbelandedto-day.Thepeopleontherock,however,werebusily employed in screwing together the balance-crane, cutting out thejoggle-holesintheuppercourse,andpreparingallthingsforcommencingthebuildingoperations.Sunday,13thMay.The weather still continues boisterous, although the barometer has all thewhilestoodatabout30inches.TowardseveningthewindblewsofreshatE.byS.thattheboatsbothoftheSmeatonandtenderwereobligedtobehoistedin,anditwasfearedthat theSmeatonwouldhavetosliphermoorings.Thepeople on the rock were seen busily employed, and had the balance-craneapparently ready foruse,butnocommunicationcouldbehadwith them to-day.Monday,14thMay.Thewindcontinued toblowso fresh,and theSmeaton rodesoheavilywithhercargo,thatatnoonasignalwasmadeforhergettingunderweigh,whenshe stood towardsArbroath; andonboardof the tenderweare stillwithout

any communication with the people on the rock, where the sea was seenbreakingover the topof thebuilding ingreat sprays, and ragingwithmuchagitationamongthebeamsofthebeacon.Thursday,17thMay.Thewind, in the course of the day, had shifted from north towest; the seabeingalsoconsiderablyless,aboatlandedontherockatsixp.m.,forthefirsttimesincethe11th,withtheprovisionsandwaterbroughtoffbythePatriot.Theinhabitantsofthebeaconwereallwell,buttiredabovemeasureforwantofemployment,asthebalance-craneandapparatuswasallinreadiness.Underthese circumstances they felt no less desirous of the return of goodweatherthan those afloat,whowere continually tossedwith the agitationof the sea.Thewriter,inparticular,felthimselfalmostasmuchfatiguedandworn-outashe had been at any period since the commencement of thework. The verybackward state of the weather at so advanced a period of the seasonunavoidablycreatedsomealarm,lestheshouldbeovertakenwithbadweatherat a late period of the season,with the building operations in an unfinishedstate. These apprehensions were, no doubt, rather increased by theinconveniences of his situation afloat, as the tender rolled and pitchedexcessivelyattimes.Thisbeingalsohisfirstoff-setfortheseason,everyboneofhisbodyfeltsorewithpreservingasittingposturewhileheendeavouredtopassawaythetimeinreading;asforwriting,itwaswhollyimpracticable.Hehad several times entertained thoughts of leaving the station for a few daysandgoingintoArbroathwiththetendertilltheweathershouldimprove;butasthe artificers had been landed on the rock he was averse to this at thecommencementoftheseason,knowingalsothathewouldbeequallyuneasyineverysituationtill thefirstcargowaslanded:andhethereforeresolvedtocontinueathispostuntilthisshouldbeeffected.Friday,18thMay.The wind being now N.W., the sea was considerably run down, and thismorningatfiveo’clockthelanding-master’screw,thirteeninnumber,leftthetender; and having now no detention with the landing of artificers, theyproceededtounmoortheHedderwickpraam-boat,andtowedheralongsideoftheSmeaton:andinthecourseofthedaytwenty-threeblocksofstone,threecasksofpozzolano, threeof sand, threeof lime,andoneofRomancement,togetherwiththreebundlesoftrenailsandthreeofwedges,werealllandedontherockandraisedtothetopofthebuildingbymeansofthetacklesuspendedfromthecross-beamonthemiddleofthebridge.Thestoneswerethenmovedalong thebridgeon thewaggon to thebuildingwithin reachof thebalance-

crane,withwhichtheywerelaidintheirrespectiveplacesonthebuilding.Themasons immediately thereafter proceeded to bore the trenail-holes into thecoursebelow,andotherwisetocompletetheoneinhand.Whenthefirststonewas tobe suspendedby thebalance-crane, thebellon thebeaconwas rung,andalltheartificersandseamenwerecollectedonthebuilding.Threeheartycheersweregivenwhileitwasloweredintoitsplace,andthestewardservedroundaglassof rum,whensuccesswasdrunk to thefurtherprogressof thebuilding.Sunday,20thMay.Thewindwas southerly to-day, but therewasmuch less sea thanyesterday,and the landing-master’s crew were enabled to discharge and land twenty-three pieces of stone and other articles for the work. The artificers hadcompletedthelayingofthetwenty-seventhorfirstcourseofthestaircasethismorning,andintheeveningtheyfinishedtheboring,trenailing,wedging,andgrouting it withmortar. At twelve o’clock noon the beacon-house bell wasrung,andallhandswerecollectedon the topof thebuilding,whereprayerswerereadforthefirsttimeonthelighthouse,whichforciblystruckeveryone,andhad,uponthewhole,averyimpressiveeffect.From the hazardous situation of the beacon-housewith regard to fire, beingcomposedwhollyoftimber,therewasnosmallriskfromaccident:andonthisaccountoneofthemoststeadyoftheartificerswasappointedtoseethatthefire of the cooking-house, and the lights in general, were carefullyextinguishedatstatedhours.Monday,4thJune.Thisbeingthebirthdayofourmuch-reveredSovereignKingGeorgeIII,nowin the fiftiethyear of his reign, the shippingof theLighthouse servicewerethismorningdecoratedwithcoloursaccordingtothetasteoftheirrespectivecaptains.Flagswerealsohoisteduponthebeacon-houseandbalance-craneonthe top of the building. At twelve noon a salute was fired from the tender,whentheKing’shealthwasdrunk,withallthehonours,bothontherockandonboardoftheshipping.Tuesday,5thJune.Asthelighthouseadvancedinheight,thecubicalcontentsofthestoneswereless,buttheyhadtoberaisedtoagreaterheight;andthewalls,beingthinner,were less commodious for the necessary machinery and the artificersemployed, which considerably retarded the work. Inconvenience was also

occasionallyexperiencedfromthemendroppingtheircoats,hats,mallets,andothertools,athigh-water,whichwerecarriedawaybythetide;andthedangerto thepeople themselveswasnowgreatly increased.Hadanyof themfallenfrom the beacon or building at high-water, while the landing-master’s crewweregenerallyengagedwiththecraftatadistance,itmusthaverenderedtheaccidentdoublypainfultothoseontherock,whoatthistimehadnoboat,andconsequentlynomeansofrenderingimmediateandpromptassistance.Insuchcasesitwouldhavebeentoolatetohavegotaboatbysignalfromthetender.Asmallboat,whichcouldbeloweredatpleasure,wasthereforesuspendedbyapairofdavitsprojectedfromthecook-house,thekeelbeingaboutthirtyfeetfrom the rock.Thisboat,with its tackle,wasputunder thechargeof JamesGlen,ofwhoseexertionsonthebeaconmentionhasalreadybeenmade,andwho, having in early life been a seaman, was also very expert in themanagementofaboat.Alife-buoywaslikewisesuspendedfromthebridge,towhichacoiloflinetwohundredfathomsinlengthwasattached,whichcouldbeletouttoapersonfallingintothewater,ortothepeopleintheboat,shouldtheynotbeabletoworkherwiththeoars.Thursday,7thJune.To-day twelve stones were landed on the rock, being the remainder of thePatriot’s cargo; and the artificers built the thirty-ninth course, consisting offourteenstones.TheBellRockworkshadnowaverybusyappearance,asthelighthousewasdailygettingmore into form.Besides the artificers and theircook, thewriterandhisservantwerealsolodgedonthebeacon,countinginall twenty-nine; and at low-water the landing-master’s crew, consisting offrom twelve to fifteen seamen, were employed in transporting the buildingmaterials,workingthelandingapparatusontherock,anddraggingthestonewaggonsalongtherailways.Friday,8thJune.Inthecourseofthisdaytheweathervariedmuch.Inthemorningitwascalm,inthemiddlepartofthedaytherewerelightairsofwindfromthesouth,andintheeveningfreshbreezesfromtheeast.Thebarometerinthewriter’scabininthebeacon-houseoscillatedfrom30inchesto30.42,andtheweatherwasextremelypleasant.This,inanysituation,formsoneofthechiefcomfortsoflife;but,asmayeasilybeconceived, itwasdoublyso topeoplestuck,as itwere,uponapinnacleinthemiddleoftheocean.Sunday,10thJune.

One of the praam-boats had been brought to the rock with eleven stones,notwithstanding the perplexitywhich attended the getting of those formerlylanded taken up to the building. Mr. Peter Logan, the foreman builder,interposed and prevented this cargo from being delivered; but the landing-master’screwwereexceedinglyaversetothisarrangement,fromanideathat“ill luck” would in future attend the praam, her cargo, and those whonavigatedher,fromthusreversinghervoyage.Itmaybenoticedthatthiswasthe first instanceofapraam-boathavingbeensent from theBellRockwithany part of her cargo on board, and was considered so uncommon anoccurrence that it became a topic of conversation among the seamen andartificers.Tuesday,12thJune.To-day the stones formerly sent from the rock were safely landed,notwithstandingtheauguryoftheseameninconsequenceoftheirbeingsentawaytwodaysbefore.Thursday,14thJune.To-day twenty-seven stones and eleven joggle-pieces were landed, part ofwhichconsistedoftheforty-seventhcourse,formingthestoreroomfloor.Thebuilderswereatworkthismorningbyfouro’clock,inthehopesofbeingableto accomplish the laying of the eighteen stones of this course. But at eighto’clockintheeveningtheyhadstilltwotolay,andasthestonesofthiscoursewereveryunwieldy,being six feet in length, they requiredmuchprecautionandcarebothinliftingandlayingthem.Itwasonlyonthewriter’ssuggestiontoMr.Loganthattheartificerswereinducedtoleaveoff,astheyhadintendedto complete this floor before going to bed. The two remaining stoneswere,however,laidintheirplaceswithoutmortarwhenthebellonthebeaconwasrung, and, all hands being collected on the top of the building, three heartycheersweregivenoncoveringthefirstapartment.Thestewardthenservedouta dram to each,when thewhole retired to their barrackmuch fatigued, butwiththeanticipationofthemostperfectreposeeveninthe“hurricane-house,”amidstthedashingseasontheBellRock.While the workmen were at breakfast and dinner it was the writer’s usualpracticetospendhistimeonthewallsofthebuilding,which,notwithstandingthenarrownessofthetrack,neverthelessformedhisprincipalwalkwhentherockwasunderwater.Butthisafternoonhehadhiswriting-desksetuponthestoreroom floor,when hewrote toMrs. Stevenson—certainly the first letterdated from the Bell Rock Lighthouse—giving a detail of the fortunateprogress of the work, with an assurance that the lighthouse would soon be

completedattherateatwhichitnowproceeded;and,thePatriothavingsailedforArbroathintheevening,hefeltnosmalldegreeofpleasureindespatchingthiscommunicationtohisfamily.Theweatherstillcontinuingfavourablefortheoperationsattherock,theworkproceededwithmuch energy, through the exertions both of the seamen andartificers.Forthemorespeedyandeffectualworkingoftheseveraltacklesinraising the materials as the building advanced in height, and there being agreat extent of railway to attend to, which required constant repairs, twoadditional millwrights were added to the complement on the rock, which,includingthewriter,nowcountedthirty-oneinall.Socrowdedwasthemen’sbarrackthatthebedswererangedfivetierinheight,allowingonlyaboutonefooteightinchesforeachbed.Theartificerscommencedthismorningatfiveo’clock,and,inthecourseoftheday,theylaidtheforty-eighthandforty-ninthcourses, consisting each of sixteen blocks. From the favourable state of theweather, and the regular manner in which the work now proceeded, theartificershadgenerallyfromfourtosevenextrahours’work,which,includingtheirstatedwagesof3s.4d.,yieldedthemfrom5s.4d.toabout6s.10d.perdaybesidestheirboard;eventhepostageoftheirletterswaspaidwhiletheywere at theBellRock. In these advantages the foremen also shared, havingaboutdouble thepayandamountofpremiumsof theartificers.TheseamenbeinglessoutoftheirelementintheBellRockoperationsthanthelandsmen,their premiums consisted in a slump sum payable at the end of the season,whichextendedfromthreetotenguineas.Asthelayingofthefloorswassomewhattedious,thelanding-masterandhiscrewhadgotconsiderablybeforehandwiththebuildingartificersinbringingmaterials faster to the rock than they could be built. The seamen having,therefore,somesparetime,wereoccasionallyemployedduringfineweatherindredgingorgrapplingfor theseveralmushroomanchorsandmooring-chainswhichhadbeenlostinthevicinityoftheBellRockduringtheprogressoftheworkby thebreaking looseanddriftingof the floatingbuoys.Toencouragetheirexertionsinthissearch,fiveguineaswereofferedasapremiumforeachset they should find; and, aftermuchpatient application, they succeeded to-dayinhookingoneoftheselostanchorswithitschain.It was a general remark at the Bell Rock, as before noticed, that fishwerenever plenty in its neighbourhood excepting in good weather. Indeed, theseamenusedtospeculateaboutthestateoftheweatherfromtheirsuccessinfishing. When the fish disappeared at the rock, it was considered a sureindication that a gale was not far off, as the fish seemed to seek shelter indeeper water from the roughness of the sea during these changes in theweather. At this time the rock, at high-water, was completely covered withpodlies, or the fry of the coal-fish, about six or eight inches in length. The

artificers sometimes occupied half an hour after breakfast and dinner incatchingtheselittlefishes,butweremorefrequentlysuppliedfromtheboatsofthetender.Saturday,16thJune.The landing-master having this day discharged the Smeaton and loaded theHedderwickandDickiepraam-boatswithnineteenstones,theyweretowedtotheirrespectivemoorings,whenCaptainWilson,inconsequenceoftheheavyswellofsea,cameinhisboattothebeacon-housetoconsultwiththewriterastotheproprietyofventuringtheloadedpraam-boatswiththeircargoestotherockwhile somuch seawas running. After some dubiety expressed on thesubject, in which the ardent mind of the landing-master suggested manyargumentsinfavourofhisbeingabletoconveythepraamsinperfectsafety,itwasaccededto.Inbadweather,andespeciallyonoccasionsofdifficultylikethe present, Mr. Wilson, who was an extremely active seaman, measuringabout five feet three inches in height, of a robust habit, generally dressedhimselfinwhathecalledamonkeyjacket,madeofthickdufflecloth,withapairofDutchman’spetticoattrousers,reachingonlytohisknees,wheretheyweremetwithapairoflongwater-tightboots;withthisdress,hisglazedhat,and his small brass speaking-trumpet in his hand, he bade defiance to theweather. When he made his appearance in this most suitable attire for theservice,hiscrewseemed topossessadditional life,never failing touse theirutmost exertions when the captain put on his storm rigging. They had thismorningcommencedloadingthepraam-boatsatfouro’clock,andproceededto tow them into the eastern landing-place, which was accomplished withmuchdexterity, thoughnotwithout theriskofbeing thrown,by theforceofthesea,oncertainprojectingledgesoftherock.Insuchacasethelossevenofasinglestonewouldhavegreatlyretardedthework.Forthegreatersafetyinenteringthecreekitwasnecessarytoputoutseveralwarpsandguy-ropestoguide the boats into its narrow and intricate entrance; and it frequentlyhappened that the seamadeacleanbreachover thepraams,whichnotonlywashedtheirdecks,butcompletelydrenchedthecrewinwater.Sunday,17thJune.Itwasfortunate,inthepresentstateoftheweather,thatthefiftiethcoursewasinashelteredspot,withinthereachofthetackleofthewinch-machineuponthebridge;afewstoneswerestoweduponthebridgeitself,andtheremainderupon the building, which kept the artificers at work. The stowing of thematerials upon the rock was the department of Alexander Brebner, mason,whosparednopainsinattendingtothesafetyofthestones,andwho,inthe

present state of thework,when the stoneswere landed faster than could bebuilt,generallyworkedtillthewaterrosetohismiddle.Atoneo’clockto-daythebellrungforprayers,andallhandswerecollectedintotheupperbarrack-roomofthebeacon-house,whentheusualservicewasperformed.ThewindblewveryhardinthecourseoflastnightfromN.E.,andto-daythesearansohighthatnoboatcouldapproachtherock.Duringthedinner-hour,when thewriterwasgoing to the topof thebuildingasusual,but justashehad entered the door andwas about to ascend the ladder, a great noisewasheardoverhead,andinaninstanthewassousedinwaterfromaseawhichhadmostunexpectedlycomeover thewalls, thoughnowaboutfifty-eightfeet inheight.Onmaking his retreat he found himself completelywhitened by thelime, which had mixed with the water while dashing down through thedifferentfloors;and,asnearlyashecouldguess,aquantityequaltoaboutahogsheadhadcomeover thewalls, andnowstreamedoutat thedoor.Afterhavingshiftedhimself,heagainsatdowninhiscabin, theseacontinuing torunsohighthatthebuildersdidnotresumetheiroperationsonthewallsthisafternoon.Theincidentjustnoticeddidnotcreatemoresurpriseinthemindofthewriterthanthesublimeappearanceofthewavesastheyrolledmajesticallyovertherock.Thisscenehegreatlyenjoyedwhilesittingathiscabinwindow;eachwaveapproachedthebeaconlikeavastscrollunfolding;andinpassingdischarged a quantity of air,which he not only distinctly felt, butwas evensufficienttolifttheleavesofabookwhichlaybeforehim.Thesewavesmightbetenortwelvefeetinheight,andabout250feetinlength,theirsmallerendbeingtowardsthenorth,wherethewaterwasdeep,andtheywereopenedorcut through by the interposition of the building and beacon. The gradualmannerinwhichthesea,upontheseoccasions,isobservedtobecomecalmorto subside, is a very remarkable feature of this phenomenon. For example,whenagaleissucceededbyacalm,everythirdorfourthwaveformsoneofthesegreatseas,whichoccurinspacesoffromthreetofiveminutes,asnotedby the writer’s watch; but in the course of the next tide they become lessfrequent, and take off so as to occur only in ten or fifteen minutes; and,singularenough,atthethirdtideaftersuchgales,thewriterhasremarkedthatonlyoneortwoofthesegreatwavesappearinthecourseofthewholetide.Tuesday,19thJune.The19thwasaveryunpleasantanddisagreeableday,bothfortheseamenandartificers, as it rained throughout with little intermission from four a.m. tillelevenp.m.,accompaniedwiththunderandlightning,duringwhichperiodtheworkneverthelesscontinuedunremittinglyandthebuilderslaidthefifty-firstand fifty-second courses.This state ofweatherwas no less severe upon themortar-makers,whorequired to temperorprepare themortarofa thickeror

thinner consistency, in somemeasure, according to the state of theweather.From theelevatedpositionof thebuilding, themortargalleryon thebeaconwasnowmuchlower,andthelime-bucketsweremadetotraverseuponaropedistendedbetweenitandthebuilding.Onoccasionslikethepresent,however,therewasoftenadifferenceofopinionbetween thebuildersand themortar-makers. JohnWatt,who had the principal charge of themortar,was amostactive worker, but, being somewhat of an irascible temper, the buildersoccasionally amused themselves at his expense: forwhile hewas eagerly atworkwithhis large iron-shodpestle in themortar-tub, theyoften sentdowncontradictoryorders, somecrying, “Make it a little stiffer, or thicker, John,”while others called out tomake it “thinner,” towhich he generally returnedveryspeedyandsharpreplies,sothattheseconversationsattimeswereratheramusing.Duringwetweather the situation of the artificers on the top of the buildingwas extremely disagreeable; for although their work did not require greatexertion,yet,aseachmanhadhisparticularparttoperform,eitherinworkingthe crane or in laying the stones, it required the closest application andattention, not only on the part of Mr. Peter Logan, the foreman, who wasconstantly on thewalls, but also of the chiefworkmen. Robert Selkirk, theprincipal builder, for example, had every stone to lay in its place. DavidCumming, a mason, had the charge of working the tackle of the balance-weight,andJamesScott,alsoamason,tookchargeofthepurchasewithwhichthestoneswerelaid;whilethepointingthejointsofthewallswithcementwasintrusted toWilliamReid andWilliamKennedy,who stoodupon a scaffoldsuspended over the walls in rather a frightful manner. The least act ofcarelessnessor inattentionon thepart of anyof thesemenmighthavebeenfatal,notonlytothemselves,butalsotothesurroundingworkmen,especiallyifanyaccidenthadhappenedtothecraneitself,whilethematerialdamageorloss of a single stonewould have put an entire stop to the operations untilanother could have been brought from Arbroath. The artificers, havingwroughtsevenandahalfhoursofextratimeto-day,had3s.9d.ofextrapay,while the foremen had 7s. 6d. over and above their stated pay and board.Although, therefore, the work was both hazardous and fatiguing, yet, theencouragement being considerable, they were always very cheerful, andperfectlyreconciledtotheconfinementandotherdisadvantagesoftheplace.Duringfineweather,andwhilethenightswereshort,thedutyonboardofthefloatinglightwasliterallynothingbutawaitingon,andthereforeoneofherboats,withacrewoffivemen,dailyattendedtherock,butalwaysreturnedtothevesselatnight.Thecarpenter,however,wasoneofthosewhowasleftonboard of the ship, as he also acted in the capacity of assistant lightkeeper,being, besides, a personwhowas apt to feel discontent and to be averse tochanginghisquarters,especially toworkwith themillwrightsand joinersat

the rock, who often, for hours together, wrought knee-deep, and notunfrequentlyuptothemiddle,inwater.Mr.Watthavingaboutthistimemadearequisitionforanotherhand,thecarpenterwasorderedtoattendtherockinthefloatinglight’sboat.Thishedidwithgreatreluctance,andfoundsomuchfault thathesoongot intodiscreditwithhismessmates.OnthisoccasionhelefttheLighthouseservice,andwentasasailorinavesselboundforAmerica—astepwhich,itisbelieved,hesoonregretted,as,inthecourseofthings,hewould, in all probability, have accompanied Mr John Reid, the principallightkeeperofthefloatinglight, totheBellRockLighthouseashisprincipalassistant.Thewriterhadawishtobeofservicetothisman,ashewasoneofthose who came off to the floating light in the month of September 1807,whileshewasridingatsingleanchoraftertheseveregaleofthe7th,atatimewhenitwashardlypossibletomakeupthisvessel’screw;butthecrossnessofhismannerpreventedhisreapingthebenefitofsuchintentions.Friday,22ndJune.Thebuildingoperationshadforsome timeproceededmoreslowly, fromthehigher parts of the lighthouse requiring much longer time than an equaltonnageofthelowercourses.Thedutyofthelanding-master’screwhad,uponthewhole,beeneasyoflate;forthoughtheworkwasoccasionallyirregular,yet thestonesbeing lighter, theyweremorespeedily lifted from theholdofthestonevessel to thedeckof thepraam-boat,andagain to thewaggonsontherailway,afterwhich theycameproperlyunder thechargeof theforemanbuilder. It is, however, a strange, though not an uncommon, feature in thehumancharacter,that,whenpeoplehaveleasttocomplainoftheyaremostapttobecomedissatisfied,aswasnowthecasewiththeseamenemployedintheBellRockserviceabouttheirrationsofbeer.Indeed,eversincethecarpenterof the floating light, formerly noticed, had been brought to the rock,expressions of discontent hadbeenmanifested uponvarious occasions.Thisbeingrepresentedtothewriter,hesentforCaptainWilson,thelanding-master,and Mr. Taylor, commander of the tender, with whom he talked over thesubject.Theystatedthattheyconsideredthedailyallowanceoftheseamenineveryrespectample,andthat,theworkbeingnowmuchlighterthanformerly,theyhadno justground for complaint;Mr.Taylor adding that, if thosewhonowcomplained“wereeventobefeduponsoftbreadandturkeys,theywouldnotthinkthemselvesright.”Attwelvenoontheworkofthelanding-master’screwwascompletedfortheday;butatfouro’clock,whiletherockwasunderwater, those on the beaconwere surprised by the arrival of a boat from thetenderwithoutanysignalhavingbeenmade fromthebeacon. Itbrought thefollowingnotetothewriterfromthelanding-master’screw:—Onwritingthis letterandschedule,asignalwasmadeonthebeaconfor the

landing-master’sboat,whichimmediatelycametotherock,andtheschedulewasafterwardsstuckupinthetender’sgalley.Whensufficienttimehadbeenallowedtothecrewtoconsideroftheirconduct,asecondsignalwasmadeforaboat,andatseveno’clockthewriterlefttheBellRock,afteraresidenceoffoursuccessiveweeksinthebeacon-house.Thefirstthingwhichoccupiedhisattentiononboardofthetenderwastolookrounduponthelighthouse,whichhesaw,withsomedegreeofemotionandsurprise,nowvyinginheightwiththebeacon-house; foralthoughhehadoftenviewed it fromtheextremityofthewestern railway on the rock, yet the scene, upon thewhole, seemed farmore interesting from the tender’smoorings at the distance of about half amile.TheSmeatonhaving just arrivedathermooringswithacargo,a signalwasmade forCaptain Pool to come on board of the tender, that hemight be athand to remove from the service any of those who might persist in theirdiscontentedconduct.Oneofthetwoprincipalleadersinthisaffair,themasterofoneof thepraam-boats,whohadalso steered theboatwhichbrought theletter tothebeacon,wasfirstcalledupondeck,andaskedifhehadreadthestatement fixedup in thegalley thisafternoon,andwhetherhewassatisfiedwithit.Herepliedthathehadreadthepaper,butwasnotsatisfied,asitheldoutnoalterationontheallowance,onwhichhewasimmediatelyorderedintothe Smeaton’s boat. The nextman called had but lately entered the service,and,beingalsointerrogatedastohisresolution,hedeclaredhimselftobeofthesamemindwiththepraam-master,andwasalsoforthwithorderedintotheboat.Thewriter,withoutcallinganymoreoftheseamen,wentforwardtothegangway,where theywerecollectedand listening towhatwaspassingupondeck. He addressed them at the hatchway, and stated that two of theircompanions had just been dismissed the service and sent on board of theSmeaton to be conveyed to Arbroath. He therefore wished each man toconsiderforhimselfhowfar itwouldbeproper,byanyunreasonablenessofconduct, to place themselves in a similar situation, especially as they wereawarethatitwasoptionalinhimeithertodismissthemorsendthemonboardaman-of-war. Itmightappear thatmuch inconveniencywouldbe felt at therockbyachangeofhandsat thiscriticalperiod,bychecking fora time theprogress of a building so intimately connected with the best interests ofnavigation; yet thiswould be but of a temporary nature,while the injury tothemselvesmightbe irreparable. Itwasnow, therefore, requiredofanymanwho, in this disgraceful manner, chose to leave the service, that he shouldinstantly make his appearance on deck while the Smeaton’s boat wasalongside.But those belowhaving expressed themselves satisfiedwith theirsituation—viz., William Brown, George Gibb, Alexander Scott, John Dick,Robert Couper, Alexander Shephard, James Grieve, David Carey, WilliamPearson, Stuart Eaton, Alexander Lawrence, and John Spink—were

accordingly considered as having returned to their duty. This disposition tomutiny, which had so strongly manifested itself, being now happilysuppressed,CaptainPoolgotorderstoproceedforArbroathBay,andlandthetwomenhehadonboard,andtodeliverthefollowingletterattheofficeoftheworkyard:—Ondespatching this letter toMr.Kennedy, thewriter returned to thebeaconabout nine o’clock, where this afternoon’s business had produced manyconjectures, especially when the Smeaton got under weigh, instead ofproceedingtolandhercargo.Thebellonthebeaconbeingrung,theartificerswereassembledonthebridge,whentheaffairwasexplainedtothem.He,atthesametime,congratulatedthemuponthefirstappearanceofmutinybeinghappilysetatrestbythedismissalofitstwoprincipalabettors.Sunday,24thJune.At the rock, the landing of thematerials and the building operations of thelight-room storewent on successfully, and in a way similar to those of theprovision store. To-day it blew fresh breezes; but the seamen neverthelesslanded twenty-eight stones, and the artificers built the fifty-eighth and fifty-ninthcourses.TheworkswerevisitedbyMr.Murdoch,junior,fromMessrs.BoultonandWatt’sworksofSoho.Helandedjustasthebellrungforprayers,after which the writer enjoyed much pleasure from his very intelligentconversation;and,havingbeenalmosttheonlystrangerhehadseenforsomeweeks,hepartedwithhim,afterashortinterview,withmuchregret.Thursday,28thJune.Last night the wind had shifted to north-east, and, blowing fresh, wasaccompaniedwith a heavy surf upon the rock. Towards high-water it had averygrandandwonderfulappearance.Wavesofconsiderablemagnituderoseas high as the solid or level of the entrance-door,which, being open to thesouth-west, was fortunately to the leeward; but on the windward side thesprays flew like lightningup the sloping sidesof thebuilding;andalthoughthewallswerenowelevated sixty-four feet above the rock, and about fifty-twofeetfromhigh-watermark,yettheartificerswereneverthelesswetted,andoccasionally interrupted, in their operations on the top of the walls. Theseappearanceswere,inagreatmeasure,newattheBellRock,therehavingtilloflatebeennobuildingtoconducttheseas,orobjecttocomparewiththem.Although, from the description of the Eddystone Lighthouse, themindwaspreparedforsucheffects,yettheywerenotexpectedtothepresentextentinthesummerseason; theseabeingmostawful to-day,whetherobservedfromthebeaconorthebuilding.Towindward,thespraysfellfromtheheightabove

noticed in themostwonderfulcascades,andstreameddownthewallsof thebuildinginfrothaswhiteassnow.Toleewardofthelighthousethecollisionormeeting of the waves produced a pure white kind of drift: it rose aboutthirtyfeetinheight,likeafinedownymist,which,initsfall,felluponthefaceandhandsmorelikeadrypowderthanaliquidsubstance.Theeffectoftheseseas,astheyragedamongthebeamsanddasheduponthehigherpartsofthebeacon,producedatemporarytremulousmotionthroughoutthewholefabric,whichtoastrangermusthavebeenfrightful.Sunday,1stJuly.ThewriterhadnowbeenattheBellRocksincethelatterendofMay,oraboutsix weeks, during four of which he had been a constant inhabitant of thebeaconwithouthavingbeenonceofftherock.Afterwitnessingthelayingofthesixty-seventhorsecondcourseofthebedroomapartment,helefttherockwith the tenderandwentashore,assomearrangementswere tobemadeforthefutureconductoftheworksatArbroath,whichweresoontobebroughttoaclose; the landing-master’screwhaving, in themeantime,shiftedonboardof the Patriot. In leaving the rock, the writer kept his eyes fixed upon thelighthouse,which had recently got into the form of a house, having severaltiers or stories of windows. Nor was he unmindful of his habitation in thebeacon—now far overtopped by the masonry,—where he had spent severalweeks in a kind of active retirement, making practical experiment of thefewnessofthepositivewantsofman.Hiscabinmeasurednotmorethanfourfeet three inches in breadth on the floor; and though, from the obliquedirectionofthebeamsofthebeacon,itwidenedtowardsthetop,yetitdidnotadmitof thefullextensionofhisarmswhenhestoodon thefloor;while itslength was little more than sufficient for suspending a cot-bed during thenight,calculatedforbeingtriceduptotheroofthroughtheday,whichleftfreeroomfortheadmissionofoccasionalvisitants.Hisfoldingtablewasattachedwith hinges, immediately under the smallwindowof the apartment, andhisbooks, barometer, thermometer, portmanteau, and two or three camp-stools,formedthebulkofhismovables.Hisdietbeingplain,theparaphernaliaofthetable were proportionally simple; though everything had the appearance ofcomfort, and even of neatness, the walls being covered with green clothformed into panels with red tape, and his bed festooned with curtains ofyellowcotton-stuff.If,inspeculatingupontheabstractwantsofmaninsuchastateof exclusion,onewere reduced to a singlebook, theSacredVolume—whether considered for the striking diversity of its story, themorality of itsdoctrine,ortheimportanttruthsofitsgospel—wouldhaveprovedbyfarthegreatesttreasure.Monday,

2ndJuly.InwalkingovertheworkyardatArbroaththismorning,thewriterfoundthatthestonesofthecourseimmediatelyunderthecornicewereall inhand,andthat a week’s work would now finish the whole, while the intermediatecourseslayreadynumberedandmarkedforshippingtotherock.Amongothersubjectswhichhadoccupiedhisattentionto-daywasavisitfromsomeoftherelationsofGeorgeDall,ayoungmanwhohadbeenimpressednearDundeeinthemonthofFebruarylast;adisputehadarisenbetweenthemagistratesofthatburghandtheRegulatingOfficerastohisrightofimpressingDall,whowas bonâ fide one of the protected seamen in theBellRock service. In themeantime,thepoorladwasdetained,andultimatelycommittedtotheprisonofDundee, to remain until the question should be tried before theCourt ofSession.His friendswerenaturallyverydesirous tohavehim relieveduponbail.But, as thiswasonly tobedoneby the judgmentof theCourt, all thatcouldbesaidwasthathispayandallowancesshouldbecontinuedinthesamemannerasifhehadbeenuponthesick-list.ThecircumstancesofDall’scasewere briefly these:—He had gone to see some of his friends in theneighbourhoodofDundee,inwinter,whiletheworksweresuspended,havinggotleaveofabsencefromMr.Taylor,whocommandedtheBellRocktender,and had in his possession one of the Protection Medals. Unfortunately,however, for Dall, the RegulatingOfficer thought proper to disregard thesedocuments, as, according to the strict and literal interpretation of theAdmiraltyregulations,aseamandoesnotstandprotectedunlessheisactuallyon board of his ship, or in a boat belonging to her, or has the Admiraltyprotection in his possession. This order of the Board, however, cannot berigidly followed in practice; and therefore, when thematter is satisfactorilystatedtotheRegulatingOfficer,theimpressedmanisgenerallyliberated.Butin Dall’s case this was peremptorily refused, and he was retained at theinstance of themagistrates. Thewriter having brought thematter under theconsideration of the Commissioners of the Northern Lighthouses, theyauthorisedittobetriedonthepartoftheLighthouseBoard,asoneofextremehardship.TheCourt,uponthefirsthearing,orderedDalltobeliberatedfromprison;andtheproceedingsneverwentfurther.Wednesday,4thJuly.Being now within twelve courses of being ready for building the cornice,measureswere taken for getting the stones of it and the parapet-wall of thelight-roombroughtfromEdinburgh,where,asbeforenoticed, theyhadbeenprepared and were in readiness for shipping. The honour of conveying theupperpartof the lighthouse,andof landing the laststoneof thebuildingontherock,wasconsideredtobelongtoCaptainPooloftheSmeaton,whohad

been longer in the service than themaster of thePatriot.TheSmeatonwas,therefore,nowpartlyloadedwitholdiron,consistingofbrokenrailwaysandother lumber which had been lying about the rock. After landing these atArbroath,shetookonboardJamesCraw,withhishorseandcart,whichcouldnow be spared at the workyard, to be employed in carting the stones fromEdinburgh toLeith.AlexanderDavidson andWilliamKennedy, two carefulmasons, were also sent to take charge of the loading of the stones atGreenside,andstowingthemonboardofthevesselatLeith.Thewriteralsowentonboard,withaviewtocallattheBellRockandtotakehispassageuptheFirth of Forth.Thewind, however, coming to blowvery fresh from theeastward, with thick and foggy weather, it became necessary to reef themainsailandsetthesecondjib.Whenintheactofmakingatacktowardsthetender,thesailorswhoworkedthehead-sheetswere,allofasudden,alarmedwith thesoundof thesmith’shammerandanvilon thebeacon,andhad justtime to put the ship about to save her from running ashore on the north-westernpointoftherock,marked“JamesCraw’sHorse.”Onlookingtowardsthe direction from whence the sound came, the building and beacon-housewereseen,withconsternation,whiletheshipwashailedbythoseontherock,whowerenolessconfoundedatseeingthenearapproachoftheSmeaton;and,justasthevesselclearedthedanger,thesmithandthoseinthemortargallerymade signs in token of their happiness at our fortunate escape. From thisoccurrencethewriterhadanexperimentalproofoftheutilityofthelargebellswhichwereinpreparationtoberungbythemachineryoftherevolvinglight;for, had it not been for the sound of the smith’s anvil, theSmeaton, in allprobability,wouldhavebeenwreckedupon the rock. In case thevessel hadstruck,thoseonboardmighthavebeensafe,havingnowthebeacon-houseasa place of refuge; but the vessel,whichwas going at a great velocity,musthave suffered severely, and itwasmore than probable that the horsewouldhavebeendrowned,therebeingnomeansofgettinghimoutofthevessel.Ofthis valuable animal and his master we shall take an opportunity of sayingmoreinanotherplace.Thursday,5thJuly.Theweatherclearedupinthecourseofthenight,butthewindshiftedtotheN.E.andblewveryfresh.Fromtheforceofthewind,beingnowtheperiodofspring-tides,averyheavyswellwasexperiencedat therock.Attwoo’clockon the followingmorning the people on the beaconwere in a state of greatalarmabouttheirsafety,astheseahadbrokeuppartofthefloorofthemortargallery,Whichwasthusclearedofthelime-casksandotherbuoyantarticles;and,thealarm-bellbeingrung,allhandswerecalledtorenderwhatassistancewasintheirpowerforthesafetyofthemselvesandthematerials.Atthistime

somewouldwillinglyhaveleftthebeaconandgoneintothebuilding;thesea,however, ran so high that there was no passage along the bridge ofcommunication,and,whentheinteriorofthelighthousecametobeexaminedin themorning, it appeared thatgreatquantitiesofwaterhadcomeover thewalls—now eighty feet in height—and had run down through the severalapartmentsandoutattheentrancedoor.TheuppercourseofthelighthouseattheworkyardofArbroathwascompletedonthe6th,andthewholeof thestoneswere, therefore,nowreadyforbeingshippedtotherock.FromthepresentstateoftheworksitwasimpossiblethatthetwosquadsofartificersatArbroathandtheBellRockcouldmeettogetheratthisperiod;andasinpublicworksofthiskind,whichhadcontinuedforaseriesofyears,itisnotcustomarytoallowthementoseparatewithoutwhatistermed a “finishing-pint,” five guineas were for this purpose placed at thedisposalofMr.DavidLogan,clerkofworks.Withthissumthestone-cuttersatArbroathhadamerrymeeting in theirbarrack,collected theirsweetheartsand friends, and concluded their labours with a dance. It was remarked,however, that their happiness on this occasion was not without alloy. Theconsiderationofpartingandleavingasteadyandregularemployment,togoinquest of work and mix with other society, after having been harmoniouslylodged for years together in one large “guildhall or barrack,” was ratherpainful.Friday,6thJuly.WhilethewriterwasatEdinburghhewasfortunateenoughtomeetwithMrs.Dickson,onlydaughterofthelatecelebratedMr.Smeaton,whoseworksattheEddystone Lighthouse had been of such essential consequence to theoperations at the Bell Rock. Even her own elegant accomplishments areidentifiedwithherfather’swork,shehavingherselfmadethedrawingofthevignette on the title-page of the “Narrative of the Eddystone Lighthouse.”Everyadmireroftheworksofthatsingularlyeminentmanmustalsofeelanobligationtoherfortheverycomprehensiveanddistinctaccountgivenofhislife,whichisattachedtohisreports,published,inthreevolumesquarto,bytheSocietyofCivilEngineers.Mrs.Dickson,beingatthistimereturningfromatourtotheHebridesandWesternHighlandsofScotland,hadheardoftheBellRockworks,andfromtheirsimilaritytothoseoftheEddystone,wasstronglyimpressedwithadesireofvisitingthespot.ButoninquiringforthewriteratEdinburgh, and finding from him that the upper part of the lighthouse,consistingofninecourses,mightbeseen in the immediatevicinity,andalsothatoneofthevessels,which,incomplimenttoherfather’smemory,hadbeennamedtheSmeaton,mightalsonowbeseeninLeith,sheconsideredherselfextremely fortunate; and having first visited the works at Greenside, she

afterwardswenttoLeithtoseetheSmeaton,thenloadingfortheBellRock.On stepping on board,Mrs. Dickson seemed to be quite overcomewith somany concurrent circumstances, tending in a peculiarmanner to revive andenliven the memory of her departed father, and, on leaving the vessel, shewouldnotberestrainedfrompresentingthecrewwithapieceofmoney.TheSmeatonhadbeennamedspontaneously,fromasenseoftheobligationwhicha public work of the description of the Bell Rock owed to the labours andabilitiesofMr.Smeaton.Thewritercertainlynevercouldhaveanticipatedthesatisfactionwhichhethisdayfeltinwitnessingthepleasureitaffordedtotheonlyrepresentativeofthisgreatman’sfamily.Friday,20thJuly.Thegale from theN.E. still continued so strong, accompaniedwithaheavysea,thatthePatriotcouldnotapproachhermoorings;althoughthetenderstillkeptherstation,nolandingwasmadeto-dayattherock.Athigh-wateritwasremarked that the spray rose to the height of about sixty feet upon thebuilding. The Smeaton now lay in Leith loaded, but, thewind andweatherbeingsounfavourableforhergettingdowntheFirth,shedidnotsailtillthisafternoon.Itmaybeherepropertonoticethattheloadingofthecentreofthelight-roomfloor,orlastprincipalstoneofthebuilding,didnotfail,whenputonboard, to excite an interest among those connectedwith thework.WhenthestonewaslaiduponthecarttobeconveyedtoLeith,theseamenfixedanensign-staff and flag into the circular hole in the centre of the stone, anddecoratedtheirownhats,andthatofJamesCraw, theBellRockcarter,withribbons;evenhisfaithfulandtrustyhorseBrasseywasornamentedwithbowsandstreamersofvariouscolours.Themasonsalsoprovidedthemselveswithnew aprons, and in thismanner the cartwas attended in its progress to theship.When thecartcameopposite theTrinityHouseofLeith, theofficerofthatcorporationmadehisappearancedressedinhisuniform,withhisstaffofoffice; and when it reached the harbour, the shipping in the different tierswhere the Smeaton lay hoisted their colours, manifesting by these triflingceremoniestheinterestwithwhichtheprogressofthisworkwasregardedbythepublic,asultimatelytendingtoaffordsafetyandprotectiontothemariner.The wind had fortunately shifted to the S.W., and about five o’clock thisafternoontheSmeatonreachedtheBellRock.Friday,27thJuly.The artificers had finished the laying of the balcony course, excepting thecentre-stoneofthelight-roomfloor,which,likethecentresoftheotherfloors,couldnotbelaidinitsplacetillaftertheremovalofthefootandshaftofthe

balance-crane. During the dinner-hour, when the men were off work, thewritergenerallytooksomeexercisebywalkingroundthewallswhentherockwasunderwater;butto-dayhisboundarywasgreatlyenlarged,for,insteadofthenarrowwallasapath,hefeltnosmalldegreeofpleasureinwalkingroundthe balcony and passing out and in at the space allotted for the light-roomdoor.Inthelaboursofthisdayboththeartificersandseamenfelttheirworktobeextremelyeasycomparedwithwhatithadbeenforsomedayspast.Sunday,29thJuly.CaptainWilsonandhiscrewhadmadepreparationsforlandingthelaststone,and,asmaywellbesupposed,thiswasadayofgreatinterestattheBellRock.“That it might lose none of its honours,” as he expressed himself, theHedderwickpraam-boat,withwhich the first stone of the building had beenlanded,wasappointedalsotocarrythelast.Atseveno’clockthiseveningtheseamen hoisted three flags upon the Hedderwick, when the colours of theDickie praam-boat, tender, Smeaton, floating light, beacon-house, andlighthousewere also displayed; and, theweather being remarkably fine, thewhole presented a very gay appearance, and, in connection with theassociationsexcited,theeffectwasverypleasing.Thepraamwhichcarriedthestonewastowedbytheseameningallantstyletotherock,and,onitsarrival,cheersweregivenasafinaletothelandingdepartment.Monday,30thJuly.The ninetieth or last course of the building having been laid to-day, whichbroughtthemasonrytotheheightofonehundredandtwofeetsixinches,thelintel of the light-roomdoor, being the finishing-stone of the exteriorwalls,waslaidwithdueformalitybythewriter,who,atthesametime,pronouncedthe following benediction: “May theGreatArchitect of theUniverse, underwhoseblessingthisperilousworkhasprospered,preserveitasaguidetothemariner.”Friday,3rdAug.At three p.m., the necessary preparations having been made, the artificerscommenced the completing of the floors of the several apartments, and atseveno’clockthecentre-stoneofthelight-roomfloorwaslaid,whichmaybeheld as finishing themasonryof this importantnational edifice.Aftergoingthrough the usual ceremonies observed by the brotherhood on occasions ofthiskind,thewriter,addressinghimselftotheartificersandseamenwhowerepresent,brieflyalludedtotheutilityoftheundertakingasamonumentofthe

wealth of British commerce, erected through the spirited measures of theCommissionersof theNorthernLighthousesbymeansof theableassistanceofthosewhonowsurroundedhim.Hethentookanopportunityofstatingthattowardthoseconnectedwiththisarduousworkhewouldeverretainthemostheartfeltregardinalltheirinterests.Saturday,4thAug.When the bell was rung as usual on the beacon this morning, every oneseemed as if hewere at a losswhat tomake of himself.At this period theartificersattherockconsistedofeighteenmasons,twojoiners,onemillwright,one smith, and onemortar-maker, besidesMessrs. Peter Logan and FrancisWatt, foremen, counting in all twenty-five; and matters were arranged forproceeding toArbroath this afternoonwith all hands.TheSir JosephBankstender had by this time been afloat,with little intermission, for sixmonths,duringgreaterpartofwhichtheartificershadbeenalmostconstantlyoffattherock,andwerenowmuchinwantofnecessariesofalmosteverydescription.Nota fewhad lostdifferentarticlesofclothing,whichhaddropped into theseafromthebeaconandbuilding.Somewantedjackets;others,fromwantofhats,worenightcaps;eachwas,infact,moreorlesscurtailedinhiswardrobe,and it must be confessed that at best the party were but in a very tatteredcondition. This morning was occupied in removing the artificers and theirbedding on board of the tender; and, although their personal luggage waseasily shifted, theboatshad,nevertheless,manyarticles to remove from thebeacon-house,andwereconsequentlyemployedinthisservicetillelevena.m.Allhandsbeingcollected,and just ready toembark,as thewaterhadnearlyoverflowedtherock,thewriter,intakingleave,afteralludingtotheharmonywhichhadevermarkedtheconductofthoseemployedontheBellRock,tookoccasion to compliment the great zeal, attention, and abilities of Mr. PeterLoganandMr.FrancisWatt,foremen;CaptainJamesWilson,landing-master;and Captain David Taylor, commander of the tender, who, in their severaldepartments, had so faithfully discharged the duties assigned to them, oftenunder circumstances the most difficult and trying. The health of thesegentlemen was drunk with much warmth of feeling by the artificers andseamen, who severally expressed the satisfaction they had experienced inactingunderthem;afterwhichthewholepartylefttherock.Insailingpastthefloatinglight,mutualcomplimentsweremadebyadisplayof flagsbetween thatvesseland the tender;andat fivep.m. the lattervesselenteredtheharbourofArbroath,wherethepartywereheartilywelcomedbyanumerouscompanyofspectators,whohadcollectedtoseetheartificersarriveafter so longanabsence from theport. In theevening thewriter invited theforemenandcaptainsoftheservice,togetherwithMr.DavidLogan,clerkof

works at Arbroath, and Mr. Lachlan Kennedy, engineer’s clerk andbookkeeper,andsomeoftheirfriends,totheprincipalinn,wheretheeveningwas spent very happily; and after “His Majesty’s Health” and “TheCommissionersoftheNorthernLighthouses”hadbeengiven,“StabilitytotheBell Rock Lighthouse” was hailed as a standing toast in the Lighthouseservice.Sunday,5thAug.TheauthorhasformerlynoticedtheuniformlydecentandorderlydeportmentoftheartificerswhowereemployedattheBellRockLighthouse,andto-day,it is believed, they very generally attended church, no doubt with gratefulhearts for the narrow escapes from personal danger which all of them hadmoreorlessexperiencedduringtheirresidenceattherock.Tuesday,14thAug.TheSmeatonsailedto-dayatonep.m.,havingonboardsixteenartificers,withMr. PeterLogan, togetherwith a supply of provisions and necessaries,wholefttheharbourpleasedandhappytofindthemselvesoncemoreafloatintheBellRockservice.Atseveno’clockthetenderwasmadefasttohermoorings,whentheartificerslandedontherockandtookpossessionoftheiroldquartersinthebeacon-house,withfeelingsverydifferentfromthoseof1807,whentheworkscommenced.Thebarometerforsomedayspasthadbeenfallingfrom29.90,andto-dayitwas29.50,withthewindatN.E.,which,inthecourseofthisday,increasedtoastronggaleaccompaniedwitha seawhichbrokewithgreatviolenceupontherock.Attwelvenoonthetenderrodeveryheavilyathermoorings,whenherchainbrokeatabouttenfathomsfromtheship’sbows.Thekedge-anchorwas immediately let go, to hold her till the floating buoy and broken chainshould be got on board. But while this was in operation the hawser of thekedgewas chafed throughon the rockybottomandparted,when thevesselwasagainadrift.Most fortunately,however, shecastoffwithherhead fromtherock,andnarrowlyclearedit,whenshesaileduptheFirthofForthtowaitthereturnofbetterweather.Theartificerswerethusleftupontherockwithsoheavyasearunningthatitwasascertainedtohaverisentotheheightofeightyfeetonthebuilding.Undersuchperilouscircumstancesitwouldbedifficulttodescribethefeelingsofthosewho,atthistime,werecoopedupinthebeaconin so forlorn a situation, with the sea not only raging under them, butoccasionally falling from a great height upon the roof of their temporarylodging,withouteventheattendingvesselinviewtoaffordtheleastgleamofhopeintheeventofanyaccident.Itistruethattheyhadnowthemasonryof

thelighthousetoresortto,which,nodoubt,lessenedtheactualdangeroftheirsituation; but the building was still without a roof, and the deadlights, orstorm-shutters,notbeingyetfitted,thewindowsofthelowerstorywerestoveinandbroken,andathigh-waterthesearaninconsiderablequantitiesoutattheentrancedoor.Thursday,16thAug.Thegalecontinueswithunabatedviolenceto-day,andthespraysrisetoastillgreater height, having been carried over themasonry the building, or aboutninety feet above the level of the sea. At four o’clock this morning it wasbreaking into the cook’s berth, when he rang the alarm-bell, and all handsturnedouttoattendtotheirpersonalsafety.Thefloorofthesmith’s,ormortargallery,wasnowcompletelyburstupbytheforceofthesea,whenthewholeofthedealsandtheremainingarticlesuponthefloorweresweptaway,suchasthecast-ironmortar-tubs,theironhearthoftheforge,thesmith’sbellows,andevenhisanvilwerethrowndownupontherock.Beforethetiderosetoitsfull height to-day some of the artificers passed along the bridge into thelighthouse,toobservetheeffectsoftheseauponit,andtheyreportedthattheyhadfeltaslighttremulousmotioninthebuildingwhengreatseasstruckitinacertain direction, about high-water mark. On this occasion the sprays wereagainobservedtowetthebalcony,andeventocomeovertheparapetwallintotheinteriorofthelight-room.Thursday,23rdAug.Thewindbeing atW.S.W., and theweathermoremoderate, both the tenderand the Smeaton got to their moorings on the 23rd, when hands wereemployedintransportingthesash-framesfromonboardoftheSmeatontotherock. In the act of setting up one of these frames upon the bridge, it wasunguardedly suffered to lose its balance, and in saving it from damage,CaptainWilsonmetwithaseverebruiseinthegroin,ontheseatofagun-shotwoundreceived in theearlypartofhis life.Thisaccident laidhimaside forseveraldays.Monday,27thAug.The sash-framesof the light-room, eight in number, andweighing each254pounds,havingbeengotsafelyup to the topof thebuildingwererangedonthebalconyintheorderinwhichtheywerenumberedfortheirplacesonthetopoftheparapet-wall;andthebalance-crane,thatusefulmachinehavingnowliftedalltheheavierarticles,wasunscrewedandlowered,tousethelanding-

master’sphrase,“inmournfulsilence.”Sunday,2ndSept.Thestepsofthestairbeinglanded,andalltheweightierarticlesofthelight-roomgotuptothebalcony,thewoodenbridgewasnowtoberemoved,asithadaverypowerfuleffectupon thebeaconwhenaheavysea struck it, andcouldnotpossiblyhavewithstood thestormsofawinter.Everythinghavingbeen cleared from the bridge, and nothing left but the two principal beamswiththeirhorizontalbraces,JamesGlen,athigh-water,proceededwithasawto cut through the beams at the end next the beacon, which likewisedisengaged their opposite extremity, inserted a few inches into the building.The frame was then gently lowered into the water, and floated off to theSmeatontobetowedtoArbroath,tobeappliedaspartofthematerialsintheerectionofthelightkeepers’houses.Aftertheremovalofthebridge,theaspectof things at the rockwasmuch altered.The beacon-house andbuilding hadbothanakedlookto thoseaccustomedto theirformerappearance;acuriousoptical deception was also remarked, by which the lighthouse seemed toinclinefromtheperpendiculartowardsthebeacon.Thehorizontalrope-ladderbefore noticed was again stretched to preserve the communication, and theartificers were once more obliged to practise the awkward and straddlingmanneroftheirpassagebetweenthemduring1809.At twelve noon the bell rung for prayers, after which the artificerswent todinner, when thewriter passed along the rope-ladder to the lighthouse, andwent through the several apartments,whichwere nowclearedof lumber. Intheafternoonallhandsweresummonedtotheinteriorofthehouse,whenhehad the satisfactionof laying theupper stepof the stair, or last stoneof thebuilding.Thisceremonyconcludedwiththreecheers,thesoundofwhichhada very loud and strange effect within the walls of the lighthouse. At sixo’clockMr.PeterLoganandelevenoftheartificersembarkedwiththewriterforArbroath, leavingMr. JamesGlenwith the special chargeof thebeaconandrailways,Mr.RobertSelkirkwiththebuilding,withafewartificerstofitthetemporarywindowstorenderthehousehabitable.Sunday,14thOct.OnreturningfromhisvoyagetotheNorthernLighthouses, thewriterlandedattheBellRockonSunday,the14thofOctober,andhadthepleasuretofind,from the very favourable state of the weather, that the artificers had beenenabledtomakegreatprogresswiththefitting-upofthelight-room.Friday,

19thOct.The light-roomwork had proceeded, as usual, to-day under the direction ofMr. Dove, assisted in the plumber-work by Mr. John Gibson, and in thebrazier-workbyMr.JosephFraser;whileMr.JamesSlight,with the joiners,werefittingupthestorm-shuttersofthewindows.Intheseseveraldepartmentstheartificerswereatworktillseveno’clockp.m.,anditbeingthendark,Mr.Dove gave orders to drop work in the light-room; and all hands proceededfromthencetothebeacon-house,whenCharlesHenderson,smith,andHenryDickson,brazier,lefttheworktogether.Beingbothyoungmen,whohadbeenforseveralweeksupontherock,theyhadbecomefamiliar,andevenplayful,on themostdifficultpartsabout thebeaconandbuilding.Thisevening theywere trying to outrun each other in descending from the light-room, whenHendersonledtheway;buttheywereinconversationwitheachothertilltheycametotherope-ladderdistendedbetweentheentrance-doorofthelighthouseand the beacon. Dickson, on reaching the cook-room, was surprised at notseeing his companion, and inquired hastily for Henderson. Uponwhich thecookreplied,“Washebeforeyouupontherope-ladder?”Dicksonanswered,“Yes;and I thought Iheardsomething fall.”Upon this thealarmwasgiven,andlinkswereimmediatelylighted,withwhichtheartificersdescendedonthelegsofthebeacon,asnearthesurfaceofthewateraspossible, itbeingthenabout full tide, and the sea breaking to a considerable height upon thebuilding, with the wind at S.S.E. But, after watching till low-water, andsearching in everydirectionupon the rock, it appeared that poorHendersonmusthaveunfortunatelyfallenthroughtherope-ladderandbeenwashedintothedeepwater.Thedeceasedhadpassedalongthisrope-laddermanyhundredtimes,bothbyday and night, and the operations in which he was employed being nearlyfinished, he was about to leave the rock when this melancholy catastrophetook place. The unfortunate loss of Henderson cast a deep gloom upon themindsofallwhowereat therock,and it requiredsomemanagementon thepartofthosewhohadchargetoinducethepeopletoremainpatientlyattheirwork;astheweathernowbecamemoreboisterous,andthenightslong,theyfound their habitation extremely cheerless, while the winds were howlingabout their ears, and thewaves lashingwith fury against the beamsof theirinsulatedhabitation.Tuesday,23rdOct.ThewindhadshiftedinthenighttoN.W.,andblewafreshgale,whiletheseabrokewithviolenceupon the rock. Itwas found impossible to land,but thewriter,fromtheboat,hailedMr.Dove,anddirectedtheballtobeimmediatelyfixed. The necessary preparations were accordingly made, while the vessel

made short tacks on the southern side of the rock, in comparatively smoothwater.AtnoonMr.Dove, assistedbyMr. JamesSlight,Mr.RobertSelkirk,Mr.JamesGlen,andMr.JohnGibson,plumber,withconsiderabledifficulty,from the boisterous state of the weather, got the gilded ball screwed on,measuring two feet in diameter, and forming the principal ventilator at theupper extremity of the cupola of the lightroom.AtMr.Hamilton’s desire, asaluteofsevengunswasfiredonthisoccasion,and,allhandsbeingcalledtothequarter-deck,“StabilitytotheBellRockLighthouse”wasnotforgotten.Tuesday,30thOct.Onreachingtherockitwasfoundthataveryheavyseastillranuponit;butthe writer having been disappointed on two former occasions, and, as theerectionofthehousemightnowbeconsideredcomplete,therebeingnothingwantedexternally,exceptingsomeofthestorm-shuttersforthedefenceofthewindows,hewasthemoreanxiousatthistimetoinspectit.Twowell-mannedboatswerethereforeorderedtobeinattendance;and,aftersomedifficulty,thewind being at N.N.E., they got safely into the western creek, though notwithoutencounteringplentifulsprays.Itwouldhavebeenimpossibletohaveattempted a landing to-day, under any other circumstances than with boatsperfectlyadapted to thepurpose,andwithseamenwhoknewevery ledgeoftherock,andeventhelengthofthesea-weedsateachparticularspot,soastodip their oars into the water accordingly, and thereby prevent them fromgetting entangled.Butwhatwasof no less consequence to the safetyof theparty,CaptainWilson,whoalwayssteeredtheboat,hadaperfectknowledgeofthesetofthedifferentwaves,whilethecrewnevershiftedtheireyesfromobserving his motions, and the strictest silence was preserved by everyindividualexcepthimself.On entering the house, thewriter had the pleasure to find it in a somewhathabitable condition, the lower apartments being closed in with temporarywindows, and fittedwithproper storm-shutters.The lowest apartment at theheadofthestaircasewasoccupiedwithwater,fuel,andprovisions,putupinatemporaryway until the house could be furnishedwith proper utensils. Thesecond, or light-room store, was at present much encumbered with varioustoolsandapparatusfortheuseoftheworkmen.Thekitchenimmediatelyoverthishad,asyet,beensuppliedonlywithacommonship’scabooseandplate-iron funnel, while the necessary cooking utensils had been taken from thebeacon.Thebedroomwasforthepresentusedasthejoiners’workshop,andthe strangers’ room, immediatelyunder the light-room,wasoccupiedby theartificers, the beds being ranged in tiers, aswas done in the barrack of thebeacon. The lightroom, though unprovided with its machinery, being nowcovered overwith the cupola, glazed and painted, had a very complete and

cleanlyappearance.Thebalconywasonlyasyetfittedwithatemporaryrail,consistingofafewironstanchions,connectedwithropes;andinthisstateitwasnecessarytoleaveitduringthewinter.Havinggoneoverthewholeofthelow-waterworksontherock,thebeacon,andlighthouse,andbeingsatisfiedthatonlythemostuntowardaccidentinthelandingofthemachinerycouldpreventtheexhibitionofthelightinthecourseof thewinter,Mr. JohnReid, formerlyof the floating light,wasnowput inchargeof the lighthouseasprincipalkeeper;Mr.JamesSlighthadchargeoftheoperationsoftheartificers,whileMr.JamesDoveandthesmiths,havingfinishedtheframeofthelight-room,left therockforthepresent.Withthesearrangementsthewriterbadeadieutotheworksfortheseason.Atelevena.m.thetidewasfaradvanced;andtherebeingnowlittleornoshelterfortheboatsat the rock, theyhad tobepulled through thebreachofsea,whichcameonboardingreatquantities,anditwaswithextremedifficultythattheycouldbekeptintheproperdirectionofthelanding-creek.Onthisoccasionhemaybepermittedtolookbackwithgratitudeonthemanyescapesmadeinthecourseofthisarduousundertaking,nowbroughtsoneartoasuccessfulconclusion.Monday,5thNov.OnMonday,the5th,theyachtagainvisitedtherock,whenMr.Slightandtheartificers returnedwithher to theworkyard,whereanumberof thingswerestilltoprepareconnectedwiththetemporaryfittingupoftheaccommodationfor the lightkeepers. Mr. John Reid and Peter Fortune were now the onlyinmatesofthehouse.Thiswasthesmallestnumberofpersonshithertoleftinthe lighthouse. As four lightkeepers were to be the complement, it wasintendedthatthreeshouldalwaysbeattherock.Itspresentinmates,however,couldhardlyhavebeenbetterselectedforsuchasituation;Mr.Reidbeingapersonpossessedofthestrictestnotionsofdutyandhabitsofregularityfromlongserviceonboardofaman-of-war,whileMr.Fortunehadoneofthemosthappyandcontenteddispositionsimaginable.Tuesday,13thNov.FromSaturday the10th tillTuesday the13th, thewindhadbeen fromN.E.blowing a heavy gale; but to-day, the weather having greatly moderated,CaptainTaylor,whonowcommandedtheSmeaton,sailedattwoo’clocka.m.fortheBellRock.Atfivethefloatinglightwashailedandfoundtobeallwell.Beingafinemoonlightmorning,theseamenwerechangedfromtheoneshiptotheother.Ateight,theSmeatonbeingofftherock,theboatsweremanned,andtakingasupplyofwater,fuel,andothernecessaries,landedatthewesternside,whenMr.ReidandMr.Fortunewerefoundingoodhealthandspirits.

Mr.Reidstatedthatduringthelategales,particularlyonFriday,the30th,thewind veering from S.E. to N.E., both he andMr. Fortune sensibly felt thehouse tremblewhenparticular seas struck,about the timeofhigh-water; theformer observing that it was a tremor of that sort which rather tended toconvincehimthateverythingaboutthebuildingwassound,andremindedhimof the effect produced when a good log of timber is struck sharply with amallet; but, with every confidence in the stability of the building, heneverthelessconfessedthat,insoforlornasituation,theywerenotinsensibleto thoseemotionswhich,heemphaticallyobserved,“madeaman lookbackuponhisformerlife.”Friday,1stFeb.Theday,longwishedfor,onwhichthemarinerwastoseealightexhibitedontheBellRockat lengtharrived.CaptainWilson,asusual,hoisted the float’slanternstothetopmastontheeveningofthe1stofFebruary;butthemomentthat the light appeared on the rock, the crew, giving three cheers, loweredthem,andfinallyextinguishedthelights.

ADDITIONALMEMORIESANDPORTRAITS

IRANDOMMEMORIES

MANYwritershavevigorouslydescribedthepainsofthefirstdayorthefirstnight at school; to a boy of any enterprise, I believe, they are more oftenagreeably exciting. Misery—or at least misery unrelieved—is confined toanother period, to the days of suspense and the “dreadful looking-for” ofdeparture;whentheoldlifeisrunningtoanend,andthenewlife,withitsnewinterests,notyetbegun;andtothepainofanimminentparting,thereisaddedtheunrestofastateofconsciouspre-existence.Thearearailings,thebelovedshop-window,thesmellofsemi-suburbantanpits,thesongofthechurch-bellsuponaSunday,thethin,highvoicesofcompatriotchildreninaplaying-field—what a sudden, what an overpowering pathos breathes to him from eachfamiliar circumstance! The assaults of sorrow come not from within, as itseemstohim,butfromwithout.Iwasproudandgladtogotoschool;hadIbeenletalone,Icouldhaveborneuplikeanyhero;buttherewasaroundme,inallmynativetown,aconspiracyoflamentation:“Poorlittleboy,heisgoingaway—unkind little boy, he is going to leave us”; so the unspoken burthenfollowed me as I went, with yearning and reproach. And at length, one

melancholy afternoon in the early autumn, and at a placewhere it seems tome,lookingback,itmustbealwaysautumnandgenerallySunday,therecamesuddenlyuponthefaceofallIsaw—thelongemptyroad,thelinesofthetallhouses,thechurchuponthehill,thewoodyhillsidegarden—alookofsuchapiercingsadnessthatmyheartdied;andseatingmyselfonadoor-step,Ishedtears ofmiserable sympathy.A benevolent cat cumberedme thewhilewithconsolations—wetwowerealoneinallthatwasvisibleoftheLondonRoad:two poor waifs who had each tasted sorrow—and she fawned upon theweeper,andgambolled forhisentertainment,watching theeffect, it seemed,withmotherlyeyes.For the sakeof thecat,Godblessher! I confessedathome the storyofmyweakness;andsoitcomesaboutthatIowedacertainjourney,andthereaderowes thepresentpaper, toacat in theLondonRoad. Itwas judged, if Ihadthusbrimmedoveronthepublichighway,somechangeofscenewas(inthemedicalsense)indicated;myfatheratthetimewasvisitingtheharbourlightsofScotland;anditwasdecidedthatheshouldtakemealongwithhimaroundaportionoftheshoresofFife;myfirstprofessionaltour,myfirstjourneyinthecompletecharacterofman,withoutthehelpofpetticoats.TheKingdomofFife(thatroyalprovince)maybeobservedbythecuriousonthemap,occupyinga tongueof landbetween the firthsofForthandTay. ItmaybecontinuallyseenfrommanypartsofEdinburgh(amongtherest,fromthe windows of my father’s house) dying away into the distance and theeasterly haar with one smoky seaside town beyond another, or in winterprinting on the grey heaven some glittering hill-tops. It has no beauty torecommend it, being a low, sea-salted, wind-vexed promontory; trees veryrare,except(ascommonontheeastcoast)alongthedensofrivers;thefieldswell cultivated, I understand, but not lovely to the eye. It is of the coast Ispeak:theinteriormaybethegardenofEden.Historybroodsoverthatpartoftheworldliketheeasterlyhaar.Evenonthemap,itslongrowofGaelicplace-namesbeartestimonytoanoldandsettledrace.Oftheselittletowns,postedalongtheshoreascloseassedges,eachwithitsbitofharbour,itsoldweather-beaten church or public building, its flavour of decayed prosperity anddecaying fish, not one but has its legend, quaint or tragic: Dunfermline, inwhoseroyaltowersthekingmaybestillobserved(intheballad)drinkingtheblood-red wine; somnolent Inverkeithing, once the quarantine of Leith;Aberdour,hardbythemonasticisletofInchcolm,hardbyDonibristlewherethe “bonny facewas spoiled”:Burntisland,where,whenPaul Joneswasoffthecoast,theReverendMr.Shirrahadatablecarriedbetweentide-marks,andpublicly prayed against the rover at the pitch of his voice and his broadlowland dialect; Kinghorn, where Alexander “brak’s neck-bane” and leftScotland to the English wars; Kirkcaldy, where the witches once prevailedextremely and sank tall ships andhonestmariners in theNorthSea;Dysart,

famous—well,famousatleasttomefortheDutchshipsthatlayinitsharbour,paintedliketoysandwithpotsofflowersandcagesofsong-birdsinthecabin-windows, and for one particular Dutch skipper who would sit all day inslippers on the break of the poop, smoking a long German pipe; Wemyss(pronounced Weems) with its bat-haunted caves, where the ChevalierJohnstone,onhisflightfromCulloden,passedanightofsuperstitiousterrors;Leven, a bald, quitemodern place, sacred to summer visitors,whence therehas gone but yesterday the tall figure and the white locks of the lastEnglishmaninDelhi,myuncleDr.Balfour,whowasstillwalkinghishospitalrounds,whilethetroopersfromMeerutclatteredandcried“DeenDeen”alongthestreetsoftheimperialcity,andWilloughbymusteredhishandfulofheroesat the magazine, and the nameless brave one in the telegraph office wasperhaps already fingering his last despatch; and just a little beyond Leven,LargoLawandthesmokeofLargotownmountingaboutitsfeet,thetownofAlexanderSelkirk,betterknownunder thenameofRobinsonCrusoe.Soonthe list might be pursued (only for private reasons, which the reader willshortlyhaveanopportunitytoguess)bySt.Monans,andPittenweem,andthetwoAnstruthers,andCellardyke,andCrail,wherePrimateSharpewasonceahumbleandinnocentcountryminister:ontotheheeloftheland,toFifeNess,overlooked by a sea-wood of matted elders and the quaint old mansion ofBalcomie,itselfoverlookingbutthebreachorthequiescenceofthedeep—theCarrRockbeaconrisingcloseinfront,andasnightdrawsin, thestarof theInchcapereefspringingupontheonehand,andthestaroftheMayIslandontheother,andfartheroffyetathirdandagreateronthecraggyforelandofSt.Abb’s.Andbutalittlewayroundthecorneroftheland,imminentitselfabovethesea,standsthegemoftheprovinceandthelightofmediævalScotland,St.Andrews, where the great Cardinal Beaton held garrison against the world,and the second of the name and title perished (as youmay read in Knox’sjeering narrative) under the knives of true-blue Protestants, and to this day(aftersomanycenturies)thecurrentvoiceoftheprofessorisnothushed.Here itwas thatmy first tour of inspectionbegan, early on a bleak easterlymorning.Therewasacrashingrunofseaupontheshore,Irecollect,andmyfatherandthemanoftheharbourlightmustsometimesraisetheirvoicestobeaudible. Perhaps it is from this circumstance, that I always imagine St.Andrewstobeanineffectualseatoflearning,andthesoundoftheeastwindand the bursting surf to linger in its drowsy class-rooms and confound theutterance of the professor, until teacher and taught are alike drowned inoblivion, andonly the sea-gullbeatson thewindowsand thedraughtof thesea-air rustles in the pages of the open lecture. But upon all this, and theromanceofSt.Andrewsingeneral,thereadermustconsulttheworksofMr.AndrewLang;whohaswrittenofitbuttheotherdayinhisdaintyproseandwithhisincommunicablehumour,andlongago,inoneofhisbestpoems,with

grace and local truth and a note of unaffected pathos.Mr. Lang knows allabouttheromance,Isay,andtheeducationaladvantages,butIdoubtifhehadturnedhisattentiontotheharbourlights;anditmaybenewseventohim,thatin the year 1863 their casewas pitiable. Hanging about with the east windhumming in my teeth, and my hands (I make no doubt) in my pockets, Ilookedforthefirsttimeuponthattragi-comedyofthevisitingengineerwhichIhaveseensooftenre-enactedonamoreimportantstage.Eightyyearsago,Ifindmygrandfatherwriting:“Itisthemostpainfulthingthatcanoccurtometo have a correspondence of this kindwith any of the keepers, andwhen IcometotheLightHouse,insteadofhavingthesatisfactiontomeetthemwithapprobationandwelcometheirFamily,itisdistressingwhenoneisobligedtoputonamostangrycountenanceanddemeanour.”Thispainfulobligationhasbeen hereditary in my race. I have myself, on a perfectly amateur andunauthorisedinspectionofTurnberryPoint,bentmybrowsuponthekeeperonthequestionofstorm-panes;and feltakeenpangofself-reproach,whenwewentdownstairsagainandIfoundhewasmakingacoffinforhisinfantchild;andthenregainedmyequanimitywiththethoughtthatIhaddonethemanaservice, and when the proper inspector came, he would be readier with hispanes. The human race is perhaps credited with more duplicity than itdeserves. The visitation of a lighthouse at least is a business of the mosttransparent nature.As soon as theboat grates on the shore, and thekeepersstepforwardintheiruniformedcoats,theveryslouchofthefellows’shoulderstells their story, and the engineer may begin at once to assume his “angrycountenance.”Certainly thebrassof thehandrailwillbeclouded;and if thebrass be not immaculate, certainly all will be to match—the reflectorsscratched,thesparelampunready,thestorm-panesinthestorehouse.Ifalightis not rather more thanmiddling good, it will be radically bad.Mediocrity(except in literature) appears to be unattainable by man. But of course theunfortunateofSt.Andrewswasonlyanamateur,hewasnotintheService,hehadnouniformcoat,hewas,Ibelieve,aplumberbyhistrade,andstood(inthemediævalphrase)quiteoutofthedangerofmyfather;buthehadapainfulinterviewforallthat,andperspiredextremely.FromSt.AndrewswedroveoverMagusMuir.Myfatherhadannouncedwewere“topost,”and thephrasecalledup inmyhopefulmindvisionsof top-bootsand thepictures inRowlandson’s“DanceofDeath”;but itwasonlyajinglingcabthatcametotheinndoor,suchasIhaddriveninathousandtimesat the low price of one shilling on the streets of Edinburgh. Beyond thisdisappointment, I remember nothing of that drive. It is a road I have oftentravelled,andofnotoneofthesejourneysdoIrememberanysingletrait.Thefacthasnotbeensuffered toencroachon the truthof the imagination. IstillseeMagusMuir twohundredyearsago:adesertplace,quiteunenclosed; inthe midst, the primate’s carriage fleeing at the gallop; the assassins loose-

reinedinpursuit,BurleyBalfour,pistolinhand,amongthefirst.Nosceneofhistoryhaseverwrittenitselfsodeeplyonmymind;notbecauseBalfour,thatquestionable zealot,was an ancestral cousin ofmy own; not because of thepleadingsofthevictimandhisdaughter;notevenbecauseofthelivebum-beethat flew out of Sharpe’s ’bacco-box, thus clearly indicating his complicitywithSatan;normerelybecause,asitwasafterallacrimeofafinereligiousflavour, it figured in Sunday books and afforded a grateful relief from“MinisteringChildren” or the “Memoirs ofMrs.KatherineWinslowe.”ThefigurethatalwaysfixedmyattentionisthatofHackstonofRathillet,sittinginthesaddlewithhiscloakabouthismouth,andthroughallthatlong,bungling,vociferous hurly-burly, revolving privately a case of conscience. He wouldtakenohandinthedeed,becausehehadaprivatespiteagainstthevictim,and“thataction”mustbesulliedwithnosuggestionofaworldlymotive;on theotherhand, “that action” in itselfwashighly justified,hehadcast inhis lotwith “the actors,” and hemust stay there, inactive, but publicly sharing theresponsibility. “You are a gentleman—you will protect me!” cried thewoundedoldman, crawling towardshim. “Iwill never lay ahandonyou,”saidHackston,andputhiscloakabouthismouth.Itisanoldtemptationwithmetopluckawaythatcloakandseetheface—toopenthatbosomandtoreadtheheart.WithincompleteromancesaboutHackston,thedrawersofmyyouthwerelumbered.IreadhimupineveryprintedbookthatIcouldlaymyhandson. I even dug among theWodrowmanuscripts, sitting shame-faced in theveryroomwheremyherohadbeentorturedtwocenturiesbefore,andkeenlyconsciousofmyyouth in themidstofother and (as I fondly thought)moregiftedstudents.Allwasvain:thathehadpassedariotousnonage,thathewasa zealot, that he twice displayed (comparedwith his grotesque companions)sometinctureofsoldierlyresolutionandevenofmilitarycommonsense,andthathefiguredmemorablyinthesceneonMagusMuir,somuchandnomorecouldImakeout.ButwheneverIcastmyeyesbackward,itistoseehimlikea landmark on the plains of history, sittingwith his cloak about hismouth,inscrutable.Howsmalla thingcreatesan immortality! Idonot thinkhecanhavebeenamanentirelycommonplace;buthadhenotthrownhiscloakabouthismouth,orhad thewitnesses forgot tochronicle theaction,hewouldnotthushavehauntedtheimaginationofmyboyhood,andto-dayhewouldscarcedelaymeforaparagraph.Anincident,atonceromanticanddramatic,whichatonceawakesthejudgmentandmakesapicturefortheeye,howlittledowerealise its perdurable power! Perhaps no one does so but the author, just asnonebuthe appreciates the influenceof jinglingwords; so thathe looksonupon life,with somethingof a covert smile, seeingpeople ledbywhat theyfancytobethoughtsandwhatarereally theaccustomedartificesofhisowntrade,orrousedbywhattheytaketobeprinciplesandarereallypicturesqueeffects. Inapleasantbookabouta school-classclub,ColonelFergussonhas

recentlytoldalittleanecdote.A“PhilosophicalSociety”wasformedbysomeAcademy boys—among them,Colonel Fergusson himself, Fleeming Jenkin,and Andrew Wilson, the Christian Buddhist and author of “The Abode ofSnow.”Beforetheselearnedpundits,onememberlaidthefollowingingeniousproblem:“Whatwouldbetheresultofputtingapoundofpotassiuminapotof porter?” “I should think there would be a number of interesting bi-products,” said a smatterer atmy elbow; but forme the tale itself has a bi-product,andstandsasa typeofmuch that ismosthuman.For this inquirer,who conceived himself to burn with a zeal entirely chemical, was reallyimmersed in a design of a quite different nature: unconsciously to his ownrecently breeched intelligence, hewas engaged in literature. Putting, pound,potassium,pot,porter;initialp,mediantt—thatwashisidea,poorlittleboy!Sowithpoliticsandthatwhichexcitesmeninthepresent,sowithhistoryandthatwhichrousestheminthepast:therelie,attherootofwhatappears,mostseriousunsuspectedelements.The triple townofAnstrutherWester,AnstrutherEaster, andCellardyke, allthreeRoyalBurghs—ortwoRoyalBurghsandalessdistinguishedsuburb,Iforgetwhich—liescontinuouslyalongtheseaside,andboastsofeithertwoorthree separate parish churches, and either two or three separate harbours.These ambiguities are painful; but the fact is (although it argues meuncultured),IambutpoorlyposteduponCellardyke.MybusinesslayinthetwoAnstruthers.Atrickletofastreamdividesthem,spannedbyabridge;andoverthebridgeatthetimeofmyknowledge,thecelebratedShellHousestoodoutpost on thewest. This had been the residence of an agreeable eccentric;during his fond tenancy he had illustrated the outer walls, as high (if Iremember rightly) as the roof, with elaborate patterns and pictures, andsnatches of verse in the vein of exegi monumentum; shells and pebbles,artfullycontrastedandconjoined,hadbeenhismedium;andIliketothinkofhim standing back upon the bridge, when all was finished, drinking in thegeneraleffect,and(likeGibbon)alreadylamentinghisemployment.Thesamebridgesawanothersightintheseventeenthcentury.Mr.Thomson,the“curat”ofAnstrutherEaster,wasamanhighlyobnoxioustothedevout:inthefirstplace,becausehewasa“curat”;inthesecondplace,becausehewasapersonofirregularandscandalouslife;andinthethirdplace,becausehewasgenerally suspected of dealings with the Enemy of Man. These threedisqualifications,inthepopularliteratureofthetime,gohandinhand;buttheendofMr.Thomsonwasa thingquiteby itself,and, in theproperphrase,amanifest judgment. He had been at a friend’s house in Anstruther Wester,where(andelsewhere,Isuspect)hehadpartakenofthebottle;indeed,toputthethinginourcoldmodernway,thereverendgentlemanwasonthebrinkofdeliriumtremens.Itwasadarknight,itseems;alittlelassiecamecarryingalantern to fetch the curate home; and away they went down the street of

AnstrutherWester, the lantern swinging a bit in the child’s hand, the barredlustre tossing up and down along the front of slumbering houses, and Mr.Thomsonnotaltogethersteadyonhislegsnor(toallappearance)easyinhismind.Thepairhadreachedthemiddleofthebridgewhen(asIconceivethescene) thepoor tipplerstarted insomebaseless fearand lookedbehindhim;thechild,alreadyshakenbytheminister’sstrangebehaviour,startedalso; insodoingshewouldjerkthelantern;andforthespaceofamomentthelightsand theshadowswouldbeallconfounded.Then itwas that to theunhingedtoper and the twittering child, a huge bulk of blackness seemed to sweepdown,topassthemclosebyastheystooduponthebridge,andtovanishonthe fartherside in thegeneraldarknessof thenight.“Plainly thedevilcomeforMr.Thomson!”thoughtthechild.WhatMr.Thomsonthoughthimself,wehavenogroundofknowledge;buthefelluponhiskneesinthemidstof thebridgelikeamanpraying.Ontherestofthejourneytothemanse,historyissilent;butwhentheycametothedoor,thepoorcaitiff,takingthelanternfromthechild, lookeduponherwith so lost a countenance thather little couragediedwithinher,andshefledhomescreamingtoherparents.Notasoulwouldventure out; all that night the minister dwelt alone with his terrors in themanse;andwhenthedaydawned,andmenmadeboldtogoaboutthestreets,theyfoundthedevilhadcomeindeedforMr.Thomson.ThismanseofAnstrutherEasterhasanotherandamorecheerfulassociation.Itwasearlyinthemorning,aboutacenturybeforethedaysofMr.Thomson,thathispredecessorwascalledoutofbedtowelcomeaGrandeeofSpain,theDukeofMedinaSidonia,justlandedintheharbourunderneath.Butsuretherewas never seen a more decayed grandee; sure there was never a dukewelcomed from a stranger place of exile. Half-way between Orkney andShetlandthereliesacertainisle;ontheonehandtheAtlantic,ontheothertheNorthSea, bombard its pillared cliffs; sore-eyed, short-living, inbred fishersandtheirfamiliesherdinitsfewhuts;inthegraveyardpiecesofwreck-woodstand formonuments; there is nowhere amore inhospitable spot.Belle-Isle-en-Mer—Fair-Isle-at-Sea—that isanamethathasalwaysrunginmymind’sear likemusic;but theonly“FairIsle”onwhichIeversetmyfootwas thisunhomely, rugged turret-top of submarine sierras. Here, when his ship wasbroken,mylordDukejoyfullygotashore;hereforlongmonthsheandcertainofhismenwereharboured;anditwasfromthisdurancethathelandedatlastto bewelcomed (aswell as such a papist deserved, no doubt) by the godlyincumbentofAnstrutherEaster;andaftertheFairIsle,whatafinecitymustthat have appeared! and after the island diet, what a hospitable spot theminister’s table! And yet he must have lived on friendly terms with hisoutlandishhosts.FortothisdaytherestillsurvivesarelicofthelongwintereveningswhenthesailorsofthegreatArmadacrouchedaboutthehearthsoftheFair-Islanders,theplanksoftheirownlostgalleonperhapslightingupthe

scene, and the gale and the surf that beat about the coast contributing theirmelancholy voices. All the folk of the north isles are great artificers ofknitting: theFair-Islandersalonedye their fabrics in theSpanishmanner.Tothisday,glovesandnightcaps, innocentlydecorated,maybeseenforsaleinthe Shetland warehouse at Edinburgh, or on the Fair Isle itself in thecatechist’s house; and to this day, they tell the storyof theDukeofMedinaSidonia’sadventure.ItwouldseemasiftheFairIslehadsomeattractionfor“personsofquality.”When I landed theremyself, anelderlygentleman,unshaved,poorlyattired,hisshoulderswrappedinaplaid,wasseenwalkingtoandfro,withabookinhishand,uponthebeach.Hepaidnoheedtoourarrival,whichwethoughtastrange thing in itself; but when one of the officers of the Pharos, passingnarrowlybyhim,observedhisbooktobeaGreekTestament,ourwonderandinterest took a higher flight. The catechist was cross-examined; he said thegentlemanhadbeenputacrosssometimebeforeinMr.BruceofSumburgh’sschooner,theonlylinkbetweentheFairIsleandtherestoftheworld;andthathe held services and was doing “good.” So much came glibly enough; butwhen pressed a little further, the catechist displayed embarrassment. Asingular diffidence appeared upon his face: “They tellme,” said he, in lowtones,“thathe’sa lord.”Anda lordhewas;apeerof the realmpacing thatinhospitable beach with his Greek Testament, and his plaid about hisshoulders, set upon doing good, as he understood it, worthy man! And hisgrandson, a good-looking little boy, much better dressed than the lordlyevangelist, and speaking with a silken English accent very foreign to thescene,accompaniedmeforawhileinmyexplorationoftheisland.Isupposethislittlefellowisnowmylord,andwonderhowmuchheremembersoftheFairIsle.Perhapsnotmuch;forheseemedtoacceptveryquietlyhissavagesituation;andundersuchguidance,itislikethatthiswasnothisfirstnoryethislastadventure.

IIRANDOMMEMORIES

ANSTRUTHER is a place sacred to the Muse; she inspired (really to aconsiderable extent) Tennant’s vernacular poem “Anster Fair”; and I havetherewaiteduponhermyselfwithmuchdevotion.ThiswaswhenIcameasayoung man to glean engineering experience from the building of thebreakwater.WhatIgleaned,IamsureIdonotknow;butindeedIhadalreadymyownprivatedeterminationtobeanauthor;Ilovedtheartofwordsandtheappearances of life; and travellers, and headers, and rubble, andpolished

ashlar,andpierresperdues,andeventhethrillingquestionofthestring-course,interestedmeonly(iftheyinterestedmeatall)aspropertiesforsomepossibleromanceoraswordstoaddtomyvocabulary.Togrowalittlecatholicisthecompensationofyears;youthisone-eyed;andinthosedays,thoughIhauntedthebreakwaterbyday,andevenlovedtheplaceforthesakeofthesunshine,thethrillingseasideair,thewashofwavesonthesea-face,thegreenglimmerofthedivers’helmetsfarbelow,andthemusicalchinkingofthemasons,myone genuine pre-occupation lay elsewhere, andmyonly industrywas in thehours when I was not on duty. I lodged with a certain Bailie Brown, acarpenterbytrade;andthere,assoonasdinnerwasdespatched,inachamberscentedwithdryrose-leaves,drewinmychair tothetableandproceededtopourforthliterature,atsuchaspeed,andwithsuchintimationsofearlydeathand immortality, as I now look back uponwithwonder. Then it was that Iwrote“VocesFidelium,”aseriesofdramaticmonologuesinverse;thenthatIinditedthebulkofacovenantingnovel—likesomanyothers,neverfinished.Late I sat into the night, toiling (as I thought) under the very dart of death,toilingtoleaveamemorybehindme.Ifeelmovedtothrustasidethecurtainof the years, to hail that poor feverish idiot, to bid him go to bed and clap“VocesFidelium”on the firebeforehegoes; socleardoesheappearbeforeme, sitting there between his candles in the rose-scented room and the latenight; so ridiculous a picture (tomy elderlywisdom) does the fool present!Buthewasdriventohisbedatlastwithoutmiraculousintervention;andthemanner of his driving sets the last touch upon this eminently youthfulbusiness.TheweatherwasthensowarmthatImustkeepthewindowsopen;thenightwithoutwaspopulouswithmoths.Asthelatedarknessdeepened,myliterary tapers beaconed forth more brightly; thicker and thicker came thedustynight-fliers,togyrateforonebrilliantinstantroundtheflameandfallinagonies uponmy paper. Flesh and blood could not endure the spectacle; tocapture immortalitywasdoubtlessanobleenterprise,butnot tocapture itatsuchacostofsuffering;andoutwouldgothecandles,andoffwouldIgotobed in thedarkness, raging to think that theblowmight fallon themorrow,andtherewas“VocesFidelium”stillincomplete.Well,themothsareallgone,and “Voces Fidelium” along with them; only the fool is still on hand andpractisesnewfollies.Onlyonethinginconnectionwiththeharbourtemptedme,andthatwasthediving,anexperience Iburned to tasteof.But thiswasnot tobe,at least inAnstruther;andthesubjectinvolvesachangeofscenetothesub-arctictownofWick.Youcanneverhavedweltinacountrymoreunsightlythanthatpartof Caithness, the land faintly swelling, faintly falling, not a tree, not ahedgerow, the fields divided by single slate stones set upon their edge, thewindalwayssinginginyourearsand(downthelongroadthatlednowhere)thrumminginthetelegraphwires.Onlyasyouapproachedthecoastwasthere

anything to stir the heart. The plateau broke down to the North Sea informidablecliffs,thetallout-stacksroselikepillarsringedaboutwithsurf,thecoveswere over-brimmedwith clamorous froth, the sea-birds screamed, thewind sang in the thyme on the cliff’s edge; here and there, small ancientcastlestoppledonthebrim;hereandthere,itwaspossibletodipintoadellofshelter,whereyoumightlieandtellyourselfyouwerealittlewarm,andhear(near athand) thewhin-podsbursting in theafternoon sun, and (fartheroff)therumouroftheturbulentsea.AsforWickitself,itisoneofthemeanestofman’s towns, and situate certainly on the baldest ofGod’s bays. It lives forherring,andastrangesightitistosee(ofanafternoon)theheightsofPulteneyblackenedbyseaward-lookingfishers,aswhenacitycrowdstoareview—or,aswhenbeeshaveswarmed, theground ishorriblewith lumpsandclusters;andastrangesight,andabeautiful, toseethefleetputsilentlyoutagainstarisingmoon,thesea-lineroughasawoodwithsails,andeverandagainandoneafteranother,aboatflittingswiftlybythesilverdisk.Thismassoffishers,thisgreatfleetofboats,isoutofallproportiontothetownitself;andtheoarsaremannedand thenetshauledby immigrants from theLong Island (aswecall theouterHebrides),whocomefor thatseasononly,anddepartagain, if“the take”bepoor, leavingdebtsbehind them. Inabadyear, theendof theherring-fishery is therefore an exciting time; fights are common, riots oftenpossible; an apple knocked from a child’s hand was once the signal forsomethinglikeawar;andevenwhenIwasthere,agunboatlayinthebaytoassisttheauthorities.Tocontraryinterests,itshouldbeobserved,thecurseofBabel is here added; the Lewsmen areGaelic speakers, those ofCaithnesshaveadoptedEnglish; anoddcircumstance, if you reflect thatbothmustbelargelyNorsemenbydescent.Irememberseeingoneofthestrongestinstancesof this division: a thing like a Punch-and-Judy box erected on the flatgravestones of the churchyard; from the hutch or proscenium—I know notwhat to call it—an eldritch-looking preacher laying down the law inGaelicaboutsomeoneofthenameofPowl,whomIatlastdivinedtobetheapostletotheGentiles;alargecongregationoftheLewsmenverydevoutlylistening;andontheoutskirtsof thecrowd,someofthetown’schildren(towhomthewhole affair was Greek and Hebrew) profanely playing tigg. The samedescent,thesamecountry,thesamenarrowsectofthesamereligion,andallthesebondsmadeverylargelynugatorybyanaccidentaldifferenceofdialect!IntothebayofWickstretchedthedarklengthoftheunfinishedbreakwater,initscageofopenstaging;thetravellers(likeframesofchurches)over-plumbingall;andawayattheextremeend,thediverstoilingunseenonthefoundation.On a platform of loose planks, the assistants turned their air-mills; a stonemightbe swingingbetweenwindandwater;underneath the swell rangaily;and from time to time, a mailed dragon with a window-glass snout camedrippinguptheladder.Youthisablessedseasonafterall;mystayatWickwas

intheyearof“VocesFidelium”andtherose-leafroomatBailieBrown’s;andalready I did not care two straws for literary glory. Posthumous ambitionperhaps requires an atmosphere of roses; and the more rugged excitant ofWickeastwindshadmadeanotherboyofme.Togodowninthediving-dress,thatwasmyabsorbingfancy;andwiththecountenanceofacertainhandsomescampofadiver,BobBainbyname,Igratifiedthewhim.Itwasgrey,harsh,easterlyweather, theswell ranprettyhigh,andout in theopen there were “skipper’s daughters,” when I found myself at last on thediver’splatform,twentypoundsofleaduponeachfootandmywholepersonswollenwithplyandplyofwoollenunderclothing.Onemoment,thesaltwindwaswhistling roundmy night-capped head; the next, I was crushed almostdouble under theweight of the helmet.As that intolerable burthenwas laiduponme,Icouldhavefounditinmyheart(onlyforshame’ssake)tocryofffromthewholeenterprise.Butitwastoolate.Theattendantsbegantoturnthehurdy-gurdy,andtheairtowhistlethroughthetube;someonescrewedinthebarredwindowofthevizor;andIwascutoff inamomentfrommyfellow-men; standing there in their midst, but quite divorced from intercourse: acreaturedeafanddumb,patheticallylookingforthuponthemfromaclimateofhisown.Except that I couldmoveand feel, Iwas like aman fallen in acatalepsy.But timewasscarcegivenme to realisemy isolation; theweightswere hung upon my back and breast, the signal-rope was thrust into myunresisting hand; and setting a twenty-pound foot upon the ladder, I beganponderouslytodescend.Sometwentyroundsbelowtheplatform,twilightfell.Lookingup,Isawalowgreenheavenmottledwithvanishingbellsofwhite;lookingaround,exceptforthe weedy spokes and shafts of the ladder, nothing but a green gloaming,somewhat opaque but very restful and delicious. Thirty rounds lower, Isteppedoffonthepierresperduesofthefoundation;adumbhelmetedfiguretookmebythehand,andmadeagesture(asIreadit)ofencouragement;andlookinginatthecreature’swindow,IbeheldthefaceofBain.Therewewere,handtohandand(whenitpleasedus)eyetoeye;andeithermighthavebursthimselfwith shouting, and not awhisper come to his companion’s hearing.Each,inhisownlittleworldofair,stoodincommunicablyseparate.Bobhadtoldmeerethisalittletale,afiveminutes’dramaatthebottomofthesea,whichatthatmomentpossiblyshotacrossmymind.Hewasdownwithanother,settlingastoneofthesea-wall.Theyhaditwelladjusted,Bobgavethe signal, the scissorswere slipped, the stone set home; and itwas time toturntosomethingelse.Butstillhiscompanionremainedbowedovertheblocklikeamourneronatomb,oronlyraisedhimself tomakeabsurdcontortionsand mysterious signs unknown to the vocabulary of the diver. There, then,these twostood forawhile, like thedeadand the living; till there flasheda

fortunatethoughtintoBob’smind,andhestooped,peeredthroughthewindowof thatotherworld, andbeheld the faceof its inhabitantwetwith streamingtears.Ah!themanwasinpain!AndBob,glancingdownward,sawwhatwasthe trouble: the block had been lowered on the foot of that unfortunate—hewascaughtaliveatthebottomoftheseaunderfifteentonsofrock.Thattwomenshouldhandleastonesoheavy,evenswinginginthescissors,mayappearstrangetotheinexpert.Thesemustbearinmindthegreatdensityof the water of the sea, and the surprising results of transplantation to thatmedium.Tounderstandalittlewhattheseare,andhowaman’sweight,sofarfrombeing an encumbrance, is the very groundof his agility,was the chieflesson of my submarine experience. The knowledge came upon me bydegrees.AsIbegantogoforwardwiththehandofmyestrangedcompanion,aworldof tumbledstoneswasvisible,pillaredwith theweedyuprightsof thestaging: overhead, a flat roof of green: a little in front, the sea-wall, like anunfinishedrampart.Andpresentlyinourupwardprogress,Bobmotionedmetoleapuponastone;Ilookedtoseeifhewerepossiblyinearnest,andheonlysigned to me the more imperiously. Now the block stood six feet high; itwouldhavebeenquitealeaptomeunencumbered;withthebreastandbackweights,andthetwentypoundsuponeachfoot,andthestaggeringloadofthehelmet,thethingwasoutofreason.Ilaughedaloudinmytomb;andtoprovetoBobhowfarhewasastray,Igavealittleimpulsefrommytoes.UpIsoaredlikeabird,mycompanionsoaringatmyside.Ashighastothestone,andthenhigher,Ipursuedmyimpotentandemptyflight.EvenwhenthestrongarmofBobhadcheckedmyshoulders,myheelscontinuedtheirascent;sothatIblewoutside-wayslikeanautumnleaf,andmustbehauledin,handoverhand,assailors haul in the slack of a sail, and propped uponmy feet again like anintoxicatedsparrow.Yetalittlehigheronthefoundation,andwebegantobeaffectedbythebottomoftheswell,runningtherelikeastrongbreezeofwind.Or so Imust suppose; for, safe inmycushionof air, Iwas consciousof noimpact;onlyswayedidlylikeaweed,andwasnowbornehelplesslyabroad,and now swiftly—and yetwith dream-like gentleness—impelled againstmyguide. So does a child’s balloon divagate upon the currents of the air, andtouch and slide off again from every obstacle. So must have ineffectuallyswung,soresentedtheirinefficiency,thoselightcrowdsthatfollowedtheStarofHades,andutteredexiguousvoicesinthelandbeyondCocytus.Therewassomethingstrangelyexasperating,aswellasstrangelywearying,inthese uncommanded evolutions. It is bitter to return to infancy, to besupported, and directed, and perpetually set upon your feet, by the hand ofsomeoneelse.Theairbesides,asitissuppliedtoyoubythebusymillersontheplatform,closes theeustachian tubesandkeeps theneophyteperpetuallyswallowing,tillhisthroatisgrownsodrythathecanswallownolonger.Andforall thesereasons—althoughIhadafine,dizzy,muddle-headedjoyinmy

surroundings,andlonged,andtried,andalwaysfailed,tolayhandsonthefishthat darted here and there aboutme, swift as humming-birds—yet I fancy IwasratherrelievedthanotherwisewhenBainbroughtmebackto theladderand signed tome tomount.And therewas onemore experience beforemeeventhen.Ofasudden,myascendingheadpassedintothetroughofaswell.Outofthegreen,Ishotatonceintoagloryofrosy,almostofsanguinelight—themultitudinousseasincarnadined,theheavenaboveavaultofcrimson.Andthenthegloryfadedintothehard,uglydaylightofaCaithnessautumn,withalowsky,agreysea,andawhistlingwind.BobBainhadfiveshillingsforhistrouble,andIhaddonewhatIdesired.ItwasoneofthebestthingsIgotfrommyeducationasanengineer:ofwhich,however,asawayoflife,Iwishtospeakwithsympathy.Ittakesamanintothe open air; it keeps himhanging about harbour-sides,which is the richestformofidling;itcarrieshimtowildislands;itgiveshimatasteofthegenialdangers of the sea; it supplies him with dexterities to exercise; it makesdemandsuponhisingenuity;itwillgofartocurehimofanytaste(ifeverhehadone) for themiserable lifeof cities.Andwhen ithasdone so, it carrieshim back and shuts him in an office! From the roaring skerry and the wetthwartofthetossingboat,hepassestothestoolanddesk,andwithamemoryfullofships,andseas,andperilousheadlands,andtheshiningpharos,hemustapplyhis long-sightedeyes to theprettynicetiesofdrawing,ormeasurehisinaccuratemindwithseveralpagesofconsecutivefigures.Heisawiseyouth,to be sure, who can balance one part of genuine life against two parts ofdrudgerybetweenfourwalls,andforthesakeoftheone,manfullyaccepttheother.Wickwasscarceaneligibleplaceofstay.Buthowmuchbetteritwastohanginthecoldwinduponthepier,togodownwithBobBainamongtherootsofthestaging,tobealldayinaboatcoilingawetropeandshoutingorders—notalwaysverywise—thantobewarmanddry,anddull,anddead-alive, inthemost comfortable office. And Wick itself had in those days a note oforiginality.Itmayhavestill,butImisdoubtitmuch.TheoldministerofKeisswouldnotpreach,inthesedegeneratetimes,foranhourandahalfupontheclock.Thegipsiesmustbegonefromtheircavern;whereyoumightsee,fromthe mouth, the women tending their fire, like Meg Merrilies, and the mensleepingofftheircoarsepotations;andwhereinwintergales,thesurfwouldbeleaguerthemclosely,burstingintheirverydoor.Atravellerto-dayupontheThurso coach would scarce observe a little cloud of smoke among themoorlands,andbe told,quiteopenly, itmarkedaprivatestill.Hewouldnotindeedmake that journey, for there isnownoThursocoach.Andeven ifhecould,onelittlethingthathappenedtomecouldneverhappentohim,ornotwiththesametrenchancyofcontrast.

Wehadbeenupontheroadallevening;thecoach-topwascrowdedwithLewsfishersgoinghome,scarceanythingbutGaelichadsoundedinmyears;andourwayhadlainthroughoutoveramoorishcountryverynortherntobehold.Latish at night, though it was still broad day in our sub-arctic latitude, wecame down upon the shores of the roaring Pentland Firth, that grave ofmariners;ononehand,thecliffsofDunnetHeadranseaward;infrontwasthelittle barewhite town of Castleton, its streets full of blowing sand; nothingbeyond,but theNorthIslands, thegreatdeep,and theperennial ice-fieldsofthe Pole. And here, in the last imaginable place, there sprang up youngoutlandishvoices anda chatterof some foreign speech; and I saw,pursuingthecoachwithitsloadofHebrideanfishers—astheyhadpursuedvetturiniupthepassesoftheApenninesorperhapsalongthegrottounderVirgil’stomb—two little dark-eyed, white-toothed Italian vagabonds, of twelve to fourteenyearsofage,onewithahurdy-gurdy,theotherwithacageofwhitemice.Thecoachpassedon,andtheirsmallItalianchatterdiedinthedistance;andIwaslefttomarvelhowtheyhadwanderedintothatcountry,andhowtheyfaredinit,andwhat they thoughtof it,andwhen(ifever) theyshouldseeagain thesilverwind-breaksrunamongtheolives,andthestone-pinestandguarduponEtruscansepulchres.UponanyAmerican,thestrangenessofthisincidentissomewhatlost.Forasfarbackashegoesinhisownland,hewillfindsomealiencampingthere;theCornishminer,theFrenchorMexicanhalf-blood,thenegrointheSouth,thesearedeepinthewoodsandfaramongthemountains.Butinanold,cold,andruggedcountrysuchasmine,thedaysofimmigrationarelongatanend;andawayupthere,whichwasatthattimefarbeyondthenorthernmostextremeofrailways,hardupontheshoreofthatill-omenedstraitofwhirlpools,inalandofmoorswhere no stranger came, unless it should be a sportsman to shootgrouse or an antiquary to decipher runes, the presence of these smallpedestrians struck themind as though a bird-of-paradise had risen from theheatheroranalbatrosscomefishinginthebayofWick.TheywereasstrangetotheirsurroundingsasmylordlyevangelistortheoldSpanishgrandeeontheFairIsle.

IIIACHAPTERONDREAMS

THEpast is allofone texture—whether feignedor suffered—whether actedout in three dimensions, or onlywitnessed in that small theatre of the brainwhich we keep brightly lighted all night long, after the jets are down, anddarknessandsleepreignundisturbedintheremainderofthebody.Thereisno

distinctionon thefaceofourexperiences;one isvivid indeed,andonedull,andonepleasant, and another agonising to remember; butwhichof them iswhatwecalltrue,andwhichadream,thereisnotonehairtoprove.Thepaststandsonaprecariousfooting;anotherstrawsplitinthefieldofmetaphysic,and behold us robbed of it. There is scarce a family that can count fourgenerationsbutlaysaclaimtosomedormanttitleorsomecastleandestate:aclaimnot prosecutable in any court of law, but flattering to the fancy and agreatalleviationofidlehours.Aman’sclaimtohisownpastisyetlessvalid.Apapermightturnup(inproperstory-bookfashion)inthesecretdrawerofanold ebony secretary, and restore your family to its ancient honours andreinstatemineinacertainWestIndianislet(notfarfromSt.Kitt’s,asbelovedtraditionhummedinmyyoungears)whichwasonceours,andisnowunjustlysome one else’s, and for that matter (in the state of the sugar trade) is notworthanythingtoanybody.Idonotsaythattheserevolutionsarelikely;onlynomancandenythattheyarepossible;andthepast,ontheotherhand,islostfor ever: our olddays anddeeds, ourold selves, too, and theveryworld inwhichthesesceneswereacted,allbroughtdowntothesamefaintresiduumasa last night’s dream, to some incontinuous images, and an echo in thechambersofthebrain.Notanhour,notamood,notaglanceoftheeye,canwe revoke; it is all gone, past conjuring.And yet conceive us robbed of it,conceive that little thread of memory that we trail behind us broken at thepocket’sedge;andinwhatnakednullityshouldwebeleft!forweonlyguideourselves,andonlyknowourselves,bytheseair-paintedpicturesofthepast.Uponthesegrounds,therearesomeamonguswhoclaimtohavelivedlongerandmorerichly than theirneighbours;when they layasleep theyclaimtheywerestillactive;andamongthetreasuresofmemorythatallmenreviewfortheiramusement,thesecountinnosecondplacetheharvestsoftheirdreams.ThereisoneofthiskindwhomIhaveinmyeye,andwhosecaseisperhapsunusual enough to be described. He was from a child an ardent anduncomfortabledreamer.Whenhehadatouchoffeveratnight,andtheroomswelledandshrank,andhisclothes,hangingonanail,nowloomedupinstantto the bigness of a church, and now drew away into a horror of infinitedistanceandinfinitelittleness,thepoorsoulwasverywellawareofwhatmustfollow,andstruggledhardagainst theapproachesof thatslumberwhichwasthebeginningof sorrows.Buthis struggleswere invain; sooneror later thenight-hag would have him by the throat, and pluck him, strangling andscreaming,fromhissleep.Hisdreamswereattimescommonplaceenough,attimesverystrange:attimestheywerealmostformless,hewouldbehaunted,forinstance,bynothingmoredefinitethanacertainhueofbrown,whichhedidnotmindintheleastwhilehewasawake,butfearedandloathedwhilehewasdreaming;at times,again, they tookoneverydetailofcircumstance,aswhen once he supposed he must swallow the populous world, and awoke

screamingwith thehorrorof the thought.The twochief troublesofhisverynarrowexistence—thepracticalandeverydaytroubleofschooltasksandtheultimateandairyoneofhellandjudgment—wereoftenconfoundedtogetherintooneappallingnightmare.HeseemedtohimselftostandbeforetheGreatWhite Throne; he was called on, poor little devil, to recite some form ofwords, on which his destiny depended; his tongue stuck, his memory wasblank, hell gaped for him; and hewould awake, clinging to the curtain-rodwithhiskneestohischin.Thesewereextremelypoorexperiences,onthewhole;andatthattimeoflifemydreamerwouldhaveverywillinglypartedwithhispowerofdreams.Butpresently,inthecourseofhisgrowth,thecriesandphysicalcontortionspassedaway,seeminglyforever;hisvisionswerestillforthemostpartmiserable,butthey were more constantly supported; and he would awake with no moreextreme symptom than a flyingheart, a freezing scalp, cold sweats, and thespeechlessmidnight fear.His dreams, too, as befitted amind better stockedwith particulars, became more circumstantial, and had more the air andcontinuity of life. The look of the world beginning to take hold on hisattention,scenerycametoplayapartinhissleepingaswellasinhiswakingthoughts, so that he would take long, uneventful journeys and see strangetownsandbeautifulplacesashelayinbed.And,whatismoresignificant,anodd taste that he had for the Georgian costume and for stories laid in thatperiodofEnglishhistory,begantorulethefeaturesofhisdreams;sothathemasqueraded there in a three-cornered hat, and was much engaged withJacobiteconspiracybetweenthehourforbedandthatforbreakfast.Aboutthesametime,hebegantoreadinhisdreams—tales,forthemostpart,andforthemostpartafterthemannerofG.P.R.James,butsoincrediblymorevividandmoving than any printed book, that he has ever since beenmalcontentwithliterature.And then,whilehewasyeta student, therecame tohimadream-adventurewhich he has no anxiety to repeat; he began, that is to say, to dream insequenceandthustoleadadoublelife—oneoftheday,oneofthenight—onethathehadevery reason tobelievewas the trueone,another thathehadnomeansofprovingtobefalse.Ishouldhavesaidhestudied,orwasbywayofstudying,atEdinburghCollege,which(itmaybesupposed)washowIcameto know him.Well, in his dream-life he passed a long day in the surgicaltheatre, his heart in his mouth, his teeth on edge, seeing monstrousmalformationsandtheabhorreddexterityofsurgeons.Inaheavy,rainy,foggyeveninghecameforth into theSouthBridge, turnedup theHighStreet,andentered the door of a tall land, at the top of which he supposed himself tolodge.Allnightlong,inhiswetclothes,heclimbedthestairs,stairafterstairinendlessseries,andateverysecondflightaflaringlampwithareflector.Allnightlonghebrushedbysinglepersonspassingdownward—beggarlywomen

of the street, great, weary, muddy labourers, poor scarecrows of men, paleparodiesofwomen—butalldrowsyandwearylikehimself,andallsingle,andallbrushingagainsthimastheypassed.Intheend,outofanorthernwindow,hewouldseedaybeginningtowhitenovertheFirth,giveuptheascent,turntodescend,andinabreathbebackagainuponthestreets,inhiswetclothes,in the wet, haggard dawn, trudging to another day of monstrosities andoperations. Timewent, quicker in the life of dreams, some seven hours (asnearashecanguess)toone;anditwent,besides,moreintensely,sothatthegloomofthesefanciedexperiencescloudedtheday,andhehadnotshakenofftheirshadowereitwastimetoliedownandtorenewthem.Icannottellhowlongitwasthatheenduredthisdiscipline;butitwaslongenoughtoleaveagreatblackblotuponhismemory,longenoughtosendhim,tremblingforhisreason,tothedoorsofacertaindoctor;whereuponwithasimpledraughthewasrestoredtothecommonlotofman.Thepoorgentlemanhassincebeentroubledbynothingofthesort;indeed,hisnightswereforsomewhilelikeothermen’s,nowblank,nowchequeredwithdreams, and these sometimes charming, sometimes appalling, but except foranoccasionalvividness,ofnoextraordinarykind.Iwilljustnoteoneoftheseoccasions,ereIpassontowhatmakesmydreamertrulyinteresting.Itseemedtohim thathewas in the first floorof a roughhill-farm.The roomshowedsomepooreffortsatgentility,acarpetonthefloor,apiano,Ithink,againstthewall; but, for all these refinements, there was no mistaking he was in amoorlandplace,amonghillsidepeople,andsetinmilesofheather.Helookeddownfromthewindowuponabarefarmyard,thatseemedtohavebeenlongdisused.Agreat,uneasystillnesslayupontheworld.Therewasnosignofthefarm-folk or of any live stock, save for an old, brown, curly dog of theretrieverbreed,whosatcloseinagainstthewallofthehouseandseemedtobedozing. Something about this dog disquieted the dreamer; it was quite anameless feeling, for the beast looked right enough—indeed, hewas so oldand dull and dusty and broken-down, that he should rather have awakenedpity;andyettheconvictioncameandgrewuponthedreamerthatthiswasnoproper dog at all, but something hellish.A greatmany dozing summer flieshummedabouttheyard;andpresentlythedogthrustforthhispaw,caughtaflyinhisopenpalm,carriedittohismouthlikeanape,andlookingsuddenlyupatthedreamerinthewindow,winkedtohimwithoneeye.Thedreamwenton, itmattersnothow itwent; itwasagooddreamasdreamsgo;but therewasnothinginthesequelworthyofthatdevilishbrowndog.Andthepointofinterest forme liespartly in thatvery fact: thathaving found so singular anincident,myimperfectdreamershouldproveunable tocarry the tale toafitendandfallbackonindescribablenoisesandindiscriminatehorrors.Itwouldbedifferentnow;heknowshisbusinessbetter!For, to approach at last the point: This honest fellow had long been in the

customofsettinghimselftosleepwithtales,andsohadhisfatherbeforehim;butthesewereirresponsibleinventions,toldfortheteller’spleasure,withnoeyeto thecrasspublicor the thwartreviewer: taleswherea threadmightbedropped,oroneadventurequittedforanother,onfancy’sleastsuggestion.Sothat the little people who manage man’s internal theatre had not as yetreceived a very rigorous training; and played upon their stage like childrenwhoshouldhave slipped into thehouseand found it empty, rather than likedrilledactorsperformingasetpiecetoahugehalloffaces.Butpresentlymydreamer began to turn his former amusement of story-telling to (what iscalled)account;bywhichImeanthathebegantowriteandsellhistales.Herewashe, andherewere the littlepeoplewhodid thatpart ofhisbusiness, inquite new conditions. The stories must now be trimmed and pared and setupon all-fours, they must run from a beginning to an end and fit (after amanner) with the laws of life; the pleasure, in one word, had become abusiness; and that not only for the dreamer, but for the little people of histheatre. These understood the change as well as he.When he lay down topreparehimself forsleep,heno longersoughtamusement,butprintableandprofitable tales; and after he had dozed off in his box-seat, his little peoplecontinuedtheirevolutionswith thesamemercantiledesigns.Allotherformsofdreamdesertedhimbuttwo:hestilloccasionallyreadsthemostdelightfulbooks, he still visits at times the most delightful places; and it is perhapsworthyofnotethattothesesameplaces,andtooneinparticular,hereturnsatintervals of months and years, finding new field-paths, visiting newneighbours,beholdingthathappyvalleyunderneweffectsofnoonanddawnand sunset.But all the rest of the familyof visions is quite lost to him: thecommon, mangled version of yesterday’s affairs, the raw-head-and-bloody-bonesnightmare,rumouredtobethechildoftoastedcheese—theseandtheirlikearegone; and, for themostpart,whetherawakeor asleep,he is simplyoccupied—he or his little people—in consciously making stories for themarket.Thisdreamer(likemanyotherpersons)hasencounteredsometriflingvicissitudesoffortune.Whenthebankbeginstosendlettersandthebutchertolingeratthebackgate,hesetstobelabouringhisbrainsafterastory,forthatishis readiest money-winner; and, behold! at once the little people begin tobestir themselves in the samequest, and labour all night long, and all nightlongsetbeforehimtruncheonsoftalesupontheirlightedtheatre.Nofearofhis being frightened now; the flying heart and the frozen scalp are thingsbygone;applause,growingapplause,growing interest,growingexultation inhisowncleverness (forhe takesall thecredit), andat last a jubilant leap towakefulness,withthecry,“Ihaveit,that’lldo!”uponhislips:withsuchandsimilaremotionshesitsat thesenocturnaldramas,with suchoutbreaks, likeClaudius in theplay,hescatters theperformance in themidst.Oftenenoughthewakingisadisappointment:hehasbeentoodeepasleep,asIexplainthe

thing;drowsinesshasgainedhis littlepeople, theyhavegonestumblingandmaunderingthroughtheirparts;andtheplay,totheawakenedmind,isseentobe a tissueof absurdities.Andyethowoftenhave these sleeplessBrowniesdonehimhonestservice,andgivenhim,ashesatidlytakinghispleasureintheboxes,bettertalesthanhecouldfashionforhimself.Hereisone,exactlyasitcametohim.Itseemedhewasthesonofaveryrichandwickedman,theownerofbroadacresandamostdamnabletemper.Thedreamer(andthatwastheson)hadlivedmuchabroad,onpurposetoavoidhisparent;andwhenatlengthhereturnedtoEngland,itwastofindhimmarriedagain toayoungwife,whowassupposed tosuffercruellyand to loatheheryoke.Becauseofthismarriage(asthedreamerindistinctlyunderstood)itwasdesirableforfatherandsontohaveameeting;andyetbothbeingproudandbothangry,neitherwouldcondescenduponavisit.Meettheydidaccordingly,inadesolate,sandycountrybythesea;andtheretheyquarrelled,andtheson,stung by some intolerable insult, struck down the father dead.No suspicionwasaroused;thedeadmanwasfoundandburied,andthedreamersucceededtothebroadestates,andfoundhimselfinstalledunderthesameroofwithhisfather’swidow,forwhomnoprovisionhadbeenmade.Thesetwolivedverymuch alone, as peoplemay after a bereavement, sat down to table together,sharedthelongevenings,andgrewdailybetterfriends;untilitseemedtohimof a sudden that she was prying about dangerous matters, that she hadconceived a notion of his guilt, that she watched him and tried him withquestions. He drew back from her company as men draw back from aprecipice suddenly discovered; and yet so strong was the attraction that hewould drift again and again into the old intimacy, and again and again bestartled back by some suggestive question or some inexplicablemeaning inher eye. So they lived at cross purposes, a life full of broken dialogue,challengingglances,andsuppressedpassion;until,oneday,hesawthewomanslippingfromthehouseinaveil,followedhertothestation,followedherinthe train to the seaside country, andout over the sandhills to theveryplacewhere themurderwas done.There she began to grope among the bents, hewatchingher,flatuponhisface;andpresentlyshehadsomethinginherhand—I cannot remember what it was, but it was deadly evidence against thedreamer—and as she held it up to look at it, perhaps from the shock of thediscovery,herfootslipped,andshehungatsomeperilonthebrinkofthetallsand-wreaths.Hehadno thought but to springup and rescueher; and theretheystoodface to face, shewith thatdeadlymatteropenly inherhand—hisverypresenceonthespotanotherlinkofproof.Itwasplainshewasabouttospeak,butthiswasmorethanhecouldbear—hecouldbeartobelost,butnottotalkofitwithhisdestroyer;andhecuthershortwithtrivialconversation.Arm in arm, they returned together to the train, talking he knew not what,madethejourneybackinthesamecarriage,satdowntodinner,andpassedthe

eveninginthedrawing-roomasinthepast.Butsuspenseandfeardrummedinthedreamer’sbosom.“Shehasnotdenouncedmeyet”—sohisthoughtsran:“when will she denounce me? Will it be to-morrow?” And it was not to-morrow,nor thenextday,nor thenext;andtheir lifesettledbackontheoldterms, only that she seemed kinder than before, and that, as for him, theburthenof his suspense andwonder grewdailymoreunbearable, so that hewastedawaylikeamanwithadisease.Once,indeed,hebrokeallboundsofdecency,seizedanoccasionwhenshewasabroad,ransackedherroom,andatlast, hidden away amongher jewels, found the damning evidence.There hestood, holding this thing,whichwashis life, in thehollowofhishand, andmarvellingatherinconsequentbehaviour,thatsheshouldseek,andkeep,andyetnotuse it;and then thedooropened,andbeholdherself.So,oncemore,they stood, eye toeye,with theevidencebetween them;andoncemore sheraisedtohimafacebrimmingwithsomecommunication;andoncemoreheshiedawayfromspeechandcutheroff.Butbeforehelefttheroom,whichhehadturnedupsidedown,helaidbackhisdeath-warrantwherehehadfoundit;andatthat,herfacelightedup.Thenextthingheheard,shewasexplainingtohermaid,withsomeingeniousfalsehood,thedisorderofherthings.Fleshandblood could bear the strain no longer; and I think it was the next morning(though chronology is always hazy in the theatre of themind) that he burstfromhisreserve.Theyhadbeenbreakfastingtogetherinonecornerofagreat,parqueted,sparely-furnishedroomofmanywindows;allthetimeofthemealshehadtorturedhimwithslyallusions;andnosoonerweretheservantsgone,andthesetwoprotagonistsalonetogether,thanheleapedtohisfeet.Shetoosprangup,withapaleface;withapaleface,sheheardhimasheravedouthiscomplaint:Why did she torture him so? she knew all, she knew hewas noenemy to her; why did she not denounce him at once? what signified herwholebehaviour?whydidshetorturehim?andyetagain,whydidshetorturehim?Andwhenhehaddone,shefelluponherknees,andwithoutstretchedhands:“Doyounotunderstand?”shecried.“Iloveyou!”Hereupon,withapangofwonderandmercantiledelightthedreamerawoke.Hismercantile delightwas not of long endurance; for it soon became plainthat in this spirited tale therewereunmarketable elements;which is just thereason why you have it here so briefly told. But his wonder has still keptgrowing;andIthinkthereader’swillalso,ifheconsideritripely.Fornowhesees why I speak of the little people as of substantive inventors andperformers.Totheendtheyhadkepttheirsecret.Iwillgobailforthedreamer(having excellent grounds for valuing his candour) that he had no guesswhateverat themotiveof thewoman—thehingeof thewholewell-inventedplot—untiltheinstantofthathighlydramaticdeclaration.Itwasnothistale;itwas the little people’s!Andobserve: not onlywas the secret kept, the storywastoldwithreallyguilefulcraftsmanship.Theconductofbothactorsis(in

thecantphrase)psychologicallycorrect,andtheemotionaptlygraduateduptothesurprisingclimax.Iamawakenow,andIknowthistrade;andyetIcannotbetterit.Iamawake,andIlivebythisbusiness;andyetIcouldnotoutdo—could not perhaps equal—that crafty artifice (as of some old, experiencedcarpenterofplays, someDenneryorSardou)bywhich thesamesituation istwice presented and the two actors twice brought face to face over theevidence,onlyonceitisinherhand,onceinhis—andtheseintheirdueorder,theleastdramaticfirst.ThemoreIthinkofit,themoreIammovedtopressupon the world my question: Who are the Little People? They are nearconnectionsofthedreamer’s,beyonddoubt;theyshareinhisfinancialworriesandhaveaneyetothebank-book;theyshareplainlyinhistraining;theyhaveplainly learned like him to build the scheme of a considerate story and toarrangeemotioninprogressiveorder;onlyIthinktheyhavemoretalent;andone thing is beyond doubt, they can tell him a story piece by piece, like aserial, andkeephimall thewhile in ignoranceofwhere they aim.Whoarethey,then?andwhoisthedreamer?Well,asregardsthedreamer,Icananswerthat,forheisnolessapersonthanmyself;—as Imight have told you from the beginning, only that the criticsmurmurovermyconsistentegotism;—andasIampositivelyforcedtotellyounow, or I could advance but little furtherwithmy story. And for the LittlePeople,whatshallIsaytheyarebutjustmyBrownies,Godblessthem!whodo one-half my work for me while I am fast asleep, and in all humanlikelihood, do the rest for me as well, when I am wide awake and fondlysupposeIdoitformyself.ThatpartwhichisdonewhileIamsleepingistheBrownies’partbeyondcontention;but thatwhich isdonewhenIamupandabout isbynomeansnecessarilymine, sinceallgoes toshowtheBrownieshave a hand in it even then. Here is a doubt that much concerns myconscience.Formyself—what Icall I,myconsciousego, thedenizenof thepineal gland unless he has changed his residence since Descartes, the manwiththeconscienceandthevariablebank-account, themanwiththehatandthe boots, and the privilege of voting and not carrying his candidate at thegeneralelections—Iamsometimestemptedtosupposeisnostory-telleratall,but a creature as matter of fact as any cheesemonger or any cheese, and arealistbemireduptotheearsinactuality;sothat,bythataccount,thewholeofmypublished fiction shouldbe the single-handedproductof someBrownie,some Familiar, some unseen collaborator, whom I keep locked in a backgarret,whileIgetallthepraiseandhebutashare(whichIcannotpreventhimgetting) of the pudding. I am an excellent adviser, something likeMolière’sservant. IpullbackandIcutdown;andIdress thewhole in thebestwordsandsentencesthatIcanfindandmake;Iholdthepen,too;andIdothesittingatthetable,whichisabouttheworstofit;andwhenallisdone,Imakeupthemanuscript and pay for the registration; so that, on thewhole, I have some

claim to share, though not so largely as I do, in the profits of our commonenterprise.Icanbutgivean instanceor soofwhatpart isdonesleepingandwhatpartawake, and leave the reader to sharewhat laurels there are, at his ownnod,betweenmyselfandmycollaborators; and todo this Iwill first takeabookthatanumberofpersonshavebeenpoliteenoughtoread,“TheStrangeCaseofDr. Jekyll andMr.Hyde.” Ihad longbeen trying towrite a storyon thissubject,tofindabody,avehicle,forthatstrongsenseofman’sdoublebeingwhichmustattimescomeinuponandoverwhelmthemindofeverythinkingcreature. I had even written one, “The Travelling Companion,” which wasreturnedbyaneditoronthepleathatitwasaworkofgeniusandindecent,andwhichIburnedtheotherdayonthegroundthatitwasnotaworkofgenius,and that “Jekyll” had supplanted it. Then came one of those financialfluctuationstowhich(withanelegantmodesty)Ihavehithertoreferredinthethirdperson.For twodays Iwentabout rackingmybrains foraplotofanysort;andonthesecondnightIdreamedthesceneatthewindow,andasceneafterward split in two, in which Hyde, pursued for some crime, took thepowderandunderwentthechangeinthepresenceofhispursuers.Alltherestwasmadeawake,andconsciously,althoughI thinkIcantraceinmuchofitthemannerofmyBrownies.Themeaningof the tale is thereforemine,andhadlongpre-existedinmygardenofAdonis,andtriedonebodyafteranotherinvain;indeed,Idomostofthemorality,worseluck!andmyBrownieshavenotarudimentofwhatwecallaconscience.Mine,too,isthesetting,minethecharacters. All that was given me was the matter of three scenes, and thecentral idea of a voluntary change becoming involuntary.Will it be thoughtungenerous, after I have been so liberally ladling out praise to my unseencollaborators,ifIheretossthemover,boundhandandfoot,intothearenaofthecritics?Forthebusinessofthepowders,whichsomanyhavecensured,is,Iamrelievedtosay,notmineatall,buttheBrownies’.Ofanothertale,incasethereadershouldhaveglancedatit,Imaysayaword:thenotverydefensiblestory of “Olalla.” Here the court, the mother, the mother’s niche, Olalla,Olalla’schamber,themeetingsonthestair,thebrokenwindow,theuglysceneofthebite,wereallgivenmeinbulkanddetailasIhavetriedtowritethem;tothisIaddedonlytheexternalscenery(forinmydreamIneverwasbeyondthecourt),theportrait,thecharactersofFelipeandthepriest,themoral,suchasitis,andthelastpages,suchas,alas!theyare.AndImayevensaythatinthis case the moral itself was given me; for it arose immediately on acomparison of the mother and the daughter, and from the hideous trick ofatavism in the first. Sometimes a parabolic sense is still more undeniablypresentinadream;sometimesIcannotbutsupposemyBrownieshavebeenapingBunyan,andyetinnocasewithwhatwouldpossiblybecalledamoralinatract;neverwiththeethicalnarrowness;conveyinghintsinsteadoflife’s

larger limitations and that sort of sense which we seem to perceive in thearabesqueoftimeandspace.For themostpart, itwillbeseen,myBrowniesaresomewhat fantastic, liketheir stories hot and hot, full of passion and the picturesque, alive withanimating incident; and theyhavenoprejudiceagainst the supernatural.Butthe other day they gaveme a surprise, entertainingmewith a love-story, alittleAprilcomedy,whichIoughtcertainlytohandovertotheauthorof“AChanceAcquaintance,”forhecouldwriteitasitshouldbewritten,andIamsure (although Imean to try) that I cannot.—Butwhowouldhave supposedthataBrownieofmineshouldinventataleforMr.Howells?

IVBEGGARS

IN a pleasant, airy, up-hill country, itwasmy fortunewhen Iwas young tomake the acquaintance of a certain beggar. I call him beggar, though heusuallyallowedhiscoatandhisshoes(whichwereopen-mouthed,indeed)tobegforhim.Hewasthewreckofanathleticman,tall,gaunt,andbronzed;fargone inconsumption,with thatdisquietingsmileof themortally strickenonhisface;butstillactiveafoot,stillwith thebriskmilitarycarriage, thereadymilitary salute. Threeways led through this piece of country; and as I wasinconstantinmychoice,Ibelievehemustoftenhaveawaitedmeinvain.Butoftenenough,hecaughtme;oftenenough,fromsomeplaceofambushbytheroadside, he would spring suddenly forth in the regulation attitude, andlaunchingatonceintohisinconsequentialtalk,fallintostepwithmeuponmyfarthercourse.“Afinemorning,sir,thoughperhapsatrifleincliningtorain.IhopeIseeyouwell,sir.Why,no,sir,Idon’tfeelasheartymyselfasIcouldwish,but I amkeepingaboutmyordinary. I ampleased tomeetyouon theroad,sir.IassureyouIquitelookforwardtooneofourlittleconversations.”Helovedthesoundofhisownvoiceinordinately,andthough(withsomethingtoooff-handtocallservility)hewouldalwayshastentoagreewithanythingyousaid,yethecouldneversufferyoutosayittoanend.BywhattransitionheslidtohisfavouritesubjectIhavenomemory;butwehadneverbeenlongtogetheronthewaybeforehewasdealing,inaverymilitarymanner,withtheEnglishpoets. “Shelleywas a finepoet, sir, though a trifle atheistical inhisopinions.His‘QueenMab,’sir,isquiteanatheisticalwork.Scott,sir,isnotsopoeticalawriter.WiththeworksofShakespeareIamnotsowellacquainted,buthewasafinepoet.Keats—JohnKeats,sir—hewasaveryfinepoet.”Withsuch references, such trivial criticism, such loving parade of his ownknowledge,hewouldbeguiletheroad,stridingforwardup-hill,hisstaffnow

clapped to the ribsofhisdeep, resonantchest,nowswinging in theairwiththe remembered jauntiness of the private soldier; and all thewhile his toeslooking out of his boots, and his shirt looking out of his elbows, and deathlookingoutofhissmile,andhisbig,crazyframeshakenbyaccessesofcough.Hewouldoftengothewholewayhomewithme:oftentoborrowabook,andthat book always a poet. Off he would march, to continue his mendicantrounds, with the volume slipped into the pocket of his ragged coat; andalthoughhewouldsometimeskeepitquiteawhile,yet itcamealwaysbackagainat last,notmuch theworse for its travels intobeggardom.And in thisway, doubtless, his knowledge grew and his glib, random criticism took awiderrange.Butmylibrarywasnotthefirsthehaddrawnupon:atourfirstencounter,hewasalreadybrimfulofShelleyandtheatheistical“QueenMab,”and “Keats—JohnKeats, sir.”And I have oftenwondered howhe came bytheseacquirements, just as Ioftenwonderedhowhe fell tobeabeggar.HehadservedthroughtheMutiny—ofwhich(likesomanypeople)hecouldtellpracticallynothingbeyondthenamesofplaces,andthatitwas“difficultwork,sir,”andveryhot,orthatso-and-sowas“averyfinecommander,sir.”Hewasfartoosmartamantohaveremainedaprivate;inthenatureofthings,hemusthavewonhisstripes.Andyetherehewas,withoutapension.WhenItouchedonthisproblem,hewouldcontenthimselfwithdiffidentlyofferingmeadvice.“Aman should be very careful when he is young, sir. If you’ll excusemesayingso,aspiritedyounggentlemanlikeyourself,sir,shouldbeverycareful.I was perhaps a trifle inclined to atheistical opinionsmyself.” For (perhapswithadeeperwisdomthanweareinclinedinthesedaystoadmit)heplainlybracketedagnosticismwithbeerandskittles.Keats—John Keats, sir—and Shelley were his favourite bards. I cannotrememberifItriedhimwithRossetti;butIknowhistastetoahair,andifeverIdid,hemusthavedotedonthatauthor.Whattookhimwasarichnessinthespeech; he loved the exotic, the unexpectedword; themoving cadence of aphrase; a vague sense of emotion (about nothing) in the very letters of thealphabet:theromanceoflanguage.Hishonestheadwasverynearlyempty,hisintellectlikeachild’s;andwhenhereadhisfavouriteauthors,hecanalmostnever have understood what he was reading. Yet the taste was not onlygenuine,itwasexclusive;Itriedinvaintoofferhimnovels;hewouldnoneofthem,hecaredfornothingbutromanticlanguagethathecouldnotunderstand.Thecasemaybecommonerthanwesuppose.Iamremindedofaladwhowaslaid in thenextcot toafriendofmineinapublichospital,andwhowasnosooner installed than he sent out (perhaps with his last pence) for a cheapShakespeare.Myfriendprickeduphisears;fellatonceintalkwithhisnewneighbour, and was ready, when the book arrived, to make a singulardiscovery.Forthisloverofgreatliteratureunderstoodnotonesentenceoutoftwelve,andhisfavouritepartwasthatofwhichheunderstoodtheleast—the

inimitable,mouth-fillingrodomontadeoftheghostinHamlet.Itwasabrightdayinhospitalwhenmyfriendexpoundedthesenseofthisbelovedjargon:atask forwhich I amwilling to believemy friendwas very fit, though I canneverregarditasaneasyone.Iknowindeedapointortwo,onwhichIwouldgladlyquestionMr.Shakespeare,thatloverofbigwords,couldherevisittheglimpsesofthemoon,orcouldImyselfclimbbackwardtothespaciousdaysof Elizabeth. But, in the second case, I should most likely pretermit thesequestionings,andtakemyplaceinsteadinthepitattheBlackfriars,toheartheactor in his favourite part, playingup toMr.Burbage, and rollingout—as Iseemtohearhim—withaponderousgusto—Whatapleasantchance, ifwecouldgothereinaparty!andwhatasurpriseforMr.Burbage,whentheghostreceivedthehonoursoftheevening!Asformyoldsoldier,likeMr.BurbageandMr.Shakespeare,heislongsincedead; and now lies buried, I suppose, and nameless and quite forgotten, insomepoorcitygraveyard.—Butnot forme,youbraveheart,haveyoubeenburied! For me, you are still afoot, tasting the sun and air, and stridingsouthward.BythegrovesofComistonandbesidetheHermitageofBraid,bythe Hunters’ Tryst, and where the curlews and plovers cry aroundFairmilehead, I see and hear you, stalwartly carrying your deadly sickness,cheerfullydiscoursingofuncomprehendedpoets.

The thoughtof theold soldier recalls that of another tramp,his counterpart.Thiswasalittle,lean,andfieryman,withtheeyesofadogandthefaceofagipsy;whomI foundonemorningencampedwithhiswifeandchildrenandhisgrinder’swheel,besidetheburnofKinnaird.TothisbeloveddellIwent,atthat time, daily; and daily the knife-grinder and I (for as long as his tentcontinuedpleasantly to interruptmy littlewilderness)saton twostones,andsmoked, and plucked grass and talked to the tune of the brown water. Hischildrenweremerewhelps, they foughtandbitamong the fern likevermin.Hiswifewasameresquaw;Isawhergatherbrushandtendthekettle,butsheneverventured toaddressher lordwhile Iwaspresent.The tentwasameregipsy hovel, like a sty for pigs. But the grinder himself had the fine self-sufficiencyandgravepolitenessof thehunterand thesavage;hedidme thehonoursofthisdell,whichhadbeenminebutthedaybefore,tookmefarintothesecretsofhislife,andusedme(Iamproudtoremember)asafriend.Likemyoldsoldier,hewasfargoneinthenationalcomplaint.Unlikehim,hehad a vulgar taste in letters; scarce flying higher than the story papers;probablyfindingnodifference,certainlyseekingnone,betweenTannahillandBurns;hisnoblestthoughts,whetherofpoetryormusic,adequatelyembodiedinthatsomewhatobviousditty,

—whichisindeedapttoechointheearsofScottishchildren,andtohim,inviewofhisexperience,musthavefoundaspecialdirectnessofaddress.Butifhehadnofinesenseofpoetryinletters,hefeltwithadeepjoythepoetryoflife.Youshouldhaveheardhimspeakofwhathe loved;of the tentpitchedbesidethetalkingwater;of thestarsoverheadatnight;of theblestreturnofmorning, the peep of day over the moors, the awaking birds among thebirches;howheabhorredthelongwintershutincities;andwithwhatdelight,atthereturnofthespring,heoncemorepitchedhiscampinthelivingout-of-doors.Butwewereapairoftramps;andtoyou,whoaredoubtlesssedentaryandaconsistentfirst-classpassengerinlife,hewouldscarcehavelaidhimselfsoopen;—toyou,hemighthavebeencontenttotellhisstoryofaghost—thatofabuccaneerwithhispistolsashelived—whomhehadonceencounteredinaseasidecavenearBuckie;andthatwouldhavebeenenough,forthatwouldhaveshownyouthemettleoftheman.Herewasapieceofexperiencesolidlyandlivinglybuiltupinwords,herewasastorycreated,teresatquerotundus.Andtothinkoftheoldsoldier,thatloveroftheliterarybards!Hehadvisitedstrangerspotsthananyseasidecave;encounteredmenmoreterriblethananyspirit; done and dared and suffered in that incredible, unsung epic of theMutinyWar; playedhis partwith the field force ofDelhi, beleaguering andbeleaguered;sharedinthatenduring,savageangerandcontemptofdeathanddecencythat,forlongmonthstogether,bedevil’dandinspiredthearmy;washurledtoandfrointhebattle-smokeoftheassault;wasthere,perhaps,whereNicholson fell; was there when the attacking column, with hell upon everyside, found the soldier’s enemy—strong drink, and the lives of tens ofthousandstrembledinthescale,andthefateoftheflagofEnglandstaggered.And of all this he had no more to say than “hot work, sir,” or “the armysuffered a great deal, sir,” or, “I believe GeneralWilson, sir, was not veryhighlythoughtofinthepapers.”Hislifewasnaughttohim,thevividpagesofexperiencequiteblank:inwordshispleasurelay—melodious,agitatedwords—printed words, about that which he had never seen and was connatallyincapable of comprehending.We have here two temperaments face to face;both untrained, unsophisticated, surprised (we may say) in the egg; bothboldlycharactered:—thatoftheartist,theloverandartificerofwords;thatofthe maker, the seeër, the lover and forger of experience. If the one had adaughterandtheotherhadason,andthesemarried,mightnotsomeillustriouswritercountdescentfromthebeggar-soldierandtheneedyknife-grinder?

Everyonelivesbysellingsomething,whateverbehisrighttoit.Theburglarsellsatthesametimehisownskillandcourageandmysilverplate(thewholeatthemostmoderatefigure)toaJewreceiver.Thebanditsellsthetravelleranarticleofprimenecessity:thattraveller’slife.Andasfortheoldsoldier,whostands for central mark to my capricious figures of eight, he dealt in a

specialty;forhewastheonlybeggarintheworldwhoevergavemepleasureformymoney.Hehadlearnedaschoolofmannersinthebarracksandhadthesense to cling to it, accosting strangerswith a regimental freedom, thankingpatronswithamerelyregimentaldifference,sparingyouatoncethetragedyofhispositionandtheembarrassmentofyours.Therewasnotonehintabouthimofthebeggar’semphasis,theoutburstofrevoltinggratitude,therantandcant,the “God bless you,Kind,Kind gentleman,”which insults the smallness ofyour alms by disproportionate vehemence,which is so notably false,whichwouldbe so unbearable if itwere true. I am sometimes tempted to supposethisreadingofthebeggar’spartasurvivaloftheolddayswhenShakespearewas intoned upon the stage and mourners keened beside the death-bed; tothinkthatwecannotnowacceptthesestrongemotionsunlesstheybeutteredinthejustnoteoflife;nor(saveinthepulpit)endurethesegrossconventions.Theywoundus,Iamtemptedtosay,likemockery;thehighvoiceofkeening(asityetlingerson)strikesinthefaceofsorrowlikeabuffet;andtherantandcantofthestaledbeggarstirsinusashudderofdisgust.Butthefactdisprovesthese amateur opinions. The beggar lives by his knowledge of the averageman.Heknowswhathe is aboutwhenhebandageshishead, andhiresanddrugsababe,andpoisonslifewith“PoorMaryAnn”or“Long,longago”;heknowswhat he is aboutwhen he loads the critical ear and sickens the niceconsciencewithintolerablethanks;theyknowwhattheyareabout,heandhiscrew, when they pervade the slums of cities, ghastly parodies of suffering,hatefulparodiesofgratitude.Thistradecanscarcebecalledanimposition;ithasbeensoblownuponwithexposures;itflauntsitsfraudulencesonakedly.We pay them as we pay those who show us, in huge exaggeration, themonstersofourdrinking-water;orthosewhodailypredictthefallofBritain.Wepaythemforthepaintheyinflict,paythem,andwince,andhurryon.Andtrulythereisnothingthatcanshaketheconsciencelikeabeggar’sthanks;andthatpolityinwhichsuchprotestationscanbepurchasedforashilling,seemsnosceneforanhonestman.Arethere,then,wemaybeasked,nogenuinebeggars?Andtheansweris,Notone.Myoldsoldierwasahumbugliketherest;hisraggedbootswere,inthestage phrase, properties; whole boots were given him again and again, andalwaysgladlyaccepted;and thenextday, therehewason theroadasusual,with toes exposed. His boots were his method; they were the man’s trade;without his boots hewould have starved; he did not live by charity, but byappealing to a gross taste in the public, which loves the limelight on theactor’s face, and the toes out of the beggar’s boots.There is a true poverty,whichnoonesees:afalseandmerelymimeticpoverty,whichusurpsitsplaceanddress,andlives,andabovealldrinks,onthefruitsoftheusurpation.Thetruepovertydoesnotgointothestreets;thebankermayrestassured,hehasneverputapennyin itshand.Theself-respectingpoorbegfromeachother;

neverfromtherich.Tolive in thefrock-coatedranksof life, tohearcantingscenesofgratituderehearsedfor twopence,amanmightsupposethatgivingwasathinggoneoutoffashion;yetitgoesforwardonascalesogreatastofillmewithsurprise.Inthehousesoftheworkingclasses,alldaylongtherewillbeafootuponthestair;alldaylongtherewillbeaknockingatthedoors;beggars come, beggars go, without stint, hardly with intermission, frommorningtillnight;andmeanwhile,inthesamecityandbutafewstreetsoff,thecastlesof the rich standunsummoned.Get the taleof anyhonest tramp,youwillfinditwasalwaysthepoorwhohelpedhim;getthetruthfromanyworkmanwhohasmetmisfortunes,itwasalwaysnextdoorthathewouldgoforhelp,oronlywithsuchexceptionsasaresaidtoprovearule;lookatthecourseofthemimeticbeggar,itisthroughthepoorquartersthathetrailshispassage, showing his bandages to everywindow, piercing even to the atticswith his nasal song. Here is a remarkable state of things in our Christiancommonwealths,thatthepooronlyshouldbeaskedtogive.

There is a pleasant tale of some worthless, phrasing Frenchman, who wastaxedwith ingratitude: “Il faut savoirgarder l’indépendanceducœur,” criedhe. I own I feelwith him.Gratitudewithout familiarity, gratitude otherwisethanasanamelesselementinafriendship,isathingsoneartohatredthatIdonotcare to split thedifference.Until I findamanwho ispleased to receiveobligations, I shall continue to question the tact of those who are eager toconferthem.Whatanartitis,togive,eventoournearestfriends!andwhatatest of manners, to receive! How, upon either side, we smuggle away theobligation,blushingforeachother;howbluffanddullwemakethegiver;howhasty,howfalselycheerful,thereceiver!Andyetanactofsuchdifficultyanddistressbetweennearfriends,itissupposedwecanperformtoatotalstrangerandleavethemantransfixedwithgratefulemotions.Thelastthingyoucandotoaman is toburthenhimwithanobligation, and it iswhatwepropose tobeginwith! But let us not be deceived: unless he is totally degraded to histrade,angerjarsinhisinside,andhegrateshisteethatourgratuity.Weshouldwipetwowordsfromourvocabulary:gratitudeandcharity.Inreallife,helpisgivenoutoffriendship,oritisnotvalued;itisreceivedfromthehandoffriendship,oritisresented.Wearealltooproudtotakeanakedgift:wemustseemtopayit,ifinnothingelse,thenwiththedelightsofoursociety.Here,then,isthepitifulfixoftherichman;hereisthatneedle’seyeinwhichhe stuck already in the days of Christ, and still sticks to-day, firmer, ifpossible, than ever: that he has themoney and lacks the lovewhich shouldmakehismoneyacceptable.Hereandnow,justasofoldinPalestine,hehastherichtodinner, it iswiththerichthathetakeshispleasure:andwhenhisturncomestobecharitable,helooksinvainforarecipient.Hisfriendsarenotpoor, they do notwant; the poor are not his friends, theywill not take. To

whom ishe togive?Where to find—note thisphrase—theDeservingPoor?Charity is (what they call) centralised; offices are hired; societies founded,withsecretariespaidorunpaid: thehuntof theDeservingPoorgoesmerrilyforward. I think itwill takemore than amerely human secretary to disinterthatcharacter.What!aclassthatistobeinwantfromnofaultofitsown,andyetgreedilyeagertoreceivefromstrangers;andtobequiterespectable,andatthesametimequitedevoidofself-respect;andplaythemostdelicatepartoffriendship,andyetneverbeseen;andweartheformofman,andyetflyinthefaceof all the lawsofhumannature:—andall this, in thehopeofgetting abelly-godBurgessthroughaneedle’seye!Oh,lethimstick,byallmeans:andlethispolity tumble in thedust; and lethis epitaphandallhis literature (ofwhichmyownworksbegintoformnoinconsiderablepart)beabolishedevenfromthehistoryofman!Forafoolofthismonstrosityofdulness,therecanbeno salvation: and the foolwho looked for the elixir of lifewas an angel ofreasontothefoolwholooksfortheDeservingPoor!

And yet there is one coursewhich the unfortunate gentlemanmay take.Hemay subscribe to pay the taxes. There were the true charity, impartial andimpersonal, cumbering none with obligation, helping all. There were adestination for loveless gifts; therewere theway to reach the pocket of thedeserving poor, and yet save the time of secretaries! But, alas! there is nocolour of romance in such a course; and people nowhere demand thepicturesquesomuchasintheirvirtues.

VTHELANTERN-BEARERS

THESEboyscongregatedeveryautumnaboutacertaineasterlyfisher-village,where they tasted in a high degree the glory of existence. The place wascreatedseeminglyonpurposefor thediversionofyounggentlemen.Astreetor twoofhouses,mostlyredandmanyof themtiled;anumberoffinetreesclusteredaboutthemanseandthekirkyard,andturningthechiefstreetintoashadyalley;manylittlegardensmorethanusuallybrightwithflowers;netsa-drying, and fisher-wives scolding in the backward parts; a smell of fish, agenial smellof seaweed;whiffsofblowing sandat the street-corners; shopswithgolf-ballsandbottledlollipops;anothershopwithpennypickwicks(thatremarkablecigar)andtheLondonJournal,deartomeforitsstartlingpictures,anda fewnovels,dear for their suggestivenames: such, aswell asmemoryservesme,weretheingredientsofthetown.These,youaretoconceivepostedonaspitbetween twosandybays,andsparselyflankedwithvillas—enough

for the boys to lodge in with their subsidiary parents, not enough (not yetenough)tococknifythescene:ahavenintherocksinfront:infrontofthat,afileofgreyislets:totheleft,endlesslinksandsandwreaths,awildernessofhiding-holes,alivewithpoppingrabbitsandsoaringgulls:totheright,arangeofseawardcrags,oneruggedbrowbeyondanother;theruinsofamightyandancient fortress on the brink of one; coves between—now charmed intosunshinequiet,nowwhistlingwithwindandclamorouswithburstingsurges;thedensandshelteredhollowsredolentofthymeandsouthernwood,theairatthe cliff’s edge brisk and clean and pungent of the sea—in front of all, theBassRock,tiltedseawardlikeadoubtfulbather,thesurfringingitwithwhite,the solan-geese hanging round its summit like a great and glittering smoke.This choice piece of seaboard was sacred, besides, to the wrecker; and theBass,intheeyeoffancy,stillflewthecoloursofKingJames;andintheearoffancythearchesofTantallonstillrangwithhorse-shoeiron,andechoedtothecommandsofBell-the-Cat.Therewasnothingtomaryourdays,ifyouwereaboysummeringinthatpart,buttheembarrassmentofpleasure.Youmightgolfifyouwanted;butIseemtohavebeenbetteremployed.YoumightsecreteyourselfintheLady’sWalk,a certain sunless dingle of elders, allmossed over by the damp as green asgrass, and dotted here and there by the stream-sidewith rooflesswalls, thecoldhomesofanchorites.Tofitthemselvesforlife,andwithaspecialeyetoacquiretheartofsmoking,itwasevencommonfortheboystoharbourthere;andyoumighthaveseenasinglepennypickwick,honestlysharedinlengthswithabluntknife,bestrewtheglenwiththeseapprentices.Again,youmightjoinourfishingparties,wherewesatperchedasthickassolan-geese,acoveyof little anglers, boy and girl, angling over each other’s heads, to themuchentanglementoflinesandlossofpodleysandconsequentshrillrecrimination—shrill as the geese themselves. Indeed, had that been all, youmight havedonethisoften;butthoughfishingbeafinepastime,thepodleyisscarcetoberegarded as a dainty for the table; and it was a point of honour that a boyshouldeatallthathehadtaken.Oragain,youmightclimbtheLaw,wherethewhale’sjawbonestoodlandmarkinthebuzzingwind,andbeholdthefaceofmany counties, and the smoke and spires of many towns, and the sails ofdistant ships. You might bathe, now in the flaws of fine weather, that wepatheticallycalloursummer,nowinagaleofwind,withthesandscourgingyourbarehide,yourclothesthrashingabroadfromunderneaththeirguardianstone,thefrothofthegreatbreakerscastingyouheadlongereithaddrownedyour knees. Or you might explore the tidal rocks, above all in the ebb ofsprings, when the very roots of the hills were for the nonce discovered;followingmyleaderfromonegrouptoanother,gropinginslipperytangleforthewreckofships,wadinginpoolsaftertheabominablecreaturesofthesea,andeverwithaneyecastbackwardonthemarchofthetideandthemenaced

lineofyourretreat.AndthenyoumightgoCrusoeing,awordthatcoversallextemporeeatingintheopenair:diggingperhapsahouseunderthemarginofthe links, kindling a fire of the sea-ware, and cooking apples there—if theyweretrulyapples,forIsometimessupposethemerchantmusthaveplayedusoff with some inferior and quite local fruit, capable of resolving, in theneighbourhood of fire, into mere sand and smoke and iodine; or perhapspushingtoTantallon,youmightlunchonsandwichesandvisionsinthegrassycourt,while thewindhummedin thecrumbling turrets;orclamberingalongthe coast, eat geans (the worst, I must suppose, in Christendom) from anadventurousgean tree thathad taken rootunderacliff,where itwasshakenwith an ague of east wind, and silvered after gales with salt, and grew soforeign among its bleak surroundings that to eat of its produce was anadventureinitself.Therearemingledsomedismalmemorieswithsomanythatwerejoyous.Ofthefisher-wife,forinstance,whohadcutherthroatatCantyBay;andofhowIranwiththeotherchildrentothetopoftheQuadrant,andbeheldaposseofsilent people escorting a cart, and on the cart, bound in a chair, her throatbandaged,andthebandageallbloody—horror!—thefisher-wifeherself,whocontinuedthenceforthtohag-ridemythoughts,andevento-day(asIrecallthescene) darkens daylight. She was lodged in the little old gaol in the chiefstreet;butwhetherornoshediedthere,withawiseterroroftheworst,Ineverinquired. She had been tippling; it was but a dingy tragedy; and it seemsstrangeandhardthat,afteralltheseyears,thepoorcrazysinnershouldbestillpilloried on her cart in the scrap-book of my memory. Nor shall I readilyforget a certain house in theQuadrantwhere a visitor died, and a dark oldwomancontinuedtodwellalonewiththedeadbody;norhowthisoldwomanconceivedahatredtomyselfandoneofmycousins,andinthedreadhourofthedusk,aswewereclamberingonthegarden-walls,openedawindowinthathouseofmortalityandcursedusinashrillvoiceandwithamarrowychoiceof language. Itwasapairofverycolourlessurchins that fleddown the lanefromthisremarkableexperience!ButIrecallwithamoredoubtfulsentiment,compounded out of fear and exultation, the coil of equinoctial tempests;trumpetingsqualls,scouringflawsofrain;theboatswiththeirreefedlugsailsscudding for the harbourmouth,where danger lay, for itwas hard tomakewhenthewindhadanyeastinit;thewivesclusteredwithblowingshawlsatthe pier-head, where (if fate was against them) they might see boat andhusband and sons—their whole wealth and their whole family—engulfedundertheireyes;and(whatIsawbutonce)atroopofneighboursforcingsuchan unfortunate homeward, and she squalling and battling in their midst, afigurescarcelyhuman,atragicMænad.ThesearethingsthatIrecallwithinterest;butwhatmymemorydwellsuponthemost,Ihavebeenallthiswhilewithholding.Itwasasportpeculiartothe

place,andindeedtoaweekorsoofourtwomonths’holidaythere.Maybeitstill flourishes in its native spot; for boys and their pastimes are swayed byperiodicforcesinscrutabletoman;sothattopsandmarblesreappearintheirdue season, regular like the sun and moon; and the harmless art ofknuckleboneshasseenthefalloftheRomanempireandtheriseoftheUnitedStates.Itmaystillflourishinitsnativespot,butnowhereelse,Iampersuaded;forItriedmyselftointroduceitonTweedside,andwasdefeatedlamentably;itscharmbeingquitelocal,likeacountrywinethatcannotbeexported.Theidlemannerofitwasthis:—Toward the end of September, when school-timewas drawing near and thenightswerealreadyblack,wewouldbegintosallyfromourrespectivevillas,eachequippedwithatinbull’s-eyelantern.ThethingwassowellknownthatithadwornarutinthecommerceofGreatBritain;andthegrocers,aboutthedue time, began to garnish their windows with our particular brand ofluminary.Wewore thembuckled to thewaist upon a cricket belt, and overthem, such was the rigour of the game, a buttoned top-coat. They smellednoisomelyofblisteredtin;theyneverburnedaright,thoughtheywouldalwaysburnourfingers; theirusewasnaught; thepleasureof themmerelyfanciful;andyetaboywithabull’s-eyeunderhistop-coataskedfornothingmore.Thefishermen used lanterns about their boats, and itwas from them, I suppose,thatwehadgotthehint;buttheirswerenotbull’s-eyes,nordidweeverplayatbeingfishermen.Thepolicecarriedthemattheirbelts,andwehadplainlycopiedtheminthat;yetwedidnotpretendtobepolicemen.Burglars,indeed,wemayhavehadsomehauntingthoughtsof;andwehadcertainlyaneyetopast ages when lanterns were more common, and to certain story-books inwhichwehadfoundthemtofigureverylargely.Buttakeitforallinall,thepleasureofthethingwassubstantive;andtobeaboywithabull’s-eyeunderhistop-coatwasgoodenoughforus.Whentwooftheseassesmet,therewouldbeananxious“Haveyougotyourlantern?”andagratified“Yes!”Thatwastheshibboleth,andveryneedfultoo;for, as it was the rule to keep our glory contained, none could recognise alantern-bearer, unless (like the polecat) by the smell. Four or five wouldsometimes climb into the belly of a ten-man lugger, with nothing but thethwartsabove them—for thecabinwasusually locked—orchooseout somehollowof the linkswhere thewindmightwhistleoverhead.There thecoatswould be unbuttoned and the bull’s-eyes discovered; and in the chequeringglimmer,underthehugewindyhallofthenight,andcheeredbyarichsteamoftoastingtinware,thesefortunateyounggentlemenwouldcrouchtogetherinthecoldsandofthelinksoronthescalybilgesofthefishing-boat,anddelightthemselves with inappropriate talk. Woe is me that I may not give somespecimens—some of their foresights of life, or deep inquiries into the

rudimentsofmanandnature,theseweresofieryandsoinnocent,theyweresorichly silly, so romantically young. But the talk, at any rate, was but acondiment;andthesegatheringsthemselvesonlyaccidentsinthecareerofthelantern-bearer.Theessenceofthisblisswastowalkbyyourselfintheblacknight; the slide shut; the top-coat buttoned; not a ray escaping, whether toconductyourfootstepsortomakeyourglorypublic:amerepillarofdarknessinthedark;andallthewhile,deepdownintheprivacyofyourfool’sheart,toknow you had a bull’s-eye at your belt, and to exult and sing over theknowledge.

Itissaidthatapoethasdiedyounginthebreastofthemoststolid.Itmaybecontended, rather, that this (somewhat minor) bard in almost every casesurvives, and is the spice of life to his possessor. Justice is not done to theversatilityandtheunplumbedchildishnessofman’simagination.Hislifefromwithout may seem but a rude mound of mud; there will be some goldenchamberattheheartofit,inwhichhedwellsdelighted;andforasdarkashispathwayseemstotheobserver,hewillhavesomekindofabull’s-eyeathisbelt.ItwouldbehardtopickoutacareermorecheerlessthanthatofDancer,themiser, as he figures in the “OldBaileyReports,” a prey to themost sordidpersecutions, the butt of his neighbourhood, betrayed by his hiredman, hishouse beleaguered by the impish school-boy, and he himself grinding andfumingandimpotentlyfleeingtothelawagainstthesepin-pricks.Youmarvelatfirstthatanyoneshouldwillinglyprolongalifesodestituteofcharmanddignity;andthenyoucalltomemorythathadhechosen,hadheceasedtobeamiser,hecouldhavebeenfreedatoncefromthesetrials,andmighthavebuilthimself a castle and gone escorted by a squadron. For the love of morereconditejoys,whichwecannotestimate,which,itmaybe,weshouldenvy,themanhadwillinglyforgonebothcomfortandconsideration.“Hismindtohimakingdomwas”;andsureenough,diggingintothatmind,whichseemsatfirstadust-heap,weunearthsomepricelessjewels.ForDancermusthavehadthe love of power and the disdain of using it, a noble character in itself;disdainofmanypleasures,achiefpartofwhat iscommonlycalledwisdom;disdain of the inevitable end, that finest trait of mankind; scorn of men’sopinions,anotherelementofvirtue;andat thebackofall, aconscience justlikeyoursandmine,whining likeacur, swindling likea thimble-rigger,butstillpointing(thereorthereabout)tosomeconventionalstandard.Herewereacabinet portrait to which Hawthorne perhaps had done justice; and yet notHawthorneeither,forhewasmildlyminded,anditlaynotinhimtocreateforusthatthrobofthemiser’spulse,hisfretfulenergyofgusto,hisvastarmsofambition clutching in he knows not what: insatiable, insane, a god with amuck-rake. Thus, at least, looking in the bosom of themiser, consideration

detects the poet in the full tide of life,withmore, indeed, of the poetic firethanusuallygoes toepics;and tracing thatmeanmanabouthiscoldhearth,andtoandfroinhisdiscomfortablehouse,spieswithinhimablazingbonfireofdelight.Andsowithothers,whodonot livebybreadalone,butbysomecherished and perhaps fantastic pleasure; who are meat salesmen to theexternal eye, and possibly to themselves are Shakespeares, Napoleons, orBeethovens; who have not one virtue to rub against another in the field ofactivelife,andyetperhaps,inthelifeofcontemplation,sitwiththesaints.Wesee themon thestreet,andwecancount theirbuttons;butheavenknows inwhattheypridethemselves!heavenknowswheretheyhavesettheirtreasure!There is one fable that touches very near the quick of life: the fable of themonkwhopassedintothewoods,heardabirdbreakintosong,hearkenedforatrillortwo,andfoundhimselfonhisreturnastrangerathisconventgates;forhehadbeenabsentfiftyyears,andofallhiscomradestheresurvivedbutone to recognise him. It is not only in thewoods that this enchanter carols,though perhaps he is native there.He sings in themost doleful places. Themiser hears him and chuckles, and the days are moments. With no moreapparatus thanan ill-smelling lantern Ihaveevokedhimon thenaked links.Alllifethatisnotmerelymechanicalisspunoutoftwostrands:seekingforthatbirdandhearinghim.Anditisjustthisthatmakeslifesohardtovalue,andthedelightofeachsoincommunicable;andjustaknowledgeofthis,andaremembranceof those fortunatehours inwhich thebirdhas sung tous, thatfillsuswithsuchwonderwhenweturnthepagesoftherealist.There, tobesure,wefindapictureof life insofaras itconsistsofmudandofold iron,cheapdesires andcheap fears, thatwhichweare ashamed to rememberandthatwhichwe are carelesswhetherwe forget; but of the note of that time-devouringnightingalewehearnonews.Thecaseof thesewritersof romance ismostobscure.Theyhavebeenboysandyouths; theyhave lingeredoutside thewindowof thebeloved,whowasthenmostprobablywritingtosomeoneelse;theyhavesatbeforeasheetofpaper,andfeltthemselvesmerecontinentsofcongestedpoetry,notonelineofwhichwouldflow;theyhavewalkedaloneinthewoods,theyhavewalkedincitiesunderthecountlesslamps;theyhavebeentosea,theyhavehated,theyhave feared, they have longed to knife aman, andmaybe done it; thewildtaste of life has stung their palate. Or, if you deny them all the rest, onepleasureatleasttheyhavetastedtothefull—theirbooksaretheretoproveit—thekeenpleasureof successful literary composition.Andyet they fill theglobewithvolumes,whoseclevernessinspiresmewithdespairingadmiration,and whose consistent falsity to all I care to call existence, with despairingwrath.IfIhadnobetterhopethantocontinuetorevolveamongthedrearyandpettybusinesses, and tobemovedby thepaltryhopesand fearswithwhichtheysurroundandanimatetheirheroes,IdeclareIwoulddienow.Butthere

hasneveranhourofminegonequitesodullyyet;ifitwerespentwaitingatarailwayjunction,Iwouldhavesomescatteringthoughts,Icouldcountsomegrains ofmemory, compared to which the whole of one of these romancesseemsbutdross.Thesewriterswouldretort(ifItakethemproperly)thatthiswasverytrue;thatit was the same with themselves and other persons of (what they call) theartistic temperament that in thiswewereexceptional, and shouldapparentlybeashamedofourselves;butthatourworksmustdealexclusivelywith(whattheycall)theaverageman,whowasaprodigiousdullfellow,andquitedeadto all but the paltriest considerations. I accept the issue.We can only knowothers by ourselves. The artistic temperament (a plague on the expression!)does not make us different from our fellow-men, or it would make usincapableofwritingnovels;andtheaverageman(amurrainontheword!)isjust like you and me, or he would not be average. It was Whitman whostamped a kind of Birmingham sacredness upon the latter phrase; butWhitmanknewverywell,andshowedverynobly, that theaveragemanwasfullof joysandfullofpoetryofhisown.And thisharpingon life’sdulnessandman’smeanness is a loud profession of incompetence; it is one of twothings: the cry of the blind eye, I cannot see, or the complaint of the dumbtongue, Icannotutter.Todrawa lifewithoutdelights is toprove Ihavenotrealisedit.Topictureamanwithoutsomesortofpoetry—well,itgoesneartoprovemycase,foritshowsanauthormayhavelittleenough.ToseeDanceronlyasadirty,old, small-minded, impotently fumingman, inadirtyhouse,besiegedbyHarrowboys,andprobablybesetbysmallattorneys, is toshowmyselfaskeenanobserveras...theHarrowboys.Buttheseyounggentlemen(withamorebecomingmodesty)werecontent topluckDancerby thecoat-tails;theydidnotsupposetheyhadsurprisedhissecretorcouldputhimlivinginabook:and it is theremyerrorwouldhave lain.Or say that in the sameromance—Icontinuetocallthesebooksromances,inthehopeofgivingpain—say that in the same romance, which now begins really to take shape, IshouldleavetospeakofDancer,andfollowinsteadtheHarrowboys;andsaythatIcameonsomesuchbusinessasthatofmylantern-bearersonthelinks;anddescribedtheboysasverycold,spatuponbyflurriesofrain,anddrearilysurrounded,allofwhichtheywere;andtheirtalkassillyandindecent,whichitcertainlywas.Imightupontheselines,andhadIZola’sgenius,turnout,inapageorso,agemofliteraryart,renderthelantern-lightwiththetouchesofamaster,andlayontheindecencywiththeungrudginghandoflove;andwhenallwasdone,whatatriumphwouldmypicturebeofshallownessanddulness!howitwouldhavemissed thepoint!howitwouldhavebelied theboys!Totheearof thestenographer, the talk ismerelysillyand indecent;butask theboys themselves,andtheyarediscussing(as it ishighlyproper theyshould)thepossibilitiesofexistence.Totheeyeoftheobservertheyarewetandcold

anddrearilysurrounded;butaskthemselves,andtheyare in theheavenofareconditepleasure,thegroundofwhichisanill-smellinglantern.

For,torepeat,thegroundofaman’sjoyisoftenhardtohit.Itmayhingeattimesuponamereaccessory,likethelantern;itmayreside,likeDancer’s,inthemysterious inwardsofpsychology. Itmayconsistwithperpetual failure,and findexercise in the continuedchase. It has so littlebondwith externals(suchastheobserverscribblesinhisnote-book)thatitmayeventouchthemnot;andtheman’struelife,forwhichheconsentstolive,liealtogetherinthefieldoffancy.Theclergyman,inhissparehours,maybewinningbattles,thefarmersailingships,thebankerreapingtriumphinthearts:allleadinganotherlife, plying another trade from that they chose; like the poet’s housebuilder,who,afterall,iscasedinstone,

Insuchacasethepoetryrunsunderground.Theobserver(poorsoul,withhisdocuments!)isallabroad.Fortolookatthemanisbuttocourtdeception.Weshall see the trunk fromwhich he draws his nourishment; but he himself isaboveandabroadinthegreendomeoffoliage,hummedthroughbywindsandnestedinbynightingales.Andthetruerealismwerethatofthepoets,toclimbupafterhimlikeasquirrel,andcatchsomeglimpseoftheheavenforwhichhelives.Andthetruerealism,alwaysandeverywhere,isthatofthepoets:tofindoutwherejoyresides,andgiveitavoicefarbeyondsinging.Fortomissthejoyistomissall.Inthejoyoftheactorsliesthesenseofanyaction.Thatistheexplanation,thattheexcuse.Toonewhohasnotthesecretof the lanterns, the scene upon the links is meaningless. And hence thehauntingandtrulyspectralunrealityofrealisticbooks.Hence,whenwereadtheEnglishrealists,theincredulouswonderwithwhichweobservethehero’sconstancyunderthesubmergingtideofdulness,andhowhebearsupwithhisjibbing sweetheart, and endures the chatter of idiot girls, and stands by hiswholeunfeaturedwildernessofanexistence,insteadofseekingreliefindrinkor foreign travel. Hence in the French, in that meat-market of middle-agedsensuality, the disgusted surprisewithwhichwe see the hero drift sidelong,and practically quite untempted, into every description of misconduct anddishonour. In each,wemiss the personal poetry, the enchanted atmosphere,that rainbowworkof fancy thatclotheswhat isnakedandseems toennoblewhatisbase;ineach,lifefallsdeadlikedough,insteadofsoaringawaylikeaballoonintothecoloursofthesunset;eachistrue,eachinconceivable;fornoman lives in external truth, among salts and acids, but in the warm,phantasmagoric chamber of his brain, with the painted windows and thestoriedwalls.Ofthisfalsitywehavehadarecentexamplefromamanwhoknowsfarbetter

—Tolstoi’s“PowersofDarkness.”Hereisapiecefullofforceandtruth,yetquiteuntrue.ForbeforeMikitawasledintosodireasituationhewastempted,andtemptationsarebeautifulatleastinpart;andaworkwhichdwellsontheuglinessof crimeandgivesnohintof any loveliness in the temptation, sinsagainst the modesty of life, and, even when Tolstoi writes it, sinks tomelodrama. The peasants are not understood; they saw their life in fairercolours;eventhedeafgirlwasclothedinpoetryforMikita,orhehadneverfallen. And so, once again, even an Old Bailey melodrama, without somebrightnessof poetry and lustre of existence, falls into the inconceivable andrankswithfairytales.

Innoblerbookswearemovedwithsomething like theemotionsof life;andthis emotion is very variously provoked. We are so moved when Levinelaboursonthefield,whenAndrésinksbeyondemotion,whenRichardFeverelandLucyDesboroughmeetbesidetheriver,whenAntony,“notcowardly,putsoff his helmet,” when Kent has infinite pity on the dying Lear, when, inDostoieffsky’s “Despised and Rejected,” the uncomplaining hero drains hiscupofsufferingandvirtue.Thesearenotesthatpleasethegreatheartofman.Notonlylove,andthefields,andthebrightfaceofdanger,butsacrificeanddeathandunmeritedsufferinghumblysupported, touch inus theveinof thepoetic.Welovetothinkofthem,welongtotrythem,wearehumblyhopefulthatwemayproveheroesalso.Wehaveheard,perhaps,toomuchoflessermatters.Hereisthedoor,hereistheopenair.

LATERESSAYSI

FONTAINEBLEAU

THE charm of Fontainebleau is a thing apart. It is a place that people loveevenmorethantheyadmire.Thevigorousforestair,thesilence,themajesticavenues of highway, the wilderness of tumbled boulders, the great age anddignityofcertaingroves—thesearebutingredients,theyarenotthesecretofthe philtre. The place is sanative; the air, the light, the perfumes, and theshapes of things concord in happy harmony.The artistmay be idle and notfearthe“blues.”Hemaydallywithhislife.Mirth,lyricmirth,andavivaciousclassical contentment are of the very essence of the better kind of art; andthese,inthatmostsmilingforest,hehasthechancetolearnortoremember.EvenontheplainofBière,wheretheAngelusofMilletstilltollsupontheearof fancy, a larger air, ahigherheaven, somethingancient andhealthy in the

faceof nature, purify themind alike fromdulness andhysteria.There is noplacewhere the young aremore gladly conscious of their youth, or the oldbettercontentedwiththeirage.Thefactofitsgreatandspecialbeautyfurtherrecommendsthiscountrytotheartist.Thefieldwaschosenbymeninwhosebloodtherestillracedsomeofthe gleeful or solemn exultation of great art—Milletwho loved dignity likeMichelangelo,Rousseauwhosemodernbrushwasdipped in theglamouroftheancients.Itwaschosenbeforethedayofthatstrangeturninthehistoryofart, of which we now perceive the culmination in impressionistic tales andpictures—that voluntary aversion of the eye from all speciously strong andbeautiful effects—that disinterested love of dulness which has set so manyPeter Bells to paint the river-side primrose. It was then chosen for itsproximitytoParis.Andforthesamecause,andbytheforceoftradition,thepainter of to-day continues to inhabit and to paint it. There is in Francesceneryincomparableforromanceandharmony.Provence,andthevalleyofthe Rhone from Vienne to Tarascon, are one succession of masterpieceswaitingforthebrush.Thebeautyisnotmerelybeauty;ittells,besides,ataleto the imagination, and surprises while it charms. Here you shall seecastellatedtownsthatwouldbefitthesceneryofdreamland;streetsthatglowwith colour like cathedralwindows; hills of themost exquisite proportions;flowersof everyprecious colour, growing thick likegrass.All these, by thegraceofrailwaytravel,arebroughttotheverydoorofthemodernpainter;yethe does not seek them; he remains faithful to Fontainebleau, to the eternalbridge of Grez, to the watering-pot cascade in Cernay valley. EvenFontainebleau was chosen for him; even in Fontainebleau he shrinks fromwhat is sharply charactered. But one thing, at least, is certain: whatever hemaychoosetopaintandinwhatevermanner,itisgoodfortheartisttodwellamonggracefulshapes.Fontainebleau,ifitbebutquietscenery,isclassicallygraceful;andthoughthestudentmaylookfordifferentqualities,thisquality,silentlypresent,willeducatehishandandeye.But,beforeall itsotheradvantages—charm,loveliness,orproximitytoParis—comesthegreatfactthatitisalreadycolonised.Theinstitutionofapainters’colony is awork of time and tact. The populationmust be conquered. Theinnkeeperhastobetaught,andhesoonlearns,thelessonofunlimitedcredit;hemustbetaughttowelcomeasafavouredguestayounggentlemaninaverygreasycoat,andwithlittlebaggagebeyondaboxofcoloursandacanvas;andhemustlearntopreservehisfaithincustomerswhowilleatheartilyanddrinkofthebest,borrowmoneytobuytobacco,andperhapsnotpayastiverforayear. A colour merchant has next to be attracted. A certain vogue must begiven to the place, lest the painter,most gregarious of animals, should findhimselfalone.Andnosoonerare these firstdifficultiesovercome than freshperils spring up upon the other side; and the bourgeois and the tourist are

knocking at the gate. This is the crucial moment for the colony. If theseintruders gain a footing, they not only banish freedom and amenity; prettysoon,bymeansof their longpurses, theywillhaveundone theeducationofthe innkeeper; priceswill rise and credit shorten; and the poor paintermustfarefartheronandfindanotherhamlet.“Nothere,OApollo!”willbecomehissong. Thus Trouville and, the other day, St. Raphael were lost to the arts.CuriousandnotalwaysedifyingaretheshiftsthattheFrenchstudentusestodefendhislair;likethecuttlefish,hemustsometimesblackenthewatersofhischosenpool; but at such a time and for sopractical a purposeMrs.Grundymustallowhimlicence.Wherehisownpurseandcreditarenotthreatened,hewill do the honours of his village generously. Any artist ismadewelcome,throughwhatevermediumhemayseekexpression;scienceisrespected;eventheidler,ifheprove,ashesorarelydoes,agentleman,willsoonbegintofindhimself at home.Andwhen that essentiallymodern creature, theEnglish orAmericangirl-student,begantowalkcalmlyintohisfavouriteinnsasifintoadrawing-room at home, the French painter owned himself defenceless; hesubmittedorhefled.HisFrenchrespectability,quiteaspreciseasours,thoughcoveringdifferentprovincesoflife,recoiledaghastbeforetheinnovation.Butthegirlswerepainters; therewasnothing tobedone; andBarbizon,when Ilastsawitandforthetimeatleast,waspracticallycededtothefairinvader.Paterfamilias, on the other hand, the common tourist, the holiday shopman,andthecheapyounggentlemanuponthespree,hehoundedfromhisvillageswitheverycircumstanceofcontumely.This purely artistic society is excellent for the young artist. The lads aremostly fools; theyhold the latestorthodoxy in itscrudeness; theyareat thatstageofeducation,forthemostpart,whenamanistoomuchoccupiedwithstyle tobeawareof thenecessity for anymatter; and this, aboveall for theEnglishman,isexcellent.Toworkgrosslyatthetrade,toforgetsentiment,tothink of his material and nothing else, is, for a while at least, the king’shighwayofprogress.Here, inEngland, toomanypainters andwritersdwelldispersed,unshielded,amongtheintelligentbourgeois.These,whentheyarenotmerelyindifferent,pratetohimabouttheloftyaimsandmoralinfluenceofart.Andthisisthelad’sruin.Forartis,firstofallandlastofall,atrade.The love ofwords and not a desire to publish new discoveries, the love ofform and not a novel reading of historical events,mark the vocation of thewriter and the painter. The arabesque, properly speaking, and even inliterature, is the first fancyof the artist; he firstplayswithhismaterial as achildplayswithakaleidoscope;andheisalreadyinasecondstagewhenhebeginstousehisprettycountersfortheendofrepresentation.Inthat,hemustpauselongandtoilfaithfully;thatishisapprenticeship;anditisonlythefewwho will really grow beyond it, and go forward, fully equipped, to do thebusinessofrealart—togivelifetoabstractionsandsignificanceandcharmto

facts.Inthemeanwhile,lethimdwellmuchamonghisfellow-craftsmen.Theyalonecantakeaserious interest in thechildishtasksandpitifulsuccessesoftheseyears.Theyalonecanbeholdwithequanimitythisfingeringofthedumbkeyboard, this polishingof empty sentences, this dull and literal paintingofdull and insignificant subjects. Outsiders will spur him on. They will say,“Whydoyounotwriteagreatbook?paintagreatpicture?” Ifhisguardianangelfailhim,theymayevenpersuadehimtotheattempt,and,tentoone,hishandiscoarsenedandhisstylefalsifiedforlife.Andthisbringsmetoawarning.Thelifeoftheapprenticetoanyartisbothunstrained and pleasing; it is strewnwith small successes in themidst of acareer of failure, patiently supported; the heaviest scholar is conscious of acertain progress; and if he come not appreciably nearer to the art ofShakespeare, grows letter-perfect in the domain of A-B, ab. But the timecomeswhenamanshouldceaseprelusorygymnastic,standup,putaviolenceuponhiswill,and,forbetterorworse,beginthebusinessofcreation.Thisevildaythereisatendencycontinuallytopostpone:aboveallwithpainters.Theyhavemadesomanystudies that ithasbecomeahabit; theymakemore, thewallsofexhibitionsblushwiththem;anddeathfindstheseagedstudentsstillbusywiththeirhorn-book.Thisclassofmanfindsacongenialhomeinartistvillages;intheslangoftheEnglishcolonyatBarbizonweusedtocallthem“Snoozers.”Continualreturnstothecity,thesocietyofmenfurtheradvanced,thestudyofgreatworks,asenseofhumouror,ifsuchathingistobehad,alittlereligionorphilosophy,arethemeansoftreatment.Itwillbetimeenoughtothinkofcuringthemaladyafterithasbeencaught;fortocatchitistheverythingforwhichyouseekthatdream-landofthepainters’village.“Snoozing”isapartoftheartisticeducation;andtherudimentsmustbelearnedstupidly,allelsebeingforgotten,asiftheywereanobjectinthemselves.Lastly, thereissomething,or thereseemstobesomething, intheveryairofFrancethatcommunicatestheloveofstyle.Precision,clarity,thecleanlyandcraftyemploymentofmaterial,agraceinthehandling,apartfromanyvalueinthethought,seemtobeacquiredbythemereresidence;or,ifnotacquired,become at least the more appreciated. The air of Paris is alive with thistechnicalinspiration.Andtoleavethatairycityandawakenextdayuponthebordersof the forest is but to changeexternals.The same spirit ofdexterityand finish breathes from the long alleys and the lofty groves, from thewildernesses that are still pretty in their confusion, and the great plain thatcontrivestobedecorativeinitsemptiness.

Inspiteofitsreallyconsiderableextent,theforestofFontainebleauishardlyanywheretedious.Iknowthewholewesternsideofitwithwhat,Isuppose,Imaycall thoroughness;wellenoughat least to testify that there isnosquare

milewithoutsomespecialcharacterandcharm.Suchquarters,forinstance,astheLongRocher, theBas-Bréau,and theReineBlanchemightbeahundredmiles apart; they have scarce a point in common beyond the silence of thebirds.The two last are really conterminous; and inboth are tall and ancienttrees that have outlived a thousand political vicissitudes.But in the one thegreatoaksprosperplacidlyuponanevenfloor; theybeshadowagreat field;and the air and the light are very free below their stretching boughs. In theotherthetreesfinddifficultfooting;castlesofwhiterocklietumbledoneuponanother, the foot slips, the crooked viper slumbers, the moss clings in thecrevice; and above it all the great beech goes spiring and casting forth herarms, and, with a grace beyond church architecture, canopies this ruggedchaos.Meanwhile,dividingthetwocantons,thebroadwhitecausewayoftheParisroadrunsinanavenue;aroadconceivedforpageantryandfortriumphalmarches,anavenueforanarmy;but,itsdaysofgloryover,itnowliesgrillingin the sun between cool groves, and only at intervals the vehicle of thecruisingtouristisseenfarawayandfaintlyaudiblealongitsamplesweep.Alittleupononeside,andyoufindadistrictofsandandbirchandboulder;alittleupontheotherliesthevalleyofApremont,all juniperandheather;andclosebeyondthatyoumaywalkintoazoneofpinetrees.Soartfullyaretheingredientsmingled.Normust itbe forgotten that, inall thispart,youcomecontinually forth upon a hill-top, and behold the plain, northward andwestward, like an unrefulgent sea; nor that all day long the shadows keepchanging;andat last, to the redfiresofsunset,nightsucceeds,andwith thenightanewforest,fullofwhisper,gloom,andfragrance.Therearefewthingsmorerenovating than to leaveParis, the lamplitarchesof theCarrousel,andthe long alignment of the glittering streets, and to bathe the senses in thisfragrantdarknessofthewood.Inthiscontinualvarietythemindiskeptvividlyalive.Itisachangefulplacetopaint,astirringplacetolivein.Asfastasyourfootcarriesyou,youpassfromscene to scene,eachvigorouslypainted in thecoloursof thesun,eachendeared by that hereditary spell of forests on the mind of man, who stillremembersandsalutestheancientrefugeofhisrace.Andyettheforesthasbeencivilisedthroughout.Themostsavagecornersbearaname,andhavebeencherishedlikeantiquities; inthemostremote,Naturehaspreparedandbalancedhereffectsasifwithconsciousart;andman,withhis guiding arrows of blue paint, has countersigned the picture. After yourfarthest wandering, you are never surprised to come forth upon the vastavenueofhighway,tostrikethecentrepointofbranchingalleys,ortofindtheaqueducttrailing,thousand-footed,throughthebrush.Itisnotawilderness;itisratherapreserve.And,fitlyenough,thecentreofthemazeisnotahermit’scavern. In the midst, a little mirthful town lies sunlit, humming with thebusiness of pleasure; and the palace, breathing distinction and peopled by

historicnames,standssmokelessamonggardens.Perhapsthelastattemptatsavagelifewasthatoftheharmlesshumbugwhocalledhimself thehermit. Inagreat tree,closebythehighroad,hehadbuilthimselfa littlecabinafter themannerof theSwissFamilyRobinson; thitherhemountedatnight,bytheromanticaidofaropeladder;andifdirtbeanyproofof sincerity, themanwas savage as aSioux. I had thepleasureofhisacquaintance; he appeared grossly stupid, not in his perfect wits, andinterestedinnothingbutsmallchange;for thathehadagreatavidity.In thecourseoftimeheprovedtobeachicken-stealer,andvanishedfromhisperch;and perhaps from the first he was no true votary of forest freedom, but aningenious, theatrically-minded beggar, and his cabin in the tree was onlystock-in-tradetobegwithal.Thechoiceofhispositionwouldseemtoindicatesomuch;forifintheforesttherearenoplacesstilltobediscovered,therearemanythathavebeenforgotten,andthatlieunvisited.There,tobesure,arethebluearrowswaitingtoreconductyou,nowblazeduponatree,nowpostedinthe corner of a rock. But your security from interruption is complete; youmightcampforweeks, if therewereonlywater,andnotasoulsuspectyourpresence;andifImaysupposethereadertohavecommittedsomegreatcrimeandcome tome foraid, I think Icouldstill findmyway toa smallcavern,fittedwith ahearth and chimney,wherehemight lieperfectly concealed.Aconfederatelandscape-paintermightdailysupplyhimwithfood;forwater,hewouldhavetomakeanightlytrampasfarastothenearestpond;andatlast,whenthehueandcrybegantoblowover,hemightgetgentlyonthetrainatsomesidestation,workroundbyaseriesofjunctions,andbequietlycapturedatthefrontier.ThusFontainebleau,althoughit is trulybutapleasure-ground,andalthough,infavourableweather,andinthemorecelebratedquarters, it literallybuzzeswiththetourist,yethassomeoftheimmunitiesandofferssomeofthereposeof natural forests. And the solitary, although he must return at night to hisfrequented inn, may yet pass the day with his own thoughts in thecompanionable silence of the trees. The demands of the imagination vary;somecanbealoneinabackgardenlookeduponbywindows;others,liketheostrich, are content with a solitude that meets the eye; and others, again,expandinfancytotheverybordersoftheirdesert,andareirritablyconsciousof a hunter’s camp in an adjacent county. To these last, of course,Fontainebleauwill seembut an extended tea-garden: aRosherville on a by-day.Buttotheplainmanitofferssolitude:anexcellentthinginitself,andagoodwhetforcompany.

IwasforsometimeaconsistentBarbizonian;etegoinArcadiavixi;itwasapleasantseason;andthatnoiselesshamletlyingcloseamongthebordersofthe

wood is forme, as for somany others, a green spot inmemory. The greatMilletwasjustdead,thegreenshuttersofhismodesthousewereclosed;hisdaughterswere inmourning.Thedateofmyfirstvisitwas thusanepoch inthehistoryofart: inalesserway,itwasanepochinthehistoryoftheLatinQuarter. The Petit Cénacle was dead and buried; Murger and his crew ofsponging vagabonds were all at rest from their expedients; the tradition oftheirreallifewasnearlylost;andthepetrifiedlegendoftheViedeBohêmehadbecomeasortofgospel,andstillgavethecuetozealousimitators.Butifthebookbewritten in rose-water, the imitationwas still further expurgated;honestywas the rule; the innkeepers gave, as I have said, almost unlimitedcredit; theysufferedtheseediestpainter todepart, to takeallhisbelongings,andtoleavehisbillunpaid;andiftheysometimeslost,itwasbyEnglishandAmericans alone. At the same time, the great influx of Anglo-Saxons hadbeguntoaffect the lifeof thestudious.Therehadbeendisputes;and, inoneinstanceat least, theEnglishandtheAmericanshadmadecommoncausetoprevent a cruel pleasantry. It would be well if nations and races couldcommunicatetheirqualities;butinpracticewhentheylookuponeachother,they have an eye to nothing but defects. The Anglo-Saxon is essentiallydishonest; theFrench is devoidbynatureof theprinciple thatwe call “FairPlay.”TheFrenchmanmarvelledat thescruplesofhisguest,and,when thatdefenderofinnocenceretiredoverseasandlefthisbillsunpaid,hemarvelledonceagain; thegoodandevilwere, inhiseyes,partandparcelof thesameeccentricity;ashrugexpressedhisjudgmentuponboth.AtBarbizon therewas nomaster, no pontiff in the arts. Palizzi bore rule atGrez—urbane,superiorrule—hismemoryrichinanecdotesofthegreatmenofyore,hismindfertileintheories;sceptical,composed,andvenerabletotheeye;andyetbeneaththeseoutworks,alltwitteringwithItaliansuperstition,hiseyescoutingforomens,andthewholefabricofhismannersgivingwayontheappearance of a hunchback. Cernay had Pelouse, the admirable, placidPelouse, smilingly critical of youth, who, when a full-blown commercialtravellersuddenlythrewdownhissamples,boughtacolour-box,andbecamethemasterwhomwehavealladmired.Marlotte,foracentralfigure,boastedOlivier de Penne. Only Barbizon, since the death ofMillet, was a headlesscommonwealth.Evenitssecondarylights,andthosewhoinmydaymadethestranger welcome, have since deserted it. The good Lachèvre has departed,carryinghishouseholdgods;andlongbeforethatGastonLafenestrewastakenfromourmidstbyanuntimelydeath.Hediedbeforehehaddeservedsuccess;it may be, he would never have deserved it; but his kind, comely, modestcountenancestillhauntsthememoryofallwhoknewhim.Another—whomIwill not name—hasmoved farther on, pursuing the strange Odyssey of hisdecadence. His days of royal favour had departed even then; but he stillretained, in his narrower life at Barbizon, a certain stamp of conscious

importance,hearty, friendly, filling the room, theoccupantof severalchairs;norhadheyetceasedhislosingbattle,stilllabouringupongreatcanvasesthatnonewouldbuy,stillwaiting thereturnoffortune.But thesedaysalsoweretoogoodtolast;andtheformerfavouriteoftwosovereignsfled,ifIheardthetruth,bynight.Therewasatimewhenhewascountedagreatman,andMilletbutadauber;behold,howthewhirligigoftimebringsinhisrevenges!TopityMilletisapieceofarrogance;iflifebehardforsuchresoluteandpiousspirits,it isharderstill forus,hadwe thewit tounderstand it;butwemaypityhisunhappier rival, who, for no apparent merit, was raised to opulence andmomentaryfame,and,throughnoapparentfault,wassufferedstepbysteptosinkagaintonothing.Nomisfortunecanexceedthebitternessofsuchback-foremost progress, even bravely supported as it was; but to those alsowhoweretakenearlyfromtheeasel,aregretisdue.Fromalltheyoungmenofthisperiod, one stood out by the vigour of his promise; he was in the age offermentation, enamoured of eccentricities. “Il faut faire de la peinturenouvelle,”washiswatchword;but if timeandexperiencehadcontinuedhiseducation,ifhehadbeengrantedhealthtoreturnfromtheseexcursionstothesteady and the central, I must believe that the name of Hills had becomefamous.Siron’sinn,thatexcellentartists’barrack,wasmanageduponeasyprinciples.Atanyhourofthenight,whenyoureturnedfromwanderingintheforest,youwent to thebilliard-roomandhelpedyourself to liquors,ordescendedto thecellar and returned laden with beer or wine. The Sirons were all locked inslumber; there was none to check your inroads; only at the week’s end acomputationwasmade, the gross sumwas divided, and a varying share setdown toevery lodger’snameunder the rubric: estrats.Upon themore long-suffering the larger tax was levied; and your bill lengthened in a directproportion to the easiness of your disposition.At any hour of themorning,again,youcouldgetyourcoffeeorcoldmilk,andsetforthintotheforest.Thedoves had perhaps wakened you, fluttering into your chamber; and on thethresholdoftheinnyouweremetbythearomaoftheforest.Closebywerethegreataisles, themossyboulders, the interminable fieldof forest shadow.There you were free to dream and wander. And at noon, and again at sixo’clock, a good meal awaited you on Siron’s table. The whole of youraccommodation,setasidethatvaryingitemoftheestrats,costyoufivefrancsaday;yourbillwasneverofferedyouuntilyouaskedit;andifyouwereoutofluck’sway,youmightdepartforwhereyoupleasedandleaveitpending.

Theoretically, thehousewasopentoallcomers;practically, itwasakindofclub.Theguestsprotectedthemselves,and,insodoing,theyprotectedSiron.Formal manners being laid aside, essential courtesy was the more rigidlyexacted;thenewarrivalhadtofeelthepulseofthesociety;andabreachofits

undefinedobservanceswaspromptlypunished.Amanmightbe asplain, asdull,asslovenly,asfreeofspeechashedesired;buttoatouchofpresumptionorawordofhectoringthesefreeBarbizonianswereassensitiveasatea-partyofmaidenladies.IhaveseenpeopledrivenforthfromBarbizon;itwouldbedifficulttosayinwordswhattheyhaddone,buttheydeservedtheirfate.Theyhadshownthemselvesunworthytoenjoythesecorporatefreedoms;theyhadpushedthemselves;theyhad“madetheirhead”;theywantedtacttoappreciatethe“fineshades”ofBarbizonianetiquette.And,once theywerecondemned,theprocessofextrusionwasruthlessinitscruelty;afteroneeveningwiththeformidableBodmer,theBaillyofourcommonwealth,theerringstrangerwasbeheld no more; he rose exceeding early the next day, and the first coachconveyed him from the scene of his discomfiture. These sentences ofbanishment were never, in my knowledge, delivered against an artist; suchwould,Ibelieve,havebeenillegal;but theoddandpleasantfact is this, thattheywereneverneeded.Painters,sculptors,writers,singers,IhaveseenalloftheseinBarbizon;andsomeweresulky,andsomeblatantandinane;butoneandallenteredatonceintothespiritoftheassociation.ThissingularsocietyispurelyFrench,acreatureofFrenchvirtues,andpossiblyofFrenchdefects.Itcannot be imitated by theEnglish.The roughness, the impatience, themoreobviousselfishness,andeventhemoreardentfriendshipsoftheAnglo-Saxon,speedily dismember such a commonwealth. But this random gathering ofyoungFrenchpainters,withneitherapparatusnorparadeofgovernment,yetkept the life of the place upon a certain footing, insensibly imposed theiretiquetteuponthedocile,andbycausticspeechenforced theiredictsagainsttheunwelcome.Tothinkofit is towonderthemoreat thestrangefailureoftheirraceuponthelargertheatre.Thisinbredcivility—tousethewordinitscompletest meaning—this natural and facile adjustment of contendingliberties,seemsallthatisrequiredtomakeagovernablenationandajustandprosperouscountry.Oursociety,thuspurgedandguarded,wasfullofhighspirits,oflaughter,andoftheinitiativeofyouth.Thefeweldermenwhojoineduswerestillyoungatheart,andtookthekeyfromtheircompanions.Wereturnedfromlongstationsinthefortifyingair,ourbloodrenewedbythesunshine,ourspiritsrefreshedbythesilenceoftheforest;theBabelofloudvoicessoundedgood;wefelltoeatandplaylikethenaturalman;andinthehighinnchamber,panelledwithindifferent pictures and lit by candlesguttering in thenight air, the talk andlaughtersoundedfarintothenight.Itwasagoodplaceandagoodlifeforanynaturally-mindedyouth;betteryetforthestudentofpainting,andperhapsbestof all for the student of letters.He, too,was saturated in this atmosphereofstyle; he was shut out from the disturbing currents of the world, he mightforgetthatthereexistedotherandmorepressingintereststhanthatofart.But,in such a place, it was hardly possible to write; he could not drug his

conscience, like the painter, by the production of listless studies; he sawhimself idle amongmanywhowere apparently, and somewhowere really,employed; andwhatwith the impulseof increasinghealth and the continualprovocationofromanticscenes,hebecametormentedwiththedesiretowork.Heenjoyedastrenuousidleness,fullofvisions,heartymeals,long,swelteringwalks, mirth among companions; and, still floating like music through hisbrain, foresights of great works that Shakespeare might be proud to haveconceived, headless epics, glorious torsos of dramas, and words that werealivewithimport.Soinyouth,likeMosesfromthemountain,wehavesightsofthatHouseBeautifulofartwhichweshallneverenter.Theyaredreamsandunsubstantial;visionsofstylethatreposeuponnobaseofhumanmeaning;thelastheart-throbsofthatexcitedamateurwhohastodieinallofusbeforetheartist can be born. But they come to us in such a rainbow of glory that allsubsequentachievementappearsdullandearthlyincomparison.Wewereallartists;almostall in theageof illusion,cultivatingan imaginarygenius,andwalking to the strains of somedeceivingAriel; smallwonder, indeed, ifwewerehappy!Butart,ofwhatevernature,isakindmistress;andthoughthesedreams of youth fall by their own baselessness, others succeed, graver andmoresubstantial;thesymptomschange,theamiablemaladyendures;andstill,atanequaldistance,theHouseBeautifulshinesuponitshill-top.

Grezliesoutoftheforest,downbythebrightriver.Itboastsamill,anancientchurch,acastle,andabridgeofmanysterlings.Andthebridgeisapieceofpublic property; anonymously famous; beaming on the incurious dilettantefrom thewalls of a hundred exhibitions. I have seen it in theSalon; I haveseen it in the Academy; I have seen it in the last French Exposition,excellentlydonebyBloomer;inablack-and-whitebyMr.A.Henley,itonceadornedthisessayinthepagesoftheMagazineofArt.Long-sufferingbridge!AndifyouvisitGrezto-morrow,youshallfindanothergeneration,campedatthebottomofChevillon’sgardenunder theirwhiteumbrellas, anddoggedlypaintingitagain.Thebridge taken forgranted,Grez is a less inspiringplace thanBarbizon. Igive it thepalmoverCernay.There is somethingghastly in thegreatemptyvillagesquareofCernay,withtheinntablesstandinginonecorner,asthoughthe stagewere set for rusticopera, and in the earlymorning all thepaintersbreaking their fastuponwhitewineunder thewindowsof thevillagers. It isvastlydifferenttoawakeinGrez,togodownthegreeninn-garden,tofindtheriver streaming through the bridge, and to see the dawn begin across thepoplaredlevel.Themealsarelaidinthecoolarbour,underflutteringleaves.The splash of oars and bathers, the bathing costumes out to dry, the trimcanoesbeside the jetty, tellofasociety thathasaneye topleasure.There is“somethingtodo”atGrez.Perhaps,forthatveryreason,Icanrecallnosuch

enduringardours,nosuchgloriesofexhilaration,asamongthesolemngrovesanduneventfulhoursofBarbizon.This“somethingtodo”isagreatenemytojoy; it is away out of it; youwreak your high spirits on some cut-and-dryemployment,andbeholdthemgone!ButGrezisamerryplaceafteritskind:prettytosee,merrytoinhabit.Thecourseofitspellucidriver,whetherupordown, is full of gentle attractions for the navigator: islanded reed-mazeswhere,inautumn,theredberriescluster;themirroredandinvertedimagesoftrees; lilies, andmills, and the foamand thunder ofweirs.Andof all noblesweeps of roadway, none is nobler, on a windy dusk, than the highroad toNemoursbetweenitslinesoftalkingpoplar.ButevenGrezischanged.Theoldinn,longshoredandtrussedandbuttressed,fellatlengthunderthemereweightofyears,andtheplaceasitwasisbutafadingimageinthememoryofformerguests.They,indeed,recalltheancientwoodenstair; theyrecall therainyevening, thewidehearth, theblazeof thetwig fire,and thecompany thatgathered round thepillar in thekitchen.Butthematerialfabricisnowdust;soon,withthelastof its inhabitants, itsverymemory shall follow; and they, in their turn, shall suffer the same law, and,bothinnameandlineament,vanishfromtheworldofmen.“Forremembranceof theoldhouse’ sake,” asPepysoncequaintlyput it, letme tell one story.When the tideof invasion sweptoverFrance, two foreignpainterswere leftstranded and penniless in Grez; and there, until the war was over, theChevillonsungrudginglyharboured them. Itwasdifficult toobtain supplies;but the two waifs were still welcome to the best, sat down daily with thefamily to table, and at the due intervals were supplied with clean napkins,which they scrupled to employ. Madame Chevillon observed the fact andreprimandedthem.But theystoodfirm;eat theymust,buthavingnomoneytheywouldsoilnonapkins.

NemoursandMoret,foralltheyaresopicturesque,havebeenlittlevisitedbypainters.Theyare,indeed,toopopulous;theyhavemannersoftheirown,andmightresistthedrasticprocessofcolonisation.Montignyhasbeensomewhatstrangely neglected; I never knew it inhabited but once,whenWillH. Lowinstalledhimselftherewithabarrelofpiquette,andentertainedhisfriendsinaleafytrellisabovetheweir, insightofthegreencountryandtothemusicofthe fallingwater. Itwasamostairy,quaint,andpleasantplaceof residence,justtoorustictobestagey;andfrommymemoriesoftheplaceingeneral,andthatgardentrellisinparticular—atmorning,visitedbybirds,oratnight,whenthedewfellandthestarswereoftheparty—IaminclinedtothinkperhapstoofavourablyofthefutureofMontigny.Chailly-en-Bièrehasoutlivedallthings,andliesdustilyslumberingintheplain—thecemeteryofitself.Thegreatroadremainstotestifyofitsformerbustleofpostilionsandcarriagebells;and,likememorial tablets, there still hang in the inn room the paintings of a former

generation, dead or decorated long ago. In my time, oneman only, greatlydaring,dweltthere.FromtimetotimehewouldwalkovertoBarbizon,likeashaderevisitingtheglimpsesofthemoon,andaftersomecommunicationwithflesh and blood return to his austere hermitage. But even he, when I lastrevisitedtheforest,hadcometoBarbizonforgood,andclosedtherolloftheChaillyites. It may revive—but Imuch doubt it. Achères and Recloses stillwaitapioneer;Bourronisoutofthequestion,beingmerelyGrezoveragain,without theriver, thebridge,or thebeauty;andofall thepossibleplacesonthe western side, Marlotte alone remains to be discussed. I scarcely knowMarlotte,and,verylikelyforthatreason,amnotmuchinlovewithit.Itseemsaglaringandunsightlyhamlet.TheinnofMotherAntonieisunattractive;andits more reputable rival, though comfortable enough, is commonplace.Marlottehasaname;itisfamous;ifIweretheyoungpainterIwouldleaveitaloneinitsglory.

Thesearethewordsofanoldstager;andthoughtimeisagoodconservativeinforestplaces,muchmaybeuntrueto-day.ManyofushavepassedArcadiandaysthereandmovedon,butyetleftaportionofoursoulsbehindusburiedinthe woods. I would not dig for these reliquiæ; they are incommunicabletreasuresthatwillnotenrichthefinder;andyettheremaylie,interredbelowgreatoaksorscatteredalongforestpaths,storesofyouth’sdynamiteanddearremembrances. And as one generation passes on and renovates the field oftillageforthenext,Ientertainafancythatwhentheyoungmenofto-daygoforthintotheforesttheyshallfindtheairstillvitalisedbythespiritsoftheirpredecessors,and, like those“unheardmelodies” thatare thesweetestofall,thememory of our laughter shall still haunt the field of trees. Thosemerryvoices that in woods call the wanderer farther, those thrilling silences andwhispersofthegroves,surelyinFontainebleautheymustbevocalofmeandmycompanions?Wearenotcontenttopassawayentirelyfromthescenesofourdelight;wewouldleave,ifbutingratitude,apillarandalegend.Onegenerationafteranotherfalllikehoney-beesuponthismemorableforest,rifle its sweets, pack themselveswith vitalmemories, andwhen the theft isconsummateddepartagainintolifericher,butpooreralso.Theforest,indeed,theyhavepossessed,fromthatdayforwardit is theirsindissolubly,andtheywillreturntowalkinitatnightinthefondestoftheirdreams,anduseitforeverintheirbooksandpictures.Yetwhentheymadetheirpackets,andputuptheir notes and sketches, something, it should seem, had been forgotten. Aprojection of themselves shall appear to haunt unfriended these scenes ofhappiness,anaturalchildoffancy,begottenandforgottenunawares.Overthewhole field of our wanderings such fetches are still travelling likeindefatigablebagmen;buttheimpsofFontainebleau,asofallbelovedspots,are very long of life, and memory is piously unwilling to forget their

orphanage.Ifanywhereaboutthatwoodyoumeetmyairybantling,greethimwithtenderness.Hewasapleasantlad,thoughnowabandoned.Andwhenitcomes to your own turn to quit the forest,may you leave behind you suchanother; no Antony or Werther, let us hope, no tearful whipster, but, asbecomesthisnotuncheerfulandmostactiveageinwhichwefigure,thechildofhappyhours.Noart,itmaybesaid,waseverperfect,andnotmanynoble,thathasnotbeenmirthfullyconceived.Andnoman,itmaybeadded,waseveranythingbutawetblanketandacrosstohiscompanionswhoboastednotacopiousspiritofenjoyment. Whether as man or artist, let the youth make haste toFontainebleau,andoncetherelethimaddresshimselftothespiritoftheplace;he will learn more from exercise than from studies, although both arenecessary; and if he can get into his heart the gaiety and inspiration of thewoodshewillhavegonefartoundotheevilofhissketches.Aspiritoncewellstrunguptotheconcert-pitchoftheprimevalout-of-doorswillhardlydaretofinish a study and magniloquently ticket it a picture. The incommunicablethrillofthings,thatisthetuning-forkbywhichwetesttheflatnessofourart.HereitisthatNatureteachesandcondemns,andstillspursuptofurthereffortandnewfailure.Thusitisthatshesetsusblushingatourignorantandtepidworks;andthemorewefindoftheseinspiringshocksthelessshallwebeapttolovetheliteralinourproductions.Inallsciencesandsensestheletterkills;andto-day,whencacklinghumangeeseexpress their ignorantcondemnationof all studio pictures, it is a lessonmost useful to be learnt. Let the youngpaintergo toFontainebleau,andwhilehestupefieshimselfwithstudies thatteachhimthemechanicalsideofhistrade,lethimwalkinthegreatair,andbea servant of mirth, and not pick and botanise, but wait upon themoods ofNature.Sohewilllearn—orlearnnottoforget—thepoetryoflifeandearth,which, when he has acquired his track, will save him from joylessreproduction.

IIANOTEONREALISM

STYLEistheinvariablemarkofanymaster;andforthestudentwhodoesnotaspiresohighastobenumberedwiththegiants, it isstill theonequalityinwhich hemay improve himself atwill. Passion,wisdom, creative force, thepowerofmysteryorcolour,areallottedinthehourofbirth,andcanbeneitherlearned nor simulated. But the just and dexterous use of what qualities wehave,theproportionofoneparttoanotherandtothewhole,theelisionoftheuseless, theaccentuationof the important, and thepreservationofauniform

character from end to end—these, which taken together constitute technicalperfection, are to some degree within the reach of industry and intellectualcourage.Whattoputinandwhattoleaveout;whethersomeparticularfactbeorganically necessary or purely ornamental; whether, if it be purelyornamental, it may not weaken or obscure the general design; and finally,whether, if we decide to use it, we should do so grossly and notably, or insome conventional disguise: are questions of plastic style continually re-arising.Andthesphinxthatpatrolsthehighwaysofexecutivearthasnomoreunanswerableriddletopropound.In literature (fromwhich Imustdrawmy instances) thegreat changeof thepastcenturyhasbeeneffectedbytheadmissionofdetail. Itwasinauguratedby the romantic Scott; and at length, by the semi-romantic Balzac and hismoreorlesswhollyunromanticfollowers,boundlikeadutyonthenovelist.Forsometimeitsignifiedandexpressedamoreamplecontemplationof theconditionsofman’s life; but it has recently (at least inFrance) fallen into amerely technicalanddecorativestage,which it is,perhaps, still tooharsh tocallsurvival.Withamovementofalarm,thewiserormoretimidbegintofalla littleback from theseextremities; theybegin toaspireafteramorenaked,narrativearticulation;afterthesuccinct,thedignified,andthepoetic;andasameanstothis,afteragenerallighteningofthisbaggageofdetail.AfterScottwebeheldthestarvelingstory—once,inthehandsofVoltaire,asabstractasaparable—begin tobepamperedupon facts.The introductionof thesedetailsdevelopedaparticularabilityofhand;andthatability,childishlyindulged,hasled to the works that now amaze us on a railway journey. A man of theunquestionable force ofM. Zola spends himself on technical successes. Toaffordapopularflavourandattractthemob,headdsasteadycurrentofwhatImaybeallowed tocall the rancid.That isexciting to themoralist;butwhatmoreparticularlyinterests theartist is this tendencyoftheextremeofdetail,whenfollowedasaprinciple,todegenerateintomerefeux-de-joieofliterarytricking.TheotherdayevenM.Daudetwas tobeheardbabblingofaudiblecoloursandvisiblesounds.Thisoddsuicideofonebranchof therealistsmayserve toremindusof thefactwhichunderliesaverydustyconflictofthecritics.Allrepresentativeart,which can be said to live, is both realistic and ideal; and the realism aboutwhichwe quarrel is amatter purely of externals. It is no especial cultus ofnatureandveracity,butamerewhimofveeringfashion,thathasmadeusturnour back upon the larger, more various, and more romantic art of yore. Aphotographicexactitudeindialogueisnowtheexclusivefashion;butevenintheablesthandsittellsusnomore—Ithinkiteventellsusless—thanMolière,wielding his artificial medium, has told to us and to all time of Alceste orOrgon,DorineorChrysale.Thehistoricalnovel isforgotten.Yet truthto theconditionsofman’snatureandtheconditionsofman’slife,thetruthofliterary

art, is free of the ages. Itmay be told us in a carpet comedy, in a novel ofadventure, or a fairy tale.The scenemaybepitched inLondon,on the sea-coastofBohemia,orawayon themountainsofBeulah.Andbyanoddandluminous accident, if there is any page of literature calculated to awake theenvyofM.Zola,itmustbethat“TroilusandCressida”whichShakespeare,inaspasmofunmanlyangerwith theworld,graftedon theheroicstoryof thesiegeofTroy.Thisquestionof realism, let it thenbeclearlyunderstood, regardsnot in theleastdegreethefundamentaltruth,butonlythetechnicalmethod,ofaworkofart. Be as ideal or as abstract as you please, you will be none the lessveracious; but if you be weak, you run the risk of being tedious andinexpressive; and if youbevery strongandhonest, youmaychanceuponamasterpiece.Awork of art is first cloudily conceived in themind; during the period ofgestation it standsmoreclearly forwardfromtheseswaddlingmists,putsonexpressive lineaments, and becomes at length that most faultless, but also,alas!thatincommunicableproductofthehumanmind,aperfecteddesign.Ontheapproachtoexecutionallischanged.Theartistmustnowstepdown,donhisworkingclothes,andbecometheartisan.Henowresolutelycommitshisairy conception, his delicate Ariel, to the touch of matter; he must decide,almost in a breath, the scale, the style, the spirit, and the particularity ofexecutionofhiswholedesign.The engendering idea of someworks is stylistic; a technical pre-occupationstands them instead of some robuster principle of life. And with these theexecutionisbutplay;forthestylisticproblemisresolvedbeforehand,andalllargeoriginalityoftreatmentwilfullyforegone.Sucharetheverses,intricatelydesigned,whichwehavelearnttoadmire,withacertainsmilingadmiration,atthehandsofMr.LangandMr.Dobson;such,too,arethosecanvaseswheredexterityorevenbreadthofplasticstyletakestheplaceofpictorialnobilityofdesign.So,itmayberemarked,itwaseasiertobegintowrite“Esmond”than“Vanity Fair,” since, in the first, the stylewas dictated by the nature of theplan;andThackeray,amanprobablyofsomeindolenceofmind,enjoyedandgotgoodprofitofthiseconomyofeffort.Butthecaseisexceptional.Usuallyin all works of art that have been conceived from within outwards, andgenerouslynourishedfromtheauthor’smind,themomentinwhichhebeginstoexecuteisoneofextremeperplexityandstrain.Artistsofindifferentenergyandanimperfectdevotiontotheirownidealmakethisungratefuleffortoncefor all; and, having formed a style, adhere to it through life.But those of ahigher order cannot rest content with a process which, as they continue toemploy it,must infalliblydegenerate towards the academic and the cut-and-dried. Every fresh work in which they embark is the signal for a fresh

engagementofthewholeforcesoftheirmind;andthechangingviewswhichaccompanythegrowthoftheirexperiencearemarkedbystillmoresweepingalterationsinthemanneroftheirart.SothatcriticismlovestodwelluponanddistinguishthevaryingperiodsofaRaphael,aShakespeare,oraBeethoven.It is, then, first of all, at this initial anddecisivemomentwhenexecution isbegun, and thenceforth only in a less degree, that the ideal and the real doindeed, like good and evil angels, contend for the direction of the work.Marble,paint,andlanguage,thepen,theneedle,andthebrush,allhavetheirgrossnesses, their ineffable impotences, their hours, if I may so expressmyself,ofinsubordination.Itistheworkanditisagreatpartofthedelightofanyartisttocontendwiththeseunrulytools,andnowbybruteenergy,nowbywittyexpedient,todriveandcoaxthemtoeffecthiswill.Giventhesemeans,so laughably inadequate, and given the interest, the intensity, and themultiplicityoftheactualsensationwhoseeffectheistorenderwiththeiraid,theartisthasonemainandnecessaryresourcewhichhemust, ineverycaseanduponanytheory,employ.Hemust,thatis,suppressmuchandomitmore.Hemustomitwhatis tediousorirrelevant,andsuppresswhatis tediousandnecessary.Butsuchfactsas,inregardtothemaindesign,subserveavarietyofpurposes,hewillperforceandeagerly retain.And it is themarkof theveryhighestorderofcreativearttobewovenexclusivelyofsuch.There,anyfactthatisregisterediscontrivedadoubleoratrebledebttopay,andisatonceanornamentinitsplaceandapillarinthemaindesign.Nothingwouldfindroominsuchapicture thatdidnotserve,atonce, tocomplete thecomposition, toaccentuatetheschemeofcolour,todistinguishtheplanesofdistance,andtostrikethenoteoftheselectedsentiment;nothingwouldbeallowedinsuchastorythatdidnot,atthesametime,expeditetheprogressofthefable,buildupthecharacters,andstrikehomethemoralorthephilosophicaldesign.Butthisis unattainable. As a rule, so far from building the fabric of our worksexclusivelywiththese,wearethrownintoaraptureifwethinkwecanmusteradozenorascoreofthem,tobetheplumsofourconfection.Andhence,inorder that thecanvasmaybe filledor thestoryproceedfrompoint topoint,otherdetailsmustbeadmitted.Theymustbeadmitted,alas!uponadoubtfultitle; many without marriage robes. Thus any work of art, as it proceedstowards completion, too often—Ihad almostwritten always—loses in forceandpoignancyofmaindesign.Ourlittleairisswampedanddwarfedamonghardlyrelevantorchestration;ourlittlepassionatestorydrownsinadeepseaofdescriptiveeloquenceorslipshodtalk.But again,we are rathermore tempted to admit those particularswhichweknow we can describe; and hence those most of all which, having beendescribedveryoften,havegrowntobeconventionallytreatedinthepracticeofourart.Thesewechoose,asthemasonchoosestheacanthustoadornhiscapital, because they comenaturally to the accustomedhand.The old stock

incidentsandaccessories,tricksofworkmanshipandschemesofcomposition(allbeingadmirablygood,ortheywouldlonghavebeenforgotten)hauntandtemptour fancy;offerus ready-madebutnotperfectlyappropriate solutionsfor any problem that arises; and wean us from the study of nature and theuncompromising practice of art. To struggle, to face nature, to find freshsolutions,andgiveexpressiontofactswhichhavenotyetbeenadequatelyornotyetelegantlyexpressed,istorunalittleuponthedangerofextremeself-love.Difficultysetsahighpriceuponachievement;andtheartistmayeasilyfallintotheerroroftheFrenchnaturalists,andconsideranyfactaswelcometoadmissionifitbethegroundofbrillianthandiwork;or,again,intotheerrorofthemodernlandscape-painter,whoisapttothinkthatdifficultyovercomeand science well displayed can take the place of what is, after all, the oneexcuseandbreathofart—charm.Alittlefurther,andhewillregardcharminthelightofanunworthysacrificetoprettiness,andtheomissionofatediouspassageasaninfidelitytoart.We have now the matter of this difference before us. The idealist, his eyesinglyfixeduponthegreateroutlines,lovesrathertofilluptheintervalwithdetailof theconventionalorder,briefly touched, soberly suppressed in tone,courtingneglect.Buttherealist,withafineintemperance,willnotsufferthepresenceofanythingsodeadasaconvention;heshallhaveallfiery,allhot-pressedfromnature,allcharacteredandnotable,seizingtheeye.Thestylethatbefits either of these extremes, once chosen, brings with it its necessarydisabilitiesanddangers.Theimmediatedangeroftherealististosacrificethebeautyandsignificanceofthewholetolocaldexterity,or,intheinsanepursuitof completion, to immolatehis readersunder facts; buthe comes in the lastresort,andashisenergydeclines,todiscardalldesign,abjureallchoice,and,with scientific thoroughness, steadily to communicate matter which is notworthlearning.Thedangeroftheidealistis,ofcourse,tobecomemerelynullandloseallgripoffact,particularity,orpassion.Wetalkofbadandgood.Everything,indeed,isgoodwhichisconceivedwithhonestyandexecutedwithcommunicativeardour.Butthoughonneithersideis dogmatism fitting, and though in every case the artist must decide forhimself,anddecideafreshandyetafreshforeachsucceedingworkandnewcreation;yetonethingmaybegenerallysaid,thatweofthelastquarterofthenineteenthcentury,breathingaswedotheintellectualatmosphereofourage,aremoreapt toerruponthesideofrealismthantosin inquestof theideal.Upon that theory it may be well to watch and correct our own decisions,alwaysholdingbackthehandfromtheleastappearanceofirrelevantdexterity,and resolutely fixed to begin no work that is not philosophical, passionate,dignified,happilymirthful,oratthelastandleast,romanticindesign.

IIIONSOMETECHNICALELEMENTSOFSTYLEINLITERATURE

THERE isnothingmoredisenchanting toman than tobe shown the springsand mechanism of any art. All our arts and occupations lie wholly on thesurface; it is on the surface that we perceive their beauty, fitness, andsignificance; and to pry below is to be appalled by their emptiness andshocked by the coarseness of the strings and pulleys. In a similar way,psychologyitself,whenpushedtoanynicety,discoversanabhorrentbaldness,but rather from the faultofouranalysis than fromanypovertynative to themind. And perhaps in æsthetics the reason is the same: those disclosureswhichseemfataltothedignityofartseemsoperhapsonlyintheproportionof our ignorance; and those conscious and unconscious artifices which itseemsunworthyoftheseriousartisttoemploywereyet,ifwehadthepowertotracethemtotheirsprings,indicationsofadelicacyofthesensefinerthanweconceive,andhintsofancientharmoniesinnature.Thisignoranceatleastis largelyirremediable.Weshallnever learntheaffinitiesofbeauty,for theylietoodeepinnatureandtoofarbackinthemysterioushistoryofman.Theamateur, in consequence, will always grudgingly receive details ofmethod,whichcanbestatedbutcanneverwhollybeexplained;nay,ontheprinciplelaiddowninHudibras,that

manyare conscious at eachnewdisclosureof adiminution in the ardouroftheir pleasure. Imust thereforewarn thatwell-known character, the generalreader,thatIamhereembarkeduponamostdistastefulbusiness:takingdownthepicturefromthewallandlookingontheback;and,liketheinquiringchild,pullingthemusicalcarttopieces.1.ChoiceofWords.—Theartofliteraturestandsapartfromamongitssisters,because thematerial inwhich the literary artistworks is the dialect of life;hence,ontheonehand,astrangefreshnessandimmediacyofaddresstothepublicmind,whichisreadypreparedtounderstandit;buthence,ontheother,a singular limitation. The sister arts enjoy the use of a plastic and ductilematerial, like themodeller’s clay; literature alone is condemned to work inmosaicwithfiniteandquiterigidwords.Youhaveseentheseblocks,deartothenursery:thisoneapillar,thatapediment,athirdawindoworavase.Itiswithblocksof justsucharbitrarysizeandfigure that the literaryarchitect iscondemned to design the palace of his art. Nor is this all; for since theseblocks,orwords,aretheacknowledgedcurrencyofourdailyaffairs,therearehere possible none of those suppressions by which other arts obtain relief,continuity and vigour; no hieroglyphic touch, no smoothed impasto, noinscrutableshadow,asinpainting;noblankwall,asinarchitecture;butevery

word,phrase,sentence,andparagraphmustmoveinalogicalprogression,andconveyadefiniteconventionalimport.Now,thefirstmeritwhichattractsinthepagesofagoodwriter,orthetalkofa brilliant conversationalist, is the apt choice and contrast of the wordsemployed.Itis,indeed,astrangearttotaketheseblocks,rudelyconceivedforthepurposeofthemarketorthebar,andbytactofapplicationtouchthemtothe finest meanings and distinctions, restore to them their primal energy,wittily shift them to another issue, or make of them a drum to rouse thepassions.Butthoughthisformofmeritiswithoutdoubtthemostsensibleandseizing,itisfarfrombeingequallypresentinallwriters.Theeffectofwordsin Shakespeare, their singular justice, significance, and poetic charm, isdifferent,indeed,fromtheeffectofwordsinAddisonorFielding.Or,totakeanexamplenearerhome,thewordsinCarlyleseemelectrifiedintoanenergyof lineament, like the faces of men furiously moved; whilst the words inMacaulay, apt enough to conveyhismeaning,harmonious enough in sound,yetglidefromthememorylikeundistinguishedelements inageneraleffect.But the first class ofwriters have nomonopoly of literarymerit.There is asense in which Addison is superior to Carlyle; a sense in which Cicero isbetterthanTacitus,inwhichVoltaireexcelsMontaigne:itcertainlyliesnotinthechoiceofwords;itliesnotintheinterestorvalueofthematter;itliesnotinforceofintellect,ofpoetry,orofhumour.Thethreefirstarebutinfantstothethreesecond;andyeteach, inaparticularpointof literaryart,excelshissuperiorinthewhole.Whatisthatpoint?2. The Web.—Literature, although it stands apart by reason of the greatdestinyandgeneraluseofitsmediumintheaffairsofmen,isyetanartlikeother arts. Of these we may distinguish two great classes: those arts, likesculpture,painting,acting,whicharerepresentative,or,asusedtobesaidveryclumsily, imitative;and those, likearchitecture,music,and thedance,whichare self-sufficient, and merely presentative. Each class, in right of thisdistinction,obeysprinciplesapart;yetbothmayclaimacommongroundofexistence,anditmaybesaidwithsufficientjusticethatthemotiveandendofany art whatever is to make a pattern; a pattern, it may be, of colours, ofsounds,ofchangingattitudes,geometricalfigures,orimitativelines;butstillapattern.Thatistheplaneonwhichthesesistersmeet;itisbythisthattheyarearts; and if it be well they should at times forget their childish origin,addressingtheirintelligencetoviriletasks,andperformingunconsciouslythatnecessaryfunctionoftheirlife,tomakeapattern,itisstillimperativethatthepatternshallbemade.Musicandliterature,thetwotemporalarts,contrivetheirpatternofsoundsintime;or,inotherwords,ofsoundsandpauses.Communicationmaybemadeinbrokenwords,thebusinessoflifebecarriedonwithsubstantivesalone;but

thatisnotwhatwecallliterature;andthetruebusinessoftheliteraryartististoplaitorweavehismeaning,involvingitarounditself;sothateachsentence,by successivephrases, shall first come intoakindofknot, and then, after amoment of suspended meaning, solve and clear itself. In every properlyconstructed sentence there should be observed this knot or hitch; so that(howeverdelicately)weareledtoforesee,toexpect,andthentowelcomethesuccessivephrases.Thepleasuremaybeheightenedbyanelementofsurprise,as,verygrossly,inthecommonfigureoftheantithesis,or,withmuchgreatersubtlety,where an antithesis is first suggested and then deftly evaded.Eachphrase,besides,istobecomelyinitself;andbetweentheimplicationandtheevolutionofthesentencethereshouldbeasatisfyingequipoiseofsound;fornothing more often disappoints the ear than a sentence solemnly andsonorouslyprepared,andhastilyandweaklyfinished.Norshouldthebalancebetoostrikingandexact,fortheoneruleistobeinfinitelyvarious;tointerest,to disappoint, to surprise, and yet still to gratify; to be ever changing, as itwere,thestitch,andyetstilltogivetheeffectofaningeniousneatness.The conjurer juggles with two oranges, and our pleasure in beholding himsprings from this, that neither is for an instant overlooked or sacrificed. Sowith the writer. His pattern, which is to please the supersensual ear, is yetaddressed, throughout and firstof all, to thedemandsof logic.Whateverbetheobscurities,whatever the intricaciesof the argument, theneatnessof thefabricmustnotsuffer,ortheartisthasbeenprovedunequaltohisdesign.And,on theotherhand,no formofwordsmustbeselected,noknotmustbe tiedamong the phrases, unless knot and word be precisely what is wanted toforward and illuminate the argument; for to fail in this is to swindle in thegame.Thegeniusofprose rejects the chevilleno less emphatically than thelaws of verse; and the cheville, I should perhaps explain to some of myreaders, is any meaningless or very watered phrase employed to strike abalanceinthesound.Patternandargumentliveineachother;anditisbythebrevity, clearness, charm, or emphasis of the second, that we judge thestrengthandfitnessofthefirst.Style is synthetic; and the artist, seeking, so to speak, a peg to plait about,takesupatoncetwoormoreelementsortwoormoreviewsofthesubjectinhand; combines, implicates, and contrasts them; andwhile, in one sense, hewasmerelyseekinganoccasion for thenecessaryknot,hewillbe found, intheother,tohavegreatlyenrichedthemeaning,ortohavetransactedtheworkof two sentences in the space of one. In the change from the successiveshallow statements of the old chronicler to the dense and luminous flow ofhighlysyntheticnarrative, there is impliedavastamountofbothphilosophyandwit.Thephilosophyweclearlysee,recognisingin thesyntheticwriterafar more deep and stimulating view of life, and a far keener sense of thegenerationandaffinityofevents.Thewitwemightimaginetobelost;butitis

not so, for it is just that wit, these perpetual nice contrivances, thesedifficulties overcome, this double purpose attained, these two oranges keptsimultaneouslydancing in the air, that, consciouslyor not, afford the readerhis delight.Nay, and thiswit, so little recognised, is the necessary organ ofthat philosophywhichwe somuch admire. That style is therefore themostperfect,not,asfoolssay,whichisthemostnatural,forthemostnaturalisthedisjointed babble of the chronicler; but which attains the highest degree ofelegantandpregnantimplicationunobtrusively;orifobtrusively,thenwiththegreatestgaintosenseandvigour.Eventhederangementof thephrasesfromtheir(so-called)naturalorderisluminousforthemind;anditisbythemeansof such designed reversal that the elements of a judgment may be mostpertinently marshalled, or the stages of a complicated action mostperspicuouslyboundintoone.Theweb,then,orthepattern:awebatoncesensuousandlogical,anelegantandpregnanttexture:thatisstyle,thatisthefoundationoftheartofliterature.Booksindeedcontinuetoberead,fortheinterestofthefactorfable,inwhichthisquality ispoorlyrepresented,butstill itwillbe there.And,on theotherhand,howmanydowecontinuetoperuseandreperusewithpleasurewhoseonlymerit is the elegance of texture? I am tempted tomentionCicero; andsinceMr.AnthonyTrollopeisdead,Iwill.Itisapoordietforthemind,averycolourlessandtoothless“criticismoflife”;butweenjoythepleasureofamostintricateanddexterouspattern,everystitchamodelatonceofeleganceandofgoodsense;andthetwooranges,evenifoneofthemberotten,keptdancingwithinimitablegrace.UptothismomentIhavehadmyeyemainlyuponprose;forthoughinversealsotheimplicationofthelogicaltextureisacrowningbeauty,yetinverseitmaybedispensedwith.Youwould think thatherewasadeath-blow toall Ihavebeensaying;andfarfromthat,itisbutanewillustrationoftheprincipleinvolved.Foriftheversifierisnotboundtoweaveapatternofhisown,itisbecauseanotherpatternhasbeenformally imposeduponhimby the lawsofverse.Forthatistheessenceofaprosody.Versemayberhythmical;itmaybemerely alliterative; it may, like the French, depend wholly on the (quasi)regular recurrence of the rhyme; or, like the Hebrew, it may consist in thestrangelyfancifuldeviceofrepeatingthesameidea.Itdoesnotmatteronwhatprinciple the law isbased,so itbea law. Itmaybepureconvention; itmayhavenoinherentbeauty;allthatwehavearighttoaskofanyprosodyis,thatitshall laydownapatternforthewriter,andthatwhatit laysdownshallbeneithertooeasynortoohard.Henceitcomesthatitismucheasierformenofequalfacility towritefairlypleasingverse thanreasonably interestingprose;for in prose the pattern itself has to be invented, and the difficulties firstcreated before they can be solved. Hence, again, there follows the peculiargreatnessofthetrueversifier:suchasShakespeare,Milton,andVictorHugo,

whomIplacebesidethemasversifiermerely,notaspoet.Thesenotonlyknitandknotthelogicaltextureofthestylewithallthedexterityandstrengthofprose; theynotonly fill up thepatternof theversewith infinitevariety andsoberwit; but they give us, besides, a rare and special pleasure, by the art,comparabletothatofcounterpoint,withwhichtheyfollowatthesametime,andnowcontrast,andnowcombine,thedoublepatternofthetextureandtheverse. Here the sounding line concludes; a little further on, the well-knitsentence;andyetalittlefurther,andbothwillreachtheirsolutiononthesameringingsyllable.Thebestthatcanbeofferedbythebestwriterofproseistoshowusthedevelopmentoftheideaandthestylisticpatternproceedhandinhand,sometimesbyanobviousandtriumphanteffort,sometimeswithagreatair of ease and nature.Thewriter of verse, by virtue of conquering anotherdifficulty,delightsuswithanewseriesoftriumphs.Hefollowsthreepurposeswhere his rival followed only two; and the change is of precisely the samenature as that from melody to harmony. Or if you prefer to return to thejuggler,beholdhimnow,tothevastlyincreasedenthusiasmofthespectators,jugglingwiththreeorangesinsteadoftwo.Thusitis:addeddifficulty,addedbeauty;andthepattern,witheveryfreshelement,becomingmoreinterestinginitself.Yetitmustnotbethoughtthatverseissimplyanaddition;somethingislostaswell as somethinggained; and there remainsplainly traceable, in comparingthebestprosewiththebestverse,acertainbroaddistinctionofmethodintheweb.Tightastheversifiermaydrawtheknotoflogic,yetfortheearhestillleaves the tissue of the sentence floating somewhat loose. In prose, thesentence turns upon a pivot, nicely balanced, and fits into itself with anobtrusiveneatnesslikeapuzzle.Theearremarksandissinglygratifiedbythisreturn and balance;while in verse it is all diverted to themeasure. To findcomparablepassagesishard;foreithertheversifierishugelythesuperiorofthe rival,or, ifhebenot, andstillpersist inhismoredelicateenterprise,hefallstobeaswidelyhisinferior.Butletusselectthemfromthepagesofthesame writer, one who was ambidexter; let us take, for instance, Rumour’sPrologue to the Second Part of Henry IV., a fine flourish of eloquence inShakespeare’ssecondmanner,andsetitsidebysidewithFalstaff’spraiseofsherris, act iv., scene 1; or let us compare the beautiful prose spokenthroughoutbyRosalindandOrlando,compare,forexample,thefirstspeechofall,Orlando’sspeechtoAdam,withwhatpassageitshallpleaseyoutoselect—the Seven Ages from the same play, or even such a stave of nobility asOthello’s farewell towar;andstillyouwillbeable toperceive, ifyouhaveanyearforthatclassofmusic,acertainsuperiordegreeoforganisationintheprose;acompacterfittingoftheparts;abalanceintheswingandthereturnasof a throbbing pendulum.Wemust not, in things temporal, take from thosewhohave little, the little that theyhave; themeritsofproseare inferior,but

theyarenotthesame;itisalittlekingdom,butanindependent.3.RhythmofthePhrase.—Somewayback,Iusedawordwhichstillawaitsanapplication.Eachphrase, I said,was tobecomely;butwhat is a comelyphrase? Inall idealandmaterialpoints, literature,beinga representativeart,mustlookforanalogiestopaintingandthelike;butinwhatistechnicalandexecutive,beingatemporalart,itmustseekfortheminmusic.Eachphraseofeach sentence, like an air or a recitative in music, should be so artfullycompounded out of long and short, out of accented and unaccented, as togratifythesensualear.Andofthistheearisthesolejudge.Itisimpossibletolaydownlaws.Eveninouraccentualandrhythmiclanguagenoanalysiscanfindthesecretofthebeautyofaverse;howmuchless,then,ofthosephrases,such as prose is built of, which obey no law but to be lawless and yet toplease?The little thatweknowofverse (and formypart Iowe itall tomyfriendProfessorFleeming Jenkin) is, however,particularly interesting in thepresent connection.Wehavebeen accustomed todescribe theheroic line asfiveiambicfeet,andtobefilledwithpainandconfusionwhenever,asbytheconscientiousschoolboy,wehaveheardourowndescriptionputinpractice.18goestheschoolboy;butthoughwecloseourears,weclingtoourdefinition,in spite of its proved and naked insufficiency.Mr. Jenkinwas not so easilypleased,andreadilydiscoveredthattheheroiclineconsistsoffourgroups,or,ifyoupreferthephrase,containsfourpauses:Four groups, each practically uttered as oneword: the first, in this case, aniamb; the second, an amphibrachys; the third, a trochee; and the fourth anamphimacer;andyetourschoolboy,withnootherlibertybutthatofinflictingpain, had triumphantly scanned it as five iambs. Perceive, now, this freshrichnessof intricacyintheweb; thisfourthorange,hithertounremarked,butstill kept flying with the others. What had seemed to be one thing it nowappears is two;and, likesomepuzzle inarithmetic, theverse ismadeat thesametimetoreadinfivesandtoreadinfours.Butagain,fourisnotnecessary.Wedonot,indeed,findversesinsixgroups,becausethereisnotroomforsixinthetensyllables;andwedonotfindversesoftwo,becauseoneofthemaindistinctionsofversefromproseresidesinthecomparativeshortnessof thegroup;but it isevencommon to findversesofthree.Fiveistheoneforbiddennumber;becausefiveisthenumberofthefeet;andiffivewerechosen,thetwopatternswouldcoincide,andthatoppositionwhichisthelifeofversewouldinstantlybelost.Wehavehereacluetotheeffect of polysyllables, above all in Latin, where they are so common andmakesobraveanarchitectureintheverse;forthepolysyllableisagroupofNature’smaking. Ifbut someRomanwould return fromHades (Martial, forchoice), and tell me by what conduct of the voice these thundering versesshould be uttered—“Aut Lacedæmonium Tarentum,” for a case in point—I

feel as if I should enter at last into the full enjoymentof thebest of humanverses.But,again,thefivefeetarealliambic,orsupposedtobe;bythemerecountofsyllables the four groups cannot be all iambic; as a question of elegance, Idoubtifanyoneofthemrequirestobeso;andIamcertainthatforchoicenotwoofthemshouldscanthesame.Thesingularbeautyoftheverseanalysedabove is due, so far as analysis can carry us, part, indeed, to the cleverrepetitionofL,DandN,butparttothisvarietyofscansioninthegroups.Thegroups which, like the bar in music, break up the verse for utterance, falluniambically; and in declaiming a so-called iambic verse, itmay so happenthatweneverutteroneiambicfoot.Andyettothisneglectoftheoriginalbeatthereisalimit.19is,withallitseccentricities,agoodheroicline;forthoughitscarcelycanbesaidtoindicatethebeatoftheiamb,itcertainlysuggestsnoothermeasuretotheear.Butbeginormerely“MotherAthens,”andthegameisup,forthetrochaicbeathasbeensuggested.Theeccentricscansionofthegroupsisanadornment;butassoonas theoriginalbeathasbeen forgotten, theycease implicitly tobeeccentric.Variety is what is sought; but if we destroy the original mould, one of thetermsofthisvarietyislost,andwefallbackonsameness.Thus,bothastothearithmeticalmeasureoftheverse,andthedegreeofregularityinscansion,wesee the laws of prosody to have one common purpose: to keep alive theopposition of two schemes simultaneously followed; to keep them notablyapart, though still coincident; and to balance themwith such judicial nicetybefore the reader, that neither shall be unperceived and neither signallyprevail.Theruleofrhythminproseisnotsointricate.Here,too,wewriteingroups,orphrases,asIprefertocallthem,fortheprosephraseisgreatlylongerandismuchmorenonchalantlyuttered than thegroup inverse; so thatnotonly isthereagreaterintervalofcontinuoussoundbetweenthepauses,but,forthatvery reason, word is linked more readily to word by a more summaryenunciation.Still,thephraseisthestrictanalogueofthegroup,andsuccessivephrases,likesuccessivegroups,mustdifferopenlyinlengthandrhythm.Therule of scansion in verse is to suggest no measure but the one in hand; inprose,tosuggestnomeasureatall.Prosemustberhythmical,anditmaybeasmuch so asyouwill; but itmust not bemetrical. Itmaybe anything, but itmustnotbeverse.Asingleheroiclinemayverywellpassandnotdisturbthesomewhat larger stride of the prose style; but one following another willproduce an instant impression of poverty, flatness, and disenchantment.Thesamelinesdeliveredwiththemeasuredutteranceofversewouldperhapsseemrichinvariety.Bythemoresummaryenunciationpropertoprose,astoamore

distantvision,thesenicetiesofdifferencearelost.Awholeverseisutteredasonephrase;andtheearissoonweariedbyasuccessionofgroupsidenticalinlength. The prose writer, in fact, since he is allowed to be so much lessharmonious, is condemned to a perpetually fresh variety ofmovement on alarger scale, and must never disappoint the ear by the trot of an acceptedmetre.Andthisobligationisthethirdorangewithwhichhehastojuggle,thethird qualitywhich the prosewritermustwork into his pattern ofwords. Itmay be thought perhaps that this is a quality of ease rather than a freshdifficulty;butsuchistheinherentlyrhythmicalstrainoftheEnglishlanguage,that thebadwriter—andmust I take for example that admired friendofmyboyhood,CaptainReid?—the inexperiencedwriter, asDickens inhis earlierattempts to be impressive, and the jaded writer, as any one may see forhimself, all tend to fall at once into theproductionofbadblankverse.Andhereitmaybepertinentlyasked,Whybad?AndIsupposeitmightbeenoughtoanswerthatnomanevermadegoodversebyaccident,andthatnoversecaneversoundotherwisethantrivialwhenutteredwiththedeliveryofprose.Butwecangobeyondsuchanswers.Theweaksideofverseistheregularityofthebeat, which in itself is decidedly less impressive than themovement of thenoblerprose;anditisjustintothisweakside,andthisalone,thatourcarelesswriter falls.Apeculiar density andmass, consequent on the nearness of thepauses, is one of the chief good qualities of verse; but this our accidentalversifier, still followingafter the swiftgaitand largegesturesofprose,doesnotsomuchasaspiretoimitate.Lastly,sinceheremainsunconsciousthatheismaking verse at all, it can never occur to him to extract those effects ofcounterpoint and oppositionwhich I have referred to as the final grace andjustificationofverse,and,Imayadd,ofblankverseinparticular.4.Contents of the Phrase.—Here is a great deal of talk about rhythm—andnaturally; for in our canorous language rhythm is always at the door.But itmust not be forgotten that in some languages this element is almost, if notquite,extinct,andthatinourownitisprobablydecaying.TheevenspeechofmanyeducatedAmericanssoundsthenoteofdanger.Ishouldseeitgowithsomethingasbitterasdespair,but I shouldnotbedesperate.As inversenoelement,notevenrhythm,isnecessary;so,inprosealso,othersortsofbeautywill arise and take theplace andplay thepart of those thatweoutlive.Thebeautyoftheexpectedbeatinverse,thebeautyinproseofitslargerandmorelawlessmelody,patentastheyaretoEnglishhearing,arealreadysilentintheearsofournextneighbours;forinFrancetheoratoricalaccentandthepatternofthewebhavealmostoraltogethersucceededtotheirplaces;andtheFrenchprose writer would be astounded at the labours of his brother across theChannel, andhowagoodquarter of his toil, above all invitaMinerva, is toavoidwritingverse. Sowonderfully far apart have raceswandered in spirit,andsoharditistounderstandtheliteraturenextdoor!

YetFrenchproseisdistinctlybetterthanEnglish;andFrenchverse,aboveallwhileHugolives, itwillnotdotoplaceupononeside.Whatismoretoourpurpose,aphraseoraverse inFrenchiseasilydistinguishableascomelyoruncomely.Thereisthenanotherelementofcomelinesshithertooverlookedinthis analysis: the contents of thephrase.Eachphrase in literature is built ofsounds,aseachphraseinmusicconsistsofnotes.Onesoundsuggests,echoes,demands, and harmonises with another; and the art of rightly using theseconcordancesisthefinalartinliterature.Itusedtobeapieceofgoodadvicetoallyoungwriterstoavoidalliteration;andtheadvicewassound,insofarasitpreventeddaubing.Nonethelessforthat,wasitabominablenonsense,andthemereravingofthoseblindestoftheblindwhowillnotsee?Thebeautyofthecontentsofaphrase,orofasentence,dependsimplicitlyuponalliterationand upon assonance. The vowel demands to be repeated; the consonantdemandstoberepeated;andbothcryaloudtobeperpetuallyvaried.Youmayfollow the adventures of a letter through any passage that has particularlypleasedyou;findit,perhaps,deniedawhile,totantalisetheear;finditfiredagainatyouinawholebroadside;orfinditpassintocongeneroussounds,oneliquidorlabialmeltingawayintoanother.Andyouwillfindanotherandmuchstranger circumstance. Literature iswritten by and for two senses: a sort ofinternalear,quicktoperceive“unheardmelodies”;andtheeye,whichdirectsthepenanddeciphers theprintedphrase.Well,evenas thereare rhymesfortheeye,soyouwillfindthatthereareassonancesandalliterations;thatwhereanauthorisrunningtheopenA,deceivedbytheeyeandourstrangeEnglishspelling,hewilloftenshowatendernessfor theflatA;andthatwhereheisrunningaparticularconsonant,hewillnotimprobablyrejoicetowriteitdownevenwhenitismuteorbearsadifferentvalue.Here, then,wehavea freshpattern—apattern, tospeakgrossly,of letters—whichmakesthefourthpreoccupationoftheprosewriter,andthefifthoftheversifier.At times it is very delicate andhard to perceive, and thenperhapsmostexcellentandwinning(Isayperhaps);butattimesagaintheelementsofthis literalmelodystandmoreboldly forwardandusurp theear. Itbecomes,therefore,somewhatamatterofconsciencetoselectexamples;andasIcannotverywellaskthereadertohelpme,Ishalldothenextbestbygivinghimthereason or the history of each selection. The two first, one in prose, one inverse,Ichosewithoutpreviousanalysis,simplyasengagingpassagesthathadlongre-echoedinmyear.“Icannotpraiseafugitiveandcloisteredvirtue,unexercisedandunbreathed,thatneversalliesoutandseesheradversary,butslinksoutoftheracewherethat immortal garland is to be run for, notwithout dust andheat.”Down to“virtue,” thecurrentSandRarebothannouncedand repeatedunobtrusively,and by way of a grace-note that almost inseparable group PVF is givenentire.Thenextphraseisaperiodofrepose,almostuglyinitself,bothSandR

still audible, and B given as the last fulfilment of PVF. In the next fourphrases,from“thatnever”downto“runfor,”themaskisthrownoff,and,butfor a slight repetition of the F and V, the whole matter turns, almost tooobtrusively, on S and R; first S coming to the front, and then R. In theconcluding phrase all these favourite letters, and even the flat A, a timidpreference for which is just perceptible, are discarded at a blow and in abundle;andtomakethebreakmoreobvious,everywordendswithadental,andallbutonewithT,forwhichwehavebeencautiouslypreparedsincethebeginning.Thesingulardignityofthefirstclause,andthishammer-strokeofthe last,gofar tomake thecharmof thisexquisitesentence.But it is fair toownthatSandRareusedalittlecoarsely.“InXanadudidKublaKhanAstatelypleasuredomedecree,WhereAlphthesacredriverran,Throughcavernsmeasurelesstoman,Downtoasunlesssea.”22(KĂNDL)(KDLSR)(KĂNDLSR)(KĂNLSR)(NDLS)Here I have put the analysis of themain group alongside the lines; and themore it is looked at, themore interesting itwill seem.But there are furtherniceties.Inlinestwoandfour,thecurrentSismostdelicatelyvariedwithZ.In line three, the current flat A is twice varied with the open A, alreadysuggested in line two,andboth times(“where”and“sacred”) inconjunctionwiththecurrentR.InthesamelineFandV(aharmonyinthemselves,evenwhen shorn of their comrade P) are admirably contrasted. And in line fourthereisamarkedsubsidiaryM,whichagainwasannouncedinlinetwo.Istopfromweariness,formoremightyetbesaid.MynextexamplewasrecentlyquotedfromShakespeareasanexampleofthepoet’s colour sense. Now, I do not think literature has anything to do withcolour,orpoetsanywaythebetterofsuchasense;andIinstantlyattackedthispassage, since “purple” was the word that had so pleased the writer of thearticle,toseeiftheremightnotbesomeliteraryreasonforitsuse.Itwillbeseen that I succeeded amply; and I am bound to say I think the passageexceptionalinShakespeare—exceptional,indeed,inliterature;butitwasnotIwhochoseit.“TheBaRgeshesatiN,likeaBURNishedthroNe

BURNtONthewater:thePOOPwasBeateNgold,PURPlethesailsandsoPUR*FumèdthatThewiNdswerelovesickwiththem.”23*perIt may be asked why I have put the of perfumèd in capitals; and I reply,because this change from to is the completion of that from to , already soadroitly carried out. Indeed, the whole passage is a monument of curiousingenuity;anditseemsscarceworthwhiletoindicatethesubsidiaryS,andW.In the same article, a second passage from Shakespeare was quoted, onceagainasanexampleofhiscoloursense:“Amolecinque-spottedlikethecrimsondropsI’thebottomofacowslip.”24It isverycurious,veryartificial, andnotworthwhile toanalyseat length: Ileaveittothereader.ButbeforeIturnmybackonShakespeare,Ishouldliketo quote a passage, for my own pleasure, and for a very model of everytechnicalart:—“Butinthewindandtempestofherfrown,Distinctionwithaloudandpowerfulfan,Puffingatall,winnowesthelightaway;AndwhathathmassandmatterbyitselfLiesrichinvirtueandunmingled.”26W.P.V.F.(st)(OW)25W.P.F.(st)(OW)LW.P.F.LW.F.L.M.Ă.V.L.M.FromthesedelicateandchoicewritersIturnedwithsomecuriositytoaplayerof the big drum—Macaulay. I had in hand the two-volume edition, and Iopenedatthebeginningofthesecondvolume.HerewaswhatIread:—Thiswasplain-sailingenough;itwasouroldfriend,floatedbytheliquidsinabody;butasIreadon,andturnedthepage,andstillfoundwithhisattendantliquids, I confess my mind misgave me utterly. This could be no trick ofMacaulay’s;itmustbethenatureoftheEnglishtongue.Inakindofdespair,Iturned half-way through the volume; and coming upon his lordship dealingwith General Cannon, and fresh from Claverhouse and Killiekrankie, here,withelucidativespelling,wasmyreward:—Amomentofinallthisworldof’s!ItwasnottheEnglishlanguage,then,that

was an instrument of one string, but Macaulay that was an incomparabledauber.Itwas probably from this barbaric love of repeating the same sound, ratherthan from any design of clearness, that he acquired his irritating habit ofrepeatingwords;Isaytheoneratherthantheother,becausesuchatrickoftheearisdeeperseatedandmoreoriginalinmanthananylogicalconsideration.Fewwriters,indeed,areprobablyconsciousofthelengthtowhichtheypushthismelodyofletters.One,writingverydiligently,andonlyconcernedaboutthe meaning of his words and the rhythm of his phrases, was struck intoamazementby the eager triumphwithwhichhe cancelledoneexpression tosubstitute another. Neither changed the sense; both being mono-syllables,neithercouldaffectthescansion;anditwasonlybylookingbackonwhathehadalreadywrittenthatthemysterywassolved:thesecondwordcontainedanopenA,andfornearlyhalfapagehehadbeenridingthatvoweltothedeath.In practice, I should add, the ear is not always so exacting; and ordinarywriters,inordinarymoments,contentthemselveswithavoidingwhatisharsh,andhereandthere,uponarareoccasion,buttressingaphrase,orlinkingtwotogether,withapatchofassonanceoramomentary jingleofalliteration.Tounderstandhowconstantisthispreoccupationofgoodwriters,evenwhereitsresultsareleastobtrusive,itisonlynecessarytoturntothebad.There,indeed,youwill findcacophony supreme, the rattleof incongruousconsonantsonlyrelievedbythejaw-breakinghiatus,andwholephrasesnottobearticulatedbythepowersofman.Conclusion.—Wemaynowbrieflyenumeratetheelementsofstyle.Wehave,peculiartotheprosewriter, thetaskofkeepinghisphraseslarge,rhythmicaland pleasing to the ear, without ever allowing them to fall into the strictlymetrical: peculiar to the versifier, the task of combining and contrasting hisdouble, treble, and quadruple pattern, feet and groups, logic and metre—harmonious indiversity:common toboth, the taskofartfullycombining theprimeelementsof language intophrases that shall bemusical in themouth;thetaskofweavingtheirargumentintoatextureofcommittedphrasesandofroundedperiods—butthisparticularlybindinginthecaseofprose:and,againcommontoboth,thetaskofchoosingapt,explicit,andcommunicativewords.Webegintoseenowwhatanintricateaffairisanyperfectpassage;howmanyfaculties, whether of taste or pure reason,must be held upon the stretch tomakeit;andwhy,whenitismade,itshouldaffordussocompleteapleasure.Fromthearrangementofaccordingletters,whichisaltogetherarabesqueandsensual,uptothearchitectureoftheelegantandpregnantsentence,whichisavigorousactofthepureintellect,thereisscarceafacultyinmanbuthasbeenexercised.Weneednotwonder,then,ifperfectsentencesarerare,andperfectpagesrarer.

IVTHEMORALITYOFTHEPROFESSIONOFLETTERS

THEprofessionof lettershasbeen latelydebated in thepublicprints;and ithas been debated, to put the matter mildly, from a point of view that wascalculated to surprise high-minded men, and bring a general contempt onbooks and reading. Some time ago, in particular, a lively, pleasant, popularwriterdevotedanessay,livelyandpleasantlikehimself,toaveryencouragingviewoftheprofession.Wemaybegladthathisexperienceissocheering,andwemayhopethatallothers,whodeserveit,shallbeashandsomelyrewarded;butIdonotthinkweneedbeatallgladtohavethisquestion,soimportanttothepublicandourselves,debatedsolelyonthegroundofmoney.Thesalaryinanybusinessunderheavenisnottheonly,norindeedthefirst,question.Thatyoushouldcontinue toexist isamatter foryourownconsideration;but thatyour business shouldbe first honest, and seconduseful, are points inwhichhonourandmoralityareconcerned.IfthewritertowhomIrefersucceedsinpersuadinganumberofyoungpersonstoadoptthiswayoflifewithaneyesetsinglyonthelivelihood,wemustexpectthemintheirworkstofollowprofitonly,andwemustexpectinconsequence,ifhewillpardonmetheepithets,aslovenly, base, untrue, and empty literature.Of thatwriter himself I amnotspeaking: he is diligent, clean, and pleasing; we all owe him periods ofentertainment, and he has achieved an amiable popularity which he hasadequately deserved. But the truth is, he does not, or did notwhen he firstembraced it, regardhisprofessionfromthispurelymercenaryside.Hewentintoit,Ishallventuretosay,ifnotwithanynobledesign,atleastintheardourofafirstlove;andheenjoyeditspracticelongbeforehepausedtocalculatethewage.Theotherdayanauthorwascomplimentedonapieceofwork,goodin itself andexceptionallygood forhim,and replied in termsunworthyofacommercialtraveller,thatasthebookwasnotbrisklysellinghedidnotgiveacopperfarthingforitsmerit.Itmustnotbesupposedthatthepersontowhomthisanswerwasaddressedreceiveditasaprofessionoffaith;heknew,ontheother hand, that it was only a whiff of irritation; just as we know, when arespectablewritertalksofliteratureasawayoflife,likeshoemaking,butnotsouseful,thatheisonlydebatingoneaspectofaquestion,andisstillclearlyconsciousofadozenothersmoreimportantinthemselvesandmorecentraltothematterinhand.Butwhilethosewhotreatliteratureinthispenny-wiseandvirtue-foolishspiritarethemselvestrulyinpossessionofabetterlight,itdoesnotfollowthatthetreatmentisdecentorimproving,whetherforthemselvesorothers. To treat all subjects in the highest, the most honourable, and thepluckiestspirit,consistentwith thefact, is thefirstdutyofawriter. Ifhebe

wellpaid,asIamgladtohearheis, thisdutybecomesthemoreurgent, theneglectofitthemoredisgraceful.Andperhapsthereisnosubjectonwhichamanshouldspeaksogravelyasthatindustry,whateveritmaybe,whichistheoccupationordelightofhis life;which ishis tool toearnorservewith;andwhich, if it be unworthy, stamps himself as a mere incubus of dumb andgreedybowelsontheshouldersoflabouringhumanity.Onthatsubjectaloneeven to force the note might lean to virtue’s side. It is to be hoped that anumerous and enterprising generation ofwriterswill follow and surpass thepresentone;but itwouldbebetter if thestreamwerestayed,and the rollofour old, honest English books were closed, than that esurient bookmakersshouldcontinueanddebaseabravetradition,andlower,intheirowneyes,afamous race. Better that our serene temples were deserted than filled withtraffickingandjugglingpriests.Therearetwojustreasonsforthechoiceofanywayoflife:thefirstisinbredtaste in the chooser; the second some high utility in the industry selected.Literature, like any other art, is singularly interesting to the artist; and, in adegreepeculiartoitselfamongthearts,itisusefultomankind.Thesearethesufficient justifications for any young man or woman who adopts it as thebusinessofhislife.Ishallnotsaymuchaboutthewages.Awritercanlivebyhiswriting.Ifnotsoluxuriouslyasbyothertrades,thenlessluxuriously.Thenature of the work he does all day will more affect his happiness than thequalityofhisdinneratnight.Whateverbeyourcalling,andhowevermuchitbringsyouintheyear,youcouldstill,youknow,getmorebycheating.Weallsuffer ourselves to be too much concerned about a little poverty; but suchconsiderations should notmove us in the choice of that which is to be thebusiness and justification of so great a portion of our lives; and like themissionary,thepatriot,orthephilosopher,weshouldallchoosethatpoorandbravecareerinwhichwecandothemostandbestformankind.NowNature,faithfullyfollowed,provesherselfacarefulmother.Alad,forsomelikingtothejingleofwords,betakeshimselftolettersforhislife;by-and-by,whenhelearnsmoregravity,hefindsthathehaschosenbetterthanheknew;thatifheearnslittle,heisearningitamply;thatifhereceivesasmallwage,heisinaposition to do considerable services; that it is in his power, in some smallmeasure, to protect the oppressed and to defend the truth. So kindly is theworld arranged, such great profit may arise from a small degree of humanrelianceononeself, andsuch, inparticular, is thehappystarof this tradeofwriting, that it shouldcombinepleasureandprofit tobothparties, andbeatonceagreeable,likefiddling,anduseful,likegoodpreaching.Thisistospeakofliteratureatitshighest;andwiththefourgreatelderswhoarestillsparedtoourrespectandadmiration,withCarlyle,Ruskin,Browning,and Tennyson before us, it would be cowardly to consider it at first in anylesseraspect.Butwhilewecannotfollowtheseathletes,whilewemaynone

of us, perhaps, be very vigorous, very original, or verywise, I still contendthat,inthehumblestsortofliterarywork,wehaveitinourpowereithertodogreatharmorgreatgood.Wemayseekmerelytoplease;wemayseek,havingno higher gift, merely to gratify the idle nine-days’ curiosity of ourcontemporaries;orwemayessay,howeverfeebly,toinstruct.Ineachoftheseweshallhavetodealwiththatremarkableartofwordswhich,becauseitisthedialectoflife,comeshomesoeasilyandpowerfullytothemindsofmen;andsincethatisso,wecontribute,ineachofthesebranches,tobuildupthesumofsentimentsandappreciationswhichgoesbythenameofPublicOpinionorPublicFeeling.Thetotalofanation’sreading, inthesedaysofdailypapers,greatlymodifiesthetotalofthenation’sspeech;andthespeechandreading,takentogether,formtheefficienteducationalmediumofyouth.Agoodmanorwomanmaykeepayouthsomelittlewhileinclearerair;butthecontemporaryatmosphereisall-powerful in theendontheaverageofmediocrecharacters.The copious Corinthian baseness of the American reporter or the Parisianchroniqueur,bothsolightlyreadable,mustexerciseanincalculableinfluenceforill;theytouchuponallsubjects,andonallwiththesameungeneroushand;they begin the consideration of all, in young and unprepared minds, in anunworthyspirit;onall, theysupplysomepungencyfordullpeople toquote.Themere bodyof this uglymatter overwhelms the rarer utterances of goodmen;thesneering,theselfish,andthecowardlyarescatteredinbroadsheetson every table, while the antidote, in small volumes, lies unread upon theshelf.IhavespokenoftheAmericanandtheFrench,notbecausetheyaresomuchbaser,but somuchmore readable, than theEnglish; their evil isdonemoreeffectively,inAmericaforthemasses,inFrenchforthefewthatcaretoread;butwithusaswiththem,thedutiesofliteraturearedailyneglected,truthdaily perverted and suppressed, and grave subjects daily degraded in thetreatment.Thejournalistisnotreckonedanimportantofficer;yetjudgeofthegood hemight do, the harm he does; judge of it by one instance only: thatwhenwefindtwojournalsonthereversesidesofpoliticseach,onthesameday,openlygarblingapieceofnewsfortheinterestofitsownparty,wesmileat the discovery (no discovery now!) as over a good joke and pardonablestratagem.Lyingsoopenisscarcelying,it is true;butoneofthethingsthatweprofess to teachour young is a respect for truth; and I cannot think thispieceofeducationwillbecrownedwithanygreatsuccess,solongassomeofuspractiseandtherestopenlyapproveofpublicfalsehood.Therearetwodutiesincumbentuponanymanwhoentersonthebusinessofwriting:truthtothefactandagoodspiritinthetreatment.Ineverydepartmentofliterature,thoughsolowashardlytodeservethename,truthtothefactisofimportancetotheeducationandcomfortofmankind,andsohardtopreserve,thatthefaithfultryingtodosowilllendsomedignitytothemanwhotriesit.Ourjudgmentsarebasedupontwothings,first,upontheoriginalpreferences

of our soul; but, second, upon themass of testimony to the nature ofGod,man,andtheuniversewhichreachesus,indiversmanners,fromwithout.Forthemostpart thesediversmannersare reducible toone,all thatwe learnofpasttimesandmuchthatwelearnofourownreachingusthroughthemediumof books or papers, and even he who cannot read learning from the samesourceatsecond-handandbythereportofhimwhocan.Thusthesumofthecontemporaryknowledgeor ignoranceofgoodandevil is, in largemeasure,the handiwork of those who write. Those who write have to see that eachman’sknowledge is, asnear as they canmake it, answerable to the facts oflife; that he shall not suppose himself an angel or a monster; nor take thisworldforahell;norbesufferedtoimaginethatallrightsareconcentredinhisowncasteorcountry,orallveracities inhisownparochialcreed.Eachmanshouldlearnwhatiswithinhim,thathemaystrivetomend;hemustbetaughtwhatiswithouthim,thathemaybekindtoothers.Itcanneverbewrongtotellhimthetruth;for,inhisdisputablestate,weavingashegoeshistheoryoflife, steering himself, cheering or reproving others, all facts are of the firstimportancetohisconduct;andevenifafactshalldiscourageorcorrupthim,itisstillbestthatheshouldknowit;foritisinthisworldasitis,andnotinaworldmade easy by educational suppressions, that hemustwin hisway toshameorglory.Inoneword,itmustalwaysbefoultotellwhatisfalse;anditcanneverbesafetosuppresswhatistrue.Theveryfactthatyouomitmaybethe factwhichsomebodywaswanting, foroneman’smeat isanotherman’spoison, and I have known a person who was cheered by the perusal of“Candide.”Everyfactisapartofthatgreatpuzzlewemustsettogether;andnone that comes directly in a writer’s path but has some nice relations,unperceivable by him, to the totality and bearing of the subject under hand.Yettherearecertainclassesoffacteternallymorenecessarythanothers,anditis with these that literature must first bestir itself. They are not hard todistinguish,natureoncemoreeasilyleadingus;forthenecessary,becausetheefficacious, factsare thosewhicharemost interesting to thenaturalmindofman.Thosewhicharecoloured,picturesque,human,and rooted inmorality,and those, on the other hand, which are clear, indisputable, and a part ofscience, are alone vital in importance, seizing by their interest, or useful tocommunicate.Sofarasthewritermerelynarrates,heshouldprincipallytellofthese.Heshouldtellofthekindandwholesomeandbeautifulelementsofourlife;heshouldtellunsparinglyoftheevilandsorrowofthepresent,tomoveuswithinstances;heshouldtellofwiseandgoodpeopleinthepast,toexciteusbyexample;andoftheseheshouldtellsoberlyandtruthfully,notglossingfaults, thatwemayneithergrowdiscouragedwithourselvesnorexacting toourneighbours.Sothebodyofcontemporaryliterature,ephemeralandfeebleinitself,touchesinthemindsofmenthespringsofthoughtandkindness,andsupportsthem(forthosewhowillgoatallareeasilysupported)ontheirway

towhat is true and right.And if, in any degree, it does so now, howmuchmoremightitdosoifthewriterschose!Thereisnotalifeinalltherecordsofthe past but, properly studied, might lend a hint and a help to somecontemporary.Thereisnotajunctureinto-day’saffairsbutsomeusefulwordmayyetbesaidofit.Eventhereporterhasanoffice,and,withcleareyesandhonestlanguage,mayunveilinjusticesandpointthewaytoprogress.Andforalastword:inallnarrationthereisonlyonewaytobeclever,andthatistobeexact.Tobevividisasecondaryqualitywhichmustpresupposethefirst;forvividlytoconveyawrongimpressionisonlytomakefailureconspicuous.Butafactmaybeviewedonmanysides;itmaybechronicledwithrage,tears,laughter, indifference, or admiration, and by each of these the storywill betransformedtosomethingelse.Thenewspapers that toldof thereturnofourrepresentativesfromBerlin,eveniftheyhadnotdifferedastothefacts,wouldhave sufficiently differed by their spirit; so that the one description wouldhave been a second ovation, and the other a prolonged insult. The subjectmakesbutatriflingpartofanypieceofliterature,andtheviewofthewriterisitselfafactmoreimportantbecauselessdisputablethantheothers.Nowthisspirit inwhicha subject is regarded, important in allkindsof literarywork,becomesall-importantinworksoffiction,meditation,orrhapsody;forthereitnotonlycoloursbutitselfchoosesthefacts;notonlymodifiesbutshapesthework.Andhence,over thefar largerproportionof the fieldof literature, thehealthordiseaseof thewriter’smindormomentaryhumour formsnotonlythe leading feature of his work, but is, at bottom, the only thing he cancommunicatetoothers.Inallworksofart,widelyspeaking,itisfirstofalltheauthor’s attitude that is narrated, though in the attitude there be implied awholeexperienceandatheoryoflife.Anauthorwhohasbeggedthequestionand reposes in somenarrow faith cannot, if hewould, express thewholeorevenmanyofthesidesofthisvariousexistence;for,hisownlifebeingmaim,some of them are not admitted in his theory, and were only dimly andunwillingly recognised in his experience.Hence the smallness, the triteness,andtheinhumanityinworksofmerelysectarianreligion;andhencewefindequalalthoughunsimilarlimitationsinworksinspiredbythespiritofthefleshorthedespicabletasteforhighsociety.Sothatthefirstdutyofanymanwhoistowriteisintellectual.Designedlyornot,hehassofarsethimselfupforaleaderofthemindsofmen;andhemustseethathisownmindiskeptsupple,charitable, and bright. Everything but prejudice should find a voice throughhim;heshouldseethegoodinallthings;wherehehasevenafearthathedoesnot wholly understand, there he should be wholly silent; and he shouldrecognisefromthefirstthathehasonlyonetoolinhisworkshopandthattoolissympathy.Thesecondduty,farhardertodefine,ismoral.Thereareathousanddifferenthumours in themind, and about each of them,when it is uppermost, some

literature tends tobedeposited. Is this tobeallowed?Notcertainly ineverycase,andyetperhapsinmorethanrigoristswouldfancy.Itweretobedesiredthat all literary work, and chiefly works of art, issued from sound, human,healthy,andpotentimpulses,whethergraveorlaughing,humorous,romantic,or religious. Yet it cannot be denied that some valuable books are partiallyinsane;some,mostlyreligious,partiallyinhuman;andverymanytaintedwithmorbidity and impotence.We do not loathe amasterpiece althoughwe girdagainstitsblemishes.Wearenot,aboveall,tolookforfaultsbutmerits.Thereis no book perfect, even in design; but there are many that will delight,improve,orencouragethereader.Ontheonehand,theHebrewPsalmsaretheonlyreligiouspoetryonearth;yettheycontainsalliesthatsavourranklyoftheman of blood. On the other hand, Alfred deMusset had a poisoned and acontorted nature; I am only quoting that generous and frivolous giant, oldDumas,whenIaccusehimofabadheart;yet,whentheimpulseunderwhichhe wrote was purely creative, he could give us works like “Carmosine” or“Fantasio,”inwhichthelastnoteoftheromanticcomedyseemstohavebeenfoundagaintotouchandpleaseus.WhenFlaubertwrote“MadameBovary,”Ibelieve he thought chiefly of a somewhat morbid realism; and behold! thebookturnedinhishandsintoamasterpieceofappallingmorality.Butthetruthis, when books are conceived under a great stress, with a soul of nine-foldpowerninetimesheatedandelectrifiedbyeffort,theconditionsofourbeingare seized with such an ample grasp, that, even should themain design betrivialorbase,sometruthandbeautycannotfail tobeexpressed.Outof thestrongcomesforthsweetness;butan ill thingpoorlydone isan ill thing topand bottom.And so this can be no encouragement to knock-knee’d, feeble-wristedscribes,whomusttaketheirbusinessconscientiouslyorbeashamedtopractiseit.Manis imperfect;yet, inhis literature,hemustexpresshimselfandhisownviews and preferences; for to do anything else is to do a farmore perilousthing than to risk being immoral: it is to be sure of being untrue. To ape asentiment,evenagoodone,istotravestyasentiment;thatwillnotbehelpful.Toconceal a sentiment, if youare sureyouhold it, is to take a libertywithtruth.Thereisprobablynopointofviewpossibletoasanemanbutcontainssometruthand,inthetrueconnection,mightbeprofitabletotherace.Iamnotafraidof the truth, if anyone could tell itme, but I amafraidof parts of itimpertinently uttered. There is a time to dance and a time tomourn; to beharsh as well as to be sentimental; to be ascetic as well as to glorify theappetites;andifamanweretocombinealltheseextremesintohiswork,eachin its place and proportion, that work would be the world’s masterpiece ofmoralityaswellasofart.Partialityisimmorality;foranybookiswrongthatgives a misleading picture of the world and life. The trouble is that theweaklingmust be partial; thework of one proving dank and depressing; of

another,cheapandvulgar;ofathird,epilepticallysensual;ofafourth,sourlyascetic.Inliteratureasinconduct,youcanneverhopetodoexactlyright.Allyoucando is tomakeassureaspossible;andfor that there isbutonerule.Nothingshouldbedoneinahurrythatcanbedoneslowly.Itisnousetowriteabookandputitbyfornineorevenninetyyears;forinthewritingyouwillhavepartlyconvincedyourself;thedelaymustprecedeanybeginning;andifyoumeditate awork of art, you should first long roll the subject under thetonguetomakesureyouliketheflavour,beforeyoubrewavolumethatshalltaste of it from end to end; or if you propose to enter on the field ofcontroversy, you should first have thought upon the question under allconditions,inhealthaswellasinsickness,insorrowaswellasinjoy.Itisthisnearnessofexaminationnecessary forany trueandkindwriting, thatmakesthepracticeoftheartaprolongedandnobleeducationforthewriter.Thereisplentytodo,plentytosay,ortosayoveragain,inthemeantime.Anyliteraryworkwhichconveysfaithfulfactsorpleasingimpressionsisaserviceto thepublic. It isevenaservice tobe thankfullyproudofhavingrendered.Theslightestnovelsareablessingtothoseindistress,notchloroformitselfagreater.Ourfineoldsea-captain’slifewasjustifiedwhenCarlylesoothedhismindwith“TheKing’sOwn”or“NewtonForster.”Topleaseistoserve;andsofarfromitsbeingdifficulttoinstructwhileyouamuse,itisdifficulttodotheone thoroughlywithout theother.Somepartof thewriterorhis lifewillcropoutinevenavapidbook;andtoreadanovelthatwasconceivedwithanyforceis tomultiplyexperienceandtoexercisethesympathies.Everyarticle,everypieceofverse,everyessay,everyentrefilet,isdestinedtopass,howeverswiftly, through the minds of some portion of the public, and to colour,however transiently, their thoughts.When any subject falls to be discussed,some scribbler on a paper has the invaluable opportunity of beginning itsdiscussioninadignifiedandhumanspirit;andiftherewereenoughwhodidso in our public press neither thepublic nor theparliamentwould find it intheirmindstodroptomeanerthoughts.Thewriterhasthechancetostumble,by the way, on something pleasing, something interesting, somethingencouraging,wereitonlytoasinglereader.Hewillbeunfortunate,indeed,ifhesuitnoone.Hehasthechance,besides,tostumbleonsomethingthatadullperson shall be able to comprehend; and for a dull person to have readanythingand, for thatonce,comprehended it,makesamarkingepoch inhiseducation.Herethenisworkworthdoingandworthtryingtodowell.Andso,ifIweremindedtowelcomeanygreataccessiontoourtrade,itshouldnotbefromanyreasonofahigherwage,butbecauseitwasatradewhichwasusefulinaverygreat and in a very high degree;which every honest tradesman couldmakemoreserviceabletomankindinhissinglestrength;whichwasdifficulttodowellandpossibletodobettereveryyear;whichcalledforscrupulousthought

onthepartofallwhopractisedit,andhencebecameaperpetualeducationtotheirnoblernatures;andwhich,payitasyouplease,inthelargemajorityofthe best cases will still be underpaid. For surely, at this time of day in thenineteenth century, there is nothing that an honest man should fear moretimorouslythangettingandspendingmorethanhedeserves.

VBOOKSWHICHHAVEINFLUENCEDME

THEEditorhas somewhat insidiously laida trap forhis correspondents, thequestion put appearing at first so innocent, truly cutting so deep. It is not,indeed,untilaftersomereconnaissanceandreviewthat thewriterawakes tofind himself engaged upon something in the nature of autobiography, or,perhapsworse,uponachapterinthelifeofthatlittle,beautifulbrotherwhomweonceallhad,andwhomwehavealllostandmourned,themanweoughttohavebeen,themanwehopedtobe.Butwhenwordhasbeenpassed(eventoaneditor),itshould,ifpossible,bekept;andifsometimesIamwiseandsaytoo little, and sometimesweak and say toomuch, the blamemust lie at thedoorofthepersonwhoentrappedme.The most influential books, and the truest in their influence, are works offiction. They do not pin the reader to a dogma, which he must afterwardsdiscover to be inexact; they do not teach him a lesson, which he mustafterwardsunlearn.Theyrepeat,theyrearrange,theyclarifythelessonsoflife;they disengage us from ourselves, they constrain us to the acquaintance ofothers; and they show us the web of experience, not as we can see it forourselves,butwithasingularchange—thatmonstrous,consumingegoofoursbeing,forthenonce,struckout.Tobeso,theymustbereasonablytruetothehumancomedy;andanyworkthatissoservestheturnofinstruction.Butthecourseofoureducationisansweredbestbythosepoemsandromanceswherewe breathe a magnanimous atmosphere of thought and meet generous andpiouscharacters.Shakespearehasservedmebest.Fewlivingfriendshavehadupon me an influence so strong for good as Hamlet or Rosalind. The lastcharacter,alreadywellbelovedinthereading,Ihadthegoodfortunetosee,Imustthink,inanimpressionablehour,playedbyMrs.ScottSiddons.Nothinghas ever more moved, more delighted, more refreshed me; nor has theinfluence quite passed away.Kent’s brief speech over the dyingLear had agreateffectuponmymind,andwastheburthenofmyreflectionsforlong,soprofoundly,sotouchinglygenerousdiditappearinsense,sooverpoweringinexpression. Perhaps my dearest and best friend outside of Shakespeare isD’Artagnan—theelderlyD’Artagnanofthe“VicomtedeBragelonne.”Iknow

notamorehumansoul,nor, inhisway,afiner; Ishallbeverysorryfor theman who is so much of a pedant in morals that he cannot learn from theCaptainofMusketeers.Lastly,Imustnamethe“Pilgrim’sProgress,”abookthatbreathesofeverybeautifulandvaluableemotion.Butofworksof art little canbe said; their influence is profoundand silent,like the influence of nature; theymould by contact; we drink them up likewater, and are bettered, yet know not how. It is in booksmore specificallydidactic that we can follow out the effect, and distinguish and weigh andcompare.Abookwhichhasbeenveryinfluentialuponmefellearlyintomyhands,andsomaystand first, thoughI think its influencewasonlysensiblelateron,andperhapsstillkeepsgrowing,forit isabooknoteasilyoutlived:the“Essais”ofMontaigne.Thattemperateandgenialpictureoflifeisagreatgifttoplaceinthehandsofpersonsofto-day;theywillfindinthesesmilingpagesamagazineofheroismandwisdom,allofanantiquestrain; theywillhavetheir“linendecencies”andexcitedorthodoxiesfluttered,andwill(iftheyhaveanygiftof reading)perceive that thesehavenotbeen flutteredwithoutsomeexcuseandgroundofreason;and(againiftheyhaveanygiftofreading)theywillendbyseeing that thisoldgentlemanwas inadozenwaysa finerfellow, and held in a dozen ways a nobler view of life, than they or theircontemporaries.Thenextbook,inorderoftime,toinfluencemewastheNewTestament,andin particular theGospel according to St.Matthew. I believe itwould startleandmoveanyoneiftheycouldmakeacertaineffortofimaginationandreaditfreshlylikeabook,notdroninglyanddullylikeaportionoftheBible.Anyonewouldthenbeabletoseeinit thosetruthswhichweareallcourteouslysupposed to know and all modestly refrain from applying. But upon thissubjectitisperhapsbettertobesilent.I come next toWhitman’s “Leaves ofGrass,” a book of singular service, abook which tumbled the world upside down for me, blew into space athousandcobwebsofgenteelandethicalillusion,and,havingthusshakenmytabernacle of lies, set me back again upon a strong foundation of all theoriginal andmanlyvirtues.But it is, oncemore, only a book for thosewhohavethegiftofreading.Iwillbeveryfrank—Ibelieveitissowithallgoodbooks, except, perhaps, fiction. The average man lives, and must live, sowholly in convention, that gunpowder charges of the truth are more apt todiscompose than to invigoratehiscreed.Eitherhecriesoutuponblasphemyandindecency,andcrouchesthecloserroundthatlittleidolofpart-truthsandpart-convenienceswhichisthecontemporarydeity,orheisconvincedbywhatis new, forgets what is old, and becomes truly blasphemous and indecenthimself.New truth is onlyuseful to supplement theold; rough truth is onlywantedtoexpand,nottodestroy,ourcivilandoftenelegantconventions.He

whocannotjudgehadbettersticktofictionandthedailypapers.Therehewillgetlittleharm,and,inthefirstatleast,somegood.CloseuponthebackofmydiscoveryofWhitman,Icameundertheinfluenceof Herbert Spencer. No more persuasive rabbi exists, and few better. Howmuchofhisvaststructurewillbearthetouchoftime,howmuchisclayandhow much brass, it were too curious to inquire. But his words, if dry, arealwaysmanlyandhonest;theredwellsinhispagesaspiritofhighlyabstractjoy, plucked naked like an algebraic symbol, but still joyful; and the readerwill find there a caput-mortuumof piety,with little indeedof its loveliness,butwithmostofitsessentials;andthesetwoqualitiesmakehimawholesome,ashisintellectualvigourmakeshimabracing,writer.IshouldbemuchofahoundifIlostmygratitudetoHerbertSpencer.“Goethe’sLife,” byLewes, had a great importance formewhen it first fellintomyhands—astrangeinstanceof thepartialityofman’sgoodandman’sevil.IknownoonewhomIlessadmirethanGoethe;heseemsaveryepitomeof the sins of genius, breaking open the doors of private life, andwantonlywounding friends, in that crowning offence of “Werther,” and in his owncharacteramerepen-and-inkNapoleon,consciousoftherightsanddutiesofsuperiortalentsasaSpanishinquisitorwasconsciousoftherightsanddutiesof his office. And yet in his fine devotion to his art, in his honest andserviceable friendship for Schiller, what lessons are contained! Biography,usually so false to its office, doeshere for onceperform for us someof thework of fiction, reminding us, that is, of the truly mingled tissue of man’snature,andhowhugefaultsandshiningvirtuescohabitandpersevere in thesamecharacter.Historyservesuswelltothiseffect,butintheoriginals,notinthepagesof thepopularepitomiser,who isbound,by theverynatureofhistask,tomakeusfeelthedifferenceofepochsinsteadoftheessentialidentityofman,andevenin theoriginalsonlyto thosewhocanrecognise theirownhumanvirtuesanddefectsinstrangeforms,ofteninvertedandunderstrangenames,ofteninterchanged.Martialisapoetofnogoodrepute,anditgivesamannewthoughtstoreadhisworksdispassionately,andfindinthisunseemlyjester’s serious passages the image of a kind, wise, and self-respectinggentleman. It is customary, I suppose, in readingMartial, to leave out thesepleasantverses;Ineverheardofthem,atleast,untilIfoundthemformyself;and this partiality is one among a thousand things that help to build up ourdistortedandhystericalconceptionofthegreatRomanempire.Thisbringsusbyanaturaltransitiontoaverynoblebook—the“Meditations”ofMarcusAurelius.Thedispassionategravity,thenobleforgetfulnessofself,the tenderness of others, that are there expressed and were practised on sogreatascaleinthelifeofitswriter,makethisbookabookquitebyitself.Noone can read it and not be moved. Yet it scarcely or rarely appeals to the

feelings—those verymobile, those not very trusty parts ofman. Its addresslies further back: its lesson comesmore deeply home;whenyouhave read,youcarryawaywithyouamemoryofthemanhimself;itisasthoughyouhadtouchedaloyalhand,lookedintobraveeyes,andmadeanoblefriend;thereisanother bond on you thenceforward, binding you to life and to the love ofvirtue.Wordsworth should perhaps come next. Every one has been influenced byWordsworth,anditishardtotellpreciselyhow.Acertaininnocence,aruggedausterity of joy, a sight of the stars, “the silence that is in the lonely hills,”somethingofthecoldthrillofdawn,clingtohisworkandgiveitaparticularaddresstowhatisbestinus.Idonotknowthatyoulearnalesson;youneednot—Milldidnot—agreewithanyoneofhisbeliefs;andyetthespelliscast.Sucharethebestteachers;adogmalearnedisonlyanewerror—theoldonewas perhaps as good; but a spirit communicated is a perpetual possession.Thesebestteachersclimbbeyondteachingtotheplaneofart;itisthemselves,andwhatisbestinthemselves,thattheycommunicate.IshouldneverforgivemyselfifIforgot“TheEgoist.”Itisart,ifyoulike,butit belongs purely to didactic art, and from all the novels I have read (and Ihave read thousands) stands in a place by itself. Here is a Nathan for themodernDavid;here isabooktosendthebloodintomen’sfaces.Satire, theangrypictureofhumanfaults, isnotgreatart;wecanallbeangrywithourneighbour;whatwewantistobeshown,nothisdefects,ofwhichwearetooconscious, but hismerits, towhichweare tooblind.And“TheEgoist” is asatire;somuchmustbeallowed;butitisasatireofasingularquality,whichtellsyounothingofthatobviousmote,whichisengagedfromfirsttolastwiththat invisible beam. It is yourself that is hunted down; these are your ownfaultsthataredraggedintothedayandnumbered,withlingeringrelish,withcruelcunningandprecision.AyoungfriendofMr.Meredith’s(asIhavethestory) came to him in an agony. “This is too bad of you,” he cried.“Willoughbyisme!”“No,mydearfellow,”saidtheauthor,“heisallofus.”Ihaveread“TheEgoist”fiveorsixtimesmyself,andImeantoreaditagain;for I am like the young friend of the anecdote—I think Willoughby anunmanlybutaveryserviceableexposureofmyself.I suppose,when Iamdone, I shall find that Ihave forgottenmuch thatwasmostinfluential,asIseealreadyIhaveforgottenThoreau,andHazlitt,whosepaper“OntheSpiritofObligations”wasaturning-pointinmylife,andPenn,whose little book of aphorisms had a brief but strong effect on me, andMitford’s“TalesofOldJapan,”whereinIlearnedforthefirsttimetheproperattitudeofanyrationalmantohiscountry’slaws—asecretfound,andkept,intheAsiaticislands.ThatIshouldcommemorateallismorethanIcanhopeortheeditor couldask. Itwillbemore to thepoint, afterhaving said somuch

uponimprovingbooks,tosayawordortwoabouttheimprovablereader.Thegift of reading, as I have called it, is not very common, nor very generallyunderstood. It consists, first of all, in a vast intellectual endowment—a freegrace,IfindImustcallit—bywhichamanrisestounderstandthatheisnotpunctually right,nor those fromwhomhediffersabsolutelywrong.Hemayholddogmas; hemayhold thempassionately; andhemayknow that othersholdthembutcoldly,orholdthemdifferently,orholdthemnotatall.Well,ifhehasthegiftofreading,theseotherswillbefullofmeatforhim.Theywillsee theother sideof propositions and theother sideofvirtues.Heneednotchangehisdogmaforthat,buthemaychangehisreadingofthatdogma,andhemustsupplementandcorrecthisdeductionsfromit.Ahumantruth,whichisalwaysverymuchalie,hidesasmuchoflifeasitdisplays.Itismenwhohold another truth, or, as it seems to us, perhaps, a dangerous lie,who canextendour restricted fieldofknowledge, and rouseourdrowsyconsciences.Something that seems quite new, or that seems insolently false or verydangerous, is thetestofareader.Ifhetries toseewhat itmeans,what truthexcusesit,hehasthegift,andlethimread.Ifheismerelyhurt,oroffended,orexclaimsuponhisauthor’sfolly,hehadbettertaketothedailypapers;hewillneverbeareader.And here,with the aptest illustrative force, after I have laid downmy part-truth,Imuststepinwithitsopposite.For,afterall,wearevesselsofaverylimitedcontent.Notallmencanreadallbooks;itisonlyinachosenfewthatany man will find his appointed food; and the fittest lessons are the mostpalatable, and make themselves welcome to the mind. A writer learns thisearly,anditishischiefsupport;hegoesonunafraid,layingdownthelaw;andheissureatheartthatmostofwhathesaysisdemonstrablyfalse,andmuchofamingledstrain,andsomehurtful,andverylittlegoodforservice;butheissure besides thatwhen hiswords fall into the hands of any genuine reader,they will be weighed and winnowed, and only that which suits will beassimilated;andwhentheyfallintothehandsofonewhocannotintelligentlyread,theycometherequitesilentandinarticulate,fallingupondeafears,andhissecretiskeptasifhehadnotwritten.

VITHEDAYAFTERTO-MORROW

HISTORY is much decried; it is a tissue of errors, we are told, no doubtcorrectly;andrivalhistoriansexposeeachother’sblunderswithgratification.Yettheworsthistorianhasaclearerviewoftheperiodhestudiesthanthebestofuscanhopetoformofthatinwhichwelive.Theobscurestepochisto-day;

and that for a thousand reasonsof inchoate tendency, conflicting report, andsheermassandmultiplicityofexperience;butchiefly,perhaps,by reasonofaninsidiousshiftingoflandmarks.Partiesandideascontinuallymove,butnotbymeasurablemarchesonastablecourse;thepoliticalsoilitselfstealsforthby imperceptibledegrees, likea travellingglacier,carryingon itsbosomnotonly political parties but their flag-posts and cantonments; so that whatappearstobeaneternalcityfoundedonhillsisbutaflyingislandofLaputa.Itis for this reason in particular that we are all becoming Socialists withoutknowing it; bywhich Iwouldnot in the least refer to the acute caseofMr.Hyndmanandhishorn-blowingsupporters,soundingtheirtrumpsofaSundaywithin thewallsofour individualist Jericho—but to the stealthychange thathascomeoverthespiritofEnglishmenandEnglishlegislation.Alittlewhileago,andwewerestillforliberty;“crowdafewmorethousandsonthebenchofGovernment,”weseemedtocry;“keepherheaddirectonliberty,andwecannothelpbutcometoport.”Thisisover;laisserfairedeclinesinfavour;ourlegislationgrowsauthoritative,growsphilanthropical,bristleswithnewdutiesandnewpenalties,andcastsaspawnofinspectors,whonowbegin,note-bookinhand,todarkenthefaceofEngland.Itmayberightorwrong,wearenottryingthat;butonethingitisbeyonddoubt:itisSocialisminaction,andthestrangethingisthatwescarcelyknowit.Libertyhasservedusalongwhile,anditmaybetimetoseeknewaltars.Likeallotherprinciples,shehasbeenprovedtobeself-exclusiveinthelongrun.She has taken wages besides (like all other virtues) and dutifully servedMammon;sothatmanythingswewereaccustomedtoadmireasthebenefitsof freedomand common to allwere truly benefits ofwealth, and took theirvaluefromourneighbours’poverty.Afewshocksoflogic,afewdisclosures(inthejournalisticphrase)ofwhatthefreedomofmanufacturers,landlords,orshipowners may imply for operatives, tenants or seamen, and we notunnaturally begin to turn to that other pole of hope, beneficent tyranny.Freedom,tobedesirable,involveskindness,wisdom,andallthevirtuesofthefree;butthefreemanaswehaveseenhiminactionhasbeen,asofyore,onlythemasterofmanyhelots;andtheslavesarestillill-fed,ill-clad,ill-taught,ill-housed,insolentlytreated,anddriventotheirminesandworkshopsbythelashoffamine.Somuch,inothermen’saffairs,wehavebeguntoseeclearly;wehave begun to despair of virtue in these other men, and from our seat inParliament begin to discharge upon them, thick as arrows, the host of ourinspectors.Thelandlordhaslongshakenhisheadoverthemanufacturer;thosewhodobusinessonlandhavelostalltrustinthevirtuesoftheshipowner;theprofessionslookaskanceupontheretailtradersandhaveevenstartedtheirco-operativestorestoruinthem;andfromoutthesmoke-wreathsofBirminghama fingerhasbegun towriteupon thewall thecondemnationof the landlord.Thus, piece by piece, do we condemn each other, and yet not perceive the

conclusion,thatourwholeestateissomewhatdamnable.Thus,piecebypiece,each acting against his neighbour, each sawing away the branch on whichsomeother interest is seated,doweapply indetailourSocialistic remedies,andyetnotperceivethatwearealllabouringtogethertobringinSocialismatlarge.A tendency so stupid and so selfish is like to prove invincible; and ifSocialism be at all a practicable rule of life, there is every chance that ourgrandchildren will see the day and taste the pleasures of existence insomethingfarlikeranant-heapthananyprevioushumanpolity.AndthisnotintheleastbecauseofthevoiceofMr.Hyndmanorthehornsofhisfollowers;butbythemereglaciermovementofthepoliticalsoil,bearingforwardonitsbosom, apparently undisturbed, the proud camps ofWhig and Tory. If Mr.Hyndmanwereamanofkeenhumour,whichisfarfrommyconceptionofhischaracter,hemight rest fromhis troublingand lookon: thewallsof Jerichobeginalreadytocrumbleanddissolve.Thatgreatservilewar,theArmageddonofmoney and numbers, towhichwe looked forwardwhen young, becomesmore and more unlikely; and we may rather look to see a peaceable andblindfold evolution, thework of dullmen immersed in political tactics anddeadtopoliticalresults.Theprincipalsceneofthiscomedylies,ofcourse,intheHouseofCommons;itisthere,besides,thatthedetailsofthisnewevolution(ifitproceed)willfallto be decided; so that the state of Parliament is not only diagnostic of thepresent but fatefully prophetic of the future. Well, we all know whatParliament is, andwe are all ashamed of it.Wemay pardon it some faults,indeed, on the ground of Irish obstruction—a bitter trial, which it supportswithnotablegoodhumour.Buttheexcuseismerelylocal;itcannotapplytosimilar bodies in America and France; and what are we to say of these?President Cleveland’s letter may serve as a picture of the one; a glance atalmostanypaperwillconvinceusoftheweaknessoftheother.Decayappearstohaveseizedontheorganofpopulargovernmentineveryland;andthisjustat themomentwhenwe begin to bring to it, as to an oracle of justice, thewhole skein of our private affairs to be unravelled, and ask it, like a newMessiah,totakeuponitselfourfrailtiesandplayforusthepartthatshouldbeplayedbyourownvirtues.Forthat,infewwords,isthecase.Wecannottrustourselves to behavewith decency;we cannot trust our consciences; and theremedyproposedistoelectaroundnumberofourneighbours,prettymuchatrandom, and say to these: “Be ye our conscience; make laws so wise, andcontinuefromyeartoyeartoadministerthemsowisely,thattheyshallsaveusfromourselvesandmakeusrighteousandhappy,worldwithoutend.Amen.”AndwhocanlooktwiceattheBritishParliamentandthenseriouslybringitsuchatask?IamnotadvancingthisasanargumentagainstSocialism;onceagain,nothingisfurtherfrommymind.TherearegreattruthsinSocialism,ornoone,notevenMr.Hyndman,wouldbefoundtoholdit;andifitcame,and

didone-tenthpartofwhatitoffers,Iforoneshouldmakeitwelcome.Butifitistocome,wemayaswellhavesomenotionofwhatitwillbelike;andthefirstthingtograspisthatournewpolitywillbedesignedandadministered(toputitcourteously)withsomethingshortofinspiration.Itwillbemade,orwillgrow, in a human parliament; and the one thing that will not very hugelychangeishumannature.TheAnarchiststhinkotherwise,fromwhichitisonlyplain that they have not carried to the study of history the lamp of humansympathy.Given, then, our new polity, with its new waggon-load of laws, whatheadmarksmustwelookforinthelife?Wechafeagooddealatthatexcellentthing,theincome-tax,becauseitbringsintoouraffairsthepryingfingers,andexposes us to the tart words, of the official. The official, in all degrees, isalreadysomethingofaterrortomanyofus.Iwouldnotwillinglyhavetodowith even a police-constable in any other spirit than that of kindness. I stillrememberinmydreamstheeye-glassofacertainattachéatacertainembassy—aneye-glassthatwasastandingindignitytoallonwhomitlooked;andmynextmostdisagreeable remembrance isofabracing,Republicanpostman inthecityofSanFrancisco. I lived in thatcityamongworking folk,andwhatmyneighboursacceptedat thepostman’shands—nay,what I tookfromhimmyself—it is still distasteful to recall. The bourgeois, residing in the upperparts of society, has but few opportunities of tasting this peculiar bowl; butabouttheincome-tax,asIhavesaid,orperhapsaboutapatent,orinthehallsofanembassyatthehandsofmyfriendoftheeye-glass,heoccasionallysetshislipstoit;andhemaythusimagine(ifhehasthatfacultyofimagination,withoutwhichmostfacultiesarevoid)howittastestohispoorerneighbourswho must drain it to the dregs. In every contact with authority, with theiremployer,withthepolice,withtheSchoolBoardofficer,inthehospital,orintheworkhouse,theyhaveequallytheoccasiontoappreciatethelight-heartedcivilityof theman inoffice;andasanexperimentalist in severalout-of-the-wayprovincesoflife,Imaysayithasbuttobefelttobeappreciated.Well,thisgoldenageofwhichwearespeakingwillbethegoldenageofofficials.Inallourconcernsitwillbetheirbeloveddutytomeddle,withwhattact,withwhat obliging words, analogy will aid us to imagine. It is likely thesegentlemenwillbeperiodicallyelected; theywill thereforehave their turnofbeingunderneath,whichdoesnotalwayssweetenmen’sconditions.Thelawstheywillhavetoadministerwillbenoclearerthanthoseweknowto-day,andthe bodywhich is to regulate their administration nowiser than theBritishParliament.Sothatuponallhandswemaylookforaformofservitudemostgallingtotheblood—servitudetomanyandchangingmasters,andforalltheslights that accompany the rule of jack-in-office. And if the Socialisticprogrammebecarriedoutwiththeleastfulness,weshallhavelostathing,inmost respects notmuch tobe regretted, but as amoderator of oppression, a

thing nearly invaluable—the newspaper. For the independent journal is acreature of capital and competition; it stands and fallswithmillionaires andrailwaybondsandalltheabusesandgloriesofto-day;andassoonastheStatehasfairlytakenitsbenttoauthorityandphilanthropy,andlaidtheleasttouchonprivateproperty, thedaysof the independent journalarenumbered.StaterailwaysmaybegoodthingsandsomayStatebakeries;butaStatenewspaperwillneverbeaverytrenchantcriticoftheStateofficials.But again, these officialswould have no sinecure. Crimewould perhaps beless,forsomeofthemotivesofcrimewemaysupposewouldpassaway.Butif Socialism were carried out with any fulness, there would be morecontraventions.We see alreadynew sins springingup likemustard—SchoolBoardsins,factorysins,MerchantShippingActsins—noneofwhichIwouldbe thought to except against in particular, but all of which, taken together,showusthatSocialismcanbeahardmastereveninthebeginning.Ifitgoontosuchheightsaswehearproposedandlauded,ifitcomeactuallytoitsidealoftheant-heap,ruledwithironjustice,thenumberofnewcontraventionswillbeoutofallproportionmultiplied.Takethecaseofworkalone.Manisanidleanimal.Heisatleastasintelligentastheant;butgenerationsofadvisershavein vain recommended him the ant’s example.Of thosewho are found trulyindefatigable in business, some are misers; some are the practisers ofdelightful industries, like gardening; some are students, artists, inventors, ordiscoverers, men lured forward by successive hopes; and the rest are thosewho livebygamesof skillorhazard—financiers,billiard-players,gamblers,andthelike.Butinunlovedtoils,evenundertheprickofnecessity,nomaniscontinuallysedulous.Onceeliminatethefearofstarvation,onceeliminateorboundthehopeofriches,andweshallseeplentyofskulkingandmalingering.Societywillthenbesomethingnotwhollyunlikeacottonplantationintheolddays;withcheerful,careless,demoralisedslaves,withelectedoverseers,and,insteadoftheplanter,achaoticpopularassembly.If thebloodbepurposefulandthesoilstrong,suchaplantationmaysucceed,andbe,indeed,abusyant-heap,withfullgranariesandlonghoursof leisure.ButeventhenI thinkthewhipwillbeintheoverseer’shands,andnotinvain.For,whenitcomestobeaquestionofeachmandoinghisownshareortherestdoingmore,prettinessofsentimentwillbeforgotten.Todocktheskulker’sfoodisnotenough;manywillrathereathawsandstarveonpettypilferingsthanputtheirshouldertothewheel for one hour daily. For such as these, then, the whip will be in theoverseer’s hand; and his own sense of justice and the superintendence of achaotic popular assemblywill be the only checks on its employment.Now,youmaybeanindustriousmanandagoodcitizen,andyetnotlove,noryetbeloved by, Dr. Fell the inspector. It is admitted by private soldiers that thedisfavourofasergeantisanevilnottobecombated;offendthesergeant,theysay,andinabriefwhileyouwilleitherbedisgracedorhavedeserted.Andthe

sergeantcannolongerappealtothelash.Butifthesethingsgoon,weshallsee,oroursonsshallsee,whatitistohaveoffendedaninspector.This for the unfortunate. But with the fortunate also, even those whom theinspector loves, itmaynotbe altogetherwell. It is concluded that in suchastateofsociety,supposingittobefinanciallysound,thelevelofcomfortwillbehigh.Itdoesnotfollow:therearestrangedepthsofidlenessinman,atoo-easily-got sufficiency, as in the case of the sago-eaters, often quenching thedesireforallbesides;and it ispossible that themenof therichestant-heapsmay sink even into squalor. But suppose they do not; suppose our tricksyinstrument of human nature, when we play upon it this new tune, shouldrespond kindly; suppose no one to be damped and none exasperated by thenew conditions, the whole enterprise to be financially sound—a vaultingsupposition—and all the inhabitants to dwell together in a golden mean ofcomfort:wehaveyet toaskourselves if thisbewhatmandesire,or if itbewhatmanwillevendeign toaccept foracontinuance. It iscertain thatmanlovestoeat,itisnotcertainthathelovesthatonlyorthatbest.Heissupposedtolovecomfort;itisnotalove,atleast,thatheisfaithfulto.Heissupposedtolove happiness; it ismy contention that he rather loves excitement.Danger,enterprise,hope,thenovel,thealeatory,aredearertomanthanregularmeals.Hedoesnotthinksowhenheishungry,buthethinkssoagainassoonasheisfed;andonthehypothesisofasuccessfulant-heap,hewouldnevergohungry.Itwouldbe always after dinner in that society, as, in the landof theLotos-eaters,itwasalwaysafternoon;andfood,which,whenwehaveitnot,seemsall-important, drops in our esteem, as soon as we have it, to a mere pre-requisiteofliving.That forwhichman lives isnot the same thing for all individualsnor in allages;yetithasacommonbase;whatheseeksandwhathemusthaveisthatwhich will seize and hold his attention. Regular meals and weather-prooflodgingswillnotdothislong.Playinitswidesense,astheartificialinductionofsensation,includingallgamesandallarts,will,indeed,gofartokeephimconscious of himself; but in the end he wearies for realities. Study orexperiment,tosomerarenatures,istheunbrokenpastimeofalife.Theseareenviable natures; people shut in the house by sickness often bitterly envythem;butthecommonermancannotcontinuetoexistuponsuchaltitudes:hisfeet itch for physical adventure; his blood boils for physical dangers,pleasures, and triumphs; his fancy, the looker after new things, cannotcontinuetolookfor theminbooksandcrucibles,butmustseekthemonthebreathing stage of life. Pinches, buffets, the glow of hope, the shock ofdisappointment,furiouscontentionwithobstacles:thesearethetrueelixirforallvitalspirits,thesearewhattheyseekalikeintheirromanticenterprisesandtheirunromanticdissipations.Whentheyaretakeninsomepinchcloserthanthe common, they cry, “Catch me here again!” and sure enough you catch

them thereagain—perhapsbefore theweek isout. It is asoldas “RobinsonCrusoe”; as old as man. Our race has not been strained for all these agesthroughthatsieveofdangersthatwecallNaturalSelection,tositdownwithpatienceinthetediumofsafety;thevoicesofitsfatherscallitforth.Alreadyinour society as it exists, thebourgeois is toomuchcottonedabout for anyzest in living;he sits inhisparlouroutof reachof anydanger, oftenoutofreachofanyvicissitudebutoneofhealth;andthereheyawns.Ifthepeopleinthenextvillatookpot-shotsathim,hemightbekilledindeed,butsolongashe escaped hewould find his blood oxygenated and his views of theworldbrighter. IfMr.Mallock,onhiswayto thepublishers,shouldhavehisskirtspinnedtoawallbyajavelin, itwouldnotoccurtohim—atleastforseveralhours—toaskiflifewereworthliving;andifsuchperilwereadailymatter,hewould ask it nevermore; hewould have other things to think about, hewould be living indeed—not lying in a box with cotton, safe, butimmeasurablydull.Thealeatory,whetherittouchlife,orfortune,orrenown—whetherweexploreAfricaoronlytossforhalfpence—thatiswhatIconceivemen to love best, and that is what we are seeking to exclude from men’sexistences.Ofallformsofthealeatory,thatwhichmostcommonlyattendsourworking men—the danger of misery from want of work—is the leastinspiriting:itdoesnotwhiptheblood,itdoesnotevokethegloryofcontest;itistragic,butitispassive;andyet,insofarasitisaleatory,andaperilsensiblytouchingthem,itdoestrulyseasonthemen’slives.Ofthosewhofail,Idonotspeak—despairshouldbesacred;buttothosewhoevenmodestlysucceed,thechanges of their life bring interest: a job found, a shilling saved, a daintyearned,allthesearewellsofpleasurespringingafreshforthesuccessfulpoor;anditisnotfromthesebutfromthevilla-dwellerthatwehearcomplaintsoftheunworthinessof life.Much, then,as theaverageof theproletariatwouldgaininthisnewstateoflife,theywouldalsoloseacertainsomething,whichwouldnotbemissedinthebeginning,butwouldbemissedprogressivelyandprogressivelylamented.Soontherewouldbealookingback:therewouldbetalesoftheoldworldhumminginyoungmen’sears,talesofthetrampandthepedlar,andthehopefulemigrant.Andinthestall-fedlifeofthesuccessfulant-heap—withitsregularmeals,regularduties,regularpleasures,anevencourseoflife,andfearexcluded—thevicissitudes,delights,andhavensofto-daywillseemofepicbreadth.Thismayseemashallowobservation;butthespringsbywhichmenaremoved liemuchon the surface.Bread, Ibelieve,hasalwaysbeen considered first, but the circus comes close upon its heels. Bread wesupposetobegivenamply;thecryforcircuseswillbethelouder,andifthelifeofourdescendantsbesuchaswehaveconceived, therearetwobelovedpleasuresonwhich theywillbe likely to fallback: thepleasuresof intrigueandofsedition.In all this I have supposed the ant-heap to be financially sound. I am no

economist, only awriter of fiction; but even as such, I knowone thing thatbearsontheeconomicquestion—Iknowtheimperfectionofman’sfacultyforbusiness.TheAnarchists,whocountsomeruggedelementsofcommon-senseamongwhatseemtometheirtragicerrors,havesaiduponthismatterallthatIcouldwish to say, and condemnedbeforehandgreat economical polities.Sofar it is obvious that they are right; they may be right also in predicting aperiodofcommunalindependence,andtheymayevenberightinthinkingthatdesirable. But the rise of communes is none the less the end of economicequality,justwhenweweretolditwasbeginning.Communeswillnotbeallequalinextent,norinqualityofsoil,noringrowthofpopulation;norwillthesurplus produce of all be equally marketable. It will be the old story ofcompeting interests, onlywith a new unit; and, as it appears tome, a new,inevitabledanger.Forthemerchantandthemanufacturer, inthisnewworld,willbea sovereigncommune; it is a sovereignpower thatwill see its cropsundersold, and its manufactures worsted in the market. And all the moredangerousthatthesovereignpowershouldbesmall.Greatpowersareslowtostir; national affronts, even with the aid of newspapers, filter slowly intopopularconsciousness;nationallossesaresounequallyshared,thatonepartofthepopulationwillbecounting itsgainswhileanothersitsbyacoldhearth.But in the sovereign commune all will be centralised and sensitive. Whenjealousyspringsup,when(letussay)thecommuneofPoolehasoverreachedthecommuneofDorchester,irritationwillrunlikequicksilverthroughoutthebodypolitic;eachmaninDorchesterwillhavetosufferdirectlyinhisdietandhisdress; even the secretary,whodrafts theofficial correspondence,will sitdown tohis task embittered, as amanwhohasdined ill andmayexpect todineworse; and thus a business difference between communeswill take onmuchthesamecolourasadisputebetweendiggers in the lawlessWest,andwillleadasdirectlytothearbitramentofblows.Sothattheestablishmentofthe communal systemwill not only reintroduce all the injustices and heart-burningsofeconomicinequality,butwill,inallhumanlikelihood,inaugurateaworldofhedgerowwarfare.DorchesterwillmarchonPoole,SherborneonDorchester,Wimborneonboth; thewaggonswillbe firedonas they followthe highway, the trainswrecked on the lines, the ploughmanwill go armedinto the field of tillage; and ifwe have not a return of ballad literature, thelocalpressatleastwillcelebrateinahighveinthevictoryofCerneAbbasorthe reverse of Toller Porcorum. At least this will not be dull; when I wasyounger, Icouldhavewelcomedsuchaworldwithrelief;but it is theNew-Oldwithavengeance,andirresistiblysuggeststhegrowthofmilitarypowersandthefoundationofnewempires.

VII

LETTERTOAYOUNGGENTLEMANWHOPROPOSESTOEMBRACETHECAREEROFART

WITHtheagreeable franknessofyouth,youaddressmeonapointofsomepracticalimportancetoyourselfand(itisevenconceivable)ofsomegravitytotheworld:Shouldyouorshouldyounotbecomeanartist?Itisonewhichyoumustdecideentirelyforyourself;allthatIcandoistobringunderyournoticesome of thematerials of that decision; and Iwill begin, as I shall probablyconcludealso,byassuringyouthatalldependsonthevocation.Toknowwhatyou like is thebeginningofwisdomandofoldage.Youth iswholly experimental. The essence and charm of that unquiet and delightfulepoch is ignoranceofselfaswellas ignoranceof life.These twounknownstheyoungmanbringstogetheragainandagain,nowintheairiesttouch,nowwith a bitter hug; now with exquisite pleasure, now with cutting pain; butneverwith indifference, towhich he is a total stranger, and neverwith thatnearkinsmanofindifference,contentment.Ifhebeayouthofdaintysensesorabraineasilyheated,theinterestofthisseriesofexperimentsgrowsuponhimoutofallproportiontothepleasurehereceives.Itisnotbeautythatheloves,nor pleasure that he seeks, though he may think so; his design and hissufficientrewardistoverifyhisownexistenceandtastethevarietyofhumanfate.Tohim,beforetherazor-edgeofcuriosityisdulled,allthatisnotactualliving and the hot chase of experiencewears a face of a disgusting drynessdifficulttorecallinlaterdays;oriftherebeanyexception—andheredestinysteps in—it is in thosemoments when, wearied or surfeited of the primaryactivityofthesenses,hecallsupbeforememorytheimageoftransactedpainsand pleasures. Thus it is that such an one shies from all cut-and-dryprofessions, and inclines insensibly toward that career of artwhich consistsonlyinthetastingandrecordingofexperience.This,which is not somuch a vocation for art as an impatience of all otherhonesttrades,frequentlyexistsalone;and,soexisting,itwillpassgentlyawayin the course of years. Emphatically, it is not to be regarded; it is not avocation,butatemptation;andwhenyourfathertheotherdaysofiercelyand(in my view) so properly discouraged your ambition, he was recalling notimprobablysomesimilarpassageinhisownexperience.Forthetemptationisperhaps nearly as common as the vocation is rare. But again we havevocationswhichareimperfect;wehavemenwhosemindsareboundup,notso much in any art, as in the general ars artium and common base of allcreativework;whowill nowdip intopainting, andnow study counterpoint,andanonwillbeinditingasonnet:allthesewithequalinterest,alloftenwithgenuineknowledge.Andofthistemper,whenitstandsalone,Ifinditdifficulttospeak;but Ishouldcounselsuchanone to take to letters, for in literature

(whichdragswithsowideanet)allhisinformationmaybefoundsomedayuseful,andifheshouldgoonashehasbegun,andturnatlastintothecritic,he will have learned to use the necessary tools. Lastly we come to thosevocationswhich are at once decisive and precise; to themenwho are bornwith the love of pigments, the passion of drawing, the gift ofmusic, or theimpulsetocreatewithwords,justasotherandperhapsthesamemenarebornwiththeloveofhunting,orthesea,orhorses,ortheturning-lathe.Thesearepredestined;ifamanlovethelabourofanytrade,apartfromanyquestionofsuccessorfame,thegodshavecalledhim.Hemayhavethegeneralvocationtoo:hemayhaveatasteforallthearts,andIthinkheoftenhas;butthemarkofhiscallingisthislaboriouspartialityforone,thisinextinguishablezestinitstechnicalsuccesses,and(perhapsaboveall)acertaincandourofmind,totakehisverytriflingenterprisewithagravitythatwouldbefitthecaresofempire,andtothinkthesmallestimprovementworthaccomplishingatanyexpenseoftimeand industry.Thebook, thestatue, thesonata,mustbegoneuponwiththeunreasoninggoodfaithandtheunflaggingspiritofchildrenattheirplay.Isitworthdoing?—whenitshallhaveoccurredtoanyartisttoaskhimselfthatquestion,itisimplicitlyansweredinthenegative.Itdoesnotoccurtothechildasheplaysatbeingapirateonthedining-roomsofa,nortothehunterashepursues his quarry; and the candour of the one and the ardour of the othershouldbeunitedinthebosomoftheartist.If you recognise in yourself some such decisive taste, there is no room forhesitation:followyourbent.Andobserve(lestIshouldtoomuchdiscourageyou)thatthedispositiondoesnotusuallyburnsobrightlyatthefirst,orrathernotsoconstantly.Habitandpracticesharpengifts;thenecessityoftoilgrowslessdisgusting,growsevenwelcome,inthecourseofyears;asmalltaste(ifitbe only genuine)waxeswith indulgence into an exclusive passion.Enough,justnow,ifyoucanlookbackoverafairinterval,andseethatyourchosenarthas a littlemore than held its own among the thronging interests of youth.Timewilldotherest,ifdevotionhelpit;andsoonyoureverythoughtwillbeengrossedinthatbelovedoccupation.But even with devotion, you may remind me, even with unfaltering anddelighted industry, many thousand artists spend their lives, if the result beregarded,utterlyinvain:athousandartists,andneveroneworkofart.Butthevast mass of mankind are incapable of doing anything reasonably well, artamongtherest.Theworthlessartistwouldnotimprobablyhavebeenaquiteincompetent baker. And the artist, even if he does not amuse the public,amuseshimself;sothattherewillalwaysbeonemanthehappierforhisvigils.This is the practical side of art: its inexpugnable fortress for the truepractitioner. The direct returns—the wages of the trade—are small, but theindirect—the wages of the life—are incalculably great. No other businessoffers a man his daily bread upon such joyful terms. The soldier and the

explorer havemomentsof aworthier excitement, but they arepurchasedbycruelhardshipsandperiodsoftediumthatbeggarlanguage.Inthelifeoftheartistthereneedbenohourwithoutitspleasure.Itaketheauthor,withwhosecareer I ambestacquainted;and it is trueheworks ina rebelliousmaterial,and that the act of writing is cramped and trying both to the eyes and thetemper;butremarkhiminhisstudywhenmattercrowdsuponhimandwordsarenotwanting—inwhatacontinualseriesofsmallsuccessestimeflowsby;with what a sense of power, as of one movingmountains, he marshals hispettycharacters;withwhatpleasures,bothoftheearandeye,heseeshisairystructure growing on the page; and how he labours in a craft to which thewholematerialofhislifeistributary,andwhichopensadoortoallhistastes,hisloves,hishatreds,andhisconvictions,sothatwhathewritesisonlywhathe longed to utter. He may have enjoyed many things in this big, tragicplayground of theworld; butwhat shall he have enjoyedmore fully than amorning of successfulwork?Suppose it ill-paid: thewonder is it should bepaidatall.Othermenpay,andpaydearly,forpleasureslessdesirable.Nor will the practice of art afford you pleasure only; it affords besides anadmirable training. For the artist works entirely upon honour. The publicknows little or nothing of those merits in the quest of which you arecondemnedtospendthebulkofyourendeavours.Meritsofdesign,themeritoffirst-handenergy,themeritofacertaincheapaccomplishmentwhichamanoftheartistictempereasilyacquires—thesetheycanrecognise,andthesetheyvalue. But to those more exquisite refinements of proficiency and finish,which the artist so ardently desires and so keenly feels, for which (in thevigorouswordsofBalzac)hemusttoil“likeaminerburiedinalandslip,”forwhich,dayafterday,herecastsandrevisesandrejects—thegrossmassofthepublicmustbeeverblind.Tothoselostpains,supposeyouattainthehighestpitchofmerit,posteritymaypossiblydo justice; suppose, as is soprobable,youfailbyevenahair’sbreadthofthehighest,restcertaintheyshallneverbeobserved.Undertheshadowofthiscoldthought,aloneinhisstudio,theartistmust preserve from day to day his constancy to the ideal. It is this whichmakeshislifenoble;itisbythisthatthepracticeofhiscraftstrengthensandmatures his character; it is for this that even the serious countenance of thegreatemperorwasturnedapprovingly(ifonlyforamoment)onthefollowersofApollo,andthatsternlygentlevoicebadetheartistcherishhisart.Andheretherefalltwowarningstobemade.First,ifyouaretocontinuetobealawtoyourself,youmustbewareofthefirstsignsoflaziness.Thisidealismin honesty can only be supported by perpetual effort; the standard is easilylowered, the artistwho says “Itwill do,” is on thedownwardpath; threeorfour pot-boilers are enough at times (above all at wrong times) to falsify atalent, and by the practice of journalism a man runs the risk of becomingwedded tocheap finish.This is thedangeron theone side; there isnot less

upontheother.Theconsciousnessofhowmuchtheartist is(andmustbe)alaw to himself debauches the small heads. Perceiving reconditemerits veryhard to attain,making or swallowing artistic formulæ, or perhaps falling inlovewithsomeparticularproficiencyofhisown,manyartistsforgettheendof all art: to please. It is doubtless tempting to exclaim against the ignorantbourgeois; yet it shouldnot be forgotten, it is hewho is topayus, and that(surelyon the faceof it) for services thatheshalldesire tohaveperformed.Herealso,ifproperlyconsidered,thereisaquestionoftranscendentalhonesty.Togivethepublicwhattheydonotwant,andyetexpecttobesupported:wehave there a strange pretension, and yet not uncommon, above all withpainters.Thefirstdutyinthisworldisforamantopayhisway;whenthatisquite accomplished, he may plunge into what eccentricity he likes; butemphatically not till then. Till then, he must pay assiduous court to thebourgeoiswhocarriesthepurse.Andifinthecourseofthesecapitulationsheshallfalsifyhis talent, itcanneverhavebeenastrongone,andhewillhavepreserved a better thing than talent—character. Or if he be of a mind soindependentthathecannotstooptothisnecessity,onecourseisyetopen:hecandesistfromart,andfollowsomemoremanlywayoflife.Ispeakofamoremanlywayoflife;itisapointonwhichImustbefrank.Tolivebyapleasureisnotahighcalling;itinvolvespatronage,howeverveiled;itnumberstheartist,howeverambitious,alongwithdancinggirlsandbilliard-markers.TheFrenchhavearomanticevasionforoneemployment,andcallitspractitionerstheDaughtersofJoy.Theartistisofthesamefamily,heisoftheSonsofJoy,chosehistradetopleasehimself,gainshislivelihoodbypleasingothers,andhaspartedwithsomethingofthesternerdignityofman.JournalsbutalittlewhileagodeclaimedagainsttheTennysonpeerage;andthisSonofJoy was blamed for condescension when he followed the example of LordLawrence and Lord Cairns and Lord Clyde. The poet was more happilyinspired; with a better modesty he accepted the honour; and anonymousjournalists have not yet (if I am to believe them) recovered the vicariousdisgracetotheirprofession.Whenitcomestotheirturn,thesegentlemencando themselves more justice; and I shall be glad to think of it; for to mybarbarianeyesight,evenLordTennysonlookssomewhatoutofplace in thatassembly. There should be no honours for the artist; he has already, in thepracticeofhisart,morethanhisshareoftherewardsoflife;thehonoursarepre-emptedforothertrades,lessagreeableandperhapsmoreuseful.But the devil in these trades of pleasing is to fail to please. In ordinaryoccupations,amanofferstodoacertainthingortoproduceacertainarticlewith a merely conventional accomplishment, a design in which (we mayalmostsay)itisdifficulttofail.Buttheartiststepsforthoutofthecrowdandproposes to delight: an impudent design, in which it is impossible to failwithoutodiouscircumstances.ThepoorDaughterofJoy,carryinghersmiles

and finery quite unregarded through the crowd, makes a figure which it isimpossible to recall without a wounding pity. She is the type of theunsuccessfulartist.Theactor,thedancer,andthesingermustappearlikeherin person, and drain publicly the cup of failure. But though the rest of usescapethiscrowningbitternessofthepillory,weallcourtinessencethesamehumiliation.Weallprofesstobeabletodelight.Andhowfewofusare!Weallpledgeourselvestobeabletocontinuetodelight.Andthedaywillcometoeach,andeventothemostadmired,whentheardourshallhavedeclinedandthecunningshallbelost,andheshallsitbyhisdesertedboothashamed.Thenshall he see himself condemned to do work for which he blushes to takepayment.Then(asifhislotwerenotalreadycruel)hemustlieexposedtothegibes of the wreckers of the press, who earn a little bitter bread by thecondemnationoftrashwhichtheyhavenotread,andthepraiseofexcellencewhichtheycannotunderstand.Andobservethatthisseemsalmostthenecessaryendatleastofwriters.“LesBlancsetlesBleus”(forinstance)isofanorderofmeritverydifferentfrom“LeVicomtedeBragelonne”;andifanygentlemancanbeartospyuponthenakednessof“CastleDangerous,”hisnameI think isHam: let itbeenoughfortherestofustoreadofit(notwithouttears)inthepagesofLockhart.Thusinoldage,whenoccupationandcomfortaremostneedful,thewritermustlayaside at once his pastime and his breadwinner. The painter indeed, if hesucceedatallinengagingtheattentionofthepublic,gainsgreatsumsandcanstand tohiseaseluntil agreat agewithoutdishonourable failure.Thewriterhasthedoublemisfortunetobeill-paidwhilehecanwork,andtobeincapableofworkingwhenheisold.Itisthusawayoflifewhichconductsdirectlytoafalseposition.Forthewriter(inspiteofnotoriousexamplestothecontrary)mustlooktobeill-paid.TennysonandMontépinmakehandsome livelihoods;butwecannotallhopetobeTennyson,andwedonotallperhapsdesiretobeMontépin.Ifyouadoptanarttobeyourtrade,weedyourmindattheoutsetofalldesireofmoney.What you may decently expect, if you have some talent and muchindustry, is such an income as a clerk will earn with a tenth or perhaps atwentiethofyournervousoutput.Norhaveyoutherighttolookformore;inthewagesofthelife,notinthewagesofthetrade,liesyourreward;theworkis here the wages. It will be seen I have little sympathy with the commonlamentationsoftheartistclass.Perhapstheydonotrememberthehireofthefield labourer;ordo they thinknoparallelwill lie?Perhaps theyhaveneverobservedwhatistheretiringallowanceofafieldofficer;ordotheysupposetheircontributionstotheartsofpleasingmoreimportantthantheservicesofacolonel? Perhaps they forget on how littleMilletwas content to live; or dotheythink,becausetheyhavelessgenius,theystandexcusedfromthedisplayofequalvirtues?Butupononepointthereshouldbenodubiety:ifamanbe

notfrugal,hehasnobusinessinthearts.Ifhebenotfrugal,hesteersdirectlyforthatlasttragicsceneoflevieuxsaltimbanque;ifhebenotfrugal,hewillfindithardtocontinuetobehonest.Someday,whenthebutcherisknockingat the door, he may be tempted, he may be obliged, to turn out and sell aslovenly piece of work. If the obligation shall have arisen through nowantonness of his own, he is even to be commended; for words cannotdescribe how farmore necessary it is that aman should support his family,than thathe shouldattain to—orpreserve—distinction in thearts.But if thepressure comes throughhis own fault, he has stolen, and stolen under trust,andstolen(whichistheworstofall)insuchawaythatnolawcanreachhim.Andnowyoumayperhapsaskmewhether—if thedébutantartist is tohavenothoughtofmoney,andif(asisimplied)heistoexpectnohonoursfromtheState—hemaynotatleastlookforwardtothedelightsofpopularity?Praise,you will tell me, is a savoury dish. And in so far as you may mean thecountenance of other artists, youwould put your finger on one of themostessential and enduring pleasures of the career of art. But in so far as youshouldhave an eye to the commendationsof thepublic or thenotice of thenewspapers, be sure youwould but be cherishing a dream. It is true that incertainesotericjournalstheauthor(forinstance)isdulycriticised,andthatheis often praised a great dealmore than he deserves, sometimes for qualitieswhich he prided himself on eschewing, and sometimes by ladies andgentlemenwhohavedeniedthemselvestheprivilegeofreadinghiswork.Butifamanbesensitivetothiswildpraise,wemustsupposehimequallyalivetothat which often accompanies and always follows it—wild ridicule. Amanmayhavedonewellforyears,andthenhemayfail;hewillhearofhisfailure.Orhemayhavedonewellforyears,andstilldowell,butthecriticsmayhavetired of praising him, or there may have sprung up some new idol of theinstant, some“dusta littlegilt,” towhom theynowprefer tooffer sacrifice.Here is the obverse and the reverse of that empty and ugly thing calledpopularity.Willanymansupposeitworththegaining?

VIIIPULVISETUMBRA

WE look for some reward of our endeavours and are disappointed; notsuccess,nothappiness,notevenpeaceofconscience,crownsour ineffectualefforts to dowell. Our frailties are invincible, our virtues barren; the battlegoessoreagainstustothegoingdownofthesun.Thecantingmoralisttellsusofrightandwrong;andwelookabroad,evenonthefaceofoursmallearth,andfindthemchangewitheveryclimate,andnocountrywheresomeactionis

nothonouredforavirtueandnonewhereitisnotbrandedforavice;andwelookinourexperience,andfindnovitalcongruityinthewisestrules,butatthebestamunicipal fitness. It isnotstrange ifweare tempted todespairofgood.Weask toomuch.Our religions andmoralities havebeen trimmed toflatterus,tilltheyareallemasculateandsentimentalised,andonlypleaseandweaken.Truthisofarougherstrain.Intheharshfaceoflife,faithcanreadabracing gospel. The human race is a thing more ancient than the tencommandments;andthebonesandrevolutionsoftheKosmos,inwhosejointswearebutmossandfungus,moreancientstill.

OftheKosmosinthelastresort,sciencereportsmanydoubtfulthings,andallofthemappalling.Thereseemsnosubstancetothissolidglobeonwhichwestamp:nothingbutsymbolsandratios.Symbolsandratioscarryusandbringusforthandbeatusdown;gravity,thatswingstheincommensurablesunsandworlds through space, is but a figment varying inversely as the squares ofdistances; and the suns and worlds themselves, imponderable figures ofabstraction,NHandHO.Considerationdaresnotdwellupon thisview; thatwaymadnesslies;sciencecarriesusintozonesofspeculation,wherethereisnohabitablecityforthemindofman.ButtaketheKosmoswithagrosserfaith,asoursensesgiveitus.Webeholdspacesownwithrotatoryislands,sunsandworldsandtheshardsandwrecksof systems: some, like the sun, still blazing; some rotting, like the earth;others,likethemoon,stableindesolation.Allofthesewetaketobemadeofsomethingwecallmatter:athingwhichnoanalysiscanhelpustoconceive;to whose incredible properties no familiarity can reconcile our minds. Thisstuff,whennotpurifiedbythelustrationoffire,rotsuncleanlyintosomethingwecalllife;seizedthroughallitsatomswithapediculousmalady;swellingintumoursthatbecomeindependent,sometimeseven(byanabhorrentprodigy)locomotory; one splitting into millions, millions cohering into one, as themalady proceeds through varying stages. This vital putrescence of the dust,usedaswearetoit,yetstrikesuswithoccasionaldisgust,andtheprofusionofwormsinapieceofancientturf,ortheairofamarshdarkenedwithinsects,willsometimescheckourbreathingso thatweaspireforcleanerplaces.Butnoneisclean:themovingsandisinfectedwithlice;thepurespring,whereitburstsoutofthemountain,isamereissueofworms;eveninthehardrockthecrystalisforming.In two main shapes this eruption covers the countenance of the earth: theanimaland thevegetable:one insomedegree the inversionof theother: thesecondrootedtothespot;thefirstcomingdetachedoutofitsnatalmud,andscurryingabroadwiththemyriadfeetofinsectsortoweringintotheheavensonthewingsofbirds:a thingsoinconceivablethat, if itbewellconsidered,

theheartstops.Towhatpasseswiththeanchoredvermin,wehavelittleclue:doubtlesstheyhavetheirjoysandsorrows,theirdelightsandkillingagonies:itappearsnothow.Butofthelocomotory,towhichweourselvesbelong,wecantellmore.Thesesharewithusathousandmiracles:themiraclesofsight,ofhearing,oftheprojectionofsound,thingsthatbridgespace;themiraclesofmemoryandreason,bywhichthepresentisconceived,and,whenitisgone,its image kept living in the brains of man and brute; the miracle ofreproduction,withitsimperiousdesiresandstaggeringconsequences.Andtoput the last touch upon this mountain mass of the revolting and theinconceivable, all these prey upon each other, lives tearing other lives inpieces, cramming them inside themselves, and by that summary process,growingfat:thevegetarian,thewhale,perhapsthetree,notlessthanthelionofthedesert;forthevegetarianisonlytheeaterofthedumb.Meanwhile our rotary island loadedwith predatory life, andmore drenchedwithblood,bothanimalandvegetable,thanevermutiniedship,scudsthroughspacewithunimaginablespeed,andturnsalternatecheekstothereverberationofablazingworld,ninetymillionmilesaway.

What amonstrous spectre is thisman, the disease of the agglutinated dust,liftingalternatefeetorlyingdruggedwithslumber;killing,feeding,growing,bringingforthsmallcopiesofhimself;grownuponwithhairlikegrass,fittedwitheyesthatmoveandglitterinhisface;athingtosetchildrenscreaming;—andyetlookedatnearlier,knownashisfellowsknowhim,howsurprisingarehis attributes! Poor soul, here for so little, cast among so many hardships,filled with desires so incommensurate and so inconsistent, savagelysurrounded, savagely descended, irremediably condemned to prey upon hisfellow lives:who should have blamed him had he been of a piecewith hisdestinyandabeingmerelybarbarous?Andwe lookandbeholdhiminsteadfilledwithimperfectvirtues:infinitelychildish,oftenadmirablyvaliant,oftentouchingly kind; sitting down, amidst hismomentary life, to debate of rightandwrongandtheattributesoftheDeity;risinguptodobattleforaneggordie for an idea; singling out his friends and hismatewith cordial affection;bringing forth in pain, rearingwith long-suffering solicitude, his young. Totouchtheheartofhismystery,wefindinhimonethought,strangetothepointoflunacy:thethoughtofduty;thethoughtofsomethingowingtohimself,tohis neighbour, to hisGod: an ideal of decency, towhich hewould rise if itwere possible; a limit of shame, belowwhich, if it be possible, hewill notstoop.Thedesigninmostmenisoneofconformity;hereandthere,inpickednatures, it transcends itself and soarson theother side, armingmartyrswithindependence;butinall,intheirdegrees,itisabosomthought:—Notinmanalone, for we trace it in dogs and cats whom we know fairly well, anddoubtlesssomesimilarpointofhonourswaystheelephant,theoyster,andthe

louse, of whomwe know so little:—But in man, at least, it sways with socomplete an empire that merely selfish things come second, even with theselfish: that appetites are starved, fears are conquered, pains supported; thatalmost the dullest shrinks from the reproof of a glance, although it were achild’s; and all but themost cowardly stand amid the risks ofwar; and themorenoble,havingstronglyconceivedanactasduetotheirideal,affrontandembrace death. Strange enough if, with their singular origin and pervertedpractice,theythinktheyaretoberewardedinsomefuturelife:strangerstill,iftheyarepersuadedofthecontrary,andthinkthisblow,whichtheysolicit,willstrike them senseless for eternity. I shall be reminded what a tragedy ofmisconception andmisconductman at large presents: of organised injustice,cowardlyviolenceandtreacherouscrime;andofthedamningimperfectionsofthebest.Theycannotbetoodarklydrawn.Manisindeedmarkedforfailureinhisefforts todoright.Butwhere thebestconsistentlymiscarry,howtenfoldmoreremarkablethatallshouldcontinuetostrive:andsurelyweshouldfinditbothtouchingandinspiriting, that inafieldfromwhichsuccess isbanished,ourraceshouldnotceasetolabour.Ifthefirstviewofthiscreature,stalkinginhisrotatoryisle,beathingtoshakethecourageofthestoutest,onthisnearersighthestartlesuswithanadmiringwonder.Itmattersnotwherewelook,underwhatclimateweobservehim,inwhat stage of society, in what depth of ignorance, burthened with whaterroneous morality; by camp-fires in Assiniboia, the snow powdering hisshoulders, thewind plucking his blanket, as he sits, passing the ceremonialcalumetandutteringhisgraveopinionslikeaRomansenator;inshipsatsea,aman inured to hardship and vile pleasures, his brightest hope a fiddle in atavernandabedizenedtrullwhosellsherselftorobhim,andhe,forallthat,simple,innocent,cheerful,kindlylikeachild,constanttotoil,bravetodrown,for others; in the slums of cities, moving among indifferent millions tomechanicalemployments,withouthopeofchangeinthefuture,withscarceapleasureinthepresent,andyettruetohisvirtues,honestuptohislights,kindtohisneighbours, temptedperhaps invainby thebrightgin-palace,perhapslong-sufferingwith thedrunkenwife that ruins him; in India (awoman thistime)kneelingwithbrokencriesandstreamingtears,asshedrownsherchildin the sacred river; in the brothel, the discard of society, living mainly onstrongdrink,fedwithaffronts,afool,athief,thecomradeofthieves,andevenhere keeping the point of honour and the touch of pity, often repaying theworld’sscornwithservice,oftenstandingfirmuponascruple,andatacertaincost, rejecting riches:—everywhere some virtue cherished or affected,everywheresomedecencyof thoughtandcarriage,everywheretheensignofman’sineffectualgoodness:—ah!ifIcouldshowyouthis!ifIcouldshowyouthese men and women, all the world over, in every stage of history, underevery abuse of error, under every circumstance of failure, without hope,

without help,without thanks, still obscurely fighting the lost fight of virtue,stillclinging,inthebrotheloronthescaffold,tosomeragofhonour,thepoorjewelof their souls!Theymayseek toescape,andyet theycannot; it isnotalone theirprivilegeandglory,but theirdoom; theyarecondemned tosomenobility;alltheirliveslong,thedesireofgoodisattheirheels,theimplacablehunter.Ofallearth’smeteors,hereatleastisthemoststrangeandconsoling:thatthisennobled lemur, thishair-crownedbubbleof thedust, this inheritorofa fewyears and sorrows, shouldyetdenyhimselfhis raredelights, andadd tohisfrequentpains,andliveforanideal,howevermisconceived.Norcanwestopwithman.Anewdoctrine,receivedwithscreamsalittlewhileagobycantingmoralists,andstillnotproperlyworkedintothebodyofourthoughts,lightsusastepfartherintotheheartofthisroughbutnobleuniverse.Fornowadaystheprideofmandenies invainhiskinshipwith theoriginaldust.He standsnolongerlikeathingapart.Closeathisheelsweseethedog,princeofanothergenus: and in him, too, we see dumbly testified the same cultus of anunattainable ideal, the sameconstancy in failure.Does it stopwith thedog?Welookatourfeetwhere thegroundisblackenedwith theswarmingant;acreaturesosmall,sofarfromusinthehierarchyofbrutes,thatwecanscarcetraceandscarcecomprehendhisdoings;andherealso,inhisorderedpolitiesand rigorous justice, we see confessed the law of duty and the fact ofindividualsin.Doesitstop,then,withtheant?Ratherthisdesireofwelldoingandthisdoomoffrailtyrunthroughallthegradesoflife:ratheristhisearth,fromthefrostytopofEveresttothenextmarginoftheinternalfire,onestageof ineffectual virtues and one temple of pious tears and perseverance. Thewholecreationgroanethandtravailethtogether.Itisthecommonandthegod-likelawoflife.Thebrowsers, thebiters, thebarkers, thehairycoatsoffieldandforest,thesquirrelintheoak,thethousand-footedcreeperinthedust,astheysharewithusthegiftoflife,sharewithustheloveofanideal:strivelikeus—like us are tempted to growweary of the struggle—to dowell; like usreceive at times unmerited refreshment, visitings of support, returns ofcourage;andarecondemnedlikeustobecrucifiedbetweenthatdoublelawofthemembers and thewill.Are they like us, Iwonder, in the timid hope ofsome reward, some sugar with the drug? do they, too, stand aghast atunrewardedvirtues,atthesufferingsofthosewhom,inourpartiality,wetaketobejust,andtheprosperityofsuchas,inourblindness,wecallwicked?Itmaybe,andyetGodknowswhattheyshouldlookfor.Evenwhiletheylook,evenwhiletheyrepent,thefootofmantreadsthembythousandsinthedust,the yelping hounds burst upon their trail, the bullet speeds, the knives areheatinginthedenofthevivisectionist;orthedewfalls,andthegenerationofa day is blotted out. For these are creatures, compared with whom ourweaknessisstrength,ourignorancewisdom,ourbriefspaneternity.

Andaswedwell,welivingthings,inourisleofterrorandundertheimminenthandofdeath,Godforbiditshouldbemantheerected,thereasoner,thewiseinhisowneyes—Godforbiditshouldbemanthatweariesinwelldoing,thatdespairs of unrewarded effort, or utters the languageof complaint.Let it beenoughforfaith,thatthewholecreationgroansinmortalfrailty,striveswithunconquerableconstancy:Surelynotallinvain.

IXACHRISTMASSERMON

BYthetimethispaperappears,Ishallhavebeentalkingfor twelvemonths;and it is thought I should takemy leave ina formalandseasonablemanner.Valedictory eloquence is rare, and death-bed sayings have not often hit themarkoftheoccasion.CharlesSecond,witandsceptic,amanwhoselifehadbeen one long lesson in human incredulity, an easy-going comrade, amanœuvring king—remembered and embodied all his wit and scepticismalong with more than his usual good humour in the famous “I am afraid,gentlemen,Iamanunconscionabletimea-dying.”

An unconscionable time a-dying—there is the picture (“I am afraid,gentlemen,”)ofyour life andofmine.The sands runout, and thehoursare“numberedandimputed,”andthedaysgoby;andwhenthelastofthesefindsus, we have been a long time dying, and what else? The very length issomething, if we reach that hour of separation undishonoured; and to havelivedatallisdoubtless(inthesoldierlyexpression)tohaveserved.ThereisataleinTacitusofhowtheveteransmutiniedintheGermanwilderness;ofhowtheymobbedGermanicus,clamouring togohome;andofhow,seizing theirgeneral’s hand, these old, war-worn exiles passed his finger along theirtoothlessgums.Suntlacrymærerum:thiswasthemosteloquentofthesongsof Simeon.Andwhen aman has lived to a fair age, he bears hismarks ofservice.Hemayhaveneverbeenremarkeduponthebreachattheheadofthearmy;atleastheshallhavelosthisteethonthecampbread.The idealismof seriouspeople in this ageofours isof anoble character. Itnever seems to them that they have served enough; they have a fineimpatienceoftheirvirtues.Itwereperhapsmoremodesttobesinglythankfulthatwearenoworse.Itisnotonlyourenemies,thosedesperatecharacters—itisweourselveswhoknownotwhatwedo;—thence springs theglimmeringhope that perhapswe do better thanwe think: that to scramble through thisrandombusinesswithhandsreasonablyclean,tohaveplayedthepartofamanorwomanwith some reasonable fulness, tohaveoften resisted thediabolic,

andattheendtobestillresistingit,isforthepoorhumansoldiertohavedonerightwell.Toask toseesomefruitofourendeavour isbuta transcendentalwayof serving for reward; andwhatwe take tobe contemptof self is onlygreedofhire.Andagain ifwerequiresomuchofourselves,shallwenot requiremuchofothers?Ifwedonotgeniallyjudgeourowndeficiencies,isitnottobefearedweshallbeevensterntothetrespassesofothers?Andhewho(lookingbackuponhisownlife)canseenomorethanthathehasbeenunconscionablylonga-dying,willhenotbetemptedtothinkhisneighbourunconscionablylongofgettinghanged?Itisprobablethatnearlyallwhothinkofconductatall,thinkofittoomuch;itiscertainweallthinktoomuchofsin.Wearenotdamnedfordoingwrong,butfornotdoingright;Christwouldneverhearofnegativemorality; thoushallwaseverHisword,withwhichHesupersededthoushallnot. Tomake our idea of morality centre on forbidden acts is to defile theimagination and to introduce into our judgments of our fellow-men a secretelement of gusto. If a thing iswrong for us,we should not dwell upon thethought of it; or we shall soon dwell upon it with inverted pleasure. If wecannotdrive it fromourminds—one thingof two:eitherourcreed is in thewrongandwemustmoreindulgentlyremodelit;orelse,ifourmoralitybeintheright,wearecriminallunaticsandshouldplaceourpersonsinrestraint.Amark of such unwholesomely divided minds is the passion for interferencewith others: the Fox without the Tail was of this breed, but had (if hisbiographeris tobetrusted)acertainantiquecivilitynowoutofdate.Amanmayhaveaflaw,aweakness,thatunfitshimforthedutiesoflife,thatspoilshistemper,thatthreatenshisintegrity,orthatbetrayshimintocruelty.Ithastobeconquered;butitmustneverbesufferedtoengrosshisthoughts.Thetruedutiesliealluponthefurtherside,andmustbeattendedtowithawholemindsosoonas thispreliminaryclearingof thedeckshasbeeneffected. Inorderthathemaybekindandhonest, itmaybeneedfulheshouldbecomea totalabstainer; let him become so then, and the next day let him forget thecircumstance. Trying to be kind and honest will require all his thoughts; amortified appetite is never a wise companion; in so far as he has had tomortifyanappetite,hewillstillbetheworseman;andofsuchanoneagreatdeal of cheerfulness will be required in judging life, and a great deal ofhumilityinjudgingothers.Itmaybearguedagainthatdissatisfactionwithourlife’sendeavourspringsinsome degree from dulness. We require higher tasks, because we do notrecognisetheheightofthosewehave.Tryingtobekindandhonestseemsanaffairtoosimpleandtooinconsequentialforgentlemenofourheroicmould;we had rather set ourselves to something bold, arduous, and conclusive;wehadratherfoundaschismorsuppressaheresy,cutoffahandormortifyanappetite.But the taskbeforeus,which is toco-endurewithourexistence, is

rather one of microscopic fineness, and the heroism required is that ofpatience. There is no cutting of the Gordian knots of life; each must besmilinglyunravelled.Tobehonest, tobekind—toearn a little and to spend a little less, tomakeuponthewholeafamilyhappierforhispresence,torenouncewhenthatshallbenecessaryandnotbeembittered, tokeepa fewfriends,but thesewithoutcapitulation—above all, on the same grim condition, to keep friends withhimself—hereisataskforallthatamanhasoffortitudeanddelicacy.Hehasan ambitious soulwhowould askmore; he has a hopeful spiritwho shouldlook in such an enterprise to be successful. There is indeed one element inhumandestiny thatnotblindness itself cancontrovert:whatever elseweareintendedtodo,wearenotintendedtosucceed;failureisthefateallotted.Itissoineveryartandstudy;itissoaboveallinthecontinentartoflivingwell.Hereisapleasantthoughtfortheyear’sendorfortheendoflife:Onlyself-deceptionwillbesatisfied,andthereneedbenodespairforthedespairer.

But Christmas is not only the mile-mark of another year, moving us tothoughtsofself-examination:itisaseason,fromallitsassociations,whetherdomesticorreligious,suggestingthoughtsofjoy.Amandissatisfiedwithhisendeavoursisamantemptedtosadness.Andinthemidstofthewinter,whenhisliferunslowestandheisremindedoftheemptychairsofhisbeloved,itiswell he should be condemned to this fashion of the smiling face. Nobledisappointment, noble self-denial, are not to be admired, not even to bepardoned, if they bring bitterness. It is one thing to enter the kingdom ofheavenmaim;anothertomaimyourselfandstaywithout.Andthekingdomofheavenisofthechildlike,ofthosewhoareeasytoplease,wholoveandwhogivepleasure.Mightymenoftheirhands,thesmitersandthebuildersandthejudges, have lived long and done sternly and yet preserved this lovelycharacter;andamongourcarpet interestsandtwopennyconcerns, theshamewere indelible ifwe should lose it.Gentlenessandcheerfulness, thesecomebeforeallmorality;theyaretheperfectduties.Anditisthetroublewithmoralmenthattheyhaveneitheronenorother.Itwasthemoralman,thePharisee,whomChrist couldnot awaywith. If yourmoralsmakeyoudreary, dependuponittheyarewrong.Idonotsay“givethemup,”fortheymaybeallyouhave;butconcealthemlikeavice,lesttheyshouldspoilthelivesofbetterandsimplerpeople.A strange temptation attends uponman: to keep his eye on pleasures, evenwhenhewillnotshareinthem;toaimallhismoralsagainstthem.Thisveryyearalady(singulariconoclast!)proclaimedacrusadeagainstdolls;andtheracysermonagainstlustisafeatureoftheage.Iventuretocallsuchmoralistsinsincere.Atanyexcessorperversionofanaturalappetite, theirlyresounds

ofitselfwithrelishingdenunciations;butforalldisplaysofthetrulydiabolic—envy, malice, the mean lie, the mean silence, the calumnious truth, thebackbiter,thepettytyrant,thepeevishpoisoneroffamilylife—theirstandardis quite different. These are wrong, they will admit, yet somehow not sowrong; there is no zeal in their assault on them, no secret element of gustowarmsupthesermon;itisforthingsnotwronginthemselvesthattheyreservethe choicest of their indignation. A man may naturally disclaim all moralkinshipwiththeReverendMr.Zolaorthehobgoblinoldladyofthedolls;forthese are gross and naked instances. And yet in each of us some similarelement resides.Thesightofapleasure inwhichwecannotorelsewillnotsharemovesustoaparticularimpatience.Itmaybebecauseweareenvious,or becausewe are sad, or becausewe dislike noise and romping—being sorefined,orbecause—beingsophilosophic—wehaveanoverweighingsenseoflife’sgravity:atleast,aswegooninyears,wearealltemptedtofrownuponour neighbour’s pleasures. People are nowadays so fond of resistingtemptations;hereisonetoberesisted.Theyarefondofself-denial;hereisapropensity that cannot be too peremptorily denied. There is an idea abroadamongmoralpeoplethattheyshouldmaketheirneighboursgood.OnepersonI have tomake good:myself. Butmy duty tomy neighbour ismuchmorenearlyexpressedbysayingthatIhavetomakehimhappy—ifImay.

Happinessandgoodness,accordingtocantingmoralists,standintherelationofeffectandcause.Therewasneveranythinglessprovedorlessprobable:ourhappiness is never in our own hands; we inherit our constitution; we standbuffetamongfriendandenemies;wemaybesobuiltastofeelasneeroranaspersion with unusual keenness, and so circumstanced as to be unusuallyexposedtothem;wemayhavenervesverysensitivetopain,andbeafflictedwithadiseaseverypainful.Virtuewillnothelpus,anditisnotmeanttohelpus.Itisnotevenitsownreward,exceptfortheself-centredand—Ihadalmostsaid—theunamiable.Nomancanpacifyhisconscience; ifquietbewhathewant,heshalldobettertoletthatorganperishfromdisuse.Andtoavoidthepenaltiesofthelaw,andtheminorcapitisdiminutioofsocialostracism,isanaffairofwisdom—ofcunning,ifyouwill—andnotofvirtue.In his own life, then, aman is not to expect happiness, only to profit by itgladlywhenitshallarise;heisondutyhere;heknowsnothoworwhy,anddoes not need to know; he knows not for what hire, and must not ask.Somehoworother,thoughhedoesnotknowwhatgoodnessis,hemusttrytobegood;somehoworother,thoughhecannottellwhatwilldoit,hemusttrytogivehappinesstoothers.Andnodoubttherecomesinhereafrequentclashof duties. How far is he to make his neighbour happy? How far must herespectthatsmilingface,soeasytocloud,sohardtobrightenagain?Andhowfar,ontheotherside,isheboundtobehisbrother’skeeperandtheprophetof

hisownmorality?Howfarmustheresentevil?The difficulty is that we have little guidance; Christ’s sayings on the pointbeinghardtoreconcilewitheachother,and(themostofthem)hardtoaccept.But the truthofHis teachingwould seem tobe this: inourownpersonandfortune,weshouldbereadytoacceptandtopardonall;itisourcheekwearetoturn,ourcoatthatwearetogiveawaytothemanwhohastakenourcloak.Butwhenanother’sfaceisbuffeted,perhapsalittleofthelionwillbecomeusbest. That we are to suffer others to be injured, and stand by, is notconceivable,andsurelynotdesirable.Revenge,saysBacon,isakindofwildjustice;itsjudgmentsatleastaredeliveredbyaninsanejudge;andinourownquarrelwecanseenothingtrulyanddonothingwisely.Butinthequarrelofour neighbour, let us bemore bold. One person’s happiness is as sacred asanother’s;whenwecannotdefendboth,letusdefendonewithastoutheart.Itisonlyinsofaraswearedoingthis,thatwehaveanyrighttointerfere:thedefenceofBisouronlygroundofactionagainstA.Ahasasgoodarighttogotothedevilaswetogotoglory;andneitherknowswhathedoes.The truth is that all these interventions and denunciations and militantmongerings ofmoral half-truths, though they be sometimes needful, thoughthey are often enjoyable, do yet belong to an inferior grade of duties. Ill-temperandenvyand revenge findhereanarsenalofpiousdisguises; this istheplaygroundof inverted lusts.With a littlemorepatience anda little lesstemper,agentlerandwisermethodmightbefoundinalmosteverycase;andthe knot thatwe cut by some fine headyquarrel-scene in private life, or, inpublic affairs,by somedenunciatoryact againstwhatwearepleased to callourneighbour’svices,mightyethavebeenunwovenbythehandofsympathy.

To lookbackupon thepast year, and seehow littlewehave striven, and towhatsmallpurpose;andhowoftenwehavebeencowardlyandhungback,ortemerariousandrushedunwiselyin;andhoweverydayandalldaylongwehave transgressed the law of kindness;—itmay seem a paradox, but in thebitterness of these discoveries a certain consolation resides. Life is notdesignedtoministertoaman’svanity.Hegoesuponhislongbusinessmostofthe time with a hanging head, and all the time like a blind child. Full ofrewardsandpleasuresasitis—sothattoseethedaybreakorthemoonrise,ortomeeta friend,or tohear thedinner-callwhenhe ishungry, fillshimwithsurprising joys—this world is yet for him no abiding city. Friendships fallthrough,healthfails,wearinessassailshim;yearafteryearhemustthumbthehardlyvaryingrecordofhisownweaknessandfolly.Itisafriendlyprocessofdetachment. When the time comes that he should go, there need be fewillusionsleftabouthimself.Hereliesonewhomeantwell,triedalittle,failedmuch:—surelythatmaybehisepitaph,ofwhichheneednotbeashamed.Nor

willhecomplainatthesummonswhichcallsadefeatedsoldierfromthefield:defeated,ay,ifhewerePaulorMarcusAurelius!—butifthereisstilloneinchoffightinhisoldspirit,undishonoured.Thefaithwhichsustainedhiminhislifelongblindnessandlifelongdisappointmentwillscarceevenberequiredinthis last formality of laying down his arms.Give him amarchwith his oldbones;there,outoftheglorioussun-colouredearth,outofthedayandthedustandtheecstasy—theregoesanotherFaithfulFailure!Fromarecentbookofverse,wherethereismorethanonesuchbeautifulandmanlypoem,Itakethismemorialpiece:itsaysbetterthanIcan,whatIlovetothink;letitbeourpartingword:—

XFATHERDAMIEN

SYDNEY,February25,1890.SIR,—It may probably occur to you that we have met, and visited, andconversed;onmyside,withinterest.Youmayrememberthatyouhavedonemeseveralcourtesies, forwhichIwasprepared tobegrateful.But therearedutieswhichcomebeforegratitude,andoffenceswhichjustlydividefriends,farmoreacquaintances.YourlettertotheReverendH.B.Gageisadocumentwhich,inmysight,ifyouhadfilledmewithbreadwhenIwasstarving,ifyouhadsatuptonursemyfatherwhenhelaya-dying,wouldyetabsolvemefromthe bonds of gratitude. You know enough, doubtless, of the process ofcanonisationtobeawarethat,ahundredyearsafterthedeathofDamien,therewillappearamanchargedwiththepainfulofficeofthedevil’sadvocate.Afterthat noble brother ofmine, andof all frail clay, shall have lain a century atrest,one shall accuse,onedefendhim.Thecircumstance isunusual that thedevil’s advocate should be a volunteer, should be a member of a sectimmediatelyrival,andshouldmakehastetotakeuponhimselfhisuglyofficeerethebonesarecold;unusual,andofatastewhichIshallleavemyreadersfreetoqualify;unusual,andtomeinspiring.IfIhaveatalllearnedthetradeof using words to convey truth and to arouse emotion, you have at lastfurnishedmewitha subject.For it is in the interestof allmankind, and thecauseofpublicdecency ineveryquarterof theworld,notonly thatDamienshouldberighted,butthatyouandyourlettershouldbedisplayedatlength,intheirtruecolours,tothepubliceye.Todothisproperly,Imustbeginbyquotingyouatlarge:Ishallthenproceedtocriticiseyourutterance fromseveralpointsofview,divineandhuman, inthecourseofwhichIshallattempttodrawagain,andwithmorespecification,

the character of the dead saint whom it has pleased you to vilify: somuchbeingdone,Ishallsayfarewelltoyouforever.32Todealfitlywithalettersoextraordinary,Imustdrawattheoutsetonmyprivateknowledgeofthesignatoryandhissect.Itmayoffendothers;scarcelyyou, who have been so busy to collect, so bold to publish, gossip on yourrivals.And this is perhaps themomentwhen Imay best explain to you thecharacterofwhatyouaretoread:Iconceiveyouasamanquitebeyondandbelowthereticencesofcivility:withwhatmeasureyoumete,withthatshallitbemeasuredyouagain;withyou,atlast,Irejoicetofeelthebuttonoffthefoiland toplungehome.And if in aught that I shall say I shouldoffendothers,yourcolleagues,whomIrespectandrememberwithaffection,Icanbutofferthemmyregret;Iamnotfree,Iaminspiredbytheconsiderationofinterestsfarmorelarge;andsuchpainascanbeinflictedbyanythingfrommemustbeindeedtriflingwhencomparedwiththepainwithwhichtheyreadyourletter.Itisnotthehangman,butthecriminal,thatbringsdishonouronthehouse.Youbelong,sir,toasect—Ibelievemysect,andthatinwhichmyancestorslaboured—which has enjoyed, and partly failed to utilise, an exceptionaladvantage in the islands ofHawaii.The firstmissionaries came; they foundthelandalreadyself-purgedofitsoldandbloodyfaith;theywereembraced,almost on their arrival,with enthusiasm;what troubles they supported camefarmorefromwhitesthanfromHawaiians;andtotheselasttheystood(inaroughfigure)intheshoesofGod.Thisisnottheplacetoenterintothedegreeor causes of their failure, such as it is.One element alone is pertinent, andmustherebeplainlydealtwith.Inthecourseoftheirevangelicalcalling,they—ortoomanyofthem—grewrich.ItmaybenewstoyouthatthehousesofmissionariesareacauseofmockingonthestreetsofHonolulu.Itwillatleastbe news to you, thatwhen I returned your civil visit, the driver ofmy cabcommentedonthesize,thetaste,andthecomfortofyourhome.Itwouldhavebeen news certainly to myself, had any one told me that afternoon that Ishouldlivetodragsuchmatterintoprint.Butyousee,sir,howyoudegradebettermen to your own level; and it is needful that thosewho are to judgebetwixt you and me, betwixt Damien and the devil’s advocate, shouldunderstandyourlettertohavebeenpennedinahousewhichcouldraise,andthat very justly, the envy and the comments of the passers-by. I think (toemployaphraseofyourswhichIadmire)it“shouldbeattributed”toyouthatyouhavenevervisitedthesceneofDamien’slifeanddeath.Ifyouhad,andhadrecalledit,andlookedaboutyourpleasantrooms,evenyourpenperhapswouldhavebeenstayed.Yoursect(andremember,asfarasanysectavowsme,itismine)hasnotdoneill in aworldly sense in theHawaiianKingdom.Whencalamitybefell theirinnocent parishioners, when leprosy descended and took root in the Eight

Islands,aquidproquowastobelookedfor.Tothatprosperousmission,andtoyou,asoneofitsadornments,Godhadsentatlastanopportunity.IknowIam touchinghereuponanerveacutely sensitive. Iknow thatothersofyourcolleagues look back on the inertia of your Church, and the intrusive anddecisiveheroismofDamien,withsomethingalmosttobecalledremorse.Iamsureitissowithyourself;Iampersuadedyourletterwasinspiredbyacertainenvy, not essentially ignoble, and the one human trait to be espied in thatperformance.Youwerethinkingofthelostchance,thepastday;ofthatwhichshouldhavebeenconceivedandwasnot;oftheservicedueandnotrendered.Timewas,saidthevoiceinyourear,inyourpleasantroom,asyousatragingandwriting;andifthewordswrittenwerebasebeyondparallel,therage,Iamhappy to repeat—it is the only compliment I shall pay you—the rage wasalmost virtuous. But, sir, when we have failed, and another has succeeded;whenwe have stood by, and another has stepped in;whenwe sit and growbulky inourcharmingmansions,andaplain,uncouthpeasantsteps into thebattle, under the eyes of God, and succours the afflicted, and consoles thedying,andishimselfafflictedinhisturn,anddiesuponthefieldofhonour—thebattlecannotberetrievedasyourunhappyirritationhassuggested.Itisalostbattle,andlostforever.Onethingremainedtoyouinyourdefeat—someragsofcommonhonour;andtheseyouhavemadehastetocastaway.Common honour; not the honour of having done anything right, but thehonourofnothavingdoneaughtconspicuouslyfoul;thehonouroftheinert:thatwaswhatremainedtoyou.WearenotallexpectedtobeDamiens;amanmayconceivehisdutymorenarrowly,hemay lovehis comfortsbetter; andnonewillcastastoneathimforthat.Butwillagentlemanofyourreverendprofession allow me an example from the fields of gallantry? When twogentlemen compete for the favour of a lady, and the one succeeds and theother is rejected, and (as will sometimes happen) matter damaging to thesuccessfulrival’screditreachestheearofthedefeated,itisheldbyplainmenof no pretensions that hismouth is, in the circumstance, almost necessarilyclosed.YourChurchandDamien’swereinHawaiiuponarivalrytodowell:to help, to edify, to set divine examples.Youhaving (in one huge instance)failed,andDamiensucceeded,Imarvelitshouldnothaveoccurredtoyouthatyouweredoomedtosilence;thatwhenyouhadbeenoutstrippedinthathighrivalry, and sat inglorious in themidst of yourwell-being, in your pleasantroom—andDamien,crownedwithgloriesandhorrors,toiledandrottedinthatpigstyofhisunderthecliffsofKalawao—you,theelectwhowouldnot,werethe lastman on earth to collect and propagate gossip on the volunteerwhowouldanddid.IthinkIseeyou—forItrytoseeyouinthefleshasIwritethesesentences—IthinkIseeyouleapatthewordpigsty,ahyperbolicalexpressionatthebest.“Hehadnohand in the reforms,” hewas “a coarse, dirtyman”; thesewere

yourownwords;andyoumaythinkitpossiblethatIamcometosupportyouwith fresh evidence. In a sense, it is even so. Damien has been too muchdepictedwithaconventionalhaloandconventionalfeatures;sodrawnbymenwhoperhapshadnottheeyetoremarkorthepentoexpresstheindividual;orwhoperhapswereonlyblindedandsilencedbygenerousadmiration,suchasIpartly envy for myself—such as you, if your soul were enlightened, wouldenvy on your bended knees. It is the least defect of such a method ofportraiturethatitmakesthepatheasyforthedevil’sadvocate,andleavesforthemisuseof theslandereraconsiderable fieldof truth.For the truth that issuppressedbyfriendsisthereadiestweaponoftheenemy.Theworld,inyourdespite, may perhaps owe you something, if your letter be the means ofsubstitutingonceforallacrediblelikenessforawaxabstraction.For,if thatworld at all remember you, on the day when Damien of Molokai shall benamedSaint,itwillbeinvirtueofonework:yourlettertotheReverendH.B.Gage.You may ask on what authority I speak. It was my inclement destiny tobecomeacquainted,notwithDamien,butwithDr.Hyde.WhenIvisitedthelazarettoDamienwasalready inhis restinggrave.Butsuch informationas Ihave, I gatheredon the spot in conversationwith thosewhoknewhimwellandlong:someindeedwhoreveredhismemory;butotherswhohadsparredandwrangledwithhim,whobeheldhimwithnohalo,whoperhapsregardedhimwith small respect, and throughwhose unprepared and scarcely partialcommunications the plain, human features of the man shone on meconvincingly.ThesegavemewhatknowledgeIpossess;andIlearntitinthatscene where it could be most completely and sensitively understood—Kalawao,whichyouhavenevervisited,aboutwhichyouhaveneversomuchasendeavouredtoinformyourself;for,briefasyourletteris,youhavefoundthemeanstostumbleintothatconfession.“Lessthanone-halfoftheisland,”you say, “is devoted to the lepers.”Molokai—“Molokai ahina,” the “grey,”lofty,andmostdesolateisland—alongallitsnorthernsideplungesafrontofprecipiceintoaseaofunusualprofundity.Thisrangeofcliffis,fromeasttowest, the trueendand frontierof the island.Only inone spot thereprojectsintotheoceanacertaintriangularandruggeddown,grassy,stony,windy,andrisinginthemidstintoahillwithadeadcrater:thewholebearingtothecliffthatoverhangsitsomewhatthesamerelationasabrackettoawall.Withthishintyouwillnowbeabletopickouttheleperstationonamap;youwillbeable to judge how much of Molokai is thus cut off between the surf andprecipice,whetherlessthanahalf,orlessthanaquarter,orafifth,oratenth—orsay,a twentieth;andthenext timeyouburst intoprintyouwillbeinapositiontosharewithustheissueofyourcalculations.I imagineyou tobeoneof thosepersonswho talkwithcheerfulnessof thatplacewhichoxenandwain-ropescouldnotdragyoutobehold.You,whodo

not even know its situation on the map, probably denounce sensationaldescriptions, stretching your limbs the while in your pleasant parlour onBeretaniaStreet.WhenIwaspulledashorethereoneearlymorning,theresatwith me in the boat two sisters, bidding farewell (in humble imitation ofDamien) to the lights and joys of human life.One of thesewept silently; Icouldnotwithholdmyselffromjoiningher.Hadyoubeenthere,itismybeliefthatnaturewouldhavetriumphedeveninyou;andastheboatdrewbutalittlenearer, and you beheld the stairs crowdedwith abominable deformations ofour common manhood, and saw yourself landing in the midst of such apopulationasonlynowandthensurroundsusinthehorrorofanightmare—what a haggard eye you would have rolled over your reluctant shouldertowardsthehouseonBeretaniaStreet!Hadyougoneon;hadyoufoundeveryfourthfaceablotuponthelandscape;hadyouvisitedthehospitalandseenthebutt-ends of human beings lying there almost unrecognisable, but stillbreathing, still thinking, still remembering; youwould have understood thatlifeinthelazarettoisanordealfromwhichthenervesofaman’sspiritshrink,evenashiseyequailsunderthebrightnessofthesun;youwouldhavefeltitwas(evento-day)apitifulplacetovisitandahelltodwellin.Itisnotthefearofpossibleinfection.Thatseemsalittlethingwhencomparedwiththepain,thepity,and thedisgustof thevisitor’ssurroundings,and theatmosphereofaffliction,disease,andphysicaldisgraceinwhichhebreathes.IdonotthinkIam amanmore than usually timid; but I never recall the days and nights Ispent upon that island promontory (eight days and seven nights), withoutheartfeltthankfulnessthatIamsomewhereelse.IfindinmydiarythatIspeakof my stay as a “grinding experience”: I have once jotted in the margin,“Harrowing is theword”;andwhen theMokoliiboremeat last towards theouter world, I kept repeating to myself, with a new conception of theirpregnancy,thosesimplewordsofthesong—And observe: that which I saw and suffered fromwas a settlement purged,bettered,beautified; thenewvillagebuilt, thehospitaland theBishop-Homeexcellently arranged; the sisters, the doctor, and the missionaries, allindefatigableintheirnobletasks.ItwasadifferentplacewhenDamiencamethere,andmadehisgreat renunciation,andslept that firstnightundera treeamidsthis rottingbrethren:alonewithpestilence;and lookingforward(withwhat courage, with what pitiful sinkings of dread, God only knows) to alifetimeofdressingsoresandstumps.You will say, perhaps, I am too sensitive, that sights as painful abound incancerhospitalsandareconfronteddailybydoctorsandnurses. Ihave longlearnedtoadmireandenvythedoctorsandthenurses.Butthereisnocancerhospital so large and populous as Kalawao and Kalaupapa; and in such amatter every fresh case, like every inch of length in the pipe of an organ,deepens the note of the impression; for what daunts the onlooker is that

monstroussumofhumansufferingbywhichhestandssurrounded.Lastly,nodoctorornurseiscalledupontoenteronceforallthedoorsofthatgehenna;they do not say farewell, they need not abandon hope, on its sad threshold;theybutgoforatimetotheirhighcalling,andcanlookforwardastheygotorelief, to recreation, and to rest.ButDamien shut-towith his own hand thedoorsofhisownsepulchre.IshallnowextractthreepassagesfrommydiaryatKalawao.A. “Damien is dead and already somewhat ungratefully remembered in thefieldofhis laboursandsufferings. ‘Hewasagoodman,butveryofficious,’says one.Another tellsme he had fallen (as other priests so easily do) intosomethingofthewaysandhabitsofthoughtofaKanaka;buthehadthewittorecognise thefact,andthegoodsense to laughat”[over]“it.Aplainmanitseemshewas;Icannotfindhewasapopular.”B.“AfterRagsdale’sdeath”[RagsdalewasafamousLuna,oroverseer,oftheunruly settlement] “there followed a brief term of office by Father Damienwhichservedonlytopublishtheweaknessofthatnobleman.Hewasroughinhisways, and he had no control. Authoritywas relaxed;Damien’s lifewasthreatened,andhewassooneagertoresign.”C.“OfDamienIbegintohaveanidea.Heseemstohavebeenamanofthepeasantclass,certainlyofthepeasanttype:shrewd;ignorantandbigoted,yetwithanopenmind,andcapableofreceivinganddigestingareproofifitwerebluntly administered; superbly generous in the least thing as well as in thegreatest, and as ready to give his last shirt (although not without humangrumbling) as he had been to sacrifice his life; essentially indiscreet andofficious, whichmade him a troublesome colleague; domineering in all hisways, which made him incurably unpopular with the Kanakas, but yetdestituteofrealauthority,so thathisboyslaughedathimandhemustcarryout his wishes by the means of bribes. He learned to have a mania fordoctoring;andsetup theKanakasagainst the remediesofhis regular rivals:perhaps(ifanythingmatteratallinthetreatmentofsuchadisease)theworstthing that he did, and certainly the easiest. The best and worst of the manappear very plainly in his dealings with Mr. Chapman’s money; he hadoriginally laid it out” [intended to lay it out] “entirely for the benefit ofCatholics,andevensonotwisely;butafteralong,plaintalk,headmittedhiserrorfullyandrevisedthelist.Thesadstateoftheboys’homeisinparttheresultofhislackofcontrol;inpart,ofhisownslovenlywaysandfalseideasofhygiene.Brotherofficialsusedtocallit‘Damien’sChinatown.’‘Well,’theywouldsay,‘yourChinatownkeepsgrowing.’Andhewouldlaughwithperfectgood-nature,andadheretohiserrorswithperfectobstinacy.SomuchIhavegatheredoftruthaboutthisplain,noblehumanbrotherandfatherofours;hisimperfectionsarethetraitsofhisface,bywhichweknowhimforourfellow;

hismartyrdomandhisexamplenothingcanlessenorannul;andonlyapersonhereonthespotcanproperlyappreciatetheirgreatness.”I have set down theseprivatepassages, as youperceive,without correction;thankstoyou,thepublichasthemintheirbluntness.Theyarealmostalistoftheman’sfaults,foritisratherthesethatIwasseeking:withhisvirtues,withthe heroic profile of his life, I and the world were already sufficientlyacquainted. Iwas besides a little suspicious ofCatholic testimony; in no illsense, but merely because Damien’s admirers and disciples were the leastlikelytobecritical.Iknowyouwillbemoresuspiciousstill;andthefactssetdownabovewereoneandallcollectedfromthe lipsofProtestantswhohadopposedthefatherinhislife.YetIamstrangelydeceived,ortheybuilduptheimage of aman, with all his weaknesses, essentially heroic, and alivewithruggedhonesty,generosity,andmirth.Take it forwhat it is, rough private jottings of theworst sides ofDamien’scharacter,collectedfromthelipsofthosewhohadlabouredwithand(inyourown phrase) “knew the man”;—though I question whether Damien wouldhavesaidthatheknewyou.Takeit,andobservewithwonderhowwellyouwere served by your gossips, how ill by your intelligence and sympathy; inhowmanypointsoffactweareatone,andhowwidelyourappreciationsvary.There is something wrong here; either with you or me. It is possible, forinstance,thatyou,whoseemtohavesomanyearsinKalawao,hadheardofthe affair of Mr. Chapman’s money, and were singly struck by Damien’sintendedwrong-doing.Iwasstruckwiththatalso,andsetitfairlydown;butIwas struck much more by the fact that he had the honesty of mind to beconvinced. I may here tell you that it was a long business; that one of hiscolleagues sat with him late into the night, multiplying arguments andaccusations; that the father listened as usual with “perfect good-nature andperfectobstinacy”;butatthelast,whenhewaspersuaded—“Yes,”saidhe,“Iamverymuchobligedtoyou;youhavedonemeaservice;itwouldhavebeenatheft.”Therearemany(notCatholicsmerely)whorequiretheirheroesandsaintstobeinfallible;tothesethestorywillbepainful;nottothetruelovers,patrons,andservantsofmankind.AndItakeit,thisisatypeofourdivision;thatyouareoneofthosewhohavean eye for faults and failures; that you take a pleasure to find and publishthem;andthat,havingfoundthem,youmakehaste toforget theovervailingvirtues and the real success which had alone introduced them to yourknowledge. It is a dangerous frameofmind.That youmayunderstandhowdangerous,andintowhatasituationithasalreadybroughtyou,wewill(ifyouplease) go hand-in-hand through the different phrases of your letter, andcandidlyexamineeachfromthepointofviewofitstruth,itsappositeness,anditscharity.

Damienwascoarse.Itisverypossible.Youmakeussorryfortheleperswhohadonlyacoarseoldpeasant for their friendand father.Butyou,whowere so refined,whywereyounotthere,tocheerthemwiththelightsofculture?OrmayIremindyouthatwehavesomereasontodoubtifJohntheBaptistweregenteel;andinthecaseofPeter,onwhosecareeryoudoubtlessdwellapprovinglyinthepulpit,no doubt at all he was a “coarse, headstrong” fisherman! Yet even in ourProtestantBiblesPeteriscalledSaint.Damienwasdirty.Damienwasheadstrong.Ibelieveyouarerightagain;andIthankGodforhisstrongheadandheart.Damienwasbigoted.Iamnotfondofbigotsmyself,becausetheyarenotfondofme.Butwhatismeantbybigotry, thatwe should regard it as ablemish in apriest?Damienbelieved his own religion with the simplicity of a peasant or a child; as IwouldIcouldsupposethatyoudo.For this, Iwonderathimsomewayoff;andhadthatbeenhisonlycharacter,shouldhaveavoidedhiminlife.ButthepointofinterestinDamien,whichhascausedhimtobesomuchtalkedaboutandmadehimat last thesubjectofyourpenandmine,wasthat, inhim,hisbigotry, his intense and narrow faith, wrought potently for good, andstrengthenedhimtobeoneoftheworld’sheroesandexemplars.DamienwasnotsenttoMolokai,butwenttherewithoutorders.Isthisamisreading?ordoyoureallymeanthewordsforblame?IhaveheardChrist, inthepulpitsofourChurch,heldupfor imitationonthegroundthatHissacrificewasvoluntary.DoesDr.Hydethinkotherwise?Damiendidnotstayatthesettlement,etc.It is true he was allowed many indulgences. Am I to understand that youblame the father forprofitingby these,or theofficers forgranting them? Ineither case, it is a mighty Spartan standard to issue from the house onBeretania Street; and I am convinced you will find yourself with fewsupporters.Damienhadnohandinthereforms,etc.IthinkevenyouwilladmitthatIhavealreadybeenfrankinmydescriptionoftheman I amdefending; but before I take youupupon this head, Iwill befrankerstill,andtellyouthatperhapsnowhereintheworldcanamantasteamore pleasurable sense of contrast than when he passes from Damien’s“Chinatown”atKalawaotothebeautifulBishop-HomeatKalaupapa.Atthispoint, inmydesiretomakeallfairforyou,Iwillbreakmyruleandadduce

Catholic testimony. Here is a passage frommy diary about my visit to theChinatown,fromwhichyouwillseehowitis(evennow)regardedbyitsownofficials:“Wewentroundallthedormitories,refectories,etc.—darkanddingyenough,withasuperficialcleanliness,whichhe”[Mr.Dutton,thelaybrother]“didnot seek todefend. ‘It is almostdecent,’ saidhe; ‘the sisterswillmakethatallrightwhenwegetthemhere.’”AndyetIgathereditwasalreadybettersinceDamienwasdead,andfarbetterthanwhenhewastherealoneandhadhisown(notalwaysexcellent)way.Ihavenowcomefarenoughtomeetyouonacommongroundoffact;andItellyouthat,toamindnotprejudicedbyjealousy, all the reforms of the lazaretto, and even those which he mostvigorouslyopposed,areproperlytheworkofDamien.Theyaretheevidenceofhissuccess;theyarewhathisheroismprovokedfromthereluctantandthecareless.Manywerebeforehiminthefield;Mr.Meyer,forinstance,ofwhosefaithfulworkwe hear too little: there have beenmany since; and some hadmoreworldlywisdom,thoughnonehadmoredevotion,thanoursaint.Beforehisday,evenyouwillconfess,theyhadeffectedlittle.Itwashispart,byonestrikingactofmartyrdom,todirectallmen’seyesonthatdistressfulcountry.At a blow, andwith the price of his life, hemade the place illustrious andpublic. And that, if you will consider largely, was the one reform needful;pregnant of all that should succeed. It brought money; it brought (bestindividualadditionof themall) thesisters; itbroughtsupervision, forpublicopinionandpublicinterestlandedwiththemanatKalawao.Ifeveranymanbroughtreforms,anddiedtobringthem,itwashe.ThereisnotacleancuportowelintheBishop-Home,butdirtyDamienwashedit.Damienwasnotapuremaninhisrelationswithwomen,etc.Howdoyouknowthat?IsthisthenatureoftheconversationinthathouseonBeretaniaStreetwhichthecabmanenvied,drivingpast?—racydetailsof themisconductofthepoorpeasantpriest,toilingunderthecliffsofMolokai?Many have visited the station before me; they seem not to have heard therumour.When I was there I heardmany shocking tales, formy informantswere men speaking with the plainness of the laity; and I heard plenty ofcomplaints ofDamien.Whywas this nevermentioned? andhowcame it toyouintheretirementofyourclericalparlour?ButImustnotevenseemtodeceiveyou.Thisscandal,whenIreaditinyourletter,wasnotnewtome.Ihadhearditoncebefore;andImusttellyouhow.TherecametoSamoaamanfromHonolulu;heinapublic-houseonthebeachvolunteered the statement that Damien had “contracted the disease fromhavingconnectionwiththefemalelepers”;andIfindajoyintellingyouhowthereportwaswelcomedinapublic-house.Amansprangtohisfeet;Iamnotatlibertytogivehisname,butfromwhatIheardIdoubtifyouwouldcaretohavehimtodinnerinBeretaniaStreet.“Youmiserablelittle——”(hereisa

word I dare not print, it would so shock your ears). “You miserable little——,”hecried,“ifthestorywereathousandtimestrue,can’tyouseeyouareamilliontimesalower——fordaringtorepeatit?”Iwishitcouldbetoldofyou that when the report reached you in your house, perhaps after familyworship,youhadfoundinyoursoulenoughholyangertoreceiveitwiththesameexpressions;ay,evenwiththatonewhichIdarenotprint;itwouldnotneed to have been blotted away, likeUncleToby’s oath, by the tears of therecording angel; it would have been counted to you for your brightestrighteousness. But you have deliberately chosen the part of the man fromHonolulu,andyouhaveplayeditwithimprovementsofyourown.ThemanfromHonolulu—miserable,leeringcreature—communicatedthetaletoarudeknotofbeach-combingdrinkersinapublic-house,where(Iwillsofaragreewithyourtemperanceopinions)manisnotalwaysathisnoblest;andthemanfrom Honolulu had himself been drinking—drinking, we may charitablyfancy,toexcess.Itwastoyour“DearBrother,theReverendH.B.Gage,”thatyou chose to communicate the sickening story; and the blue ribbon whichadornsyourportlybosom forbidsme to allowyou theextenuatingplea thatyouweredrunkwhen itwasdone.Your“dearbrother”—abrother indeed—made haste to deliver up your letter (as a means of grace, perhaps) to thereligiouspapers;where,aftermanymonths,Ifoundandreadandwonderedatit; andwhence Ihavenow reproduced it for thewonderofothers.Andyouandyourdearbrotherhave,bythiscycleofoperations,builtupacontrastveryedifyingtoexamineindetail.Themanwhomyouwouldnotcaretohavetodinner,ontheoneside;ontheother,theReverendDr.HydeandtheReverendH.B.Gage:theApiabar-room,theHonolulumanse.But I fearyouscarceappreciatehowyouappear toyour fellow-men;and tobringithometoyou,Iwillsupposeyourstorytobetrue.Iwillsuppose—andGod forgiveme for supposing it—thatDamien faltered and stumbled in hisnarrowpathofduty;Iwillsupposethat,inthehorrorofhisisolation,perhapsinthefeverofincipientdisease,he,whowasdoingsomuchmorethanhehadsworn,failedintheletterofhispriestlyoath—he,whowassomuchabettermanthaneitheryouorme,whodidwhatwehaveneverdreamedofdaring—hetootastedofourcommonfrailty.“O,Iago,thepityofit!”Theleasttendershould bemoved to tears; themost incredulous to prayer. And all that youcoulddowastopenyourlettertotheReverendH.B.Gage!Is itgrowingatallclear toyouwhatapictureyouhavedrawnofyourownheart?Iwill tryyetonceagaintomakeitclearer.Youhadafather:supposethistalewereabouthim,andsomeinformantbroughtittoyou,proofinhand:IamnotmakingtoohighanestimateofyouremotionalnaturewhenIsupposeyouwouldregretthecircumstance?thatyouwouldfeelthetaleoffrailtythemorekeenlysince itshamedtheauthorofyourdays?and that the last thingyouwoulddowouldbetopublishitinthereligiouspress?Well,themanwho

triedtodowhatDamiendidismyfather,andthefatherofthemanintheApiabar, and the father of allwho lovegoodness; andhewasyour father too, ifGodhadgivenyougracetoseeit.

XIMYFIRSTBOOK—“TREASUREISLAND”

ITwasfarindeedfrombeingmyfirstbook,forIamnotanovelistalone.ButIamwellawarethatmypaymaster,theGreatPublic,regardswhatelseIhavewrittenwith indifference, ifnotaversion; if itcalluponmeatall, itcallsonmeinthefamiliarandindeliblecharacter;andwhenIamaskedtotalkofmyfirstbook,noquestionintheworldbutwhatismeantismyfirstnovel.Soonerorlater,somehow,anyhow,Iwasboundtowriteanovel.Itseemsvaintoaskwhy.Menarebornwithvariousmanias:frommyearliestchildhooditwasminetomakeaplaythingofimaginaryseriesofevents;andassoonasIwas able towrite, I became a good friend to the papermakers.Reams uponreamsmust have gone to themaking of “Rathillet,” “ThePentlandRising,”“The King’s Pardon” (otherwise “Park Whitehead”), “Edward Daven,” “ACountry Dance,” and “A Vendetta in the West”; and it is consolatory toremember that these reamsarenowall ashes, andhavebeen received againintothesoil.Ihavenamedbutafewofmyill-fatedefforts,onlysuchindeedascametoafairbulkeretheyweredesistedfrom;andevensotheycoveralongvistaofyears.“Rathillet”wasattemptedbeforefifteen,“TheVendetta”attwenty-nine, and the succession of defeats lasted unbroken till Iwas thirty-one.BythattimeIhadwrittenlittlebooksandlittleessaysandshortstories;andhadgotpattedonthebackandpaidforthem—thoughnotenoughtoliveupon.Ihadquiteareputation,Iwasthesuccessfulman;Ipassedmydaysintoil, the futility ofwhichwould sometimesmakemy cheek to burn—that Ishould spend a man’s energy upon this business, and yet could not earn alivelihood: and still there shone aheadofmeanunattained ideal: although Ihadattemptedthethingwithvigournotlessthantenortwelvetimes,Ihadnotyetwrittenanovel.All—allmyprettyones—hadgone fora little,and thenstopped inexorably like a schoolboy’s watch. I might be compared to acricketer of many years’ standing who should never have made a run.Anybodycanwriteashortstory—abadone,Imean—whohasindustryandpaperandtimeenough;butnoteveryonemayhopetowriteevenabadnovel.Itisthelengththatkills.Theacceptednovelistmaytakehisnovelupandputit down, spenddaysupon it in vain, andwrite not anymore thanhemakeshastetoblot.Notsothebeginner.Humannaturehascertainrights;instinct—theinstinctofself-preservation—forbidsthatanyman(cheeredandsupported

by the consciousness of no previous victory) should endure themiseries ofunsuccessful literary toil beyond a period to be measured in weeks. Theremustbesomethingforhopetofeedupon.Thebeginnermusthaveaslantofwind,aluckyveinmustberunning,hemustbeinoneofthosehourswhenthewords come and the phrases balance of themselves—even to begin. Andhaving begun, what a dread looking forward is that until the book shall beaccomplished!Forsolongatimetheslantistocontinueunchanged,theveinto keep running, for so long a time you must keep at command the samequalityofstyle:forsolongatimeyourpuppetsaretobealwaysvital,alwaysconsistent, alwaysvigorous! I remember Iused to look, in thosedays,uponeverythree-volumenovelwithasortofveneration,asafeat—not,possibly,ofliterature—but at least of physical andmoral endurance and the courage ofAjax.InthefatedyearIcametolivewithmyfatherandmotheratKinnaird,abovePitlochry.ThenIwalkedontheredmoorsandbythesideofthegoldenburn;therude,pureairofourmountainsinspirited,ifitdidnotinspire,us,andmywifeandIprojectedajointvolumeofbogeystories,forwhichshewrote“TheShadowontheBed,”andIturnedout“ThrawnJanet”andafirstdraftof“TheMerryMen.”Ilovemynativeair,butitdoesnotloveme;andtheendofthisdelightfulperiodwasacold,a fly-blisterandamigrationbyStrathardleandGlensheetotheCastletonofBraemar.Thereitblewagooddealandrainedina proportion; my native air wasmore unkind thanman’s ingratitude, and Imustconsent topassagooddealofmy timebetween fourwalls inahouselugubriouslyknownastheLateMissMGregor’sCottage.Andnowadmirethefingerofpredestination.Therewasaschoolboy in theLateMissMGregor’sCottage,homefromtheholidays,andmuchinwantof“somethingcraggytobreak his mind upon.” He had no thought of literature; it was the art ofRaphael that receivedhis fleetingsuffrages;andwith theaidofpenand inkandashillingboxofwatercolours,hehadsoonturnedoneoftheroomsintoapicture-gallery. My more immediate duty towards the gallery was to beshowman;butIwouldsometimesunbendalittle,jointheartist(sotospeak)atthe easel, andpass the afternoonwithhim in a generous emulation,makingcoloureddrawings.Ononeoftheseoccasions,Imadethemapofanisland;itwaselaboratelyand(I thought)beautifullycoloured;theshapeofit tookmyfancybeyondexpression; itcontainedharbours thatpleasedmelikesonnets;and,with theunconsciousnessof thepredestined, I ticketedmyperformance“TreasureIsland.” Iamtold therearepeoplewhodonotcare formaps,andfindithardtobelieve.Thenames,theshapesofthewoodlands,thecoursesoftheroadsandrivers, theprehistoricfootstepsofmanstilldistinctly traceableup hill and down dale, the mills and the ruins, the ponds and the ferries,perhaps the Standing Stone or the Druidic Circle on the heath; here is aninexhaustiblefundofinterestforanymanwitheyestoseeortwopence-worth

of imagination to understand with! No child but must remember laying hishead in the grass, staring into the infinitesimal forest and seeing it growpopulouswithfairyarmies.Somewhatinthisway,asIpauseduponmymapof “Treasure Island,” the future character of the bookbegan to appear therevisibly among imaginarywoods; and their brown faces and brightweaponspeeped out upon me from unexpected quarters, as they passed to and fro,fightingandhuntingtreasure,onthesefewsquareinchesofaflatprojection.ThenextthingIknewIhadsomepapersbeforemeandwaswritingoutalistof chapters. How often have I done so, and the thing gone on further! Butthereseemedelementsofsuccessaboutthisenterprise.Itwastobeastoryforboys:noneedofpsychologyorfinewriting;andIhadaboyathandtobeatouchstone.Womenwereexcluded.Iwasunabletohandleabrig(whichtheHispaniolashouldhavebeen),butIthoughtIcouldmakeshifttosailherasaschoonerwithoutpublicshame.AndthenIhadanideaforJohnSilverfromwhichIpromisedmyselffundsofentertainment:totakeanadmiredfriendofmine (whom the readervery likelyknowsand admires asmuchas I do), todeprive him of all his finer qualities and higher graces of temperament, toleave himwith nothing but his strength, his courage, his quickness, and hismagnificentgeniality,and to try toexpress these in termsof thecultureofarawtarpaulin.Suchpsychicalsurgeryis, I think,acommonwayof“makingcharacter”;perhapsitis,indeed,theonlyway.Wecanputinthequaintfigurethatspokeahundredwordswithusyesterdaybythewayside;butdoweknowhim?Ourfriendwithhisinfinitevarietyandflexibility,weknow—butcanweputhimin?Uponthefirst,wemustengraftsecondaryandimaginaryqualities,possibly all wrong; from the second, knife in hand, wemust cut away anddeduct the needless arborescence of his nature, but the trunk and the fewbranchesthatremainwemayatleastbefairlysureof.On a chill September morning, by the cheek of a brisk fire, and the raindrummingonthewindow,Ibegan“TheSeaCook,”forthatwastheoriginaltitle. I have begun (and finished) a number of other books, but I cannotremembertohavesatdowntooneofthemwithmorecomplacency.Itisnottobewondered at, for stolenwaters are proverbially sweet. I am now upon apainful chapter.Nodoubt theparrotoncebelonged toRobinsonCrusoe.NodoubttheskeletonisconveyedfromPoe.Ithinklittleofthese,theyaretriflesanddetails;andnomancanhopetohaveamonopolyofskeletonsormakeacornerintalkingbirds.Thestockade,Iamtold,isfrom“MastermanReady.”Itmaybe,Icarenotajot.Theseusefulwritershadfulfilledthepoet’ssaying:departing, they had left behind them Footprints on the sands of time,Footprints which perhaps another—and I was the other! It is my debt toWashington Irving that exercisesmyconscience, and justly so, for I believeplagiarism was rarely carried further. I chanced to pick up the “Tales of aTraveller”someyearsagowithaviewtoananthologyofprosenarrative,and

thebook flewupand struckme:BillyBones,his chest, thecompany in theparlour, thewhole inner spirit, and a gooddeal of thematerial detail ofmyfirstchapters—allwerethere,allwerethepropertyofWashingtonIrving.ButIhadnoguessof it thenasIsatwritingby thefireside, inwhatseemedthespring-tides of a somewhat pedestrian inspiration; nor yet day by day, afterlunch, as I read aloud my morning’s work to the family. It seemed to meoriginalassin;itseemedtobelongtomelikemyrighteye.Ihadcountedononeboy,IfoundIhadtwoinmyaudience.Myfathercaughtfireatoncewithall the romanceandchildishnessofhisoriginalnature.Hisownstories, thatevery night of his life he put himself to sleep with, dealt perpetually withships,roadsideinns,robbers,oldsailors,andcommercialtravellersbeforetheeraofsteam.Heneverfinishedoneoftheseromances;theluckymandidnotrequire to finish them! But in “Treasure Island” he recognised somethingkindredtohisownimagination;itwashiskindofpicturesque;andhenotonlyheard with delight the daily chapter, but set himself acting to collaborate.When the time came forBillyBones’s chest to be ransacked, hemust havepassedthebetterpartofadaypreparing,onthebackofalegalenvelope,aninventoryof itscontents,which Iexactly followed;and thenameof“Flint’sold ship”—theWalrus—was given at his particular request. And now whoshouldcomedroppingin,exmachinâ,butDr.Japp,likethedisguisedprincewhoistobringdownthecurtainuponpeaceandhappinessinthelastact;forhe carried inhis pocket, not a hornor a talisman, but a publisher.Even theruthlessness of a united family recoiled before the extreme measure ofinflictingonourguestthemutilatedmembersof“TheSeaCook”;atthesametime,wewouldbynomeansstopourreadings;andaccordinglythetalewasbegunagainatthebeginning,andsolemnlyre-deliveredforthebenefitofDr.Japp.Fromthatmomenton, Ihave thoughthighlyofhiscritical faculty; forwhenheleftushecarriedawaythemanuscriptinhisportmanteautosubmittohis friend (since then my own) Mr. Henderson, who accepted it for hisperiodical,YoungFolks.Here,then,waseverythingtokeepmeup,sympathy,help,andnowapositiveengagement. I had chosen besides a very easy style. Compare it with thealmostcontemporary“MerryMen”;onereadermayprefertheonestyle,onetheother—’tisanaffairofcharacter,perhapsofmood;butnoexpertcanfailtoseethattheoneismuchmoredifficult,andtheothermucheasiertomaintain.It seemsas thougha full-grownexperiencedmanof lettersmight engage toturnout“Treasure Island”at somanypagesaday,andkeephispipealight.Butalas!thiswasnotmycase.FifteendaysIstucktoit,andturnedoutfifteenchapters;andthen,intheearlyparagraphsofthesixteenth,ignominiouslylosthold.Mymouthwasempty; therewasnotonewordof“Treasure Island” inmybosom;andherewere theproofsof thebeginningalreadywaitingmeatthe“HandandSpear”!ThenIcorrectedthem,livingforthemostpartalone,

walking on the heath atWeybridge in dewy autumnmornings, a good dealpleasedwithwhatIhaddone,andmoreappalledthanIcandepict toyouinwords atwhat remained forme todo. Iwas thirty-one; Iwas theheadof afamily; I had lostmy health; I had never yet paidmyway, never yetmade£200ayear;myfatherhadquite recentlyboughtbackandcancelledabookthatwasjudgedafailure:wasthistobeanotherandlastfiasco?Iwasindeedvery close on despair; but I shutmymouth hard, and during the journey toDavos,where Iwas to pass thewinter, had the resolution to think of otherthings and bury myself in the novels of M. du Boisgobey. Arrived at mydestination, down I sat one morning to the unfinished tale; and behold! itflowedfrommelikesmall-talk;andinasecondtideofdelightedindustry,andagainattherateofachapteraday,Ifinished“TreasureIsland.”Ithadtobetranscribedalmostexactly;mywifewasill;theschoolboyremainedaloneofthefaithful;andJohnAddingtonSymonds(towhomItimidlymentionedwhatIwas engaged on) looked onme askance.Hewas at that time very eager Ishould write on the characters of Theophrastus: so far out may be thejudgments of the wisest men. But Symonds (to be sure) was scarce theconfidanttogotoforsympathyonaboy’sstory.Hewaslarge-minded;“afullman,”iftherewasone;buttheverynameofmyenterprisewouldsuggesttohimonlycapitulationsofsincerityandsolecismsofstyle.Well!hewasnotfarwrong.“TreasureIsland”—itwasMr.Hendersonwhodeletedthefirsttitle,“TheSeaCook”—appeared duly in the story paper, where it figured in the ignoblemidst,withoutwoodcuts,andattractednottheleastattention.Ididnotcare.Iliked the tale myself, for much the same reason as my father liked thebeginning; it was my kind of picturesque. I was not a little proud of JohnSilver, also; and to this day rather admire that smooth and formidableadventurer.Whatwasinfinitelymoreexhilarating,Ihadpassedalandmark;Ihadfinishedatale,andwritten“TheEnd”uponmymanuscript,asIhadnotdone since “The Pentland Rising,” when I was a boy of sixteen not yet atcollege.Intruthitwassobyasetofluckyaccidents;hadnotDr.Jappcomeonhisvisit,hadnotthetaleflowedfrommewithsingularease,itmusthavebeen laid aside like itspredecessors, and founda circuitous andunlamentedwaytothefire.Puristsmaysuggestitwouldhavebeenbetterso.Iamnotofthatmind.Thetaleseemstohavegivenmuchpleasure,anditbrought(orwasthemeansofbringing)fireandfoodandwinetoadeservingfamilyinwhichItookaninterest.IneedscarcelysayImeanmyown.But the adventures of “Treasure Island” are not yet quite at an end. I hadwrittenituptothemap.Themapwasthechiefpartofmyplot.Forinstance,Ihadcalledanislet“SkeletonIsland,”notknowingwhatImeant,seekingonlyfortheimmediatepicturesque,anditwastojustifythisnamethatIbrokeintothegalleryofMr.PoeandstoleFlint’spointer.Andin thesameway, itwas

because I had made two harbours that the Hispaniola was sent on herwanderings with Israel Hands. The time came when it was decided torepublish,andIsentinmymanuscript,andthemapalongwithit,toMessrs.Cassell.Theproofscame,theywerecorrected,butIheardnothingofthemap.Iwroteandasked;wastoldithadneverbeenreceived,andsataghast.Itisonethingtodrawamapatrandom,setascaleinonecornerofitataventure,andwriteupastorytothemeasurements.Itisquiteanothertohavetoexamineawholebook,makeaninventoryofalltheallusionscontainedinit,andwithapairofcompasses,painfullydesignamaptosuitthedata.Ididit;andthemapwasdrawnagaininmyfather’soffice,withembellishmentsofblowingwhalesandsailingships,andmyfatherhimselfbroughtintoserviceaknackhehadofvariouswriting,andelaboratelyforgedthesignatureofCaptainFlint,andthesailingdirectionsofBillyBones.ButsomehowitwasneverTreasureIslandtome.Ihave said themapwas themostof theplot. Imight almost say itwas thewhole.AfewreminiscencesofPoe,Defoe,andWashingtonIrving,acopyofJohnson’s“Buccaneers,”thenameoftheDeadMan’sChestfromKingsley’s“AtLast,”somerecollectionsofcanoeingonthehighseas,andthemapitself,withitsinfinite,eloquentsuggestion,madeupthewholeofmymaterials.Itis,perhaps, not often that a map figures so largely in a tale, yet it is alwaysimportant.Theauthormustknowhiscountryside,whetherrealorimaginary,likehishand;thedistances, thepointsofthecompass, theplaceofthesun’srising, the behaviour of the moon, should all be beyond cavil. And howtroublesomethemoonis!Ihavecometogriefoverthemoonin“PrinceOtto,”and, so soon as that was pointed out to me, adopted a precaution which Irecommend to othermen—I never write nowwithout an almanac.With analmanac and the map of the country, and the plan of every house, eitheractuallyplottedonpaperoralreadyandimmediatelyapprehendedinthemind,amanmayhopetoavoidsomeofthegrossestpossibleblunders.Withthemapbeforehim,hewillscarceallowthesuntosetintheeast,asitdoesin“TheAntiquary.”With the almanac at hand, he will scarce allow two horsemen,journeying on themost urgent affair, to employ six days, from three of theMondaymorningtilllateintheSaturdaynight,uponajourneyof,say,ninetyorahundredmiles,andbeforetheweekisout,andstillonthesamenags,tocoverfiftyinoneday,asmaybereadatlengthintheinimitablenovelof“RobRoy.” And it is certainly well, though far from necessary, to avoid such“croppers.”Butitismycontention—mysuperstition,ifyoulike—thatwhoisfaithfultohismap,andconsultsit,anddrawsfromithisinspiration,dailyandhourly,gainspositivesupport,andnotmerenegativeimmunityfromaccident.Thetalehasarootthere;itgrowsinthatsoil;ithasaspineofitsownbehindthewords.Betterifthecountrybereal,andhehaswalkedeveryfootofitandknowseverymilestone.Butevenwithimaginaryplaces,hewilldowellinthe

beginningtoprovideamap;ashestudiesit,relationswillappearthathehadnotthoughtupon;hewilldiscoverobvious,thoughunsuspected,shortcutsandfootprints forhismessengers; andevenwhenamap isnot all theplot, as itwasin“TreasureIsland,”itwillbefoundtobeamineofsuggestion.

XIITHEGENESISOF“THEMASTEROFBALLANTRAE”

IWASwalkingonenight in theverandahofasmallhouse inwhichI lived,outsidethehamletofSaranac.Itwaswinter;thenightwasverydark;theairextraordinaryclearandcold,andsweetwiththepurityofforests.Fromagoodwaybelow,theriverwastobeheardcontendingwithiceandboulders:afewlightsappeared,scatteredunevenlyamongthedarkness,butsofarawayasnotto lessen the sense of isolation. For the making of a story here were fineconditions. Iwas besidesmovedwith the spirit of emulation, for I had justfinishedmythirdorfourthperusalof“ThePhantomShip.”“Come,”saidItomyengine,“letusmakeatale,astoryofmanyyearsandcountries,oftheseaandtheland,savagery,andcivilisation;astorythatshallhavethesamelargefeatures,andmaybetreatedinthesamesummaryellipticmethodasthebookyouhavebeenreadingandadmiring.”Iwasherebroughtupwithareflectionexceedinglyjustinitself,butwhich,asthesequelshows,Ifailedtoprofitby.Isaw that Marryat, not less than Homer, Milton, and Virgil, profited by thechoiceofafamiliarandlegendarysubject;sothathepreparedhisreadersonthevery title-page;and thissetmecudgellingmybrains, ifbyanychance Icouldhituponsomesimilarbelieftobethecentre-pieceofmyownmeditatedfiction. In the course of this vain search there cropped up inmymemory asingularcaseofaburiedandresuscitatedfakir,whichIhadbeenoftentoldbyanuncleofmine,thenlatelydead,Inspector-GeneralJohnBalfour.Onsuchafinefrostynight,withnowindandthethermometerbelowzero,thebrain works with much vivacity; and the next moment I had seen thecircumstance transplanted from India and the tropics to the Adirondackwilderness and the stringent cold of theCanadian border.Here then, almostbeforeIhadbegunmystory,Ihadtwocountries,twooftheendsoftheearthinvolved:andthusthoughthenotionoftheresuscitatedmanfailedentirelyonthescoreofgeneralacceptation,oreven(asIhavesincefound)acceptability,itfittedatoncewithmydesignofataleofmanylands;andthisdecidedmetoconsider furtherof itspossibilities.Themanwhoshould thusbeburiedwasthe first question: a goodman,whose return to lifewould be hailed by thereader and the other characters with gladness? This trenched upon theChristianpictureandwasdismissed.Iftheidea,then,wastobeofanyuseat

allforme,Ihadtocreateakindofevilgeniustohisfriendsandfamily,takehimthroughmanydisappearances,andmakethisfinalrestorationfromthepitof death, in the icy American wilderness, the last and the grimmest of theseries. I need not tell my brothers of the craft that I was now in the mostinterestingmomentofanauthor’slife;thehoursthatfollowedthatnightuponthe balcony, and the following nights and days, whether walking abroad orlyingwakeful inmybed,werehours of unadulterated joy.Mymother,whowasthenlivingwithmealone,perhapshadlessenjoyment;for,intheabsenceofmywife,whoismyusualhelperinthesetimesofparturition,Imustspurherupatallseasonstohearmerelateandtrytoclarifymyunformedfancies.Andwhile I was groping for the fable and the character required, behold Ifoundthemlyingreadyandnineyearsoldinmymemory.Peaseporridgehot,peaseporridgecold,peaseporridgeinthepot,nineyearsold.Wasthereeveramore complete justification of the rule of Horace? Here, thinking of quiteotherthings,IhadstumbledonthesolutionorperhapsIshouldrathersay(instagewright phrase) the Curtain or final Tableau of a story conceived longbeforeonthemoorsbetweenPitlochryandStrathardle,conceivedinHighlandrain,intheblendofthesmellofheatherandbog-plants,andwithamindfullof theAtholecorrespondenceand thememoriesof thedumlicideJustice.Solongago,sofarawayitwas,thatIhadfirstevokedthefacesandthemutualtragicsituationofthemenofDurrisdeer.Mystorywasnowworld-wideenough:Scotland,India,andAmericabeingallobligatoryscenes.ButoftheseIndiawasstrangetomeexceptinbooks;IhadneverknownanylivingIndiansaveaParsee,amemberofmyclubinLondon,equally civilised, and (to all seeing) equallyOccidentalwithmyself. It wasplain,thusfar,thatIshouldhavetogetintoIndiaandoutofitagainuponafootoffairylightness;andIbelievethisfirstsuggestedtometheideaoftheChevalier Burke for a narrator. It was at first intended that he should beScottish,andIwasthenfilledwithfearsthathemightproveonlythedegradedshadowofmyownAlanBreck.Presently,however,itbegantooccurtomeitwouldbelikemyMastertocurryfavourwiththePrince’sIrishmen;andthatanIrishrefugeewouldhaveaparticular reason to findhimself in Indiawithhiscountryman,theunfortunateLally.Irish,therefore,Idecidedheshouldbe,and then, all of a sudden, Iwas awareof a tall shadowacrossmypath, theshadow of Barry Lyndon. Noman (in Lord Foppington’s phrase) of a nicemoralitycouldgoverydeepwithmyMaster:intheoriginalideaofthisstoryconceivedinScotland,thiscompanionhadbeenbesidesintendedtobeworsethan the bad elder son with whom (as it was then meant) he was to visitScotland; if I tookanIrishman,andaverybadIrishman, in themidstof theeighteenthcentury,howwas I toevadeBarryLyndon?Thewretchbesiegedme,offeringhisservices;hegavemeexcellentreferences;heprovedthathewashighlyfittedfortheworkIhadtodo;he,ormyownevilheart,suggested

itwaseasytodisguisehisancientliverywithalittlelaceandafewfrogsandbuttons,sothatThackerayhimselfshouldhardlyrecognisehim.Andthenofasudden there came tomememories of a young Irishman,withwhom Iwasonceintimate,andhadspentlongnightswalkingandtalkingwith,uponaverydesolatecoastinableakautumn:Irecalledhimasayouthofanextraordinarymoralsimplicity—almostvacancy;plastictoanyinfluence,thecreatureofhisadmirations:andputtingsuchayouthinfancyintothecareerofasoldieroffortune,itoccurredtomethathewouldservemyturnaswellasMr.Lyndon,and, in place of entering into competition with theMaster, would afford aslightthoughadistinctrelief.IknownotifIhavedonehimwell,thoughhismoral dissertations always highly entertained me: but I own I have beensurprisedtofindthatheremindedsomecriticsofBarryLyndonafterall....

XIIIRANDOMMEMORIES:ROSAQUOLOCORUM

THROUGH what little channels, by what hints and premonitions, theconsciousnessoftheman’sartdawnsfirstuponthechild,itshouldbenotonlyinteresting but instructive to inquire. A matter of curiosity to-day, it willbecomethegroundofscienceto-morrow.Fromthemindofchildhoodthereismorehistory andmore philosophy to be fishedup than fromall the printedvolumesinalibrary.Thechildisconsciousofaninterest,notinliteraturebutin life.A taste for theprecise, theadroitor thecomely in theuseofwords,comes late; but long before that he has enjoyed in books a delightful dressrehearsal of experience.He is first conscious of thismaterial—I had almostsaid thispractical—pre-occupation; itdoesnot follow that it reallycame thefirst. Ihave someold foggednegatives inmycollection thatwould seem toimply a prior stage. “The Lord is gone up with a shout, and Godwith thesoundofatrumpet”—memorialversion,Iknownotwheretofindthetext—ringsstill inmyearfrommyfirstchildhood,andperhapswithsomethingofmynurse’saccent.Therewaspossiblysomesortofimagewritteninmymindby these loud words, but I believe the words themselves were what Icherished.Ihadabout thesametime,andunder thesameinfluence—thatofmydearnurse—afavouriteauthor: it ispossible the readerhasnotheardofhim—theRev.RobertMurrayM’Cheyne.MynurseandIadmiredhisnameexceedingly, so that I must have been taught the love of beautiful soundsbeforeIwasbreeched;andIremembertwospecimensofhismuseuntil thisday:—

Thereisimageryhere,andIsetitononeside.Theother—itisbutaverse—

not only contains no image, but is quite unintelligible even to mycomparatively instructed mind, and I know not even how to spell theoutlandishvocablethatcharmedmeinmychildhood:34Imaysay,withoutflippancy,thathewasnothingtomeeither,sinceIhadno ray of a guess ofwhat hewas about; yet the verse, from then to now, alongerintervalthanthelifeofageneration,hascontinuedtohauntme.IhavesaidthatIshouldsetapassagedistinguishedbyobviousandpleasingimagery,however faint; for thechild thinksmuch in images,wordsareverylive to him, phrases that imply a picture eloquent beyond their value.Rummaginginthedustypigeon-holesofmemory,IcameonceuponagraphicversionofthefamousPsalm,“TheLordismyShepherd”:andfromtheplacesemployedinitsillustration,whichareallintheimmediateneighbourhoodofahousethenoccupiedbymyfather,Iamabletodateitbeforetheseventhyearofmyage,althoughitwasprobablyearlierinfact.The“pasturesgreen”wererepresentedbyacertainsuburbanstubble-field,whereIhadoncewalkedwithmynurse,underanautumnalsunset,onthebanksof theWaterofLeith: theplaceislongagobuiltup;nopasturesnow,nostubble-fields;onlyamazeoflittle streets and smoking chimneys and shrill children. Here, in the fleecypersonofasheep,Iseemedtomyselftofollowsomethingunseen,unrealised,andyetbenignant;andclosebythesheepinwhichIwasincarnated—asifforgreater security—rustled the skirts of my nurse. “Death’s dark vale” was acertainarchwayintheWarristonCemetery:aformidableyetbelovedspot,forchildrenlovetobeafraid,—inmeasureastheyloveallexperienceofvitality.HereIbeheldmyselfsomepacesahead(seeingmyself,Imean,frombehind)utterlyalone in thatuncannypassage:on theonesideofmea rude,knobbyshepherd’sstaff,suchascheerstheheartofthecockneytourist,ontheotherarodlikeabilliardcue,appearedtoaccompanymyprogress:thestaffsturdilyupright, thebilliardcue inclinedconfidentially, likeonewhispering, towardsmyear. Iwas aware—Iwill never tell youhow—that the presenceof thesearticles afforded me encouragement. The third and last of my picturesillustratedthewords:—

andthiswasperhapsthemostinterestingoftheseries.Isawmyselfseatedinakindofopenstonesummer-houseattable;overmyshoulderahairy,bearded,and robed presence anointedme from an authentic shoe-horn; the summer-housewaspartofthegreencourtofaruin,andfromthefarsideofthecourtblack andwhite imps discharged againstme ineffectual arrows. The pictureappears arbitrary, but I can trace every detail to its source, as Mr. Brockanalysed the dream of Alan Armadale. The summer-house and court weremuddled together out of Billings’ “Antiquities of Scotland”; the impsconveyed fromBagster’s “Pilgrim’sProgress”; thebeardedand robed figure

fromanyoneofathousandBiblepictures;andtheshoe-hornwasplagiarisedfromanoldillustratedBible,whereitfiguredinthehandofSamuelanointingSaul,andhadbeenpointedouttomeasajestbymyfather.Itwasshownmefor a jest, remark; but the serious spirit of infancy adopted it in earnest.Children are all classics; a bottle would have seemed an intermediary tootrivial—thatdivinerefreshmentofwhosemeaningIhadnoguess;andIseizedon the idea of that mystic shoe-horn with delight, even as, a little later, Ishouldhavewritten flagon,chalice,hanaper,beaker,oranyword thatmighthave appealed to me at the moment as least contaminate with meanassociations. In thisstringofpictures Ibelieve thegistof thepsalm tohaveconsisted; I believe it had no more to say to me; and the result wasconsolatory.Iwouldgotosleepdwellingwithrestfulnessupontheseimages;they passed before me, besides, to an appropriate music; for I had alreadysingled out from that rude psalm the one lovely verse which dwells in theminds of all, not growing old, not disgraced by its association with longSunday tasks, a scarce conscious joy in childhood, in age a companionthought:—

Theremainderofmychildishrecollectionsareallof thematterofwhatwasread tome,andnotofanymanner in thewords. If thesepleasedme, itwasunconsciously;IlistenedfornewsofthegreatvacantworlduponwhoseedgeI stood; I listened for delightful plots that I might re-enact in play, andromanticscenesandcircumstancesthatImightcallupbeforeme,withclosedeyes,when Iwas tired of Scotland, and home and thatweary prison of thesick-chamberinwhichIlaysolongindurance.“RobinsonCrusoe”;someofthebooksofthatcheerful,ingenious,romanticsoul,MayneReid;andaworkrather gruesome and bloody for a child, but very picturesque, called “PaulBlake”; these are the three strongest impressions I remember: “The SwissFamilyRobinson”camenext,longointervallo.AttheseIplayed,conjureduptheirscenes,anddelightedtohearthemrehearseduntoseventytimesseven.Iamnotsurebutwhat“PaulBlake”cameafterIcouldread.Itseemsconnectedwithavisittothecountry,andanexperienceunforgettable.Thedayhadbeenwarm; H—— and I had played together charmingly all day in a sandywildernessacrosstheroad;thencametheeveningwithagreatflashofcolourandaheavenlysweetnessintheair.Somehowmyplaymatehadvanished,orisoutofthestory,asthesagassay,butIwassentintothevillageonanerrand;and,takingabookoffairytales,wentdownalonethroughafir-wood,readingasIwalked.Howoftensincethenhasitbefallenmetobehappyevenso;butthatwasthefirsttime:theshockofthatpleasureIhaveneversinceforgot,andifmymindservesmeto the last, Inevershall, for itwas then that IknewIlovedreading.

Topassfromhearing literature toreading it is to takeagreatanddangerousstep.Withnotafew,Ithinkalargeproportionoftheirpleasurethencomestoanend;“themaladyofnotmarking”overtakesthem;theyreadthenceforwardbytheeyealoneandhearneveragainthechimeoffairwordsorthemarchofthestatelyperiod.Nonragioniamofthese.Buttoallthestepisdangerous;itinvolvescomingofage; it is evenakindof secondweaning. In thepast allwasatthechoiceofothers;theychose,theydigested,theyreadaloudforusand sang to their own tune the books of childhood. In the futurewe are toapproach thesilent, inexpressive typealone, likepioneers;and thechoiceofwhatweare to read is inourownhands thenceforward.For instance, in thepassagesalreadyadduced,Idetectandapplaudtheearofmyoldnurse;theywereofherchoice,andsheimposedthemonmyinfancy,readingtheworksofothers as apoetwould scarcedare to readhisown;gloatingon the rhythm,dwellingwith delight on assonances and alliterations. I know verywellmymothermust have been all thewhile trying to educatemy taste uponmoresecular authors; but the vigour and the continual opportunities ofmy nursetriumphed,andafteralongsearch,Icanfindintheseearliestvolumesofmyautobiographynomentionofanythingbutnurseryrhymes,theBible,andMr.M’Cheyne.I suppose all children agree in looking back with delight on their schoolReaders.Wemightnotnowfindsomuchpathosin“BingenontheRhine,”“AsoldieroftheLegionlaydyinginAlgiers,”orin“TheSoldier’sFuneral,”inthe declamation of which I was held to have surpassed myself. “Robert’svoice,” said the master on this memorable occasion, “is not strong, butimpressive”:anopinionwhichIwasfoolenoughtocarryhometomyfather;who roasted me for years in consequence. I am sure one should not be sodeliciouslytickledbythehumorouspieces:—

I think this quip would leave us cold. The “Isles of Greece” seem rathertawdrytoo;butonthe“AddresstotheOcean,”oron“TheDyingGladiator,”“timehaswritnowrinkle.”

does the reader recall themomentwhenhiseye first fellupon these lines intheFourthReader;and“surprisedwithjoy,impatientasthewind,”heplungedintothesequel?Andtherewasanotherpiece,thistimeinprose,whichnonecan have forgotten;many likememust have searchedDickenswith zeal tofind it again, and in its proper context, and have perhaps been conscious ofsome inconsiderablemeasureofdisappointment, that itwasonlyTomPinchwhodrove,insuchapompofpoetry,toLondon.ButintheReaderwearestillunderguides.Whataboyturnsoutforhimself,as he rummages the bookshelves, is the real test and pleasure.My father’s

library was a spot of some austerity: the proceedings of learned societies,someLatindivinity,cyclopædias,physicalscience,and,aboveall,optics,heldthe chief place upon the shelves, and it was only in holes and corners thatanythingreallylegibleexistedasbyaccident.The“Parent’sAssistant,”“RobRoy,” “Waverley,” and “Guy Mannering,” the “Voyages of Captain WoodsRogers,”Fuller’s andBunyan’s “HolyWars,” “TheReflectionsofRobinsonCrusoe,”“TheFemaleBluebeard,”G.Sand’s“MareauDiable”—(howcameit in that grave assembly!), Ainsworth’s “Tower of London,” and four oldvolumes of Punch—these were the chief exceptions. In these latter, whichmadeforyearsthechiefofmydiet,Iveryearlyfellinlove(almostassoonasIcouldspell)withtheSnobPapers.Iknewthemalmostbyheart,particularlythe visit to the Pontos; and I remember my surprise when I found, longafterwards,thattheywerefamous,andsignedwithafamousname;tome,asIreadandadmiredthem,theyweretheworksofMr.Punch.TimeandagainItried to read “Rob Roy,” with whom of course I was acquainted from the“Tales of aGrandfather”; time and again the early part,withRashleigh and(thinkof it!) theadorableDiana,chokedmeoff;andIshallneverforget thepleasure and surprisewithwhich, lying on the floor one summer evening, IstruckofasuddenintothefirstscenewithAndrewFairservice.“TheworthyDr.Lightfoot”—“mistrystedwithabogle”—“awheengreen trash”—“Jenny,lass, I think I ha’e her”: from that day to this the phrases have beenunforgotten.Ireadon,Ineedscarcesay;IcametoGlasgow,IbidedtrystonGlasgow Bridge, I met Rob Roy and the Bailie in the Tolbooth, all withtransportingpleasure;andthenthecloudsgatheredoncemoreaboutmypath;and I dozed and skipped until I stumbled half asleep into the clachan ofAberfoyle, and the voices of Iverach and Galbraith recalled me to myself.WiththatsceneandthedefeatofCaptainThorntonthebookconcluded;Helenand her sons shocked even the little schoolboy of nine or ten with theirunreality; I read nomore, or I did not graspwhat Iwas reading; and yearselapsedbeforeIconsciouslymetDianaandherfatheramongthehills,orsawRashleighdyinginthechair.WhenIthinkofthatnovelandthatevening,Iamimpatientwithallothers; theyseembutshadowsandimpostors; theycannotsatisfytheappetitewhichthisawakened;andIdarebeknowntothinkitthebestofSirWalter’sbynearlyasmuchasSirWalter is thebestofnovelists.PerhapsMr.Langisright,andourfirstfriendsinthelandoffictionarealwaysthemostreal.AndyetIhadreadbeforethis“GuyMannering,”andsomeof“Waverley,” with no such delighted sense of truth and humour, and I readimmediately after the greater part of the Waverley Novels, and was nevermoved again in the same way or to the same degree. One circumstance issuspicious:mycriticalestimateoftheWaverleyNovelshasscarcechangedatall since I was ten. “RobRoy,” “GuyMannering,” and “Redgauntlet” first;then,alittlelower,“TheFortunesofNigel”;then,afterahugegulf,“Ivanhoe”

and“AnneofGeierstein”:therestnowhere;suchwastheverdictoftheboy.Since then “The Antiquary,” “St. Ronan’s Well,” “Kenilworth,” and “TheHeartofMidlothian”havegoneupinthescale;perhaps“Ivanhoe”and“AnneofGeierstein”havegonea trifledown;DianaVernonhasbeenadded tomyadmirationsinthatenchantedworldof“RobRoy”;Ithinkmoreofthelettersin“Redgauntlet”andPeterPeebles,thatdreadfulpieceofrealism,Icannowreadaboutwithequanimity,interest,andIhadalmostsaidpleasure,whiletothechildishcriticheoftencausedunmixeddistress.Buttherestisthesame;Icouldnotfinish“ThePirate”whenIwasachild,Ihaveneverfinishedityet;“Peveril of the Peak” dropped halfway through frommy schoolboy hands,andthoughIhavesincewadedtoanendinakindofwagerwithmyself,theexercisewasquitewithoutenjoyment.Thereissomethingdisquietingintheseconsiderations. I still think thevisit toPonto’s thebestpartof the“BookofSnobs”:does thatmeanthatIwasrightwhenIwasachild,ordoes itmeanthatIhavenevergrownsincethen,thatthechildisnottheman’sfather,buttheman?and that Icame into theworldwithallmyfacultiescomplete,andhaveonlylearnedsinsynetobemoretolerantofboredom?...

XIVREFLECTIONSANDREMARKSONHUMANLIFE

I. JUSTICE AND JUSTIFICATION.—(1) It is the business of this life tomake excuses for others, but none for ourselves. We should be clearlypersuadedofourownmisconduct,forthatisthepartofknowledgeinwhichwearemostapttobedefective.(2)Evenjusticeisnorightofaman’sown,but a thing, like the king’s tribute, which shall never be his, but which heshouldstrivetoseerenderedtoanother.Nonewaseverjusttome;noneeverwillbe.Youmayreasonablyaspire tobechiefministerorsovereignpontiff:but not tobe justly regarded inyourowncharacter and acts.Youknow toomuch to be satisfied. For justice is but an earthly currency, paid toappearances;youmayseeanothersuperficiallyrighted;butbesurehehasgottoolittleortoomuch;andinyourowncaserestcontentwithwhatispaidyou.Itismorejustthanyousuppose;thatyourvirtuesaremisunderstoodisapriceyou pay to keep your meannesses concealed. (3)When you seek to justifyyourselftoothers,youmaybesureyouwillpleadfalsely.Ifyoufail,youhavetheshameofthefailure; ifyousucceed,youwillhavemadetoomuchof it,andbeunjustlyesteemedupontheotherside.(4)Youhaveperhapsonlyonefriendintheworld,inwhoseesteemitisworthwhileforyoutorightyourself.Justification to indifferent persons is, at best, an impertinent intrusion. Letthemthinkwhattheyplease;theywillbethemorelikelytoforgiveyouinthe

end.(5)It isaquestionhard toberesolved,whetheryoushouldatanytimecriminateanother todefendyourself. Ihavedone itmany times,andalwayshadatroubledconscienceformypains.II.PARENTANDCHILD.—(1)Theloveofparentsfortheirchildrenis,ofallnaturalaffections,themostill-starred.It isnotalovefortheperson,sinceitbeginsbeforethepersonhascomeintotheworld,andfoundsonanimaginarycharacterandlooks.Thusitisforedoomedtodisappointment;andbecausetheparenteitherlooksfortoomuch,oratleastforsomethinginappropriate,athisoffspring’s hands, it is too often insufficiently repaid. The natural bond,besides,isstrongerfromparenttochildthanfromchildtoparent;anditisthesidewhich confers benefits, notwhich receives them, that thinksmost of arelation. (2)Whatdoweoweourparents?Nomancanowe love;nonecanoweobedience.Weowe, I think,chieflypity; forweare thepledgeof theirdear and joyful union, we have been the solicitude of their days and theanxietyoftheirnights,wehavemadethem,thoughbynowillofours,tocarrytheburthenofoursins,sorrows,andphysicalinfirmities;andtoomanyofusgrowupatlengthtodisappointthepurposeoftheirlivesandrequitetheircareand pietywith cruel pangs. (3)MaterDolorosa. It is the particular cross ofparentsthatwhenthechildgrowsupandbecomeshimselfinsteadofthatpaleideal they had preconceived, they must accuse their own harshness orindulgenceforthisnaturalresult.Theyhaveallbeenliketheduckandhatchedswan’seggs,or theotherwayabout;yet they tell themselveswithmiserablepenitence that the blame lieswith them; and had they satmore closely, theswanwouldhavebeenaduck,andhome-keeping,inspiteofall.(4)Agoodson,whocanfulfilwhatisexpectedofhim,hasdonehisworkinlife.Hehastoredeemthesinsofmany,andrestoretheworld’sconfidenceinchildren.III. DIALOGUE ON CHARACTER AND DESTINY BETWEEN TWOPUPPETS.—AttheendofChapterXXXIII.CountSpadaandtheGeneralofthe Jesuitswere left alone in thepavilion,while thecourseof the storywasturned upon the doings of the virtuous hero. Profiting by this moment ofprivacy,theJesuitturnedwithaverywarningcountenanceuponthepeer.“Haveacare,mylord,”saidhe,raisingafinger.“Youarealreadynofavouritewith the author; and for my part, I begin to perceive from a thousandevidences that thenarrative isdrawingnear a close.Yet a chapteror twoatmost,andyouwillbeovertakenbysomesuddenandappallingjudgment.”“I despise yourwomanish presentiments,” replied Spada, “and count firmlyupon another volume; I see a variety of reasons why my life should beprolongedtowithinafewpagesoftheend;indeed,Ipermitmyselftoexpectresurrectioninasequel,orsecondpart.Youwillscarcesuggestthattherecanbeanyend to thenewspaper;andyouwillcertainlyneverconvinceme thattheauthor,whocannotbeentirelywithoutsense,wouldhavebeenatsogreat

pains with my intelligence, gallant exterior, and happy and natural speech,merelytokickmehitherandthitherfortwoorthreepaltrychaptersandthendrop me at the end like a dumb personage. I know you priests are ofteninfidelsinsecret.Pray,doyoubelieveinanauthoratall?”“Many do not, I am aware,” replied the General softly; “even in the lastchapterweencounteredone,theself-righteousDavidHume,whogoessofaras todoubt theexistenceof thenewspaper inwhichouradventuresarenowappearing; but itwould neither becomemy cloth, nor do credit tomygreatexperience,wereItomeddlewiththesedangerousopinions.Myalarmforyouis not metaphysical, it is moral in its origin: Youmust be aware, my poorfriend, that you are a very bad character—theworst indeed that I havemetwithinthesepages.Theauthorhatesyou,Count;anddifficultasitmaybetoconnect the idea of immortality—or, in plain terms, of a sequel—with thepaperandprinter’sinkofwhichyourhumanityismade,itisyetmoredifficultto foreseeanythingbutpunishmentandpainforonewho is justlyhateful intheeyesofhiscreator.”“You take for granted many things that I shall not easily be persuaded toallow,” replied the villain. “Do you really so far deceive yourself in yourimagination as to fancy that the author is a friend to good? Read; read thebook inwhichyou figure; andyouwill soondisownsuchcrudevulgarities.Lelio is a good character; yet only two chapters ago we left him in a finepredicament. His old servant was a model of the virtues, yet did he notmiserablyperishinthatambuscadeupontheroadtoPoitiers?Andasforthefamilyofthebankruptmerchant,howisitpossibleforgreatermoralqualitiesto be alive with more irremediable misfortunes? And yet you continue tomisrepresentanauthortoyourself,asadeitydevotedtovirtueandinimicaltovice?Pray, ifyouhavenopride inyourown intellectualcredit foryourself,spareatleastthesensibilitiesofyourassociates.”“The purposes of the serial story,” answered the Priest, “are, doubtless forsomewisereason,hiddenfromthosewhoactinit.Tothislimitationwemustbow.ButIaskeverycharactertoobservenarrowlyhisownpersonalrelationstotheauthor.There,ifnowhereelse,wemaygleansomehintofhissuperiordesigns.NowIammyselfamingledpersonage,liabletodoubts,toscruples,and to sudden revulsions of feeling; I reason continually about life, andfrequently the result ofmy reasoning is to condemn or even to changemyaction.Iamnowconvinced,forexample,thatIdidwronginjoininginyourplotagainst the innocentandmostunfortunateLelio. I toldyouso,youwillremember,inthechapterwhichhasjustbeenconcludedandthoughIdonotknowwhetheryouperceived theardourand fluencywithwhich I expressedmyself,Iamstillconfidentinmyownheart thatIspokeat thatmomentnotonlywiththewarmapproval,butunderthedirectinspiration,oftheauthorof

thetale.Iknow,Spada,ItellyouIknow,thathelovedmeasIutteredthesewords; and yet at other periods of my career I have been conscious of hisindifferenceanddislike.Youmustnotseektoreasonmefromthisconviction;foritissuppliedmefromhigherauthoritythanthatofreason,andisindeedapart of my experience. It may be an illusion that I drove last night fromSaumur; itmaybean illusion thatwearenowin thegardenchamberof thechâteau;itmaybeanillusionthatIamconversingwithCountSpada;youmaybe an illusion, Count, yourself; but of three things I will remain eternallypersuaded, that the author exists not only in the newspaper but inmy ownheart,thathelovesmewhenIdowell,andthathehatesanddespisesmewhenIdootherwise.”“I too believe in the author,” returned the Count. “I believe likewise in asequel,writteninfinerstyleandprobablycastinastillhigherrankofsocietythan the present story; although I am not convinced that we shall then beconsciousofourpre-existencehere.Somuchofyourargumentis, therefore,besidethemark;fortoacertainpointIamasorthodoxasyourself.Butwhereyou begin to draw general conclusions fromyour own private experience, Imustbegpointedlyandfinallytodiffer.Youwillnothaveforgotten,Ibelieve,mydaring and single-handed butchery of the five secretwitnesses?Nor thesleightofmindanddexterityof languagewithwhichIseparatedLelio fromthemerchant’sfamily?Thesewerenotvirtuousactions;andyet,howamItotell you? I was conscious of a troubled joy, a glee, a hellish gusto in myauthor’sbosom,whichseemedtorenewmyvigourwitheverysentence,andwhich has indeedmade the first of these passages accepted for amodel ofspiritednarrativedescription,andthesecondforamasterpieceofwickednessandwit.Whatresult,then,canbedrawnfromtwoexperiencessocontraryasyoursandmine?Formypart, I lay itdownasaprinciple,noauthorcanbemoralinamerelyhumansense.And,topursuetheargumenthigher,howcanyou,foroneinstant,supposetheexistenceoffree-will inpuppetssituatedasweare in the thickofanovelwhichwedonotevenunderstand?Andhow,withoutfree-willuponourparts,canyoujustifyblameorapprovalonthatoftheauthor?Weareinhishands;byastrokeofthepen,tospeakreverently,hemadeuswhatweare;byastrokeofthepenhecanutterlyundoandtransmutewhat he hasmade. In the very next chapter,my dearGeneral, youmay beshownupforanimpostor,orIbestrickendowninthetearsofpenitenceandhurriedintotheretirementofamonastery!”“Youuseanargumentoldasmankind,anddifficultofanswer,”saidthePriest.“Icannotjustifythefree-willofwhichIamusuallyconscious;norwillIeverseek todeny that thisconsciousness is interrupted.Sometimeseventsmountuponmewithsuchswiftnessandpressurethatmychoiceisoverwhelmed,andeven tomyself I seem to obey a will external to my own; and again I amsometimessoparalysedandimpotentbetweenalternativesthatIamtempted

toimagineahesitationonthepartofmyauthor.ButIcontend,upontheotherhand,foralimitedfree-willinthesphereofconsciousness;andasitisinandbymyconsciousnessthatIexisttomyself,Iwillnotgoontoinquirewhetherthatfree-willisvalidasagainsttheauthor,thenewspaper,oreventhereadersofthestory.AndIcontend,further,forasortofempireorindependenceofourowncharacterswhenoncecreated,whichtheauthorcannotoratleastdoesnotchoosetoviolate.HenceLeliowasconceivedupright,honest,courageous,andheadlong;tothatfirstideaallhisactsandspeechesmustofnecessitycontinueto answer; and the same, though with such different defects and qualities,appliestoyou,CountSpada,andtomyself.Wemustactuptoourcharacters;itisthesecharactersthattheauthorlovesordespises;itisonaccountofthemthatwemustsufferortriumph,whetherinthisworkorinasequel.Suchismybelief.”“ItispureCalvinisticelection,mydearsir,and,byyourleave,averyhereticalpositionforachurchmantosupport,”repliedtheCount.“NorcanIseehowitremoves thedifficulty. Iwasnotconsultedas tomycharacter; Imighthavechosen to be Lelio; Imight have chosen to be yourself; Imight even havepreferred to figure in a different romance, or not to enter into theworld ofliterature at all. And am I to be blamed or hated, because some one elsewilfullyandinhumanelymademewhatIam,andhascontinuedeversincetoencouragemeinwhatarecalledmyvices?Youmaysaywhatyouplease,mydearsir,butifthatisthecase,Ihadratherbeatelegramfromtheseatofwarthan a reasonable and conscious character in a romance; nay, and I have aperfectright torepudiate, loathe,curse,andutterlycondemntheruffianwhocallshimselftheauthor.”“Youhave,asyousay,aperfectright,”repliedtheJesuit;“andIamconvincedthatitwillnotaffecthimintheleast.”“Heshallhaveoneslave thefewerforme,”added theCount.“Idiscardmyallegianceonceforall.”“Asyouplease,”concludedtheother;“butatleastbeready,forIperceiveweareabouttoenteronthescene.”And,indeed,justatthatmoment,ChapterXXXIV.beingcompleted,ChapterXXXV.,“TheCount’sChastisement,”began toappear in thecolumnsof thenewspaper.IV. SOLITUDEAND SOCIETY.—(1) A little society is needful to show amanhisfailings;forifhelivesentirelybyhimself,hehasnooccasiontofall,andlikeasoldierintimeofpeace,becomesbothweakandvain.Butalittlesolitudemustbeused,orwegrowcontentwithcurrentvirtuesandforgettheideal.Insocietywelosescrupulousbrightnessofhonour;insolitudewelosethe courage necessary to face our own imperfections. (2) As a question of

pleasure, after amanhas reached a certain age, I canhardly perceivemuchroom to choose between them: each is in a way delightful, and each willpleasebestafteranexperienceoftheother.(3)Butsolitudeforitsownsakeshouldsurelyneverbepreferred.Weareboundbythestrongestobligationstobusyourselvesamidtheworldofmen,ifitbeonlytocrackjokes.Thefinesttrait in the character of St. Paul was his readiness to be damned for thesalvationofanybodyelse.Andsurelyweshouldallendurealittlewearinesstomakeonefacelookbrighteroronehourgomorepleasantlyinthismixedworld. (4) It is our business here to speak, for it is by the tongue that wemultiplyourselvesmost influentially.Tospeakkindly,wisely,andpleasantlyisthefirstofduties,theeasiestofduties,andthedutythatismostblessedinitsperformance.For it isnatural, itwhilesaway life, it spreads intelligence;andit increases theacquaintanceofmanwithman.(5)It is,besides,agoodinvestment,forwhileallotherpleasuresdecay,andeventhedelightinnature,GrandfatherWilliam is still bent to gossip. (6)Solitude is the climaxof thenegativevirtues.Whenwegotobedafterasolitarydaywecantellourselvesthatwehavenotbeenunkindnordishonestnoruntruthful;and thenegativevirtues are agreeable to that dangerous facultywe call the conscience. ThattheyshouldeverbeadmittedforapartofvirtueiswhatIcannotexplain.Idonotcaretwostrawsforallthenots.(7)Thepositivevirtuesareimperfect;theyare even ugly in their imperfection: for man’s acts, by the necessity of hisbeing, arecoarseandmingled.Thekindest, in thecourseof adayof activekindnesses,willsaysomethingsrudely,anddosomethingscruelly;themosthonourable,perhaps,tremblesathisnearnesstoadoubtfulact.(8)Hencethesolitaryrecoilsfromthepracticeoflife,shockedbyitsunsightlinesses.ButifIcouldonlyretainthatsuperfineandguidingdelicacyofthesensethatgrowsinsolitude,andstillcombinewithitthatcourageofperformancewhichisneverabashedbyany failure, but steadilypursues its right andhumandesign in asceneof imperfection,Imighthopetostrike in the long-runaconductmoretendertoothersandlesshumiliatingtomyself.V. SELFISHNESS AND EGOISM.—An unconscious, easy, selfish personshocks less, and is more easily loved, than one who is laboriously andegotisticallyunselfish.There is at leastno fuss about the first; but theotherparadeshissacrifices,andsosellshisfavourstoodear.Selfishnessiscalm,aforceofnature:youmightsaythetreeswereselfish.Butegoismisapieceofvanity;itmustalwaystakeyouintoitsconfidence;itisuneasy,troublesome,seeking; it can do good, but not handsomely; it is uglier, because lessdignified, than selfishness itself. But here I perhaps exaggerate to myself,becauseIamtheonemorethantheother,andfeelitlikeahookinmymouth,ateverystepItake.DowhatIwill,thisseemstospoilall.VI.RIGHTANDWRONG.—It is themarkofagoodaction that it appearsinevitableintheretrospect.Weshouldhavebeencut-throatstodootherwise.

Andthere’sanend.Weoughttoknowdistinctlythatwearedamnedforwhatwedowrong;butwhenwehavedone right,wehaveonlybeengentlemen,afterall.Thereisnothingtomakeaworkabout.VII.DISCIPLINEOFCONSCIENCE.—(1)Neverallowyourmindtodwellonyourownmisconduct:thatisruin.Theconsciencehasmorbidsensibilities;itmustbeemployedbutnotindulged,liketheimaginationorthestomach.(2)Leteachstabsufficefortheoccasion;toplaywiththisspiritualpainturnstopenance; and a person easily learns to feel good by dallying with theconsciousness of having done wrong. (3) Shut your eyes hard against therecollectionofyoursins.Donotbeafraid,youwillnotbeabletoforgetthem.(4)Youwillalwaysdowrong:youmusttrytogetusedtothat,myson.Itisasmallmattertomakeaworkabout,whenalltheworldisinthesamecase.ImeantwhenIwasayoungmantowriteagreatpoem;andnowIamcobblinglittleprosearticlesandinexcellentgoodspirits,Ithankyou.So,too,Imeanttoleadalifethatshouldkeepmountingfromthefirst;andthoughIhavebeenrepeatedly down again below sea-level, and am scarce higher than when Istarted,Iamaskeenaseverforthatenterprise.Ourbusinessinthisworldisnottosucceed,buttocontinuetofail,ingoodspirits.(5)Thereisbutonetestof a good life: that theman shall continue to growmore difficult about hisown behaviour. That is to be good: there is no other virtue attainable. Thevirtues we admire in the saint and the hero are the fruits of a happyconstitution.You,foryourpart,mustnotthinkyouwilleverbeagoodman,forthesearebornandnotmade.Youwillhaveyourownreward,ifyoukeepon growing better than you were—how do I say? if you do not keep ongrowing worse. (6) A man is one thing, and must be exercised in all hisfaculties.Whateversideofyouisneglected,whetheritisthemuscles,orthetaste for art, or the desire for virtue, that which is cultivated will suffer inproportion.——wasgreatlytempted,Iremember,todoaverydishonestact,in order that he might pursue his studies in art. When he consulted me, Iadvisedhimnot(puttingitthatwayforonce),becausehisartwouldsuffer.(7)Itmight be fancied that ifwe could only study all sides of our being in anexact proportion, we should attain wisdom. But in truth a chief part ofeducationistoexerciseonesetoffacultiesàoutrance—one,sincewehavenotthetimesotopractiseall;thusthedilettantemissesthekernelofthematter;and themanwhohaswrung forth the secretofonepartof lifeknowsmoreabout theothers thanhewhohas tepidly circumnavigated all. (8)Thus, onemust be your profession, the rest can only be your delights; and virtue hadbetterbekeptforthelatter,foritentersintoall,butnoneentersbynecessityintoit.Youwilllearnagreatdealofvirtuebystudyinganyart;butnothingofanyart in thestudyofvirtue.(9)Thestudyofconducthas todowithgraveproblems;noteveryactionshouldbehiggledover;oneoftheleadingvirtuesthereinistoletoneselfalone.Butifyoumakeityourchiefemployment,you

aresure tomeddle toomuch.This is thegreaterrorof thosewhoarecalledpious.Althoughthewarofvirtuebeunendingexceptwithlife,hostilitiesarefrequentlysuspended,andthetroopsgointowinterquarters;butthepiouswillnotprofitbythesetimesoftruce;wheretheirconsciencecanperceivenosin,they will find a sin in that very innocency; and so they pervert, to theirannoyance,thoseseasonswhichGodgivestousforreposeandareward.(10)The nearest approximation to sense in all thismatter lieswith theQuakers.There must be no will-worship; how much more, no will-repentance! Thedamnable consequence of set seasons, even for prayer, is to have a mancontinuallyposturingtohimself,tillhisconscienceistaughtasmanytricksasapetmonkey,andthegravestexpressionsareleftwithapervertedmeaning.(11)Formypart,Ishouldtrytosecuresomepartofeverydayformeditation,aboveallintheearlymorningandtheopenair;buthowthattimewastobeimprovedIshouldleavetocircumstanceandtheinspirationofthehour.NorifIspentitinwhistlingornumberingmyfootsteps,shouldIconsideritmisspentforthat.Ishouldhavegivenmyconscienceafairfield;whenithasanythingtosay,Iknowtoowellitcanspeakdaggers;therefore,forthistime,myhardtaskmaster has givenme a holyday, and Imay go in again rejoicing tomybreakfastandthehumanbusinessoftheday.VIII.GRATITUDETOGOD.—(1)To the gratitude that becomes us in thislife, I can set no limit. Though we steer after a fashion, yet we must sailaccordingtothewindsandcurrents.AfterwhatIhavedone,whatmightInothavedone?ThatIhavestillthecouragetoattemptmylife,thatIamnotnowoverladenwithdishonours,towhomdoIoweitbuttothegentleorderingofcircumstances in thegreatdesign?MorehasnotbeendonetomethanIcanbear;Ihavebeenmarvellouslyrestrainedandhelped;notuntous,OLord!(2)IcannotforgiveGodforthesufferingofothers;whenIlookabroaduponHisworldandbeholditscrueldestinies,IturnfromHimwithdisaffection;nordoI conceive thatHewill blameme for the impulse.Butwhen I considermyown fates, I grow conscious ofHis gentle dealing: I seeHim chastisewithhelpful blows, I feel His stripes to be caresses; and this knowledge is mycomfortthatreconcilesmetotheworld.(3)AllthosewhomInowpitywithindignation,areperhapsnotlessfatherlydealtwiththanmyself.Idorighttobeangry:yetthey,perhaps,iftheylayasideheatandtemper,andreflectwithpatience on their lot, may find everywhere, in their worst trials, the sameproofsofadivineaffection. (4)Whilewehave little to tryus,weareangrywithlittle;smallannoyancesdonotbeartheirjustificationontheirfaces;butwhenweareovertakenbyagreat sorroworperplexity, thegreatnessofourconcern sobers us so that we see more clearly and think with moreconsideration.Ispeakformyself;nothinggravehasyetbefallenmebutIhavebeenabletoreconcilemymindtoitsoccurrence,andseeinit,frommyownlittle and partial point of view, an evidence of a tender and protectingGod.

Even the misconduct into which I have been led has been blessed to myimprovement. If I did not sin, and that so glaringly that my conscience isconvictedonthespot,IdonotknowwhatIshouldbecome,butIfeelsureIshouldgrowworse.Themanofveryregularconductistoooftenaprig,ifhebenotworse—arabbi.I,formypart,wanttobestartledoutofmyconceits;Iwanttobeputtoshameinmyowneyes;Iwanttofeelthebridleinmymouth,and be continually reminded of my ownweakness and the omnipotence ofcircumstances.(5)IfIfrommyspy-hole,lookingwithpurblindeyesupontheleastpartofafractionof theuniverse,yetperceiveinmyowndestinysomebrokenevidencesofaplanandsomesignalsofanoverrulinggoodness;shallIthenbesomadastocomplainthatallcannotbedeciphered?ShallInotratherwonder,withinfiniteandgratefulsurprise,thatinsovastaschemeIseemtohavebeenabletoread,howeverlittle,andthatthatlittlewasencouragingtofaith?IX.BLAME.—Whatcomesfromwithoutandwhatfromwithin,howmuchofconductproceedsfromthespiritorhowmuchfromcircumstances,whatisthepart of choice and what the part of the selection offered, where personalcharacterbeginsorwhere,ifanywhere,itescapesatallfromtheauthorityofnature, these are questions of curiosity and eternally indifferent to right andwrong. Our theory of blame is utterly sophisticated and untrue to man’sexperience.We are asmuch ashamed of a pimpled face that came to us bynaturaldescentasbyonethatwehaveearnedbyourexcesses,andrightlyso;sincethetwocases,insomuchastheyunfitusfortheeasiersortofpleasingandputanobstacleinthepathoflove,areexactlyequalintheirconsequence.Welookasidefromthetruequestion.Wecannotblameothersatall;wecanonlypunishthem;andourselvesweblameindifferentlyforadeliberatecrime,a thoughtless brusquerie, or an act done without volition in an ecstasy ofmadness.Weblameourselvesfromtwoconsiderations:first,becauseanotherhassuffered;andsecond,because,insofaraswehaveagaindonewrong,wecanlookforwardwiththelessconfidencetowhatremainsofourcareer.Shallwe repent this failure? It is there that the consciousness of sinmost cruellyaffectsus; it is inviewof this thatamancriesout, inexaggeration, thathisheart is desperately wicked and deceitful above all things. We all tacitlysubscribe this judgment:Woe unto him by whom offences shall come!Weacceptpalliations forourneighbours;wedarenot, in sightofourownsoul,acceptthemforourselves.Wemaynotbetoblame;wemaybeconsciousofnofreewillinthematter,ofapossession,ontheotherhand,oranirresistibletyrannyofcircumstance,—yetweknow,inanothersense,wearetoblameforall.Ourrighttolive,toeat,toshareinmankind’spleasures,liespreciselyinthis: thatwemustbepersuadedwecanon thewhole liveratherbeneficiallythan hurtfully to others. Remove this persuasion, and the man has lost hisright.Thatpersuasionisourdearestjewel,towhichwemustsacrificethelife

itselftowhichitentitlesus.Foritisbettertobedeadthandegraded.X. MARRIAGE.—(1) No considerate man can approach marriage withoutdeepconcern.I,hewillthink,whohavemadehithertosopoorabusinessofmy own life, am now about to embrace the responsibility of another’s.Henceforth, thereshallbe twotosufferfrommyfaults;andthatother is theonewhom Imost desire to shield from suffering. In viewof our impotenceand folly, it seems an act of presumption to involve another’s destiny withours.Weshouldhesitatetoassumecommandofanarmyoratrading-smack;shall we not hesitate to become surety for the life and happiness, now andhenceforward, of our dearest friend? To be nobody’s enemy but one’s own,althoughitisneverpossibletoany,canleastofallbepossibletoonewhoismarried. (2) Iwouldnotsomuchfear togivehostages to fortune, if fortuneruled only inmaterial things; but fortune, aswe call thoseminor andmoreinscrutableworkingsofprovidence,rulesalsointhesphereofconduct.IamnotsoblindbutthatIknowImightbeamurdererorevenatraitorto-morrow;andnow,as if Iwerenotalreadytoofeelinglyalive tomymisdeeds, Imustchoose out the one personwhom Imost desire to please, andmake her thedailywitnessofmyfailures,Imustgiveapartinallmydishonourstotheoneperson who can feel them more keenly than myself. (3) In all our daring,magnanimoushumanwayof life, I find nothingmore bold than this.Togointobattle isbutasmall thingbycomparison.It is thelastactofcommittal.Afterthat,thereisnowayleft,notevensuicide,buttobeagoodman.(4)Shewillhelpyou,letuspray.Andyetsheisinthesamecase;she,too,hasdailymadeshipwreckofherownhappinessandworth;itiswithacouragenolessirrational than yours, that she also ventures on this new experiment of life.Twowhohavefailedseverally,nowjointheirfortuneswithawaveringhope.(5)Butitisfromtheboldnessoftheenterprisethathelpsprings.Totakehometoyourhearththatlivingwitnesswhoseblamewillmostaffectyou,toeat,tosleep,tolivewithyourmostadmiringandthencemostexactingjudge,isnotthis todomesticate the livingGod?Eachbecomesaconscience to theother,legiblelikeaclockuponthechimney-piece.Eachofferstohismateafigureofthe consequence of human acts. And while I may still continue by myinconsiderate or violent life to spread far-reaching havoc throughout man’sconfederacy, Icandosonomore,at least, in ignoranceand levity;one faceshallwincebeforemeintheflesh;IhavetakenhomethesorrowsIcreatetomy own hearth and bed; and though I continue to sin, itmust be nowwithopeneyes.XI.IDLENESSANDINDUSTRY.—IrememberatimewhenIwasveryidle;andlivedandprofitedbythathumour.IhavenoideawhyIceasedtobeso,yet I scarcebelieve I have thepower to return to it; it is a changeof age. Imadeconsciouslya thousand littleefforts,but thedetermination fromwhichthesearosecametomewhileIsleptandinthewayofgrowth.Ihavehada

thousand skirmishes to keep myself at work upon particular mornings, andsometimes the affair was hot; but of that great change of campaign, whichdecidedallthispartofmylife,andturnedmefromonewhosebusinesswastoshirk into one whose business was to strive and persevere,—it seems asthoughall thathadbeendonebysomeoneelse.The lifeofGoetheaffectedme;sodidthatofBalzac;andsomeverynobleremarksbythelatterinaprettybadbook,the“CousineBette.”IdaresayIcouldtracesomeotherinfluencesinthechange.AllImeanis,Iwasneverconsciousofastruggle,norregisteredavow,nor seeminglyhadanythingpersonally todowith thematter. I cameabout like a well-handled ship. There stood at the wheel that unknownsteersmanwhomwecallGod.XII. COURAGE.—Courage is the principal virtue, for all the otherspresuppose it. If you are afraid, you may do anything. Courage is to becultivated, and some of the negative virtues may be sacrificed in thecultivation.XIII.RESULTSOFACTION.—The result is the reward of actions, not thetest. The result is a child born; if it be beautiful and healthy,well: if club-footedorcrook-back,perhapswellalso.Wecannotdirect...[1878?]

XVTHEIDEALHOUSE

TWOthingsarenecessaryinanyneighbourhoodwhereweproposetospendalife:adesertandsomelivingwater.Therearemanypartsoftheearth’sfacewhichofferthenecessarycombinationofacertainwildnesswithakindlyvariety.Agreatprospect isdesirable,butthewantmaybeotherwisesupplied;evengreatnesscanbefoundonthesmallscale;forthemindandtheeyemeasuredifferently.Boldrocksnearhandaremore inspiriting than distant Alps, and the thick fern upon a Surrey heathmakes a fine forest for the imagination, and the dotted yew trees noblemountains.AScottishmoorwithbirchesandfirsgroupedhereandthereupona knoll, or one of those rocky sea-side deserts of Provence overgrownwithrosemaryand thymeand smokingwitharoma, areplaceswhere themind isneverweary.Forests,beingmoreenclosed,arenotatfirstsightsoattractive,buttheyexerciseaspell;theymust,however,bediversifiedwitheitherheathorrock,andarehardlytobeconsideredperfectwithoutconifers.Evensand-hills,with their intricateplan,and theirgullsandrabbits,will standwell forthenecessarydesert.

Thehousemustbewithinhailofeitheralittleriverorthesea.Agreatriverismore fit for poetry than to adorn a neighbourhood; its sweep of watersincreasesthescaleofthesceneryandthedistanceofonenotableobjectfromanother; and a lively burn gives us, in the space of a few yards, a greatervariety of promontory and islet, of cascade, shallow goil, and boiling pool,withanswerablechangesbothofsongandcolour,thananavigablestreaminmanyhundredmiles.The fish, too,makeamoreconsiderable featureof thebrook-side, and the trout plumping in the shadow takes the ear. A streamshould,besides,benarrowenoughtocross,ortheburnhardbyabridge,orweareatonceshutoutofEden.Thequantityofwaterneedbeofnoconcern,forthemindsets thescale,andcanenjoyaNiagaraFallof thirtyinches.Letusapprovethesingerof

Iftheseaistobeourornamentalwater,chooseanopenseaboardwithaheavybeat of surf; one much broken in outline, with small havens and dwarfheadlands;ifpossibleafewislets;andasafirstnecessity,rocksreachingoutintodeepwater.SucharockonacalmdayisabetterstationthanthetopofTeneriffe or Chimborazo. In short, both for the desert and the water, theconjunctionofmanynearandbolddetailsisboldsceneryfortheimaginationandkeepsthemindalive.Giventhesetwoprimeluxuries,thenatureofthecountrywherewearetoliveis,Ihadalmostsaid,indifferent;afterthat,insidethegarden,wecanconstructacountryofourown.Severaloldtrees,aconsiderablevarietyoflevel,severalwell-grownhedges todivideourgardenintoprovinces,agoodextentofoldwell-setturf,andthicketsofshrubsandevergreenstobecutintoandclearedatthenewowner’spleasure,arethequalitiestobesoughtforinyourchosenland.Nothingismoredelightfulthanasuccessionofsmalllawns,openingoneout of the other through tall hedges; these have all the charm of the oldbowling-green repeated, do not require the labour of many trimmers, andafford a series of changes. You must have much lawn against the earlysummer,soastohaveagreatfieldofdaisies,theyear’smorningfrost;asyoumusthaveawoodoflilacs,toenjoytothefulltheperiodoftheirblossoming.Hawthorn isanotherof thespring’s ingredients;but it isevenbest tohavearoughpubliclaneatonesideofyourenclosurewhich,attherightseason,shallbecome an avenue of bloom and odour. The old flowers are the best andshouldgrowcarelessly incorners. Indeed, the ideal fortune is to findanoldgarden, once very richly cared for, since sunk into neglect, and to tend, notrepair, that neglect; itwill thus have a smack of nature andwildnesswhichskilfuldispositionscannotovertake.Thegardenershouldbeanidler,andhaveagrosspartialitytothekitchenplots:aneagerortoilfulgardenermis-becomesthegardenlandscape;atastefulgardenerwillbeevermeddling,willkeepthebordersraw,andtakethebloomoffnature.Closeadjoining,ifyouareinthe

south,anolive-yard, if in thenorth,aswardedapple-orchardreachingto thestream, completes your miniature domain; but this is perhaps best enteredthroughadoorinthehighfruit-wall;sothatyouclosethedoorbehindyouonyour sunny plots, your hedges and evergreen jungle,when you go down towatch the apples falling in the pool. It is a golden maxim to cultivate thegardenfor thenose,andtheeyeswill takecareof themselves.Normust theear be forgotten:without birds, a garden is a prison-yard.There is a gardennearMarseillesonasteephill-side,walkingbywhich,uponasunnymorning,your ear will suddenly be ravishedwith a burst of small and very cheerfulsinging:somescoreofcagesbeingsetouttheretosuntheoccupants.Thisisaheavenlysurprisetoanypasser-by;butthepricepaid,tokeepsomanyardentandwingedcreaturesfromtheirliberty,willmaketheluxurytoodearforanythoughtful pleasure-lover. There is only one sort of bird that I can toleratecaged,thougheventhenIthinkithard,andthatiswhatiscalledinFrancetheBec-d’Argent.Ioncehadtwoofthesepigmiesincaptivity;andinthequiet,barehouseuponasilentstreetwhereIwasthenliving,theirsong,whichwasnotmuchlouderthanabee’s,butairilymusical,keptmeinaperpetualgoodhumour.IputthecageuponmytablewhenIworked,carrieditwithmewhenI went for meals, and kept it by my head at night: the first thing in themorning, thesemaestriniwould pipe up. But these, even if you can pardontheirimprisonment,areforthehouse.Inthegardenthewildbirdsmustplantacolony, a chorus of the lesser warblers that should be almost deafening, ablackbirdinthelilacs,anightingaledownthelane,sothatyoumuststrolltohearit,andyetalittlefarther,tree-topspopulouswithrooks.Your house should not command much outlook; it should be set deep andgreen, though upon rising ground, or, if possible, crowning a knoll, for thesakeofdrainage.Yetitmustbeopentotheeast,oryouwillmissthesunrise;sunsetoccurringsomuchlater,youcangoupafewstepsandlooktheotherway.Ahouseofmorethantwostoriesisamerebarrack;indeedtheidealisofonestory,raiseduponcellars.Iftheroomsarelarge,thehousemaybesmall:asingleroom,lofty,spacious,andlightsome,ismorepalatialthanacastlefulofcabinetsandcupboards.Yetsizeinahouse,andsomeextentandintricacyofcorridor, iscertainlydelightful totheflesh.Thereceptionroomshouldbe, ifpossible, a place of many recesses, which are “petty retiring places forconference”;butitmusthaveonelongwallwithadivan:foradayspentuponadivan, amongaworldofcushions, is as fullofdiversionas to travel.Theeating-room, in theFrenchmode, shouldbeadhoc:unfurnished,butwithabuffet, the table, necessary chairs, oneor twoofCanaletto’s etchings, and atilefire-placeforthewinter.Inneitherofthesepublicplacesshouldtherebeanythingbeyondashelfortwoofbooks;butthepassagesmaybeonelibraryfrom end to end, and the stair, if there be one, lined with volumes in oldleather, very brightly carpeted, and leading half-way up, and by way of

landing,toawindowedrecesswithafire-place;thiswindow,almostaloneinthe house, should command a handsome prospect. Husband and wife musteachpossessastudio;onthewoman’ssanctuaryIhesitatetodwell,andturnto theman’s. The walls are shelved waist-high for books, and the top thusformsacontinuoustablerunningroundthewall.Aboveareprints,alargemapof the neighbourhood, a Corot and a Claude or two. The room is veryspacious,andthefivetablesandtwochairsarebutasislands.Onetableisforactualwork,oneclosebyforreferences inuse;one,verylarge,forMSS.orproofsthatwaittheirturn;onekeptclearforanoccasion;andthefifthisthemaptable,groaningunderacollectionoflarge-scalemapsandcharts.Ofallbooks these are the least wearisome to read and the richest in matter; thecourseofroadsandrivers,thecontourlinesandtheforestsinthemaps—thereefs,soundings,anchors,sailingmarksandlittlepilot-picturesinthecharts—and,inboth,thebead-rollofnames,makethemofallprintedmatterthemostfittostimulateandsatisfythefancy.Thechairinwhichyouwriteisverylowandeasy,andbackedintoacorner;atoneelbowthefiretwinkles;closeattheother,ifyouarealittleinhumane,yourcageofsilver-billsaretwitteringintosong.Joinedalongbyapassage,youmayreach thegreatsunny,glass-roofed,andtiled gymnasium, at the far end ofwhich, linedwith brightmarble, is yourplungeandswimmingbath,fittedwithacapaciousboiler.Thewhole loftof thehousefromendtoendmakesoneundividedchamber;here are set forth tablesonwhich tomodel imaginaryor actual countries inputty or plaster, with tools and hardy pigments; a carpenter’s bench; and asparedcorner forphotography,while at the far enda space iskept clear forplaying soldiers. Two boxes contain the two armies of some five hundredhorseandfoot; twoothers theammunitionofeachside,andafifth thefoot-rulesandthethreecoloursofchalk,withwhichyoulaydown,or,afteraday’splay,refreshtheoutlinesofthecountry;redorwhiteforthetwokindsofroad(accordingas theyaresuitableornot for thepassageofordnance),andblueforthecourseoftheobstructingrivers.HereIforeseethatyoumaypassmuchhappytime;againstagoodadversaryagamemaywellcontinueforamonth;forwith armies so considerable threemoveswill occupy anhour. Itwill befound to set an excellent edge on this diversion if one of the players shall,every day or so, write a report of the operations in the character of armycorrespondent.I have left to the last the little room for winter evenings. This should befurnished inwarmpositivecolours, and sofasand floor thickwith rich furs.The hearth, where you burn wood of aromatic quality on silver dogs, tiledroundaboutwithBiblepictures;theseatsdeepandeasy;asingleTitianinagold frame;awhitebustorsouponabracket;a rack for the journalsof the

week;atableforthebooksoftheyear;andcloseinacornerthethreeshelvesfull of eternal books that never weary: Shakespeare, Molière, Montaigne,Lamb,Sterne,DeMusset’scomedies(theonevolumeopenatCarmosineandtheotheratFantasio); the“ArabianNights,”andkindredstories, inWeber’ssolemnvolumes;Borrow’s“Bible inSpain,” the “Pilgrim’sProgress,” “GuyMannering,” and “Rob Roy,” “Monte Cristo,” and the “Vicomte deBragelonne,” immortal Boswell sole among biographers, Chaucer, Herrick,andthe“StateTrials.”The bedrooms are large, airy, with almost no furniture, floors of varnishedwood, and at the bed-head, in case of insomnia, one shelf of books of aparticular and dippable order, such as “Pepys,” the “Paston Letters,” Burt’s“LettersfromtheHighlands,”orthe“NewgateCalendar.”...[1884?]

LAYMORALSCHAPTERI

THEproblemofeducationis twofold:first toknow,andthentoutter.Everyone who lives any semblance of an inner life thinks more nobly andprofoundly than he speaks; and the best of teachers can impart only brokenimages of the truth which they perceive. Speech which goes from one toanotherbetweentwonatures,and,whatisworse,betweentwoexperiences,isdoublyrelative.Thespeakerburieshismeaning;itisforthehearertodigitupagain;andallspeech,writtenorspoken,isinadeadlanguageuntilitfindsawilling and prepared hearer. Such, moreover, is the complexity of life, thatwhen we condescend upon details in our advice, we may be sure wecondescend on error; and the best of education is to throw out somemagnanimoushints.Nomanwaseversopoorthathecouldexpressallhehasin him by words, looks, or actions; his true knowledge is eternallyincommunicable,foritisaknowledgeofhimself;andhisbestwisdomcomestohimbynoprocessofthemind,butinasupremeself-dictation,whichkeepsvarying from hour to hour in its dictates with the variation of events andcircumstances.Afewmenofpickednature,fulloffaith,courage,andcontemptforothers,tryearnestlytosetforthasmuchastheycangraspofthisinnerlaw;butthevastmajority,whentheycometoadvisetheyoung,mustbecontenttoretailcertaindoctrineswhichhavebeenalreadyretailedtothemintheirownyouth.Everygenerationhastoeducateanotherwhichithasbroughtuponthestage.Peoplewho readily accept the responsibility of parentship, having very different

matters in theireye,areapt tofeelruefulwhentheirresponsibilityfallsdue.Whataretheytotellthechildaboutlifeandconduct,subjectsonwhichtheyhavethemselvessofewandsuchconfusedopinions?Indeed,Idonotknow;the least said, perhaps, the soonestmended; and yet the child keeps asking,andtheparentmustfindsomewordstosayinhisowndefence.Wheredoeshefindthem?andwhataretheywhenfound?Asamatterofexperience,andinninehundredandninety-ninecasesoutofathousand,hewill instil intohiswide-eyedbratthreebadthings;theterrorofpublicopinion,and,flowingfromthatasafountain,thedesireofwealthandapplause.Besidesthese,orwhatmightbededucedascorollariesfromthese,he will teach not much else of any effective value: some dim notions ofdivinity,perhaps,andbook-keeping,andhowtowalkthroughaquadrille.But,youmaytellme,theyoungpeoplearetaughttobeChristians.Itmaybewantofpenetration,butIhavenotyetbeenabletoperceiveit.Asanhonestman,whateverweteach,andbeitgoodorevil,itisnotthedoctrineofChrist.WhatHetaught(andinthisHeislikeallotherteachersworthyofthename)wasnotacodeofrules,butarulingspirit;nottruths,butaspiritoftruth;notviews,butaview.WhatHeshoweduswasanattitudeofmind.Towardsthemanyconsiderationsonwhichconduct isbuilt,eachmanstands inacertainrelation.He takes life on a certain principle.He has a compass in his spiritwhichpointsinacertaindirection.Itistheattitude,therelation,thepointofthecompass,thatisthewholebodyandgistofwhathehastoteachus;inthis,thedetails are comprehended;outof this the specificprecepts issue, andbythis,andthisonly,cantheybeexplainedandapplied.Andthus,tolearnarightfromany teacher,wemust firstofall, likeahistoricalartist, thinkourselvesinto sympathy with his position and, in the technical phrase, create hischaracter.Ahistorianconfrontedwithsomeambiguouspolitician,oranactorchargedwithapart,havebutonepre-occupation;theymustsearchallroundand upon every side, and grope for some central conception which is toexplainandjustifythemostextremedetails;untilthatisfound,thepoliticianisanenigma,orperhapsaquack,andthepartatissueoffustiansentimentandbig words; but once that is found, all enters into a plan, a human natureappears, the politician or the stage-king is understood from point to point,fromendtoend.This isadegreeof troublewhichwillbegladlytakenbyaveryhumbleartist;butnoteventheterrorofeternalfirecanteachabusinessman to bend his imagination to such athletic efforts.Yetwithout this, all isvain; untilwe understand thewhole,we shall understand none of the parts;andotherwisewehavenomorethanbrokenimagesandscatteredwords;themeaningremainsburied;andthelanguageinwhichourprophetspeakstousisadeadlanguageinourears.TakeafewofChrist’ssayingsandcomparethemwithourcurrentdoctrines.

“Ye cannot,”He says, “serveGod andMammon.” Cannot?And ourwholesystemistoteachushowwecan!“Thechildrenof thisworldarewiser in theirgenerationthanthechildrenoflight.”Are they?Ihadbeen led tounderstand thereverse: that theChristianmerchant,forexample,prosperedexceedinglyinhisaffairs;thathonestywasthebestpolicy;thatanauthorofreputehadwrittenaconclusivetreatise“Howto make the best of both worlds.” Of both worlds indeed! Which am I tobelievethen—Christortheauthorofrepute?“Takeno thoughtfor themorrow.”AsktheSuccessfulMerchant; interrogateyourownheart;andyouwillhavetoadmitthatthisisnotonlyasillybutanimmoralposition.Allwebelieve,allwehope,allwehonourinourselvesorourcontemporaries,standscondemnedinthisonesentence,or,ifyoutaketheotherview,condemnsthesentenceasunwiseandinhumane.Wearenotthenofthe“samemindthatwasinChrist.”WedisagreewithChrist.EitherChristmeant nothing, or elseHe orwemust be in thewrong.Well saysThoreau,speakingofsometextsfromtheNewTestament,andfindingastrangeechoofanotherstylewhichthereadermayrecognise:“Letbutoneofthesesentencesbe rightly read fromanypulpit in the land, and therewouldnot be left onestoneofthatmeeting-houseuponanother.”Itmaybeobjected that these arewhat are called “hard sayings”; and that aman, or an education, may be very sufficiently Christian although it leavesome of these sayings upon one side. But this is a very gross delusion.Althoughtruthisdifficulttostate,itisbotheasyandagreeabletoreceive,andthemindrunsouttomeetiterethephrasebedone.Theuniverse,inrelationtowhatanymancansayofit,isplain,patent,andstaringlycomprehensible.Initself, it isagreatandtravailingocean,unsounded,unvoyageable,aneternalmysterytoman;or,letussay,itisamonstrousandimpassablemountain,onesideofwhich,anda fewnear slopesand foothills,wecandimlystudywiththese mortal eyes. But what any man can say of it, even in his highestutterance,must have relation to this little andplain corner,which is no lessvisibletousthantohim.Wearelookingonthesamemap;itwillgohardifwecannotfollowthedemonstration.Thelongestandmostabstruseflightofaphilosopher becomes clear and shallow, in the flash of amoment,whenwesuddenlyperceivetheaspectanddriftofhisintention.Thelongestargumentisbutafingerpointed;oncewegetourownfingerrightlyparallel,andweseewhat the man meant, whether it be a new star or an old street-lamp. Andbriefly, if a saying is hard to understand, it is because we are thinking ofsomethingelse.Buttobeatruediscipleistothinkofthesamethingsasourprophet,andtothink of different things in the same order. To be of the same mind withanotheristoseeallthingsinthesameperspective;itisnottoagreeinafew

indifferentmattersnearathandandnotmuchdebated; it is tofollowhiminhisfarthestflights,toseetheforceofhishyperboles,tostandsoexactlyinthecentreofhisvisionthatwhateverhemayexpress,youreyeswilllightatonceon theoriginal, thatwhateverhemaysee todeclare,yourmindwillatonceaccept.Youdonotbelongtotheschoolofanyphilosopher,becauseyouagreewithhimthattheftis,onthewhole,objectionable,orthatthesunisoverheadatnoon.Itisbythehardsayingsthatdiscipleshipistested.Weareallagreedaboutthemiddlingandindifferentpartsofknowledgeandmorality;eventhemost soaringspirits toooften take them tamelyupon trust.But theman, thephilosopherorthemoralist,doesnotstanduponthesechanceadhesions;andthepurposeofanysystemlookstowardsthoseextremepointswhereitstepsvaliantlybeyondtraditionandreturnswithsomecoverthintofthingsoutside.Thenonlycanyoubecertainthatthewordsarenotwordsofcourse,normereechoesofthepast;thenonlyareyousurethatifhebeindicatinganythingatall, it isastarandnotastreet-lamp;thenonlydoyoutouchtheheartof themystery;sinceitwasforthesethattheauthorwrotehisbook.Now,everynowandthen,andindeedsurprisinglyoften,Christfindsawordthat transcends all commonplacemorality; every nowand thenHequits thebeaten track to pioneer the unexpressed, and throws out a pregnant andmagnanimous hyperbole; for it is only by some bold poetry of thought thatmen can be strung up above the level of everyday conceptions to take abroaderlookuponexperienceoracceptsomehigherprincipleofconduct.ToamanwhoisofthesamemindthatwasinChrist,whostandsatsomecentrenottoofarfromHis,andlooksattheworldandconductfromsomenotdissimilaror, at least, not opposing attitude—or, shortly, to a man who is of Christ’sphilosophy—every such saying should come home with a thrill of joy andcorroboration; he should feel each one below his feet as another surefoundationinthefluxoftimeandchance;eachshouldbeanotherproofthatinthetorrentoftheyearsandgenerations,wheredoctrinesandgreatarmamentsandempiresaresweptawayandswallowed,hestandsimmovable,holdingbytheeternalstars.But,alas!atthisjunctureoftheagesitisnotsowithus;oneachandeverysuchoccasionourwholefellowshipofChristiansfallsbackindisapprovingwonderandimplicitlydeniesthesaying.Christians!thefarceisimpudently broad. Let us stand up in the sight of heaven and confess. TheethicsthatweholdarethoseofBenjaminFranklin.Honestyisthebestpolicy,isperhapsahardsaying;itiscertainlyonebywhichawisemanofthesedayswill not too curiously direct his steps; but I think it shows a glimmer ofmeaning to even our most dimmed intelligences; I think we perceive aprinciplebehind it; I think,withouthyperbole,weareof thesamemindthatwasinBenjaminFranklin.

CHAPTERII

BUT,Imaybetold,weteachthetencommandments,whereaworldofmoralslies condensed, the very pith and epitome of all ethics and religion; and ayoung man with these precepts engraved upon his mind must follow afterprofitwithsomeconscienceandChristianityofmethod.Amancannotgoveryfarastraywhoneitherdishonourshisparents,norkills,norcommitsadultery,norsteals,norbearsfalsewitness;forthesethings,rightlythoughtout,coveravastfieldofduty.Alas!what isaprecept?It isatbestan illustration; it iscase lawat thebestwhichcanbelearnedbyprecept.Theletter isnotonlydead,butkilling; thespiritwhichunderlies,andcannotbeuttered,aloneistrueandhelpful.Thisistritetosickness;butfamiliarityhasacunningdisenchantment;inadayortwoshecanstealallbeautyfromthemountaintops;andthemoststartlingwordsbegintofalldeadupontheearafterseveralrepetitions.Ifyouseeathingtoooften,younolongerseeit;ifyouhearathingtoooften,younolongerhearit.Ourattentionrequirestobesurprised;andtocarryafortbyassault,ortogaina thoughtful hearing from the ruck of mankind, are feats of about equaldifficultyandmustbetriedbynotdissimilarmeans.ThewholeBiblehasthuslostitsmessageforthecommonrunofhearers;ithasbecomemerewordsofcourse; and the parson may bawl himself scarlet and beat the pulpit like athing possessed, but his hearers will continue to nod; they are strangely atpeace;theyknowallhehastosay;ringtheoldbellasyouchoose,itisstilltheoldbellanditcannotstartletheircomposure.Andsowiththisbywordabouttheletterandthespirit.Itisquitetrue,nodoubt;butithasnomeaningintheworldtoanymanofus.Alas! ithasjust thismeaning,andneithermorenorless:thatwhilethespiritistrue,theletteriseternallyfalse.Theshadowofagreatoakliesabroaduponthegroundatnoon,perfect,clear,andstableliketheearth.Butletamansethimselftomarkouttheboundarywithcordsandpegs,andwerehenever sonimbleandnever soexact,whatwiththemultiplicityoftheleavesandtheprogressionoftheshadowasitfleesbeforethetravellingsun,longerehehasmadethecircuitthewholefigurewillhavechanged.Lifemaybecompared,nottoasingletree,buttoagreatandcomplicated forest; circumstance is more swiftly changing than a shadow,languagemuchmoreinexactthanthetoolsofasurveyor;fromdaytodaythetreesfallandarerenewed;theveryessencesarefleetingaswelook;andthewholeworldof leaves is swinging tempest-tossedamong thewindsof time.Looknowforyourshadows.Omanofformulæ,isthisaplaceforyou?Haveyoufittedthespirittoasinglecase?Alas,inthecycleoftheageswhenshallsuchanotherbeproposedforthejudgmentofman?Nowwhenthesunshinesand the winds blow, the wood is filled with an innumerable multitude of

shadows, tumultuously tossed and changing; and at every gust the wholecarpetleapsandbecomesnew.Canyouoryourheartsaymore?Look back now, for a moment, on your own brief experience of life; andalthough you lived it feelingly in your own person, and had every step ofconductburnedinbypainsandjoysuponyourmemory,tellmewhatdefinitelessondoesexperiencehandonfromyouthtomanhood,orfrombothtoage?Thesettled tenorwhich first strikes theeye isbut theshadowofadelusion.This is gone; that never truly was; and you yourself are altered beyondrecognition. Times andmen and circumstances change about your changingcharacter,withaspeedofwhichnoearthlyhurricaneaffordsanimage.Whatwas the best yesterday, is it still the best in this changed theatre of a to-morrow? Will your own Past truly guide you in your own violent andunexpectedFuture?Andifthisbequestionable,withwhathumble,withwhathopeless eyes, should we not watch other men driving beside us on theirunknowncareers,seeingwithunlikeeyes, impelledbydifferentgales,doingandsufferinginanothersphereofthings?Andastheauthenticcluetosuchalabyrinthandchangeofscene,doyouofferme these two score words? these five bald prohibitions? For the moralprecepts are no more than five; the first four deal rather with matters ofobservance than of conduct; the tenth, Thou shall not covet, stands uponanotherbasis,andshallbespokenoferelong.TheJews,towhomtheywerefirstgiven,inthecourseofyearsbegantofindthesepreceptsinsufficient;andmadeanadditionofnolessthansixhundredandfiftyothers!Theyhopedtomakeapocket-bookofreferenceonmorals,whichshouldstandtolifeinsomesuch relation, say, as Hoyle stands in to the scientific game of whist. Thecomparisonisjust,andcondemnsthedesign;forthosewhoplaybyrulewillnever bemore than tolerable players; and you and Iwould like to play ourgameinlifetothenoblestandthemostdivineadvantage.YetiftheJewstookapettyandhucksteringviewofconduct,whatviewdowetakeourselves,whocallously leaveyouth togoforth into theenchantedforest, fullofspellsanddirechimeras,withnoguidancemorecompletethanisaffordedbythesefiveprecepts?Honourthyfatherandthymother.Yes,butdoesthatmeantoobey?andifso,howlongandhowfar?Thoushallnotkill.Yettheveryintentionandpurportof the prohibition may be best fulfilled by killing. Thou shall not commitadultery. But some of the ugliest adulteries are committed in the bed ofmarriageandunderthesanctionofreligionandlaw.Thoushaltnotbearfalsewitness.How?byspeechorbysilencealso?orevenbyasmile?Thoushaltnotsteal.Ah,thatindeed!Butwhatistosteal?Tosteal?Itisanotherwordtobeconstrued;andwhoistobeourguide?Thepolice will give us one construction, leaving the world only that least

minimumofmeaningwithoutwhich societywould fall inpieces;but surelywemust take somehigher sense than this; surelywehopemore thanabaresubsistenceformankind;surelywewishmankindtoprosperandgoonfromstrength to strength, and ourselves to live rightly in the eye of some moreexactingpotentate than apoliceman.The approval or thedisapproval of thepolicemustbeeternallyindifferenttoamanwhoisbothvalorousandgood.There is extremediscomfort,butno shame, in thecondemnationof the law.Thelawrepresentsthatmodicumofmoralitywhichcanbesqueezedoutoftheruckofmankind;butwhat is that tome,whoaimhigherandseek tobemyownmorestringentjudge?Iobservewithpleasurethatnobravemanhasevergiven a rush for such considerations. The Japanese have a nobler andmoresentimental feeling for this socialbond intowhichweall arebornwhenwecomeinto theworld,andwhosecomfortsandprotectionweall indifferentlyshare throughoutour lives:—buteven to them,nomore than toourWesternsaintsandheroes,doesthelawofthestatesupersedethehigherlawofduty.Withouthesitationandwithoutremorse,theytransgressthestiffestenactmentsrather than abstain from doing right. But the accidental superior duty beingthus fulfilled, they at once return in allegiance to the common duty of allcitizens;andhasten todenounce themselves;andvalueatanequal rate theirjustcrimeandtheirequallyjustsubmissiontoitspunishment.The evading of the police will not long satisfy an active conscience or athoughtfulhead.Buttoshowyouhowoneortheothermaytroubleaman,andwhat a vast extent of frontier is left unridden by this invaluable eighthcommandment,letmetellyouafewpagesoutofayoungman’slife.He was a friend of mine; a young man like others; generous, flighty, asvariableasyouthitself,butalwayswithsomehighmotivesandonthesearchforhigherthoughtsoflife.Ishouldtellyouatoncethathethoroughlyagreeswiththeeighthcommandment.Buthegotholdofsomeunsettlingworks,theNewTestamentamongothers,andthisloosenedhisviewsoflifeandledhimintomanyperplexities.Ashewasthesonofamaninacertainposition,andwell off,my friend had enjoyed from the first the advantages of education,nay, he had been kept alive through a sickly childhood by constantwatchfulness,comforts,andchangeofair;forallofwhichhewasindebtedtohisfather’swealth.At college hemet other lads more diligent than himself, who followed theploughinsummer-timetopaytheircollegefeesinwinter;andthisinequalitystruckhimwithsomeforce.Hewasat thatageofaconversibletemper,andinsatiablycuriousintheaspectsoflife;andhespentmuchofhistimescrapingacquaintancewithallclassesofman-andwoman-kind. In thiswayhecameuponmanydepressed ambitions, andmany intelligences stunted forwantofopportunity; and this also struck him. He began to perceive that life was a

handicapuponstrange,wrong-sidedprinciples;andnot,ashehadbeentold,afair and equal race. He began to tremble that he himself had been unjustlyfavoured, when he saw all the avenues of wealth, and power, and comfortclosed against somany of his superiors and equals, and held unwearyinglyopenbeforesoidle,sodesultory,andsodissoluteabeingashimself.Theresatayouthbesidehimonthecollegebencheswhohadonlyoneshirttohisback,and,atintervalssufficientlyfarapart,muststayathometohaveitwashed.Itwasmyfriend’sprincipletostayawayasoftenashedared;forIfearhewasnofriendtolearning.Buttherewassomethingthatcamehometohimsharply,in this fellowwhohad to give over study till his shirtwaswashed, and thescoresofotherswhohadneveranopportunityatall.Ifoneofthesecouldtakehisplace,hethought;andthethoughttoreawayabandagefromhiseyes.Hewas eaten by the shame of his discoveries, and despised himself as anunworthyfavouriteandacreatureoftheback-stairsofFortune.Hecouldnolongerseewithoutconfusiononeofthesebraveyoungfellowsbattlingup-hillagainstadversity.Hadhenot filched that fellow’sbirthright?Atbestwashenotcoldlyprofitingbytheinjusticeofsociety,andgreedilydevouringstolengoods? The money, indeed, belonged to his father, who had worked, andthought, and given up his liberty to earn it; but by what justice could themoney belong to my friend, who had, as yet, done nothing but help tosquander it? A more sturdy honesty, joined to a more even and impartialtemperament, would have drawn from these considerations a new force ofindustry,thatthisequivocalpositionmightbebroughtasswiftlyaspossibletoan end, and some good services to mankind justify the appropriation ofexpense. It was not so with my friend, who was only unsettled anddiscouraged, and filled full of that trumpeting angerwithwhich youngmenregardinjusticesinthefirstblushofyouth;althoughinafewyearstheywilltamely acquiesce in their existence, and knowingly profit by theircomplications.Yetallthiswhilehesufferedmanyindignantpangs.Andonce,when he put on his boots, like any other unripe donkey, to run away fromhome,itwashisbestconsolationthathewasnow,atasingleplunge,tofreehimself from the responsibilityof thiswealth thatwasnot his, and tobattleequallyagainsthisfellowsinthewarfareoflife.Sometimeafterthis,fallingintoill-health,hewassentatgreatexpensetoamorefavourableclimate;andthenIthinkhisperplexitieswerethickest.Whenhethoughtofalltheotheryoungmenofsingularpromise,upright,good,theprop of families, who must remain at home to die, and with all theirpossibilitiesbelosttolifeandmankind;andhowhe,byonemoreunmeritedfavour,waschosenoutfromalltheseotherstosurvive;hefeltasiftherewerenolife,nolabour,nodevotionofsoulandbody,thatcouldrepayandjustifythese partialities. A religious lady, to whom he communicated thesereflections,couldseenoforceinthemwhatever.“ItwasGod’swill,”saidshe.

ButheknewitwasbyGod’swillthatJoanofArcwasburntatRouen,whichcleared neitherBedford norBishopCauchon; and again, byGod’swill thatChristwascrucifiedoutsideJerusalem,whichexcusedneithertherancourofthe priests nor the timidity of Pilate. He knew,moreover, that although thepossibilityofthisfavourhewasnowenjoyingissuedfromhiscircumstances,its acceptancewas the act of his ownwill; and he had accepted it greedily,longingforrestandsunshine.AndhencethisallegationofGod’sprovidencedid little to relievehis scruples. Ipromiseyouhehadavery troubledmind.And I would not laugh if I were you, though while he was thus makingmountainsoutofwhatyouthinkmolehills,hewerestill(asperhapshewas)contentedlypractisingmanyotherthingsthattoyouseemblackashell.Everymanishisownjudgeandmountain-guidethroughlife.Thereisanoldstoryofa mote and a beam, apparently not true, but worthy perhaps of someconsideration. I should, if I were you, give some consideration to thesescruplesofhis, and if Iwerehe, I shoulddo the likebyyours; for it is notunlikely that theremaybesomethingunderboth. In themeantimeyoumusthear howmy invalid acted. Likemany invalids, he supposed that hewoulddie.Nowshouldhedie,hesawnomeansofrepayingthishugeloanwhich,bythe hands of his father,mankind had advanced him for his sickness. In thatcaseitwouldbelostmoney.Sohedeterminedthattheadvanceshouldbeassmallaspossible;and,solongashecontinuedtodoubthisrecovery,livedinan upper room, and grudged himself all but necessaries. But so soon as hebegan to perceive a change for the better, he felt justified in spendingmorefreely, tospeedandbrightenhis return tohealth,and trusted in thefuture tolendahelptomankind,asmankind,outofitstreasury,hadlentahelptohim.Idonotsaybutthatmyfriendwasalittletoocuriousandpartialinhisview;northoughttoomuchofhimselfandtoolittleofhisparents;butIdosaythathere are some scruples which tormented my friend in his youth, and still,perhaps, at odd times give him a prick in themidst of his enjoyments, andwhichafter allhave some foundation in justice, andpoint, in their confusedway,tosomehonourablehonestywithinthereachofman.Andatleast,isnotthis an unusual gloss upon the eighth commandment? And what sort ofcomfort, guidance, or illumination did that precept afford my friendthroughout thesecontentions?“Thoushallnotsteal.”Withallmyheart!ButamIstealing?Thetrulyquaintmaterialismofourviewoflifedisablesusfrompursuinganytransaction to an end. You canmake no one understand that his bargain isanythingmorethanabargain,whereasinpointoffactitisalinkinthepolicyof mankind, and either a good or an evil to the world. We have a sort ofblindnesswhichpreventsusfromseeinganythingbutsovereigns.Ifonemanagrees togive another somany shillings for somanyhours’work, and thenwilfullygiveshimacertainproportionofthepriceinbadmoneyandonlythe

remainderingood,wecanseewithhalfaneyethatthismanisathief.Butifthe other spends a certain proportion of the hours in smoking a pipe oftobacco,andacertainotherproportioninlookingatthesky,ortheclock,ortryingtorecallanair,or inmeditationonhisownpastadventures,andonlytheremainderindownrightworksuchasheispaidtodo, ishe,becausethetheft is one of time andnot ofmoney,—is he any the less a thief?Theonegaveabadshilling, theotheran imperfecthour;butbothbroke thebargain,andeachisathief.Inpiecework,whichiswhatmostofusdo,thecaseisnonethelessplainforbeingevenlessmaterial.Ifyouforgeabadknife,youhavewasted some of mankind’s iron, and then, with unrivalled cynicism, youpocketsomeofmankind’smoneyforyourtrouble.Isthereanymansoblindwhocannotseethatthisistheft?Again,ifyoucarelesslycultivateafarm,youhave been playing fast and loose with mankind’s resources against hunger;therewillbelessbreadinconsequence,andforlackofthatbreadsomebodywilldienextwinter:agrimconsideration.Andyoumustnothopetoshuffleoutofblamebecauseyougotlessmoneyforyourlessquantityofbread;foralthoughatheftbepartlypunished,itisnonethelessatheftforthat.Youtookthe farm against competitors; there were others ready to shoulder theresponsibility and be answerable for the tale of loaves; but itwas youwhotook it.By theactyoucameundera tacitbargainwithmankind tocultivatethatfarmwithyourbestendeavour;youwereundernosuperintendence,youwereonparole;andyouhavebrokeyourbargain,andtoallwholookclosely,andyourself among the rest if youhavemoral eyesight, you are a thief.Ortakethecaseofmenof letters.Everypieceofworkwhichisnotasgoodasyou can make it, which you have palmed off imperfect, meagrely thought,niggardlyinexecution,uponmankindwhoisyourpaymasteronparoleandinasenseyourpupil,everyhastyorslovenlyoruntrueperformance,shouldriseupagainstyou in thecourtofyourownheart andcondemnyou for a thief.Haveyouasalary?Ifyoutriflewithyourhealth,andsorenderyourselflesscapable for duty, and still touch, and still greedily pocket the emolument—what are you but a thief?Have you double accounts? do you by any time-honouredjuggle,deceit,orambiguousprocess,gainmorefromthosewhodealwithyouthanifyouwerebargaininganddealingfacetofaceinfrontofGod?—Whatareyoubutathief?Lastly,ifyoufillanoffice,orproduceanarticle,which,inyourheartofhearts,youthinkadelusionandafrauduponmankind,andstilldrawyoursalaryandgothroughtheshammanœuvresofthisoffice,orstillbookyourprofitsandkeeponfloodingtheworldwiththeseinjuriousgoods?—thoughyouwereold,andbald,andthefirstatchurch,andabaronet,whatareyoubutathief?Thesemayseemhardwordsandmerecuriositiesoftheintellect,inanagewhenthespiritofhonestyissosparinglycultivatedthatallbusinessisconducteduponliesandso-calledcustomsofthetrade,thatnotamanbestowstwothoughtsontheutilityorhonourablenessofhispursuit.I

wouldsaylessifIthoughtless.Butlookingtomyownreasonandtherightofthings,IcanonlyavowthatIamathiefmyself,andthatIpassionatelysuspectmyneighboursofthesameguilt.Wheredidyouhear that itwaseasy tobehonest?Doyou find that inyourBible? Easy? It is easy to be an ass and follow the multitude like a blind,besottedbullinastampede;andthat,Iamwellaware,iswhatyouandMrs.Grundymeanbybeinghonest.But itwillnotbear thestressof timenor thescrutinyofconscience.Evenbeforethelowestofalltribunals,—beforeacourtoflaw,whosebusinessitis,nottokeepmenright,orwithinathousandmilesof right, but towithhold them fromgoing so tragicallywrong that theywillpulldownthewholejointedfabricofsocietybytheirmisdeeds—evenbeforeacourtoflaw,aswebegintoseeintheselastdays,oureasyviewoffollowingateachother’s tails, alike togoodandevil, isbeginning tobe reprovedandpunished, and declared no honesty at all, but open theft and swindling; andsimpletonswhohavegoneonthroughlifewithaquietconsciencemaylearnsuddenly, from the lips of a judge, that the custom of the trade may be acustomofthedevil.Youthoughtitwaseasytobehonest.Didyouthinkitwaseasytobejustandkindandtruthful?Didyouthinkthewholedutyofaspiringman was as simple as a hornpipe? and you could walk through life like agentlemanandahero,withnomoreconcernthanittakestogotochurchortoaddress a circular?Andyet all this timeyouhad the eighth commandment!and,whatmakesitricher,youwouldnothavebrokenitfortheworld!The truth is, that these commandments by themselves are of little use inprivatejudgment.Ifcompressioniswhatyouwant,youhavetheirwholespiritcompressed into the golden rule; and yet there expressed with moresignificance,sincethelawistherespirituallyandnotmateriallystated.Andintruth, fouroutof these tencommands, fromthesixth to theninth,areratherlegalthanethical.Thepolice-courtistheirproperhome.Amagistratecannottellwhetheryouloveyourneighbourasyourself,buthecantellmoreorlesswhetheryouhavemurdered,orstolen,orcommittedadultery,orheldupyourhandandtestifiedtothatwhichwasnot;andthesethings,forroughpracticaltests, are as good as can be found. And perhaps, therefore, the bestcondensation of the Jewish moral law is in the maxims of the priests,“neminem lædere” and “suum cuique tribunere.” But all this granted, itbecomesonlythemoreplainthattheyareinadequateinthesphereofpersonalmorality;thatwhiletheytellthemagistrateroughlywhentopunish,theycanneverdirectananxioussinnerwhattodo.OnlyPolonius,orthelikesolemnsortofass,canofferusasuccinctproverbbywayofadvice,andnotburstoutblushinginourfaces.Wegrantthemoneandallandforallthattheyareworth;itissomethingaboveandbeyondthatwedesire.Christwasingeneralagreatenemytosuchawayofteaching;we

rarely findHimmeddlingwith any of these plump commands but itwas toopenthemout,andliftHishearersfromthelettertothespirit.Formoralsarea personal affair; in thewar of righteousness everyman fights for his ownhand; all the six hundred precepts of the Mishna cannot shake my privatejudgment; my magistracy of myself is an indefeasible charge, and mydecisionsabsoluteforthetimeandcase.Themoralistisnotajudgeofappeal,butanadvocatewhopleadsatmy tribunal.Hehas to shownot the law,butthatthelawapplies.Canheconvinceme?thenhegainsthecause.AndthusyoufindChristgivingvariouscounselstovaryingpeople,andoftenjealouslycareful to avoid definite precept. Is He asked, for example, to divide aheritage?Herefuses:andthebestadvicethatHewillofferisbutaparaphraseof that tenthcommandmentwhich figures so strangelyamong the rest.Takeheed,andbewareofcovetousness.Ifyoucomplainthat this isvague,Ihavefailedtocarryyoualongwithmeinmyargument.Fornodefinitepreceptcanbemorethananillustration,thoughitstruthwereresplendentlikethesun,anditwasannouncedfromheavenbythevoiceofGod.Andlifeissointricateandchanging,thatperhapsnottwentytimes,orperhapsnottwiceintheages,shallwefindthatniceconsentofcircumstancestowhichaloneitcanapply.

CHAPTERIII

ALTHOUGHtheworldandlifehaveinasensebecomecommonplacetoourexperience,it isbutinanexternaltorpor;thetruesentimentslumberswithinus;andwehavebuttoreflectonourselvesoroursurroundingstorekindleourastonishment.No lengthofhabit canbluntour first surprise.Of theworld Ihavebutlittletosayinthisconnection;afewstrokesshallsuffice.Weinhabita dead ember swimming wide in the blank of space, dizzily spinning as itswims, and lighted up from several millionmiles away by amore horriblehell-firethanwaseverconceivedbythetheologicalimagination.Yetthedeadember is a green, commodious dwelling-place; and the reverberation of thishell-fireripensflowerandfruitandmildlywarmsusonsummerevesuponthelawn.Faroffonallhandsotherdeadembers,otherflamingsuns,wheelandraceintheapparentvoid;thenearestisoutofcall,thefarthestsofarthattheheart sickens in the effort to conceive the distance.Shipwrecked seamenonthedeep,thoughtheybestridebutthetruncheonofaboom,aresafeandnearathomecomparedwithmankindonitsbullet.Eventouswhohaveknownnoother,itseemsastrange,ifnotanappalling,placeofresidence.Butfarstrangeristheresident,man,acreaturecompactofwondersthat,aftercenturiesofcustom,isstillwonderfultohimself.Heinhabitsabodywhichheis continually outliving, discarding, and renewing. Food and sleep, by an

unknown alchemy, restore his spirits and the freshness of his countenance.Hairgrowsonhimlikegrass;hiseyes,hisbrain,hissinews,thirstforaction;hejoystoseeandtouchandhear,topartakethesunandwind,tositdownandintentlyponderonhisastonishingattributesandsituation,toriseupandrun,toperformthestrangeandrevoltingroundofphysicalfunctions.Thesightofa flower, the note of a bird, will often move him deeply; yet he looksunconcerned on the impassable distances and portentous bonfires of theuniverse.Hecomprehends,hedesigns,hetamesnature,ridesthesea,ploughs,climbstheairinaballoon,makesvastinquiries,beginsinterminablelabours,joinshimself into federationsandpopulouscities, spendshisdays todelivertheendsoftheearthortobenefitunbornposterity;andyetknowshimselffora piece of unsurpassed fragility and the creature of a few days. His sight,which conducts him, which takes notice of the farthest stars, which ismiraculous in every way and a thing defying explanation or belief, is yetlodged in a piece of jelly, and can be extinguishedwith a touch.His heart,whichallthroughlifesoindomitably,soathleticallylabours,isbutacapsule,andmaybestoppedwithapin.Hiswholebody,forallitssavageenergies,itsleapinganditswingeddesires,mayyetbetamedandconqueredbyadraughtofairorasprinklingofcolddew.Whathecallsdeath,whichistheseemingarrest of everything, and the ruin and hateful transformation of the visiblebody,liesinwaitforhimoutwardlyinathousandaccidents,andgrowsupinsecretdiseasesfromwithin.Heisstilllearningtobeamanwhenhisfacultiesare already beginning to decline; he has not yet understood himself or hispositionbeforehe inevitablydies.Andyet thismad,chimericalcreaturecantakenothoughtofhislastend,livesasthoughhewereeternal,plungeswithhis vulnerable body into the shock of war, and daily affronts death withunconcern.Hecannottakeastepwithoutpainorpleasure.Hislifeisatissueofsensations,whichhedistinguishesastheyseemtocomemoredirectlyfromhimselforhissurroundings.Heisconsciousofhimselfasajoyerorasufferer,asthatwhichcraves,chooses,andissatisfied;consciousofhissurroundingsas it were of an inexhaustible purveyor, the source of aspects, inspirations,wonders, cruel knocks and transporting caresses. Thus he goes on his way,stumblingamongdelightsandagonies.Matter is a far-fetched theory, andmaterialism iswithout a root inman.Tohim everything is important in the degree to which it moves him. Thetelegraph wires and posts, the electricity speeding from clerk to clerk, theclerks,thegladorsorrowfulimportofthemessage,andthepaperonwhichitis finally brought to him at home, are all equally facts, all equally exist forman.Awordorathoughtcanwoundhimasacutelyasaknifeofsteel.Ifhethinkshe is loved,hewill riseupandglory tohimself, althoughhebe in adistantlandandshortofnecessarybread.Doeshethinkheisnotloved?—hemay have thewoman at his beck, and there is not a joy for him in all the

world. Indeed, ifwe are tomake any account of this figment of reason, thedistinctionbetweenmaterialandimmaterial,weshallconcludethatthelifeofeach man as an individual is immaterial, although the continuation andprospects ofmankind as a race turn uponmaterial conditions. The physicalbusiness of each man’s body is transacted for him; like a sybarite, he hasattentivevaletsinhisownviscera;hebreathes,hesweats,hedigestswithoutaneffort,orsomuchasaconsentingvolition;forthemostpartheeveneats,notwithawakeful consciousness,but as itwerebetween two thoughts.Hislife iscentredamongotherandmore importantconsiderations; touchhiminhis honour or his love, creatures of the imagination which attach him tomankind or to an individual man or woman; cross him in his piety whichconnects his soul with heaven; and he turns from his food, he loathes hisbreath,andwithamagnanimousemotioncuts theknotsofhisexistenceandfreeshimselfatablowfromthewebofpainsandpleasures.It follows that man is twofold at least; that he is not a rounded andautonomous empire; but that in the same body with him there dwell otherpowers, tributary but independent. If I nowbehold onewalking in a gardencuriously coloured and illuminated by the sun, digesting his food, withelaboratechemistry,breathing,circulatingblood,directinghimselfbythesightofhiseyes,accommodatinghisbodybyathousanddelicatebalancingstothewindand theuneven surfaceof thepath, andall the time,perhaps,withhismindengagedaboutAmerica,orthedog-star,ortheattributesofGod—whatamItosay,orhowamItodescribethethingIsee?Isthattrulyaman,intherigorousmeaningoftheword?or is itnotamanandsomethingelse?What,then, are we to count the centre-bit and axle of a being so variouslycompounded?Itisaquestionmuchdebated.Somereadhishistoryinacertainintricacyofnerveandthesuccessofsuccessivedigestions;othersfindhimanexiledpieceofheavenblownuponanddeterminedbythebreathofGod;andbothschoolsoftheoristswillscreamlikescaldedchildrenatawordofdoubt.Yeteitheroftheseviews,howeverplausible,isbesidethequestion;eithermaybe right; and I care not; I ask a more particular answer, and to a moreimmediatepoint.Whatistheman?ThereisSomethingthatwasbeforehungerand that remainsbehind after ameal. Itmayormaynot be engaged in anygivenactorpassion,butwhenitis,itchanges,heightens,andsanctifies.Thusitisnotengagedinlust,wheresatisfactionendsthechapter;anditisengagedinlove,wherenosatisfactioncanblunttheedgeofthedesire,andwhereage,sickness,oralienationmaydefacewhatwasdesirablewithoutdiminishingthesentiment.This something,which is theman, is apermanencewhichabidesthrough the vicissitudes of passion, now overwhelmed and now triumphant,nowunconsciousof itself in the immediatedistressofappetiteorpain,nowrising unclouded above all. So, to the man, his own central self fades andgrowsclearagainamidthetumultofthesenses,likearevolvingPharosinthe

night.Itisforgotten;itishid,itseems,forever;andyetinthenextcalmhourheshallbeholdhimselfoncemore,shiningandunmovedamongchangesandstorm.Mankind,inthesenseofthecreepingmassthatisbornandeats,thatgeneratesanddies,isbuttheaggregateoftheouterandlowersidesofman.Thisinnerconsciousness,thislanternalternatelyobscuredandshining,toandbywhichthe individual exists and must order his conduct, is something special tohimselfandnotcommontotherace.Hisjoysdelight,hissorrowswoundhim,according as this is interested or indifferent in the affair: according as theyariseinanimperialwarorinabroilconductedbythetributarychieftainsofthemind.Hemayloseall,andthisnotsuffer;hemaylosewhatismateriallyatrifle, and this leap in his bosomwith a cruel pang. I do not speak of it tohardenedtheorists:thelivingmanknowskeenlywhatitisImean.“Perceiveatlastthatthouhastintheesomethingbetterandmoredivinethanthe thingswhich cause the various effects, and, as itwere, pull thee by thestrings.What is that now in thymind? is it fear, or suspicion, or desire, oranythingofthatkind?”ThusfarMarcusAurelius,inoneofthemostnotablepassages inanybook.Here isaquestionworthy tobeanswered.What is inthymind?Whatistheutteranceofyourinmostselfwhen,inaquiethour,itcan be heard intelligibly? It is something beyond the compass of yourthinking,inasmuchasitisyourself;butisitnotofahigherspiritthanyouhaddreamed betweenwhiles, and erect above all base considerations? This soulseemshardlytouchedwithourinfirmities;wecanfindinitcertainlynofear,suspicion,ordesire;weareonlyconscious—andthatasthoughwereaditintheeyesofsomeoneelse—ofagreatandunqualifiedreadiness.Areadinesstowhat? to pass over and look beyond the objects of desire and fear, forsomethingelse.Andthissomethingelse?thissomethingwhichisapartfromdesire and fear, to which all the kingdoms of the world and the immediatedeath of the body are alike indifferent and beside the point, andwhich yetregardsconduct—bywhatnamearewetocallit?ItmaybetheloveofGod;or itmay be an inherited (and certainlywell concealed) instinct to preserveselfandpropagatetherace;Iamnot,forthemoment,aversetoeithertheory;butitwillsavetimetocallitrighteousness.BysodoingIintendnosubterfugetobegaquestion;Iamindeedready,andmorethanwilling,toaccepttherigidconsequence,andlayaside,asfaras the treacheryof thereasonwillpermit,allformermeaningsattachedtothewordrighteousness.Whatisright is thatforwhichaman’scentralself iseverreadytosacrifice immediateordistantinterests; what is wrong is what the central self discards or rejects asincompatiblewiththefixeddesignofrighteousness.Tomake this admission is to lay aside all hope of definition.Thatwhich isrightupon this theory is intimatelydictated toeachmanbyhimself,butcan

neverberigorouslysetforthinlanguage,andnever,aboveall,imposeduponanother. The conscience has, then, a vision like that of the eyes, which isincommunicable, and for the most part illuminates none but its possessor.Whenmanypeopleperceivethesameoranycognatefacts,theyagreeuponawordassymbol;andhencewehavesuchwordsastree,star,love,honour,ordeath; hence also we have this word right, which, like the others, we allunderstand,mostofusunderstanddifferently,andnonecanexpresssuccinctlyotherwise.Yet even on the straitest view,we canmake some steps towardscomprehensionofourownsuperiorthoughts.Foritisanincredibleandmostbewilderingfactthataman,throughlife,isonvariabletermswithhimself;heisawareoftiffsandreconciliations;theintimacyisattimesalmostsuspended,attimesitisrenewedagainwithjoy.Aswesaidbefore,hisinnerselforsoulappearstohimbysuccessiverevelations,andisfrequentlyobscured.Itisfromastudyof thesealternations thatwecanalonehope todiscover,evendimly,whatseemsrightandwhatseemswrongtothisveiledprophetofourself.Allthatisinthemaninthelargersense,whatwecallimpressionaswellaswhatwecallintuition,sofarasmyargumentlooks,wemustaccept.Itisnotwrongtodesirefood,orexercise,orbeautifulsurroundings,ortheloveofsex,orinterestwhichisthefoodofthemind.Allthesearecraved;alltheseshouldbecraved;tononeoftheseinitselfdoesthesouldemur;wheretherecomesanundeniablewant,we recognise a demandof nature.Yetwe know that thesenaturaldemandsmaybe superseded, for thedemandswhicharecommon tomankindmakebutashadowyconsiderationincomparisontothedemandsofthe individual soul. Food is almost the first pre-requisite; and yet a highcharacterwill gowithout food to the ruin anddeathof thebody rather thangainitinamannerwhichthespiritdisavows.Pascallaidasidemathematics;Origendoctoredhisbodywithaknife;everydaysomeoneisthusmortifyinghisdearestinterestsanddesires,and,inChrist’swords,enteringmaimintotheKingdom of Heaven. This is to supersede the lesser and less harmoniousaffections by renunciation; and though by this ascetic path we may get toheaven,wecannotget thitherawholeandperfectman.But there isanotherway, to supersede them by reconciliation, in which the soul and all thefaculties and senses pursue a common route and share in one desire. Thus,man is tormentedbyavery imperiousphysicaldesire; it spoilshis rest, it isnottobedenied;thedoctorswilltellyou,notI,howitisaphysicalneed,likethe want of food or slumber. In the satisfaction of this desire, as it firstappears, the soul sparingly takes part; nay, it oft unsparingly regrets anddisapprovesthesatisfaction.Butletthemanlearntoloveawomanasfarasheis capable of love; and for this random affection of the body there issubstituteda steadydetermination, a consentof allhispowersand faculties,which supersedes, adopts, and commands the other. The desire survives,strengthened, perhaps, but taught obedience, and changed in scope and

character.Life is no longer a tale of betrayals and regrets; for themannowlivesasawhole;hisconsciousnessnowmovesonuninterruptedlikeariver;through all the extremes and ups and downs of passion, he remainsapprovinglyconsciousofhimself.Now to me this seems a type of that rightness which the soul demands. Itdemands that we shall not live alternately with our opposing tendencies incontinual see-saw of passion and disgust, but seek some path onwhich thetendenciesshallno longeroppose,butserveeachother toacommonend. Itdemands thatweshallnotpursuebrokenends,butgreatandcomprehensivepurposes,inwhichsoulandbodymayunitelikenotesinaharmoniouschord.Thatwereindeedawayofpeaceandpleasure,thatwereindeedaheavenuponearth. It does not demand, however, or, to speak in measure, it does notdemandofme,thatIshouldstarvemyappetitesfornopurposeunderheavenbutasapurposeinitself;or,inaweakdespair,pluckouttheeyethatIhavenotyet learned toguideandenjoywithwisdom.Thesouldemandsunityofpurpose,notthedismembermentofman;itseekstorollupallhisstrengthandsweetness, all his passion andwisdom, intoone, andmakeof himaperfectmanexulting inperfection.Toconcludeascetically is togiveup,andnot tosolve, the problem. The ascetic and the creeping hog, although they are atdifferentpoles,haveequallyfailedinlife.Theonehassacrificedhiscrew;theotherbringsbackhis seamen inacock-boat,andhas lost theship. Ibelievetherearenotmanysea-captainswhowouldplumethemselvesoneitherresultasasuccess.Butifitisrighteousnessthustofusetogetherourdivisiveimpulsesandmarchwithonemind through life, there isplainlyone thingmoreunrighteous thanallothers,andonedeclensionwhichisirretrievableanddrawsontherest.Andthisistoloseconsciousnessofoneself.Inthebestoftimes,itisbutbyflashes,whenourwholenatureisclear,strongandconscious,andeventsconspiretoleaveusfree,thatweenjoycommunionwithoursoul.Attheworst,wearesofallen and passive that wemay say shortly we have none. An arctic torporseizes upon men. Although built of nerves, and set adrift in a stimulatingworld,theydevelopatendencytogobodilytosleep;consciousnessbecomesengrossedamongthereflexandmechanicalpartsoflife;andsoonlosesboththewillandpowertolookhigherconsiderationsintheface.Thisisruin;thisisthelastfailureinlife;thisistemporaldamnation;damnationonthespotandwithouttheformofjudgment.“Whatshallitprofitamanifhegainthewholeworldandlosehimself?”It is to keep aman awake, to keep him alive to his own soul and its fixeddesignofrighteousness,thatthebetterpartofmoralandreligiouseducationisdirected;notonlythatofwordsanddoctors,butthesharpferuleofcalamityunderwhichweareallGod’sscholarstillwedie.If,asteachers,wearetosay

anythingtothepurpose,wemustsaywhatwillremindthepupilofhissoul;wemustspeakthatsoul’sdialect;wemusttalkoflifeandconductashissoulwouldhavehimthinkofthem.If,fromsomeconformitybetweenusandthepupil,orperhapsamongallmen,wedo in truthspeak insuchadialectandexpresssuchviews,beyondquestionweshall touchinhimaspring;beyondquestionhewillrecognisethedialectasonethathehimselfhasspokeninhisbetter hours; beyond question he will cry, “I had forgotten, but now Iremember;Itoohaveeyes,andIhadforgottousethem!Itoohaveasoulofmyown,arrogantlyupright, and to that Iwill listenandconform.” In short,say to him anything that he has once thought, or been upon the point ofthinking,orshowhimanyviewoflifethathehasonceclearlyseen,orbeenuponthepointofclearlyseeing;andyouhavedoneyourpartandmayleavehimtocompletetheeducationforhimself.Nowtheviewtaughtat thepresent timeseemstometowantgreatness;andthedialectinwhichaloneitcanbeintelligiblyutteredisnotthedialectofmysoul. It is a sort of postponement of life; nothing quite is, but somethingdifferentistobe;wearetokeepoureyesupontheindirectfromthecradletothegrave.Weare to regulateourconductnotbydesire,butbyapoliticeyeuponthefuture;andtovalueactsastheywillbringusmoneyorgoodopinion;as they will bring us, in one word, profit. We must be what is calledrespectable,andoffendnoonebyourcarriage;itwillnotdotomakeoneselfconspicuous—whoknows?eveninvirtue?saystheChristianparent!Andwemust be what is called prudent and make money; not only because it ispleasanttohavemoney,butbecausethatalsoisapartofrespectability,andwecannothopetobereceivedinsocietywithoutdecentpossessions.Receivedinsociety!asifthatwerethekingdomofheaven!ThereisdearMr.So-and-so;—lookathim!—somuchrespected—somuchlookedupto—quitetheChristianmerchant!Andwemustcutourconductasstrictlyaspossibleafterthepatternof Mr. So-and-so; and lay our whole lives to make money and be strictlydecent.Besidestheseholyinjunctions,whichformbyfarthegreaterpartofayouth’straininginourChristianhomes,thereareatleasttwootherdoctrines.Wearetolivejustnowaswellaswecan,butscrapeatlastintoheaven,whereweshallbegood.Wearetoworrythroughtheweekinalay,disreputableway,but,tomakematterssquare,liveadifferentlifeonSunday.The train of thought we have been following gives us a key to all thesepositions, without stepping aside to justify them on their own ground. It isbecause we have been disgusted fifty times with physical squalls and fiftytimestornbetweenconflictingimpulses,thatweteachpeoplethisindirectandtacticalprocedureinlife,andtojudgebyremoteconsequencesinsteadoftheimmediatefaceofthings.Theverydesiretoactasourownsoulswouldhaveus, coupled with a pathetic disbelief in ourselves, moves us to follow theexampleofothers;perhaps,whoknows?theymaybeontherighttrack;and

themoreourpatternsareinnumber,thebetterseemsthechance;until,ifwebeactinginconcertwithawholecivilisednation,therearesurelyamajorityofchancesthatwemustbeactingright.Andagain,howtrueitisthatwecannever behave as we wish in this tormented sphere, and can only aspire todifferent and more favourable circumstances, in order to stand out and beourselveswhollyandrightly!Andyetoncemore,ifinthehurryandpressureofaffairsandpassionsyoutendtonodandbecomedrowsy,herearetwenty-fourhoursofSundaysetapartforyoutoholdcounselwithyoursoulandlookaroundyouonthepossibilitiesoflife.This is not, of course, all that is to be, or even should be, said for thesedoctrines. Only, in the course of this chapter, the reader and I have agreeduponafewcatchwords,andbeenlookingatmoralsonacertainsystem;itwasapitytoloseanopportunityoftestingthecatchwords,andseeingwhether,bythis systemaswell as byothers, current doctrines could showanyprobablejustification.Ifthedoctrineshadcometoobadlyoutofthetrial,itwouldhavecondemnedthesystem.Oursightoftheworldisverynarrow;themindbutapedestrian instrument; there’s nothing new under the sun, as Solomon says,exceptthemanhimself;andthoughthatchangestheaspectofeverythingelse,yethemustseethesamethingsasotherpeople,onlyfromadifferentside.Andnow,havingadmittedsomuch,letusturntocriticism.If you teach a man to keep his eyes upon what others think of him,unthinkingly to lead the life and hold the principles of the majority of hiscontemporaries,youmustdiscredit inhiseyes theoneauthoritativevoiceofhisownsoul.Hemaybeadocilecitizen;hewillneverbeaman.Itisours,ontheotherhand,todisregardthisbabbleandchatteringofothermenbetterandworsethanweare,andtowalkstraightbeforeusbywhatlightwehave.Theymaybe right;but so,beforeheaven, arewe.Theymayknow;butweknowalso, andby that knowledgewemust standor fall.There is such a thing asloyaltytoaman’sownbetterself;andfromthosewhohavenotthat,Godhelpme,howamItolookforloyaltytoothers?Themostdull,themostimbecile,at a certain moment turn round, at a certain point will hear no furtherargument,butstandunflinchingbytheirowndumb,irrationalsenseofright.Itisnotonlybysteelor fire,but throughcontemptandblame, that themartyrfulfils the calling of his dear soul. Be glad if you are not tried by suchextremities.But althoughall theworld ranged themselves inone line to tellyou“Thisiswrong,”beyouyourownfaithfulvassalandtheambassadorofGod—throwdownthegloveandanswer“Thisisright.”Doyouthinkyouareonlydeclaringyourself?Perhapsinsomedimway,likeachildwhodeliversamessagenot fullyunderstood,youareopeningwider thestraitsofprejudiceand preparing mankind for some truer and more spiritual grasp of truth;perhaps, as you stand forth for your own judgment, you are covering a

thousandweakoneswithyourbody;perhaps,by thisdeclarationalone,youhave avoided the guilt of falsewitness against humanity and the little onesunborn. It is good, I believe, to be respectable, butmuch nobler to respectoneselfandutterthevoiceofGod.God,iftherebeanyGod,speaksdailyinanew language by the tongues ofmen; the thoughts and habits of each freshgenerationandeachnew-coinedspirit throwanother lightupon theuniverseand contain another commentaryon theprintedBibles; every scruple, everytruedissent,everyglimpseofsomethingnew,isaletterofGod’salphabet;andthoughthereisagraveresponsibilityforallwhospeak,istherenoneforthosewhounrighteouslykeepsilenceandconform?Isnotthatalsotoconcealandcloak God’s counsel? And how should we regard the man of science whosuppressedallfactsthatwouldnottallywiththeorthodoxyofthehour?Wrong? You are as surely wrong as the sun rose this morning round therevolvingshoulderoftheworld.Nottruth,buttruthfulness,isthegoodofyourendeavour.Forwhenwillmenreceivethatfirstpartandpre-requisiteoftruth,that,bytheorderofthings,bythegreatnessoftheuniverse,bythedarknessandpartialityofman’sexperience,bytheinviolatesecrecyofGod,keptcloseinHismostopenrevelations,everymanis,andtotheendoftheagesmustbe,wrong?Wrongtotheuniverse;wrongtomankind;wrongtoGod.Andyetinanother sense, and that plainer and nearer, every man of men, who wishestruly,mustberight.Heisrighttohimself,andinthemeasureofhissagacityandcandour.Thatlethimdoinallsincerityandzeal,notsparingathoughtforcontraryopinions; that, forwhat it isworth, lethimproclaim.Benotafraid;althoughhebewrong, soalso is thedead, stuffedDagonhe insults.For thevoiceofGod,whateveritis,isnotthatstammering,inepttraditionwhichthepeopleholds.Thesetruthssurviveintravesty,swampedinaworldofspiritualdarknessandconfusion;andwhatafewcomprehendandfaithfullyhold, themany,intheirdeadjargon,repeat,degrade,andmisinterpret.SofarofRespectability:whattheCovenantersusedtocall“rankconformity”:thedeadliestgagandwetblanketthatcanbelaidonmen.AndnowofProfit.Andthisdoctrineisperhapsthemoreredoubtable,becauseitharmsallsortsofmen;notonlytheheroicandself-reliant,buttheobedient,cowlikesquadrons.A man, by this doctrine, looks to consequences at the second, or third, orfiftieth turn.Hechooseshisend,andfor that,withwily turnsand throughagreatseaoftedium,steersthismortalbark.Theremaybepoliticalwisdominsuchaview;butIampersuadedtherecanspringnogreatmoralzeal.Tolookthusobliquelyuponlifeistheveryrecipeformoralslumber.Ourintentionandendeavourshouldbedirected,notonsomevagueendofmoneyorapplause,whichshallcometousbyaricochetinamonthorayear,ortwentyyears,butontheactitself;notontheapprovalofothers,butontherightnessofthatact.Ateveryinstant,ateverystepinlife,thepointhastobedecided,oursoulhasto be saved, heaven has to be gained or lost.At every step our spiritsmust

applaud,ateverystepwemustsetdownthefootandsoundthetrumpet.“Thishave I done,”wemust say; “right orwrong, this have I done, in unfeignedhonourofintention,astomyselfandGod.”Theprofitofeveryactshouldbethis,thatitwasrightforustodoit.Anyotherprofitthanthat,ifitinvolvedakingdomorthewomanIlove,ought,ifIwereGod’suprightsoldier,toleavemeuntempted.Itisthemarkofwhatwecallarighteousdecision,thatitismadedirectlyandfor its own sake. The whole man, mind and body, having come to anagreement,tyrannicallydictatesconduct.Therearetwodispositionseternallyopposed:thatinwhichwerecognisethatonethingiswrongandanotherright,and that in which, not seeing any clear distinction, we fall back on theconsideration of consequences. The truth is, by the scope of our presentteaching,nothingisthoughtverywrongandnothingveryright,exceptafewactionswhichhavethedisadvantageofbeingdisrespectablewhenfoundout;themore serious part ofmen inclining to think all things ratherwrong, themorejovialtosupposethemrightenoughforpracticalpurposes.Iwillengagemyhead,theydonotfindthatviewintheirownhearts;theyhavetakenitupinadarkdespair;theyarebuttroubledsleeperstalkingintheirsleep.Thesoul,or my soul at least, thinks very distinctly upon many points of right andwrong, and often differs flatly with what is held out as the thought ofcorporatehumanityinthecodeofsocietyorthecodeoflaw.AmItosupposemyself a monster? I have only to read books, the Christian Gospels forexample,tothinkmyselfamonsternolonger;andinsteadIthinkthemassofpeoplearemerelyspeakingintheirsleep.It isacommonplace,enshrined, if Imistakenot,eveninschoolcopy-books,thathonouristobesoughtandnotfame.Iasknootheradmission;wearetoseekhonour,uprightwalkingwithourownconscienceeveryhouroftheday,andnotfame,theconsequence,thefar-offreverberationofourfootsteps.Thewalk, not the rumour of the walk, is what concerns righteousness. Betterdisrespectable honour than dishonourable fame. Better useless or seeminglyhurtful honour, than dishonour ruling empires and filling the mouths ofthousands.Forthemanmustwalkbywhathesees,andleavetheissuewithGodwhomadehimandtaughthimbythefortuneofhislife.Youwouldnotdishonour yourself for money; which is at least tangible; would you do it,then,foradoubtfulforecastinpolitics,oranotherperson’stheoryinmorals?Sointricateistheschemeofouraffairs,thatnomancancalculatethebearingofhisownbehaviourevenonthoseimmediatelyaroundhim,howmuchlessupon theworld at large or on succeeding generations! Towalk by externalprudenceandtheruleofconsequenceswouldrequire,notaman,butGod.Allthatweknowtoguideusinthischanginglabyrinthisoursoulwithitsfixeddesignofrighteousness,andafewoldpreceptswhichcommendthemselvesto

that.Thepreceptsarevaguewhenweendeavourtoapplythem;consequencesaremoreentangledthanawispofstring,andtheirconfusionisunrestinglyinchange;wemustholdtowhatweknowandwalkbyit.Wemustwalkbyfaith,indeed,andnotbyknowledge.You do not love another because he is wealthy or wise or eminentlyrespectable:you lovehimbecauseyou lovehim; that is love, andanyotheronlyaderisionandgrimace.Itshouldbethesamewithallouractions.Ifweweretoconceiveaperfectman,itshouldbeonewhowasnevertornbetweenconflicting impulses, but who, on the absolute consent of all his parts andfaculties, submitted in every action of his life to a self-dictation as absoluteandunreasonedasthatwhichbidshimloveonewomanandbetruetohertilldeath.Butweshouldnotconceivehimassagacious,ascetical,playingoffhisappetitesagainsteachother,turningthewingofpublicrespectableimmoralityinstead of riding it directly down, or advancing toward his end through athousand sinister compromises and considerations. The one man might bewily,mightbeadroit,mightbewise,mightberespectable,mightbegloriouslyuseful;itistheothermanwhowouldbegood.Thesoulaskshonourandnotfame;tobeupright,nottobesuccessful;tobegood,notprosperous;tobeessentially,notoutwardly,respectable.Doesyoursoulaskprofit?Doesitaskmoney?Doesitasktheapprovaloftheindifferentherd?Ibelievenot.Formyownpart,Iwantbutlittlemoney,Ihope;andIdonotwanttobedecentatall,buttobegood.

CHAPTERIV

WEhavespokenofthatsupremeself-dictationwhichkeepsvaryingfromhourtohourinitsdictateswiththevariationofeventsandcircumstances.Now,forus,thatisultimate.Itmaybefoundedonsomereasonableprocess,butitisnotaprocesswhichwecanfolloworcomprehend.Andmoreoverthedictationisnotcontinuous,ornotcontinuousexceptinverylivelyandwell-livingnatures;andbetweenwhileswemustbrushalongwithoutit.Practiceisamoreintricateanddesperatebusinessthanthetoughesttheorising;lifeisanaffairofcavalry,where rapid judgment and prompt action are alone possible and right.As amatterof fact, there isnoonesouprightbuthe is influencedby theworld’schatter;andnoonesoheadlongbutherequirestoconsiderconsequencesandto keep an eye on profit. For the soul adopts all affections and appetiteswithoutexception,andcaresonlytocombinethemforsomecommonpurposewhich shall interest all.Now respect for the opinion of others, the study ofconsequencesandthedesireofpowerandcomfort,areallundeniablyfactorsin the nature of man; and the more undeniably since we find that, in our

current doctrines, they have swallowed up the others and are thought toconcludeinthemselvesalltheworthypartsofman.These,then,mustalsobesufferedtoaffectconductinthepracticaldomain,muchorlittleaccordingastheyareforciblyorfeeblypresenttothemindofeach.Nowaman’sviewoftheuniverseismostlyaviewofthecivilisedsocietyinwhichhelives.Othermenandwomenaresomuchmoregrosslyandsomuchmoreintimatelypalpabletohisperceptions,thattheystandbetweenhimandalltherest;theyarelargertohiseyethanthesun,hehearsthemmoreplainlythan thunder;with them, by them, and for them, hemust live and die.Andhencethelawsthataffecthisintercoursewithhisfellow-men,althoughmerelycustomaryandthecreaturesofageneration,aremoreclearlyandcontinuallybeforehismindthanthosewhichbindhimintotheeternalsystemofthings,supporthiminhisuprightprogressonthiswhirlingball,orkeepupthefireofhis bodily life. And hence it is that money stands in the first rank ofconsiderations and so powerfully affects the choice. For our society is builtwithmoney formortar; money is present in every joint of circumstance; itmightbenamedthesocialatmosphere,since,insociety,itisbythatalonemencontinuetolive,andonlythroughthatorchancethattheycanreachoraffectone another.Money gives us food, shelter, and privacy; it permits us to becleaninperson,opensforusthedoorsofthetheatre,gainsusbooksforstudyor pleasure, enables us to help the distresses of others, and puts us abovenecessity so thatwe can choose thebest in life. Ifwe love, it enables us tomeetandlivewiththelovedone,oreventoprolongherhealthandlife;ifwehavescruples, itgivesusanopportunity tobehonest; ifwehaveanybrightdesigns,hereiswhatwillsmooththewaytotheiraccomplishment.Penuryistheworstslavery,andwillsoonleadtodeath.Butmoney isonlyameans; itpresupposesaman touse it.The richcangowherehepleases,butperhapspleasehimselfnowhere.Hecanbuyalibraryorvisitthewholeworld,butperhapshasneitherpatiencetoreadnorintelligenceto see.The tablemaybe loadedand theappetitewanting; thepursemaybefullandtheheartempty.Hemayhavegainedtheworldandlosthimself;andwith all hiswealth around him, in a great house and spacious and beautifuldemesne, he may live as blank a life as any tattered ditcher. Without anappetite,without an aspiration, void of appreciation, bankrupt of desire andhope, there, in his great house, let him sit and look upon his fingers. It isperhapsamorefortunatedestinytohaveatasteforcollectingshellsthantobebornamillionaire.Althoughneitheristobedespised,itisalwaysbetterpolicytolearnaninterestthantomakeathousandpounds;forthemoneywillsoonbe spent, or perhaps you may feel no joy in spending it; but the interestremainsimperishableandevernew.Tobecomeabotanist,ageologist,asocialphilosopher, an antiquary, or an artist, is to enlarge one’s possessions in theuniversebyanincalculablyhigherdegree,andbyafarsurersortofproperty,

thantopurchaseafarmofmanyacres.Youhadperhapstwothousandayearbefore the transaction;perhapsyouhave two thousand fivehundredafter it.Thatrepresentsyourgain in theonecase.But in theother,youhavethrowndownabarrierwhichconcealed significanceandbeauty.Theblindmanhaslearnedtosee.Theprisonerhasopenedupawindowinhiscellandbeholdsenchanting prospects; he will never again be a prisoner as he was; he canwatchcloudsandchangingseasons,shipsontheriver,travellersontheroad,andthestarsatnight;happyprisoner!hiseyeshavebrokengaol!Andagainhewhohaslearnedtoloveanartorsciencehaswiselylaiduprichesagainstthedayofriches;ifprosperitycome,hewillnotenterpoorintohisinheritance;hewillnotslumberandforgethimselfinthelapofmoney,orspendhishoursincounting idle treasures, but be up and briskly doing; he will have the truealchemictouch,whichisnotthatofMidas,butwhichtransmutesdeadmoneyintolivingdelightandsatisfaction.Êtreetpasavoir—tobe,nottopossess—thatistheproblemoflife.Tobewealthy,arichnatureisthefirstrequisiteandmoney but the second. To be of a quick and healthy blood, to share in allhonourablecuriosities,toberichinadmirationandfreefromenvy,torejoicegreatly in thegoodofothers, to lovewithsuchgenerosityofheart thatyourloveisstilladearpossessioninabsenceorunkindness—thesearethegiftsoffortunewhichmoneycannotbuyandwithoutwhichmoneycanbuynothing.For what can a man possess, or what can he enjoy, except himself? If heenlargehisnature,itisthenthatheenlargeshisestates.Ifhisnaturebehappyandvaliant,hewillenjoytheuniverseasifitwerehisparkandorchard.Butmoneyisnotonlytobespent;ithasalsotobeearned.Itisnotmerelyaconvenienceoranecessaryinsociallife;butitisthecoininwhichmankindpays his wages to the individual man. And from this side, the question ofmoneyhasaverydifferentscopeandapplication.Fornomancanbehonestwho does not work. Service for service. If the farmer buys corn, and thelabourerploughsandreaps,andthebakersweatsinhishotbakery,plainlyyouwhoeatmustdosomethinginyourturn.Itisnotenoughtotakeoffyourhat,ortothankGoduponyourkneesfortheadmirableconstitutionofsocietyandyour own convenient situation in its upper and more ornamental stories.Neither is it enough to buy the loafwith a sixpence; for then you are onlychangingthepointoftheinquiry;andyoumustfirsthaveboughtthesixpence.Service for service: how have you bought your sixpences? Aman of spiritdesirescertaintyinathingofsuchanature;hemustseetoitthatthereissomereciprocitybetweenhimandmankind;thathepayshisexpenditureinservice;that he has not a lion’s share in profit and a drone’s in labour; and is not asleepingpartner andmere costly incubuson thegreatmercantile concernofmankind.Servicesdiffersowidelywithdifferentgifts,andsomearesoinappreciabletoexternaltests,thatthisisnotonlyamatterfortheprivateconscience,butone

which even theremust be leniently and trustfully considered.For rememberhowmanyservemankindwhodonomorethanmeditate;andhowmanyareprecious to their friends for no more than a sweet and joyous temper. Toperformthefunctionofamanoflettersitisnotnecessarytowrite;nay,itisperhapsbettertobealivingbook.Solongasweloveweserve;solongaswearelovedbyothers,Iwouldalmostsaythatweareindispensable;andnomanis uselesswhile he has a friend.The true services of life are inestimable inmoney,andareneverpaid.Kindwordsandcaresses,highandwisethoughts,humane designs, tender behaviour to the weak and suffering, and all thecharitiesofman’sexistence,areneitherboughtnorsold.Yetthedearestandreadiest,ifnotthemostjust,criterionofaman’sservices,is thewage thatmankindpayshim,or,briefly,whatheearns.Thereat leasttherecanbenoambiguity.St.Paulisfullyandfreelyentitledtohisearningsas a tentmaker, and Socrates fully and freely entitled to his earnings as asculptor,althoughthetruebusinessofeachwasnotonlysomethingdifferent,but something which remained unpaid. A man cannot forget that he is notsuperintended,andservesmankindonparole.Hewouldlike,whenchallengedbyhisownconscience,toreply:“Ihavedonesomuchwork,andnoless,withmyownhandsandbrain,andtakensomuchprofit,andnomore,formyownpersonaldelight.”AndthoughSt.Paul,ifhehadpossessedaprivatefortune,would probably have scorned to waste his time in making tents, yet of allsacrifices to public opinion none can bemore easily pardoned than that bywhichaman,alreadyspirituallyusefultotheworld,shouldrestrictthefieldofhis chief usefulness to perform services more apparent, and possess alivelihood that neither stupidity nor malice could call in question. Like allsacrificestopublicopinionandmereexternaldecency,thiswouldcertainlybewrong; for the soul should rest contented with its own approval andindissuadablypursueitsowncalling.Yet,sograveanddelicateisthequestion,thatamanmaywellhesitatebeforehedecidesitforhimself;hemaywellfearthat he sets toohigh avaluationonhisownendeavours after good;hemaywellcondescenduponahumblerduty,whereothers thanhimselfshall judgetheserviceandproportionthewage.Andyetitistothisveryresponsibilitythattherichareborn.Theycanshuffleoff thedutyonnoother; theyare theirownpaymastersonparole;andmustpay themselves fairwages andnomore.For I suppose that in the courseofages,and throughreformandcivilwarand invasion,mankindwaspursuingsomeotherandmoregeneraldesignthantosetoneortwoEnglishmenofthenineteenthcenturybeyond thereachofneedsandduties.Societywasscarceput together, and defended with so much eloquence and blood, for theconvenienceoftwoorthreemillionairesandafewhundredotherpersonsofwealthandposition.Itisplainthatifmankindthusactedandsufferedduringall thesegenerations, theyhoped somebenefit, someease, somewell-being,

forthemselvesandtheirdescendants; that if theysupportedlawandorder, itwas to secure fair-play for all; that if theydenied themselves in thepresent,they must have had some designs upon the future. Now a great hereditaryfortune is amiracleofman’swisdomandmankind’s forbearance; it hasnotonlybeenamassedandhandeddown,ithasbeensufferedtobeamassedandhandeddown;andsurelyinsuchaconsiderationasthis,itspossessorshouldfindonlyanewspurtoactivityandhonour,thatwithallthispowerofserviceheshouldnotproveunserviceable,andthatthismassoftreasureshouldreturninbenefitsupontherace.Ifhehadtwenty,orthirty,orahundredthousandathisbanker’s,orifallYorkshireorallCaliforniawerehistomanageortosell,he would still be morally penniless, and have the world to begin likeWhittington, until he had found somewayof servingmankind.Hiswage isphysicallyinhisownhand;but,inhonour,thatwagemuststillbeearned.Heisonly stewardonparoleofwhat is calledhis fortune.Hemusthonourablyperformhisstewardship.Hemustestimatehisownservicesandallowhimselfasalaryinproportion,forthatwillbeoneamonghisfunctions.Andwhilehewill then be free to spend that salary, great or little, on his own privatepleasures, the rest of his fortune he but holds and disposes under trust formankind;itisnothis,becausehehasnotearnedit;itcannotbehis,becausehis services have already been paid; but year by year it is his to distribute,whether tohelp individualswhosebirthrightandoutfithavebeenswallowedupinhis,ortofurtherpublicworksandinstitutions.Atthisrate,shortofinspiration,itseemshardlypossibletobebothrichandhonest;andthemillionaireisunderafarmorecontinuoustemptationtothievethan the labourer who gets his shilling daily for despicable toils. Are yousurprised?Itisevenso.AndyourepeatiteverySundayinyourchurches.“Itiseasierforacameltopassthroughtheeyeofaneedlethanforarichmantoenter the kingdom of God.” I have heard this and similar texts ingeniouslyexplained away and brushed from the path of the aspiring Christian by thetenderGreatheartoftheparish.Oneexcellentclergymantoldusthatthe“eyeof a needle”meant a low,Oriental postern throughwhich camels could notpass till they were unloaded—which is very likely just; and then went on,bravelyconfoundingthe“kingdomofGod”withheaven,thefutureparadise,toshowthatofcoursenorichpersoncouldexpecttocarryhisrichesbeyondthe grave—which, of course, he could not and never did. Various greedysinners of the congregation drank in the comfortable doctrinewith relief. Itwasworth thewhile having come to church that Sundaymorning!Allwasplain. The Bible, as usual, meant nothing in particular; it was merely anobscureandfigurativeschool-copybook;andifamanwereonlyrespectable,hewasamanafterGod’sownheart.Alas!Ifearnot.Andthoughthismatterofaman’sservicesisoneforhisownconscience, there are somecases inwhich it is difficult to restrain themind

fromjudging.ThusIshallbeveryeasilypersuadedthatamanhasearnedhisdaily bread; and if he has but a friend or two to whom his company isdelightfulatheart,Iammorethanpersuadedatonce.Butitwillbeveryhardto persuademe that any one has earned an income of a hundred thousand.What he is to his friends, he still would be if he were made penniless to-morrow; for as to the courtiers of luxury and power, Iwill neither considerthemfriends,norindeedconsiderthematall.Whathedoesformankindtherearemost likelyhundredswhowoulddo thesame,aseffectually for the raceand as pleasurably to themselves, for the merest fraction of this monstrouswage.Whyitispaid,Iam,therefore,unabletoconceive,andasthemanpaysithimself,outoffundsinhisdetention,Ihaveacertainbackwardnesstothinkhimhonest.Atleast,wehavegainedaveryobviouspoint: thatwhatamanspendsuponhimselfheshallhaveearnedbyservicestotherace.Thenceflowsaprinciplefortheoutsetoflife,whichisalittledifferentfromthattaughtinthepresentday.Iamaddressingthemiddleandtheupperclasses;thosewhohavealreadybeen fostered and prepared for life at some expense; thosewho have somechoice before them, and can pick professions; and above all, thosewho arewhatiscalledindependent,andneeddonothingunlesspushedbyhonourorambition.Inthisparticularthepoorarehappy;amongthem,whenaladcomestohisstrength,hemusttaketheworkthatoffers,andcantakeitwithaneasyconscience. But in the richer classes the question is complicated by thenumber of opportunities and a variety of considerations. Here, then, thisprincipleofourscomesinhelpfully.Theyoungmanhastoseek,notaroadtowealth,butanopportunityofservice;notmoney,buthonestwork. Ifhehassomestrongpropensity,somecallingofnature,someoverweeninginterestinany special field of industry, inquiry, or art, he will do right to obey theimpulse; and that for two reasons: the first external, because there he willrender the best services; the secondpersonal, because a demandof his ownnatureistohimwithoutappealwheneveritcanbesatisfiedwiththeconsentofhisotherfacultiesandappetites.Ifhehasnosuchelectivetaste,bytheveryprinciple on which he chooses any pursuit at all he must choose the mosthonestandserviceable,andnotthemosthighlyremunerated.Wehavehereanexternalproblem,notfromortoourself,butflowingfromtheconstitutionofsociety;andwehaveourownsoulwithitsfixeddesignofrighteousness.Allthatcanbedoneistopresenttheprobleminpropertermsandleaveittothesouloftheindividual.Nowtheproblemtothepoorisoneofnecessity:toearnwherewithal to live, theymust find remunerative labour.But theproblem totherichisoneofhonour:havingthewherewithal,theymustfindserviceablelabour.Eachhastoearnhisdailybread:theone,becausehehasnotyetgotittoeat;theother,whohasalreadyeatenit,becausehehasnotyetearnedit.Ofcourse,whatistrueofbreadistrueofluxuriesandcomforts,whetherfor

the body or the mind. But the consideration of luxuries leads us to a newaspect of thewhole question, and to a second proposition no less true, andmaybenolessstartling,thanthelast.At the present day, we, of the easier classes, are in a state of surfeit anddisgrace after meat. Plethora has filled us with indifference; and we arecoveredfromheadtofootwiththecallositiesofhabitualopulence.Bornintowhat iscalledacertainrank,we live,as thesaying is,up toourstation.Wesquanderwithout enjoyment, because our fathers squandered.We eat of thebest, not from delicacy, but from brazen habit.We do not keenly enjoy oreagerlydesire thepresenceofa luxury;weareunaccustomedto itsabsence.Andnotonlydowesquandermoneyfromhabit,butstillmorepitifullywasteit in ostentation. I can think of nomoremelancholy disgrace for a creaturewho professes either reason or pleasure for his guide, than to spend thesmallestfractionofhisincomeuponthatwhichhedoesnotdesire;andtokeepa carriage inwhich you do notwish to drive, or a butler ofwhom you areafraid,isapathetickindoffolly.Money,beingameansofhappiness,shouldmakebothpartieshappywhenitchangeshands;rightlydisposed,itshouldbetwiceblessedinitsemployment;andbuyerandsellershouldalikehavetheirtwentyshillings’worthofprofitoutofeverypound.BenjaminFranklinwentthrough life an altered man, because he once paid too dearly for a pennywhistle.Myconcernspringsusuallyfromadeepersource,towit,fromhavingboughtawhistlewhenIdidnotwantone.IfindIregretthis,orwouldregretitif I gave myself the time, not only on personal but on moral andphilanthropicalconsiderations.For, first, inaworldwheremoneyiswantingtobuybooksforeagerstudentsandfoodandmedicineforpiningchildren,andwherealargemajorityarestarvedintheirmostimmediatedesires,itissurelybase, stupid,andcruel tosquandermoneywhenIampushedbynoappetiteandenjoynoreturnofgenuinesatisfaction.Myphilanthropyiswideenoughin scope to includemyself; andwhen I havemademyself happy, I have atleastonegoodargumentthatIhaveactedrightly;butwherethatisnotso,andIhaveboughtandnotenjoyed,mymouthisclosed,andIconceivethatIhaverobbedthepoor.And,second,anythingIbuyorusewhichIdonotsincerelywantorcannotvividlyenjoy,disturbsthebalanceofsupplyanddemand,andcontributestoremoveindustrioushandsfromtheproductionofwhatisusefulorpleasurableandtokeepthembusyuponropesofsandandthingsthatareawearinesstotheflesh.Thatextravaganceistrulysinful,andaverysillysintoboot, inwhichwe impoverishmankindandourselves. It is anotherquestionforeachman’sheart.Heknowsifhecanenjoywhathebuysanduses;ifhecannot,heisadoginthemanger;nay,ifhecannot,Icontendheisathief,fornothingreallybelongstoamanwhichhecannotuse.Proprietorisconnectedwith propriety; and that only is theman’swhich is proper to hiswants andfaculties.

Ayouth,inchoosingacareer,mustnotbealarmedbypoverty.Wantisasorething,butpovertydoesnotimplywant.Itremainstobeseenwhetherwithhalfhispresent income,ora third,hecannot, inthemostgeneroussense, liveasfullyasatpresent.Heisafoolwhoobjects toluxuries;butheisalsoafoolwhodoesnotprotestagainstthewasteofluxuriesonthosewhodonotdesireandcannotenjoythem.Itremainstobeseen,byeachmanwhowouldliveatrue life to himself and not a merely specious life to society, how manyluxuries he truly wants and to howmany hemerely submits as to a socialpropriety;andalltheselasthewillimmediatelyforswear.Lethimdothis,andhe will be surprised to find how little money it requires to keep him incomplete contentment and activity of mind and senses. Life at any levelamong theeasyclasses is conceiveduponaprincipleof rivalry,whereeachmanandeachhouseholdmustapethetastesandemulatethedisplayofothers.Oneisdelicateineating,anotherinwine,athirdinfurnitureorworksofartordress;andI,whocarenothingforanyoftheserefinements,whoamperhapsaplainathleticcreatureandloveexercise,beef,beer,flannelshirtsandacampbed, am yet called upon to assimilate all these other tastes andmake theseforeignoccasionsofexpendituremyown.Itmaybecynical:IamsureIshallbe told it is selfish;but Iwill spendmymoneyas Ipleaseand formyownintimatepersonalgratification,andshouldcountmyselfanincompoopindeedtolayout thecolourofahalfpennyonanyfanciedsocialdecencyorduty.Ishall notwear glovesunlessmyhands are cold, or unless I ambornwith adelight in them.Dress ismyownaffair, and that of oneother in theworld;that,infact,andforanobviousreason,ofanywomanwhoshallchancetobeinlovewithme.IshalllodgewhereIhaveamind.IfIdonotasksocietytolivewithme,theymustbesilent;andevenifIdo,theyhavenofurtherrightbuttorefusetheinvitation.Thereisakindofideaabroadthatamanmustliveuptohisstation,thathishouse,histable,andhistoilette,shallbeinaratioofequivalence,andequallyimposing to the world. If this is in the Bible, the passage has eluded myinquiries. If it is not in theBible, it is nowhere but in the heart of the fool.Throwasidethisfancy.Seewhatyouwant,andspenduponthat;distinguishwhatyoudonotcareabout,andspendnothinguponthat.Therearenotmanypeoplewhocandifferentiatewinesaboveacertainand thatnotatallahighprice.Areyou sureyouareoneof these?Areyou sureyouprefer cigars atsixpenceeachtopipesatsomefractionofafarthing?Areyousureyouwishtokeepagig?Doyoucareaboutwhereyousleep,orareyounotasmuchatyoureaseinacheaplodgingasinanElizabethanmanor-house?Doyouenjoyfineclothes? It isnotpossible toanswer thesequestionswithouta trial; andthere is nothing more obvious to my mind, than that a man who has notexperiencedsomeupsanddowns,andbeenforcedtolivemorecheaplythanin his father’s house, has still his education to begin.Let the experiment be

made, and he will find to his surprise that he has been eating beyond hisappetiteuptothathour;thatthecheaplodging,thecheaptobacco,theroughcountryclothes, theplain table,havenotonlynopower todamphis spirits,butperhapsgivehimaskeenpleasureintheusingasthedaintiesthathetook,betwixt sleep and waking, in his former callous and somnambuloussubmissiontowealth.ThetrueBohemian,acreaturelosttoviewundertheimaginaryBohemiansofliterature,isexactlydescribedbysuchaprincipleoflife.TheBohemianofthenovel,whodrinksmorethanisgoodforhimandprefersanythingtowork,andwearsstrangeclothes,isforthemostpartarespectableBohemian,respectablein disrespectability, living for the outside, and an adventurer.But theman Imean liveswholly tohimself,doeswhathewishes,andnotwhat is thoughtproper,buyswhathewantsforhimselfandnotwhatisthoughtproper,worksatwhathebelieveshecandowellandnotwhatwillbringhiminmoneyorfavour.Youmay be themost respectable ofmen, and yet a trueBohemian.And the test is this: aBohemian, foraspoorashemaybe, is alwaysopen-handedtohisfriends;heknowswhathecandowithmoneyandhowhecandowithout it, a far rarer andmore useful knowledge; he has had less, andcontinuedtoliveinsomecontentment;andhencehecaresnottokeepmore,and shares his sovereign or his shillingwith a friend. The poor, if they aregenerous,areBohemianinvirtueoftheirbirth.Doyouknowwherebeggarsgo?Nottothegreathouseswherepeoplesitdazedamongtheirthousands,buttothedoorsofpoormenwhohaveseentheworld;anditwasthewidowwhohadonlytwomites,whocasthalfherfortuneintothetreasury.Butayoungmanwhoelectstosaveondressoronlodging,orwhoinanywayfallsoutof thelevelofexpenditurewhichiscommontohis level insociety,falls out of society altogether. I suppose the youngman to have chosen hiscareeronhonourableprinciples;hefindshistalentsandinstinctscanbebestcontentedinacertainpursuit;inacertainindustry,heissurethatheisservingmankindwithahealthyandbecomingservice;andheisnotsurethathewouldbedoingso,ordoingsoequallywell,inanyotherindustrywithinhisreach.Then that ishis true sphere in life;not theone inwhichhewasborn tohisfather,buttheonewhichispropertohistalentsandinstincts.Andsupposehedoesfalloutofsociety, is thatacauseofsorrow?Isyourheartsodead thatyouprefertherecognitionofmanytotheloveofafew?Doyouthinksocietylovesyou?Put it to theproof.Decline inmaterialexpenditure,andyouwillfindtheycarenomoreforyouthanfortheKhanofTartary.Youwilllosenofriends.Ifyouhadany,youwillkeepthem.Onlythosewhowerefriends toyourcoatandequipagewilldisappear;thesmilingfaceswilldisappearasbyenchantment;butthekindheartswillremainsteadfastlykind.Areyousolost,areyousodead,areyousolittlesureofyourownsoulandyourownfootingupon solid fact, that you prefer before goodness and happiness the

countenanceofsundrydiners-out,whowillfleefromyouatareportofruin,whowilldropyouwithinsultatashadowofdisgrace,whodonotknowyouanddonotcaretoknowyoubutbysight,andwhomyouinyourturnneitherknownor care to know in amore humanmanner? Is it not the principle ofsociety, openly avowed, that friendship must not interfere with business;which being paraphrased,means simply that a consideration ofmoney goesbefore any consideration of affection known to this cold-blooded gang, thatthey have not even the honour of thieves, and will rook their nearest anddearestas readilyasastranger? Ihope Iwouldgoas farasmost toserveafriend; but I declare openly I would not put onmy hat to do a pleasure tosociety.ImaystarvemyappetitesandcontrolmytemperforthesakeofthoseIlove;butsocietyshalltakemeasIchoosetobe,orgowithoutme.Neitherthey nor I will lose; for where there is no love, it is both laborious andunprofitabletoassociate.Butitisobviousthatifitisonlyrightforamantospendmoneyonthatwhichhecantrulyandthoroughlyenjoy,thedoctrineapplieswithequalforcetotherichandtothepoor,tothemanwhohasamassedmanythousandsaswellastotheyouthprecariouslybeginninglife.Anditmaybeasked,Isnotthismerelypreparingmisers,whoarenotthebestofcompany?Buttheprinciplewasthis:thatwhichamanhasnotfairlyearned,and,further,thatwhichhecannotfullyenjoy, does not belong to him, but is a part ofmankind’s treasurewhichheholdsasstewardonparole.Tomankind,then,itmustbemadeprofitable;andhowthisshouldbedoneis,oncemore,aproblemwhicheachmanmustsolveforhimself,andaboutwhichnonehasarighttojudgehim.Yetthereareafewconsiderationswhichareveryobviousandmayherebestated.Mankindisnotonlythewholeingeneral,buteveryoneinparticular.Everymanorwomanisoneofmankind’sdearpossessions;tohisorherjustbrain,andkindheart,andactivehands,mankindintrustssomeofitshopesforthefuture;heorsheisapossible wellspring of good acts and source of blessings to the race. Thismoneywhichyoudonotneed,which,inarigidsense,youdonotwant,maythereforebereturnednotonlyinpublicbenefactionstotherace,butinprivatekindnesses.Yourwife, your children, your friends standnearest to you, andshouldbehelpedthefirst.Thereatleasttherecanbelittleimposture,foryouknowtheirnecessitiesofyourownknowledge.Andconsider,ifalltheworlddid as you did, and according to theirmeans extended help in the circle oftheiraffections,therewouldbenomorecryingwantintimesofplentyandnomore cold, mechanical charity given with a doubt and received withconfusion.Wouldnot this simple rulemakeanewworldoutof theold andcruelonewhichweinhabit?

PRAYERS

WRITTENFORFAMILYUSEATVAILIMA

LORD, behold our family here assembled.We thank Thee for this place inwhichwedwell;forthelovethatunitesus;forthepeaceaccordedusthisday;for thehopewithwhichweexpect themorrow;for thehealth, thework, thefood,andthebrightskies,thatmakeourlivesdelightful;forourfriendsinallparts of the earth, and our friendly helpers in this foreign isle. Let peaceabound in our small company. Purge out of every heart the lurking grudge.Giveusgraceandstrengthtoforbearandtopersevere.Offenders,giveusthegrace toacceptand toforgiveoffenders.Forgetfulourselves,helpus tobearcheerfullytheforgetfulnessofothers.Giveuscourageandgaietyandthequietmind.Sparetousourfriends,softentousourenemies.Blessus,ifitmaybe,inallourinnocentendeavours.Ifitmaynot,giveusthestrengthtoencounterthat which is to come, that we be brave in peril, constant in tribulation,temperate inwrath, and in all changes of fortune, and down to the gates ofdeath, loyal and loving one to another. As the clay to the potter, as thewindmill to thewind,aschildrenof their sire,webeseechofThee thishelpandmercyforChrist’ssake.GRANTthatweherebeforeTheemaybesetfreefromthefearofvicissitudeandthefearofdeath,mayfinishwhatremainsbeforeusofourcoursewithoutdishonourtoourselvesorhurttoothers,and,whenthedaycomes,maydieinpeace.Deliverusfromfearandfavour:frommeanhopesandcheappleasures.Havemercyoneachinhisdeficiency;lethimbenotcastdown;supportthestumblingontheway,andgiveatlastresttotheweary.THE day returns and brings us the petty round of irritating concerns andduties.Help us to play theman, help us to perform themwith laughter andkindfaces,letcheerfulnessaboundwithindustry.Giveustogoblithelyonourbusiness all this day, bring us to our resting beds weary and content andundishonoured,andgrantusintheendthegiftofsleep.WEcomebeforeThee,OLord,intheendofThydaywiththanksgiving.Our beloved in the far parts of the earth, thosewho are now beginning thelaboursofthedaywhattimeweendthem,andthosewithwhomthesunnowstandsatthepointofnoon,bless,help,console,andprosperthem.Ourguardisrelieved,theserviceofthedayisover,andthehourcometorest.We resign into Thy hands our sleeping bodies, our cold hearths and opendoors.Give us to awakewith smiles, give us to labour smiling.As the sunreturns in the east, so let our patience be renewed with dawn; as the sunlightens theworld, so let our loving-kindnessmakebright this houseof ourhabitation.LORD, receiveour supplications for thishouse, family,andcountry.Protect

the innocent, restrain the greedy and the treacherous, lead us out of ourtribulationintoaquietland.Lookdownuponourselvesanduponourabsentdearones.Helpusandthem;prolongourdays inpeaceandhonour.Giveushealth, food,brightweather,and light hearts. Inwhatwemeditate of evil, frustrate ourwill; inwhat ofgood, further our endeavours.Cause injuries to be forgot and benefits to beremembered.Let us lie downwithout fear and awake and arise with exultation. For Hissake,inwhosewordswenowconclude.WEthankThee,Lord,forthegloryofthelatedaysandtheexcellentfaceofThy sun. We thank Thee for good news received. We thank Thee for thepleasureswe have enjoyed and for thosewe have been able to confer.Andnow, when the clouds gather and the rain impends over the forest and ourhouse,permitusnottobecastdown;letusnotlosethesavourofpastmerciesandpastpleasures;but,likethevoiceofabirdsingingintherain,letgratefulmemorysurviveinthehourofdarkness.Iftherebeinfrontofusanypainfulduty, strengthen uswith the grace of courage; if any act ofmercy, teach ustendernessandpatience.LORD,Thousendestdownrainupontheuncountedmillionsoftheforest,andgivestthetreestodrinkexceedingly.Wearehereuponthisisleafewhandfulsofmen,andhowmanymyriadsuponmyriadsofstalwarttrees!Teachusthelessonofthetrees.Theseaaroundus,whichthisrainrecruits,teemswiththeraceoffish;teachus,Lord,themeaningofthefishes.Letusseeourselvesforwhatweare,oneoutofthecountlessnumberoftheclansofThyhandiwork.When we would despair, let us remember that these also please and serveThee.TO-DAYwegoforthseparate,someofustopleasure,someofustoworship,someuponduty.Gowithus,ourguideandangel;holdThoubeforeusinourdividedpathsthemarkofourlowcalling,stilltobetruetowhatsmallbestwecanattainto.Helpusinthat,ourmaker,thedispenserofevents—Thou,ofthevast designs, in whichwe blindly labour, suffer us to be so far constant toourselvesandourbeloved.FORour absent loved oneswe imploreThy loving-kindness.Keep them inlife,keepthemingrowinghonour;andforus,grantthatweremainworthyoftheirlove.ForChrist’ssake,letnotourbelovedblushforus,norweforthem.Grantusbutthat,andgrantuscouragetoendurelesserillsunshaken,andtoacceptdeath,loss,anddisappointmentasitwerestrawsuponthetideoflife.AID us, if it be Thy will, in our concerns. Have mercy on this land andinnocentpeople.Helpthemwhothisdaycontendindisappointmentwiththeirfrailties. Bless our family, bless our forest house, bless our island helpers.

Thouwhohastmadeforusthisplaceofeaseandhope,acceptandinflameourgratitude; help us to repay, in service one to another, the debt of Thineunmerited benefits andmercies, so thatwhen the period of our stewardshipdraws to a conclusion, when the windows begin to be darkened, when thebondof thefamily is tobe loosed, thereshallbenobitternessof remorse inourfarewells.HelpustolookbackonthelongwaythatThouhastbroughtus,onthelongdays in which we have been served not according to our deserts but ourdesires; on thepit and themiry clay, the blackness of despair, thehorror ofmisconduct,fromwhichourfeethavebeenpluckedout.Foroursinsforgivenor prevented, for our shame unpublished,we bless and thankThee,OGod.Helpusyetagainandever.Soorderevents,sostrengthenourfrailty,asthatdaybydayweshallcomebeforeTheewiththissongofgratitude,andintheendwebedismissedwithhonour.Intheirweaknessandtheirfear,thevesselsofThyhandiworksopraytoThee,sopraiseThee.Amen.WEbeseechThee,Lord,tobeholduswithfavour,folkofmanyfamiliesandnations gathered together in the peace of this roof, weak men and womensubsisting under the covert of Thy patience.Be patient still; suffer us yet awhile longer;—with our broken purposes of good,with our idle endeavoursagainstevil,sufferusawhilelongertoendure,and(ifitmaybe)helpustodobetter.Blesstousourextraordinarymercies;ifthedaycomewhenthesemustbe taken, brace us to play theman under affliction.Bewith our friends, bewithourselves.Gowitheachofustorest; ifanyawake, tempertothemthedarkhoursofwatching;andwhen theday returns, return tous,our sunandcomforter,andcallusupwithmorningfacesandwithmorninghearts—eagertolabour—eagertobehappy,ifhappinessshallbeourportion—andifthedaybemarkedforsorrow,strongtoendureit.WethankTheeandpraiseThee;andinthewordsofHimtowhomthisdayissacred,closeouroblation.LORD,enlightenustoseethebeamthatisinourowneye,andblindustothemote that is inourbrother’s.Let us feel ouroffenceswithourhands,makethemgreatandbrightbeforeuslikethesun,makeuseatthemanddrinkthemforourdiet.Blindus to theoffencesofourbeloved,cleanse themfromourmemories,takethemoutofourmouthsforever.LetallherebeforeTheecarryandmeasurewiththefalsebalancesoflove,andbeintheirowneyesandinallconjunctures the most guilty. Help us at the same time with the grace ofcourage, thatwe be none of us cast downwhenwe sit lamenting amid theruinsofourhappinessorourintegrity: touchuswithfirefromthealtar, thatwemaybeupanddoingtorebuildourcity:inthenameandbythemethodofHiminwhosewordsofprayerwenowconclude.LORD, the creatures of Thy hand, Thy disinherited children, come before

Theewith their incoherentwishesand regrets:Childrenweare, childrenweshallbe,tillourmothertheearthhathfeduponourbones.Acceptus,correctus, guide us, Thy guilty innocents. Dry our vain tears, wipe out our vainresentments, help our yet vainer efforts. If there be any here, sulking aschildrenwill,dealwithandenlightenhim.Makeitdayaboutthatperson,sothatheshallseehimselfandbeashamed.Makeitheavenabouthim,Lord,bythe only way to heaven, forgetfulness of self, and make it day about hisneighbours,sothattheyshallhelp,nothinderhim.WEareevil,OGod,andhelpustoseeitandamend.Wearegood,andhelpustobebetter.LookdownuponThyservantswithapatienteye,evenasThousendestsunandrain;lookdown,calluponthedrybones,quicken,enliven;re-createinusthesoulofservice,thespiritofpeace;renewinusthesenseofjoy.

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