The Project Gutenberg eBook ofMy Commonplace Book

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofMy Commonplace BookThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: My Commonplace BookEditor: James Thompson HackettRelease date: November 5, 2019 [eBook #60637]Most recently updated: October 17, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY COMMONPLACE BOOK ***

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: My Commonplace BookEditor: James Thompson HackettRelease date: November 5, 2019 [eBook #60637]Most recently updated: October 17, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

Title: My Commonplace Book

Editor: James Thompson Hackett

Release date: November 5, 2019 [eBook #60637]Most recently updated: October 17, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY COMMONPLACE BOOK ***

MYCOMMONPLACEBOOK

J. T. HACKETT

“Omne meum, nihil meum”

T. FISHER UNWIN LTDLONDON: ADELPHI TERRACE

First publication in Great Britain, September, 1919.

Second English Edition, September, 1920.

Third English Edition, January, 1921.

O Memories!O Past that is!George Eliot.

O Memories!O Past that is!

O Memories!

O Past that is!

George Eliot.

DEDICATEDTO MYDEAR FRIENDRICHARD HODGSONWHO HAS PASSED OVERTO THE OTHER SIDE

Of wounds and sore defeatI made my battle-stay;Wingèd sandals for my feetI wove of my delay;Of weariness and fearI made my shouting spear;Of loss, and, doubt, and dread,And swift oncoming doomI made a helmet for my headAnd a floating plume.From the shutting mist of death,From the failure of the breathI made a battle-horn to blowAcross the vales of overthrow.O hearken, love, the battle-horn!The triumph clear, the silver scorn!O hearken where the echoes bring,Down the grey disastrous morn,Laughter and rallying![1]William Vaughn Moody.

Of wounds and sore defeat

I made my battle-stay;

Wingèd sandals for my feet

I wove of my delay;

Of weariness and fear

I made my shouting spear;

Of loss, and, doubt, and dread,

And swift oncoming doom

I made a helmet for my head

And a floating plume.

From the shutting mist of death,

From the failure of the breath

I made a battle-horn to blow

Across the vales of overthrow.

O hearken, love, the battle-horn!

The triumph clear, the silver scorn!

O hearken where the echoes bring,

Down the grey disastrous morn,

Laughter and rallying![1]

William Vaughn Moody.

I cannot but remember such things were,That were most precious to me.Macbeth, IV, 3.

I cannot but remember such things were,That were most precious to me.

I cannot but remember such things were,

That were most precious to me.

Macbeth, IV, 3.

A large proportion of the most interesting quotations in this book was collected between 1874 and 1886. During that period I was under the influence of Richard Hodgson, who was my close friend from childhood. To him directly and indirectly this book is largely indebted.

Hodgson (1855-1905) had a remarkably pure, noble, and lovable character, and was one of the most gifted men Australia has produced. He is known in philosophic circles from some early contributions toMindand other journals, but is mainly known from his work in psychical research, to which he devoted the best years of his life. Apart from his great ability in other directions, he was endowed, even in youth, with fine taste and a clear and mature literary judgment. This will appear to some extent in the quotations over his name, and the note onp. 208will give further particulars of his career. He was from two to three years older than myself, and guided me in my early reading. Therefore, indirectly, he has to do with most of the contents of this book.

But, more than this, about one-third of the main quotations (not including the notes which I have only now added) came direct from Hodgson. He left Australia in 1877, but we maintained a voluminous correspondence until 1886. This correspondence contained most of the quotations referred to, and the remainderHodgson gave me in London on the only occasion I met him after he left Australia. (After 1886 he became so immersed in psychical research, and I in legal work, that our correspondence ceased to be of a literary character.) Thus directly and indirectly Hodgson has much to do with the book—and, if it had been practicable, I would have placed his name on the title-page.

This book is simply one to be taken up at odd moments, like any other collection of quotations. But there are two reasons why it may have some special interest. One reason is that it includes passages from a number of authors who appear to have become forgotten, or, at any rate, to be passing Lethe-wards. We, who dwell in the underworld,[3]cannot, of course, have a complete knowledge of what is known or forgotten in the inner literary circles of England. We can depend only on the books and periodicals that happen to come to our hands, and perhaps should not rely too much on such sources of information. Yet I cannot but think that Robert Buchanan, for example, has become largely forgotten, and apparently this is the case also with a number of other authors from whom I quote. Because of this, I have retained all the passages I had from such authors.

It must be remembered that this book is not an anthology. A commonplace book is usually a collection ofremindersmade by a young man who cannot afford an extensive library. There is no system in such a collection. A book is borrowed and extracts made from it; another book by the same author isboughtand no extract made from it. On the one hand a favourite verse, although well known, is written out for some reason or other; on the other hand hundreds of beautiful poems are omitted. So far from this being an anthology, I have, as a matter of course, omitted many poems that since the seventy-eighty period have become general favourites; and, as regards the most beautiful gems of our literature, they are almost all excluded. There are for example, only a few lines from Shakespeare.

Some exceptions have, however, been made. In a series of word-pictures, a few of the best-known passages will be found. A few others have been included for reasons that will readily appear; they either form part of a series or the reason is apparent from the notes. Apart from these I have retained Blanco White’s great sonnet and “The Night has a thousand eyes,” written by F. W. Bourdillon when an undergraduate at Worcester College, Oxford, because with regard to these I had an interesting and instructive experience. I accidentally discovered that of four well-read men (two at least of them more thorough studentsof poetry than myself) two were ignorant of the one poem and two of the other. Seeking an explanation, I turned to the anthologies. I could not find in any of them Bourdillon’s little gem until I came to the comparatively recentOxford Book of Victorian VerseandThe Spirit of Man. The Blanco White sonnet I could findnowhereexcept in collections of sonnets, which in my opinion are little read. It will be observed that in anthologies alone can Blanco White’s one and only poem be kept alive.

The second reason why this book may have a special interest is that it may serve as a reminder to my contemporaries of our stirring thoughts and experiences in the seventies and eighties. How interesting this period was it is difficult to show in a few lines. In pure literature, books of value simply poured from the press. In the closing year, 1889, “One who never turned his back, but marched breast forward” died on the day that his last book,Asolando, was published, leaving Tennyson, an old man of eighty, the sole survivor of the poets of a great period. At almost the same moment “Crossing the Bar” was published.

Apart from literature, the seventies and eighties were an eventful period in science and religion. Darwinism was still causing its tremendous upheaval, and the supposed conflict between religion and science exercised an enormous effect on the minds of men. Evolution had explained so much of the processes in the history of life, that themajorityof thinkers at that time imagined that no room was left for the super-natural. Science was supposed to have given a death-blow to religion, and the greatest wave of materialism ever known in the history of the world swept over England and Europe. It is strange how many great thinkers missed what now appears so obvious a fact, that causality still stood behind all law, and that Darwin, like Newton, had merely helped to show the method by which the universe is governed. (It seems to me that James Martineau stood supreme at that time as a man of genius who saw clearly the inherent defect of the whole materialist movement.)

However, agnosticism, materialism, positivism flourished and triumphed. Science, whose dignity had been so long unrecognized, came into her own, and, in her turn, usurped the same dogmatic superior attitude she had resented in ecclesiasticism. On the one hand pessimistic literature and philosophy poured from the press; on the other hand new religions arose to take the place of the old. Theosophy and spiritualism were in evidence everywhere (leading in 1882 to the happy result that the Society for Psychical Research was founded). Harrison, Clifford, Swinburne and others preached the deification of man. There were discords within, as well as foes without the church. The severely orthodox fought against the revelations of Colenso and the highercriticism; Seeley’sEcce Homoand a host of other works aroused fierce antagonism; Pius IX, who had in 1864 published his Syllabus which would have destroyed modern civilization, proclaimed the infallibility of the Pope in 1870—and in 1872 was deprived of temporal power. Such questions as the literal interpretation and inerrancy of the Bible were the subjects of intense conflict—and especially strange is it to remember the dire struggle of well-intentioned men to maintain the horrible doctrine of eternal punishment. I imagine that this book will assist to some extent in recalling the atmosphere and aroma of that remarkable period.

I have made very little attempt to arrange my quotations—and now wish I had done less in that direction. The book is intended for casual reading, and to arrange it under headings would tend to make itheavy. The element of surprise is more calculated to make the book attractive.

I began the notes that are appended to some of the quotations with the intention of giving only such short, necessary explanations as would be of assistance to the inexperienced reader. When, however, I began to write, I found my pen running away with me. Apart from the usual, ineffectual efforts of one’s youth, I had never before attempted literary work, and for the first time experienced the great pleasure there is in such writing. With the immense variety of subjects in a collection of quotations, one could continue to write over a series of years; but it was necessary to keep the book within reasonable bounds, and, therefore, I had arbitrarily to come to a stop. In these notes I do not claim that there is much, if any, originality,[4]they are mostly recollections of old reading. Still they may serve the important purpose of revivifying old truths (see p. 78).

I have been astonished at the great deal of work this book has involved—and also how much I have needed the assistance of my friends. There were some sixty or seventy quotations in respect to which I had neglected to give any reference to the authors (for the same reason as one did not put the names on photographs of old friends—it seemed impossible that the names could be forgotten). The difficulty of finding even one such quotation is enormous, and we have no British Museum in Adelaide, but only some limited public libraries. However, with the help of my friends I have succeeded in tracing the paternity of most of these “orphans.” In this and other directions I have had the kind assistance of many gentlemen. Of these first andforemost comes Mr. G. F. Hassell, the publisher of the Adelaide edition, who, in his devotion to literature as well as to his own art of printing, is a worthy representative of the old Renaissance printers. He has given me every assistance, has gone through every line, and, as he is both an exceedingly well-read man and also of a younger generation than myself, I have left it to him to decide what should be omitted and what retained in this book. Professor Mitchell has also been so kind as to revise and make suggestions concerning a number of notes on philosophic and other subjects. Professor Darnley Naylor has been uniformly good in revising any notes of a classical nature—though he takes no responsibility whatever for the views I express. Dr. E. Harold Davies has also helped me with two notes on music, in one instance correcting a serious mistake I had made. Sir Langdon Bonython, my friend of many years, has assisted me with practical as well as literary suggestions, and has thrown open his library to me. Mr. Francis Edwards, of High Street, Marylebone, has assisted in my search for references to quotations. Mr. H. Rutherford Purnell, Public Librarian of Adelaide, and his staff have helped me throughout, and Mr. E. La Touche Armstrong, Public Librarian of Melbourne, has gone to great trouble on my account. Miss M. R. Walker has assisted me in various ways, and especially in preparing the very difficult Index of Subjects. Mr. Sydney Temple Thomas has lent me a number of important books I specially required. Others who have helped me in one way or another are two English friends, Mrs. Caroline Sidgwick and Mrs. Rachael Bray, Messrs. J. R. Fowler, H. W. Uffindell, S. Talbot Smith and Dr. J. W. Browne, of Adelaide, Professor Dettmann of New Zealand, Professor Hyslop of New York and Mr. F. C. Govers of the State War Council, Sydney.

For permission to include quotations from their works I thank the following authors: Rev. F. W. Boreham, Mr. F. W. Bourdillon, Mr. A. J. Edmunds, Mr. Edmund Gosse, Mr. Thomas Hardy, O.M., Professor Hobhouse, Mr. Rudyard Kipling, Mr. E. F. Knight, Mr. R. Le Gallienne, Mr. W. S. Lilly, Mr. Robert Loveman, Sir Frederick Pollock, Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, Professor A. H. Sayce, Mrs. Cronwright Schreiner, Mr. J. C. Squire, Mr. Herbert Trench, Mr. Samuel Waddington, Mrs. Humphry Ward, Mr. F. A. Westbury, Mr. F. S. Williamson and Sir Francis Younghusband.

For extracts from the writings of their relatives I am grateful to Lady Arnold, Sir Francis Darwin, Mr. Henry James, The Earl of Lytton, Dr. Greville McDonald, Miss Martineau, Miss Massey, Mr. W. M. Meredith, Mrs. F. W. H. Myers, the Rev. Conrad Noel, Mr. William M. Rossetti, Sir Herbert Stephen and Lord Tennyson. Mr. Piddington has also given much assistance.

I am indebted to the following for quotations from the works of the authors named: of Ruskin to the Ruskin Literary Trustees and their publishers, Messrs. George Allen and Unwin; of Brunton Stephens to Messrs. Angus and Robertson; of C. S. Calverley to Messrs. G. Bell and Sons; of George Eliot to Messrs. William Blackwood & Sons; of James Kenneth Stephen to Messrs. Bowes and Bowes; of Francis Thompson to Messrs. Burns and Oates; of R. L. Stevenson to Messrs. Chatto and Windus and to Messrs. Charles Scribner’s Sons; of Robert Buchanan to Messrs. Chatto and Windus and to Mr. W. E. Martyn; of James Thomson (B.V.) to Messrs. P. J. and A. E. Dobell; of D. G. Rossetti to Messrs. Ellis; of Swinburne to Mr. W. Heinemann; of Mr. Le Gallienne, H. D. Lowry, Stephen Phillips and J. B. Tabb to Mr. John Lane; of R. Loveman to the J. B. Lippincott Co.; of A. K. H. Boyd, R. Jeffries, W. E. H. Lecky and the Rev. James Martineau, to Messrs. Longmans Green & Co.; of Alfred Austin, T. E. Brown, Lewis Carroll, Edward Fitzgerald, F. W. H. Myers, Walter Pater, Lord Tennyson and Charles Tennyson Turner to Messrs. Macmillan & Co.; of V. O’Sullivan to Mr. Elkin Matthews; of Mrs. Elizabeth Waterhouse to Messrs. Methuen & Co.; of Robert Browning to Mr. John Murray; of Dr. Moncure Conway and Sir Alfred Lyall to Messrs. Paul (Kegan), Trench Trubner & Co.; of George Gissing to Mr. James B. Pinker; of John Payne to Mr. O. M. Pritchard, his executor, and to Mr. Thomas Wright; of Sir Edwin Arnold, P. J. Bailey (Festus) and Coventry Patmore to Messrs. George Routledge & Sons; of G. Whyte Melville to Messrs. Ward Lock & Co. (songs and verses); of George MacDonald to Messrs. A. P. Watt & Son; Mr. Rudyard Kipling’s “L’Envoi” is reprinted from Departmental Ditties, by kind permission of the author and Messrs. Methuen & Co.; “To the True Romance” is published by Messrs. Macmillan & Co., to whom I am deeply indebted, not only for this and the permissions mentioned above, but also for much assistance in tracing copyrights. Messrs. Longmans, Green & Co., Mr. John Murray and Messrs. A. P. Watt & Son have been most helpful in this direction, as have also been Messrs. T. B. Lippincott, the Oxford University Press and Messrs. Watts & Co. Messrs. Constable & Co. have generously granted permission for the quotations from George Meredith and, as the representatives in London of the Houghton Mifflin Co. of Boston, Mass., have secured the quotations from the works of American authors published by that Firm, viz., T. B. Aldrich, R. W. Gilder, W. V. Moody, S. M. B. Piatt, E. M. Thomas, C. D. Warner and the Classics of Emerson, Longfellow, Lowell and Whittier. Messrs. G. P. Putnam’s Sons have also given much help; the lines from Anna Reeve Aldrich and R. C. Rogers are published by their New York House. Mr. Martin Seeker joins in the consent given by Mr. Squire for the extract from his poems. I thank the Editorof the Contemporary Review for quotations from the writings of Professor A. Bain and the Rev. R. F. Littledale; and the Editor of the Nineteenth Century for some lines by W. M. Hardinge (Greek Anthology) and an article on Multiplex Personality. I thank also the Society for Psychical Research for an obituary article by F. W. H. Myers on Gladstone, printed in the Journal of that Society.

For any unintentional omissions, oversights, or failures to trace rights I beg to tender my apologies. The distance of Adelaide from the centre of publication may, in some measure, serve as an excuse for such shortcomings.

All profits derived from the sale of this book will be paid to the Red Cross Fund.

J. T. Hackett.

Adelaide.

In preparing this edition I have made a great number of more or less important corrections, alterations and additions. Most of these occupy only a few lines apiece and, although none call for special mention, they should together add to the interest and usefulness of this book. For a number of them I am indebted to Mr. Vernon Rendall, formerly editor of theAthenæumandNotes and Queries. With his wonderfully wide and exact knowledge of English and classical literature, he gave me much assistance and I am grateful to him.

The issue of a Second Edition enables me to thank my friend, Sir John Cockburn, for his truly remarkable kindness to me. When I sent this book home from Adelaide to be published, he undertook the heavy work of seeking the consent of the numerous copyright owners, negotiating with publishers, and seeing the book through the press. Only those who are experienced in such matters can realize theenormousamount of time and labour that all this involved. It is impossible for me to express adequately my obligations to my friend. He did not include any reference to himself in the original Preface, in spite of my insistence by letter and cable.

In associating his name with this book, I am bound to add that Sir John disagrees with and, therefore, disapproves of much that I have said in some notes on the Ancient Greeks.

J. T. Hackett.

London,September, 1920.

This has presumably to be called a new edition, rather than a new issue, seeing that there are revisions and alterations. But these are not numerous, and the only ones to which I need call special attention are the substituted verses onpp. 153-5.

I am indebted to Mr. Denys Bray for permission to include his daughter’s verses.

J. T. Hackett.

Mentone,December, 1920.

Verse, a breeze ’mid blossoms straying,Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee—Both were mine! Life went a-mayingWith Nature, Hope, and Poesy,When I was young!WhenI was young?—Ah, woful When!Ah! for the change ’twixt Now and Then!This breathing house not built with hands,This body that does me grievous wrong,O’er aery cliffs and glittering sandsHow lightlythenit flashed along:—Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,On winding lakes and rivers wide,That ask no aid of sail or oar,That fear no spite of wind or tide!Nought cared this body for wind or weatherWhen Youth and I lived in’t together.Flowers are lovely: Love is flower-like;Friendship is a sheltering tree;O! the joys, that came down shower-like,Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,Ere I was old!EreI was old? Ah, woful Ere,Which tells me, Youth’s no longer here!O Youth! for years so many and sweet’Tis known that Thou and I were one,I’ll think it but a fond conceit—It cannot be, that thou art gone!Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll’d:—And thou wert aye a masker bold!What strange disguise hast now put onTomake believethat Thou art gone?I see these locks in silvery slips,This drooping gait, this alter’d size:But Spring-tide blossoms on thy lips,And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!Life is but Thought: so think I willThat Youth and I are house-mates still.Dew-drops are the gems of morning,But the tears of mournful eve!Where no hope is, life’s a warningThat only serves to make us grieveWhen we are old:—That only serves to make us grieveWith oft and tedious taking-leave,Like some poor nigh-related guestThat may not rudely be dismist,Yet hath outstay’d his welcome while,And tells the jest without the smile.S. T. Coleridge.

Verse, a breeze ’mid blossoms straying,Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee—Both were mine! Life went a-mayingWith Nature, Hope, and Poesy,When I was young!

Verse, a breeze ’mid blossoms straying,

Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee—

Both were mine! Life went a-maying

With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,

When I was young!

WhenI was young?—Ah, woful When!Ah! for the change ’twixt Now and Then!This breathing house not built with hands,This body that does me grievous wrong,O’er aery cliffs and glittering sandsHow lightlythenit flashed along:—Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,On winding lakes and rivers wide,That ask no aid of sail or oar,That fear no spite of wind or tide!Nought cared this body for wind or weatherWhen Youth and I lived in’t together.

WhenI was young?—Ah, woful When!

Ah! for the change ’twixt Now and Then!

This breathing house not built with hands,

This body that does me grievous wrong,

O’er aery cliffs and glittering sands

How lightlythenit flashed along:—

Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,

On winding lakes and rivers wide,

That ask no aid of sail or oar,

That fear no spite of wind or tide!

Nought cared this body for wind or weather

When Youth and I lived in’t together.

Flowers are lovely: Love is flower-like;Friendship is a sheltering tree;O! the joys, that came down shower-like,Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,Ere I was old!

Flowers are lovely: Love is flower-like;

Friendship is a sheltering tree;

O! the joys, that came down shower-like,

Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,

Ere I was old!

EreI was old? Ah, woful Ere,Which tells me, Youth’s no longer here!O Youth! for years so many and sweet’Tis known that Thou and I were one,I’ll think it but a fond conceit—It cannot be, that thou art gone!Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll’d:—And thou wert aye a masker bold!What strange disguise hast now put onTomake believethat Thou art gone?I see these locks in silvery slips,This drooping gait, this alter’d size:But Spring-tide blossoms on thy lips,And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!Life is but Thought: so think I willThat Youth and I are house-mates still.

EreI was old? Ah, woful Ere,

Which tells me, Youth’s no longer here!

O Youth! for years so many and sweet

’Tis known that Thou and I were one,

I’ll think it but a fond conceit—

It cannot be, that thou art gone!

Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll’d:—

And thou wert aye a masker bold!

What strange disguise hast now put on

Tomake believethat Thou art gone?

I see these locks in silvery slips,

This drooping gait, this alter’d size:

But Spring-tide blossoms on thy lips,

And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!

Life is but Thought: so think I will

That Youth and I are house-mates still.

Dew-drops are the gems of morning,But the tears of mournful eve!Where no hope is, life’s a warningThat only serves to make us grieveWhen we are old:—That only serves to make us grieveWith oft and tedious taking-leave,Like some poor nigh-related guestThat may not rudely be dismist,Yet hath outstay’d his welcome while,And tells the jest without the smile.

Dew-drops are the gems of morning,

But the tears of mournful eve!

Where no hope is, life’s a warning

That only serves to make us grieve

When we are old:

—That only serves to make us grieve

With oft and tedious taking-leave,

Like some poor nigh-related guest

That may not rudely be dismist,

Yet hath outstay’d his welcome while,

And tells the jest without the smile.

S. T. Coleridge.

Our God and soldier we alike adore,When at the brink of ruin, not before;After deliverance both alike requited,Our God forgotten, and our soldiers slighted.Francis Quarles(1592-1644).

Our God and soldier we alike adore,When at the brink of ruin, not before;After deliverance both alike requited,Our God forgotten, and our soldiers slighted.

Our God and soldier we alike adore,

When at the brink of ruin, not before;

After deliverance both alike requited,

Our God forgotten, and our soldiers slighted.

Francis Quarles(1592-1644).

In an age of fops and toys,Wanting wisdom, void of right,Who shall nerve heroic boysTo hazard all in Freedom’s fight?...So nigh is grandeur to our dust,So near is God to man,When Duty whispers low,Thou must,The youth replies,I can.R. W. Emerson(Voluntaries).

In an age of fops and toys,

Wanting wisdom, void of right,

Who shall nerve heroic boys

To hazard all in Freedom’s fight?

...

So nigh is grandeur to our dust,

So near is God to man,

When Duty whispers low,Thou must,

The youth replies,I can.

R. W. Emerson(Voluntaries).

ENGLAND

When I have borne in memory what has tamedGreat Nations, how ennobling thoughts departWhen men change swords for ledgers, and desertThe student’s bower for gold, some fears unnamedI had, my Country—am I to be blamed?Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art,Verily, in the bottom of my heart,Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed.For dearly must we prize thee; we who findIn thee a bulwark for the cause of men;And I by my affection was beguiled:What wonder if a Poet now and then,Among the many movements of his mind,Felt for thee as a lover or a child!Wordsworth(1803).

When I have borne in memory what has tamed

Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart

When men change swords for ledgers, and desert

The student’s bower for gold, some fears unnamed

I had, my Country—am I to be blamed?

Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art,

Verily, in the bottom of my heart,

Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed.

For dearly must we prize thee; we who find

In thee a bulwark for the cause of men;

And I by my affection was beguiled:

What wonder if a Poet now and then,

Among the many movements of his mind,

Felt for thee as a lover or a child!

Wordsworth(1803).

Careless seems the great Avenger; history’s pages but recordOne death struggle in the darkness ’twixt old systems and the Word;Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne,—Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown,Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above His own.J. R. Lowell(The Present Crisis).

Careless seems the great Avenger; history’s pages but record

One death struggle in the darkness ’twixt old systems and the Word;

Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne,—

Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown,

Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above His own.

J. R. Lowell(The Present Crisis).

Many loved Truth, and lavished life’s best oilAmid the dust of books to find her,Content at last, for guerdon of their toil,With the cast mantle she hath left behind her.Many in sad faith sought for her,Many with crossed hands sighed for her;But these, our brothers, fought for her,At life’s dear peril wrought for her,So loved her that they died for her....They saw her plumed and mailed,With sweet, stern face unveiled,And all-repaying eyes, look proud on them in death.J. R. Lowell(Ode at Harvard Commemoration, 1865).

Many loved Truth, and lavished life’s best oil

Amid the dust of books to find her,

Content at last, for guerdon of their toil,

With the cast mantle she hath left behind her.

Many in sad faith sought for her,

Many with crossed hands sighed for her;

But these, our brothers, fought for her,

At life’s dear peril wrought for her,

So loved her that they died for her....

They saw her plumed and mailed,

With sweet, stern face unveiled,

And all-repaying eyes, look proud on them in death.

J. R. Lowell(Ode at Harvard Commemoration, 1865).

This Ode was written in memory of the Harvard University men who had died in the Secession war. Our own brave men are also fighting in the cause of Truth, against the hideous falsity of German teaching and morals.

The future’s gainIs certain as God’s truth; but, meanwhile, painIs bitter, and tears are salt: our voices takeA sober tone; our very household songsAre heavy with a nation’s griefs and wrongs;And innocent mirth is chastened for the sakeOf the brave hearts that nevermore shall beat.The eyes that smile no more, the unreturning feet!J. G. Whittier(In War Time).

The future’s gain

Is certain as God’s truth; but, meanwhile, pain

Is bitter, and tears are salt: our voices take

A sober tone; our very household songs

Are heavy with a nation’s griefs and wrongs;

And innocent mirth is chastened for the sake

Of the brave hearts that nevermore shall beat.

The eyes that smile no more, the unreturning feet!

J. G. Whittier(In War Time).

PRIEST“The glory of Man is his strength,And the weak man must die,” said the Lord.CHORUSHark to the Song of the Sword!PRIESTUplift! let it gleam in the sun—Uplift in the name of the Lord!KAISERLo! how it gleams in the light,Beautiful, bloody, and bright.Yea, I uplift the SwordThus in the name of the Lord!THE CHIEFSForm ye a circle of fireAround him, our King and our Sire—While in the centre he stands,Kneel with your swords in your hands,Then with one voice deep and freeEcho like waves of the sea—“In the name of the Lord!”VOICES WITHOUTWhere is he?—he fades from our sight!Where the Sword?—all is blacker than night.Is it finish’d, that loudly ye cry?Doth he sheathe the great Sword while we die?O bury us deep, most deep;Write o’er us, wherever we sleep,“In the name of the Lord!”KAISERWhile I uplift the Sword,Thus in the name of the Lord,Why, with mine eyes full of tears,Am I sick of the song in mine ears?God of the Israelite, hear;God of the Teuton, be near;Strengthen my pulse lest I fail.Shut out these slain while they wail—For they come with the voice of the graveOn the glory they give me and gave.CHORUSIn the name of the Lord? Of what Lord?Where is He, this God of the Sword?Unfold Him; where hath He His throne?Is He Lord of the Teuton alone?Doth He walk on the earth? Doth He treadOn the limbs of the dying and dead?Unfold Him! We sicken, and longTo look on this God of the strong!PRIESTHush! In the name of the Lord,Kneel ye, and bless ye the Sword!R. Buchanan(The Apotheosis of theSword, Versailles, 1871)

PRIEST“The glory of Man is his strength,And the weak man must die,” said the Lord.

PRIEST

“The glory of Man is his strength,

And the weak man must die,” said the Lord.

CHORUSHark to the Song of the Sword!

CHORUS

Hark to the Song of the Sword!

PRIESTUplift! let it gleam in the sun—Uplift in the name of the Lord!

PRIEST

Uplift! let it gleam in the sun—

Uplift in the name of the Lord!

KAISERLo! how it gleams in the light,Beautiful, bloody, and bright.Yea, I uplift the SwordThus in the name of the Lord!

KAISER

Lo! how it gleams in the light,

Beautiful, bloody, and bright.

Yea, I uplift the Sword

Thus in the name of the Lord!

THE CHIEFSForm ye a circle of fireAround him, our King and our Sire—While in the centre he stands,Kneel with your swords in your hands,Then with one voice deep and freeEcho like waves of the sea—“In the name of the Lord!”

THE CHIEFS

Form ye a circle of fire

Around him, our King and our Sire—

While in the centre he stands,

Kneel with your swords in your hands,

Then with one voice deep and free

Echo like waves of the sea—

“In the name of the Lord!”

VOICES WITHOUTWhere is he?—he fades from our sight!Where the Sword?—all is blacker than night.Is it finish’d, that loudly ye cry?Doth he sheathe the great Sword while we die?O bury us deep, most deep;Write o’er us, wherever we sleep,“In the name of the Lord!”

VOICES WITHOUT

Where is he?—he fades from our sight!

Where the Sword?—all is blacker than night.

Is it finish’d, that loudly ye cry?

Doth he sheathe the great Sword while we die?

O bury us deep, most deep;

Write o’er us, wherever we sleep,

“In the name of the Lord!”

KAISERWhile I uplift the Sword,Thus in the name of the Lord,Why, with mine eyes full of tears,Am I sick of the song in mine ears?God of the Israelite, hear;God of the Teuton, be near;Strengthen my pulse lest I fail.Shut out these slain while they wail—For they come with the voice of the graveOn the glory they give me and gave.

KAISER

While I uplift the Sword,

Thus in the name of the Lord,

Why, with mine eyes full of tears,

Am I sick of the song in mine ears?

God of the Israelite, hear;

God of the Teuton, be near;

Strengthen my pulse lest I fail.

Shut out these slain while they wail—

For they come with the voice of the grave

On the glory they give me and gave.

CHORUSIn the name of the Lord? Of what Lord?Where is He, this God of the Sword?Unfold Him; where hath He His throne?Is He Lord of the Teuton alone?Doth He walk on the earth? Doth He treadOn the limbs of the dying and dead?Unfold Him! We sicken, and longTo look on this God of the strong!

CHORUS

In the name of the Lord? Of what Lord?

Where is He, this God of the Sword?

Unfold Him; where hath He His throne?

Is He Lord of the Teuton alone?

Doth He walk on the earth? Doth He tread

On the limbs of the dying and dead?

Unfold Him! We sicken, and long

To look on this God of the strong!

PRIESTHush! In the name of the Lord,Kneel ye, and bless ye the Sword!

PRIEST

Hush! In the name of the Lord,

Kneel ye, and bless ye the Sword!

R. Buchanan(The Apotheosis of theSword, Versailles, 1871)

Short is mine errand to tell, and the end of my desire:For peace I bear unto thee, and to all the kings of the earth,Who bear the sword aright, and are crowned with the crown of worth;But unpeace to the lords of evil, and the battle and the death;And the edge of the sword to the traitor and the flame to the slanderous breath:And I would that the loving were loved, and I would that the weary should sleep,And that man should hearken to man, and that he that soweth should reap.W. Morris(Sigurd the Volsung, Book III).

Short is mine errand to tell, and the end of my desire:

For peace I bear unto thee, and to all the kings of the earth,

Who bear the sword aright, and are crowned with the crown of worth;

But unpeace to the lords of evil, and the battle and the death;

And the edge of the sword to the traitor and the flame to the slanderous breath:

And I would that the loving were loved, and I would that the weary should sleep,

And that man should hearken to man, and that he that soweth should reap.

W. Morris(Sigurd the Volsung, Book III).

SACRIFICE

Though love repine, and reason chafe,There came a voice without reply,—“’Tis man’s perdition to be safe,When for the truth he ought to die.”R. W. Emerson.

Though love repine, and reason chafe,There came a voice without reply,—“’Tis man’s perdition to be safe,When for the truth he ought to die.”

Though love repine, and reason chafe,

There came a voice without reply,—

“’Tis man’s perdition to be safe,

When for the truth he ought to die.”

R. W. Emerson.

GREEKS OR GERMANS?

Do not imagine that you are fighting about a single issue, freedom or slavery. You have an empire to lose, and are exposed to danger by reason of the hatred which your imperial rule has inspired in other states. And you cannot resign your power, although some timid or unambitious spirits want you to act justly. For now your empire has become adespotism, a thing which in the opinion of mankind has been unjustly acquired yet cannot be safely relinquished. The men of whom I speak, if they could find followers, would soon ruin the state, and, if they were to found a state of their own, would just as soon ruin that.

(Speech by Pericles.)

I have observed again and again that a democracy cannot govern an empire; and never more clearly than now, when I see you regretting the sentence you pronounced on the Mityleneans. Having no fear or suspicion of one another, you deal with your allies on the same principle. You do not realize that, whenever you yield to them out of pity, or are prevailed on by their pleas, you are guilty of a weakness dangerous to yourselves and receive no gratitude from them. You need to bear in mind that your empire is adespotismexercised over unwilling subjects who are ever conspiring against you. They do not obey because of any kindness you show them: they obey just so far as you show yourselves their masters. They have no love for you, but are held down by force....

You must not be misled by pity, or eloquent pleading or by generosity. There are no three things more fatal to empire.

(Speech by Cleon)Thucydides, II, 63; III, 37, 40.

It will be seen that these odious sentiments are attributed by the impartial Thucydides to his hero Pericles as well as to the demagogue Cleon. The Greeks were fervent supporters of Democracy and Equality, but not when it came to dealing either with foreign states or with their ownwomen or slaves. (See also Socrates and Aristotle,p. 367.)

These are the times that try men’s souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he, that stands itnow, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives anything its value. Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as FREEDOM should not be highly rated.

Thomas Paine(1776).

Outside the Bible and other books of religion, I think it would be difficult to find any single passage in the world’s literature that produced so wonderful a result as the above passage of Tom Paine’s. It was the opening paragraph of the first number ofThe Crisis, and was written by miserable, flaring candle-light, when Paine was a private in Washington’s ill-clad, worn-out army at Trenton. The soldiers, who were then despairing from hardship and defeat, were roused by these words to such enthusiasm that next day they rushed bravely in and won the first American victory, which turned the tide of the war of independence.Previously to this, it was through Paine’s pamphlet,Common Sense, that the Americans first saw that separation was the only remedy for their grievances. Conway tells an amusing story aboutCommon SenseandThe Rights of Man. When the Bolton town crier was sent round to seize these prohibited books, he reported that he could not find any Rights of Man or Common Sense anywhere!For trying to save the life of Louis XVI during the revolution, Paine was thrown into the Bastille, and only escaped death by a curious accident. It was customary for chalk-marks to be made on the cell-doors of those to be guillotined the following morning, and these doors opened outwards. When Paine’s door was marked, it happened to be open, and the mark was made on the inside, so that, when the door was shut, the mark was not visible. If Paine had not been a sceptic, this would have been described in those days as a wonderful interposition of Providence!Conway lays a terrible indictment against Washington. When Paine, whose services to America, and to Washington himself, had been so magnificent, was thrown into the Bastille, Washington could have saved him by a word—but remained silent! This was no doubt the reason why Paine, after his liberation, was led to make an unjust attack on Washington’s military and Presidential work. It was due to this attack on Washington and the bigotry of the time against the author ofThe Age of Reason, that Paine fell utterly into disrepute.When the Centenary of American independence was celebrated by an Exhibition at Philadelphia, a bust of Paine was offered to the city by his admirers, but was promptly declined! And yet Conway says that on the day, whose centenary was then being celebrated, Paine was idolized in America above all other men, Washington included.The foregoing notes were made on reading an article on Paine by Moncure D. Conway inThe Fortnightly, March, 1879. I think the fact mentioned in the last paragraph and the town-crier story do not appear in Conway’s subsequentLife of Paine.Even at the present day bigotry seems to prevent any proper recognition of Paine’s fine character and important work. (The unpleasant flippancy[5]with which he dealt with serious religious questions is no doubt partly the cause of this.) I find very inadequate appreciation of him inThe AmericanaandThe Biographical Dictionary of America—and also in our ownDictionary of National Biography. The general impression among the public still probably is that Paine was an atheist; as a matter of fact, he was a Theist, and his will ends with the words, “I die in perfect composure and resignation to the will of my Creator, God.”Carlyle’s reference to Paine is amusing: “Nor is our England without her missionaries. She has her Paine: rebellious staymaker; unkempt; who feels that he, a single needleman, did, by hisCommon-SensePamphlet, free America—that he can and will free all this World; perhaps even the other.” (French Revolution.)

Previously to this, it was through Paine’s pamphlet,Common Sense, that the Americans first saw that separation was the only remedy for their grievances. Conway tells an amusing story aboutCommon SenseandThe Rights of Man. When the Bolton town crier was sent round to seize these prohibited books, he reported that he could not find any Rights of Man or Common Sense anywhere!

For trying to save the life of Louis XVI during the revolution, Paine was thrown into the Bastille, and only escaped death by a curious accident. It was customary for chalk-marks to be made on the cell-doors of those to be guillotined the following morning, and these doors opened outwards. When Paine’s door was marked, it happened to be open, and the mark was made on the inside, so that, when the door was shut, the mark was not visible. If Paine had not been a sceptic, this would have been described in those days as a wonderful interposition of Providence!

Conway lays a terrible indictment against Washington. When Paine, whose services to America, and to Washington himself, had been so magnificent, was thrown into the Bastille, Washington could have saved him by a word—but remained silent! This was no doubt the reason why Paine, after his liberation, was led to make an unjust attack on Washington’s military and Presidential work. It was due to this attack on Washington and the bigotry of the time against the author ofThe Age of Reason, that Paine fell utterly into disrepute.

When the Centenary of American independence was celebrated by an Exhibition at Philadelphia, a bust of Paine was offered to the city by his admirers, but was promptly declined! And yet Conway says that on the day, whose centenary was then being celebrated, Paine was idolized in America above all other men, Washington included.

The foregoing notes were made on reading an article on Paine by Moncure D. Conway inThe Fortnightly, March, 1879. I think the fact mentioned in the last paragraph and the town-crier story do not appear in Conway’s subsequentLife of Paine.

Even at the present day bigotry seems to prevent any proper recognition of Paine’s fine character and important work. (The unpleasant flippancy[5]with which he dealt with serious religious questions is no doubt partly the cause of this.) I find very inadequate appreciation of him inThe AmericanaandThe Biographical Dictionary of America—and also in our ownDictionary of National Biography. The general impression among the public still probably is that Paine was an atheist; as a matter of fact, he was a Theist, and his will ends with the words, “I die in perfect composure and resignation to the will of my Creator, God.”

Carlyle’s reference to Paine is amusing: “Nor is our England without her missionaries. She has her Paine: rebellious staymaker; unkempt; who feels that he, a single needleman, did, by hisCommon-SensePamphlet, free America—that he can and will free all this World; perhaps even the other.” (French Revolution.)

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