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302 lovers who love beneath the cestus of Venus. Jealousies are felt. The sight of another lad too much consorting with the boy's beloved object, shall fill him with emotions akin to those of Othello's; a fancied slight, or lessening of the everyday indications of warm feelings, shall prompt him to bitter upbraidings and reproaches; or shall plunge him into evil moods, for which grim solitude only is congenial.

Nor are the letters of Aphroditean devotees more charged with headlong vows and protestations, more cross-written and crammed with discursive sentimentalities, more undeviating in their semi-weekliness, or dayliness, as the case may be, than are the love-friendship missives of boys. Among those bundles of papers which Pierre, in an ill hour, so frantically destroyed in the chamber of the inn, were two large packages of letters, densely written, and in many cases inscribed crosswise throughout with red ink upon black; so that the love in those letters was two layers deep, and one pen and one pigment were insufficient to paint it. The first package contained the letters of Glen to Pierre, the other those of Pierre to Glen, which, just prior to Glen's departure for Europe, Pierre had obtained from him, in order to re-read them in his absence, and so fortify himself the more in his affection, by reviving reference to the young, ardent hours of its earliest manifestations.

But as the advancing fruit itself extrudes the beautiful blossom, so in many cases, does the eventual love for the other sex forever dismiss the preliminary love-friendship of boys. The mere outer friendship may in some degree—greater or less—survive; but the singular love in it has perishingly dropped away.

If in the eye of unyielding reality and truth, the earthly heart of man do indeed ever fix upon some one woman, to whom alone, thenceforth eternally to be a devotee,

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Rh without a single shadow of the misgiving of its faith; and who, to him, does perfectly embody his finest, loftiest dream of feminine loveliness; if this indeed be so—and may heaven grant that it be—nevertheless, in metropolitan cases, the love of the most single-eyed lover, almost invariably, is nothing more than the ultimate settling of innumerable wandering glances upon some one specific object; as admonished, that the wonderful scope and variety of female loveliness, if too long suffered to sway us without decision, shall finally confound all power of selection. The confirmed bachelor is, in America at least, quite as often the victim of a too profound appreciation of the infinite charmingness of woman, as made solitary for life by the legitimate empire of a cold and tasteless temperament.

Though the peculiar heart-longings pertaining to his age, had at last found their glowing response in the bosom of Lucy; yet for some period prior to that, Pierre had not been insensible to the miscellaneous promptings of the passion. So that even before he became a declarative lover, Love had yet made him her general votary; and so already there had gradually come a cooling over that ardent sentiment which in earlier years he had cherished for Glen.

All round and round does the world lie as in a sharp-shooter's ambush, to pick off the beautiful illusions of youth, by the pitiless cracking rifles of the realities of the age. If the general love for women, had in Pierre sensibly modified his particular sentiment toward Glen; neither had the thousand nameless fascinations of the then brilliant paradises of France and Italy, failed to exert their seductive influence on many of the previous feelings of Glen. For as the very best advantages of life are not without some envious drawback, so it is among the evils of enlarged foreign travel, that in young and unsolid

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304 minds, it dislodges some of the finest feelings of the home-born nature; replacing them with a fastidious superciliousness, which like the alleged bigoted Federalism of old times would not—according to a political legend—grind its daily coffee in any mill save of European manufacture, and was satirically said to have thought of importing European air for domestic consumption. The mutually curtailed, lessening, long-postponed, and at last altogether ceasing letters of Pierre and Glen were the melancholy attestations of a fact, which perhaps neither of them took very severely to heart, as certainly, concerning it, neither took the other to task.

In the earlier periods of that strange transition from the generous impulsiveness of youth to the provident circumspectness of age, there generally intervenes a brief pause of unpleasant reconsidering; when finding itself all wide of its former spontaneous self, the soul hesitates to commit itself wholly to selfishness; more than repents its wanderings;—yet all this is but transient; and again hurried on by the swift current of life, the prompt-hearted boy scarce longer is to be recognised in matured man,—very slow to feel, deliberate even in love, and statistical even in piety. During the sway of this peculiar period, the boy shall still make some strenuous efforts to retrieve his departing spontaneities; but so alloyed are all such endeavours with the incipiencies of selfishness, that they were best not made at all; since too often they seem but empty and self-deceptive sallies, or still worse, the merest hypocritical assumptions.

Upon the return of Glen from abroad, the commonest courtesy, not to say the blood-relation between them, prompted Pierre to welcome him home, with a letter, which though not over-long, and little enthusiastic, still breathed a spirit of cousinly consideration and kindness, pervadingly touched by the then naturally frank and

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Rh spirit of Pierre. To this, the less earnest and now Europeanised Glen had replied in a letter all sudden suavity; and in a strain of artistic artlessness, mourned the apparent decline of their friendship; yet fondly trusted that now, notwithstanding their long separation, it would revive with added sincerity. Yet upon accidentally fixing his glance upon the opening salutation of this delicate missive, Pierre thought he perceived certain, not wholly disguisable chirographic tokens, that the 'My very dear Pierre,' with which the letter seemed to have been begun, had originally been written 'Dear Pierre'; but that when all was concluded, and Glen's signature put to it, then the ardent words 'My very' had been prefixed to the reconsidered 'Dear Pierre'; a casual supposition, which possibly, however unfounded, materially retarded any answering warmth in Pierre, lest his generous flame should only embrace a flaunted feather. Nor was this idea altogether unreinforced, when on the reception of a second, and now half-business letter (of which mixed sort nearly all the subsequent ones were), from Glen, he found that the 'My very dear Pierre' had already retreated into 'My dear Pierre'; and on a third occasion, into 'Dear Pierre'; and on a fourth, had made a forced and very spirited advanced march up to 'My dearest Pierre.' All of which fluctuations augured ill for the determinateness of that love, which, however immensely devoted to one cause, could yet hoist and sail under the flags of all nations. Nor could he but now applaud a still subsequent letter from Glen, which abruptly, and almost with apparent indecorousness, under the circumstances, commenced the strain of friendship without any overture of salutation whatever; as if at last, owing to its infinite delicateness, entirely hopeless of precisely defining the nature of their mystical love, Glen chose rather to leave that precise definition to the

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306 heart and imagination of Pierre; while he himself would go on to celebrate the general relation, by many a sugared sentence of miscellaneous devotion. It was a little curious and rather sardonically diverting, to compare these masterly, yet not wholly successful, and indeterminate tactics of the accomplished Glen, with the unfaltering stream of Beloved Pierres, which not only flowed along the top margin of all his earlier letters, but here and there, from their subterranean channel, flashed out in bright intervals, through all the succeeding lines. Nor had the chance recollection of these things at all restrained the reckless hand of Pierre, when he threw the whole package of letters, both new and old, into that most honest and summary of all elements, which is neither a respecter of persons, nor a finical critic of what manner of writings it burns; but like ultimate Truth itself, of which it is the eloquent symbol, consumes all, and only consumes.

When the betrothment of Pierre to Lucy had become an acknowledged thing, the courtly Glen, besides the customary felicitations upon that event, had not omitted so fit an opportunity to re-tender to his cousin all his previous jars of honey and treacle, accompanied by additional boxes of candied citron and plums. Pierre thanked him kindly; but in certain little roguish ambiguities begged leave, on the ground of cloying, to return him enclosed by far the greater portion of his present; whose non-substantialness was allegorically typified in the containing letter itself, prepaid with only the usual postage.

True love, as everyone knows, will still withstand many repulses, even though rude. But whether it was the love or the politeness of Glen, which on this occasion proved invincible, is a matter we will not discuss. Certain it was, that quite undaunted, Glen nobly returned to the charge, and in a very prompt and unexpected answer, extended

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United States Code/Title 28/Chapter 85

Title 28 — Judiciary and Judicial Procedure — District Courts; Jurisdiction

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 Hillsborough, being resolved ‘not to support or oppose men but measures,’ consented to return to his old post at the board of trade provided it ‘should be altered from a board of representation to a board of report upon reference only … and that I should not be one of the cabinet (which was also offered to me)’ (Grenville Papers, iii. 294–6; see also Life of Lord Shelburne, ii. 1–3).

The functions of the board of trade, which had hitherto been in a quasi-independent position, having been thus curtailed by an order in council, dated 8 Aug. 1766, Hillsborough was appointed on the 16th. In October 1766 he refused the post of ambassador of Spain, and resigning his seat at the board of trade, was on 27 Dec. appointed joint postmaster-general with Lord le Despencer. On 20 Jan. 1768 he became secretary of state for the colonies, the appointment of a third secretary of state being considered necessary in consequence of the rapid increase of business with the American settlements. This office, however, was abolished in 1782. At the same time Hillsborough was appointed president of the board of trade, being succeeded in the post office a few months later by Lord Sandwich. Hillsborough took his opinions of American affairs very much from Francis Bernard [q. v.], the governor of Massachusetts Bay. As a reply to the circular letter sent by the Massachusetts Assembly in February 1768 to the colonies, inviting them to take measures against the obnoxious taxes, he injudiciously instructed Bernard on 21 April to insist upon the rescission of the resolution directing the letter, and in the event of their refusal to dissolve the assembly, and on 8 June ordered Gage to send a regiment to Boston. On 15 Dec. 1768, on Hillsborough's motion, eight resolutions condemning the proceedings in the house of representatives at Massachusetts Bay and at Boston were passed in the House of Lords (Parl. Hist. xvi. 476–9). In May 1769, however, the cabinet resolved to bring in a bill for the repeal of all the obnoxious taxes with the exception of tea, and on the 9th Hillsborough communicated this resolution in a harsh and ungracious circular letter to the governors. In the debate on the Duke of Richmond's resolutions on 18 May 1770 Hillsborough defended the American policy of the government with much warmth (ib. pp. 1014–1020).

In August 1772 he resigned both his offices because he would not ‘reconcile himself to a plan of settlement on the Ohio, which all the world approves’ (, Letters, Cunningham's edit. v. 401). He was succeeded by Lord Dartmouth, and on 28 Aug. 1772 was created Viscount Fairford and Earl of Hillsborough in the peerage of Great Britain. Though out of office he continued to act with the court party in giving the most determined opposition to any concessions to America. On 5 March 1778, in the debate on the second reading of the American Conciliatory Bills, he made a passionate declamation against them, and declared that it was the most disgraceful day which the country had ever experienced (Parl. Hist. xix. 842–3). On 25 Nov. 1779 he succeeded Lord Weymouth as secretary of state for the northern department. He continued to hold the same views on the American question, and in the debate on the address, on 27 Nov. 1781, he expressed a hope that ‘the independence of America would never be admitted in that house’ (ib. xxii. 661–2). On the downfall of North's administration in March 1782 he resigned office with the rest of his colleagues, and on 20 Aug. 1789 was created Marquis of Downshire in the peerage of Ireland. His last reported speech in the English House of Lords was delivered during the debate on the address on 24 Jan. 1786, when he recommended a union with Ireland ‘as the best method of connecting and consolidating the interests of both kingdoms’ (ib. xxv. 996). This had always been a favourite project with Downshire, and had been suggested by him some thirty years previously. He died on 7 Oct. 1793, aged 75.

Downshire was a well-bred, handsome man, with agreeable manners, more fitted to play the part of a courtier than that of a statesman. Though capable of making a tolerable set speech he was an imprudent and ineffective debater. His want of tact and judgment made him peculiarly unfitted for holding a delicate position in so critical a period. Even George III declared that he did ‘not know a man of less judgement than Lord Hillsborough,’ and that he would never approve of him for the office of lord-lieutenant of Ireland (letter of George III to John Robinson, dated 15 Oct. 1776, Hist. MSS. Comm. 10th Rep. pt. vi. p. 15). He was an intimate friend of George Grenville, but their correspondence does not possess any public interest (Grenville Papers, iii. lii). He was severely attacked by Junius in his first letter for exasperating the differences between this country and America. He took an active part in Irish politics, and is said to have set an excellent example to other Irish landlords by his improvements on the Downshire estates. He was elected a fellow of the Royal Society on 8 March 1764, was created D.C.L. of Oxford University on 21 May 1771, and was appointed an elder brother of Trinity House in 1781.


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User talk:168.8.212.123

--Zyephyrus (talk) 22:01, 14 October 2010 (UTC)

title: User talk:168.8.212.123


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Edwards, Edward (1738-1806)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Edwards, Edward (1803-1879)


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 far back as I could remember, in every variety of picture-show——from the old peep-show and magic-lantern, to the improved cinematograph; and speaking of the cinematograph, it was in a "ride down the Strand" in a vitascope show in Sydney that I first experienced the feeling of disappointment——I kept expecting to come into a big street, or to see something presently, right up to the moment the picture was shut off the screen.

And my London friends seemed to expect me to open my mouth or show some sign of astonishment. The only thing that surprised me was to see St. Paul's and those places reduced to about half the size I expected them to be, and very black and dirty. I wanted to see the Monument close, and my friends took me round by it, but didn't seem to think much of it. I drifted back into an old London fog, and saw the London coach come in, and Mr. Pecksniff and his daughters get down and start to walk to the Commercial Boarding-house, where poor silly little Mercy met the brute her father sold her to. I'd have followed (and no doubt have found the Commercial Boarding-house little changed), but I hadn't time before my friends wanted to point out something else.

English people seem unable to realize the progress of a new country. Leaving out St. Paul's and the Abbey, and those old institutions, most things that are in London we have in Australia on a smaller scale——some on a larger——and we have——because of our readiness to give Yankee and foreign notions a show——many things that they haven't got in London yet.


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 I remember reading a magazine article by a leading English writer, in which he censured the average Australian in London for his " affectation of indifference," pointed out that it was only an exhibition of weakness or ignorance, and that it would be more manly to express his honest astonishment at the marvels he saw. That writer will probably never understand that his article was only another example of the stay-at-home Englishman's hopeless inability to realize progress outside his own country.

My first landlady expressed surprise at hearing me speak "such good English"; she said she thought that Australians had a language of their own; and, now I come to think of it, she wasn't so far out.

The Buster's Dad took me round some of the way in the underground railway. I noticed that a young friend of his watched me closely, to see if I'd be nervous, I suppose. The Underground was about as hot as the centre of Bulli Tunnel, near Sydney, and a good deal dirtier; in some places the smoke goes up through gratings along the middle of the street. The stations, big, grimy, gritty cellars, and you go up dusty steps and stumble into mean streets and other unexpected places.

The size of London lies in the spread of it; but you can no more realize it than you can the mighty extent of the Bush—the land of magnificent distances. In the latter case you only remember the day's ride or tramp through scrubs and clearings—and other days like it. The day's work or walk. It is the same with distance at sea; you realize the horizon around you


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Rh to Pierre all the courtesies of the general city, and all the hospitalities of five sumptuous chambers, which he and his luxurious environments contrived nominally to occupy in the most fashionable private hotel of a very opulent town. Nor did Glen rest here; but like Napoleon, now seemed bent upon gaining the battle by throwing all his regiments upon one point of attack, and gaining that point at all hazards. Hearing of some rumour at the tables of his relatives that the day was being fixed for the positive nuptials of Pierre; Glen culled all his Parisian portfolios for his rosiest sheet, and with scented ink, and a pen of gold, indited a most burnished and redolent letter, which, after invoking all the blessings of Apollo and Venus, and the Nine Muses, and the Cardinal Virtues upon the coming event; concluded at last with a really magnificent testimonial to his love.

According to this letter, among his other real estate in the city, Glen had inherited a very charming, little, old house, completely furnished in the style of the last century, in a quarter of the city which, though now not so garishly fashionable as of yore, still in its quiet secludedness, possessed great attractions for the retired billings and cooings of a honeymoon. Indeed he begged leave now to christen it the Cooery, and if after his wedding jaunt, Pierre would deign to visit the city with his bride for a month or two's sojourn, then the Cooery would be but too happy in affording him a harbour. His sweet cousin need be under no apprehension. Owing to the absence of any fit applicant for it, the house had now long been without a tenant, save an old, confidential, bachelor clerk of his father's, who on a nominal rent, and more by way of safe-keeping to the house than anything else, was now hanging up his well-furbished hat in its hall. This accommodating old clerk would quickly unpeg his beaver at the first hint of new occupants. Glen would

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308 charge himself with supplying the house in advance with a proper retinue of servants; fires would be made in the long-unoccupied chambers; the venerable, grotesque, old mahoganies, and marbles, and mirror-frames, and mouldings could be very soon dusted and burnished; the kitchen was amply provided with the necessary utensils for cooking; the strong-box of old silver immemorially pertaining to the mansion, could be readily carted round from the vaults of the neighbouring Bank; while the hampers of old china, still retained in the house, needed but little trouble to unpack; so that silver and china would soon stand assorted in their appropriate closets; at the turning of a faucet in the cellar, the best of the city's water would not fail to contribute its ingredient to the concocting of a welcoming glass of before retiring on the first night of their arrival.

The over-fastidiousness of some unhealthily critical minds, as well as the moral pusillanimity of others, equally bars the acceptance of effectually substantial favours from persons whose motive in proffering them, is not altogether clear and unimpeachable; and toward whom, perhaps, some prior coolness or indifference has been shown. But when the acceptance of such a favour would be really convenient and desirable to the one party and completely unattended with any serious distress to the other; there would seem to be no sensible objection to an immediate embrace of the offer. And when the acceptor is in rank and fortune the general equal of the profferer, and perhaps his superior, so that any courtesy he receives, can be amply returned in the natural course of future events, then all motives to decline are very materially lessened. And as for the thousand inconceivable finicalnesses of small pros and cons about imaginary fitnesses, and proprieties, and self-consistencies; thank heaven, in the hour of heart-health, none such

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Rh sail-trimmers ever balk the onward course of a bluff-minded man. He takes the world as it is; and carelessly accommodates himself to its whimsical humours; nor ever feels any compunction at receiving the greatest possible favours from those who are as able to grant, as free to bestow. He himself bestows upon occasion; so that, at bottom, common charity steps in to dictate a favourable consideration for all possible profferings; seeing that the acceptance shall only the more enrich him, indirectly, for new and larger beneficences of his own.

And as for those who no ways pretend with themselves to regulate their deportment by considerations of genuine benevolence, and to whom such courteous profferings hypocritically come from persons whom they suspect for secret enemies; then to such minds not only will their own worldly tactics at once forbid the uncivil blank repulse of such offers; but if they are secretly malicious as well as frigid, or if they are at all capable of being fully gratified by the sense of concealed superiority and mastership (which precious few men are) then how delightful for such persons under the guise of mere acquiescence in his own voluntary civilities, to make genteel use of their foe. For one would like to know, what were foes made for except to be used? In the rude ages men hunted and javelined the tiger, because they hated him for a mischief-minded wild beast; but in these enlightened times, though we love the tiger as little as ever, still we mostly hunt him for the sake of his skin. A wise man then will wear his tiger; every morning put on his tiger for a robe to keep him warm and adorn him. In this view, foes are far more desirable than friends; for who would hunt and kill his own faithful affectionate dog for the sake of his skin? and is a dog's skin as valuable as a tiger's? Cases there are where it becomes soberly advisable, by direct arts to convert some well-wishers into

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310 foes. It is false that in point of policy a man should never make enemies. As well-wishers some men may not only be nugatory but positive obstacles in your peculiar plans; but as foes you may subordinately cement them into your general design.

But into these ulterior refinements of cool Tuscan policy, Pierre as yet had never become initiated; his experiences hitherto not having been varied and ripe enough for that; besides, he had altogether too much generous blood in his heart. Nevertheless, thereafter, in a less immature hour, though still he shall not have the heart to practise upon such maxims as the above, yet shall he have the brain thoroughly to comprehend their practicability; which is not always the case. And generally, in worldly wisdom, men will deny to one the possession of all insight, which one does not by his every-day outward life practically reveal. It is a very common error of some unscrupulously infidel-minded, selfish, unprincipled, or downright knavish men, to suppose that believing men, or benevolent-hearted men, or good men, do not know enough to be unscrupulously selfish, do not know enough to be unscrupulous knaves. And thus—thanks to the world!—are there many spies in the world's camp, who are mistaken for strolling simpletons. And these strolling simpletons seem to act upon the principle, that in certain things, we do not so much learn, by showing that already we know a vast deal, as by negatively seeming rather ignorant. But here we press upon the frontiers of that sort of wisdom, which it is very well to possess, but not sagacious to show that you possess. Still, men there are, who having quite done with the world, all its mere worldly contents are become so far indifferent, that they care little of what mere worldly imprudence they may be guilty.

Now, if it were not conscious considerations like the

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Rh really benevolent or neutral ones first mentioned above, it was certainly something akin to them, which had induced Pierre to return a straightforward, manly, and entire acceptance to his cousin of the offer of the house; thanking him, over and over, for his most supererogatory kindness concerning the pre-engagement of servants and so forth, and the setting in order of the silver and china; but reminding him, nevertheless, that he had overlooked all special mention of wines, and begged him to store the bins with a few of the very best brands. He would likewise be obliged, if he would personally purchase at a certain celebrated grocer's, a small bag of undoubted Mocha coffee; but Glen need not order it to be roasted or ground, because Pierre preferred that both those highly important and flavour-deciding operations should be performed instantaneously previous to the final boiling and serving. Nor did he say that he would pay for the wines and the Mocha; he contented himself with merely stating the remissness on the part of his cousin, and pointing out the best way of remedying it.

He concluded his letter by intimating that though the rumour of a set day, and a near one, for his nuptials, was unhappily but ill-founded, yet he would not hold Glen's generous offer as merely based upon that presumption, and consequently falling with it; but on the contrary, would consider it entirely good for whatever time it might prove available to Pierre. He was betrothed beyond a peradventure; and hoped to be married ere death. Meanwhile, Glen would further oblige him by giving the confidential clerk a standing notice to quit.

Though at first quite amazed at this letter,—for indeed, his offer might possibly have proceeded as much from ostentation as anything else, nor had he dreamed of so unhesitating an acceptance,—Pierre's cousin was too much of a precocious young man of the world, disclosedly

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312 to take it in any other than a very friendly, and cousinly, and humorous, and yet practical way; which he plainly evinced by a reply far more sincere and every way creditable, apparently, both to his heart and head, than any letter he had written to Pierre since the days of their boyhood. And thus, by the bluffness and, in some sort, uncompunctiousness of Pierre, this very artificial youth was well betrayed into an act of effective kindness; being forced now to drop the empty mask of ostentation, and put on the solid hearty features of a genuine face. And just so, are some people in the world to be joked into occasional effective goodness, when all coyness, and coolness, all resentments, and all solemn preaching, would fail.

II

But little would we comprehend the peculiar relation between Pierre and Glen—a relation involving in the end the most serious results—were there not here thrown over the whole equivocal, preceding account of it, another and more comprehensive equivocalness, which shall absorb all minor ones in itself; and so make one pervading ambiguity the only possible explanation for all the ambiguous details.

It had long been imagined by Pierre, that prior to his own special devotion to Lucy, the splendid Glen had not been entirely insensible to her surprising charms. Yet this conceit in its incipiency, he knew not how to account for. Assuredly his cousin had never in the slightest conceivable hint betrayed it; and as for Lucy, the same intuitive delicacy which forever forbade Pierre to question her on the subject, did equally close her own voluntary lips. Between Pierre and Lucy, delicateness put her sacred signet on this chest of secrecy; which like the wax of an executor upon a desk, though capable of being

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Rh melted into nothing by the smallest candle, for all this, still possesses to the reverent the prohibitive virtue of inexorable bars and bolts.

If Pierre superficially considered the deportment of Glen toward him, therein he could find no possible warrant for indulging the suspicious idea. Doth jealousy smile so benignantly and offer its house to the bride? Still, on the other hand, to quit the mere surface of the deportment of Glen, and penetrate beneath its brocaded vesture; there Pierre sometimes seemed to see the long-lurking and yet unhealed wound of all a rejected lover's most rankling detestation of a supplanting rival, only intensified by their former friendship, and the unimpairable blood-relation between them. Now, viewed by the light of this master-solution, all the singular enigmas in Glen; his capriciousness in the matter of the epistolary—'Dear Pierres' and 'Dearest Pierres'; the mercurial fall from the fever-heat of cordiality, to below the zero of indifference; then the contrary rise to fever-heat; and, above all, his emphatic redundancy of devotion so soon as the positive espousals of Pierre seemed on the point of consummation; thus read, all these riddles apparently found their cunning solution. For the deeper that some men feel a secret and poignant feeling, the higher they pile the belying surfaces. The friendly deportment of Glen, then, was to be considered as in direct proportion to his hoarded hate; and the climax of that hate was evinced in throwing open his house to the bride. Yet if hate was the abstract cause, hate could not be the immediate motive of the conduct of Glen. Is hate so hospitable? The immediate motive of Glen, then, must be the intense desire to disguise from the wide world, a fact unspeakably humiliating to his gold-laced and haughty soul: the fact that in the profoundest desire of his heart, Pierre had so victoriously supplanted him. Yet was it

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314 that very artful deportment in Glen, which Glen profoundly assumed to this grand end; that consummately artful deportment it was, which first obtruded upon Pierre the surmise, which by that identical method his cousin was so absorbedly intent upon rendering impossible to him. Hence we here see that as in the negative way the secrecy of any strong emotion is exceedingly difficult to be kept lastingly private to one's own bosom by any human being; so it is one of the most fruitless undertakings in the world, to attempt by affirmative assumptions to tender to men, the precisely opposite emotion as yours. Therefore the final wisdom decrees, that if you have aught which you desire to keep a secret to yourself, be a Quietist there, and do and say nothing at all about it. For among all the poor chances, this is the least poor. Pretensions and substitutions are only the recourse of under-graduates in the science of the world; in which science, on his own ground, my Lord Chesterfield is the poorest possible preceptor. The earliest instinct of the child, and the ripest experience of age, unite in affirming simplicity to be the truest and profoundest part for man. Likewise this simplicity is so universal and all-containing as a rule for human life, that the subtlest bad man, and the purest good man, as well as the profoundest wise man, do all alike present it on that side which they socially turn to the inquisitive and unscrupulous world.

III

Now the matter of the house had remained in precisely the above-stated awaiting predicament, down to the time of Pierre's great life-revolution, the receipt of Isabel's letter. And though, indeed, Pierre could not but naturally hesitate at still accepting the use of the dwelling, under the widely different circumstances in which he now

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Rh found himself; and though at first the strongest possible spontaneous objections on the ground of personal independence, pride, and general scorn, all clamorously declared in his breast against such a course; yet, finally, the same uncompunctious, ever-adaptive sort of motive which had induced his original acceptation, prompted him, in the end, still to maintain it unrevoked. It would at once set him at rest from all immediate tribulations of mere bed and board; and by affording him a shelter, for an indefinite term, enable him the better to look about him, and consider what could best be done to further the permanent comfort of those whom Fate had entrusted to his charge.

Irrespective, it would seem, of that wide general awaking of his profounder being, consequent upon the extraordinary trials he had so aggregatively encountered of late; the thought was indignantly suggested to him, that the world must indeed be organically despicable, if it held that an offer, superfluously accepted in the hour of his abundance, should now be rejected in that of his utmost need. And without at all imputing any singularity of benevolent-mindedness to his cousin, he did not for a moment question, that under the changed aspect of affairs, Glen would at least pretend the more eagerly to welcome him to the house, now that the mere thing of apparent courtesy had become transformed into something like a thing of positive and urgent necessity. When Pierre also considered that not himself only was concerned, but likewise two peculiarly helpless fellow-beings, one of them bound to him from the first by the most sacred ties, and lately inspiring an emotion which passed all human precedent in its mixed and mystical import; these added considerations completely overthrew in Pierre all remaining dictates of his vague pride and false independence, if such indeed had ever been his.

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316 Though the interval elapsing between his decision to depart with his companions for the city, and his actual start in the coach, had not enabled him to receive any replying word from his cousin; and though Pierre knew better than to expect it; yet a preparative letter to him he had sent; and did not doubt that this proceeding would prove well-advised in the end.

In naturally strong-minded men, however young and inexperienced in some things, those great and sudden emergencies, which but confound the timid and the weak, only serve to call forth all their generous latentness, and teach them, as by inspiration, extraordinary maxims of conduct, whose counterpart, in other men, is only the result of a long, variously-tried and painstaking life. One of those maxims is, that when, through whatever cause, we are suddenly translated from opulence to need, or from a fair fame to a foul; and straightway it becomes necessary not to contradict the thing—so far at least as the mere imputation goes,—to some one previously entertaining high conventional regard for us, and from whom we would now solicit some genuine helping offices; then, all explanation or palliation should be scorned; promptness, boldness, utter gladiatorianism, and a defiant non-humility should mark every syllable we breathe, and every line we trace.

The preparative letter of Pierre to Glen, plunged at once into the very heart of the matter, and was perhaps the briefest letter he had ever written him. Though by no means are such characteristics invariable exponents of the predominant mood or general disposition of a man (since so accidental a thing as a numb finger, or a bad quill, or poor ink, or squalid paper, or a rickety desk may produce all sorts of modifications), yet in the present instance, the handwriting of Pierre happened plainly to attest and corroborate the spirit of his communication.

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United States Code/Title 28/Chapter 87

Title 28 — Judiciary and Judicial Procedure — District Courts; Venue

title: United States Code/Title 28/Chapter 87


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Rh The sheet was large; but the words were placarded upon it in heavy though rapid lines, only six or eight to the page. And as the footman of a haughty visitor—some Count or Duke—announces the chariot of his lord by a thunderous knock on the portal; so to Glen did Pierre, in the broad, sweeping, and prodigious superscription of his letter, forewarn him what manner of man was on the road.

In the moment of strong feeling a wonderful condensativeness points the tongue and pen; so that ideas, then enunciated sharp and quick as minute-guns, in some other hour of unruffledness or unstimulatedness, require considerable time and trouble to verbally recall.

Not here and now can we set down the precise contents of Pierre's letter, without a tautology illy doing justice to the ideas themselves. And though indeed the dread of tautology be the continual torment of some earnest minds, and, as such, is surely a weakness in them; and though no wise man will wonder at conscientious Virgil all eager at death to burn his Æneid for a monstrous heap of inefficient superfluity; yet not to dread tautology at times only belongs to those enviable dunces, whom the partial God hath blessed, over all the earth, with the inexhaustible self-riches of vanity, and folly, and a blind self-complacency.

Some rumour of the discontinuance of his betrothment to Lucy Tartan; of his already consummated marriage with a poor and friendless orphan; of his mother's disowning him consequent upon these events; such rumours, Pierre now wrote to his cousin, would very probably, in the parlours of his city relatives and acquaintances, precede his arrival in town. But he hinted no word of any possible commentary on these things. He simply went on to say, that now, through the fortune of life—which was but the proverbially unreliable fortune of

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The American Journal of Sociology/Volume 11

Articles

 * Boyle, James E.American Drift toward Educational Unity
 * Sociology in Some of its Educational Aspects
 * Science and Citizenship
 * Buckley, Edmund.The Japanese as Peers of Western Peoples
 * Butler, Amos W.A Decade of Official Poor-Relief in Indiana
 * Castiglione, G. E. Di Palma.Italian Immigration into the United States, 1901–4
 * Cockerell, T. D. A.Municipal Activity in Britain
 * Collier, James.The Theory of Colonization
 * De Greef, G.Introduction to Sociology. XV
 * XVI
 * XVII
 * XVIII
 * Ellwood, Charles A.A Psychological Study of Revolutions
 * Fleming, Herbert E.The Literary Interests of Chicago. I and II
 * III and IV
 * V
 * .Studies in Eugenics
 * Goldmark, Josephine C.The Necessary Sequel of Child-Labor Laws
 * Hamon, A. and H.The Political Situation in France
 * Hayes, Edward C.Sociological Construction Lines. III
 * IV
 * Social Solidarity in France
 * Howerth, Ira W.The Civic Problem from a Sociological Standpoint
 * Lloyd, Alfred H.Ethics and its History
 * O’Shea, M. V.Notes on Education for Social Efficiency
 * Parsons, Elsie Clews.The Religious Dedication of Women
 * Reid, G. Archdall.Biological Foundations of Sociology
 * Reinsch, Paul S.The Negro Race and European Civilization
 * Riley, Thomas J.Increased Use of Public-School Property
 * Rowe, L. S.Relation of Municipal Government to American Democratic Ideals
 * A Contribution to the Sociology of Religion
 * The Sociology of Secrecy and of Secret Societies
 * A Decade of Sociology
 * Smith, Eugene.Crime in Relation to the State and to Municipalities
 * Sociological Society, American, Organization of
 * Sociological Society, American, Circular of
 * .The Place of Science in Modern Civilization
 * Vincent, George E.A Laboratory Experiment in Journalism
 * Woodruff, Clinton Rogers.The Municipal League of Philadelphia


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318 was, for the present, thrown entirely upon his own resources, both for his own support and that of his wife, as well as for the temporary maintenance of a girl, whom he had lately had excellent reason for taking under his especial protection. He proposed a permanent residence in the city; not without some nearly quite settled plans as to the procuring of a competent income, without any ulterior reference to any member of their wealthy and widely ramified family. The house, whose temporary occupancy Glen had before so handsomely proffered him, would now be doubly and trebly desirable to him. But the pre-engaged servants, and the old china, and the old silver, and the old wines, and the Mocha, were now become altogether unnecessary. Pierre would merely take the place—for a short interval—of the worthy old clerk; and, so far as Glen was concerned, simply stand guardian of the dwelling, till his plans were matured. His cousin had originally made his most bounteous overture, to welcome the coming of the presumed bride of Pierre; and though another lady had now taken her place at the altar, yet Pierre would still regard the offer of Glen as impersonal in that respect, and bearing equal reference to any young lady, who should prove her claim to the possessed hand of Pierre.

Since there was no universal law of opinion in such matters, Glen, on general worldly grounds, might not consider the real Mrs. Glendinning altogether so suitable a match for Pierre, as he possibly might have held numerous other young ladies in his eye: nevertheless, Glen would find her ready to return with sincerity all his cousinly regard and attention. In conclusion, Pierre said, that he and his party meditated an immediate departure, and would very probably arrive in town in eight-and-forty hours after the mailing of the present letter. He therefore begged Glen to see the more

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Rh domestic appliances of the house set in some little order against their arrival; to have the rooms aired and lighted; and also forewarn the confidential clerk of what he might soon expect. Then, without any tapering sequel of—Yours, very truly and faithfully, my dear Cousin Glen, he finished the letter with the abrupt and isolated signature of—'.'

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has a foremost place in the thought of modern men. Approve or deplore the fact at pleasure, we cannot escape it. Examination of the fact in a few of its relations will properly introduce a statement of the aims of this.

. In our age the fact of human association is more obtrusive and relatively more influential than in any previous epoch. Modern men are made aware in more ways than former generations that their lot is affected by the existence of other men. Wherever the proportion of laborers in the extractive industries is diminishing and the proportion of people occupied with intermediate processes of production and consumption is correspondingly increasing, it would be surprising if the change were not accompanied by some modifications in men’s views about the relative importance of the physical and the social elements in the conditions of human existence. As industries become diversified, as division of labor and competition become territorial and international, not less than individual, as occupations are more visibly affected by the actions of distant persons, as communication becomes accurate and rapid between groups of men industrially related though geographically separate, perception of dependence upon physical conditions ceases to be the dominant factor in human calculation. Perception of subjection to human devices or of advantage to be won by personal combinations becomes decisive.


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 2 The ranchman in Montana who has safely wintered his herd but cannot ship them to a market because a manufacturer in Illinois has failed to preserve an understanding with coal heavers and machinists and carpenters; the miner in Nevada who ferrets out a coincidence between certain acts of legislation and the decline of his silver in value; the rolling-mill operative in Pennsylvania who discovers that a body of men in Washington may vote an increase or decrease of his work and wages—all these and the rest represented by them learn to disregard the fixed factors in human relations, and instead to watch other players in the game of life as exclusively as opponents at the chessboard or rival teams on gridiron or diamond.

Through influences such as these it comes about that the fact of human association becomes a most intimate reality to the great masses of men long before philosophers have begun to learn its import.

II. The distinguishing mental trait of our age is undisciplined social self-consciousness. Men are more definitely and variously aware of each other than ever before. They are also more promiscuously perplexed by each other’s presence. We sometimes credit our generation with perceiving that we are members one of another, but the content of popular consciousness is more precisely rendered in the version, “meddlers one with another.” We know just enough about social contacts to regard man as the animal that makes the most trouble for its own species. Whatever be men’s aims or acts it seems impossible for them to venture upon an enterprise so rare that collision can be avoided with the anticipating prejudice, property, or purpose of other men. The fate that goes with us or against us into our battle no longer seems to be a power of nature, or a superhuman champion, but merely detached or confederate human volition. Whatever modern men’s theory of the social bond, no men have ever had more conclusive evidence that the bond exists.

III. This inevitable contact of man with men has produced confident popular philosophies of human association. Social self-consciousness formulates itself as guiding assumption or as controlling


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Rh dogma. Modern men are not merely aware of these contacts with compatriot and alien, official and civilian, wage-earner and wage-payer, capitalist and landlord and tenant, union and non-union laborer, brain-worker and brawn-worker, industrial and criminal, rich and poor seekers of employment and shunners of employment. Men of all ranks and stations think over these contacts, they listen to arguments about them, they acquire opinions, they accept beliefs.

Before the invention of printing an occasional individual reflected upon societary relations in the large. In the last quarter of the eighteenth century social philosophy had broken out of the schools and in one country had enlisted popular strength enough to destroy a decaying dynasty. In the last decade of the nineteenth century, illiterates are become a feeble minority in the chief countries of civilization and the whole population that can read, with many additions from those who cannot, maintain in perpetual session a lyceum of sociology. If a little learning is a dangerous thing, jeopardy from that source is today universal. The millions have fragmentary knowledge of societary relations, and they are trying to transmute that meager knowledge into social doctrine and policy. The peculiar element of danger in the situation was just now suggested. Modern thought assumes that the fixed factors in human conditions are insignificant as compared with the elements that may be determined by agreement. Popular judgment is just now intoxicated with the splendid half truth that society is what men choose to make it. Popular social philosophy in its countless forms is today unanimous in speculation about institutional rearrangement without due estimate of human limitations.

IV. Popular social philosophy has its counterpart today in a social gravitation or “movement” in the line of certain sympathies and assumptions begotten and fostered by reflection on contemporary societary conditions. In this movement some of the ultimate determinants of human destiny are emerging, yet the play of these profound forces is inconstant and erratic because at present they are almost as enigmatical to the men who trust as to


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 4 those who challenge them. This movement combines with elements of promise all the elements of danger to which we referred above. It has recently been characterized by Professor Graham Taylor, whose vigorous language we quote, although it implies dissent from portions of the thought just expressed.

Only an intelligent appreciation of what the present sociological movement is qualifies one even to guess what the church may expect from it. Were it merely some or all of the forms in which it finds expression in current literature or present-day effort the question would perhaps admit of briefer and more definite answer. Whoever regards it, whether as claimant or critic, to be merely a species of literature, or the ideal of a few leaders of thought and action, or the copyrighted effusions of any particular school of theorists, or any mere method of work, or the fad of the fashionables, so totally misconceives the movement as to be incapable of seriously entertaining the idea of any vital relationship between it and the church, on the common ground of Christianity.

The conviction that it is nothing less than the social movement of modern life underlies this discussion, and alone warrants its suggestions. It is simply the way life is moving today, and along which “leaders” are really following afar off. It is the direction which the course of human affairs is taking, and would take if there were no distinctively sociological literature to record the watermarks of its progress. It is the new-born consciousness in the many of each other’s existence and of the relationship of each to all as members one of another. This consciousness is born of God and these times, when “no man liveth unto himself,” whether he would or not. It is the movement of the common mind to understand the complex relations of man to man in modern society, and to forge out the science and arts of living and working together. It is the movement of the common heart to realize the undying hope of social justice and human brotherhood. It is the movement of the common will to find and apply some adjustment of the disturbed relationships and dislodged classes, caused by the most revolutionary force ever introduced into human affairs, except the gospel, viz., the modern industrial system.

The present sociological movement stands for all this and more, when it is considered in relation to the church. Its science of sociology, however, is rapidly formulating the data and province of that


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 branch of scientific research which is strictly limited to the study of society as a whole, and the social sciences are laying the basis for the practical arts of living and working together within the specific classes and conditions to which the several social structures give rise. But while these new sciences are the vital self-expression of, and are absolutely essential to, the perpetuity, progress and power of the movement, they are and ever will be far from being identical with it or comprehensive of it. For this movement of life so far transcends the best efforts to formulate it, that it almost reduces them to an absurdity to identify them with it. This movement has its observers, but recognizes no authorities. It has its interpreters, but no line of thought or action has less human leadership. It is the mighty “Zeitgeist,” the very spirit of all living, to which our Lord's description of the Holy Spirit may as truthfully, as reverently be applied, “It bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the voice thereof, but knowest not whence it cometh and whither it goeth.” In its presence only the religious spirit and the scientific attitude are worthy of respect.

This peculiar popular unrest of our era corresponds with two postulates of social philosophy held today in every variety of form and force by unprecedented numbers, first, that the relations of man to man are not what they should be; second, that something must be done directly, systematically and on a large scale to right the wrongs.

In thus pointing out that popular agitation for a remodeling of our social structure, and the logically antecedent popular philosophies of society are not chiefly academic facts, and that they are altogether more extensive than the scope of scholars’ influence, we are calling attention to points in the situation which few theorists have duly considered. The relation of popular sociology to would-be scientific sociology should be settled in the minds of scholars before more confusion results. Altogether too much has been charged or credited to the professional students of society.

The fact that sociology is not primarily a product of the schools has escaped the attention of most observers. Popular attempts to explain present forms of society, and to get


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 BOOK XVI

FIRST NIGHT OF THEIR ARRIVAL IN THE CITY

I

stage was belated.

The country road they travelled entered the city by a remarkably wide and winding street, a great thoroughfare for its less opulent inhabitants. There was no moon and few stars. It was that preluding hour of the night when the shops are just closing, and the aspect of almost every wayfarer, as he passes through the unequal light reflected from the windows, speaks of one hurrying not abroad, but homeward. Though the thoroughfare was winding, yet no sweep that it made greatly obstructed its long and imposing vista; so that when the coach gained the top of the long and very gradual slope running toward the obscure heart of the town, and the twinkling perspective of two long and parallel rows of lamps was revealed—lamps which seemed not so much intended to dispel the general gloom, as to show some dim path leading through it, into some gloom still deeper beyond,—when the coach gained this critical point, the whole vast triangular town, for a moment, seemed dimly and despondently to capitulate to the eye.

And now, ere descending the gradually sloping declivity, and just on its summit as it were, the inmates of the coach, by numerous hard, painful joltings, and ponderous, dragging trundlings, are suddenly made sensible of some great change in the character of the road. The coach seems rolling over cannon-balls of all calibers. Grasping 5em

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 6 placed for effecting change in social conditions are as independent of the schools as they are of the seasons. Some scholars are still of the opinion that sociology is not only without form and void, but that it must forever remain so, because nothing in the nature of things sanctions it; and the name is therefore merely a device to give new theorists a place. These critics know little about the deep currents of present popular thought. It is a very callow sociologist who imagines that he and his colaborers are inventing the subject-matter of a new science. They are trying to perfect means of answering obtrusive questions about society which the ordinary man is proposing every hour. They are not creating but merely representing popular curiosity. Life is so much more real to the people than to the schools that the people are no sooner possessed of some of the tools of thought, and some means of observation, than they proceed to grapple with more vital questions than the scholars had raised. Hence social philosophies, popular in source, partial in content, but potent in political effect, get vogue before scholars know the terms of the conditions which these rule-of-thumb philosophies claim to explain. The doctrines of professional sociologists are attempts to substitute revised second thought for the hasty first thoughts composing the popular sociologies in which busy men outside the schools utter their impressions.

V. The facts thus sketched constitute a strenuous demand for authentic social philosophy. Are men on the whole sane, or hysterical, or possibly paranoiac, in their attitude toward real and possible social conditions? Are the postulates of our social introspection valid or invalid? Have we learned all that can be known about the antecedents of present conditions, about the standards by which these conditions should be judged, about the type of future conditions toward which it is rational to aim, about the means at the disposal of man for the creation of a different social order? Unless they have a monopoly of such fundamental and circumstantial and comprehensive social philosophy, accredited by every pertinent scientific sanction, many men exercising the


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 office of public teacher today are grievously sinning against their fellows by aggressive and inflammatory sociological dogmatism. Science makes common cause with every other human interest when it insists that there must be adequate investigation and formulation of the conditions of human welfare before there can be any credible programmes for the wholesale promotion of welfare. The institutions which our generation inherits may be very crude, but they are the deposit of all the wisdom and goodness of the ages, in reaction with the ignorance and the evil. He who would reorder them should first understand them.

In the last chapter of his last important book Mr. Herbert Spencer says:

There exist a few who. . . . look forward through unceasing changes,. . . . to the evolution of a Humanity adjusted to the requirements of its life. And along with this belief there arises, in an increasing number, the desire to further the development. . . . . Hereafter the highest ambition of the beneficent will be to have a share. . . . in the making of Man. Experience occasionally shows that there may arise extreme interest in pursuing entirely unselfish ends; and, as time goes on, there will be more and more of those whose unselfish end will be the further evolution of Humanity.

Precisely because permanent enlargement of human welfare is not a matter of shreds and patches, but a gain which depends upon the development of a superior type of manhood, capable of superior coöperation, do we maintain that the programme most directly adapted to the furtherance of that end is suppression of the riot of imagination and substitution of the order of investigation.

VI. Many capable scholars are beginning to recognize in these conditions a summons to unique forms of service. Our thesis implies no depreciation of the scholarship of the past. Splendid specialism has been amassing more knowledge than we have learned to use. A federation of scholarship is forming by which the products of divided labor upon knowledge needed for social purposes shall be combined and applied as means of promoting welfare. That which has been unconscious and accidental hitherto will be


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 8 undertaken hereafter. Analytic and microscopic scholarship is abortive without the complementary work of the synthetic scholar who builds minute details into comprehensive structures. The conditions of human association are so involved that it is no longer pardonable to increase present popular sensitiveness and irritation by theorizing about plans for accelerating the rate of human improvement, unless we have reduced all available pertinent facts about past and present human associations to generalized knowledge, which shall indicate both direction and means of improvement.

This new task of scholarship is coming into recognition in every part of the world where thought is unfettered. Scholars are everywhere speaking out their dissatisfaction with fragmentary knowledge of society, and their ambition to contribute to knowledge that shall be properly dynamic. Mr. Benjamin Kidd’s recent account of the state of the social sciences in England is a fair index of the condition against which there is everywhere edifying revolt. We quote him at length because the case is not materially different elsewhere. Mr. Kidd says:

When I set out to write Social Evolution, I was impressed, as I am sure many an earnest student of our social phenomena has been impressed before me, with the extraordinary contrast which the sciences that deal with man in society present, when compared with the practical and experimental sciences upon which they rest. I need not speak of the strength and vigor of the latter, and of the new life that has come to many of them with the knowledge of the last fifty years. All this is only as it should be. It is the contrast which is so striking. I am bound to say that this impression with which I set out has deepened and grown down to the present hour. What seems to come home to the observer is the conviction, however much he may for the time try to avoid it, that outside a small group of workers, who however stand more or less aloof from the main body of professional thought, we have really in England at the present day no school of thought producing men fitted to deal with the science of human society as a whole. It would be impertinent in me to make such a remark if it implied any intention to speak disparagingly of the learning displayed, and of the zealous and painstaking work being


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, even under discouraging circumstances, in many of the departments of knowledge in question. My meaning is different. It is of the isolation of these departments of work from each other and from the sciences upon which they rest, that complaint has to be made. That unity of life now everywhere visible throughout the lower sciences, which causes them to run into each other at every point, and which renders strict lines of demarcation between them almost impossible, is nowhere to be found in the higher branches of knowledge. The workers in many of them still live in an earlier world of ideas which has long since passed away elsewhere. Unconscious of how the world has been moving, some of them seem even anxious to tell us that they know nothing of any other science, and that they desire to know nothing.

We have been hearing now for many years of a science of history, and many earnest and learned workers have borne a part in the uphill effort to raise history to that dignity which is its legitimate destiny. Nevertheless no spectacle can be more profoundly depressing to the worker who, trained in the accurate methods and the truth-seeking spirit of the lower sciences, and with the sense of the reign of universal law which these sciences give strong upon him, endeavors to take up the tangled threads of knowledge in this department of learning. In our universities and centers of learning he will find the exponents of the science still discussing whether it can ever have any laws, and even whether it should be founded on fact or romance. Let him take down any volume of history from its shelf, and endeavor to find any scientific clue therein to the natural laws underlying and controlling the majestic process of life which has unfolded itself in our western civilization, or to the natural laws that have directed the development of other social systems contemporaneous with it, or anterior to it. He will in all probability find none. If there is any attempt to discuss the matter at all, in the light of cause and effect, it will not be suggestive of the methods which science has followed elsewhere. Let him take up a representative organ of educated opinion, like The Spectator, and he will find an historical critic in a recent number regarding with a kind of dim wonder the connection between a few ignorant men, “who started forth to purify a world of which they knew nothing, by ideas which that world held to be contemptible,” and the fact that they have nevertheless so transformed it that today the effect of their work and thought “is regulating the acts and the laws of the guides of all


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 10 .” He will find the same critic equally impressed by “the spectacle of the half-naked ascetic sitting under his banyan, and giving out to brown men, ignorant as fishes, thoughts which today form the only antiseptic in the minds of a third of the human race;” and not less by that of “the epileptic camel driver, who wandered for months among the mountains of Arabia, to descend with thoughts which, bad or good, were so powerful that they bound the very tribes of the desert into an indissoluble brotherhood, and hurled them out, a nation of warriors, to tread down the highest existing organizations of the world.” But he will find no explanation. It is all part of “the romance of history” the critic tells us. That is the formula of the writer, who, however, evidently is moved by the conviction that there must be some law underlying it all. But he has nothing better to send us to work with in this last decade of our scientific century.

Even if the impartial observer turns to that party to which his sympathies naturally go out,—the party which is opposed to the romance rendering of history, and which is at present devoting itself to the exhaustive study of periods,—he does not find, on the whole, anything much more satisfying. The efforts of this party seem to be directed towards founding a school of classifiers and abstractors. The limit of its aim seems to be to publish all available material that exists and to vouch for the authenticity of our sources of knowledge. Far be it from any one loyal to the spirit of science to say a single word in disparagement of work so useful and so necessary. But it would also be wrong to pretend to hope that we can ever construct a science of history merely in this frame of mind, or that the remnants of unpublished manuscripts, or the sweepings of sources of information still left unexploited—however precious—can so broaden the foundations of historical knowledge as to enable us thereupon to raise history to its proper dignity as a science.

It is not merely for the classifiers and abstractors that history is waiting now; it is for the workers who, trained in the methods of comparative science, will add to the present outfit of the historian the equipment necessary to enable him to regard history as the last complex but orderly phase in the evolution of life. It is only such a worker that can expect to utilize in the elucidation of our human and historical problems that vast store of knowledge which the sciences upon which history rests are now ready to contribute.

Nor is it easy to see how any fair-minded person, not committed


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Rh heavens. Only forty times had that silent revolution occurred during all the years I had traversed. And during those few revolutions, all the activity, all the traditions, the carefully planned organizations, the nations, languages, literature, aspirations, even the mere memory of man as I knew man, had been swept out of existence. Instead were these frail creatures who had forgotten their high ancestry, and the white animals of which I went in fear. Then I thought of the great fear there was between these two species, and for the first time, with a sudden shiver, came the clear knowledge of what the meat I had seen might be. Yet it was too horrible! I looked at little Weena sleeping beside me, her face white and starlike under the stars, and forthwith dismissed the thought from my mind.

"Through that long night I kept my mind off the Morlocks as well as I could, and whiled away the time by


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 to opinions on either side, can look round today at the social sciences generally and not have to admit that they are all in much the same state as history. It would be difficult to imagine any more remarkable situation than that presented in our day by the science of economics. We have had within the last thirty years a theory of social development founded on an economic conception put forward by a worker quite outside the ranks of the official exponents of this science. I refer to Marx’s view of modern society, and the theory of surplus value on which it is based. It is a view so utterly out of proportion, so evidently only partially true, and so clearly demonstrative at every point of the author’s ignorance of the method of action in human society, of existing evolutionary forces larger than any he has taken account of, that it can hardly have any prominent place reserved to it in a future science of society; yet, strange as it may appear, there is at the present time scarcely a professor of economics in any university within the limits of our western civilization who has not felt the effects, direct or indirect, upon his work, of Marx’s generalization. It grows in influence, despite the refutations it is continually receiving from the economists. Nay more, I am much inclined to think that a recent socialist writer (Dr. Edward Aveling, The Student's Marx) has not greatly overrated Marx’s true position in placing him alone along-side of Darwin in influencing the thought of the nineteenth century. And in what consists the secret influence of Marx’s generalization, masterly despite its errors? Simply, it seems to me, in this: that he has succeeded in basing his theory of society on a clear and largely true statement of the historical and human form of a relationship which has projected itself throughout the history of life. His work has taken no account of the factors, special to human society, which control and regulate this relationship. Yet the effect of the imperfect view which Marx has obtained, of a natural law operating in human society in a larger sense than the economists have been trained to understand, has so far raised him above his critics that his theory remains, as a political and social force, almost unaffected by the criticism of those who endeavor to deal with it from within the narrow circle of the merely economic position. And it has been, perforce, to the economist alone that society has had to turn for instruction. In the present state of knowledge there has been absolutely no science of society in any larger sense than his, to which the world could look for help and guidance in the problems with which it is


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 12 struggling in a kind of agony that gives a note to the entire literature of our period.

To turn from history and economics to professional philosophy is only to find the same lesson repeated. Outside the synthetic system of Mr. Herbert Spencer—that colossal edifice slowly and painfully (and surely to its own detriment) constructed by the author apart from and almost independent of the professional learning of the schools—the exponents of philosophy in England live in an old world of thought which has scarcely been affected by the influx of knowledge which the advancement of the lower sciences has brought. They are even, for the most part, unconscious of what is being done outside this world. There is no more striking sight in our time, when the perception of the unity and continuity of natural law throughout the entire realm of life has become the starting point of all real work, than to find men, authorities in their own departments of knowledge, endeavoring to discuss the problems of human existence and to formulate the ultimate principles of human nature without any real equipment for such a task, possessing scarcely any knowledge of those sciences which lead up to their subject, and almost without any perception of the immense and even revolutionary importance of the contributions which these sciences have made to that subject within the lifetime of the present generation. Even in the least fruitful period in the past this position would have been disastrous. For there is no lesson in the history of philosophy clearer and more emphatic than one which cannot be expressed in any better words than Professor Huxley’s, viz., “The men who have made the most important positive additions to philosophy, such as Descartes, Spinoza, and Kant, not to mention more recent examples, have been deeply imbued with the spirit of physical science; and in some cases, such as those of Descartes and Kant, have been largely acquainted with its details. In truth, the laboratory is the fore-court of the temple of philosophy; and whoso has not offered sacrifices and undergone purification there, has little chance of admission into the sanctuary.” And if this has been true in the past of those sciences upon which philosophy rests, how much more so in our own day, when these sciences have become the sources of knowledge that has transformed and reconstructed the very foundations of human thought!


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 VII. If we are not self-deceived, no scholars in the world are more sagacious than those in the United States about the subordination of all special knowledge to larger relations. Nowhere are the representatives of special sciences less restricted by the contents of their particular material. Nowhere are scholars more anxious to generalize their special knowledge by coördinating it with knowledge of other portions or phases of reality. This trait of American genius makes the differentiation of sociology as a distinct department of thought at once certain and difficult. In each of the social sciences there are American scholars who are successful and inspiring leaders both in special research and in constructive combination of their own with other results. These men have been elaborating the method of sociology, although they may still prefer to distinguish their work by another name.

Ably conducted American journals devoted to special social sciences publish in almost every number important papers upon topics which lead discussion far beyond the limits of their particular science. Without invading the field of these journals will be a medium for exchange of thought between scholars upon the work of developing an orderly view of associated human activities as a whole. In this a large number of American scholars, with many representative European sociologists will also try to express their best thoughts upon discoverable principles of societary relationship, in such a way that they might assist all intelligent men in taking the largest possible view of their rights and duties as citizens.

The will thus be primarily technical. It will be devoted to the organization of knowledge pertaining to the relations of men in society into a sociology that shall represent the best American scholarship. On the other hand the will attempt to translate sociology into the language of ordinary life, so that it will not appear to be merely a classification and explanation of fossil facts. As the contents of this number will show, it is not supposed essential to the scientific or even the


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 14 character of thought that it shall be made up of abstractly formulated principles. On the contrary, the aim of science should be to show the meaning of familiar things, not to construct a kingdom for itself in which, if familiar things are admitted, they are obscured under an impenetrable disguise of artificial expression. If sociology is to be of any influence among practical men, it must be able to put its wisdom about things that interest ordinary men in a form which men of affairs will see to be true to life. That form will frequently be the one in which not theorists but men of affairs themselves view the facts concerned. These men are then the most authoritative sociologists. No subject which pertains to men’s pursuits is beneath the notice of sociology, provided it can be treated so that its relation to involved pursuits becomes more evident.

While the sociological staff of The University of Chicago will be the responsible editors of the, the contributors will be men and women who are gathering the materials of social philosophy from the most diverse sources. The contents will vary from discussions of methodology to treatment of plans for social amelioration and to descriptions of minute social groups, or of specially significant social conditions, processes or functions. The will be the “organ” of the editors in no other sense than of any other responsible sociologists who may desire to present their thought in its pages. The platform of the will be simply that it is possible to so far increase our present intelligence about social utilities that there may be much more effective combination for the promotion of the general welfare than has thus far been organized; and accordingly help will be sought of anyone who can assist in defining the aims or in discovering the means of more rational associated effort.

In treating of specific proposals for social amelioration the aim will be to explain them in their relation not to immediate ends, but to the most remote results that can be anticipated. They will be estimated not by their value as palliatives, not with


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 paramount reference to the satisfaction of the persons whom they would directly affect, but by the nature of the modification which they seem likely to impose upon the type or the tendencies of society.

To many possible readers the most important question about the conduct of the will be with reference to its attitude toward “Christian Sociology.” The answer is, in a word, toward Christian sociology sincerely deferential, toward alleged “Christian sociologists” severely suspicious.

Upon the platform thus indicated the editors will attempt to make a factor of restraint upon premature sociological opinion, a means of promoting the development of a just and adequate social philosophy, and an element of strength and support in every wise endeavor to insure the good of men.


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146 trying to fancy I could find traces of the old constellations among the new confusion. The sky kept very clear, except a hazy cloud or so. No doubt I dozed at times. Then, as my vigil wore on, came a faintness in the eastward sky like the reflection of some colorless fire, and the old moon rose thin and peaked and white. And close behind and overtaking it and overflowing it the dawn came, pale at first and then growing pink and warm.

"No Morlocks had approached us. Indeed, I had seen none upon the hill that night. And in the confidence of renewed day it almost seemed to me that my fear had been unreasonable. I stood up, and found my foot with the loose heel swollen at the ankle and painful under the heel. I sat down again, took off my shoes, and flung them away.

"I awakened Weena, and forthwith we went down into the wood, now green and pleasant, instead of black


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Rh Pierre's arm, Isabel eagerly and forebodingly demands what is the cause of this most strange and unpleasant transition.

'The pavements, Isabel; this is the town.'

Isabel was silent.

But, the first time for many weeks, Delly voluntarily spoke:

'It feels not so soft as the green sward, Master Pierre.'

'No, Miss Ulver,' said Pierre, very bitterly, 'the buried hearts of some dead citizens have perhaps come to the surface.'

'Sir?' said Delly.

'And are they so hard-hearted here?' asked Isabel.

'Ask yonder pavements, Isabel. Milk dropped from the milkman's can in December, freezes not more quickly on those stones, than does snow-white innocence, if in poverty it chance to fall in these streets.'

'Then God help my hard fate, Master Pierre,' sobbed Delly. 'Why didst thou drag hither a poor outcast like me?'

'Forgive me, Miss Ulver,' exclaimed Pierre, with sudden warmth, and yet most marked respect; 'forgive me; never yet have I entered the city by night, but, somehow, it made me feel both bitter and sad. Come, be cheerful, we shall soon be comfortably housed, and have our comfort all to ourselves; the old clerk I spoke to you about, is now doubtless ruefully eyeing his hat on the peg. Come, cheer up, Isabel;—'tis a long ride, but here we are, at last. Come! 'Tis not very far now to our welcome.'

'I hear a strange shuffling and clattering,' said Delly, with a shudder.

'It does not seem so light as just now,' said Isabel.

'Yes,' returned Pierre, 'it is the shop-shutters being

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text: Index:American Journal of Sociology Volume 5.djvu


text: Index:American Journal of Sociology Volume 6.djvu


text: Index:American Journal of Sociology Volume 8.djvu


text: Index:American Journal of Sociology Volume 9.djvu


text: The Time Machine (Holt text)/The Morlocks


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322 put on; it is the locking, and bolting, and barring of windows and doors; the town's-people are going to their rest.'

'Please God they may find it!' sighed Delly.

'They lock and bar out, then, when they rest, do they, Pierre?' said Isabel.

'Yes, and you were thinking that does not bode well for the welcome I spoke of.'

'Thou read'st all my soul; yes, I was thinking of that. But whither lead these long, narrow, dismal side-glooms we pass every now and then? What are they? They seem terribly still. I see scarce anybody in them;—there's another, now. See how haggardly look its criss-cross, far-separate lamps.—What are these side-glooms, dear Pierre; whither lead they?'

'They are the thin tributaries, sweet Isabel, to the great Orinoco thoroughfare we are in; and like true tributaries, they come from the far-hidden places; from under dark beetling secrecies of mortar and stone; through the long marsh-grasses of villainy, and by many a transplanted bough-beam, where the wretched have hung.'

'I know nothing of these things, Pierre. But I like not the town. Think'st thou, Pierre, the time will ever come when all the earth shall be paved?'

'Thank God, that never can be!'

'These silent side-glooms are horrible;—look! Methinks, not for the world would I turn into one.'

That moment the nigh fore-wheel sharply grated under the body of the coach.

'Courage!' cried Pierre, 'we are in it!—Not so very solitary either; here comes a traveller.'

'Hark, what is that?' said Delly, 'that keen iron-ringing sound? It passed us just now.'

'The keen traveller,' said Pierre, 'he has steel plates

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Rh to his boot-heels;—some tender-souled elder son, I suppose.'

'Pierre,' said Isabel, 'this silence is unnatural, is fearful. The forests are never so still.'

'Because brick and mortar have deeper secrets than wood or fell, sweet Isabel. But here we turn again; now if I guess right, two more turns will bring us to the door. Courage, all will be well; doubtless he has prepared a famous supper. Courage, Isabel. Come, shall it be tea or coffee? Some bread, or crisp toast? We'll have eggs, too; and some cold chicken, perhaps.'—Then muttering to himself—'I hope not that, either; no cold collations! there's too much of that in these paving-stones here, set out for the famishing beggars to eat. No. I won't have the cold chicken.' Then aloud—'But here we turn again; yes, just as I thought. Ho, driver!' (thrusting his head out of the window) 'to the right! to the right! it should be on the right! the first house with a light on the right!'

'No lights yet but the street's,' answered the surly voice of the driver.

'Stupid! he has passed it—yes, yes—he has! Ho! ho! stop; turn back. Have you not passed lighted windows?'

'No lights but the street's,' was the rough reply. 'What's the number? the number? Don't keep me beating about here all night! The number, I say!'

'I do not know it,' returned Pierre; 'but I well know the house; you must have passed it, I repeat. You must turn back. Surely you have passed lighted windows?'

'Then them lights must burn black; there's no lighted windows in the street; I knows the city; old maids lives here, and they are all to bed; rest is warehouses.'

'Will you stop the coach, or not?' cried Pierre, now incensed at his surliness in continuing to drive on.

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324 'I obeys orders: the first house with a light; and 'cording to my reck'ning—though, to be sure, I don't know nothing of the city where I was born and bred all my life—no, I knows nothing at all about it—'cording to my reck'ning, the first light in this here street will be the watch-house of the ward—yes, there it is—all right! cheap lodgings ye've engaged—nothing to pay, and wictuals in.'

To certain temperaments, especially when previously agitated by any deep feeling, there is perhaps nothing more exasperating, and which sooner explodes all self-command, than the coarse, jeering insolence of a porter, cabman, or hack-driver. Fetchers and carriers of the worst city infamy as many of them are; professionally familiar with the most abandoned haunts; in the heart of misery, they drive one of the most mercenary of all the trades of guilt. Day-dozers and sluggards on their lazy boxes in the sunlight, and felinely wakeful and cat-eyed in the dark; most habituated to midnight streets, only trod by sneaking burglars, wantons, and debauchees; often in actual pandering league with the most abhorrent sinks; so that they are equally solicitous and suspectful that every customer they encounter in the dark, will prove a profligate or a knave; this hideous tribe of ogres, and Charon ferry-men to corruption and death, naturally slide into the most practically Calvinistical view of humanity, and hold every man at bottom a fit subject for the coarsest ribaldry and jest; only fine coats and full pockets can whip such mangy hounds into decency. The least impatience, any quickness of temper, a sharp remonstrating word from a customer in a seedy coat, or betraying any other evidence of poverty, however minute and indirect (for in that pecuniary respect they are the most piercing and infallible of all the judgers of men), will be almost sure to provoke, in such cases, their least endurable disdain.

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 council for promoting the higher education of women, and was its secretary from 1867, the year of its establishment, until 1870, and its president from 1873 to 1874, in which year it was dissolved. It led to the organisation of local lectures by the universities. The higher local examinations for women had been started in 1869, and in 1870 Henry Sidgwick [q. v. Suppl.] suggested that lectures should be given in Cambridge to assist the candidates. The plan was most successful, women coming long distances to attend the lectures. It was therefore determined to open a house of residence in Cambridge to accommodate the students, and Miss Clough was asked to be its head. She began work at a house in Regent Street, Cambridge, in October 1871 with five students, and out of that beginning was evolved Newnham College. In 1872 Miss Clough removed to the more convenient premises known as Merton Hall, but the number of students so increased that in 1874 a new house again became imperative. It was decided to build one; a sum of 10,000l. was subscribed by friends of women's education. Newnham Hall, the old hall of the present Newnham College, was opened in 1875. More room was, however, soon needed, and Newnham College was established on its present basis, under the principalship of Miss Clough, in 1880. As the college developed Miss Clough acquired the position of a recognised leader in the education of women, and many things now regarded as a matter of course are due to her initiative. In 1888 her strength began to show signs of failure; she died at Cambridge on 27 Feb. 1892, and was buried in Grantchester churchyard on 6 March.

Her strong personality, high aims, and lofty principles enabled her to overcome defects in her that might have jeopardised the success of her work. She was no organiser; her want of method, a very serious drawback, of which she was well aware, is to be attributed to lack of early training. She endeared herself to the students, and had an excellent influence on young women.

The portrait which hangs in the library of the college was subscribed for by the students, and painted by Sir W. B. Richmond in 1882. Another portrait which hangs in the college hall was subscribed for by friends and students, and painted by Mr. J. J. Shannon in 1890.  COBURG,. [See Alfred Ernest Albert (DNB01), 1844–1900.]

 COCHRAN-PATRICK, ROBERT WILLIAM (1842–1897), under-secretary of state for Scotland, only son of William Charles Richard Patrick (afterwards Cochran-Patrick) of Waterside, Ayrshire, and Agnes, eldest daughter of William Cochran of Ladyland and Belltrees, was born at Ladyland, Ayrshire, on 5 Feb. 1842. Having received his early education from private tutors, he matriculated at Edinburgh University in 1857, where he secured prizes in classics, logic, and moral philosophy, graduating B.A. in 1861, and passing first in metaphysics and logic. In 1861 he entered at Trinity Hall, Cambridge, where he had as friends among the residents Henry Fawcett [q. v.], Mr. Leslie Stephen, and Lord-justice Romer. He became captain of one of the boats of the Hall, and carried off the university challenge cup for walking and other athletic prizes. As a volunteer he shot in a winning four with Edward Ross, the first queen's prizeman, and was a member of the amateur dramatic club, then under the management of Mr. F. C. Burnand. In 1864 he graduated LL.B. Leaving Cambridge, he returned to Edinburgh for a year, with a view to qualifying for the Scottish bar, an idea soon abandoned.

In 1866 he married and settled at Woodside in Ayrshire, a property left him by his grand-uncle. With a strong bent for sport and natural history, Cochran-Patrick was in his element as a country gentleman, also throwing himself with vigour into local and county business. He became a captain in the militia, chairman of the parish school and parochial boards, served as convener of the finance committee of the county, and occupied other public posts. Taking up the study of archæology, he became a fellow of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, and contributed a large series of most valuable papers to the 'Proceedings' of the society. In 1871 he was elected a fellow of the Society of Antiquaries of London, and in 1874 he was sent to Stockholm to represent Great Britain at the international congress of archæology. In 1874 he was one of the founders of the Ayrshire and Wigtonshire Archæological Association. To the collections of this society he contributed numerous able articles. But it is as a numismatist that Cochran-Patrick is best known, and his collection of Scottish coins was wellnigh unrivalled. On this subject in 1876 he published his first book, entitled 'Records of the Coinage of Scotland from the earliest Period to the Union,' 2 vols. This he followed up in 1878 with 'Early Records relating to Mining in Scotland,' in which he gave an account of


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Vulpius, Christian August


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Rh Perhaps it was the unconscious transfer to the stage-driver of some such ideas as these, which now prompted the highly irritated Pierre to an act, which, in a more benignant hour, his better reason would have restrained him from.

He did not see the light to which the driver had referred; and was heedless, in his sudden wrath, that the coach was now going slower in approaching it. Ere Isabel could prevent him, he burst open the door, and leaping to the pavement, sprang ahead of the horses, and violently reined back the leaders by their heads. The driver seized his four-in-hand whip, and with a volley of oaths was about striking out its long, coiling lash at Pierre, when his arm was arrested by a policeman, who suddenly leaping on the stayed coach, commanded him to keep the peace.

'Speak! what is the difficulty here? Be quiet, ladies, nothing serious has happened. Speak you!'

'Pierre! Pierre!' cried the alarmed Isabel. In an instant Pierre was at her side by the window; and now turning to the officer, explained to him that the driver had persisted in passing the house at which he was ordered to stop.

'Then he shall turn to the right-about with you, sir;—in double quick time too; do ye hear? I know you rascals well enough. Turn about, you sir, and take the gentleman where he directed.'

The cowed driver was beginning a long string of criminating explanations, when turning to Pierre, the policeman calmly desired him to re-enter the coach; he would see him safely at his destination; and then seating himself beside the driver on the box, commanded him to tell the number given him by the gentleman.

'He don't know no numbers—didn't I say he didn't?—that's what I got mad about.'

'Be still,' said the officer. 'Sir'—turning round and addressing Pierre within; 'where do you wish to go?'

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326 'I do not know the number, but it is a house in this street; we have passed it; it is, I think, the fourth or fifth house this side of the last corner we turned. It must be lighted up too. It is the small old-fashioned dwelling with stone lion-heads above the windows. But make him turn round, and drive slowly, and I will soon point it out.'

'Can't see lions in the dark,' growled the driver—'lions; ha! ha! jackasses more likely!'

'Look you,' said the officer, 'I shall see you tightly housed this night, my fine fellow, if you don't cease your jabber. Sir,' he added, resuming with Pierre, 'I am sure there is some mistake here. I perfectly well know now the house you mean. I passed it within the last half-hour; all as quiet there as ever. No one lives there, I think; I never saw a light in it. Are you not mistaken in something, then?'

Pierre paused in perplexity and foreboding. Was it possible that Glen had wilfully and utterly neglected his letter? Not possible. But it might not have come to his hand; the mails sometimes delayed. Then again, it was not wholly out of the question, that the house was prepared for them after all, even though it showed no outward sign. But that was not probable. At any rate, as the driver protested, that his four horses and lumbering vehicle could not turn short round in that street; and that if he must go back, it could only be done by driving on, and going round the block, and so retracing his road; and as after such a procedure, on his part, then in case of a confirmed disappointment respecting the house, the driver would seem warranted, at least in some of his unmannerliness; and as Pierre loathed the villain altogether, therefore, in order to run no such risks, he came to a sudden determination on the spot.

'I owe you very much, my good friend,' said he to the officer, 'for your timely assistance. To be frank, what

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Rh you have just told me has indeed perplexed me not a little concerning the place where I proposed to stop. Is there no hotel in this neighbourhood, where I could leave these ladies while I seek my friend?'

Wonted to all manner of deceitfulness, and engaged in a calling which unavoidably makes one distrustful of mere appearances, however specious, however honest; the really good-hearted officer now eyed Pierre in the dubious light with a most unpleasant scrutiny; and he abandoned the 'Sir,' and the tone of his voice sensibly changed, as he replied: 'There is no hotel in this neighbourhood; it is too off the thoroughfares.'

'Come! come!' cried the driver, now growing bold again—'though you're an officer, I'm a citizen for all that. You havn't any further right to keep me out of my bed now. He don't know where he wants to go to, 'cause he hain't got no place at all to go to; so I'll just dump him here, and you dar'n't stay me.'

'Don't be impertinent now,' said the officer, but not so sternly as before.

'I'll have my rights though, I tell you that! Leave go of my arm; damn ye, get off the box; I've the law now. I say, mister, come tramp, here goes your luggage,' and so saying he dragged toward him a light trunk on the top of the stage.

'Keep a clean tongue in ye now,' said the officer—'and don't be in quite so great a hurry'; then addressing Pierre, who had now re-alighted from the coach—'Well, this can't continue; what do you intend to do?'

'Not to ride further with that man, at any rate,' said Pierre; 'I will stop right here for the present.'

'He! he!' laughed the driver; 'he! he! 'mazing 'commodating now—we hitches now, we do—stops right afore the watch-house—he! he!—that's funny!'

'Off with the luggage then, driver,' said the

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