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362 was building the Temple he wanted a beam for a roof-tree. The Lignum Domini was cut down, but it could not be got to fit into its place, so was rejected (like the keystone of the arch in another legend). For a while it lay about in the Temple, and a certain Maximilla, described in the early English form of the story as ‘meretrix,’ happening to sit upon it, found her clothes set on fire and in her fright prophesied that Christ should come and should die on this Tree; for which the Jews beat her to death. The beam was buried, and there came in the place the healing pool of Bethesda, but later it was taken up and put as a bridge over the Brook Cedron, and when Christ came on earth and was to be crucified the Jews took it and made of it the Cross whereon He died on Calvary. Then it was buried near the Holy Grave, until St. Helen, the mother of Constantino, discovered it on the 3rd of May, 328. It remained in Jerusalem until Chosroes, King of Persia, plundered the Holy Places in 614 and carried it off, but the Emperor Heraclius recovered it on the 14th of September, 615, since which time it has been mostly in Christian hands, the largest and most important piece of it being one of the four great relics under the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. Of course, the whole story does not come in these dramas, and there are some variants, which I shall point out later, but it forms a sort of connecting link.

The date of these plays is probably late in the fourteenth or early in the fifteenth century. The oldest MS. in the Bodleian Library is of the latter date. From internal evidence, such as the mention of a number of places in the neighbourhood, their place of origin would seem to be Glasney College, a college of secular canons, founded in 1265, adjoining the town of Penryn. The college was suppressed by Edward VI., and very few remains of it now exist, but it was once a place of considerable importance.

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 for her brother Earl Rivers. But he had been able to maintain a high position, on account of his well-known tried fidelity to the king. The king on his deathbed entreated him to be reconciled to the queen. When she afterwards proposed to the council that her son, Edward V, should be escorted to London with a strong army, Hastings passionately demanded whether the army was intended ‘against the people of England or against the good Duke of Gloucester.’ He threatened to retire to Calais if Rivers approached with an army. When, however, Gloucester tried by means of [q. v.] to bring Hastings into his designs, Hastings seemed disposed to join the queen's party. He attended the council in the Tower (14 June 1483) in spite of a warning from Stanley. The scene which followed is described by Sir Thomas More, who heard of it from Cardinal Morton, then bishop of Ely, an eye-witness (, Richard III, p. 81). More's account is dramatised by Shakespeare. Gloucester charged Hastings with treason, and he was immediately taken out and beheaded on a block of timber at the Tower. His body was buried in the north aisle of the chapel of St. George's in Windsor Castle, near the tomb of Edward IV. Edward, his son and heir, who was seventeen years of age at this time, was father of, first earl of Huntingdon [q. v.] Hastings also left two younger sons, Richard and William, and a daughter Anne, married to George, earl of Shrewsbury. There are many slight references to Hastings in the ‘Paston Letters,’ including two letters by Hastings to John Paston (iii. 96, 107).

HATCH, EDWIN, D.D. (1835–1889), theologian, was born at Derby on 4 Sept. 1835, of nonconformist parents. In 1844 his family moved to Birmingham, and he entered King Edward's School, at that time under Dr. (afterwards Bishop) Prince Lee. Hatch began on the modern side, but his promise was discovered, and he was transferred to the classical department, where he rapidly rose until he left with an exhibition for Pembroke College, Oxford, in 1853. Shortly before this he had joined the church of England, through the influence of Dr. J. C. Miller. At Oxford he moved in a stimulating society, of which Edward Burne-Jones, the artist, an old schoolfellow, William Morris, and Swinburne, the poets, were prominent members. Hatch was already contributing largely to magazines and reviews when he took his degree, with second class honours in lit. hum., at the end of 1857. After working with zeal in an east-end parish in London, he was appointed in 1859 professor of classics at Trinity College, Toronto. This he held till 1862, when he accepted the rectorship of the high school of Quebec. Here he married. His work at Quebec left a lasting impression; but in 1867 he returned to Oxford to become vice-principal of St. Mary Hall, an office which he resigned under pressure of other duties in 1885. Along with his teaching at St. Mary Hall he took private pupils, and actively shared in the practical work of the university. It was through him that the ‘Official Gazette’ was started in 1870, and he was its first editor. Not much later he brought out the first edition of the ‘Student's Handbook to the University,’ and edited a translation of Aristotle's ‘Ethics’ in 1879, begun by his brother, the Rev. W. M. Hatch (d. 1879). In 1884 he was appointed secretary to the boards of faculties. Meanwhile he was collecting materials for the work which he had planned in theology. The first-fruits of these labours appeared in a series of important articles (‘Holy Orders,’ ‘Ordination,’ ‘Priest’) in vol. ii. of the ‘Dictionary of Christian Antiquities’ in 1880. In the same year he delivered the Bampton lectures on ‘The Organisation of the Early Christian Churches,’ published in the year following. The bold and original views put forward in these lectures aroused considerable controversy, in which Hatch himself took little part. In Scotland and Germany the recognition which the lectures received was even greater than in England. In 1883 the university of Edinburgh conferred on the author the distinction of an honorary D.D., while the eminent theologian, Dr. Adolph Harnack, himself translated the lectures into German. In 1887 Hatch brought out a little volume, ‘The Growth of Church Institutions,’ intended to be the pioneer of a larger work, continuing the Bampton lectures, and dealing comprehensively with the whole subject.

From 1882 to 1884 Hatch held the office of Grinfield lecturer on the Septuagint, another branch of study to which he had devoted himself. The substance of the lectures was published in ‘Essays in Biblical Greek,’ 1889. As the basis for a renewed examination of the ‘Biblical Vocabulary,’ he had long been at work on an elaborate ‘Concordance to the LXX and Hexapla,’ which will be published posthumously. Other New Testament studies of rather less importance are the articles ‘Pastoral Epistles,’ ‘Paul,’ ‘Peter,’ in the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica.’

In 1883 Hatch was appointed to the living

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H the name of Richard of Cirencester [q. v.] In 1817 he became postmaster at Salisbury, but continued to help his friend Coxe in his compilations, and in May of that year he married at Durrington, near Amesbury, Anne, daughter of Richard Amor of that parish. Through the dishonesty of a clerk whom he trusted, Hatcher was compelled at Christmas 1822 to resign his place at the post office and to keep a private school at Fisherton Anger, near Salisbury. Two years later he moved to Endless Street, Salisbury, and in his new occupation laboured with success for many years. From August 1836 to 1843 all his spare time was spent in the preparation of his history of Old and New Sarum for Hoare's ‘Wiltshire,’ and his last years were embittered by the personal differences over its publication. His wife died on 28 Feb. 1846. He became ill, seemed to have recovered, but died suddenly at Salisbury early on the morning of 14 Dec. 1846. Hatcher possessed a special aptitude for learning languages. He was versed in Latin and Greek, French, German, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, and Dutch. Among the manuscripts which he left behind him were an Anglo-Saxon glossary and grammar, a treatise on the art of fortification, and a dissertation on military and physical geography. For the use of his pupils he drew up and published in 1835 ‘A Supplement to the Grammar, containing Rhetorical and Logical Definitions and Rules.’ Hatcher was much respected, and a monument to his memory, by Osmond, a local sculptor, was placed by public subscription in Salisbury Cathedral.

Hatcher's assistance, especially in the labour of translating Spanish and Portuguese documents, was acknowledged by Coxe in his ‘History of the Bourbon Kings of Spain;’ a similar testimony to his aid was given in the ‘Memoirs of the Duke of Marlborough,’ and when Coxe's posthumous volume on the Pelham administration appeared, the preface expressed his indebtedness to his ‘faithful and able secretary Mr. Hatcher.’ Coxe left him a legacy of 220l. Hatcher supplied the letterpress of ‘An Historical Account of the Episcopal See and Cathedral Church of Sarum or Salisbury,’ published in 1814 under the name of William Dodsworth the chief verger, and in 1834 he wrote for a bookseller ‘An Historical and Descriptive Account of Old and New Sarum.’ He helped Hoare in his ‘Tour in Sicily’ and his ‘Recollections Abroad,’ and John Britton in the third volume of his ‘Beauties of Wiltshire’ (1825), and in that part of his ‘Picturesque Antiquities of English Cities’ (1830) which relates to Salisbury. He was the author of ‘The Description of Britain, translated from Richard of Cirencester, with a Commentary on the Itinerary,’ 1809, and of an ‘Historical Eulogium on Don Hippolito Ruiz Lopez, first botanist and chief of the Expedition to Peru and Chili. Translated from the Spanish,’ which was printed at Salisbury in 1831 at the cost of Thomas Burgess, then bishop of Salisbury. About 1835 Hoare renewed an offer, which is said to have been declined so far back as 1817, that Hatcher should compile the account of Salisbury to form part of ‘The History of Modern Wiltshire,’ and on his acceptance there were placed in his hands the materials which Robert Benson [q. v.], the recorder of Salisbury, had previously collected for the work. At this task Hatcher laboured assiduously until the work had been printed at the expense of Mr. Merrik Hoare, the author and executor of the original planner of the undertaking. Benson, who had read the proof-sheets, proposed that his name should appear on the title-page as its joint author. Hatcher declined the proposition, but Benson's influence with Hoare secured the appearance of the two parts, with the title of ‘The History of Modern Wiltshire by Sir Richard Colt Hoare. Old and New Sarum or Salisbury. By Robert Benson, M.A., and Henry Hatcher, 1843,’ and with a preface by Benson. Hatcher retaliated by printing the title and preface which he had drawn up, and explained his share in the authorship. Benson replied with ‘Facts and Observations touching Mr. Hatcher and the History of Salisbury,’ and to this there appeared in ‘Simpson's Devizes Gazette’ for 14 Dec. 1843 a rejoinder from Hatcher. In the journals issued at Salisbury and Devizes there were frequent communications from Hatcher, and the ‘Journal of the British Archæological Association,’ i. 62, contains a note from him on a tesselated pavement at West Dean, near Salisbury. Britton intended to have included in his autobiography a notice of his friend, but owing to its length it appeared separately in 1847 as ‘Memoirs of the Life, Writings, and Character of Henry Hatcher.’  HATCHER, THOMAS (d. 1583), antiquary, was born at Cambridge, probably in St. Edward's parish, being son and heir of John Hatcher, M.D., sometime fellow of St. John's College there, and afterwards regius professor of physic and vice-chancellor of


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H the university. He was educated at Eton College, whence he was elected in 1555 to King's College, Cambridge. He proceeded B.A. in 1559–60, and commenced M.A. in 1563. In 1565, being dissatisfied with the government of Provost Baker, he, with some other members of the college, wrote a letter of complaint against him to Secretary Cecil, to whom in 1567 he dedicated Dr. Walter Haddon's ‘Lucubrationes.’ At one period he studied the law in Gray's Inn, where he was admitted in 1565, and subsequently applied himself to medicine. He does not, however, appear to have practised either profession, his means being apparently ample. In the latter part of his life he resided on his father's estate at Careby, near Stamford, Lincolnshire. Cole describes him as ‘a great antiquary, a religious, learned, and honest man.’ He was on terms of intimacy with Dr. John Caius [q. v.], who in 1570 inscribed to him his work ‘De Libris suis propriis.’ John Stow was another friend and correspondent. He wrote to Stow from Careby, 18 Jan. 1580–1, asking him to publish Leland's ‘Commentaries,’ or whatever he had of Leland's whether Latin or English; recommends the publication of Stow's manifold antiquities under the title of ‘Stow's Storehouse;’ desires Stow to speak to Camden about printing the history of Tobit in Latin verse; and states that he intended a discourse about the authors cited by Stow in his ‘Chronicle’ (Harleian MS. 374, f. 14). Hatcher was buried at Careby on 14 Nov. 1583.

He married Catharine, daughter and heiress of Thomas Rede, son of Richard Rede of Wisbech, and had issue John, elected from Eton to King's College, Cambridge, in 1584, who succeeded to the estates of his grandfather, Dr. John Hatcher, and received the honour of knighthood; Henry, sometime of St. John's College, Cambridge; William; Alice, wife of Nicholas Gunter, sometime mayor of Reading; and other daughters.

Hatcher wrote: 1. ‘Catalogus Præpositorum, Sociorum, et Scholarium Collegii Regalis Cantabrigiæ, a tempore fundationis ad annum 1572,’ manuscript in Caius College Library, 173, f. 119; Harleian MS. 614; Additional MSS. 5954, 5955. Wood had a copy of this work, which he frequently quotes. The catalogue was continued to 1620 by John Scott, coroner of the college, from that year to 1646 by George Goad, and finally extended to 1746 by William Cole (1714–1782) [q. v.], whose ‘History of King's College, Cambridge,’ is now in the British Museum (Addit. MSS. 5814–17). 2. ‘De viris illustribus Academiæ Cantab. regiæ,’ manuscript. This is said to be in two books, in centuries, according to the method of Bale. 3. Latin verses (a) ‘On the restitution of Bucer and Fagius,’ 1560; (b) ‘In commendation of Bishop Alley's Poor Man's Library,’ 1571; (c) ‘In commendation of Carr and Wilson's Demosthenes;’ (d) ‘On the death of Nicholas Carr;’ (e) ‘On Frere's translation of Hippocrates;’ (f) ‘In Paracelsitas,’ MS. C.C.C. Oxon. 258, f. 67; (g) On the death of Dr. Whittington gored by a bull; in Foxe's ‘Acts and Monuments.’ Hatcher also edited Dr. Walter Haddon's ‘Lucubrationes et Poemata,’ 1567, and Dr. Nicholas Carr's orations ‘De scriptorum Britannicorum paucitate,’ 1576.  HATCHER, THOMAS (1589?–1677), captain in the parliamentary army, born about 1589, was son of Sir John Hatcher, knt., of Careby, Lincolnshire, by his first wife Anne, daughter of James Crowes (, Rutland, p. 134). Thomas Hatcher, the antiquary [q. v.], was his grandfather. He was elected M.P. for Lincoln on 2 Feb. 1623–4, for Grantham on 29 Feb. 1627–8, and for Stamford on 24 March 1639–40. He also represented Stamford in the Long parliament, and sat for Lincolnshire from 1654 to 1659 (Members of Parliament, Official Return, pt. i.). At the outbreak of the civil war Hatcher sided with the parliament, and became captain of a horse regiment. On 28 April 1642 he was ordered to accompany the Earl of Stamford and other commanders into Lincolnshire, and thence to Kingston-upon-Hull (, Wrays of Glentworth, ii. 29). In June he was acting as one of the parliamentary committee for Lincolnshire (ib. i. 228), and in November he marched with others into the North Riding of Yorkshire to oppose the progress of the Earl of Newcastle (ib. ii. 39), taking part in the fight at Sherburn and probably other engagements (ib. ii. 44). He was included in the list of ‘traitors’ mentioned in Newcastle's proclamation of 17 Jan. 1643 (ib. i. 246). In the following August he was nominated a commissioner from the parliament to the estates and kingdom of Scotland (Cal. State Papers, Dom. 1641–3, p. 475). He was present at the battle of Marston Moor, and was with the leaguer before York in June


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H and July 1644 (ib. Dom. 1644, pp. 287, 303, 311). Parliament dispensed with his residence with the Scots commissioners in the north in September (Commons' Journals, iii. 630). Hatcher was buried at Careby on 11 July 1677. By his wife Catherine, daughter of William Ayscoughe of South Kelsey, Lincolnshire, he had a son John and a daughter Elizabeth. Mrs. Hatcher was buried at Careby on 15 Dec. 1651.

 HATCHETT, CHARLES (1765?–1847), chemist, born about 1765, was the son of John Hatchett, coachbuilder, of Long Acre, London, by Elizabeth his wife. He was elected F.R.S. on 9 March 1797 (, Hist. Roy. Soc. Append. iv. p. lxiv). On 21 Feb. 1809 he became a member of the Literary Club, originally founded by Dr. Johnson and Sir Joshua Reynolds in 1764, and on the death of Dr. Burney in 1814 he was appointed treasurer. He furnished John Wilson Croker with an account of the club and a complete list of its members, printed in Boswell's ‘Life of Johnson,’ ed. Croker, i. 492, 528. Hatchett died on 10 Feb. 1847 at Bellevue House, Chelsea, aged 82, and was buried near his parents and wife Elizabeth (d. 1837) at Upton-cum-Chalvey, Buckinghamshire (, Buckinghamshire, iv. 576; Gent. Mag. new ser. xxviii. 214–15). He was author of a treatise ‘On the Spikenard of the Ancients,’ 4to, London, 1836, and contributed many papers to Nicholson's ‘Journal’ and to the ‘Philosophical Transactions.’ The more important of the latter were published separately between 1798 and 1805, and comprised: ‘An Analysis of the Magnetical Pyrites, with remarks on some other Sulphurets of Iron,’ London, 1804, 4to; ‘On an Artificial Substance which possesses the principal characteristics of Tannin,’ London, 1805, 4to. A tolerably complete list of his writings and some account of his pictures and curiosities, together with his portrait engraved by F. C. Lewis after the painting by T. Phillips, will be found in Faulkner's ‘History of Chelsea,’ ed. 1829, i. 89–92.

 HATCLIFFE, VINCENT (1601–1671), Jesuit. [See .]

HATFIELD, JOHN (1758?–1803), forger, born of parents in humble circumstances, at Mottram in Longendale, Cheshire, before 1759, seems to have had a fair education. He became traveller to a linendraper in the North of England about 1772, and paid his addresses to a natural daughter of Lord Robert Manners, who was to receive a dower of 1,000l. if she married with her father's approbation. Lord Robert, deceived by Hatfield's demeanour, assented to his proposal of marriage, and presented him at his wedding with 1,500l. Hatfield shortly went up to London, described himself as a near relation of the Rutland family, and lived in luxury. When his money was spent he disappeared, abandoning his wife (who soon died broken-hearted) and three daughters.

After several years' absence Hatfield returned to London in 1782. His career was cut short by his committal to the King's Bench prison for a debt of 160l. Here by his arts of lying and boasting he induced a clergyman to lay his case before the Duke of Rutland, who generously sent him 200l. and secured his release. When the duke became lord-lieutenant of Ireland in 1784, Hatfield went to Dublin, and by impudently claiming relationship with the viceroy lived for a time on credit. He was soon committed to the Marshalsea, when the duke again paid his debts and sent him out of the country. He continued his career of imposture until arrested for an hotel bill at Scarborough on 25 April 1792. He remained in the Scarborough gaol for more than seven years, but eventually managed to excite the pity of Miss Nation, a Devonshire lady, who lived with her mother in a house opposite the prison. She paid his debts, and, though she is said never to have spoken to him till he quitted the gaol, married him next morning (14 Sept. 1800). The pair went to Dulverton in Somersetshire, where by fraudulent representations Hatfield obtained both money and credit. He lived in London once again in magnificent style, and even canvassed Queenborough, hoping, no doubt, to get as a member of parliament immunity from arrest, but, pressed by his creditors, he procured a few hundred pounds and disappeared, leaving his second wife and her young child in Somersetshire entirely dependent on charity. In August 1801 he arrived at Keswick in Cumberland, in a handsome carriage, and assumed the name of the Hon. Alexander Augustus Hope, M.P. for Linlithgow, brother of the Earl of Hopetoun. He spent his time in excursions, and on a visit to Grasmere became acquainted with a Liverpool gentleman named Crump, whose name and credit he employed when in want of money. By boldly franking letters in his assumed name he silenced all suspicion in the neighbourhood. An intrigue with a lady of fortune came to nothing. But the reputation of Mary Robinson, the ‘Butter-


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H mere Beauty,’ led him to pay many visits to the Fish Inn, Buttermere, of which the girl's father was landlord. After ascertaining that Mary's family had some means, he married her at Lorton Church on 2 Oct. 1802. Newspapers reported the marriage of the famed ‘Buttermere Beauty’ to a member of the aristocracy, and Lord Hopetoun's family made it known that Colonel Hope was then residing in Vienna. After his wedding Hatfield set out for Scotland, but in four or five days returned with Mary to her father's house. George Hardinge [q. v.], the Welsh judge, who knew Colonel Hope and had heard of the imposture, went to Keswick, and invited Hatfield to visit him. Hatfield went over to Keswick, and was introduced to Hardinge by a friendly creditor. Hatfield asserted that his name was Hope, but that he was not the member for Linlithgow. A warrant for his apprehension was, however, granted, and he was placed in the custody of the constable. He treated the matter as a mistake, and cleverly contrived to escape from his custodians. In November a reward of 50l. was offered for his apprehension, a description of him was widely circulated, and he was seized at a village sixteen miles from Swansea soon after. The trial took place at Carlisle on 15 Aug. 1803. To three indictments for forgery Hatfield pleaded not guilty. But the charges were fully proved. He was sentenced to be hanged, and met his death with the utmost coolness on Saturday, 13 Sept. Much of the interest excited in the case was due to Hatfield's connection with the beautiful Mary of Buttermere, whose sufferings at Hatfield's hands excited general sympathy. A public subscription was raised in both London and her own county to meet the pecuniary loss which she and her family had sustained. She afterwards married a respectable farmer and removed to a distant part of the county. Mary and her false lover were the subject at the time of many novels, verses, dramas, and tales. A portrait of Hatfield, published 5 Jan. 1803, is inserted in Kirby's ‘Museum,’ i. 309.  HATFIELD, MARTHA (fl. 1652), ‘the wise virgin,’ the daughter of Anthony Hatfield, by his wife Faith Westley, was born at Leighton, Yorkshire, 27 Sept. 1640. The Hatfields were puritans. In April 1652 Martha was seized with an illness which the physicians were unable to define, but which seems to have been a form of catalepsy. For seventeen days she lay stiff and was unable to speak, and it was said that she could neither see nor hear. When she recovered her voice she uttered rambling recollections of pious discourses abounding in quotations of Scripture. Her friends regarded her ravings as a new revelation, and her words were taken down, generally by the two sons of Sir Edward Rhodes and by John Cromwell. From 8 Sept. 1652 till 7 Dec. Martha was again speechless, but after her recovery gave no further proof of exceptional powers. The circumstances of Martha Hatfield's illness impressed her friends, and her uncle, James Fisher, the founder of the first presbyterian congregation in Sheffield, published the story of her case and her reported sayings. The book was called ‘The Wise Virgin, or a Wonderfull Narration of the hand of God, wherein his severity and goodness hath appeared in afflicting a Childe of 11 years of age when stricken Dumb, Deaf, and Blind …,’ 1653. It gained great popularity among the credulous, and was several times reprinted. The fifth edition (1664) has a curious portrait of Martha Hatfield prefixed. Contemptuous reference is made to Hatfield's vision in ‘A New Song on the strange and wonderful groaning board,’ London, 1682 (cf. Notes and Queries, 1st ser. viii. 310).  HATFIELD, THOMAS (d. 1381), bishop of Durham, is stated by Poulson (Hist. of Holderness, i. 442, Hull, 1840) to have been the second son of Walter of Hatfield in Holderness. He seems to have entered the king's service at an early age, and was keeper of the privy seal in 1343 (, De Præsulibus, ii. 330). Poulson adds (p. 443), but without giving his authority, that he was tutor to the Prince of Wales. Before this he had been presented to the prebend of Liddington in the church of Lincoln, 1342 (, Fasti Eccl. Anglic. ed. Hardy, ii. 178), and on 17 Dec. 1343 he was collated to that of Fridaythorpe in the church of York (ib. iii. 186). A year later he was given another Lincoln prebend, that of Buckden (ib. ii. 119). The Thomas de Hatfield who was prebendary of Oxgate in St. Paul's Cathedral (ib. ii. 420) belongs apparently to an earlier generation. On 14 April 1345 Richard of Bury, bishop of Durham, died, and Edward III desired to raise Hatfield to the see. According to the story handed down at St.


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394 that it seems as if his feet could hardly keep to the pavement, so buoyant and so exhilarated does he become by reason of this inflowing tide."

Certain aspects of nature seem to have a peculiar power of awakening such mystical moods. The larger God may then swallow up the smaller one. I take this from Starbuck's manuscript collection:— "I never lost the consciousness of the presence of God until I stood at the foot of the Horseshoe Falls, Niagara. Then I lost him in the immensity of what I saw. I also lost myself, feeling that I was an atom too small for the notice of Almighty God." I subjoin another similar case from Starbuck's collection:— "In that time the consciousness of God's nearness came to me sometimes. I say God, to describe what is indescribable. A presence, I might say, yet that is too suggestive of personality, and the moments of which I speak did not hold the consciousness of a personality, but something in myself made me feel myself a part of something bigger than I, that was controlling. I felt myself one with the grass, the trees, birds, insects, everything in Nature. I exulted in the mere fact of existence, of being a part of it all—the drizzling rain, the shadows of the clouds, the tree-trunks, and so on. In the years following, such moments continued to come, but I wanted them constantly. I knew so well the satisfaction of losing self in a perception of supreme power and love, that I was unhappy because that perception was not constant." The cases quoted in my third lecture, pp. 66, 67, 70, are still better ones of this type. In her essay, The Loss of Personality, in The Atlantic Monthly (vol. lxxxv. p. 195), Miss Ethel D. Puffer explains that the vanishing of the sense of self, and the feeling of immediate unity with the object, is due to the disappearance, in these rapturous experiences, of the motor adjustments which habitually intermediate between the constant background of consciousness (which is the Self) and the object in the foreground, whatever it may be. I must refer the reader to the highly instructive article, which seems to me to throw light upon the psychological conditions, though it fails to account for the rapture or the revelation-value of the experience in the Subject's eyes. Most of the striking cases which I have collected have occurred out of doors. Literature has commemorated this fact in many passages of great beauty—this extract, for example, from Amiel's Journal Intime:—

"Shall I ever again have any of those prodigious reveries which sometimes came to me in former days? One day, in


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Rh melancholy and 'conviction of sin' that have played so large a part in the history of Protestant Christianity. The man's interior is a battle-ground for what he feels to be two deadly hostile selves, one actual, the other ideal. As Victor Hugo makes his Mahomet say:—

Wrong living, impotent aspirations; "What I would, that do I not; but what I hate, that do I," as Saint Paul says; self-loathing, self-despair; an unintelligible and intolerable burden to which one is mysteriously the heir.

Let me quote from some typical cases of discordant personality, with melancholy in the form of self-condemnation and sense of sin. Saint Augustine's case is a classic example. You all remember his half-pagan, half-Christian bringing up at Carthage, his emigration to Rome and Milan, his adoption of Manicheism and subsequent skepticism, and his restless search for truth and purity of life; and finally how, distracted by the struggle between the two souls in his breast, and ashamed of his own weakness of will, when so many others whom he knew and knew of had thrown off the shackles of sensuality and dedicated themselves to chastity and the higher life, he heard a voice in the garden say, "Sume, lege" (take and read), and opening the Bible at random, saw the text, "not in chambering and wantonness," etc., which seemed directly sent to his address, and laid the inner storm to rest forever. Augustine's psychological genius has


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172 given an account of the trouble of having a divided self which has never been surpassed.

"The new will which I began to have was not yet strong enough to overcome that other will, strengthened by long indulgence. So these two wills, one old, one new, one carnal, the other spiritual, contended with each other and disturbed my soul. I understood by my own experience what I had read, 'flesh lusteth against spirit, and spirit against flesh.' It was myself indeed in both the wills, yet more myself in that which I approved in myself than in that which I disapproved in myself. Yet it was through myself that habit had attained so fierce a mastery over me, because I had willingly come whither I willed not. Still bound to earth, I refused, O God, to fight on thy side, as much afraid to be freed from all bonds, as I ought to have feared being trammeled by them.

"Thus the thoughts by which I meditated upon thee were like the efforts of one who would awake, but being overpowered with sleepiness is soon asleep again. Often does a man when heavy sleepiness is on his limbs defer to shake it off, and though not approving it, encourage it; even so I was sure it was better to surrender to thy love than to yield to my own lusts, yet, though the former course convinced me, the latter pleased and held me bound. There was naught in me to answer thy call, 'Awake, thou sleeper,' but only drawling, drowsy words, 'Presently; yes, presently; wait a little while.' But the 'presently' had no 'present,' and the 'little while' grew long. … For I was afraid thou wouldst hear me too soon, and heal me at once of my disease of lust, which I wished to satiate rather than to see extinguished. With what lashes of words did I not scourge my own soul. Yet it shrank back; it refused, though it had no excuse to offer. … I said within myself: 'Come, let it be done now,' and as I said it, I was on the point of the resolve. I all but did it, yet I did not do it. And I made another effort, and almost succeeded, yet I did not reach it, and did not grasp it, hesitating to die to death, and live to life; and the evil to which


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title: A Complete Guide to Heraldry/Chapter 13


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Hervey  Virtue of former Times and the Present Age compared,’ London, 1732, 8vo. 10. ‘The Case of the Revivial of the Salt Duty, fully stated and considered; with some remarks on the Present State of Affairs...In a Letter from a Member of the House of Commons to a Gentleman in the Country,’ London, 1732, 8vo. 11. ’A Letter to the Craftsman on the Game of Chess. Occasioned by his paper of the fifteenth of this month,' anon., London, 1732, 8vo. 12. ‘An Epistle from Nobleman to a Doctor of Divinity [Dr. Sherwin] in Answer to a Latin Letter in Verse. Written from H*****n C***t [Hampton Court], Aug. 28, 1733,' London 1733, fol. Reprinted in ’Tit for Tat,' &c., 1734, pp. 7-11. 13. `A Summary Account of the State of Dunkirk, and the Negotiations relating thereto; in a Letter from a Member of Parliament to the Mayor of the Borough for which he serves,' 1733. 14. ’Ancient and Modern Liberty stated and compar'd,' anon., London, 1734, 8vo. 15. ’The Conduct of the Opposition and the tendency of modern patriotism (more particularly in a late scheme to establish a military government in this country) review'd and examin'd,' anon., London, 1734, 8vo. Written by Hervey at the desire of the king and queen, and corrected by Sir Robert Walpole (Memoirs, i. 288). 16. ‘An Answer to the Country Parson’s Plea against the Quakers’ Tythe-bill. In a Letter to the R. R. Author. By a Member of the House of Commons,' London [1736], 8vo; 2nd edit., corrected, 1736. Reprinted in the ‘Pillars of Priestcraft and Orthodoxy shaken.’ edited by Richard Baron. 1768, ii. 109-225. 17. ‘Speech for the Army.’ 1737. 18. ‘Letter to the "Author of Common Sense. or the Englishman’s Journal of Saturday, April 16, 1737."’ 19. ‘Bolingbroke’s Address to Ambition in imitation of the first Ode of the fourth Book of Horace,' 1737. 20. ‘An Examination of the facts and Reasonings contained in a Pamphlet entitled "A Letter from a Member of Parliament to his Friend in the Country upon the motion to address his Mahesty to settle 100,000l. per annum on his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales,"' 1739. This pamphlet was written by Hervey in 1737. Some of the most remarkable passages were furnished by Sir Robert Walpole (, i. 532). 21. ‘A Satire in the manner of Persius; in a Dialogue between Atticus and Eugenio. By a Person of Quality,' anon., London, 1739, fol. 22. ‘A Letter to Mr. Cibber on his Letter to Mr. Pope,' 1742. 23. ‘The Difference between Verbal and Practical Virtue, exemplified in some instances both ancient and modern; with a prefatory Epistle from Mr. Cibber to Mr. Pope,' 1742. 24. `Miscellaneous Thoughts on the present Posture both of our Foreign and Domestic Affairs. Humbly offer'd to the consideration of the Parliament and the People,' anon., London, 1742, 8vo. 25. ‘The S * * * te M * * * r’s are come; or a new Doctor for a Crazy Constitution. A New Ballad to the tune of Derry down’ [1742], fol. 26. ‘A New C * * * * * t [cabinet] Ballad' [on J. Carteret, earl Granville, and the change of ministry in January 1742], anon., Dublin, 1742, fol.; another edit., Dublin, 1742, 8vo. 27. ‘The Question stated with regard to our Army in Flanders; and the Arguments for and against the measure compared,' anon., London, 1743, 8vo. 28. ‘Three Speeches on the Gin Act'[1743 (?)]. 29. ‘Letters between Lord Hervey and Dr. Middleton concerning the Roman Senate. Published from the original manuscripts by Thomas Knowles, D.D., Rector of Ickworth, Suffolk,' London, 1778, 4to. 30. ‘Memoirs of the Reign of George the Second, from his Accession to the Death of Queen Caroline. Edited from the original Manuscript by J. W. Croker,' London, 1848, 8vo; another edit., London, 1884, 8vo. According to Park’s edition of Walpole, the following pieces were also published by Hervey; 31. ‘Speech on the Bill to prevent the settling more Lands in Mortmain.’ 32. ‘A Protest against protesting with Reasons.' 33. ‘The Lord’s Protest.' 34. ‘Account of Queen Anne’s Bounty.' 35. ‘Letter to the Bishop of Bangor on his late Sermon upon Horses and Asses.' 36. ‘On the Pyramids. To Mrs. * * *.' 37. `A Letter from a Country Gentleman to his Friend in London concerning two Collections of Letters and Messages lately published between the K., Q., Pr., and Prss.' 38. Epitaph on Queen Caroline, in Latin and English.

[Lord Hervey’s Memoirs, 1884; Horace Walpole’s Letters, ed. Cunningham; Coxe’s Memoirs of Sir Robert Walpole, 1798; Opinions of Sarah, Duchess-Dowager of Marlborough, 1788, pp. 42-44, 95; Letters and Works of Lady M. W. Montafu, 1861, i. 94-5, 457, ii. 460-2; Mrs. Thomson’s Memoirs of Lady Sundon, 1847; Lord Mahon’s Hist. of England, 1858, vols. ii. iii.; Gage’s Hist. of Suffolk, Thingoe Hundred, 1838, pp. 288, 297-9, 306, 308,318; Horace Walpole’s Cat. of Royal and Noble Authors (Park), iv. 197-206; Halkett and Laing’s Dict. of Anon. and Pseudeon. Lit., 1882-8; Edinburgh Review, lxxxviii. 488-513; Quarterly Review, lxxxii. 501-42; Collins’s peerage of England, 1812, iv. 155-8; Gent. Mag. 1740 x. 204, 260, 1741 xi. 275, 1742 xii. 162, 387, 1743 xiii. 443; Grad. Cantabr. 1823, p. 231; Alumni Westmon. 1852, pp. 273, 544; Haydn’s Book of Dignities, 1851; Official Return of Lists of Members of


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Henry III [see under ] put an end to the power of the foreign adventurers brought into the kingdom by John (Constitutional History, ii. 36).

Matters were still going badly in Ireland, for Hugh de Lacy, who had helped Llewelyn in his last war, was gaining great power, and it was rumoured that a Norwegian invasion was probable (Royal Letters, i. 219). The rest of the year was taken up with preparations for an expedition to France. Henry kept Christmas 1224 at Westminster, and there asked an aid for the war. Hitherto the taxation had chiefly been by way of scutage, and levies of this kind had been made for the siege of Biham in 1221, for the Welsh war of 1223, and for the siege of Bedford (Constitutional History, ii. 36). On this occasion the justiciar asked for a fifteenth of all moveables both from clergy and laity. In return the king confirmed the charters, stating that he did so ‘of his own motion and goodwill,’ a somewhat dangerous precedent (ib. p. 37). Having knighted his brother Richard in February 1225, and created him Earl of Cornwall and Count of Poitou, he sent him and William, earl of Salisbury, in March with an army to Gascony, where Bordeaux still remained faithful to him. The earls soon reduced the whole of Gascony to submission (Fœdera, i. 177;, iv. 100). Towards the end of 1225 a papal envoy named Otho visited England, and tried to persuade Henry to pardon Falkes de Breauté, but was unsuccessful. He also told the king that he had come to demand that a prebend should be assigned to the pope in every cathedral church, and a like provision from every bishopric, from every abbacy, and from every monastery. Henry replied that the matter must be laid before the great men. After spending Christmas at Winchester he removed to Marlborough, and there fell dangerously ill. He sent to the council of prelates held at Westminster on 13 Jan. 1226, bidding them not to grant the envoy's demands, which were finally set aside with an excuse. On his recovery Henry was eager to invade France. As, however, Louis was at war with the Count of Toulouse and the Albigensian heretics, Pope Honorius wrote to him on 27 April forbidding him to make an alliance, which he was then negotiating with Count Raymond, or to go to war with the French king (Recueil des Historiens, xix. 772). He laid the letter before the magnates, and they decided that the expedition should be postponed. On 8 Nov. 1226 Louis VIII died, and on the accession of his son Louis IX, who was a minor, many lords of the great fiefs began to conspire against the regent, Queen Blanche. Henry took advantage of this, and sent embassies to the nobles of Normandy, Anjou, Brittany, and Poitou, urging his claims. With the Duke of Brittany, Peter of Dreux, he was already in alliance, and in December he satisfied the demands of the Count de la Marche, and made a treaty with the viscount of Thouars (Fœdera, i. 183). On 8 Jan. 1227 he held a council at Oxford, where, by the advice of Hubert de Burgh, he declared that he was of full age, and dismissed Peter des Roches and his other governors. Taking an unfair advantage of the ordinance of the council of 1218 relating to grants in perpetuity, he declared that all charters granted during his minority needed confirmation; and he also threatened to quash the forest charter. A large sum was paid for the renewal of charters, a heavy tallage was laid upon the towns, and the clergy were forced to pay the fifteenth which had been demanded at Christmas 1224. During the minority of Henry the permanent council of the king's advisers, consisting of the great officers of state, with certain bishops and lords, appears as a body distinct from the king's court, and from the common council of the kingdom. It was ‘continual,’ and from it descend the later privy council and the still later cabinet. There is reason to believe that in some cases the great officers of state were, during the minority, appointed in the common council, which must to some extent have brought in the idea of a responsible ministry (Const. Hist. ii. 40, 41).

With a view to securing allies in the event of a war with France, Henry entered into several negotiations for his own marriage, sending ambassadors to treat for Iolenta, daughter of Peter, duke of Brittany, for Margaret, daughter of Leopold VI, duke of Austria, and for a daughter of Premysl, king of Bohemia (Fœdera, i. 176, 180, 185; Royal Letters, i. 252, 295; Ann. Wigorn. p. 240). He also treated for alliances with the Emperor Frederick II, with Lewis, duke of Bavaria, and with the princes of the empire. The ambassadors whom he had sent to the French lords, however, returned in April, and announced that the Duke of Brittany, the Count of La Marche, and other malcontent lords had, on 16 March, made peace with Louis, and that their embassy had therefore failed; the truce was renewed with France in July until the following midsummer. In the same month the king had a violent quarrel with his brother, Richard of Cornwall, about the earl's right to a manor. Henry thought of seizing his person, but Richard, warned of his intention, fled from the court, and at


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Rh the entire run from dock to anchorage in 13 days 22 hours and 50 minutes. This must be regarded as a most remarkable passage for the season, and has never been equalled by a sailing vessel during the month of June. Her best day's run was on June 28th, 344 miles, by the wind, under singlereefed topsails, and on the 30th, 340 miles with skysails and royal studdingsails set. The Cunard S.S. Canada sailed from Boston on the same day that the Sovereign of the Seas sailed from New York, and a comparison of their logs published at the time shows that in five days, June 25-30th, the ship outsailed the steamer by 325 miles, and that the best run of the Canada during this passage was only 306 miles.

On this voyage her builder, Donald McKay, was a passenger on board the Sovereign of the Seas, and he passed most of his waking moments on deck, watching her movement through the water and observing the various strains on her spars and rigging. When he returned home, Enoch Train asked him what he thought of the ship, and Mr. McKay replied, "Well, she appears to be a pretty good ship, but I think I can build one to beat her"; and eventually he did so.

Mrs. Donald McKay sailed with her husband on this voyage and took a keen interest in everything that went on aboard ship. Although this was a summer passage, nevertheless, there was enough rough weather to bring out the splendid sea-going qualities of the vessel, and to Mrs. McKay, who, it is a pleasure to record, is still living, the vivid picture of this thoroughbred clipper wrestling with

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Letters of Julian/Letter 74

74. To Iamblichus
I ought indeed to have obeyed the Delphic inscription "Know Thyself," and not have ventured to affront the ears of so great a man as yourself; for only to look you in the face, when one meets your eye, is no easy matter, and it is much less easy to try to rival you when you wake the harmony of your unfailing wisdom, seeing that if Pan roused the echoes with his shrill song everyone would yield him place, yes, even though it were Aristaeus himself, and when Apollo played the lyre everyone would keep silence, even though he knew the music of Orpheus. For it is right that the inferior, in so far as it is inferior, should yield to the superior, that is if it is to know what is appropriate to itself and what is not. But he who has conceived the hope of matching his mortal song with inspired music has surely never heard of the sad fate of Marsyas the Phrygian, or of the river which is named after him and bears witness to the punishment of that insane flute-player, nor has he heard of the end of Thamyris, the Thracian who, in an evil hour, strove in song against the Muses. Need I mention the Sirens, whose feathers the victorious Muses still wear on their brows? But each one of those that I have named is still even now paying in the tradition the fitting penalty for his boorishness and temerity, and I, as I said, ought to have stayed within my own boundaries and held my peace while I enjoyed my fill of the music uttered by you, like those who receive in silence the oracle of Apollo when it issues from the sacred shrine. But since you yourself furnish me with the keynote of my song, and by your words, as though with the wand of Hermes, arouse and wake me from sleep, lo now, even as when Dionysus strikes his thyrsus his followers rush riotous to the dance, so let me too in response to your plectron make answering music, like those who accompany the choirmaster, keeping time to the call of the rhythm. And in the first place let me make a first-offering to you, since this is your pleasure, of the speeches which I recently composed at the Emperor's command in honour of the glorious bridging of the strait, though what I offer you is returning small for great and in very truth bronze for gold; yet I am entertaining our Hermes with such fare as I have. Surely Theseus did not disdain the plain meal that Hecale provided, but knew how to content himself with humble fare when the need arose. Nor was Pan, the god of shepherds, too proud to set to his lips the pipe of the boy neat-herd. Then do you also in your turn accept my discourse in a gracious spirit and do not refuse to lend your mighty ear to my humble strain. But if it has any cleverness at all, then not only is my discourse itself fortunate but so too is its author, in that he has obtained the testimony of Athene's vote. And if it still needs a finishing touch to complete it as a whole, do not refuse to add to it yourself what it needs. Before now the god in answer to prayer has stood by the side of a bowman and set his hand to the arrow, and again, when a bard was playing the cithara and singing a high and stirring strain, the Pythian god, when the string failed, assumed the guise of a cicada and uttered a note of the same tone.

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Letters of Julian/Letter 75

75. To the Same
O Zeus, how can it be right that I should spend my time in the middle of Thrace and winter in the grain-pits here, while from charming Iamblichus, as though from a sort of spring in the East, letters come to me like swallows and I cannot yet go to him nor can he come to me? Who would be willing to put up with this unless he were some Thracian and as bad as Tereus?

"Lord Zeus do thou rescue the Achaeans from Thrace and make clear weather and grant us to see with our eyes" our own Hermes some day, and salute his shrine and embrace his statue as they tell us Odysseus did when after his wandering he beheld Ithaca. Nay, but he was still asleep when the Phaeacians unloaded him from their ship like a piece of freight and went their way; but as for me sleep can never lay hold on me till it be my lot to see you that are the benefactor of the whole world. And yet you say in jest that I and my friend Sopater have transported the whole East into Thrace. Yet, if I must speak the truth, Cimmerian gloom abides with me so long as Iamblichus is not here. And you demand one of two things, that I should go to you or that you yourself should come to me. To my mind one of these alternatives is both desirable and expedient, I mean that I should go to you and benefit by the blessings that you bestow, while the other surpasses all my prayers. But since this is impossible for you and inexpedient, do you remain at home and prosper and preserve the tranquillity that you enjoy, while I will endure with a brave spirit whatever God may send. For we are told that it is the proof of a good man to keep hoping for the best, to do his duty and follow his fate and the will of God.

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Letters of Julian/Letter 76

76. To the Same
I confess that I had paid a full and sufficient penalty for leaving you, not only in the annoyances that I encountered on my journey, but far more in the very fact that I have been away from you for so long, though I have indeed endured so many and various fortunes everywhere, that I have left nothing untried. But though I have undergone the alarms of war, the rigour of a siege, the wandering of exile and all sorts of terrors, and moreover the extreme cold of winter, the dangers of disease and countless mischances of many kinds in my journey from Upper Pannonia till I crossed the Chalcedonian straits, I may say that nothing so painful or so distressing has happened to me as the fact that after I left the East I have not, for so long a time, seen you, the universal blessing of the Hellenes. So do not be surprised if I say that a sort of mist and thick cloud overshadows my eyes. For only then will a clear atmosphere and the brilliant light of the sun, and, so to speak, the fairest and truest springtime of my life, encompass me when I can embrace you, the delight and glory of the whole world, and, like the true son of a noble father who when hope is given up is seen returning from war, it may be, or from the stormy billows of the sea, can proceed to recount to you all that I have suffered and what dangers I have been through, and as I, so to speak, ride safely on a sacred anchor, can find at last a sufficient consolation for my misfortunes. For naturally it is a consolation and lightens the weight of sorrow when one unburdens one's experiences to others and shares with them the knowledge of one's sufferings in the intercourse of speech. Meanwhile, however, with what means I have I will, so far as I can approach you; and indeed I shall not cease, for the whole period of our separation, to conciliate you with letters by way of a token. And if I only receive the like from you, I shall be somewhat more submissive and shall hold converse with your letters, regarding them as a sort of symbol that you are safe and well. Do you, then, graciously accept what arrives from me, and show yourself still more gracious in making requital, since every noble utterance of yours, every written word, is reckoned by me as equivalent to the voice of Hermes the god of eloquence, or to the hand of Asclepius.

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Letters of Julian/Letter 77

77. To the Same
"Thou hast come! well hast thou done!" You have indeed come, even though absent, by means of your letter — "And I was yearning for thee, and thou didst set ablaze my heart, already aflame with longing for thee." Nay, I neither refuse the love-philtre nor do I ever leave you at all, but with my soul I behold you as though you were present, and am with you when absent, and nothing is enough to quench my insatiate desire. Moreover, you also never slacken, but without ceasing you benefit those who are present with you and by your letters not only cheer but even heal those who are absent. At any rate, when someone not long ago gave me the news that a friend had come and brought letters from you, it happened that for three days I had been suffering from a disorder of the stomach, and in fact I was in acute physical pain, so that I was not even free from fever. But, as I said, when I was told that the person who had the letters was at my door I jumped up like one possessed, who has lost control of himself, and rushed out before what I wanted could arrive. And the moment that I merely took the letter in my hands, I swear by the very gods and by the love that burns in me for you, that instant my pains forsook me and at once the fever let me go, as though it were abashed by some manifest saving presence. But when I broke the seal and read the letter, can you imagine what feelings took possession of my soul at that moment or with what delight I was filled, or how I praised to the skies that dearest of winds, to quote your words, the lover's wind in very truth, the messenger of glad tidings — and loved it with good reason, since it had done me this service of bringing a letter from you, and like a winged thing had guided straight to me, with a fair and hurrying blast, that letter which brought me not only the pleasure of hearing good news of you but also salvation at your hands in my own illness? But how could I describe my other sensations when first I read the letter, or how could I find adequate words to betray my own passion? How often did I hark back from the middle to the beginning? How often did I fear that I should finish it before I was aware? How often, as though I were going round in a circle in the evolutions of a strophe, did I try to connect the contents of the last paragraph with the first, just as though in a song set to music I were making the leading note of the beginning the same as the closing bars of the measure? Or how describe what I did next — how often I held the letter to my lips, as mothers embrace their children, how often I kissed it with those lips as though I were embracing my dearest sweetheart, how often I invoked and kissed and held to my eyes even the superscription which had been signed by your own hand as though by a clear cut seal, and how I clung to the imprint of the letters as I should to the fingers of that sacred right hand of yours! I too "wish thee joy in full measure," as fair Sappho says, and not only "for just so long as we have been parted from one another," but may you rejoice evermore, and write to me and remember me with kindly thoughts. For no time shall ever pass by me in which I shall forget you, in any place, at any hour, in any word I speak. "But if ever Zeus permits me to return to my native land," and once more I humbly approach that sacred hearth of yours, do not spare me hereafter as you would a runaway, but fetter me, if you will, to your own beloved dwelling, making me captive like a deserter from the Muses, and then discipline me with such penalties as suffice for my punishment. Assuredly I shall submit to your jurisdiction not unwillingly, but with a good will and gladly, as to a kind father's provident and salutary correction. Moreover, if you would consent to trust me to sentence myself and allow me to suffer the penalty that I prefer, I would gladly fasten myself to your tunic, my noble friend, so that I might never for a moment leave your side but be with you always and closely attached to you wherever you are, like those two-bodied beings invented in the myths. Unless, indeed, in this case also the myths, though they tell us the story in jest, are describing in enigmatical words an extraordinary sort of friendship and by that close tie of a common being express the kinship of soul in both beings.

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Letters of Julian/Letter 78

78. To the Same.
I am sensible of the sweet-tempered manner in which you reproach me, and that you achieve two things with equal success, for you do me honour by what you write and instruct me by your criticisms. And for my part, if I were conscious of even the least failure in the attention due to you, I should certainly try by making reasonable excuses to parry your criticism, or if I were in fault I should not hesitate to ask your forgiveness, especially as I know that you are not implacable towards your friends when they have involuntarily failed in some friendly office to you. But as it is — since it was not right either for you to be neglected or for me to be careless if we were to attain that which we ever seek after and desire — come, I will plead my case before you as though by the rules of a lawsuit, and I will prove that far from having neglected any of my duties towards you I have never even ventured to postpone them.

It is now three years since I arrived from Pannonia, with difficulty escaping safely from the dangers and troubles that you know of. When I had crossed the Chalcedonian strait and approached the city of Nicomedia, to you first as though to the god of my fathers I paid vows as the first thank-offering for my deliverance, by sending you as a token of my arrival my salutation in place of a sacred offering. The man who took charge of my letter was one of the imperial guard named Julian, the son of Bacchylus, a native of Apamea, and to him I all the more readily entrusted the letter because he asserted that he was going in your direction and that he knew you very well. Afterwards, as though from Apollo, a sacred letter came to me from you, in which you declared that you had been pleased to hear of my arrival. This was to my mind an auspicious omen and a fount of fairest hopes, — Iamblichus the wise and the letter of Iamblichus to me. Need I say how I rejoiced or assure you how deeply I was moved by your letter? For if you had received what I wrote to you with no other purpose — and it was sent to you by one of the couriers who came from where you are, — you would certainly know from what I then said how great was the pleasure that I felt on receiving it. Again, when the custodian of my children was returning home, I began another letter to you in which I at the same time spoke to you of my gratitude for your previous favours and begged for a like return from you for the immediate future. After this the excellent Sopater came on an embassy to our city. When I recognised him I at once started up and flew to him and when I had embraced him I wept for joy, dreaming of nothing else but you and a letter from you to me. And when I received it I kissed it and held it to my eyes and kept tight hold of it as though I were afraid that while I was in the act of reading your letter the phantom of your image might elude me and fly away. And, moreover, I at once wrote an answer, not to you only but also to the revered Sopater, that great man's son, telling him, as though giving myself airs, that I accepted our mutual friend from Apamea as a sort of hostage for your absence. This is the third letter that I have written to you since that time, but I have myself received no other letter from you save that in which you seem to reproach me.

Now if you are accusing me merely for the purpose of providing me with further motives for writing to you, and only pretend to reproach me, then I am very glad to receive your criticism, and in this very letter that has now come I take to myself the whole of the kindness implied. But if you really accuse me of being in any way remiss in my duty to you, "who could be more wretched than I" through the wrongdoing or negligence of letter-carriers, when I, least of all men, deserve the reproach? And yet even if I do not write oftener I may well claim indulgence from you — I do not mean because of the many affairs which I have on my hands — for may I never sink so low as not to count you more important than any business whatever, as Pindar says! — but because there is more wisdom in hesitating to write more than is fitting to so great a man as yourself, whom one cannot so much as think of without awe, than in being too presumptuous. For even as those who venture to gaze steadily at the bright beams of Helios, unless indeed they be in some sort divine and like the genuine offspring of eagles can brave his rays, are unable to behold what is not lawful for their eyes to see, and the more they strive for this the more do they show that they have not the power to attain it, even so, I say, he who ventures to write to you shows clearly that the more he allows himself to presume the more he ought to be afraid. For you, however, my noble friend, who have been appointed as the saviour, so to speak, of the whole Hellenic world, it would have been becoming not only to write to me without stint, but also to allay as far as you could the scruples felt by me. For as Helios — if my argument may again employ in reference to you a simile from the god, — even as Helios, I say, when he shines in full splendour with his brilliant rays rejects naught of what encounters his beams, but ever performs his function, so ought you also not to shrink from bountifully pouring forth the flood of your blessings like light over the Hellenic world even when, whether from modesty, or fear of you, one is too bashful to make any return. Asclepius, again, does not heal mankind in the hope of repayment, but everywhere fulfils his own function of beneficence to mankind. This, then, you ought to do also, as though you were the physician of souls endowed with eloquence, and you ought to keep up on all occasions the preaching of virtue, like a skilled archer who, even though he have no opponent, keeps training his hand by every means in view of future need. For in truth we two have not the same ambition, since mine is to secure the wise teachings that flow from you and yours is to read letters sent by me. But as for me, though I should write ten thousand times, mine is still mere child's play, and I am like the boys in Homer who on the sea-shores model something in wet sand and then abandon it all for the sea to wash away; whereas even a short letter from you is more potent than any fertilising flood, and for my part I would rather receive one letter from Iamblichus than possess all the gold of Lydia. If, then, you care at all for your fond admirers — and you do care if I am not mistaken — do not neglect me who am like a fledgling constantly in need of sustenance from you, but write regularly, and moreover do not be reluctant to feast me on the good things that come from you. And if I prove to be remiss, do you take on yourself to provide both things, not only what you yourself give but equally what you furnish in my place. For it befits you as a pupil of Hermes, the god of eloquence, or, if you prefer, his nursling, to desire to imitate his use of the wand, not by putting men to sleep, but by rousing and awakening them.

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Letters of Julian/Letter 79

79. To the Same
When Odysseus was trying to remove his son's illusion about him, it was enough for him to say: "No God am I. Why then do you liken me to the immortals?" But I might say that I do not exist at all among men so long as I am not with Iamblichus. Nay, I admit that I am your lover, even as Odysseus that he was the father of Telemachus. For even though someone should say that I am unworthy, not even so shall he deprive me of my longing. For I have heard that many men have fallen in love with beautiful statues and far from injuring the art of the craftsman they have by their passion for them imparted to the workmanship the added delight in what lives and breathes. But as for the wise men of old among whom you are pleased to reckon me in jest, I should say that I fall as far short of them as I believe that you are to be ranked among them. And indeed you have succeeded in combining with yourself not only Pindar or Democritus or most ancient Orpheus, but also that whole genius of the Hellenes which is on record as having attained to the summit of philosophy, even as in a lyre by the harmonious combination of various notes the perfection of music is achieved. And just as the myths give Argus, Io's guardian, an encircling ring of ever-wakeful eyes as he keeps watch over the darling of Zeus, so too does true report endow you, the trusted guardian of virtue, with the light of the countless eyes of culture. They say that Proteus the Egyptian used to change himself into various shapes as though he feared being taken unawares and showing those who needed his aid that he was wise. But for my part, if Proteus was really wise and the sort of man to know the truth about many things, as Homer says, I applaud him for his talent, but I cannot admire his attitude of mind, since he played the part, not of one who loves mankind, but of an impostor by concealing himself in order to avoid being of service to mankind. But who, my noble friend, would not genuinely admire you, since though you are inferior in no way to wise Proteus if not even more fully initiated than he in consummate virtues, you do not begrudge mankind the blessings that you possess, but, like the bright sun, you cause the rays of your pure wisdom to shine on all men, not only by associating, as is natural, with those near you, but also as far as possible by making the absent proud through your writings. And in this way by your achievements you surpass even charming Orpheus; for he squandered on the ears of wild beasts his own peculiar musical gift, but you, as though you had been born to save the whole human race, emulate everywhere the hand of Asclepius and pervade all things with the saving power of your eloquence. Wherefore I think that Homer, too, if he were to return to life, would with far more justice allude to you in the verse: "One is still alive and is detained in the wide world." For, in very truth, for those of us who are of the antique mould, a sacred spark, so to speak, of true and life-giving culture is kindled by your aid alone. And grant, Ο Zeus the saviour, and Hermes, god of eloquence, that this blessing which is the common property of the whole world, even the charming Iamblichus, may be preserved for the longest possible period of time! Indeed, there is no doubt that in the case of Homer and Plato and Socrates and others who were worthy to be of that company, the prayers of the just were successful and did avail men of old, and thus increased and prolonged the natural term of those great men's lives. So there is no reason why in our day, also, a man who in his eloquence and virtuous life is the peer of those famous men, should not by means of similar prayers be conducted to the extreme limit of old age for the happiness of mankind.

title: Letters of Julian/Letter 79


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 on application, be exempted by any prescribed authority from the prescribed training, but shall on ceasing to be such students undergo such equivalent training as prescribed, unless exempted by some provision of the Act.

The Governor-General may by proclamation grant a temporary exemption for a period not exceeding one year to—

For the present, persons who “are not substantially of European origin” may be trained in non-combatant duties as a separate squad—i.e., they may be trained to perform duties of a clerical nature.

Uniforms will not be issued to them unless orders are given to that effect.

All those liable to be trained as Senior Cadets shall be allotted to the Naval or Military Forces, and shall be trained in the elementary Naval or Military exercises, and in musketry on open ranges up to distances of 500 yards, and shall be organised in Naval or Military units.

Senior Cadets, not allotted to the Naval Forces, will be organised in battalions, each battalion being raised in a Battalion Area, and numbered according to the number of the Battalion Area in which it is raised.

Battalions will be divided into companies.


text: The Cadet Hand Book and Section Roll/Exemptions


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 , where necessary for training purposes, may be further divided into detachments.

The number of companies in a battalion will depend upon the number of Senior Cadets in a Battalion Area, and their local distribution.

The establishment of a company shall be— Provided that where sufficient numbers are not available in one locality a company may consist of a less number, but the total for a company shall not be below 80; any less number shall be organised as a detachment.

The prescribed training shall be, in each year ending the thirtieth day of June, of the following duration:— Provided that the duration of a whole-day drill shall be not less than four hours, of a half-day drill not less than two hours, and of a night drill not less than one hour.

Provided also that the number and duration of


text: A Complete Guide to Heraldry/Chapter 14

title: A Complete Guide to Heraldry/Chapter 14


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Rh I was so wonted held me more than the better life I had not tried." There could be no more perfect description of the divided will, when the higher wishes lack just that last acuteness, that touch of explosive intensity, of dynamogenic quality (to use the slang of the psychologists), that enables them to burst their shell, and make irruption efficaciously into life and quell the lower tendencies forever. In a later lecture we shall have much to say about this higher excitability.

I find another good description of the divided will in the autobiography of Henry Alline, the Nova Scotian evangelist, of whose melancholy I read a brief account in my last lecture. The poor youth's sins were, as you will see, of the most harmless order, yet they interfered with what proved to be his truest vocation, so they gave him great distress.

"I was now very moral in my life, but found no rest of conscience. I now began to be esteemed in young company, who knew nothing of my mind all this while, and their esteem began to be a snare to my soul, for I soon began to be fond of carnal mirth, though I still flattered myself that if I did not get drunk, nor curse, nor swear, there would be no sin in frolicking and carnal mirth, and I thought God would indulge young people with some (what I called simple or civil) recreation. I still kept a round of duties, and would not suffer myself to run into any open vices, and so got along very well in time of health and prosperity, but when I was distressed or threatened by sickness, death, or heavy storms of thunder, my religion would not do, and I found there was something wanting, and would begin to repent my going so much to frolics, but when the distress was over, the devil and my own wicked heart, with the solicitations of my associates, and my fondness for young


text: The Cadet Hand Book and Section Roll/Organization


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174 , were such strong allurements, I would again give way, and thus I got to be very wild and rude, at the same time kept up my rounds of secret prayer and reading; but God, not willing I should destroy myself, still followed me with his calls, and moved with such power upon my conscience, that I could not satisfy myself with my diversions, and in the midst of my mirth sometimes would have such a sense of my lost and undone condition, that I would wish myself from the company, and after it was over, when I went home, would make many promises that I would attend no more on these frolics, and would beg forgiveness for hours and hours; but when I came to have the temptation again, I would give way: no sooner would I hear the music and drink a glass of wine, but I would find my mind elevated and soon proceed to any sort of merriment or diversion, that I thought was not debauched or openly vicious; but when I returned from my carnal mirth I felt as guilty as ever, and could sometimes not close my eyes for some hours after I had gone to my bed. I was one of the most unhappy creatures on earth.

"Sometimes I would leave the company (often speaking to the fiddler to cease from playing, as if I was tired), and go out and walk about crying and praying, as if my very heart would break, and beseeching God that he would not cut me off, nor give me up to hardness of heart. Oh, what unhappy hours and nights I thus wore away! When I met sometimes with merry companions, and my heart was ready to sink, I would labor to put on as cheerful a countenance as possible, that they might not distrust anything, and sometimes would begin some discourse with young men or young women on purpose, or propose a merry song, lest the distress of my soul would be discovered, or mistrusted, when at the same time I would then rather have been in a wilderness in exile, than with them or any of their pleasures or enjoyments. Thus for many months when I was in company, I would act the hypocrite and feign a merry heart, but at the same time would endeavor as much as I could to shun their company, oh wretched and unhappy mortal that I was! Everything I did, and wherever I went, I was still in a storm, and yet I continued to be the chief contriver and


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Rh of the frolics for many months after; though it was a toil and torment to attend them; but the devil and my own wicked heart drove me about like a slave, telling me that I must do this and do that, and bear this and bear that, and turn here and turn there, to keep my credit up, and retain the esteem of my associates: and all this while I continued as strict as possible in my duties, and left no stone unturned to pacify my conscience, watching even against my thoughts, and praying continually wherever I went: for I did not think there was any sin in my conduct, when I was among carnal company, because I did not take any satisfaction there, but only followed it, I thought, for sufficient reasons.

"But still, all that I did or could do, conscience would roar night and day."

Saint Augustine and Alline both emerged into the smooth waters of inner unity and peace, and I shall next ask you to consider more closely some of the peculiarities of the process of unification, when it occurs. It may come gradually, or it may occur abruptly; it may come through altered feelings, or through altered powers of action; or it may come through new intellectual insights, or through experiences which we shall later have to designate as 'mystical.' However it come, it brings a characteristic sort of relief; and never such extreme relief as when it is cast into the religious mould. Happiness! happiness! religion is only one of the ways in which men gain that gift. Easily, permanently, and successfully, it often transforms the most intolerable misery into the profoundest and most enduring happiness.

But to find religion is only one out of many ways of reaching unity; and the process of remedying inner incompleteness and reducing inner discord is a general psychological process, which may take place with any sort of mental material, and need not necessarily assume the religious form. In judging of the religious types of


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176 regeneration which we are about to study, it is important to recognize that they are only one species of a genus that contains other types as well. For example, the new birth may be away from religion into incredulity; or it may be from moral scrupulosity into freedom and license; or it may be produced by the irruption into the individual's life of some new stimulus or passion, such as love, ambition, cupidity, revenge, or patriotic devotion. In all these instances we have precisely the same psychological form of event,—a firmness, stability, and equilibrium succeeding a period of storm and stress and inconsistency. In these non-religious cases the new man may also be born either gradually or suddenly.

The French philosopher Jouffroy has left an eloquent memorial of his own 'counter-conversion,' as the transition from orthodoxy to infidelity has been well styled by Mr. Starbuck. Jouffroy's doubts had long harassed him; but he dates his final crisis from a certain night when his disbelief grew fixed and stable, and where the immediate result was sadness at the illusions he had lost.

"I shall never forget that night of December," writes Jouffroy, "in which the veil that concealed from me my own incredulity was torn. I hear again my steps in that narrow naked chamber where long after the hour of sleep had come I had the habit of walking up and down. I see again that moon, half-veiled by clouds, which now and again illuminated the frigid window-panes. The hours of the night flowed on and I did not note their passage. Anxiously I followed my thoughts, as from layer to layer they descended towards the foundation of my consciousness, and, scattering one by one all the illusions which until then had screened its windings from my view, made them every moment more clearly visible.

"Vainly I clung to these last beliefs as a shipwrecked sailor clings to the fragments of his vessel; vainly, frightened at the unknown void in which I was about to float, I turned with them


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H Albans (Chron. Angl. ed. E. M. Thompson, 1874, p. 20;, Ypodigma Neustriæ, ed. H. T. Riley, 1876, p. 284), the king caused great scandal by writing to the pope in favour of his secretary, and when some of the cardinals objected ‘dictum Thomam fore levem et laicum,’ Clement VI replied, ‘Vere, si rex pro asino supplicasset, obtinuisset ad vota ista vice.’ Murimuth (p. 171) implies that the monks of Durham had the new bishop forced upon them, but no mention is anywhere made of their proposing another candidate. Hatfield was elected on 8 May (, p. 133, where the year is accidentally given as 1346;, iii. 290). The order for the restoration of the temporalities was given on the 24th (, Fœdera, Record ed., iii. pt. i. 40), and they were restored to him on 2 June (Registr. Palat. Dunelm. ed. Sir T. Duffus Hardy, iv. 364, 1878), his appointment having been confirmed a day earlier (, Reg. Sacr. Anglic. p. 54). He was consecrated on 10 July (not 7 Aug., as Murimuth says, p. 172), and enthroned on Christmas day (, p. 137).

Hatfield's relations with the court caused him to be often absent from his diocese. On 17 July 1345, before his consecration, the king when going to Flanders appointed him one of the councillors of his son Lionel, who was left as regent (, iii. pt. i. 50). In the autumn of the same year, when the pope wrote to Edward urging him against making war with France, he directed Hatfield at the same time to use his advocacy with the king (, p. 176). Doubtless he counted upon the support of so recently favoured a nominee. But the pope's statement of the case was too plainly dictated in the French interest, and his arguments were of no avail (ib. pp. 177–88). Hatfield accompanied Edward to France, 11 July 1346 (ib. p. 199;, p. 79), and after the battle of Crécy he performed the funeral service for the king of Bohemia, 27 Aug. (ib. p. 85). He then attended Edward on his march to Calais, where he was on 8 Sept. (, iii. pt. i. 90), and probably remained for some time longer. In July the prior of Durham sent him intelligence of the threatened Scottish invasion, and in October informed him of the battle between Durham and Bearpark (since known as that of Nevill's Cross) on 17 Oct. (Letters from Northern Registers, ccxli. ccxlii. pp. 385–9, where the letters are printed). On 10 Dec. the bishop was summoned with other northern lords to attend a council to take measures touching the war with Scotland (, iii. pt. i. 97), and between 1350 and 1357 he was placed at least six times upon commissions to treat for peace with that country and for the ransom of David Bruce. In 1355 Avesbury (p. 427) credits him with being instrumental in making a truce, but this notice probably refers to the negotiations concerning David's ransom in 1354 (, iii. pt. i. 285–91, 293).

Meanwhile Hatfield was frequently in the south of England, in attendance at parliament or at the court. On 18 March 1353–4 the admiral in the northern parts was ordered to provide three ships to carry the bishop's ‘victuals’ on his coming to parliament (ib. p. 275). On 22 Feb. 1354–5 he ‘received from the holy font’ the king's son Thomas at Woodstock (, p. 422), and in the following autumn he accompanied Edward into France, himself attended by a hundred men-at-arms and other forces (ib. p. 427). The surprise of Berwick in November called the king to the border, and on his return early in 1356, after his raid into Scotland, he left Hatfield with the lords Percy and Nevill in charge of the defence of the north-east frontier (ib. p. 456). The bishop took part in the proceedings of 16 Aug. 1356 (, iii. pt. i. 365–8), which led to the final release of the Scots king, 3–5 Oct. (ib. pp. 372–8). Three years later, 20 Aug. 1360, and again 25 June 1362, Hatfield was empowered with others to treat for a perpetual peace with Scotland (ib. pp. 506 f., pt. ii. 659). After David's death early in 1371 there was again a risk of disturbance from the side of Scotland, and on 26 Feb. 1372–3 Hatfield was commanded to stay at the border and to take military precautions (ib. pt. ii. 936). The same order is repeated 20 July 1377 (ib. iv. 11).

Not long after the accession of Richard II Hatfield's health showed signs of failing. In a letter of 15 Dec. 1379 or 1380 he entreated the monks of Durham to pray for his recovery (Hist. Dunelm. Script. tres, App. cxxviii. pp. cxlv f.), and as he grew weaker he became the more instant in almsgiving. He died at his manorhouse of Aldforde, near London (probably Old Ford, then in the parish of Stepney, Middlesex), on 8 May 1381, after a pontificate of just six-and-thirty years (, pp. 138 f. and App. cxxxii. p. cxlviii). His remains were brought to Durham, and were buried in the tomb which he had prepared beneath his own throne in the cathedral. But the funeral did not take place without an unpleasant dispute between the prior and the bishop's executors as to the former's perquisites (ib. pp. 141 f. and App. cxxxii, cxxxiii).

Hatfield is described by Chambre as a magnificent man and venerable to look upon, given to hospitality and large in his charities. To the monks of Durham he showed himself kindly and generous, and he was as strenuous


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190 to say to me, Come. The next day I rejoiced with trembling; soon after, my happiness was so great that I said that I wanted to die; this world had no place in my affections, as I knew of, and every day appeared as solemn to me as the Sabbath. I had an ardent desire that all mankind might feel as I did; I wanted to have them all love God supremely. Previous to this time I was very selfish and self-righteous; but now I desired the welfare of all mankind, and could with a feeling heart forgive my worst enemies, and I felt as if I should be willing to bear the scoffs and sneers of any person, and suffer anything for His sake, if I could be the means in the hands of God, of the conversion of one soul."

Nine years later, in 1829, Mr. Bradley heard of a revival of religion that had begun in his neighborhood. "Many of the young converts," he says, "would come to me when in meeting and ask me if I had religion, and my reply generally was, I hope I have. This did not appear to satisfy them; they said they knew they had it. I requested them to pray for me, thinking with myself, that if I had not got religion now, after so long a time professing to be a Christian, that it was time I had, and hoped their prayers would be answered in my behalf.

"One Sabbath, I went to hear the Methodist at the Academy. He spoke of the ushering in of the day of general judgment; and he set it forth in such a solemn and terrible manner as I never heard before. The scene of that day appeared to be taking place, and so awakened were all the powers of my mind that, like Felix, I trembled involuntarily on the bench where I was sitting, though I felt nothing at heart. The next day evening I went to hear him again. He took his text from Revelation: 'And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God.' And he represented the terrors of that day in such a manner that it appeared as if it would melt the heart of stone. When he finished his discourse, an old gentleman turned to me and said, 'This is what I call preaching.' I thought the same; but my feelings were still unmoved by what he said, and I did not enjoy religion, but I believe he did.

"I will now relate my experience of the power of the Holy Spirit which took place on the same night. Had any person