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Hennell he was appointed to a post in the customs at Liverpool, but heartily disliking the new duties he quitted the place, and went back to his old employment at Glasgow. When the growing practice of lithography threatened to deprive him of his livelihood by substituting a new method of printing fabrics, he acquired the art of drawing on stone, and especially devoted himself to making designs for textiles. About this time he began the study of plants as a source of design, and in 1838 he was studying botany for its own sake while at Millport. The Athenæum at Glasgow was started in 1848, and in that year he began to teach a class in botany, and in the following year he was engaged in a similar capacity at the Mechanics' Institute.

In 1851 he embarked in business with a partner, but the concern does not appear to have been very successful, although prosecuted during six years. He was appointed professor of botany at the Andersonian University at Glasgow in 1863, which chair he occupied till his death, 22 Oct. 1877, at Whitehall, near Bothwell, Lanarkshire.

The manual which he drew up for the use of his botanical class, the ‘Clydesdale Flora,’ was published at Glasgow, 1865, and went through three editions in the lifetime of the author; a fourth, entitled ‘The Memorial Edition,’ came out after his death in 1878.

He married, in 1834, a daughter of David Cross of Rutherglen, who survived him.

 HENNELL, CHARLES CHRISTIAN (1809–1850), author of ‘An Inquiry concerning the Origin of Christianity,’ was born in Manchester on 30 March 1809, the fifth of a family of eight children. His father, first a foreign agent, and afterwards a partner in a mercantile house, died in 1816. By this time the family had removed to Hackney, where Charles attended a day school; from this he went to a school at Derby, kept by an uncle, Edward Higginson, a unitarian minister. Here he remained fourteen months, leaving with a fair knowledge of Latin and French, and some acquaintance with Greek. When he was barely fifteen he obtained a junior clerkship with a firm of foreign merchants in London. His leisure was devoted to his studies, which embraced German, Italian, music, and physical science. In 1836, after twelve years' service in his situation, he began business on his own account in Threadneedle Street as a silk and drug merchant, and in 1843, on the recommendation of his former employers, he was appointed manager of an iron company.

In 1836 Charles Bray [q. v.], author of ‘The Philosophy of Necessity,’ married Hennell's sister Caroline. When subsequently the extent of Bray's rationalism became fully known to the Hennells, who had been brought up in the unitarianism of Priestley and Belsham, Hennell, for his own and his sister's satisfaction, undertook an examination of the New Testament narratives, not doubting that the conclusions in which he had hitherto rested would be confirmed. This anticipation was not realised. His studies resulted in the ‘Inquiry concerning the Origin of Christianity,’ the first edition of which appeared in 1838. The main conclusion of the work is that Christianity is to be accepted as forming simply a portion of natural human history. While unflinching in its conclusions the work is moderate and reverent in tone; in this respect, as well as the scientific temper in which the investigation is conducted, it marked in the history of English rationalism the first considerable departure from the acrimonious deism of the eighteenth century. Among those who sought the acquaintance of the author was Dr. Brabant, a retired physician of Devizes, and an indefatigable German scholar. Brabant introduced the book to Strauss, with whose ‘Leben Jesu’ or the works of other recent German critics Hennell was when he wrote unacquainted. The ‘Inquiry’ was translated into German at the instigation of Strauss, who wrote for it a preface (November 1839), in which he said: ‘Those excellent views which the learned German of our time appropriates to himself as the fruit of the religious development of his nation, this Englishman, to whom the greater part of our means was wanting, has been able to evolve by his own efforts.’ An Italian edition published afterwards was placed on the Index Expurgatorius. Hennell's acquaintance with Dr. Brabant was followed (1843) by a marriage with his daughter, whom he had previously induced to begin the translation of the ‘Leben Jesu;’ this undertaking was now transferred to Miss Evans, afterwards known as George Eliot [see ]. Miss Evans, at the time an intimate friend of the Brays, was greatly interested and influenced by the ‘Inquiry,’ and in 1852 she wrote an account of it for the ‘Analytical Catalogue’ of Chapman's publications. Hennell published in 1839 ‘Christian Theism;’ an essay, constructive in its character, which discusses the direction that religious sentiment may be expected to take after the relinquishment of belief in miraculous revelation. He was associated with ‘Barber Beaumont’ [see ] in the


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 establishment of the New Philosophical Institution, Beaumont Square, Mile End, and was one of the trustees who endeavoured to carry out his plans after his death. In 1847 Hennell withdrew from business, and with his wife and child settled at Woodford, Epping. Differences with Barber Beaumont's son, John Augustus Beaumont, culminating in a chancery suit, and the loss of nearly all his moderate savings owing to railway panics, added to the anxieties of his later years. After a long and painful illness, borne with cheerful fortitude, he died on 2 Sept. 1850.

A second edition of the ‘Inquiry’ appeared in 1841; it was republished together with ‘Christian Theism’ in one volume, 1870.

 HENNELL, MARY (1802–1843), author of ‘An Outline of the various Social Systems and Communities which have been founded on the Principle of Co-operation,’ was born at Manchester on 23 May 1802. She was the eldest sister of Charles Christian Hennell [q. v.] Her essay on ‘Social Systems’ was first published in 1841, as an appendix to ‘The Philosophy of Necessity,’ by her brother-in-law, Charles Bray [q. v.]; it was afterwards printed separately, 1844. She wrote the article ‘Ribbons’ for Knight's ‘Penny Cyclopedia.’ She died at Hackney on 16 March 1843.

 HENNEN, JOHN, M.D. (1779–1828), army surgeon, born on 21 April 1779, at Castlebar, co. Mayo, was the younger son of James Hennen, and descended from a family who had held land near Castlebar since the Cromwellian occupation. From school at Limerick he became medical apprentice to a near relative (his father?) at Castlebar. In 1796 he entered the medical classes at Edinburgh, was more gay than studious, and married, when under eighteen, Miss Malcolm of Dumfries. He qualified at the Edinburgh College of Surgeons in 1798, joined the Shropshire militia as assistant-surgeon, in 1800 was appointed to the 40th regiment, and went with it to the Mediterranean. He served through the Peninsular war in various regiments, and became staff-surgeon in 1812. He became known as a skilful operator and energetic officer, and was also noted for being never without a cigar in his mouth. He retired on half-pay in 1814, but had hardly settled at Dumfries when he was recalled to active service in Flanders. For his services after Waterloo he was promoted to the rank of deputy-inspector of hospitals, and placed on the home staff at Portsmouth. There he utilised his abundant notes of cases to write his ‘Observations on some important points in the Practice of Military Surgery; and in the Arrangement and Police of Hospitals,’ which he finished and published in 1818 at Edinburgh, whither he was transferred in 1817 as principal medical officer for Scotland. A second edition was published in 1820 with the title ‘Principles of Military Surgery,’ and a third edition with life by his son in 1829. At Edinburgh he attended the classes a second time, and graduated M.D. in 1819. In 1820 he was appointed principal medical officer in the Mediterranean, residing at Malta and Corfu. His ‘Medical Topography’ of these islands and of Gibraltar, in the form of reports to the army medical department, was brought out by his son in 1830. In 1826 he became principal medical officer at Gibraltar, and died there on 3 Nov. 1828 of a fever (yellow fever?) which he contracted in combating the disastrous epidemic which had broken out in the garrison in September of that year. A monument to him was erected by subscription at Gibraltar. He was twice married and left five children.

 HENNESSY, WILLIAM MAUNSELL (1829–1889), Irish scholar, was born at Castle Gregory, co. Kerry, in 1829. After his school education he emigrated to the United States, where he resided for some years. He returned to Ireland and wrote in newspapers, but his favourite pursuit was Irish literature. The language was his mother-tongue, and he improved his knowledge of it by an assiduous study of manuscripts. In 1868 he obtained an appointment in the Public Record Office, Dublin. He rose to be the assistant-deputy-keeper, and held office till his death. His chief works were editions of Irish texts with introductions and translations which invariably display a wide knowledge of the Irish language and its literature.

He published in 1866 (Rolls Series) the ‘Chronicon Scotorum’ of Dubhaltach Mac Firbisigh, a summary of Irish history up to 1150, accompanied by a valuable glossary of the rarer words. In 1871 he edited, in two thick volumes of Irish text and translation, ‘The Annals of Loch Cé,’ an Irish chronicle, 1014–1590. In 1875 he revised and annotated an edition of ‘The Book of Fenagh,’

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H the house-book of St. Caillin's Abbey, co. Leitrim; and in 1887 one volume of the ‘Annals of Ulster,’ carrying that chronicle up to 1056. He translated the ‘Tripartite Life of St. Patrick’ (1871); revised the ‘Pedigree of the White Knight’ (1856); edited the text of the ‘Poets and Poetry of Munster’ (Dublin, 1883); translated and added a tract on ‘Cath Cnucha’ from ‘Leabhar na h-Uidhre,’ and ‘Mac Conglinne's Dream’ from ‘Leabhar Breac’ (Fraser's Magazine, September 1873). He was elected Todd professor at the Royal Irish Academy 1882–4, and in that capacity prepared a text and translation of ‘Mesca Ulad,’ the drunkenness of the Ulstermen, which was published in 1889, immediately after his death. He left another old tale, ‘Bruiden Dáderga,’ in proof at the time of his death. He wrote an article in ‘La Revue Celtique’ (i. 3) on the ancient Irish goddess of war, and two admirable ‘Essays’ on MacPherson's Ossian and the Ossianic literature in the ‘Academy’ (1 and 15 Aug. 1871). These are the best examinations of the subject which have been published; they display excellent taste and exact Gaelic scholarship. Besides these published works, he left behind him numerous manuscript transcripts and translations of Irish texts, and an edition of O'Reilly's ‘Irish Dictionary’ with copious additions in his hand. He often wrote his transcripts in a Roman character, but his Irish handwriting was beautifully clear, and in general effect resembled that of Dubhaltach MacFirbisigh. He lost his wife and a married daughter, and these afflictions induced a condition of nervous depression from which he never rallied. He died at his residence, 71 Pembroke Road, Dublin, 13 Jan. 1889, and left no greater Irish scholar behind him in Ireland. His conversation was full of learning, and he was liberal in his communication of knowledge.

HENNIKER, FREDERICK (1793–1825), traveller, eldest son of the Hon. Sir Brydges Trecothick Henniker of Newton Hall, Essex, bart., by his wife Mary, eldest daughter of William Press, and a grandson of John, first baron Henniker, was born on 1 Nov. 1793. He was educated at Eton and at St. John's College, Cambridge, where he graduated B.A. in 1815. He succeeded his father as second baronet on 3 July 1816, and subsequently travelled through France and Italy to Malta, and thence to Alexandria and Upper Egypt, Nubia, and the oasis Boeris. After revisiting Cairo he went to Mount Sinai and Jerusalem, returning home by Smyrna, Athens, Constantinople, and Vienna. While on his way from Jerusalem to Jericho he was severely wounded by banditti, and left stark naked. In 1823 he published an account of his travels under the title of ‘Notes during a Visit to Egypt, Nubia, the Oasis, Mount Sinai, and Jerusalem’ (London, 8vo); a second edition appeared, with a slightly altered title, in the following year (London, 8vo). In the spring of 1825 he canvassed Reading with a view of contesting that borough in the event of a dissolution, but withdrew his candidature, and died in the Albany, Piccadilly, on 6 Aug. 1825, in the thirty-second year of his age. He was buried at Great Dunmow, Essex. He was unmarried, and was succeeded in the baronetcy by his brother, the Hon. and Rev. Sir Augustus Brydges Henniker.

HENNIKER-MAJOR, JOHN, second (1752–1821), born on 19 April 1752, was the eldest son of Sir John Henniker, knt., M.P., F.R.S., of Stratford-upon-Slaney, co. Wicklow, Newton Hall, Dunmow, and Stratford House, Stratford, both in Essex, who was elevated to the peerage of Ireland as Baron Henniker on 30 July 1800. His mother was Anne, eldest daughter and coheiress of Sir John Major, bart., of Worlingworth Hall, Suffolk (, Peerage, 1882, p. 344). He was educated at Eton and St. John's College, Cambridge (M.A. by royal mandate 1772, LL.D. 1811), and was called to the bar in 1777 as a member of Lincoln's Inn. He was elected F.S.A. on 9 June 1785 (, Chronolog. List Soc. Antiq. 1798, p. 40), and F.R.S. on 15 Dec. following (, Hist. Roy. Soc. Appendix iv. p. lix). On 10 Aug. 1792 he took the surname and arms of Major by royal license. He succeeded his father as second Baron Henniker on 13 April 1803. From January 1805 till 1812 he was M.P. for Rutlandshire in the tory interest, and from 1812 till his retirement in 1818 M.P. for Stamford, Lincolnshire (, Parliaments of England, i. 205, ii. 13). He died on 4 Dec. 1821 at Stratford House, Essex. On 21 April 1794 he married Emily, daughter of Robert Jones of Duffryn, Glamorganshire, but by her, who died on 18 Dec. 1819, had no issue. He was succeeded in his title and estate by his


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H cess.’ She disguised herself as the wife of a valet, and with only one confidant, passing as her husband, reached Dover on foot, crossed the Channel by the ordinary French packet, and reached Paris in safety. The queen in a transport of joy vowed to have her daughter reared in the Roman Catholic faith. She afterwards asserted that Charles had consented. The war of the Fronde in 1648 reduced Henrietta and her mother for a while to a state of destitution. They were then residing in the Louvre. Lady Dalkeith, now Countess of Morton, continued to be her governess, and Father Cyprien de Gamache was her religious teacher. When, in 1650, Charles II came to reside for some time with his mother he became much attached to Henrietta. Henrietta's early graces and vivacity rendered her a favourite at the French court. In 1654 she was allowed to be present at a fête given by Cardinal Mazarin to the members of the French and English royal families. A few months later she took part in a ballet-royal, at which Louis XIV and his brother, and her own brother, James, duke of York, were also actors. She personated Erato in the nuptials of Peleus and Thetis. The following June, with her mother and two of her brothers, she witnessed the coronation of Louis XIV at Rheims. During the visit of her elder sister, the Princess Mary of Orange, to the French court in 1656 Henrietta took a prominent part at several entertainments. She visited sacred shrines, and occasionally went to Chaliot, where her mother delighted to see her practise humility by waiting upon the nuns. Anne of Austria for a time contemplated a marriage between Henrietta and Louis XIV, to which the latter would not consent. Towards the close of 1659 the princess retired with her mother to Colombes, near Paris. On the Restoration it was understood that Henrietta would marry Philippe, duke of Anjou (1640–1701), only brother of the French king. A special envoy, the Count de Soissons, was despatched to England as the bearer of a formal demand for the princess. The queen-mother and her daughter also went to England. They set out on 19 (N.S. 29) Oct. 1660, were received everywhere with regal honours, and on leaving Calais were met by the Duke of York at the head of the whole English fleet, while Charles himself was in attendance off Dover. London was reached on 2 Nov. The House of Commons offered its congratulations to Henrietta and voted her a present of 10,000l., which she acknowledged in a graceful letter to the speaker. She apologised for her defects in writing English, but desired to supply all defects by an English heart. Henrietta became a favourite at the English court. The Duke of Buckingham professed himself her most devoted admirer, and acted in such a manner as to call forth public remark. In the meantime the Count de Soissons was busily forwarding the completion of the marriage contract. Louis created his brother Duke of Orleans and Chartres, with sufficient revenues. Knowing that the state of the English finances would make a suitable dower difficult, he tried to obtain from Charles the restoration of the port of Dunkirk. Charles refused, but promised his sister a portion of 40,000l. sterling instead. The deaths of the Duke of Gloucester and the Princess Mary of Orange (13 Sept. and 24 Dec. 1660) made the queen-mother anxious to remove Henrietta to France. After a delay caused by bad weather and her ill-health, she left Portsmouth on 25 Jan. The marriage, owing to the Lent season, was celebrated privately at the Palais Royal on 30 March 1661. The duchess became for a time the centre of attraction in the courtly circle. Louis showed her an apparent devotion which was a blind for his passion for Mlle. de la Vallière, one of her maids of honour. At her request Racine and Corneille undertook to write tragedies on the adieus of Titus and Berenice. Henrietta also patronised Molière, and stood sponsor for his infant son, born in January 1664. Her days were passed in an unceasing whirl of dissipation. For her husband she felt neither affection nor respect. Her flirtation with Arnaud, count de Guiche, already married to a daughter of the Count de Sully, led to his exile. A book purporting to give a detailed narrative of her amours with Louis, with the Count de Guiche, and with other nobles of the court was published in Holland, and only suppressed by the exertions of her best friend, Daniel de Cosnac, bishop of Valence.

The jealous temper of her husband was further roused by the fact that she was admitted to a knowledge of state secrets concealed from him. His favourite, the Chevalier de Lorraine, constantly tried to alienate him from his wife. Henrietta had become the chief agent between the English and French courts. Charles was negotiating for help from Louis at the end of 1669, and Henrietta's presence in England became desirable. Her husband's consent was necessary; but upon the exile of the Chevalier de Lorraine, the duke hurried his wife off to his country seat of Villers-Cotterets, vowing that he would not return to court until his favourite was recalled. Letters from Charles, the Duke of York, and Henry Jermyn, earl of St. Albans, were shown to him, suggesting that the duchess should


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H take advantage of the approaching visit of the French court to Flanders to pay a short visit to her relatives in England. The real object of the visit was carefully concealed. Louis further condescended to request his brother to return, and the duke was only too glad to accept the overture. On 24 Feb. 1670 he and the duchess reached Paris. Their return to court was followed by an apparent reconciliation to each other, but before long their quarrels recommenced. Philippe roundly abused his wife, while Henrietta spoke of her husband more cautiously, yet none the less contemptuously. She now had constant consultations with the king, who often took her opinion upon home affairs independently of his ministers. At length the duke was induced to allow Henrietta to cross to Dover, but she was by no means to proceed to London, nor to be absent for more than three days. The journey into Flanders commenced on 28 April. In Flanders Henrietta surprised M. de Pomponne, agent of Louis in Holland, by her business capacity. She embarked from Dunkirk for England on 24 May. In her train went as a maid of honour Louise de Querouaille, upon whom Louis relied to captivate Charles. Before Henrietta reached Dover the king, the Duke of York, Prince Rupert, and the young Duke of Monmouth rowed out to welcome her. Dover Castle was fitted up for her reception. Henrietta, in her own name and that of Louis, recommended ‘the restoration of the Roman Catholic religion and of absolute power.’ She advised Charles to ‘flatter the English Protestant Church, and by alternately coaxing and persecuting dissenters to render them at last … subservient to his will.’ He was also to join with France against Holland, the commercial rival of England, and to support the claim of the house of Bourbon to the monarchy of Spain. Louis engaged to pay a large subsidy, and promised to support Charles with an army against any insurrection in England. ‘She concluded her harangue,’ writes one who was present, ‘and spoke the rest with an eloquence of a more transcendent kind, and which, though dumb, infinitely surpassed the force of her reasons or of her more charming words.’ Charles was greatly impressed by the ‘wonderful patheticalness of her discourse,’ but urged a few objections. On 1 June, within six days of her landing, she obtained his signature to the treaty. Colbert went over with it to Calais, where Louis was in readiness to add his signature, and hastened back in triumph to Dover. Henrietta even flattered herself that in a few more days, if Turenne were sent over on pretext of conducting her home, she could persuade her brother to a declaration of war against Holland. But Philippe, who had already been compelled by Louis to grant his wife an extension of time, would hear of no further delay, and Louis also was fearful lest the presence of Turenne in England should excite the suspicions of the Dutch. Henrietta re-embarked for France on 12 June. Charles promised her a present of six thousand pistoles for her travelling expenses, for which she had pawned some of her jewels; gave her a parting gift valued at two thousand pistoles; and told her that he wished her to leave him one of her jewels, namely Louise de Querouaille, as a token of affection. Henrietta refused to leave her maid of honour, but promised not to oppose the girl's return to England in case he should obtain for her an appointment as maid of honour to his queen. On reaching St. Germains (18 June) Henrietta found that her husband had been annoyed by the reports of the secret negotiation and by the warmth of Louis's gratitude. Louis took every opportunity of showing her honour in public, and privately presented her with six thousand pistoles that she might redeem her pawned jewels and reserve for her own use the money promised by her brother. To mortify his wife the duke retired with her to St. Cloud on 24 June. On 26 June, during a visit to the court at Versailles, Philippe was irritated by surprising the king and Henrietta in a confidential conversation, which ceased the moment he entered the room. He left Versailles in anger, and took away his wife bathed in tears. Her health was uncertain, but, in spite of the remonstrances of her chief physician, she persisted in bathing in the Seine. On the afternoon of 29 June, after drinking a cup of chicory-water, she was seized with violent pains and vomiting. She declared repeatedly that she was poisoned. She died about half-past two o'clock in the morning of 30 June 1670, within ten hours from the commencement of the attack. A post-mortem examination was hurriedly conducted by a young and unskilful French surgeon, and the death assigned to natural causes. Horrible suspicions, however, arose. Saint Simon asserts that she was deliberately poisoned, with her husband's connivance, by his first squire, D'Effiat, and the Count de Beuvron, captain of the guards, acting on the instructions of the Chevalier de Lorraine, who supplied the drug. None of these persons were punished or even removed from their places, from fear of exciting suspicion. Lorraine was even recalled. On 21 Aug. Henrietta was buried with extraordinary magnificence at St. Denis. Bossuet pronounced the funeral oration. The


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 were introduced which seemed to give an impetus towards their further development.

The most important of these features were the following:—the bow window, rectangular or polygonal, of which the earliest examples date from the reign of Edward IV. (1461–1483), such as Eltham Palace in Kent, Cowdray Castle in Sussex, and Thornbury Castle in Gloucestershire, and at a later period at Hampton Court; octagonal towers or turrets flanking the entrance gateway at each end of the main front; the projecting forward of the side wings so as to get better light to the rooms in them by having windows on both sides, such projections varying the otherwise monotonous effect of a uniform façade without breaks; the long gallery (generally on an upper floor), which was an important characteristic of the Elizabethan house; and last but not least, the adherence to the type of old Tudor window, with its moulded mullions and transoms but with square head.

One of the first modifications was the introduction of semicircular bow windows, as in Kirby Hall, Northamptonshire, followed by a second example at Burton Agnes in Yorkshire (1602–1610), and a third at Lilford Hall in Northamptonshire (1635). They were carried up through three storeys at Kirby Hall, the upper storey in the roof; three storeys at Burton Agnes with balcony and balustrade; and two storeys at Lilford Hall—these features being extremely simple but fine in effect, and the windows with moulded mullions and transoms lending themselves naturally to the curve.

The projecting bays and bow windows seemed to have such an attraction for the builders of these country mansions that at Burton Agnes (with a rectangular plan of 120 ft. by 80 ft.) there are no fewer than thirteen of them, which break up the wall surface and give a picturesque group externally, whilst internally they add to the fine effect of the rooms. At Barlborough Hall, Derbyshire, with a frontage of 80 ft., there is a central rectangular bay forming the entrance porch and carried up above the roof, and two large octagonal bow windows which rise as towers with an extra storey. In all these mansions the only influence which the Revival seems to have exerted was in the introduction of an entablature, which sometimes takes the place of the Gothic string course, balustrades which crown the building, but with no projecting cornice, and gables with curved outlines and Renaissance panels or scrolls. The fact is that, with prominent features so widely differing from those which were represented on the perspective drawings attached to the earlier publications of the five orders, such as those of Serlio (1537) and Vredeman de Vries of Antwerp (1577), the only course left open to the master-mason was to decorate the principal entrance with columns and pilasters of the Classic orders, sometimes superposed one upon the other.

To the further development of this singular introduction of the Classic orders we shall return; for the moment it will be better to follow a chronological sequence and take up the principal examples of the country mansion, some of which were from the first intended to be Classic buildings. Of the house built at Gorhambury in Hertfordshire (1563) for Sir Nicholas Bacon, the father of Lord Bacon, too little remains to render its design intelligible, except that it still retains in its lofty window the Tudor pointed arch; but in Longleat in Wiltshire, built by Sir John Thynne (1567–1580), we have a typical example, the design of which departs from the English type, though it would seem to have been carried out according to the traditional custom of entrusting the whole work to a master-mason, and furnishing him with sketch designs of some kind suggesting the required arrangements of the plan, the principal features of the exterior elevation and the internal disposition. This custom was adhered to far into the 18th century at Oxford and Cambridge, where the alterations and additions to some of the colleges, such as the chapel of Clare College, Cambridge (1763), were carried out by master-masons or builders who were supplied with sketch designs and sometimes even the materials for the buildings they had to carry out, notwithstanding the existence of properly trained architects, who from the first half of the 17th century were usually entrusted with the preparation of the necessary designs for new structures of any considerable importance.

The name of the designer of Longleat is not known; the master-mason was Robert Smithson, who in 1580 went to Wollaton in Nottinghamshire and constructed the mansion there. Longleat is so Italian in style that it must have been conceived by some one who had been in Italy, because it departs from the usual English type. The plan is rectangular, with a frontage of 220 ft. by 180 ft. deep, an entrance porch in the centre, with two projecting bays on each side carried up through the three storeys, and three similar bays on the flanks. The whole block is crowned with a parapet, the centre portion of which is pierced with a balustrade, but the main cornice bears no resemblance to the Italian feature, being only that of the entablature of the upper order. The projecting bays are decorated with pilasters of the Doric, Ionic and Corinthian orders, each with its proper entablature. These classic features would seem to have been copied from a work by John Shute, painter and architect, who had been sent to Italy by the duke of Northumberland in 1551, and in 1563 brought out his Chief Groundes of Architecture, the first practical work published in English on architecture. Shute died in the same year, but two other editions appeared in 1579 and 1584, which shows that it must have had an extensive circulation and probably exercised the greatest influence on English architecture. A second book on the orders, already referred to as published in 1577 by Jan Vredeman de Vries of Antwerp, was not of the same type, for instead of confining his work, like Shute and Serlio, to a simple representation of the Classic orders, he introduced, on the shafts of his columns and on the pedestals, designs of the most debased rococo type, with additional plates suggesting their application to various buildings. Robert Smithson, or his client Sir Fr. Willoughby, apparently obtained a copy of this book, and the result is seen (Plate VI., fig. 76) in the mansion built at Wollaton (1580–1588), in which we find the first examples of elaborately decorated pedestals; crestings on the angle towers, the design of which is known as strap-work; and medallions with busts in them, enclosed with twisted curves similar to those which flowers and leaves take when thrown into the fire. The plan and the scheme of the design of Wollaton is, however, so far superior to the usual type, that it may fairly be ascribed to John Thorpe, an architect or surveyor, of whose drawings there is a large collection in the Soane Museum, representing many of the more important mansions of the Elizabethan era; some of his own design, others either plans measured from existing buildings upon which he was called in to report or copies from other sources, and some reproduced from published works such as Vredeman de Vries’s pattern book and Androuet du Cerceau’s Des plus excellents bastiments de France (1576).

To John Thorpe is also attributed the design of Kirby Hall (1570–1572) in Northamptonshire, in which the plan of the feudal castle with great central court is still retained. This court is symmetrically designed, and was evidently considered to be the principal feature, the decoration being far richer than that of the exterior of the building.

Amongst other important mansions are Moreton Old Hall (1550–1559, partly rebuilt in 1602; see, Plate III., fig. 11) in Cheshire, a fine house in half-timber; Knole House, Kent (1570), possibly also designed by John Thorpe; Charlecote Hall (1572) near Stratford-on-Avon; Burleigh House, Northamptonshire (1575), the most remarkable feature in which is the great tower in the courtyard, decorated with the Doric, Ionic and Corinthian orders superposed, the design apparently suggested by a similar feature in the château of Anet, France (published in du Cerceau); Apethorpe Hall, Northamptonshire (1580); Montacute House, Somersetshire (1580–1600); Castle Ashby, Northamptonshire (1583–1589); Brereton Hall, Cheshire (1575–1586), in brick and stone; Westwood Park, Worcestershire (1590); Wakehurst Place, Sussex (1590); Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire (1590–1597); Longford Castle, Wiltshire (1591–1612); Cobham Hall, Kent (1594); Dorton House, Buckinghamshire (1596); Speke Hall, Lancashire (1598), partly in half-timber work; Holland House, Kensington (1606; wings and arcades, 1624); Bolsover Castle, Derbyshire (1607–1613); Charlton House, Kent (1607); Bramshill, Hampshire (1607–1612), an interesting example of Jacobean architecture; Hatfield, Hertfordshire (1608–1611), with an extremely fine courtyard (north side in brick and stone, 1621); Audley End, Essex (1610–1616), a great portion of which was afterwards pulled down; Ham House, Surrey (1610), chiefly in brick; Pinkie House, at Musselburgh in Midlothian (1613); Aston Hall near Birmingham (1618–1635); Blickling Hall, Norfolk (1619); Heriot’s hospital, Edinburgh (1628–1659); and Lanhydroc, Cornwall (1636–1641), which brings us down to the period of the pure Italian Revival introduced by Inigo Jones.

We have already referred to the reproduction of the Classic orders, superposed as an enrichment of the principal entrance doorways. In addition to Burton Agnes and Burleigh House, there are endless examples in mansions and country houses, but the most remarkable are those at Oxford: in the old Schools, where coupled columns flank the entrance gateway with the five orders superposed, and in Merton and Wadham Colleges, with four orders (the Tuscan being omitted), in neither case taking any cognizance of the levels of windows or string courses of the earlier building to which they were applied, or serving any structural purpose. The orders were all taken from one of the pattern books, and in the Schools and in Merton College the rococo ornament and strap-work found in Vredeman de Vries’s work were copied with more or less fidelity to the original. There are, however, two or three buildings in Northamptonshire which are free from rococo work, and in their design form a pleasant contrast, as much to the elaboration of the buildings just described as to the cold formality of the works of the later Italian style. Lyveden new buildings (1577), the Triangular Lodge at Rushton, and the Market House at Rothwell, are all examples in which the orders from Serlio or John Shute are faithfully represented, and are of a refined character; in the first named the entablatures only of the orders are introduced. In Rushton Hall (1595) the cresting of the bow windows shows the evil influence of Vredeman de Vries’s pattern-book and of numerous designs by him and other Belgian artists, which were printed at the Plantin press. Two other publications of a similar rococo type were brought out in Germany, one by Cammermayer (1564) and the other by Dietterlin (1594), both at Nuremberg; neither of them would seem to have been much known in England, but indirectly through German craftsmen they may have influenced some of the work of the Jacobean period, and more particularly the chimney pieces and the ceilings

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208 Bulgarians are engirt by the other five peoples, and neither of them will be powerful for harm without Prussian support.

Let us count over these seven peoples. First we have the Poles, some 20 million of them, with the river Vistula for their arterial water-way, and the historic cities of Cracow and Warsaw. The Poles are a more generally civilised people than the Russians, even in that part of Poland which has been tied to Russia; in the Prussian province of Posen they have enjoyed the advantages of Kultur, without some of the debasement which Kultur brought to the master German. Undoubtedly there are strong currents of party among the Poles, but now that the Polish aristocracy of Galicia is no longer bribed to the support of the Hapsburg throne by leave to oppress the Ruthenia of East Galicia, at least one motive of party, one vested interest, should have disappeared.

By some means the new Poland must be given access to the Baltic Sea, not only because that is essential to her economic independence, but also because it is desirable to have Polish ships on the Baltic, which strategically is a closed sea of the Heartland, and, further, there must be a complete territorial buffer between Germany and Russia.


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Rh Unfortunately the province of East Prussia, mainly German by speech and Junker by sentiment, would be detached from Germany by any strip of Poland going down to the sea. Why should we not contemplate an exchange of peoples as between Prussia east of the Vistula, and Polish Posen? During this War we have undertaken much vaster things, both in the way of mere transport and also of organisation. In the past, in order to deal with such difficulties, diplomatists have resorted to all manner of 'servitudes' as the land lawyers would say. But rights-of-way over other people's property usually become inconvenient and lead to disputes. Would it not pay Humanity to bear the cost of a radical remedy in this case, a remedy made just and even generous towards individuals in every respect? Each proprietor should be given the option of exchanging his property and retaining his nationality or of retaining his property and changing his nationality. But if he selects the latter


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210 alternative there must be no reservation of special rights in respect of schools and other social privileges. The United States in her schools sternly imposes the English language on all her immigrants. Because the conquerors of old time did their work ruthlessly, countries like France and England are to-day homogeneous and free from that mixture of races which has made the Near East a plague to humanity. Why should we not use our modern powers of transport and organisation to achieve the same happy condition of affairs—justly and generously. The reasons for doing so in this particular instance are far reaching; a Polish Posen would bite a very threatening bay into the Eastern frontier of Germany, and a German East Prussia would be a stepping-stone for German penetration into Russia.

Next among our 'Border' peoples are the Czechs and Slovaks, until recently severed by the line dividing Austria from Hungary, as the Poles were severed by the frontiers between Russia, Prussia, and Austria. The Czechs and Slovaks together number perhaps nine millions; they will make one of the most


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1807. pleased. Denmark was the only neutral power the control of which was necessary for the success of Napoleon's system, and August 2 he sent orders to Bernadotte, who was to command at Hamburg: "If England does not accept the mediation of Russia, Denmark must declare war upon her, or I will declare war on Denmark." Finding that the Prince Royal hesitated, Napoleon, August 17, sent orders to Bernadotte to hold himself ready with all his troops to march into Denmark either as ally or enemy, according to the issue of the pending negotiation. Threatened by this overwhelming danger, the Prince Royal of Denmark alternately promised and evaded the declaration of war; when suddenly his doubts were brought to an end by the diplomacy of Canning.

The British ministry had been secretly informed of what took place at Tilsit, and even without secret information could not have doubted the fate of Denmark. Vigor was necessary; and as early as July 19, before news had arrived of the formal signature of the Tilsit treaty, the Cabinet decided on sending to Copenhagen a large naval expedition which had been collected for a different purpose. July 26 the expedition, commanded by Lord Gambier, sailed from the Downs. It consisted of some twenty ships of the line, forty frigates, and transports containing twenty-seven


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 of the gallery and other important rooms in which strap-work is found. Among the finer examples of ceilings of early date are those of Knole, Kent; Haddon Hall, Derbyshire; Sizergh Hall, Westmorland; South Wraxall Manor House, Wiltshire; the Red Lodge, Bristol; Chastleton House; and Canons Ashby—in the last three with pendants. Two of the best-designed ceilings of modest dimensions are those of the Reindeer Inn at Banbury and the Star Inn at Great Yarmouth. The principal decorative feature of the reception rooms was the chimney-piece, rising from floor to ceiling, in early examples being very simple—as those at Broughton House and Lacock Abbey—but at a later date overlaid with rococo strap-work ornament and misshapen figures, as at South Wraxall and Castle Ashby. One of the most beautiful chimney-pieces is in the ballroom at Knole, probably of Flemish design, but at Cobham Hall, Hardwick, Hatfield and Bolsover Castle are fine examples in which different-coloured marbles are employed, there being a remarkable series at the last-named place.

The long gallery has already been incidentally mentioned. Its origin has never been clearly explained; it was generally situated in an upper storey, and may have been for exercise, like the eaves galleries in Spain. The dimensions were sometimes remarkable; one at Ampthill (no longer existing) was 245 ft. long; and a second at Audley End, 220 ft. long and 34 ft. wide. Of moderate length, the best known are those of Haddon Hall, with rich wainscotting carried up to the ceiling, Hardwick, Knole, Longleat, Blickling Hall and Sutton Place, Surrey.

In early work the staircases were occasionally in stone with circular or rectangular newels, but the more general type was that known as the open well staircase, with balustrade and newels in timber. Of these the more remarkable examples are those at Hatfield; Benthall Hall, Shropshire; Sydenham House, Devonshire; Charterhouse, London; Ockwells Manor House, Berkshire; Blickling, Norfolk; and the Old Star Inn at Lewes, Sussex.

One of the important features in the old halls was the screen separating the hall from the passage, over the latter being a gallery; the front of the screen facing the hall was considered to be its chief decoration, and was accordingly enriched with columns of the Classic orders, and balustrade or cresting over. The screens of Charterhouse (London), Trinity College (Cambridge), Wadham College (Oxford), and the Middle Temple Hall (London), are remarkable for their design and execution. The great hammer-beam roof (1562–1572) in the last named is the finest example of the Renaissance in existence (see, Plate I., fig. 25).

With the exception of chantry or other chapels added to existing buildings, there was only one church built in the period we are now describing, St John’s at Leeds. This church is divided down the centre by an arcade of pointed arches, virtually constituting a double nave, and the rood-screen is carried through both. The window tracery and the arcade show how the master-mason adhered to the traditional Gothic style, but the rood-screen, notwithstanding its rococo decoration, is a fine Jacobean work, eclipsed only by the magnificent example at Croscombe, which, with the pulpit and other church accessories, dating from 1616, constitutes the most complete example of that period.

The pure Italian style, as it is sometimes called, was introduced into France probably by Serlio, and the result of its first influence is shown in the Louvre, begun in 1546. It entered Spain about 20 years later, under the rule of Philip II., and Germany about the same time, creating about 100 years later a reaction in Spain in favour of a less cold and formal style, and scarcely taking any root in Germany. In England its first appearance does not take place till 1619, when Inigo Jones, after his second visit to Rome, designed an immense palace, measuring 1150 ft. by 900 ft., of which the only portion built was the Banqueting House in Whitehall (Plate VI., fig. 75); a fine design, in which the emphasizing of the central portion by columns in place of pilasters is an original treatment not found in Italy, but of excellent effect. Unfortunately many subsequent designs of Inigo Jones were either not carried out or have since been destroyed; but nothing approached this admirable work in Whitehall.

Sir Christopher Wren, who follows, was by far the greatest architect of the Italian school, though curiously enough he had never been in Italy. His first work was the library of Pembroke College, Cambridge (1663–1664), followed by the Sheldonian theatre at Oxford, in the construction of the roof of which, with a span of 68 ft., he showed his great scientific knowledge. In 1665 he went to Paris, where he stopped six months studying the architectural buildings there and in its vicinity, and where he came across Bernini, whose designs for destroying the old Louvre (fortunately not carried out) were being started. On his return Wren occupied himself with designs for the rebuilding of the old St Paul’s, but these were rendered useless by the great fire of the 22nd of September 1666, which opened out his future career. His plan for the reconstruction of the city was not followed, owing to the opposition of the owners of the sites, but he began plans for the rebuilding of the churches and of St Paul’s cathedral. In his treatment of the former, where he was obliged to limit himself to the old sites, often very irregular, and in most cases to the old foundations, he adopted, perhaps quite unconsciously, one of the principles of ancient Roman architecture, and made the central feature the key of his plan, fitting the aisles, vestries, porches, &c., into what remained of the site; this central feature varied according to its extent and proportions, and sometimes from a desire to work out a new problem. The central dome was a favourite conception, the finest example of which is that of St Stephen’s, Walbrook (1676); other domed churches are St Mary-at-Hill, St Mildred’s, Bread Street, St Mary Abchurch (1681), where the dome virtually covers the whole area of the church, and St Swithin’s, Cannon Street, an octagonal example. In St Anne and St Agnes, Aldersgate, the crossing is covered with an intersecting barrel vault; and in this small church, about 52 ft. square with four supporting columns, he manages to get nave, transept and choir with aisles in the angles. In those churches where there was sufficient length, the ordinary arrangement of nave and aisle is adopted, with an elliptical barrel vault over the nave, sometimes intersected and lighted from clerestory windows, the finest example of these being St Bride’s, Fleet Street; other examples are St Mary-le-Bow (Cheapside), Christchurch (Newgate) and St Andrew’s (Holborn). In St James’s, Piccadilly, of which the site was a new one, the plan of nave and aisles with galleries over, and a fine internal design with barrel-vaulted ceiling, was adopted; the exterior is very simple, which suggests that Wren attached much more importance to the interior. It should be pointed out that in all these cases, the vaults, to which we have referred, were in lath and plaster, and consequently covered over with slate roofs, and as a rule the exteriors (which are rarely visible) were deemed to be of less importance. This is, however, made up for by the position selected for the towers, and in their varied design those of St Mary-le-Bow, St Bride’s (Fleet Street) and St Magnus (London Bridge) are perhaps the finest of a most remarkable series.

The foundation stone of St Paul’s cathedral was laid in 1675, and the lantern was finished in 1710. The silhouette of the dome (Plate II., fig. 66), which is, of course, its principal feature, is far superior to those of St Peter’s at Rome, or the Invalides or Panthéon at Paris, and the problem of its construction with the central lantern was solved much more satisfactorily than in any other example. Wren realized that the attempt to render a dome beautiful internally as well as externally could only be obtained by having three shells in its construction; the inner one for inside effect, the outer one to give greater prominence externally, and the third, of conical form, to support the lantern.

In plan, Wren’s design (fig. 53) was in accordance with the traditional arrangement of an English cathedral, with nave, north and south transepts and choir, in all cases with side aisles, and a small apse to the choir. The great dome over the crossing is, like the octagon at Ely, of the same width as nave and aisles together. It resembles the plan of that cathedral also in the four great arches opening into nave, transepts and choir, with smaller arches between. Instead of the great barrel vault of St Peter’s, Rome, Wren introduced a series of cupolas over the main arms of the cathedral, which enabled him to light the same with clerestory windows; these are not visible on the exterior, as they are masked by the upper storey which Wren carried round the whole structure, in order, probably, to give it greater height and importance; by its weight, however, it serves to resist the thrust of the vaults transmitted by buttresses across the aisles. The grouping of the two lanterns on the west front

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64 thousand troops commanded by Lord Cathcart; and it carried a diplomatic agent with instructions to require from the Prince Royal of Denmark the delivery of the Danish fleet, as a temporary security for the safety of England.

The man whom Canning charged with this unpleasant duty was the same Jackson whose appointment as Minister to the United States had been opposed by Rufus King, and who had subsequently gone as British minister to Berlin. Jackson's dogmatic temper and overbearing manners made him obnoxious even to the clerks of the Foreign Office; but he was a favorite with Lord Malmesbury, who since Pitt's death had become Canning's political mentor, and Lord Malmesbury's influence was freely used in Jackson's behalf. Obeying his instructions, the British envoy went to Kiel and had an interview with the Prince Royal early in August, at about the time when Napoleon issued his first orders to Bernadotte. The Prince could only refuse with indignation Jackson's demand, and sent orders to Copenhagen to prepare for attack. He was in the situation of Barron on the "Chesapeake." Copenhagen had hardly a gun in position, and no troops to use in defence.

The British demand was in itself insulting enough, but Jackson's way of presenting it was said to have been peculiarly offensive, and London soon rang with stories of his behavior to the unfortunate Prince


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1807. Royal. Even the King of England seemed to think that his agent needed rebuke. Lord Eldon, who was one of the advisers and most strenuous supporters of the attack on Copenhagen,—although he said in private that the story made his heart ache and his blood run cold,—used to relate, on the authority of old King George himself, that when Jackson was presented at Court on his return from Copenhagen the King abruptly asked him, "Was the Prince Royal upstairs or down, when he received you?" "He was on the ground floor," replied Jackson. "I am glad of it! I am glad of it!" rejoined the old King; "for if he had half the spirit of his uncle George III., he would infallibly have kicked you downstairs." The Prince did not kick Mr. Jackson, though the world believed he had reason to do so, but he declined to accept the British envoy's remark that in war the weak must submit to the strong; and Lord Gambier landed twenty thousand men, established batteries, and for three days and nights, from September 1 to September 5, bombarded Copenhagen. The city was neither invested nor assaulted nor intended to be occupied; it was merely destroyed, little by little,—as a bandit would cut off first an ear, then the nose, then a finger of his victim, to hasten payment of a ransom. At the end of the third day's bombardment, when at last the Danish ships were delivered, the bodies of near two thousand


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54 inclinations, he returned to England, and was received with great demonstrations of joy; and his subjects swore allegiance to him again, as if he had begun a new reign, his flight being considered as a sort of abdication of the crown. He, on his part, promised to reform whatever was amiss; and the eagerness of the English to throw off a foreign yoke, made them flock to the king with such zeal and haste, that he soon found himself at the head of a powerful army. His first expedition plainly showed his misfortunes had made no great alteration in him; for instead of marching against the Danes, he made use of his forces to be revenged on the men of Lindsey—one of the three divisions of Lincolnshire; the other two being named Holland and Kesteven, The inhabitants of the first-named place, it appeared, had provided the Danes with horses, and had also offered to join them.

After Ethelred had punished these traitors, he prepared to march, and fight the enemy, who little expected so sudden a revolution.

Although Canute was undoubtedly a great prince, and had the same forces his father Sweyn had conquered England with, he did not think fit to hazard a battle; but, on the contrary, before Ethelred was advanced near enough to oblige him to fight, he led his troops to the sea-side, and embarking them, set sail for Denmark. Before his departure, he ordered the hands and feet of the hostages he had in his power to be cut off, leaving them thus mangled on the shore.

The retreat of Canute appears strange, as he had never been worsted, and, besides, had many strong places still in is hands; and the only clue that can be obtained as to the use of this conduct is the account given by the Danish writers, who say that Canute had a younger brother, named Harold, who, being regent in the absence of his father, Sweyn, seized upon Denmark for himself, which obliged Canute to leave England with a precipitation that seemed to be an effect of fear rather than sound policy.

As soon as Ethelred found himself freed from the Danes he took no heed of his promise to his subjects, but, on the contrary, resumed his old maxims, and imposed, on several pretences, excessive taxes, which raised great murmurings among the nobles and people.

To these causes for public discontent he added others of a more private nature, which destroyed all the hopes entertained of his amendment. Morcard and Sifforth, lords of Danish extraction, who had all along firmly adhered to the interest of the king and their new country, were sacrificed to his avarice. To draw these two earls into his power, the king convened a great council at Oxford, where he caused them to be murdered, and then seized their estates, as if they had been condemned by the common forms of justice. Algitha, widow of Sifforth, was shut up in a monastery, to which confinement she was indebted for her after greatness; for Edmund, the king's eldest son, passing that way some time after, was desirous to see one so renowned for her beauty, and fell so desperately in love with her, that he married her, even against his father's consent.

The calm England enjoyed after the retreat of the Danes lasted but one year. Canute having got possession of the throne of Denmark, immediately re-embarked for England (A.D. 1015), and, when least expected, landed a numerous army at Sandwich. Ethelred being then unwell, Edmund, his son, with Streon, Duke of Mercia, his son-in-law, had the command of the army against the Danes; and Edmund


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Rh made, in our first lecture, about the empirical method; and it must be confessed that after that act of renunciation we can never hope for clean-cut and scholastic results. We cannot divide man sharply into an animal and a rational part. We cannot distinguish natural from supernatural effects; nor among the latter know which are favors of God, and which are counterfeit operations of the demon. We have merely to collect things together without any special a priori theological system, and out of an aggregate of piecemeal judgments as to the value of this and that experience—judgments in which our general philosophic prejudices, our instincts, and our common sense are our only guides—decide that on the whole one type of religion is approved by its fruits, and another type condemned. 'On the whole,'—I fear we shall never escape complicity with that qualification, so dear to your practical man, so repugnant to your systematizer!

I also fear that as I make this frank confession, I may seem to some of you to throw our compass overboard, and to adopt caprice as our pilot. Skepticism or wayward choice, you may think, can be the only results of such a formless method as I have taken up. A few remarks in deprecation of such an opinion, and in farther explanation of the empiricist principles which I profess, may therefore appear at this point to be in place.

Abstractly, it would seem illogical to try to measure the worth of a religion's fruits in merely human terms of value. How can you measure their worth without considering whether the God really exists who is supposed to inspire them? If he really exists, then all the conduct instituted by men to meet his wants must necessarily be a reasonable fruit of his religion,—it would be


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328 unreasonable only in case he did not exist. If, for instance, you were to condemn a religion of human or animal sacrifices by virtue of your subjective sentiments, and if all the while a deity were really there demanding such sacrifices, you would be making a theoretical mistake by tacitly assuming that the deity must be non-existent; you would be setting up a theology of your own as much as if you were a scholastic philosopher.

To this extent, to the extent of disbelieving peremptorily in certain types of deity, I frankly confess that we must be theologians. If disbeliefs can be said to constitute a theology, then the prejudices, instincts, and common sense which I chose as our guides make theological partisans of us whenever they make certain beliefs abhorrent.

But such common-sense prejudices and instincts are themselves the fruit of an empirical evolution. Nothing is more striking than the secular alteration that goes on in the moral and religious tone of men, as their insight into nature and their social arrangements progressively develop. After an interval of a few generations the mental climate proves unfavorable to notions of the deity which at an earlier date were perfectly satisfactory: the older gods have fallen below the common secular level, and can no longer be believed in. To-day a deity who should require bleeding sacrifices to placate him would be too sanguinary to be taken seriously. Even if powerful historical credentials were put forward in his favor, we would not look at them. Once, on the contrary, his cruel appetites were of themselves credentials. They positively recommended him to men's imaginations in ages when such coarse signs of power were respected and no others could be understood. Such deities then were worshiped because such fruits were relished.


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Rh Doubtless historic accidents always played some later part, but the original factor in fixing the figure of the gods must always have been psychological. The deity to whom the prophets, seers, and devotees who founded the particular cult bore witness was worth something to them personally. They could use him. He guided their imagination, warranted their hopes, and controlled their will,—or else they required him as a safeguard against the demon and a curber of other people's crimes. In any case, they chose him for the value of the fruits he seemed to them to yield. So soon as the fruits began to seem quite worthless; so soon as they conflicted with indispensable human ideals, or thwarted too extensively other values; so soon as they appeared childish, contemptible, or immoral when reflected on, the deity grew discredited, and was erelong neglected and forgotten. It was in this way that the Greek and Roman gods ceased to be believed in by educated pagans; it is thus that we ourselves judge of the Hindu, Buddhist, and Mohammedan theologies; Protestants have so dealt with the Catholic notions of deity, and liberal Protestants with older Protestant notions; it is thus that Chinamen judge of us, and that all of us now living will be judged by our descendants. When we cease to admire or approve what the definition of a deity implies, we end by deeming that deity incredible.

Few historic changes are more curious than these mutations of theological opinion. The monarchical type of sovereignty was, for example, so ineradicably planted in the mind of our own forefathers that a dose of cruelty and arbitrariness in their deity seems positively to have been required by their imagination. They called the cruelty 'retributive justice,' and a God without it would certainly have struck them as not 'sovereign' enough. But


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334 most warmly those fruits of piety in others which taste most good and prove most nourishing to him.

I am well aware of how anarchic much of what I say may sound. Expressing myself thus abstractly and briefly, I may seem to despair of the very notion of truth. But I beseech you to reserve your judgment until we see it applied to the details which lie before us. I do indeed disbelieve that we or any other mortal men can attain on a given day to absolutely incorrigible and unimprovable truth about such matters of fact as those with which religions deal. But I reject this dogmatic ideal not out of a perverse delight in intellectual instability. I am no lover of disorder and doubt as such. Rather do I fear to lose truth by this pretension to possess it already wholly. That we can gain more and more of it by moving always in the right direction, I believe as much as any one, and I hope to bring you all to my way of thinking before the termination of these lectures. Till then, do not, I pray you, harden your minds irrevocably against the empiricism which I profess.

I will waste no more words, then, in abstract justification of my method, but seek immediately to use it upon the facts.

In critically judging of the value of religious phenomena, it is very important to insist on the distinction between religion as an individual personal function, and religion as an institutional, corporate, or tribal product. I drew this distinction, you may remember, in my second lecture. The word 'religion,' as ordinarily used, is equivocal. A survey of history shows us that, as a rule, religious geniuses attract disciples, and produce groups of sympathizers. When these groups get strong enough to 'organize' themselves, they become ecclesiastical


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 with the central dome is extremely fine; the west portico is not satisfactory, but the semicircular porticoes of the north and south transepts are very beautiful features. Greater importance is given to the cathedral by raising it on a podium about 12 ft. above the level of the pavement outside, which enables the crypt under the whole cathedral to be lighted by side windows.

The principal examples of the churches which followed are those of St George’s, Bloomsbury; St Mary Woolnoth; Christ Church, Spitalfields, by Nicholas Hawksmoor; and St Mary-le-Strand (1714), and St Martin’s-in-the-Fields (1721), by James Gibbs. Gibbs’s interiors are second only to those of Wren, while Hawksmoor’s are very weak; in both cases, however, the exteriors are finely designed. Amongst subsequent works are St John’s, Westminster, and St Philip's, Birmingham (1710), by Thomas Archer; St George’s, Hanover Square (1713–1714), by John James; All Saints’ church, Oxford, by Dean Aldrich; St Giles-in-the-Fields (1731), by Henry Flitcroft; and St Leonard’s, Shoreditch (1736), by George Dance.

Sir Christopher Wren’s chief monumental work was Greenwich hospital, in the arrangement of which he had to include the Queen’s House, and a block already begun on the west side. His solution was of the most brilliant kind, and seen from the river the grouping of the several blocks with the colonnade and cupolas of the two central ones is admirable.

Wren’s next great work was the alterations and additions to Hampton Court palace, begun in 1689, the east front facing the park (Plate VI., fig. 77), the south front facing the river, the fountain court and the colonnade opposite the great hall. Chelsea hospital (1682–1692), the south front (now destroyed) to Christ’s hospital (1692), and Winchester school (1684–1687), are all examples in brick with stone quoins, cornices, door and window dressings, which show how Wren managed with simple materials to give a monumental effect. The library which he built in Trinity College, Cambridge (1678), with arcades on two storeys divided by three-quarter detached columns of the Doric and Ionic orders, is based on the same principle of design as those in the court of the Farnese palace at Rome by Sangallo, a part of the palace which is not likely to have been known by him.

The results of the Italian Revival in domestic architecture were not altogether satisfactory, for although it is sometimes claimed that the style was adapted by its architects to the traditional requirements and customs of the English people, the contrary will be found if they are compared with the work of the 16th century. The chief aim seems to have been generally to produce a great display of Classic features, which, even supposing they followed more closely the ancient models, were quite superfluous and generally interfered with the lighting of the chief rooms, which were sacrificed to them. In fact there are many cases in which one cannot help feeling how much better the effect would be if the great porticoes rising through two storeys were removed. This is specially the case in Sir John Vanbrugh’s mansion, Seaton Delaval, in Northumberland (1720); his other works, Blenheim (1714) and Castle Howard (1702), are vulgarized also by the employment of the large orders. The same defect exists in Stoneleigh Abbey, Leamington, where the orders carried up through two and three storeys respectively destroy the scale of the whole structure.

Among other mansions, the principal examples are Houghton in Norfolk (1723), a fine work, the villa at Mereworth in imitation of the Villa Capra near Vicenza, and the front of old Burlington House (1718), copied from the Porto palace at Vicenza, by Colin Campbell; Holkham in Norfolk and Devonshire House, London, by William Kent; Ditchley in Oxfordshire, and Milton House near Peterborough, by Gibbs; Chesterfield House, London, by Isaac Ware; Wentworth House in Yorkshire (1740), and Woburn Abbey in Bedfordshire (1747), by Henry Flitcroft; Spencer House, London (1762), by John Vardy; Prior Park and various works in Bath by John Wood; the Mansion House, London, by George Dance; Wardour in Wiltshire, Kedleston Hall in Derbyshire, and Worksop in Nottinghamshire (1763), by James Paine; Gopsall Hall, Ely House, Dover Street, London (1772), and Heveringham Hall in Suffolk, by Sir Robert Taylor, to whose munificence we owe the Taylor Buildings at Oxford; Harewood House in Yorkshire (1760), Lytham Hall in Lancashire, and (part of) Wentworth House in Yorkshire, by John Carr; and Luton Hoo (1767), now largely reconstructed, and Sion House (1761), the best-known mansions by Robert Adam, who with his brothers built the Adelphi and many houses in London. Adam designed a type of decoration in stucco for ceilings and mantelpieces, the dies of which are still in existence and are utilized extensively in modern houses. His labours were not confined to buildings, but extended to their decoration, furniture and fittings.

The works of Sir William Chambers were of a most varied nature, but his fame is chiefly based on Somerset House in the Strand, London (1776), with its façade facing the river, a magnificent work second only to Inigo Jones’s Whitehall, but infinitely more extensive and difficult to design. He was also the author of a work on The Decorative Part of Civil Architecture, which is still the standard work on the subject in England. His pupil, James Gandon, won the first gold medal given by the Royal Academy in 1769, and his principal work was the Custom House in Dublin (1781). Newgate prison (1770), a remarkable building now destroyed, was the chief work carried out by George Dance, jun.

Other buildings not yet mentioned are the Alcove and Banqueting Hall (Orangery) of Kensington Palace, by Wren; the Radcliffe library, Oxford, by Gibbs, an extremely fine work both externally and internally; Queen’s College, Oxford, by Hawksmoor; the county hall, Northampton, by Sir Roger Norwich; the town hall, Abingdon (1677), designer unknown; the Ashmolean museum, Oxford (1677), by T. Wood; Clare College, Cambridge, and St Catherine’s Hall, Cambridge (1640–1679), by Thomas and Robert Grumboll, master-masons; the custom house, King’s Lynn (1681), by Henry Bell; Nottingham Castle, designed by the duke of Newcastle in 1674 and carried out by March, his clerk of works—the central portion is finely proportioned, and it is only in the pilasters at the quoins that one recognizes the amateur; two houses in Cavendish Square, London (1717), on the north side, by John James; Lord Burlington’s villa (1740) at Chiswick, by William Kent, which with its internal decorations is still perfect; the celebrated Palladian Bridge at Wilton, by R. Morris; and last but not least, in consequence of its great influence on modern architecture, Sparrowe’s house at Ipswich (1567–1662), the timber oriel windows of which are now so often reproduced.

The classical revival does not seem to have taken root in Germany much before the middle of the 16th century, some forty to fifty years later than in France, from which country it is said to have been introduced, and in some of the early work there is a great similarity to French examples, but without the refinement and variety of detail which one finds in the châteaux of the Loire and in many of the French towns. In the rood-screen of the cathedral at Hildesheim (1546), the court of the town hall at Görlitz (1534), the portal of the Petershof at Halberstadt

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Rh with corporate ambitions of their own. The spirit of politics and the lust of dogmatic rule are then apt to enter and to contaminate the originally innocent thing; so that when we hear the word 'religion' nowadays, we think inevitably of some 'church' or other; and to some persons the word 'church' suggests so much hypocrisy and tyranny and meanness and tenacity of superstition that in a wholesale undiscerning way they glory in saying that they are 'down' on religion altogether. Even we who belong to churches do not exempt other churches than our own from the general condemnation.

But in this course of lectures ecclesiastical institutions hardly concern us at all. The religious experience which we are studying is that which lives itself out within the private breast. First-hand individual experience of this kind has always appeared as a heretical sort of innovation to those who witnessed its birth. Naked comes it into the world and lonely; and it has always, for a time at least, driven him who had it into the wilderness, often into the literal wilderness out of doors, where the Buddha, Jesus, Mohammed, St. Francis, George Fox, and so many others had to go. George Fox expresses well this isolation; and I can do no better at this point than read to you a page from his Journal, referring to the period of his youth when religion began to ferment within him seriously.

"I fasted much," Fox says, "walked abroad in solitary places many days, and often took my Bible, and sat in hollow trees and lonesome places until night came on; and frequently in the night walked mournfully about by myself; for I was a man of sorrows in the time of the first workings of the Lord in me.

"During all this time I was never joined in profession of religion with any, but gave up myself to the Lord, having


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Rh A genuine first-hand religious experience like this is bound to be a heterodoxy to its witnesses, the prophet appearing as a mere lonely madman. If his doctrine prove contagious enough to spread to any others, it becomes a definite and labeled heresy. But if it then still prove contagious enough to triumph over persecution, it becomes itself an orthodoxy; and when a religion has become an orthodoxy, its day of inwardness is over: the spring is dry; the faithful live at second hand exclusively and stone the prophets in their turn. The new church, in spite of whatever human goodness it may foster, can be henceforth counted on as a staunch ally in every attempt to stifle the spontaneous religious spirit, and to stop all later bubblings of the fountain from which in purer days it drew its own supply of inspiration. Unless, indeed, by adopting new movements of the spirit it can make capital out of them and use them for its selfish corporate designs! Of protective action of this politic sort, promptly or tardily decided on, the dealings of the Roman ecclesiasticism with many individual saints and prophets yield examples enough for our instruction.

The plain fact is that men's minds are built, as has been often said, in water-tight compartments. Religious after a fashion, they yet have many other things in them beside their religion, and unholy entanglements and associations inevitably obtain. The basenesses so commonly charged to religion's account are thus, almost all of them, not chargeable at all to religion proper, but rather to religion's wicked practical partner, the spirit of corporate dominion. And the bigotries are most of them in their turn chargeable to religion's wicked intellectual partner, the spirit of dogmatic dominion, the passion for laying down the law in the form of an absolutely closed-in theoretic system. The ecclesiastical spirit in general is the


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338 sum of these two spirits of dominion; and I beseech you never to confound the phenomena of mere tribal or corporate psychology which it presents with those manifestations of the purely interior life which are the exclusive object of our study. The baiting of Jews, the hunting of Albigenses and Waldenses, the stoning of Quakers and ducking of Methodists, the murdering of Mormons and the massacring of Armenians, express much rather that aboriginal human neophobia, that pugnacity of which we all share the vestiges, and that inborn hatred of the alien and of eccentric and non-conforming men as aliens, than they express the positive piety of the various perpetrators. Piety is the mask, the inner force is tribal instinct. You believe as little as I do, in spite of the Christian unction with which the German emperor addressed his troops upon their way to China, that the conduct which he suggested, and in which other Christian armies went beyond them, had anything whatever to do with the interior religious life of those concerned in the performance.

Well, no more for past atrocities than for this atrocity should we make piety responsible. At most we may blame piety for not availing to check our natural passions, and sometimes for supplying them with hypocritical pretexts. But hypocrisy also imposes obligations, and with the pretext usually couples some restriction; and when the passion gust is over, the piety may bring a reaction of repentance which the irreligious natural man would not have shown.

For many of the historic aberrations which have been laid to her charge, religion as such, then, is not to blame. Yet of the charge that over-zealousness or fanaticism is one of her liabilities we cannot wholly acquit her, so I will next make a remark upon that point. But I will


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340 sense must judge them. It need not blame the votary; but it may be able to praise him only conditionally, as one who acts faithfully according to his lights. He shows us heroism in one way, but the unconditionally good way is that for which no indulgence need be asked.

We find that error by excess is exemplified by every saintly virtue. Excess, in human faculties, means usually one-sidedness or want of balance; for it is hard to imagine an essential faculty too strong, if only other faculties equally strong be there to coöperate with it in action. Strong affections need a strong will; strong active powers need a strong intellect; strong intellect needs strong sympathies, to keep life steady. If the balance exist, no one faculty can possibly be too strong—we only get the stronger all-round character. In the life of saints, technically so called, the spiritual faculties are strong, but what gives the impression of extravagance proves usually, on examination, to be a relative deficiency of intellect. Spiritual excitement takes pathological forms whenever other interests are too few and the intellect too narrow. We find this exemplified by all the saintly attributes in turn—devout love of God, purity, charity, asceticism, all may lead astray. I will run over these virtues in succession.

First of all let us take Devoutness. When unbalanced, one of its vices is called Fanaticism. Fanaticism (when not a mere expression of ecclesiastical ambition) is only loyalty carried to a convulsive extreme. When an intensely loyal and narrow mind is once grasped by the feeling that a certain superhuman person is worthy of its exclusive devotion, one of the first things that happens is that it idealizes the devotion itself. To adequately realize the merits of the idol gets to be considered the


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66 non-combatants lay buried in the smoking ruins of about one half the city. At the same time all the Danish merchant-vessels in English waters, with their cargoes, to the value of ten million dollars, were seized and confiscated; while the Danish factory in Bengal was, without warning, swept into England's pouch.

At the news of the awful tragedy at Copenhagen, Europe, gorged as for fifteen years she had been with varied horrors, shuddered from St. Petersburg to Cadiz. A long wail of pity and despair rose on the Continent, was echoed back from America, and found noble expression in the British Parliament. The attack upon the "Chesapeake" was a caress of affection compared with this bloody and brutal deed. As in 1804 Bonaparte—then only First Consul, but about to make himself a bastard Emperor—flung before the feet of Europe the bloody corpse of the Duc d'Enghien, so George Canning in 1807, about to meet Bonaparte on his own field with his own weapons, called the world to gaze at his handiwork in Copenhagen; and the world then contained but a single nation to which the fate of Copenhagen spoke in accents of direct and instant menace. The annihilation of Denmark left America almost the only neutral, as she had long been the only Republican State. In both characters her offences against Canning and Perceval, Castlereagh and Eldon, had been more serious than those of Denmark, and had roused to exasperation the temper of England. A single


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Rh one great merit of the worshiper; and the sacrifices and servilities by which savage tribesmen have from time immemorial exhibited their faithfulness to chieftains are now outbid in favor of the deity. Vocabularies are exhausted and languages altered in the attempt to praise him enough; death is looked on as gain if it attract his grateful notice; and the personal attitude of being his devotee becomes what one might almost call a new and exalted kind of professional specialty within the tribe. The legends that gather round the lives of holy persons are fruits of this impulse to celebrate and glorify. The Buddha and Mohammed and their companions and many Christian saints are incrusted with a heavy jewelry


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TO 1016.]

soon perceived his brother-in-law was a friend to Canute. This discovery obliged him to invent some pretence to divide the army into two bodies, that he might be separated from him, not daring to punish the traitor, for fear of exciting a revolt in Mercia, where Streon's power was exceedingly great.

He also dreaded his father's displeasure, whom he knew could never be convinced that Streon held intelligence with the Danes. Canute, taking advantage of this division of the English forces, made large conquests immediately; and the treacherous Edric, who had joined Edmund with


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342 of anecdotes which are meant to be honorific, but are simply abgeschmackt and silly, and form a touching expression of man's misguided propensity to praise.

An immediate consequence of this condition of mind is jealousy for the deity's honor. How can the devotee show his loyalty better than by sensitiveness in this regard? The slightest affront or neglect must be resented, the deity's enemies must be put to shame. In exceedingly narrow minds and active wills, such a care may become an engrossing preoccupation; and crusades have been preached and massacres instigated for no other reason than to remove a fancied slight upon the God. Theologies representing the gods as mindful of their glory, and churches with imperialistic policies, have conspired to fan this temper to a glow, so that intolerance and persecution have come to be vices associated by some of us inseparably with the saintly mind. They are unquestionably its besetting sins. The saintly temper is a moral temper, and a moral temper has often to be cruel. It is a partisan temper, and that is cruel. Between his own and Jehovah's enemies a David knows no difference; a Catherine of Siena, panting to stop the warfare among Christians which was the scandal of her epoch, can think of no better method of union among them than a crusade to massacre the Turks; Luther finds no word of protest or regret over the atrocious tortures with which the Anabaptist leaders were put to death; and a Cromwell praises the Lord for delivering his enemies into his hands for 'execution.' Politics come in in all such cases; but piety finds the partnership not quite unnatural. So, when 'freethinkers' tell us that religion and fanaticism are twins, we cannot make an unqualified denial of the charge.

Fanaticism must then be inscribed on the wrong side


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Rh reading her has been pity that so much vitality of soul should have found such poor employment.

In spite of the sufferings which she endured, there is a curious flavor of superficiality about her genius. A Birmingham anthropologist, Dr. Jordan, has divided the human race into two types, whom he calls 'shrews' and 'non-shrews' respectively. The shrew-type is defined as possessing an 'active unimpassioned temperament.' In other words, shrews are the 'motors,' rather than the 'sensories,' and their expressions are as a rule more energetic than the feelings which appear to prompt them. Saint Teresa, paradoxical as such a judgment may sound, was a typical shrew, in this sense of the term. The bustle of her style, as well as of her life, proves it. Not only must she receive unheard-of personal favors and spiritual graces from her Saviour, but she must immediately write about them and exploiter them professionally, and use her expertness to give instruction to those less privileged. Her voluble egotism; her sense, not of radical bad being, as the really contrite have it, but of her 'faults' and 'imperfections' in the plural; her stereotyped humility and return upon herself, as covered with 'confusion' at each new manifestation of God's singular partiality for a person so unworthy, are typical of shrewdom: a paramountly feeling nature would be objectively lost in gratitude, and silent. She had some public instincts, it is true; she hated the Lutherans, and longed for the church's triumph over them; but in the main her idea of religion seems to have been that of an endless amatory flirtation if one may say so without


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348 —between the devotee and the deity; and apart from helping younger nuns to go in this direction by the inspiration of her example and instruction, there is absolutely no human use in her, or sign of any general human interest. Yet the spirit of her age, far from rebuking her, exalted her as superhuman.

We have to pass a similar judgment on the whole notion of saintship based on merits. Any God who, on the one hand, can care to keep a pedantically minute account of individual shortcomings, and on the other can feel such partialities, and load particular creatures with such insipid marks of favor, is too small-minded a God for our credence. When Luther, in his immense manly way, swept off by a stroke of his hand the very notion of a debit and credit account kept with individuals by the Almighty, he stretched the soul's imagination and saved theology from puerility.

So much for mere devotion, divorced from the intellectual conceptions which might guide it towards bearing useful human fruit.

The next saintly virtue in which we find excess is Purity. In theopathic characters, like those whom we have just considered, the love of God must not be mixed with any other love. Father and mother, sisters, brothers, and friends are felt as interfering distractions; for sensitiveness and narrowness, when they occur together, as they often do, require above all things a simplified world to dwell in. Variety and confusion are too much for their powers of comfortable adaptation. But whereas your aggressive pietist reaches his unity objectively, by forcibly stamping disorder and divergence out, your retiring pietist reaches his subjectively, leaving disorder in the world at large, but making a smaller world in which he dwells


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350 asks her Superior, "that I should not speak at all during the hour of recreation, so as not to run the risk, by speaking, of falling into some sin of which I might not be conscious?" If the life remains a social one at all, those who take part in it must follow one identical rule. Embosomed in this monotony, the zealot for purity feels clean and free once more. The minuteness of uniformity maintained in certain sectarian communities, whether monastic or not, is something almost inconceivable to a man of the world. Costume, phraseology, hours, and habits are absolutely stereotyped, and there is no doubt that some persons are so made as to find in this stability an incomparable kind of mental rest.

We have no time to multiply examples, so I will let the case of Saint Louis of Gonzaga serve as a type of excess in purification. I think you will agree that this youth carried the elimination of the external and discordant to a point which we cannot unreservedly admire. At the age of ten, his biographer says:—

"The inspiration came to him to consecrate to the Mother of God his own virginity—that being to her the most agreeable of possible presents. Without delay, then, and with all the fervor there was in him, joyous of heart, and burning with love, he made his vow of perpetual chastity. Mary accepted the offering of his innocent heart, and obtained for him from God, as a recompense, the extraordinary grace of never feeling during his entire life the slightest touch of temptation against the virtue of purity. This was an altogether exceptional favor, rarely accorded even to Saints themselves, and all the more marvelous in that Louis dwelt always in courts and among great folks, where danger and opportunity are so unusually frequent. It is true that Louis from his earliest childhood had shown a natural repugnance for whatever might be impure or


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Rh unvirginal, and even for relations of any sort whatever between persons of opposite sex. But this made it all the more surprising that he should, especially since this vow, feel it necessary to have recourse to such a number of expedients for protecting against even the shadow of danger the virginity which he had thus consecrated. One might suppose that if any one could have contented himself with the ordinary precautions, prescribed for all Christians, it would assuredly have been he. But no! In the use of preservatives and means of defense, in flight from the most insignificant occasions, from every possibility of peril, just as in the mortification of his flesh, he went farther than the majority of saints. He, who by an extraordinary protection of God's grace was never tempted, measured all his steps as if he were threatened on every side by particular dangers. Thenceforward he never raised his eyes, either when walking in the streets, or when in society. Not only did he avoid all business with females even more scrupulously than before, but he renounced all conversation and every kind of social recreation with them, although his father tried to make him take part; and he commenced only too early to deliver his innocent body to austerities of every kind."

At the age of twelve, we read of this young man that "if by chance his mother sent one of her maids of honor to him with a message, he never allowed her to come in, but listened to her through the barely opened door, and dismissed her immediately. He did not like to be alone with his own mother, whether at table or in conversation; and when the rest of the company withdrew, he sought also a pretext for retiring. … Several great ladies, relatives of his, he avoided learning to know even by sight; and he made a sort of treaty with his father, engaging promptly and readily to accede to all his wishes, if he might only be excused from all visits to ladies." (Ibid., p. 71.)


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352 When he was seventeen years old Louis joined the Jesuit order, against his father's passionate entreaties, for he was heir of a princely house; and when a year later the father died, he took the loss as a 'particular attention' to himself on God's part, and wrote letters of stilted good advice, as from a spiritual superior, to his grieving mother. He soon became so good a monk that if any one asked him the number of his brothers and sisters, he had to reflect and count them over before replying. A Father asked him one day if he were never troubled by the thought of his family, to which, "I never think of them except when praying for them," was his only answer. Never was he seen to hold in his hand a flower or anything perfumed, that he might take pleasure in it. On the contrary, in the hospital, he used to seek for whatever was most disgusting, and eagerly snatch the bandages of ulcers, etc., from the hands of his companions. He avoided worldly talk, and immediately tried to turn every conversation on to pious subjects, or else he remained silent. He systematically refused to notice his surroundings. Being ordered one day to bring a book from the rector's seat in the refectory, he had to ask where the rector sat, for in the three months he had eaten bread there, so carefully did he guard his eyes that he had not noticed the place. One day, during recess, having looked by chance on one of his companions, he reproached himself as for a grave sin against modesty. He cultivated silence, as preserving from sins of the tongue; and his greatest penance was the limit which his superiors set to his bodily penances. He sought after


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Rh Proceeding onwards in our search of religious extravagance, we next come upon excesses of Tenderness and Charity. Here saintliness has to face the charge of preserving the unfit, and breeding parasites and beggars. 'Resist not evil,' 'Love your enemies,' these are saintly maxims of which men of this world find it hard to speak without impatience. Are the men of this world right, or are the saints in possession of the deeper range of truth?

No simple answer is possible. Here, if anywhere, one feels the complexity of the moral life, and the mysteriousness of the way in which facts and ideals are interwoven.

Perfect conduct is a relation between three terms: the actor, the objects for which he acts, and the recipients of the action. In order that conduct should be abstractly perfect, all three terms, intention, execution, and reception, should be suited to one another. The best intention will fail if it either work by false means or address itself to the wrong recipient. Thus no critic or estimator of the value of conduct can confine himself to the actor's animus alone, apart from the other elements of the performance. As there is no worse lie than a truth misunderstood by those who hear it, so reasonable arguments, challenges to magnanimity, and appeals to sympathy or justice, are folly when we are dealing with human crocodiles and boa-constrictors. The saint may simply give the universe into the hands of the enemy by his trustfulness. He may by non-resistance cut off his own survival.

Herbert Spencer tells us that the perfect man's conduct will appear perfect only when the environment is perfect: to no inferior environment is it suitably adapted. We may paraphrase this by cordially admitting that