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356 saintly conduct would be the most perfect conduct conceivable in an environment where all were saints already; but by adding that in an environment where few are saints, and many the exact reverse of saints, it must be ill adapted. We must frankly confess, then, using our empirical common sense and ordinary practical prejudices, that in the world that actually is, the virtues of sympathy, charity, and non-resistance may be, and often have been, manifested in excess. The powers of darkness have systematically taken advantage of them. The whole modern scientific organization of charity is a consequence of the failure of simply giving alms. The whole history of constitutional government is a commentary on the excellence of resisting evil, and when one cheek is smitten, of smiting back and not turning the other cheek also.

You will agree to this in general, for in spite of the Gospel, in spite of Quakerism, in spite of Tolstoi, you believe in fighting fire with fire, in shooting down usurpers, locking up thieves, and freezing out vagabonds and swindlers.

And yet you are sure, as I am sure, that were the world confined to these hard-headed, hard-hearted, and hard-fisted methods exclusively, were there no one prompt to help a brother first, and find out afterwards whether he were worthy; no one willing to drown his private wrongs in pity for the wronger's person; no one ready to be duped many a time rather than live always on suspicion; no one glad to treat individuals passionately and impulsively rather than by general rules of prudence; the world would be an infinitely worse place than it is now to live in. The tender grace, not of a day that is dead, but of a day yet to be born somehow, with the golden rule grown natural, would be cut out from the perspective of our imaginations.


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Rh The saints, existing in this way, may, with their extravagances of human tenderness, be prophetic. Nay, innumerable times they have proved themselves prophetic. Treating those whom they met, in spite of the past, in spite of all appearances, as worthy, they have stimulated them to be worthy, miraculously transformed them by their radiant example and by the challenge of their expectation.

From this point of view we may admit the human charity which we find in all saints, and the great excess of it which we find in some saints, to be a genuinely creative social force, tending to make real a degree of virtue which it alone is ready to assume as possible. The saints are authors, auctores, increasers, of goodness. The potentialities of development in human souls are unfathomable. So many who seemed irretrievably hardened have in point of fact been softened, converted, regenerated, in ways that amazed the subjects even more than they surprised the spectators, that we never can be sure in advance of any man that his salvation by the way of love is hopeless. We have no right to speak of human crocodiles and boa-constrictors as of fixedly incurable beings. We know not the complexities of personality, the smouldering emotional fires, the other facets of the character-polyhedron, the resources of the subliminal region. St. Paul long ago made our ancestors familiar with the idea that every soul is virtually sacred. Since Christ died for us all without exception, St. Paul said, we must despair of no one. This belief in the essential sacredness of every one expresses itself to-day in all sorts of humane customs and reformatory institutions, and in a growing aversion to the death penalty and to brutality in punishment. The saints, with their extravagance of human tenderness, are the great torch-bearers of this

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Badger, George Percy


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362 us as another, and thus leads to rest, to peace, and to Nirvâna.

We find accordingly that as ascetic saints have grown older, and directors of conscience more experienced, they usually have shown a tendency to lay less stress on special bodily mortifications. Catholic teachers have always professed the rule that, since health is needed for efficiency in God's service, health must not be sacrificed to mortification. The general optimism and healthy-mindedness of liberal Protestant circles to-day makes mortification for mortification's sake repugnant to us. We can no longer sympathize with cruel deities, and the notion that God can take delight in the spectacle of sufferings self-inflicted in his honor is abhorrent. In consequence of all these motives you probably are disposed, unless some special utility can be shown in some individual's discipline, to treat the general tendency to asceticism as pathological.

Yet I believe that a more careful consideration of the whole matter, distinguishing between the general good intention of asceticism and the uselessness of some of the particular acts of which it may be guilty, ought to rehabilitate it in our esteem. For in its spiritual meaning asceticism stands for nothing less than for the essence of the twice-born philosophy. It symbolizes, lamely enough no doubt, but sincerely, the belief that there is an element of real wrongness in this world, which is neither to be ignored nor evaded, but which must be squarely met and overcome by an appeal to the soul's heroic resources, and neutralized and cleansed away by suffering. As against this view, the ultra-optimistic form of the once-born philosophy thinks we may treat evil by the method of ignoring. Let a man who, by fortunate health and


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Baggallay, Richard


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Rh, escapes the suffering of any great amount of evil in his own person, also close his eyes to it as it exists in the wider universe outside his private experience, and he will be quit of it altogether, and can sail through life happily on a healthy-minded basis. But we saw in our lectures on melancholy how precarious this attempt necessarily is. Moreover it is but for the individual; and leaves the evil outside of him, unredeemed and unprovided for in his philosophy.

No such attempt can be a general solution of the problem; and to minds of sombre tinge, who naturally feel life as a tragic mystery, such optimism is a shallow dodge or mean evasion. It accepts, in lieu of a real deliverance, what is a lucky personal accident merely, a cranny to escape by. It leaves the general world unhelped and still in the clutch of Satan. The real deliverance, the twice-born folk insist, must be of universal application. Pain and wrong and death must be fairly met and overcome in higher excitement, or else their sting remains essentially unbroken. If one has ever taken the fact of the prevalence of tragic death in this world's history fairly into his mind,—freezing, drowning, entombment alive, wild beasts, worse men, and hideous diseases,—he can with difficulty, it seems to me, continue his own career of worldly prosperity without suspecting that he may all the while not be really inside the game, that he may lack the great initiation.

Well, this is exactly what asceticism thinks; and it voluntarily takes the initiation. Life is neither farce nor genteel comedy, it says, but something we must sit at in mourning garments, hoping its bitter taste will purge us of our folly. The wild and the heroic are indeed such rooted parts of it that healthy-mindedness pure and simple, with its sentimental optimism, can hardly be regarded


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Bagnal, Henry


text:
Author:Horace Logo Traubel

Works

 * With Walt Whitman in Camden (March 28-July 14, 1888). (1906)

title: Author:Horace Logo Traubel


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364 by any thinking man as a serious solution. Phrases of neatness, cosiness, and comfort can never be an answer to the sphinx's riddle.

In these remarks I am leaning only upon mankind's common instinct for reality, which in point of fact has always held the world to be essentially a theatre for heroism. In heroism, we feel, life's supreme mystery is hidden. We tolerate no one who has no capacity whatever for it in any direction. On the other hand, no matter what a man's frailties otherwise may be, if he be willing to risk death, and still more if he suffer it heroically, in the service he has chosen, the fact consecrates him forever. Inferior to ourselves in this or that way, if yet we cling to life, and he is able 'to fling it away like a flower' as caring nothing for it, we account him in the deepest way our born superior. Each of us in his own person feels that a high-hearted indifference to life would expiate all his shortcomings.

The metaphysical mystery, thus recognized by common sense, that he who feeds on death that feeds on men possesses life supereminently and excellently, and meets best the secret demands of the universe, is the truth of which asceticism has been the faithful champion. The folly of the cross, so inexplicable by the intellect, has yet its indestructible vital meaning.

Representatively, then, and symbolically, and apart from the vagaries into which the unenlightened intellect of former times may have let it wander, asceticism must, I believe, be acknowledged to go with the profounder way of handling the gift of existence. Naturalistic optimism is mere syllabub and flattery and sponge-cake in comparison. The practical course of action for us, as religious men, would therefore, it seems to me, not be simply to turn our backs upon the ascetic impulse, as most of us to-day


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Bagnal, Nicholas


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Bagot, Charles


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366 beyond depth of exertion, both in degree and in duration, that the whole scale of motivation alters. Discomfort and annoyance, hunger and wet, pain and cold, squalor and filth, cease to have any deterrent operation whatever. Death turns into a commonplace matter, and its usual power to check our action vanishes. With the annulling of these customary inhibitions, ranges of new energy are set free, and life seems cast upon a higher plane of power.

The beauty of war in this respect is that it is so congruous with ordinary human nature. Ancestral evolution has made us all potential warriors; so the most insignificant individual, when thrown into an army in the field, is weaned from whatever excess of tenderness towards his precious person he may bring with him, and may easily develop into a monster of insensibility.

But when we compare the military type of self-severity with that of the ascetic saint, we find a world-wide difference in all their spiritual concomitants.

"'Live and let live,'" writes a clear-headed Austrian officer, "is no device for an army. Contempt for one's own comrades, for the troops of the enemy, and, above all, fierce contempt for one's own person, are what war demands of every one. Far better is it for an army to be too savage, too cruel, too barbarous, than to possess too much sentimentality and human reasonableness. If the soldier is to be good for anything as a soldier, he must be exactly the opposite of a reasoning and thinking man. The measure of goodness in him is his possible use in war. War, and even peace, require of the soldier absolutely peculiar standards of morality. The recruit brings with him common moral notions, of which he must seek immediately to get rid. For him victory, success, must be everything. The most barbaric tendencies


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Bailey, John Eglington


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Rh in men come to life again in war, and for war's uses they are incommensurably good."

These words are of course literally true. The immediate aim of the soldier's life is, as Moltke said, destruction, and nothing but destruction; and whatever constructions wars result in are remote and non-military. Consequently the soldier cannot train himself to be too feelingless to all those usual sympathies and respects, whether for persons or for things, that make for conservation. Yet the fact remains that war is a school of strenuous life and heroism; and, being in the line of aboriginal instinct, is the only school that as yet is universally available. But when we gravely ask ourselves whether this wholesale organization of irrationality and crime be our only bulwark against effeminacy, we stand aghast at the thought, and think more kindly of ascetic religion. One hears of the mechanical equivalent of heat. What we now need to discover in the social realm is the moral equivalent of war: something heroic that will speak to men as universally as war does, and yet will be as compatible with their spiritual selves as war has proved itself to be incompatible. I have often thought that in the old monkish poverty-worship, in spite of the pedantry which infested it, there might be something like that moral equivalent of war which we are seeking. May not voluntarily accepted poverty be 'the strenuous life,' without the need of crushing weaker peoples?

Poverty indeed is the strenuous life,—without brass bands or uniforms or hysteric popular applause or lies or circumlocutions; and when one sees the way in which wealth-getting enters as an ideal into the very bone and marrow of our generation, one wonders whether a revival


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Baillie-Cochrane, Alex. D.R.W.C.


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Page:Cassell's Illustrated History of England vol 1.djvu/81

TO 1066.] advantages with vigour, made no intermission in his assaults, and at last reduced the enemy to such distress, that, in order to prevent their total destruction, they made a sacrifice of their prince, whose head they cut off, and sent to Harold; and they were content to receive as their sovereigns two Welsh noblemen appointed by Edward to rule over them. The other incident was no less honourable to Harold.

Tostig, brother of this nobleman, who had been created Duke of Northumberland, being of a violent, tyrannical temper, had acted with such cruelty and injustice, that the inhabitants rose in rebellion, and chased him from his government. Morcar and Edwin, two brothers, who possessed great power in those parts, and who were grandsons of the great Duke Leofric, concurred in the insurrection; and the former, being elected duke, advanced with an army to oppose Harold, who was commissioned by the king to 'reduce and chastise the Northumbrians. Before the armies came to action, Morcar, well acquainted with the generous disposition of the English commander, endeavoured to justify his own conduct. He represented to Harold that Tostig had behaved in a manner unworthy of the station to which he was advanced; and no one, not even a brother, could support such tyranny without participating, in some degree, in the infamy attending it; that the Northumbrians, accustomed to a legal administration, and regarding it as their birthright, were willing to submit to the king, but required a governor who would pay regard to their rights and privileges; that they had been taught by their ancestors that death was preferable to servitude, and had taken the field, determined to perish rather than suffer a renewal of those indignities to which they had long been exposed; and they trusted that Harold, on reflection, would not defend in another the violence he had repressed in his own government


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368 of the belief that poverty is a worthy religious vocation may not be 'the transformation of military courage,' and the spiritual reform which our time stands most in need of.

Among us English-speaking peoples especially do the praises of poverty need once more to be boldly sung. We have grown literally afraid to be poor. We despise any one who elects to be poor in order to simplify and save his inner life. If he does not join the general scramble and pant with the money-making street, we deem him spiritless and lacking in ambition. We have lost the power even of imagining what the ancient idealization of poverty could have meant: the liberation from material attachments, the unbribed soul, the manlier indifference, the paying our way by what we are or do and not by what we have, the right to fling away our life at any moment irresponsibly,—the more athletic trim, in short, the moral fighting shape. When we of the so-called better classes are scared as men were never scared in history at material ugliness and hardship; when we put off marriage until our house can be artistic, and quake at the thought of having a child without a bank-account and doomed to manual labor, it is time for thinking men to protest against so unmanly and irreligious a state of opinion.

It is true that so far as wealth gives time for ideal ends and exercise to ideal energies, wealth is better than poverty and ought to be chosen. But wealth does this in only a portion of the actual cases. Elsewhere the desire to gain wealth and the fear to lose it are our chief breeders of cowardice and propagators of corruption. There are thousands of conjunctures in which a wealth-bound man must be a slave, whilst a man for whom poverty has no terrors becomes a freeman. Think of the strength which personal indifference to poverty would


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Rh must not confound the essentials of saintliness, which are those general passions of which I have spoken, with its accidents, which are the special determinations of these passions at any historical moment. In these determinations the saints will usually be loyal to the temporary idols of their tribe. Taking refuge in monasteries was as much an idol of the tribe in the middle ages, as bearing a hand in the world's work is to-day. Saint Francis or Saint Bernard, were they living to-day, would undoubtedly be leading consecrated lives of some sort, but quite as undoubtedly they would not lead them in retirement. Our animosity to special historic manifestations must not lead us to give away the saintly impulses in their essential nature to the tender mercies of inimical critics.

The most inimical critic of the saintly impulses whom I know is Nietzsche. He contrasts them with the worldly passions as we find these embodied in the predaceous military character, altogether to the advantage of the latter. Your born saint, it must be confessed, has something about him which often makes the gorge of a carnal man rise, so it will be worth while to consider the contrast in question more fully.

Dislike of the saintly nature seems to be a negative result of the biologically useful instinct of welcoming leadership, and glorifying the chief of the tribe. The chief is the potential, if not the actual tyrant, the masterful, overpowering man of prey. We confess our inferiority and grovel before him. We quail under his glance, and are at the same time proud of owning so dangerous a lord. Such instinctive and submissive hero-worship must have been indispensable in primeval tribal life. In the endless wars of those times, leaders were absolutely needed for the tribe's survival. If there were any tribes who owned no leaders, they can have left no


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Rh fear rouses those who are strong to become terrible in turn themselves, and preserves the hard-earned and successful type of humanity. What is to be dreaded by us more than any other doom is not fear, but rather the great disgust, not fear, but rather the great pity—disgust and pity for our human fellows. … The morbid are our greatest peril—not the 'bad' men, not the predatory beings. Those born wrong, the miscarried, the broken—they it is, the weakest, who are undermining the vitality of the race, poisoning our trust in life, and putting humanity in question. Every look of them is a sigh,—'Would I were something other! I am sick and tired of what I am.' In this swamp-soil of self-contempt, every poisonous weed flourishes, and all so small, so secret, so dishonest, and so sweetly rotten. Here swarm the worms of sensitiveness and resentment; here the air smells odious with secrecy, with what is not to be acknowledged; here is woven endlessly the net of the meanest of conspiracies, the conspiracy of those who suffer against those who succeed and are victorious; here the very aspect of the victorious is hated—as if health, success, strength, pride, and the sense of power were in themselves things vicious, for which one ought eventually to make bitter expiation. Oh, how these people would themselves like to inflict the expiation, how they thirst to be the hangmen! And all the while their duplicity never confesses their hatred to be hatred."

Poor Nietzsche's antipathy is itself sickly enough, but I quote him as expressing forcibly the world-old clash between the two ideals. The carnivorous-minded 'strong man,' the adult male and cannibal, can see nothing but mouldiness and morbidness in the saint's gentleness and self-severity, and regards him with pure loathing. The whole feud revolves essentially upon two pivots: Shall the seen world or the unseen world be our chief sphere of adaptation? and must our means of adaptation in this seen world be aggressiveness or non-resistance?


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Baines, Edward (1800-1890)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Baker, Samuel White


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Baker, Thomas (1771?-1845)


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 (1552), and the entrance gateway of the castle at Brieg (1553), one is able to recognize certain ornamental details and a similar superposition of pilasters in several storeys to that which is found in various towns in Normandy and on the Loire. In both countries the new style was engrafted on the last phase of the Gothic period, so forming at first a transitional style, which lasted about fifty years. Thus the lofty roofs which prevailed in the 15th century are developed further, but with this great divergence in the two countries. In France there are rarely gable ends, in Germany they are not only the chief characteristic feature of the main front, but are introduced in the side elevations in the shape of immense dormers with two or three storeys and rising the full height of the roof, as in the castle at Hämelschenburg near Hameln. Throughout Germany, therefore, the gable end and the dormer gable became the chief features on which they lavished all their ornamental designs, the main walls of the building being as a rule either in plain masonry, rubble masonry with stucco facing, or brick and stone. Other prominent features are the octagonal and circular oriel windows rising through two or three storeys at the corners of their buildings—rectangular bow windows in two or three storeys, which were allowed apparently to encroach on the pavement, and octagonal turrets or towers instead of circular as in France. In the vicinity of the Harz mountains, where timber was plentiful, a large proportion of the factories, houses and even public buildings, are erected in half-timber work with elaborate carving of the door and window jambs, projecting corbels, &c. At Hildesheim, Wernigerode, Goslar, &c., these structures are sometimes of immense size and richly decorated. Among early examples in stone, the porch added to the town hall of Cologne (1571), the projecting wings of the town halls at Halberstadt and Lemgo (1565), and the town halls at Posen (1550), Altenburg (1562–1567) and Rothenburg (1572–1590), are all picturesque examples more or less refined in design. In the last-named example the purer Italian style has exercised its influence in the principal doorway and in the arcaded gallery on the east front. This same influence shows itself in the courtyard of the town hall at Nuremberg, where the arcades of the two upper storeys might be taken for those of the courts of the palaces at Rome.

The Gothic development in the 15th century in Belgium, as evidenced in her magnificent town halls and other public buildings, not only supplied her requirements in the century following, but hindered the introduction of the Classic Revival, so that it is not till the second half of the 16th century that we find in the town hall of Antwerp a building which is perhaps more Italian in design than any work in Germany. There are, however, a few instances of earlier Renaissance, such as the Salm Inn (1534) at Malines; the magnificent chimneypiece, by Conrad van Noremberger of Namur, in the council chamber of the palais de justice at Bruges (1529); and the palais de justice of Liége (1533), formerly the bishop’s palace, in the court of which are features suggesting a Spanish influence. The influence of the cinque-cento style of Italy may be noticed in the tomb of the count de Borgnival (1533) in the cathedral of Breda, and in the choir stalls of the church at Enkhuisen on the borders of the Zuyder Zee, both in Holland, and in the choir stalls of the cathedral of Ypres in Belgium; the carving of these bears so close a resemblance to cinque-cento work in design and execution that one might conclude they were the work of Italian artists, but their authors are known to have been Flemish, who must, however, have studied in Italy. Again, in the stained-glass windows of the church of St Jacques at Liége, the details are all cinque-cento, with circular arches on columns, festoons of leaves and other ornament, all apparently derived from Italian sources, but necessarily executed by Flemish painters, as stained-glass windows of that type are not often found in Italian churches.

Of public buildings in Belgium, the most noted example is that of the town hall at Antwerp, designed by Cornelius de Vriendt (1564). It has a frontage of over 300 ft. facing the Grande Place, and is an imposing structure in four storeys, arcaded on the lower storey and the classic orders above, with mullioned windows between on the

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Rh and borrow whatever glow of conviction they may themselves possess. In short, you suspect that I am planning to defend feeling at the expense of reason, to rehabilitate the primitive and unreflective, and to dissuade you from the hope of any Theology worthy of the name.

To a certain extent I have to admit that you guess rightly. I do believe that feeling is the deeper source of religion, and that philosophic and theological formulas are secondary products, like translations of a text into another tongue. But all such statements are misleading from their brevity, and it will take the whole hour for me to explain to you exactly what I mean.

When I call theological formulas secondary products, I mean that in a world in which no religious feeling had ever existed, I doubt whether any philosophic theology could ever have been framed. I doubt if dispassionate intellectual contemplation of the universe, apart from inner unhappiness and need of deliverance on the one hand and mystical emotion on the other, would ever have resulted in religious philosophies such as we now possess. Men would have begun with animistic explanations of natural fact, and criticised these away into scientific ones, as they actually have done. In the science they would have left a certain amount of 'psychical research,' even as they now will probably have to re-admit a certain amount. But high-flying speculations like those of either dogmatic or idealistic theology, these they would have had no motive to venture on, feeling no need of commerce with such deities. These speculations must, it seems to me, be classed as over-beliefs, buildings-out performed by the intellect into directions of which feeling originally supplied the hint.

But even if religious philosophy had to have its first hint supplied by feeling, may it not have dealt in a


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432 way with the matter which feeling suggested? Feeling is private and dumb, and unable to give an account of itself. It allows that its results are mysteries and enigmas, declines to justify them rationally, and on occasion is willing that they should even pass for paradoxical and absurd. Philosophy takes just the opposite attitude. Her aspiration is to reclaim from mystery and paradox whatever territory she touches. To find an escape from obscure and wayward personal persuasion to truth objectively valid for all thinking men has ever been the intellect's most cherished ideal. To redeem religion from unwholesome privacy, and to give public status and universal right of way to its deliverances, has been reason's task.

I believe that philosophy will always have opportunity to labor at this task. We are thinking beings, and we cannot exclude the intellect from participating in any of our functions. Even in soliloquizing with ourselves, we construe our feelings intellectually. Both our personal ideals and our religious and mystical experiences must be interpreted congruously with the kind of scenery which our thinking mind inhabits. The philosophic climate of our time inevitably forces its own clothing on us. Moreover, we must exchange our feelings with one another, and in doing so we have to speak, and to use general and abstract verbal formulas. Conceptions and constructions are thus a necessary part of our religion; and as moderator amid the clash of hypotheses, and mediator among the criticisms of one man's constructions by another, philosophy will always have much to do. It would be strange if I disputed this, when these very lectures which I am giving are (as you will see more clearly


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Baker, Thomas Barwick Lloyd


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Rh from now onwards) a laborious attempt to extract from the privacies of religious experience some general facts which can be defined in formulas upon which everybody may agree.

Religious experience, in other words, spontaneously and inevitably engenders myths, superstitions, dogmas, creeds, and metaphysical theologies, and criticisms of one set of these by the adherents of another. Of late, impartial classifications and comparisons have become possible, alongside of the denunciations and anathemas by which the commerce between creeds used exclusively to be carried on. We have the beginnings of a 'Science of Religions,' so-called; and if these lectures could ever be accounted a crumb-like contribution to such a science, I should be made very happy.

But all these intellectual operations, whether they be constructive or comparative and critical, presuppose immediate experiences as their subject-matter. They are interpretative and inductive operations, operations after the fact, consequent upon religious feeling, not coördinate with it, not independent of what it ascertains.

The intellectualism in religion which I wish to discredit pretends to be something altogether different from this. It assumes to construct religious objects out of the resources of logical reason alone, or of logical reason drawing rigorous inference from non-subjective facts. It calls its conclusions dogmatic theology, or philosophy of the absolute, as the case may be; it does not call them science of religions. It reaches them in an a priori way, and warrants their veracity.

Warranted systems have ever been the idols of aspiring souls. All-inclusive, yet simple; noble, clean, luminous, stable, rigorous, true;—what more ideal refuge could


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Baker, Thomas Durand


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Rh

In both these extracts we have the issue clearly set before us: Feeling valid only for the individual is pitted against reason valid universally. The test is a perfectly plain one of fact. Theology based on pure reason must in point of fact convince men universally. If it did not, wherein would its superiority consist? If it only formed sects and schools, even as sentiment and mysticism form them, how would it fulfill its programme of freeing us


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Baker, Valentine


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436 from personal caprice and waywardness? This perfectly definite practical test of the pretensions of philosophy to found religion on universal reason simplifies my procedure to-day. I need not discredit philosophy by laborious criticism of its arguments. It will suffice if I show that as a matter of history it fails to prove its pretension to be 'objectively' convincing. In fact, philosophy does so fail. It does not banish differences; it founds schools and sects just as feeling does. I believe, in fact, that the logical reason of man operates in this field of divinity exactly as it has always operated in love, or in patriotism, or in politics, or in any other of the wider affairs of life, in which our passions or our mystical intuitions fix our beliefs beforehand. It finds arguments for our conviction, for indeed it has to find them. It amplifies and defines our faith, and dignifies it and lends it words and plausibility. It hardly ever engenders it; it cannot now secure it.

Lend me your attention while I run through some of the points of the older systematic theology. You find them in both Protestant and Catholic manuals, best of all in the innumerable text-books published since Pope Leo's Encyclical recommending the study of Saint Thomas. I glance first at the arguments by which dogmatic


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Baldwin, Robert


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Rh establishes God's existence, after that at those by which it establishes his nature.

The arguments for God's existence have stood for hundreds of years with the waves of unbelieving criticism breaking against them, never totally discrediting them in the ears of the faithful, but on the whole slowly and surely washing out the mortar from between their joints. If you have a God already whom you believe in, these arguments confirm you. If you are atheistic, they fail to set you right. The proofs are various. The 'cosmological' one, so-called, reasons from the contingence of the world to a First Cause which must contain whatever perfections the world itself contains. The 'argument from design' reasons, from the fact that Nature's laws are mathematical, and her parts benevolently adapted to each other, that this cause is both intellectual and benevolent. The 'moral argument' is that the moral law presupposes a lawgiver. The 'argument ex consensu gentium' is that the belief in God is so widespread as to be grounded in the rational nature of man, and should therefore carry authority with it.

As I just said, I will not discuss these arguments technically. The bare fact that all idealists since Kant have felt entitled either to scout or to neglect them shows that they are not solid enough to serve as religion's all-sufficient foundation. Absolutely impersonal reasons would be in duty bound to show more general convincingness. Causation is indeed too obscure a principle to bear the weight of the whole structure of theology. As for the


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Balfour, Edward Green


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Rh the chief glory of English and Scottish thinkers to have kept the organic connection in view. The guiding principle of British philosophy has in fact been that every difference must make a difference, every theoretical difference somewhere issue in a practical difference, and that the best method of discussing points of theory is to begin by ascertaining what practical difference would result from one alternative or the other being true. What is the particular truth in question known as? In what facts does it result? What is its cash-value in terms of particular experience? This is the characteristic English way of taking up a question. In this way, you remember, Locke takes up the question of personal identity. What you mean by it is just your chain of particular memories, says he. That is the only concretely verifiable part of its significance. All further ideas about it, such as the oneness or manyness of the spiritual substance on which it is based, are therefore void of intelligible meaning; and propositions touching such ideas may be indifferently affirmed or denied. So Berkeley with his 'matter.' The cash-value of matter is our physical sensations. That is what it is known as, all that we concretely verify of its conception. That, therefore, is the whole meaning of the term 'matter'—any other pretended meaning is mere wind of words. Hume does the same thing with causation. It is known as habitual antecedence, and as tendency on our part to look for something definite to come. Apart from this practical meaning it has no significance whatever, and books about it may be committed to the flames, says Hume. Dugald Stewart and Thomas Brown, James Mill, John Mill, and Professor Bain, have followed more or less consistently the same method; and Shadworth Hodgson has used the principle with full explicitness. When all is


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Balfour, Thomas Graham


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Rh virile little peoples in Europe, and they are equipped with a remarkable country, offering coal, metals, timber, water-power, corn, and wine, and centred on the main line of railway from the Baltic and Warsaw to Vienna and the Adriatic.

Then we come to the South Slavs—Jugo means South — in their three tribes of Slovenes, Croatians, and Serbs. They number about twelve millions. They also have been sundered by the line between Austria and Hungary; moreover, they are of the rival Latin and Greek Churches. For any one who knows the Balkans, it is eloquent testimony indeed to the effect of Austro-Hungarian tyranny that the Roman Catholic Slovenes and Croatians should have made the pact of Corfu with the Greek Orthodox Serbs. The South Slavs will have access to Dalmatian ports on the Adriatic, and one of the trunk railways of the world will run down the Save Valley to Belgrade, and then through the Morava and Maritza 'Corridor' to Constantinople.

Rumania is the next State of this middle east of Europe. The natural focus of Rumania is the great Transylvanian bastion of the Carpathians, with fruitful valleys, metalliferous mountains, oil wells, and splendid forests. The Transylvanian peasantry is


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444 said and done, it was English and Scotch writers, and not Kant, who introduced 'the critical method' into philosophy, the one method fitted to make philosophy a study worthy of serious men. For what seriousness can possibly remain in debating philosophic propositions that will never make an appreciable difference to us in action? And what could it matter, if all propositions were practically indifferent, which of them we should agree to call true or which false?

An American philosopher of eminent originality, Mr. Charles Sanders Peirce, has rendered thought a service by disentangling from the particulars of its application the principle by which these men were instinctively guided, and by singling it out as fundamental and giving to it a Greek name. He calls it the principle of pragmatism, and he defends it somewhat as follows: —

Thought in movement has for its only conceivable motive the attainment of belief, or thought at rest. Only when our thought about a subject has found its rest in belief can our action on the subject firmly and safely begin. Beliefs, in short, are rules for action; and the whole function of thinking is but one step in the production of active habits. If there were any part of a thought that made no difference in the thought's practical consequences, then that part would be no proper element of the thought's significance. To develop a thought's meaning we need therefore only determine what conduct it is fitted to produce; that conduct is for us its sole significance; and the tangible fact at the root of all our thought-distinctions is that there is no one of them so fine as to consist in anything but a possible difference of practice. To attain perfect clearness in our


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Ball, John (1818-1889)


text:
Author:Georges Dumas

Works

 * Tristesse et la Joie

title: Author:Georges Dumas


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Rh thoughts of an object, we need then only consider what sensations, immediate or remote, we are conceivably to expect from it, and what conduct we must prepare in case the object should be true. Our conception of these practical consequences is for us the whole of our conception of the object, so far as that conception has positive significance at all.

This is the principle of Peirce, the principle of pragmatism. Such a principle will help us on this occasion to decide, among the various attributes set down in the scholastic inventory of God's perfections, whether some be not far less significant than others.

If, namely, we apply the principle of pragmatism to God's metaphysical attributes, strictly so called, as distinguished from his moral attributes, I think that, even were we forced by a coercive logic to believe them, we still should have to confess them to be destitute of all intelligible significance. Take God's aseity, for example; or his necessariness; his immateriality; his 'simplicity' or superiority to the kind of inner variety and succession which we find in finite beings, his indivisibility, and lack of the inner distinctions of being and activity, substance and accident, potentiality and actuality, and the rest; his repudiation of inclusion in a genus; his actualized infinity; his 'personality,' apart from the moral qualities which it may comfort; his relations to evil being permissive and not positive; his self-sufficiency, self-love, and absolute felicity in himself:—candidly speaking, how do such qualities as these make any definite connection with our life? And if they severally call for no distinctive adaptations of our conduct, what vital difference can it possibly make to a man's religion whether they be true or false?

For my own part, although I dislike to say aught that


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Rh this world. What keeps religion going is something else than abstract definitions and systems of concatenated adjectives, and something different from faculties of theology and their professors. All these things are aftereffects, secondary accretions upon those phenomena of vital conversation with the unseen divine, of which I have shown you so many instances, renewing themselves in sæcula sæculorum in the lives of humble private men.

So much for the metaphysical attributes of God! From the point of view of practical religion, the metaphysical monster which they offer to our worship is an absolutely worthless invention of the scholarly mind.

What shall we now say of the attributes called moral? Pragmatically, they stand on an entirely different footing. They positively determine fear and hope and expectation, and are foundations for the saintly life. It needs but a glance at them to show how great is their significance.

God's holiness, for example: being holy, God can will nothing but the good. Being omnipotent, he can secure its triumph. Being omniscient, he can see us in the dark. Being just, he can punish us for what he sees. Being loving, he can pardon too. Being unalterable, we can count on him securely. These qualities enter into connection with our life, it is highly important that we should be informed concerning them. That God's purpose in creation should be the manifestation of his glory is also an attribute which has definite relations to our practical life. Among other things it has given a definite character to worship in all Christian countries. If dogmatic theology really does prove beyond dispute that a God with characters like these exists, she may well claim to give a solid basis to religious sentiment. But verily, how stands it with her arguments?


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Ball, John Thomas


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448 It stands with them as ill as with the arguments for his existence. Not only do post-Kantian idealists reject them root and branch, but it is a plain historic fact that they never have converted any one who has found in the moral complexion of the world, as he experienced it, reasons for doubting that a good God can have framed it. To prove God's goodness by the scholastic argument that there is no non-being in his essence would sound to such a witness simply silly.

No! the book of Job went over this whole matter once for all and definitively. Ratiocination is a relatively superficial and unreal path to the deity: "I will lay mine hand upon my mouth; I have heard of Thee by the hearing of the ear, but now mine eye seeth Thee." An intellect perplexed and baffled, yet a trustful sense of presence—such is the situation of the man who is sincere with himself and with the facts, but who remains religious still.

We must therefore, I think, bid a definitive good-by to dogmatic theology. In all sincerity our faith must do without that warrant. Modern idealism, I repeat, has said good-by to this theology forever. Can modern idealism give faith a better warrant, or must she still rely on her poor self for witness?

The basis of modern idealism is Kant's doctrine of the


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Rh Transcendental Ego of Apperception. By this formidable term Kant merely meant the fact that the consciousness 'I think them' must (potentially or actually) accompany all our objects. Former skeptics had said as much, but the 'I' in question had remained for them identified with the personal individual. Kant abstracted and depersonalized it, and made it the most universal of all his categories, although for Kant himself the Transcendental Ego had no theological implications.

It was reserved for his successors to convert Kant's notion of Bewusstsein überhaupt, or abstract consciousness, into an infinite concrete self-consciousness which is the soul of the world, and in which our sundry personal self-consciousnesses have their being. It would lead me into technicalities to show you even briefly how this transformation was in point of fact effected. Suffice it to say that in the Hegelian school, which to-day so deeply influences both British and American thinking, two principles have borne the brunt of the operation.

The first of these principles is that the old logic of identity never gives us more than a post-mortem dissection of disjecta membra, and that the fullness of life can be construed to thought only by recognizing that every object which our thought may propose to itself involves the notion of some other object which seems at first to neonate the first one.

The second principle is that to be conscious of a negation is already virtually to be beyond it. The mere asking of a question or expression of a dissatisfaction proves that the answer or the satisfaction is already imminent; the finite, realized as such, is already the infinite in posse.

Applying these principles, we seem to get a propulsive force into our logic which the ordinary logic of a bare,


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212 Rumanian, but a 'privileged' minority of Magyars and 'Saxons' have been the rulers. Here again it should be no quite impossible feat of statesmanship to arrange for an equitable exchange of homes, or a full acceptance of Rumanian Nationality, though it must be admitted that the hostility between Saxon and Ruman is not so acute as that between Prussian and Pole.

The rest of Rumania, the present kingdom, is the glacis, eastward and southward, of Transylvania, watered by the Transylvanian rivers. This fertile glacis is one of the chief sources in Europe of oil, wheat, and maize; the twelve million Rumanians will be a rich people. At Galatz, Braila, and Constanza they have ports on the Black Sea, and it will be a prime interest of all free peoples that there should be Rumanian ships on that sea, for it is naturally a closed water of the Heartland. The time will never come when the League of Nations will be able to regard the Baltic and Black Seas without concern, for the Heartland offers the basis of an all-powerful militarism. Civilisation consists in the control of nature and of ourselves, and the League of Nations, as the supreme organ of united humanity, must closely watch the Heartland and its possible organisers, for the same


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Rh reason that the control of the police in London and Paris is regarded as a national and not merely a municipal concern.

The Greeks were the first of our seven peoples of the Middle Tier to achieve their emancipation from German control in this War for the simple reason that they are outside the Heartland and therefore accessible to sea-power. But in these days of submarines and aeroplanes, the possession of Greece by a great Heartland power would probably carry with it the control of the World-Island; the Macedonian history would be re-enacted.

Now as to the Magyars and Bulgarians. The truth is that both of them were exploited by, although not subject to, the Prussians. Every one who knows Budapest is aware of the deeply alien feeling of the Magyars towards the Germans; the recent alliance was strictly one of convenience and not of hearts. The ruling Magyar caste of about a million people has been oppressive of the other nine millions of its own race no less than of the subject races. The alliance with Prussia—for it has in reality been an alliance with Prussia rather than with Austria—has been strictly in return for support of the Magyar oligarchy. No doubt the Magyars have begotten deep feelings of hostility among the


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User talk:Sas1990~enwikisource

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title: User talk:Sas1990~enwikisource


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Page:Men-at-the-Bar.djvu/308

 Leek, David Calder, M.A., LL.B. Glasgow Univ., a student of the Middle Temple 25 April, 1881, studentship Trin., 1882, Barstow law scholar 1883, called to the bar 26 Jan., 1884 (2nd son of Rev. Alexander Leek, late of Kilmalcolm, co. Renfrew, dec.); born 22 Oct., 1857.
 * 1. Paper Buildings, Temple, E.C.

Leclézio, (Hon.) Eugène Jules, chief justice of Mauritius since Dec, 1883, a puisne judge 1882-3, a student of the Middle Temple 7 Nov., 1853, called to the bar 30 April, 1858 (eldest son of Eugène S. Leclézio, of Mauritius, attorney-at-law); born,.
 * Mauritius.

Ledgard, Frederick Thomas Durell, Q.C., B.A., Trin. Coll., Camb., 1859, a member of the Western circuit, a student of Lincoln's Inn 4 Nov., 1859, went to the Inner Temple 14 Jan., 1863 (then aged 26), where he was called to the bar 26 Jan., 1863, Q.C. 20 Dec., 1883 (2nd son of George Ledgard, Esq., of Bournemouth); born, 1837; married 18 June, 1872, Mary Dyer, eldest dau. of Thomas Dyer Edwardes, Esq., of London and Worthing.
 * 1, Sumner Place, South Kensington, S.W.; 1, Temple Gardens, E.C.

Lee, Arthur Morier, undergrad. Balliol Coll., Oxon, a student of the Inner Temple 7 May, 1873, went to Lincoln's Inn 21 April, 1874, where he was called to the bar 25 April, 1877 (youngest son of Sir George Philip Lee, late of Windlesham Court, Surrey, Knt, dec.); born,.
 * 16, Stanhope Gardens, S.W.; 3, Serle Street, W.C.

Lee, Frederick, M.A., St. John's Coll., Camb., 1867, a member of the South-eastern circuit, a student of the Inner Temple 9 Oct., 1862 (then aged 22), called to the bar 9 June, 1865 (5th son of Henry Lee, Esq., of Balham, Surrey); born, 1840.
 * 6, New Square, W.C.

Lee, John Bridges, M.A., Sidney Sussex Coll., Camb., 1874, practises before the High Court at Calcutta, Lahore, and Allahabad, a student of the Inner Temple 8 June, 1872 (then aged 22), called to the bar 28 June, 1876 (eldest son of John Lee, of Great Yarmouth); born, 1850; married 10 April, 1883, Mary, eldest dau. of late Rev. J. N. Merk, C.M.S.
 * Calcutta.

Lee, Joseph Henry Warburton, M.A. (scholar) Corpus Christi Coll., Oxon, a student of Lincoln's Inn 10 Nov.,1876 (then aged 21), called to the bar 18 April, 1883 (only son of Joseph Henry Lee, of Redbrook House, Flints, J.P., land agent); born 16 April, 1855.
 * Redbrook House, Whitchurch, Salop.

Lee, Lawford Yate, M.A., Emmanuel Coll., Camb., 1863, author of Law and Practice of Bankruptcy, a student of Lincoln's Inn 23 Jan., 1860 (then aged 21), called to the bar 17 Nov., 1864 (eldest son of John Yate Lee, of Bebington, Cheshire, and of Lincoln's Inn, bar.-at-law); bom 17 June, 1838; married 23 Sept., 1868, Emma Marian, youngest dau. of late Lt.-Col. Alexander Wilton Dashwood, and has issue (see Foster's Baronetage).
 * 11, Gloucester Square, W.; 61, Carey Street, W.C.

Lee, Samuel, M.A., Christ Coll., Camb., 1866, member of Board of Examiners to Inns of Court 1877-8, 1881-3, a student of Lincoln's Inn 1 May, 1869 (then aged 32), called to the bar 26 Jan., 1872 (2nd son of John Lee, late of Whitchurch, Salop, dec.); born, 1837.
 * 7, New Square, Lincoln's Inn, W.C.

Lee, Thomas Richard, B.A., Pembroke Coll., Camb., 1877, a student of Lincoln's Inn 24 Jan., 1880 (then aged 25), called to the bar 26 Jan., 1885 (2nd son of Ven. William Lee, late archdeacon of Dublin, dec.); born, 1855.
 * 128, Portsdown Road, Maida Vale, W.

Lee, William John, M.A. St. John's Coll., Camb., a student of the Inner Temple 15 Nov., 1878 (then aged 22), a studentship in equity 1881, called to the bar 26 Jan., 1882 (eldest son of Rev. William Lee, D.D., professor of church history in Glasgow Univ.); born, 1856.
 * 4, New Square, Lincoln's Inn, W.C.

Leech, George Crampton, B.A. Trin. Coll., Dublin, practises before the supreme court of Victoria, a student of Lincoln's Inn 17 Nov., 1849 (then aged 25), went to the Inner Temple 2 June, 1852, where he was called to the bar 9 June, 1854 (youngest son of John Leech, of Ennis, co. Clare); born, 1824.
 * Castlemaine, Victoria.

Leech, William Ansdell, B.A., Emanuel Coll., Camb., 1868, a student of Lincoln's Inn 16 Nov., 1866 (then aged 24), called to the bar 10 June, 1870 (eldest son of Rev. John Leech, of Mitchelstown, co. Cork); born 30 Sept., 1842; married 20 April, 1867, Florence Bothwell, youngest dau. of William Whitehead, Esq., of Coggeshall, Essex.
 * 25, Old Buildings, Lincoln's Inn, W.C.

Leeke, Samuel, B.A. (honours), Trin. Coll., Camb., 1870, joint lord of the manors of Portsea, Copnor, and Milton in island of Portsea, Hants, a student of the Inner Temple 11 Nov., 1869 (then aged 21), called to the bar 30 April, 1873, admitted a barrister of Lincoln's Inn ad eundem Nov., 1883 (4th son of Rev. William Leeke, of Holbrooke Hall, co. Derby); born 22 March, 1848; married 7 May, 1875, Constance Jane, eldest dau. of Abel Chapman, Esq., of Woodford, Essex.
 * Porlock, Somerset; Sunfield Terrace, Blackheath; 3, Stone Buildings, W.C.

Leeming, Richard Brettargh, a student of the Middle Temple 7 Jan., 1882, went to the Inner Temple 20 Oct., 1884, where he was called to the bar 17 Nov., 1884 (eldest son of Richard Leeming, of Greaves House, Scotforth, co. Lanc., merchant); born
 * Greaves House, Scotforth, co. Lancaster.

title: Page:Men-at-the-Bar.djvu/308


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214 Slavs and Rumanians, but if there be no more profit to be made from farming Slavs in the German behalf, a democratic Hungary will sooner or later adapt herself to the new environment. The Bulgarians fought, let us remember, as allies of the Serbs against the Turks, and the difference between Serb and Bulgar, though bitter for the time being, is a family difference. It is a difference of recent growth, and based largely on rival ecclesiastical organisations of recent foundation. The Bulgarians must not be allowed to exploit their treachery in the Second Balkan War, but if an equitable settlement be dictated by the Allies, both nations, the Bulgarians and the Serbs, deeply war-weary, will probably accept it joyfully. For twenty years only one will, that of the German Czar Ferdinand, has counted in Bulgaria.

The most important point of strategical significance in regard to these Middle States of East Europe is that the most civilised of them, Poland and Bohemia, lie in the North, in the position most exposed to Prussian aggression. Securely independent the Polish and Bohemian nations cannot be unless as the apex of a broad wedge of independence, extending from the Adriatic and Black Seas to the Baltic; but seven


text: Democratic Ideals and Reality: A Study in the Politics of Reconstruction/Chapter 6


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Rh States, with a total of more than sixty million people, traversed by railways linking them securely with one another, and having access through the Adriatic, Black, and Baltic Seas with the Ocean, will together effectively balance the Germans of Prussia and Austria, and nothing less will suffice for that purpose. None the less the League of Nations should have the right under International Law of sending War fleets into the Black and Baltic Seas. Democratic Ideals and Reality, 1919 Dingbat.jpg Democratic Ideals and Reality, 1919 Dingbat.jpg Democratic Ideals and Reality, 1919 Dingbat.jpg Democratic Ideals and Reality, 1919 Dingbat.jpg Democratic Ideals and Reality, 1919 Dingbat.jpg

This great deed of International Statesmanship accomplished, and there would appear to be no impossibility of realising the democratic ideal, the League of Nations, whose mirage has haunted our Western peoples from afar over the desert of War. What are the essential conditions which must be fulfilled if you are to have a real and potent League of Nations? Viscount Grey, in his recent pamphlet, laid down two such conditions. The first was that 'the Idea must be adopted with earnestness and conviction by the Executive Heads of States.' The second was that 'the Governments and Peoples of the States willing to found it understand clearly that it will impose some limitation upon the national


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422 That doctrine, for example, that eternity is timeless, that our 'immortality,' if we live in the eternal, is not so much future as already now and here, which we find so often expressed to-day in certain philosophic circles, finds its support in a 'hear, hear!' or an 'amen,' which floats up from that mysteriously deeper level. We recognize the passwords to the mystical region as we hear them, but we cannot use them ourselves; it alone has the keeping of 'the password primeval.'

I have now sketched with extreme brevity and insufficiency, but as fairly as I am able in the time allowed, the general traits of the mystic range of consciousness. ''It is on the whole pantheistic and optimistic, or at least the opposite of pessimistic. It is anti-naturalistic, and harmonizes best with twice-bornness and so-called otherworldly states of mind.''

My next task is to inquire whether we can invoke it as authoritative. Does it furnish any warrant for the truth of the twice-bornness and supernaturality and pantheism which it favors? I must give my answer to this question as concisely as I can.

In brief my answer is this,—and I will divide it into three parts:—

(1) Mystical states, when well developed, usually are, and have the right to be, absolutely authoritative over the individuals to whom they come.

(2) No authority emanates from them which should make it a duty for those who stand outside of them to accept their revelations uncritically.


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Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 12.djvu/269

Rh here: at least he gains one uncommon idea, even though it should never pass into his whole being.

This letter will reach you in the new year. All good wishes for the beginning: before the end of it we shall meet again, and that will be no little gratification. The one that is passing away has been the most important of my life. I may now die, or I may tarry a little longer yet: in either case it was well. And now a word or two more for the little ones.

To the children you may either read or tell what follows. Here there are no signs of winter: the gardens are planted with evergreens; the sun shines bright and warm; snow is nowhere to be seen except on the most distant hills toward the north. The citron-trees, which are planted against the garden walls, are now, one after another, covered with reeds; but the oranges are allowed to stand quite open. Many hundreds of the finest fruits may be seen hanging on a single treeetree [sic]; which is not, as with us, dwarfed, and planted in a bucket, but stands in the earth, free and joyous, amidst a long line of brothers. The oranges are even now very good, but it is thought they will be still finer.

We were lately at the sea, and had a haul of fish and drew to the light, fishes, crabs, and rare univalves of the most wonderful shapes conceivable; also the fish which gives an electric shock to all who touch it.

Dec. 20, 1786.

And yet, after all, it is more trouble and care than enjoyment. The Regenerator, which is changing me within and without, continues to work. I certainly thought that I had something really to learn here; but that I should have to take so low a place in the school, that I must forget so much that I had learned, or rather absolutely unlearn so much,—of that I had never the least idea. Now, however, that I am once


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252 convinced of its necessity, I have devoted myself to the task; and the more I am obliged to renounce my former self, the more delighted I am. I am like an architect who has begun to build a tower, but finds he has laid a bad foundation: he becomes aware of the fact betimes, and willingly goes to work to pull down all that he has raised above the earth; having done so, he proceeds to enlarge his ground plan, and now rejoices to anticipate the undoubted stability of his future building. Heaven grant that, on my return, the moral consequences may be discernible of all that this living in a wider world has effected within me! For, in sooth, the moral sense as well as the artistic is undergoing a great change.

Doctor Münter is here on his return from his tour in Sicily,—an energetic, vehement man. What objects he may have, I cannot tell. He will reach you in May, and has much to tell you. He has been travelling in Italy two years. He is disgusted with the Italians, who have not paid due respect to the weighty letters of recommendation which were to have opened him many an archive, many a private library; so that he is far from having accomplished his object.

He has collected some beautiful coins, and possesses, he tells me, a manuscript which reduces numismatics to as precise a system of characteristics as the Linnæan system of botany. Herder, he says, knows still more about it: probably a transcript of it will be permitted. To do something of the kind is certainly possible; and, if well done, it will be truly valuable: and we must, sooner or later, enter seriously into this branch of learning.

Dec. 25, 1786.

I am now beginning to revisit the principal sights of Rome: in such second views, our first amazement generally dies away into more of sympathy and a purer perception of the true value of the objects. In order


text:
Author:Carl Wernicke

Works

 * Grundriss der Psychiatrie. (1896)

title: Author:Carl Wernicke


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Page:The varieties of religious experience, a study in human nature.djvu/443

 just like what comes from the outer world of sense. Its value must be ascertained by empirical methods, so long as we are not mystics ourselves.

Once more, then, I repeat that non-mystics are under no obligation to acknowledge in mystical states a superior authority conferred on them by their intrinsic nature.

Yet, I repeat once more, the existence of mystical states absolutely overthrows the pretension of non-mystical states to be the sole and ultimate dictators of what we may believe. As a rule, mystical states merely add a supersensuous meaning to the ordinary outward data of consciousness. They are excitements like the emotions of love or ambition, gifts to our spirit by means of which facts already objectively before us fall into a new expressiveness and make a new connection with our active life. They do not contradict these facts as such, or deny anything that our senses have immediately seized. It is the rationalistic critic rather who plays the part of denier in


text:
Author:Johann Gottfried von Herder

Works

 * To Cyrus, the grandson of Astyages (1762)
 * Essay on Being (1763–64)
 * On Diligence in Several Learned Languages (1764)
 * Treatise on the Ode (1764)
 * How Philosophy can become more Universal and Useful for the Benefit of the People (1765)
 * Fragments on Recent German Literature (1767–68)
 * On Thomas Abbt's writings (1768)
 * Critical Forests, or Reflections on the Science and Art of the Beautiful (1769-)
 * Journal of my Voyage in the Year 1769 (first published 1846)
 * Treatise on the Origin of Language (1772)
 * Selection from correspondence on Ossian and the songs of ancient peoples (1773) See also: James Macpherson (1736–1796).
 * Of German Character and Art (with Goethe, manifesto of the Sturm und Drang) (1773)
 * This Too a Philosophy of History for the Formation of Humanity (1774)
 * Oldest Document of the Human Race (1774–76)
 * Essay on Ulrich von Hutten (1776)
 * On the Resemblance of Medieval English and German Poetry (1777)
 * Sculpture: Some Observations on Shape and Form from Pygmalion's Creative Dream (1778)
 * On the Cognition and Sensation of the Human Soul (1778)
 * On the Effect of Poetic Art on the Ethics of Peoples in Ancient and Modern Times (1778)
 * Folk Songs (1778–79; second ed. of 1807 titled The Voices of Peoples in Songs)
 * "Song of the Unfaithful Maiden" translated by William John Thoms (1834)
 * "Lay of the Young Count" translated by William John Thoms (1834)
 * "Ulrich and Annie" translated by William John Thoms (1834)
 * "The Lord of Falkenstein" translated by William John Thoms (1834)
 * "A Peruvian Hymn to the Goddess of Rain" translated by John Oxenford (1853)
 * "Were I a Little Bird" translated by Margarete Münsterberg (1913)
 * On the Influence of the Government on the Sciences and the Sciences on the Government (Dissertation on the Reciprocal Influence of Government and the Sciences) (1780)
 * Letters Concerning the Study of Theology (1780–81)
 * On the Influence of the Beautiful in the Higher Sciences (1781)
 * On the Spirit of Hebrew Poetry. An Instruction for Lovers of the Same and the Oldest History of the Human Spirit (1782–83)
 * God. Some Conversations (1787)
 * Ideas for the Philosophy of History of Humanity (1784–91)
 * Scattered Leaves (1785–97)
 * Volume 2 (1796) (commons category)
 * The Child of Care Once a Week (magazine) (1787) English 1862
 * Letters for the Advancement of Humanity (1791-97 or 1793-97? (various drafts))
 * Christian Writings (1794-8)
 * Terpsichore (1795-6) (translations & commentary of the Latin poet, Jakob Balde)
 * Persepolisian Letters (1798) (fragments on Persian architecture, history & religion)
 * Luther’s Catechism, with a catechetical instruction for the use of schools (1798)
 * Understanding and Experience. A Metacritique of the Critique of Pure Reason. Part I. (Part II, Reason and Language.) (1799)
 * Calligone (1800)
 * Adrastea: Events and Characters of the 18th century (6 vols.)
 * The Cid (1805; a free translation of the Spanish epic El Cid)

Works about von Herder

 * A Sketch of Herder and his Times. by Henry Woodd Nevinson
 * A Sketch of Herder and his Times. by Henry Woodd Nevinson
 * A Sketch of Herder and his Times. by Henry Woodd Nevinson
 * A Sketch of Herder and his Times. by Henry Woodd Nevinson

title: Author:Johann Gottfried von Herder


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Rh to form an idea of the highest achievements of the human mind, the soul must first attain to perfect freedom from prejudice and prepossession.

Marble is a rare material. It is on this account that the Apollo Belvedere in the original is so infinitely ravishing; for that sublime air of youthful freedom and vigour, of never-changing juvenescence, which breathes around the marble, at once vanishes in the best even of plasters casts.

In the Palace Rondanini, which is right opposite our lodgings, there is a Medusa-mask, above the size of life, in which the attempt to portray a lofty and beautiful countenance in the numbing agony of death has been indescribably successful. I possess an excellent cast of it, but the charm of the marble remains not. The noble semi-transparency of the yellow stone—approaching almost to the hue of flesh—is vanished. Compared with it, plaster of Paris has a chalky and dead look.

And yet how delightful it is to go to a modeller in gypsum, and to see the noble limbs of a statue come out one by one from the mould, and thereby to acquire wholly new ideas of their shapes. And then, again, by such means all that in Rome is scattered, is brought together, for the purpose of comparison; and this alone is of inestimable service. Accordingly, I could not resist the temptation to procure a cast of the colossal head of Jupiter. It stands right opposite my bed, in a good light, in order that I may address my morning devotions to it. With all its grandeur and dignity, it has, however, given rise to one of the funniest interludes possible.

Our old hostess, when she comes to make my bed, is generally followed by her pet cat. Yesterday I was sitting in the great hall, and could hear the old woman pursue her avocation within. On a sudden, in great haste, and with an excitement quite unusual to her,


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TO A.D. 1066.] more. By the laws of Kent, the price of the archbishop's head was higher than that of the king. Such respect was then paid to the ecclesiastics! It must be understood that where a person was unable or unwilling to pay the fine, he was put out of the protection of the law, and the kindred of the deceased had liberty to punish him as they thought proper.

The price of all kinds of wounds was likewise fixed by the Saxon law: a wound of an inch long under the hair, was paid with one shilling; one of a like size in the face, two shillings; thirty shillings for the loss of an ear; and so forth. There seems not to have been any difference made according to the dignity of the person. By the laws of Ethelbert, any one who committed adultery with his


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254 she opened the door, and called to me to come quickly and see a wonder. To my question, what was the matter, she replied the cat was saying its prayers. Of the animal she had long observed, she told me, that it had as much sense as a Christian; but this was really a great wonder. I hastened to see it with my own eyes; and it was, indeed, strange enough. The bust stood on a high pedestal, and, as there was a good length of the shoulders, the head stood high. Now, the cat had sprung upon the table, and had placed her fore feet on the breast of the god, and, stretching her body to its utmost length, just reached with her muzzle his sacred beard, which she was licking most ceremoniously; and neither by the exclamation of the hostess, nor my entrance into the room, was she at all disturbed. I left the good dame to her astonishment; and she afterward accounted for puss's strange act of devotion by supposing that this sharp-nosed cat had caught scent of the grease which had probably been transferred from the mould to the deep lines of the beard, and had remained there.

29, 1786.

Of Tischbein I have much to say and to boast. In the first place, a thorough and original German, he has made himself entirely what he is. In the next place I must make grateful mention of the friendly attentions he has shown me throughout the time of his second stay in Rome. For he has had prepared for me a series of copies after the best masters,—some in black chalk, others in sepia and water-colours,—which in Germany, when I shall be at a distance from the originals, will grow in value, and will serve to remind me of all that is rarest and best.

At the commencement of his career as an artist, when he set up as a portrait-painter, Tischbein came in contact, especially in Munich, with distinguished


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84 disorder. At last the wind became favourable, and enabled them to sail along the coast, till they reached St. Valari. There were, however, several vessels lost in this short passage; and as the wind again proved contrary, the army began to imagine that Heaven had declared against them, and that, notwithstanding the Pope's benediction, they were destined to certain destruction. These bold warriors, who despised real dangers, were very subject to the dread of imaginary ones; and many of them began to mutiny, some of them even to desert their colours; when the duke, in order to support their drooping hopes, ordered a procession to be made with the relics of St. Valari, prayers to be said for more favourable weather.

The wind instantly changed; and as this incident happened on the eve of the feast of St. Michael, the tutelar saint of Normandy, the soldiers, fancying they saw the hand of Heaven in all these concurring circumstances, set out with the greatest alacrity. They met with no opposition on their passage. A great fleet, which Harold had assembled, and which had cruised all the summer off the Isle of Wight, had been dismissed on his receiving false intelligence that William, discouraged by contrary winds and other accidents, had laid aside his preparations. The Norman armament, proceeding in great order, arrived, without any material loss, at Pevensey, in Sussex, and the army quietly disembarked. The duke himself, as he leaped on shore, happened to stumble and fall; but had the presence of mind, it is said, to turn the omen to his advantage, by declaring aloud that he had taken possession of the country; and a soldier, running to a neighbouring cottage, plucked a handful of thatch, and brought it to his leader.

"What is this?" demanded William, for the moment not comprehending the meaning of the man. "Seizin," was the reply.

It was received with a loud shout by the army—seizin being the act by which, according to the feudal laws, a tenant paid homage to his sovereign for his fief.

The joy and alacrity of the duke and his soldiers were so great, that even the intelligence of Harold's victory over the Norwegians, and the death of Tostig, did not dismay them; they seemed rather to entertain greater confidence in a speedy conquest.

The victory of Harold, though great and honourable, had proved in the main prejudicial to his interests, and may be regarded as the immediate cause of his ruin. He lost many of his bravest officers and soldiers in the action; and he disgusted the rest by refusing to distribute the Norwegian spoils among them—a conduct which was little agreeable to his usual generosity of temper, but which his desire of sparing the people, in the war that impended over him from


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A. D. 1066.]


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User:Jairodz

New Message Jaideep John Rodriguez – b. 1991, M, Thiruvananthapuram

IRC Nick: jairodz

title: User:Jairodz


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306 The twilight of the summer evening found Thomas Cromwell within the walls of that grim prison which had few outlets except the scaffold; and far off, perhaps, he heard the pealing of the church bells and the songs of revelry in the streets, with which the citizens, short of sight, and bestowing on him the usual guerdon of transcendent merit, exulted in his fall. 'The Lord Cromwell,' says Hall, 'being in the council chamber, was suddenly apprehended and committed to the Tower of London; the which many lamented, but more rejoiced, and specially such as either had been religious men or favoured religious persons; for they banqueted and triumphed together that night, many wishing that that day had been seven years before, and some, fearing lest he should escape, although he were imprisoned, could not be merry; others, who knew nothing but truth by him, both lamented him and heartily prayed for him. But this is true, that, of certain of the clergy he was detestably hated; and specially of such as had borne swing, and by his means were put from it; for indeed he was a man that, in all his doings, seemed not to favour any kind of Popery, nor could not abide the snuffing pride of some prelates.'

The first intention was to bring him to trial, but a


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1540.] parliamentary attainder was a swifter process, better suited to the temper of the victorious reactionists. Five Romanists but a few days previously had been thus sentenced under Cromwell's direction. The retribution was only the more complete which rendered back to him the same measure which he had dealt to others. The bill was brought in a week after his arrest. His offences, when reduced into ordinary prose out of the passionate rhetoric with which they were there described, were generally these:—

laws.'—State Papers, vol. viii. p. 350. Henry sent for Marillac, and himself explained the cause of the catastrophe:—'Sire, as I was about to close my letter, there came a gentleman of the Court to me with a message from the King. His Highness desires me not to be alarmed by the arrest of Lord Cromwell; and because the common people talk wildly and ignorantly, and that I may have something better than conjecture to send to your Majesty, he wishes me to learn the exact truth from himself.'The substance of his explanation is this. The King has endeavoured, by all the means in his power, to compose the religious differences in this realm. Cromwell has lent himself to the Lutherans, and has abused his authority to show favour to the teachers of false opinions, and to oppress and hinder their opponents.'Being admonished of late by some of his servants that he was acting contrary to his master's wishes and to the statutes of the realm, he betrayed himself, and revealed his secret intentions. He said that he hoped to put down altogether the old preachers, and leave none but the new; that in brief time he would bring things to such a pass, that the King, with all his power, should not be able to hinder him; and that his party would be so strong, that whether the King would or no, the King should accept the new doctrines, if he had himself to take arms and fight for them. The victory in the struggle would be with him, and thus he would establish at last the views for which he had long contended.'The persons to whom Cromwell said these words revealed them to the King, more regarding their duties than the favour of their own master.'His Majesty says also that the first time he is in conversation with me he will tell me other things which will prove how deep Lord Cromwell's fault has been.'


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Rh, and in his intercourse with them strengthened his artistic feeling and enlarged his views.

The second part of the "Zerstreute Blatter" (stray leaves) I have brought with me hither, and they are doubly welcome. What good influence this little book has had on me, even on the second perusal, Herder, for his reward, shall be circumstantially informed. Tischbein cannot conceive how anything so excellent could ever have been written by one who has never been in Italy.

29, 1786.

In this world of artists one lives, as it were, in a mirrored chamber, where, without wishing it, one sees his own image and those of others continually multiplied. Latterly I have often observed Tischbein attentively regarding me; and now it appears that he has long cherished the idea of painting my portrait. His design is already settled, and the canvas stretched. I am to be drawn of the size of life, enveloped in a white mantle, and sitting on a fallen obelisk, viewing the ruins of the Campagna di Roma, which are to fill up the background of the picture. It will form a beautiful piece, only it will be rather too large for our northern habitations. I, indeed, may again crawl into them, but the portrait will never be able to enter their doors.

I cannot help observing the great efforts that are constantly being made to draw me from my retirement,—how the poets either read or get their pieces read to me; and I should be blind did I not see that it depends only on myself whether I shall play a part or not. All this is amusing enough; for I have long since measured the lengths to which one may go in Rome. The many little coteries here at the feet of the mistress of the world strongly remind one occasionally of an ordinary country town.

In sooth, things here are much like what they are everywhere else; and what could be done with me and


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308 1. He was accused of having taken upon himself, without the King's permission, to set at liberty divers persons convicted and attainted of misprision of high treason, and divers others being apprehended and in prison for suspicion of high treason. No circumstances and no names were mentioned; but the fact seemed to be ascertained.

2. He was said to have granted licenses for money; to have issued commissions in his own name and by his own authority: and to have interfered impertinently and unjustly with the rights and liberties of the King's subjects.

3. Being a detestable heretic and disposed to set and sow common sedition and variance amongst the people, he had dispersed into all shires in the realm great numbers of false, erroneous books, disturbing the faith of the King's subjects on the nature of the Eucharist and other articles of the Christian faith. He had openly maintained that the priesthood was a form—that every Christian might equally administer the sacraments. Being vicegerent of the King in matters ecclesiastical, and appointed to correct heresy, he had granted licenses to persons detected or openly defamed of heresy to teach and preach.

4. He had addressed letters to the sheriffs in various shires, causing many false heretics to be set at liberty, some of whom had been actually indicted, and others who had been for good reason apprehended and were in prison.

5. On complaint being made to him of particular


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1540.] heretics and heresies, he had protected the same heretics from punishment; 'he had terribly rebuked their accusers,' and some of them he had persecuted and imprisoned, 'so that the King's good subjects had been in fear to detect the said heretics and heresies.'

6. In fuller explanation of the expressions sworn against him on his arrest, he had made a confederation of heretics, it was said, through the country; and supposing himself to be fully able, by force and strength, to maintain and defend his said abominable treasons and heresies, on declaration made to him of certain preachers, Dr Barnes and others, preaching against the King's proclamation, 'the same Thomas Cromwell affirming the same preaching to be good, did not let to declare and say, 'If the King would turn from it, yet I would not turn; and if the King did turn, and all his people, I would fight in the field, with my sword in my hand, against him and all others; and if that I live a year or two, it shall not lie in the King's power to let it if he would''

7. By bribery and extortion he had obtained vast sums of money; and being thus enriched, he had held the nobles in disdain.

8. Finally, being reminded of his position with respect to the Lords, and of the consequences which he might bring upon himself, he had said, 'If the Lords would handle him so, he would give them such a breakfast as never was made in England, and that the proudest of them should know.'


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90 William commanded that the ceremony should be concluded; and in the midst of the cries of his new subjects, who were being massacred on all sides, the flames of the burning houses, the pillage and devastation, he took the oath to govern according to the laws of the kings his predecessors.

Directly after his coronation, William, not deeming himself in perfect safety in London, whose inhabitants bitterly resented the outrage they had been subjected to, removed to Barking, where he received the homage of many of the great nobility, churchmen, and thanes.

The conduct of William at this period appears to have been most prudent; he respected the rights of his new subjects and the laws of property, though it was impossible for him to restrain the rapacious disposition of his followers. The treasures of Harold and the donations of the nobility, which were supposed to be voluntary, furnished the first largess, which he distributed amongst his companions in arms. He granted at least nominal privileges to the citizens of London, in the hope of reconciling them to his government, and took strong measures to secure the future tranquility of the capital. It is true that he disarmed the inhabitants; but at the same time, in order to establish a favourable impression of his justice, he punished with rigour various acts of outrage that had been committed.

He introduced into England that strict execution of justice for which his administration had been much celebrated in Normandy; and even during this violent revolution, disorder and oppression met with rigorous punishment. His army in particular was governed with severe discipline, and, notwithstanding the insolence of victory, care was taken to give as little offense as possible to the jealousy of the vanquished. The king appeared solicitous to unite, in an amicable manner, the Normans and the English, by intermarriages and alliances; and all his new subjects who approached his person were received with affability and apparent regard. No signs of suspicion appeared, not even towards Edgar Atheling, the heir of the ancient royal family, whom William confirmed in the honours of Earl of Oxford, conferred on him by Harold, and whom he affected to treat with the highest kindness, as nephew to the Confessor, his great friend and benefactor. Though he confiscated the estates of Harold, and of those who had fought in the battle of Hastings on the side of that prince, whom he represented as a usurper, he seemed willing to admit of every plausible excuse for past opposition to his pretensions, and received many into favour who had carried arms against him.

William set sail from England in the mouth of May, 1067, to return to Normandy, accompanied by the most


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310 The amount and character of the evidence on which these charges were brought we have no means of judging; but the majority of them carry probability on their front; and we need not doubt that the required testimony was both abundant and sound. The case, of course, had been submitted in all its details to the King before the first step had been taken; and he was called upon to fulfil the promise which he had made of permitting justice to have its way. How was the King to refuse? Many a Catholic had gone to the scaffold for words lighter than those which had been sworn against Cromwell, by Cromwell's own order. Did he or did he not utter those words? If it be these to which he alluded in a letter which he wrote from the Tower to the King, Sir George Throgmorton and Sir Richard Rich were the witnesses against him; and though he tried to shake their testimony, his denial was faint, indirect—not like the broad, absolute repudiation of a man who was consciously clear of offence. Could he have cleared himself on this one point it would have availed him little, if he had suspended the action of the law by his own authority, if he had permitted books to circulate secretly which were forbidden by Act of Parliament, if he had allowed prisoners for high treason or heresy to escape from


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1540.] Although to later generations acts such as these appear as virtues, not as crimes, the King could not anticipate the larger wisdom of posterity. An English sovereign could know no guidance but the existing law, which had been manifestly and repeatedly broken. Even if he had himself desired to shield his minister, it is not easy to see that he could have prevented his being brought to trial, or, if tried, could have prevented his conviction, in the face of an exasperated Parliament, a furious clergy, and a clamorous people. That he permitted the council to proceed by attainder, in preference to the ordinary forms, must be attributed to the share which he, too, experienced in the general anger.

Only one person had the courage or the wish to speak for Cromwell. Cranmer, the first to come forward on behalf of Anne Boleyn, ventured, first and alone, to throw a doubt on the treason of the Privy Seal. 'I heard yesterday, in your Grace's council,' he wrote to the King, 'that the Earl of Essex is a traitor; yet who cannot be sorrowful and amazed that he should be a


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312 traitor against your Majesty—he whose surety was only by your Majesty—he who loved your Majesty, as I ever thought, no less than God—he who studied always to set forwards whatsoever was your Majesty's will and pleasure he that cared for no man's displeasure to serve your Majesty—he that was such a servant, in my judgment, in wisdom, diligence, faithfulness, and experience as no prince in this realm—ever had he that was so vigilant to preserve your Majesty from all treasons, that few could be so secretly conceived but he detected the same in the beginning!—I loved him as my friend, for so I took him to be; but I chiefly loved him for the love which I thought I saw him bear ever towards your Grace, singularly above all others. But now, if he be a traitor, I am sorry that ever I loved or trusted him; and I am very glad that his treason is discovered in time; but yet, again, I am very sorrowful; for who shall your Grace trust hereafter, if you may not trust him? Alas! I lament your Grace's chance herein. I wot not whom your Grace may trust.'

The intercession was bravely ventured; but it was fruitless. The illegal acts of a minister who had been trusted with extraordinary powers were too patent for denial; and Cranmer himself was forced into a passive acquiescence, while the enemies of the Reformation worked their revenge. Heresy and truth, treason and patriotism! these are words which in a war of parties change their meaning with the alternations of success,


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1540.] till time and fate have pronounced the last interpretation, and human opinions and sympathies bend to the deciding judgment. But while the struggle is still in progress while the partisans on either side exclaim that truth is with them, and error with their antagonists, and the minds of this man and of that man are so far the only arbiters—those, at such a time, are not the least to be commended who obey for their guide the law as it in fact exists. Men there are who need no such direction, who follow their own course—it may be to a glorious success, it may be to as glorious a death. To such proud natures the issue to themselves is of trifling moment. They live for their work or die for it, as their Almighty Father wills. But the law in a free country cannot keep pace with genius. It reflects the plain sentiments of the better order of average men; and if it so happen as in a perplexed world of change it will happen and must, that a statesman, or a prophet, is beyond his age, and in collision with a law which his conscience forbids him to obey, he bravely breaks it, bravely defies it, and either wins the victory in his living person, or, more often, wins it in his death. In fairness, Cromwell should have been tried; but it would have added nothing to his chances of escape. He could not disprove the accusations. He could but have said that he had done right, not wrong—a plea which would have been but a fresh crime. But, in the deafening storm of denunciation which burst out, the hastiest vengeance was held the greatest justice. Any charge, however wild, gained hearing; the French Court believed


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A. D. 1066.] combating with great bravery at the head of his men, and his two brothers shared his fate.

The English, dismayed by the fall of their king, and having no one to lead them, gave way, and were pursued by the victorious Normans with great slaughter, till night put an end to the horrors of the scene.

Thus did William of Normandy gain the great and derisive battle of Hastings, which lasted from sunrise to sunset, and which, from the valour displayed by both armies and their leaders, was worthy to decide the contest for a crown. William, in the course of the battle, had three horses killed under him, and lost nearly fifteen thousand of his followers. The loss of the English was never exactly known, but it must have been even more considerable.

The darkness of the night, however, saved a good part


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314 that the Privy Seal had intended privately to marry the Lady Mary, as the Duke of Suffolk had married the King's sister, and on Henry's death proposed to seize the crown. When a story so extravagant could gain credence, the circular of the council to the ambassadors rather furnishes matter of suspicion by its moderation.

The attainder passed instantly, with acclamation. Francis wrote a letter of congratulation to the King on the discovery of the 'treason.' Charles V., whose keener eyes saw deeper into the nature of the catastrophe, when the news were communicated to him, 'was nothing moved outwardly in countenance or word,' but said merely, 'What, is he in the Tower of London, and by the King's commandment?' He sent no message, no expression of regret or of pleasure, no word of any kind; but from that moment no menacing demonstrations or violent words or actions ruffled his relations with England, till a new change had passed upon the stage. His own friends were now in power. He knew it, and acknowledged them.


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1540.] The barrier which had stemmed the reactionary tide had now fallen. Omnipotent in Parliament and Convocation, the King inclining in their favour, carrying with them the sympathy of the wealth, the worldliness, and the harder intellect of the country, freed from the dreaded minister, freed from the necessity of conciliating the German Protestants, the Anglican leaders made haste to redeem their lost time, and develope their policy more wisely than before.

Their handiwork is to be traced in the various measures which occupied the remainder of the session. The first step was to despatch the Bishop of Bath to the Duke of Cleves, to gain his consent, if possible, to his sister's separation from the King; Anne, herself, meanwhile, being recommended, for the benefit of her health, to retire for a few days to Richmond. The bill of attainder was disposed of on the I9th of June; on the 22nd the bishops brought in a bill for the better payment of tithes, which in a few years last past certain persons had contemptuously presumed to withhold.