the conversation. After a long pause, during which his looks con- stantly followed the clouds, he turned round, and said, in an elevated tone that betrayed his deep emotion, 'Es ist doch recht schön. Es freut mich. “It is indeed right fair. It rejoices me.' I assented by a motion of the head. He then said, Let us go into the free air. When we were out he spoke only in monosyllables, but the spark of desire to comply with their request glimmered visibly in him.” This musical festival at last took place after many diffi- culties, caused by Beethoven's obstinacy in arranging all the circumstances in his own way. He could never be brought to make allowance anywhere for ignorance or incapacity. So it must be or no how! He could never be induced to alter his music on account of the incapacity of the perfor- mers, (the best, too, on that occasion, anywhere to be had,) for going through certain parts. So that they were at last obliged to alter parts in their own fashion, which was always a great injury to the final effect of his works. They were at this time unwearied in their efforts to please him, though Sontag playfully told him he was “a very tyrant to the singing organs.” This festival afforded him a complete triumph. The au- dience applauded and applauded, till, at one time, when the acclamations rose to their height, Sontag perceiving that Beethoven did not hear, as his face was turned from the house, called his attention. The audience then, as for the first time realizing the extent of his misfortune, melted into tears, then all united in a still more rapturous expression of homage. For once at least the man excited the tenderness, the artist the enthusiasm he deserved. His country again forgot one who never could nor would call attention to himself; she forgot in the day him for whom she in the age cherishes an immortal reverence, and the London Philharmonic Society had the honor of minis- tering to the necessities of his last illness. The generous 200 (Oct. Lives of the Great Composers. eagerness with which they sent all that his friendly atten- dants asked, and offered more whenever called for, was most grateful to Beethoven's heart, which had in those last days been frozen by such ingratitude. It roused his sink- ing life to one last leap of flame; his latest days were passed in revolving a great work which he wished to com- pose for the society, and which those about him thought would, if finished, have surpassed all he had done before. No doubt, if his situation had been known in Germany, his country would have claimed a similar feeling from him. For she was not to him a step-dame; and, though in his last days taken up with newer wonders, would not, had his name been spoken, have failed to listen and to answer. Yet a few more interesting passages. He rose before daybreak both in winter and summer, and worked till two or three o'clock, rarely after. He would never correct, to him the hardest task, as, like all great geniuses, he was in- defatigable in the use of the file, in the evening. Often in the midst of his work he would run out into the free air for half an hour or more, and return laden with new thoughts. When he felt this impulse he paid no regard to the weather. Plato and Shakspear were his favorite authors; especial- ly he was fond of reading Plato's Republic. He read the Greek and Roman classics much, but in translations, for his education, out of his art, was limited. He also went almost daily to coffee-houses, where he read the newspa- pers, going in and out by the back-door. If he found he excited observation, he changed his haunt. “He tore without ceremony a composition submitted to him by the great Hummel, which he thought bad. Moscheles, dread- ing a similar fate for one of his which was to pass under his criticism, wrote at the bottom of the last page, ‘Finis. With the help of God.' Beethoven wrote beneath, Man, help thy- self.'" : Obviously a new edition of Hercules and the Wagoner. “He was the most open of men, and told unhesitatingly all he thought, unless the subject were art and artists. On these subjects he was often inaccessible, and put off the inquirer with wit or satire.” “On two subjects he would never talk, thorough bass and religion. He said they were both things complete within themselves, (in sich abgeschlossene dinge,) about which men should dispute no farther." 1841.) 201 Lives of the Great Composers. “ As to the productions of his genius, let not a man or a nation, if yet in an immature stage, seek to know them. They require a certain degree of ripeness in the inner man to be un- derstood. “From the depth of the mind arisen, she, (Poesie,) is only to the depth of the mind either useful or intelligible.” I cannot conclude more forcibly than by quoting Beetho- ven's favorite maxim. It expresses what his life was, and what the life must be of those who would become worthy to do him honor. "The barriers are not yet erected which can say to as. piring talent and industry, thus far and no farther.” Beethoven is the only one of these five artists whose life can be called unfortunate. They all found early the means to unfold their powers, and a theatre on which to display them. But Beethoven was, through a great part of his public career, deprived of the satisfaction of guiding or enjoying the representation of his thoughts. He was like a painter who could never see his pictures after they are finished. Probably, if he could himself have directed the orchestra, he would have been more pliable in making cor- rections with an eye to effect. Goethe says that no one can write a successful drama without familiarity with the stage, so as to know what can be expressed, what must be merely indicated. But in Beethoven's situation, there was not this reaction, so that he clung more perseveringly to the details of his work than great geniuses do, who live in more immediate contact with the outward world. Such an one will, indeed, always answer like Mozart to an ig- norant criticism, “There are just as many notes as there should be.” But a habit of intercourse with the minds of men gives an instinctive tact as to meeting them, and Michel Angelo, about to build St. Peter's, takes into con- sideration, not only his own idea of a cathedral, but means, time, space, and prospects. But the misfortune, which fettered the outward energies, deepened the thought of Beethoven. He travelled in- ward, downward, till downward was shown to be the same as upward, for the centre was passed. Like all princes, he made many ingrates, and his power- ful lion nature, was that most capable of suffering from the amazement of witnessing baseness. But the love, the VOL. II. — NO. II. 26 202 (Oct. Lives of the Great Composers. pride, the faith, which survive such pangs are those which make our stair to heaven. Beethoven was not only a poet, but a victorious poet, for having drunk to its dregs the cup of bitterness, the fount of inward nobleness remained unde- filed. Unbeloved, he could love; deceived in other men, he yet knew himself too well to despise human nature; dying from ingratitude, he could still be grateful. Schindler thinks his genius would have been far more productive, if he had had a tolerably happy home, if instead of the cold discomfort that surrounded him, he had been blessed, like Mozart, with a gentle wife, who would have made him a sanctuary in her unwearied love. It is, indeed, inexpressibly affecting to find the “ vehement nature,” even in his thirty-first year, writing thus; “ At my age one sighs for an equality, a harmony of outward existence," and to know that he never attained it. But the lofty ideal of the happiness which his life could not attain, shone forth not the less powerfully from his genius. The love of his choice was not « firm as the fortress of heaven," but his heart remain- ed the gate to that fortress. During all his later years, he never complained, nor did Schindler ever hear him advert to past sorrows, or the lost objects of affection. Perhaps we are best contented that earth should not have offered him a home; where is the woman who would have corre- sponded with what we wish from his love? Where is the lot in which he could have reposed with all that grandeur of aspect in which he now appears to us? Where Jupiter, the lustrous, lordeth, there may be a home for thee, Bee- thoven. We will not shrink from the dark clouds which became to his overflowing light cinctures of pearl and opal; we will not, even by a wish, seek to amend the destiny through which a divine thought glows so clearly. Were there no dipuses there would be no Antigones. Under no other circumstances could Beethoven have ministered to his fellows in the way he himself indicates. “The unhappy man, let him be comforted by finding one of his race who, in defiance of all hindrances of na- ture, has done all possible to him to be received in the rank of worthy artists and men.” In three respects these artists, all true artists, resemble one another. Clear decision. The intuitive faculty speaks 1841.) - 203 Light and Shade. der mental conflichey want as sitas its wings clear in those devoted to the worship of Beauty. They are not subject to mental conflict, they ask not counsel of experience. They take what they want as simply as the bird goes in search of its proper food, so soon as its wings are grown. · Like nature they love the work for its own sake. The philosopher is ever seeking the thought through the sym- bol, but the artist is happy at the implication of the thought in his work. He does not reason about “religion or thorough bass.” His answer is Haydn's, “ I thought it best so." From each achievement grows up a still higher ideal, and when his work is finished, it is nothing to the artist who has made of it the step by which he ascended, but while he was engaged in it, it was all to him, and filled - his soul with a parental joy. They do not criticise, but affirm. They have no need to deny aught, much less one another. All excellence to them was genial; imperfection only left room for new cre- ative power to display itself. An everlasting yes breathes from the life, from the work of the artist. Nature echoes it, and leaves to society the work of saying no, if it will. But it will not, except for the moment. It weans itself for the moment, and turns pettishly away from genius, but soon stumbling, groping, and lonely, cries aloud for its nurse. The age cries now, and what an answer is proph- esied by such harbinger stars as these at which we have been gazing. We will engrave their names on the breast- plate, and wear them as a talisman of hope. ative emple life is to soept for LIGHT AND SHADE. Light flashes on the waves, but there is none in my soul ! I have only a part and oh! I long for the whole. Give! Give! ye mighty Gods - why do ye thus hold back? Why torture thus my soul on the world's weary rack? I did not seek for life - why did ye place me here? - So mean, so small a thing e'en to myself I appear. There lies the wide infinite, but it is nought to me! And I must long and seek through all eternity. And I! and I! I still must cry ! And I! oh! how I scorn this 1! Calm! they are calm the Gods above -- but I Am ever seeking that, which ever still doth fly! 204 (Oct. Friendship. FRIENDSHIP. « Friends, Romans, Countrymen, and Lovers." Let such pure hate still underprop Our love, that we may be Each other's conscience, And have our sympathy Mainly from thence. We'll one another treat like gods, And all the faith we have In virtue and in truth, bestow On either, and suspicion leave To gods below. Two solitary stars - Unmeasured systems far Between us roll, But by our conscious light we are Determined to one pole. What need confound the sphere - God can afford to wait, For him no hour's too late That witnesseth our duty's end, Or to another doth beginning lend. Love will subserve no use, More than the tints of flowers, Only the independent guest Frequents its bowers, Inherits its bequest. No speech though kind has it, But kinder silence doles Unto its mates, By night consoles, By day congratulates. What saith the tongue to tongue? What heareth ear of ear? By the decrees of fate From year to year, Does it communicate. Pathless the gulf of feeling yawns - No trivial bridge of words, Or arch of boldest span, Can leap the moat that girds The sincere man. 1841.) 205 Painting and Sculpture. — Fate. No show of bolts and bars Can keep the foeman out, Or 'scape his secret mine Who entered with the doubt That drew the line. No warden at the gate Can let the friendly in, But like the sun o'er all He will the castle win, And shine along the wall. There's nothing in the world I know That can escape from love, For every depth it goes below, And every height above. It waits as waits the sky, Until the clouds go by, Yet shines serenely on With an eternal day, Alike when they are gone, And when they stay. Implacable is Love, Foes may be bought or teased From their hostile intent, But he goes unappeased Who is on kindness bent. H. D. T. PAINTING AND SCULPTURE. The sinful painter drapes his goddess warm, Because she still is naked being drest: The godlike sculptor will not so deform Beauty which limbs and flesh enough invest. FATE. That you are fair or wise is vain, Or strong, or rich, or generous; You must have also the untaught strain That sheds beauty on the rose. There is a melody born of melody Which melts the world into a sea. 206 (Oct. Fate. Toil could never compass it, Art its height could never hit, It came never out of wit; But a music music-born Well may Jove and Juno scorn. Thy beauty, if it lack the fire Which drives me mad with sweet desire, What boots it? What the soldier's mail, Unless he conquer and prevail ? What all the goods thy pride which lift, If thou pine for another's gift? Alas! that one is born in blight, Victim of perpetual slight; When tbou lookest on his face, Thy heart saith, Brother! go thy ways; None shall ask thee what thou doest, Or care an apple for what thou knowest, Or listen when thou repliest, Or remember where thou liest, Or how thy supper is sodden, - And another is born To make the sun forgotten. Surely he carries a talisman Under his tongue, Broad are his shoulders, and strong, And his eye is scornful, Threatening and young. I hold it of little matter, Whether your jewel be of pure water, A rose diamond or a white, But whether it dazzle me with light. I care not how you are drest, In the coarsest or in the best, Nor whether your name is base or brave, Nor for the fashion of your behavior, But whether you charm me, Bid my bread feed and my fire warm me, And dress up nature in your favor. One thing is forever good, - That one thing is Success, Dear to the Eumenides, And to all the heavenly brood. Who bides at home, nor looks abroad, He carries the eagles - he masters the sword. 1841.) 207 Woodnotes. WOODNOTES. NUMBER IL. As sunbeams stream through liberal space And nothing jostle or displace, So waved the pinetree through my thought, And fanned the dreams it never brought. “Whether is better the gift or the donor? Come to me," Quoth the pinetree, “I am the giver of honor. My garden is the cloven rock, And my manure the snow, And drifting sandheaps feed my stock In summer's scorching glow. Ancient or curious, Who knoweth aught of us? Old as Jove, Old as Love, Who of me Tells the pedigree? Only the mountains old, Only the waters cold, Only moon and star My coevals are. Ere the first fowl sung My relenting boughs among; Ere Adam wived, Ere Adam lived, Ere the duck dived, Ere the bees hived, Ere the lion roared, Ere the eagle soared, Light and heat, land and sea Spake unto the oldest tree. Glad in the sweet and secret aid Which matter unto matter paid, The water flowed, the breezes fanned, The tree confined the roving sand, The sunbeam gave me to the sight, The tree adorned the formless light, And once again O'er the grave of men We shall talk to each other again, Of the old age behind, Of the time out of mind, Which shall come again. " Whether is better the gift or the-donor? Come to me," 208 (Oct. Woodnotes. Quoth the pinetree, u I am the giver of honor. He is great who can live by me. The rough and bearded forester Is better than the lord; God fills the scrip and canister, Sin piles the loaded board. The lord is the peasant that was, The peasant the lord that shall be: The lord is hay, the peasant grass, One dry, and one the living tree. Genius with my boughs shall flourish, Want and cold our roots shall nourish. Who liveth by the ragged pine, Foundeth a heroic line; Who liveth in the palace hall, Waneth fast and spendeth all. He goes to my savage haunts With his chariot and his care, My twilight realm he disenchants, And finds his prison there. What prizes the town and the tower ? Only what the pinetree yields; Sinew that subdued the fields; The wild-eyed boy, who in the woods Chaunts his hymn to hills and floods, Whom the city's poisoning spleen Made not pale, or fat, or lean; Whom the rain and the wind purgeth, Whom the dawn and the daystar urgeth, In whose cheek the rose-leaf blusheth, In whose feet the lion rusheth, Iron arms, and iron mould, That know not fear, fatigue, or cold. I give my rafters to his boat, My billets to his boiler's throat, And I will swim the ancient sea To float my child to victory, And grant to dwellers with the pine Dominion o'er the palm and vine. Westward I ope the forest gates, The train along the railroad skates, It leaves the land behind like ages past, The foreland flows to it in river fast, Missouri, I have made a mart, I teach Iowa Saxon art. Who leaves the pinetree, leaves his friend, Unnerves his strength, invites his end. Cut a bough from my parent stem, And dip it in thy porcelain vase; A little while each russet gem Will swell and rise with wonted grace; 1841.] 209 Woodnotes. But when it seeks enlarged supplies, The orphan of the forest dies. Whoso walketh in solitude, And inhabiteth the wood, Choosing light, wave, rock, and bird, Before the money-loving herd, Into that forester shall pass, From these companions power and grace. Clean shall he be, without, within, From the old adhering sin. Love shall he, but not adulate, The all-fair, the all-embracing Fate; All ill dissolving in the light Of his triumphant piercing sight. Not vain, sour, nor frivolous, Not mad, athirst, nor garrulous, Grave, chaste, contented, though retired, And of all other men desired. On him the light of star and moon Shall fall with purer radiance down; All constellations of the sky Shed their virtue through his eye. Him nature giveth for defence His formidable innocence; The mounting sap, the shells, the sea, All spheres, all stones, his helpers be; He shall never be old; Nor his fate shall be foretold ; He shall see the speeding year, Without wailing, without fear; He shall be happy in his love, Like to like shall joyful prove; He shall be happy whilst he woos Muse-born a daughter of the Muse; But if with gold she bind her hair, And deck her breast with diamond, Take off thine eyes, thy heart forbear, Though thou lie alone on the ground. The robe of silk in which she shines, It was woven of many sins, And the shreds Which she sheds In the wearing of the same, Shall be grief on grief, And shame on shame. Heed the old oracles Ponder my spells, Song wakes in my pinnacles When the wind swells. Soundeth the prophetic wind, The shadows shake on the rock behind, VOL. II. —NO. II. 27 210 [Oct. Woodnotes. And the countless leaves of the pine are strings Tuned to the lay the wood-god sings. Hearken! Hearken! If thou wouldst know the mystic song Chaunted when the sphere was young. Aloft, abroad, the pæan swells; O wise man! hear'st thou half it tells ? O wise man! hear'st thou the least part ? 'Tis the chronicle of art. To the open ear it sings, The early genesis of things, Of tendency through endless ages, Of star-dust, and star-pilgrimages, Of rounded worlds, of space and time, Of the old flood's subsiding slime, Of chemic matter, force and form, Of poles and powers, cold, wet, and warm ; The rushing metamorphosis, Dissolving all that fixture is, Melts things that be to things that seem, And solid nature to a dream. O listen to the undersong, The ever old, the ever young; And far within those cadent pauses The chorus of the ancient Causes ! Delights the dreadful Destiny, To fling his voice into the tree, And shock thy weak ear with a note Breathed from the everlasting throat. In music he repeats the pang Whence the fair flock of nature sprang. O mortal! thy ears are stones; These echoes are laden with tones, Which only the pure can hear; Thou canst not catch what they recite, Of Fate and Will, of Want and Right, Of man to come, of human life, Of Death, and Fortune, Growth, and Strife. Once again the pinetree sung;- “ Speak not thy speech my boughs among; Put off thy years, wash in the breeze; My hours are peaceful centuries ! Talk no more with feeble tongue, No more the fool of space and time, Come weave with mine a nobler rhyme. Only thy Americans Can read thy line, can meet thy glance, But the runes that I rehearse Understands the universe; The least breath my boughs which tossed, Brings again the Pentecost; To every soul it soundeth clear, In a voice of solemn cheer, 1841.] 211 Woodnotes. "Am I not thine ? Are not these thine!' - And they reply, 'Forever mine?' My branches speak Italian, English, German, Basque, Castilian, Mountain speech to Highlanders, Ocean tongues to islanders, To Fin and Lap and swart Malay, To each his bosom secret say. Come learn with me the fatal song, Which knits the world in music strong, Whereto every bosom dances, Kindled with courageous fancies, Come lift thine eyes to lofty rhymes, Of things with things, of times with times, Primal chimes of sun and shade, Of sound and echo, man and maid, The land reflected in the flood, Body with shadow still pursued; For nature beats in perfect tune, And rounds with rhyme her every rune, Whether she work in land or sea, Or hide underground her alchemy. Thou canst not wave thy staff in air, Or dip thy paddle in the lake, But it carves the bow of beauty there, And the ripples in rhymes the oar forsake. The wood is wiser far than thou ; The wood and wave each other know. Not unrelated, unaffied, But to each thought and thing allied, Is perfect nature's every part, Rooted in the mighty Heart. But thou, poor child! unbound, unrhymed, Whence camest thou, misplaced, mistimed? Whence, O thou orphan and defrauded ? Is thy land peeled, thy realm marauded ? Who thee divorced, deceived, and left; Thee of thy faith who hath bereft, And torn the ensigns from thy brow, And sunk the immortal eye so low? Thy cheek too white, thy form too slender, Thy gait too slow, thy habits tender For royal man; they thee confess An exile from the wilderness, - The hills where health with health agrees, And the wise soul expels disease. Hark! in thy ear I will tell the sign By which thy hurt thou may'st divine. When thou shalt climb the mountain cliff, Or see the wide shore from thy skiff, To thee the horizon shall express Only emptiness and emptiness : There is no man of nature's worth In the circle of the earth, 212 [Oct. Woodnotes. And to thine eye the vast skies fall Dire and satirical On clucking hens, and prating fools, On thieves, on drudges, and on dolls. And thou shalt say to the most High, "Godhead! all this astronomy And Fate, and practice, and invention, Strong art, and beautiful pretension, This radiant pomp of sun and star, Throes that were, and worlds that are, Behold! were in vain and in vain ;- It cannot be, - I will look again, Surely now will the curtain rise, And earth's fit tenant me surprise ; But the curtain doth not rise, And nature has miscarried wholly Into failure, into folly. Alas! thine is the bankruptcy, Blessed nature so to see. Come, lay thee in my soothing shade, And heal the hurts which sin has made. I will teach the bright parable Older than time, Things undeclarable, Visions sublime. I see thee in the crowd alone; I will be thy companion. Let thy friends be as the dead in doom, And build to them a final tomb; Let the starred shade that nightly falls Still celebrate their funerals, And the bell of beetle and of bee Knell their melodious memory. Behind thee leave thy merchandise, Thy churches and thy charities, And leave thy peacock wit behind; Enough for thee the primal mind That flows in streams, that breathes in wind. Leave all thy pedant lore apart; God hid the whole world in thy heart. Love shuns the sage, the child it crowns, And gives them all who all renounce. The rain comes when the wind calls, The river knows the way to the sea, Without a pilot it runs and falls, Blessing all lands with its charity. The sea tosses and foams to find Its way up to the cloud and wind. The shadow sits close to the flying ball, The date fails not on the palmtree tall, And thou — go burn thy wormy pages, Shall outsee the seer, outwit the sages. 1841.) 213 Woodnotes. Oft didst thou thread the woods in vain To find what bird had piped the strain, Seek not, and the little eremite Flies gaily forth and sings in sight. Hearken! once more; I will tell thee the mundane lore. Older am I than thy numbers wot, Change I may, but I pass not; Hitherto all things fast abide, And anchored in the tempest ride. Trenchant time behoves to hurry All to yean and all to bury; All the forms are fugitive, But the substances survive. Ever fresh the broad creation, A divine improvisation, From the heart of God proceeds, A single will, a million deeds. Once slept the world an egg of stone, And pulse, and sound, and light was none; And God said, Throb; and there was motion, And the vast mass became vast ocean. Onward and on, the eternal Pan Who layeth the world's incessant plan, Halteth never in one shape, But forever doth escape, Like wave or flame, into new forms Of gem, and air, of plants, and worms. I, that to-day am a pine, Yesterday was a bundle of grass. He is free and libertine, Pouring of his power the wine To every age, to every race; Unto every race and age He emptieth the beverage; Unto each, and unto all, Maker and original. The world is the ring of his spells, And the play of his miracles. As he giveth to all to drink, Thus or thus they are and think. He giveth little or giveth much, To make them several or such. With one drop sheds form and feature, With the second a special nature, The third adds heat's indulgent spark, The fourth gives light which eats the dark, In the fifth drop himself he flings, And conscious Law is King of kings. Pleaseth him the Eternal Child To play his sweet will, glad and wild; 214 Oct. Christ's Idea of Society. As the bee through the garden ranges, From world to world the godhead changes ; As the sheep go feeding in the waste, From form to form he maketh haste, And this vault which glows immense with light Is the inn where he lodges for a night. What recks such Traveller if the bowers Which bloom and fade like meadow flowers, A bunch of fragrant lilies be, Or the stars of eternity? Alike to him the better, the worse; — The glowing angel, the outcast corse. Thou metest him by centuries, And lo! he passes like the breeze; Thou seek'st in globe and galaxy, He hides in pure transparency; Thou askest in fountains and in fires, He is the essence that inquires. He is the axis of the star; He is the sparkle of the spar; He is the heart of every creature; He is the meaning of each feature; And his mind is the sky Than all it holds more deep, more high. A GLIMPSE OF CHRIST'S IDEA OF SOCIETY. difths of the histohas led to have done full owers tho The common mode of studying the Idea of Jesus Christ, with respect to Society, has uniformly been, to seek its mani- festation in Ecclesiastical History. It seems not to have been doubted, that what his immediate followers thought and did, must necessarily have done full justice to his views; and this has led to the most laborious investiga- tions of the history of the times — a history peculiarly difficult to investigate, from many causes. There is only here and there an individual, even of the present day, who has seen that, supposing we understood exactly the Apos- tolic church, it is after all below the mark, at which Jesus aimed, and really of little consequence to us, as far as our present modes of action are concerned. There is certainly no reasonable doubt that the apostles organized churches, for the express purpose of promulgat- ing the history and words of Jesus ; with how much, or 1841.] 215 Christ's Idea of Society. how little ultimate success, as to his aim of establishing the kingdom of heaven on earth, the past history and pres- ent condition of Christendom may show. What the apostles did, was, however, doubtless, the wisest thing they could do at the time ; and we have received its benefits. The words and life of Jesus are promulgated to the hear- ing of the ear. An unfallen soul has been embalmed in the hearts, and brought down to succeeding generations on the mighty affections of those, on whom he necessarily made so prodigious a personal impression; and this devel- opment of an individual into the divine life is available for the encouragement and culture of all men. There has never yet been a criticism of those early Reminiscences, well called the Gospels, and the Epistles that accompany them, and the fine dramatic poem that concludes the New Testament, which has done any justice to them, as the divinest efflorescence of human nature through the medium of Literature. When we consider the technical reverence with which they are held sacred, loaded as they have been with the extraneous authority which councils, and popes, and synods have endeavored to give them, it is only won- derful that here and there a spirit is found so free and self- dependent as to accept them simply; as we accept the history of our native land, the poetry of our native tongue, the sweetness and magnificence of nature itself. Yet such only can appreciate them. But while we acknowledge the natural growth, the good design, and the noble effects of the apostolic church, and wish we had it, in place of our own more formal ones, we should not do so small justice to the divine soul of Jesus of Nazareth, as to admit, that it was a main purpose of his to found it, or that when it was founded, it realized his idea of human society. Indeed we probably do injus- tice to the apostles themselves, in supposing that they con- sidered their churches anything more than initiatory, Their language implies, that they looked forward to a time, when the uttermost parts of the earth should be inherited by their beloved master, - and beyond this, when even the name, which is still above every name, should be lost in the glory of the Father, who is to be all in all. Some persons indeed refer all this sort of language to another world; but this is gratuitously done. Both Jesus 216 [Oct. Christ's Idea of Society. and the apostles speak of life as the same in both worlds. For themselves individually, they could not but speak principally of another world; but they imply no more, than that death is an accident, which would not prevent, but hasten, to themselves and others, the enjoyment of that divine life, which they were laboring to make possible to all men, in time as well as in eternity. Not in the action of the followers of Jesus therefore, are we to seek the Idea of Jesus respecting Society; not even of those followers so generally admitted to have been in- spired by him to a degree one man is never known to have inspired others. Like every great soul and more than any other, Jesus remands us to our own souls, which are to be forever searched with more and more purification of prayer, to find the echo, the witness, the inward sanction of his great utterances. In fine, the truth "as it is in Jesus” is not to be understood by studying Ecclesiastical History, even in the letters of the immediate disciples to their churches, but by following his method of Life and Thought. This method was to go to God first hand; to live faithful to the simplest principle of love ; and to suffer courageous- ly and gently whatsoever transpired in consequence of uttering what he believed to be the truth. Immediate consequences, even though they were so serious as the arming of a nation against an individual, and his being crucified, he set entirely aside; he did not even argue against a consideration of them; he ignored them wholly, and trusted to living out, without heat, but genially, all principles, — with simple earnestness. We have been so robbed of this beautiful soul and the life it led in the flesh, by the conventional reverence in which it has been held, and which has made it weigh down our souls as a fruitless petrification laid upon them; instead of its being planted in our heart as a seed to germinate, and sprout, and flower, and bear fruit, and go to seed, to unfold again in new forms, – that when we catch the sub- ject in a natural point of view, it seems difficult to abandon it without doing fuller justice to it. But at present the object is not to unfold the beauty of Jesus Christ's soul and conversation in the world, but to speak of his Idea of human society, which must be sought as he sought it, in the soul itself; whose light he has encouraged us to seek by show- ing how it brought him to the secret of God. 1841.] 217 Christ's Idea of Society. And what is meant, when we say we will seek the Idea of human society in the soul itself? We can mean noth- ing else than this; what the soul craves from the social prin- ciple, to cherish and assist its perfection, is to be " the light of all our seeing" upon the subject. The Problem of the present age is human society, not as a rubric of abstract science, but as a practical matter and universal interest ; an actual reconciliation of outward organization with the life of the individual souls who associate ; and by virtue of whose immortality each of them transcends all arrangements. Hitherto two errors have prevailed, either singly or in combination; one has led men to neglect social organiza- tion wholly, or regard it as indifferent; and to treat of an isolated cultivation of the soul, as if it could be continu- ously independent of all extraneous influence. A noble truth is at the foundation of this error, which has prevailed among the spiritual and devout. On the other hand, minds of a more objective turn, combined with social feel- ings, and sensibility to the temptations of political power, have been lost in organization, by making it a supreme object, and so have overlooked the individual souls, in each of which is the depth of eternity. A combination of these errors has in some instances produced theocratic societies, of which the most available instance is the Roman Cath- olic Church, which was not a reconciliation of these op- posite errors, but a compromise between them ; retaining the two extremes in their extremity, with all the evils arising out of the fact, that men as worldly as Leo the Tenth, and men as unworldly as Ignatius de Loyola, have had full play therein for all their vices. And this method of the Roman Catholic Church, which is shortly characterized, though roughly perhaps, as that which Jesus refused to enter upon, when Satan offered to him the kingdoms of the earth, and the glory thereof, if he would fall down and worship him, (legitimate ends by illegitimate means, this method has prevailed over the whole world, Protestant as well as Catholic. Time has been deliberately given over to the Devil, in a sort of un- derstanding, that thus might eternity be secured for God; and by means of this separation and personification of the finite and infinite in the soul, an absurdity and lie have VOL. II. — NO. II. 23 218 [Oct. Christ's Idea of Society. been enacted in society, and have entered into the sanctu- ary of man's Being. But Falsehood is finite. The Soul begins to be con- scious to itself, and to reject this lie from its own depths ; and the kingdom of Heaven, as it lay in the clear spirit of Jesus of Nazareth, is rising again upon vision. Nay, this kingdom begins to be seen not only in religious ecstasy, in moral vision, but in the light of common sense, and the human understanding. Social science begins to verify the prophecy of poetry. The time has come when men ask themselves, what Jesus meant when he said, “Inasmuch as ye have not done it unto the least of these little ones, ye have not done it unto me." No sooner is it surmised that the kingdom of heaven and the Christian Church are the same thing, and that this thing is not an association ex parte society, but a reorgan- ization of society itself, on those very principles of Love to God and Love to Man, which Jesus Christ realized in his own daily life, than we perceive the Day of Judgment for society is come, and all the words of Christ are so many trumpets of doom. For before the judgment seat of his sayings, how do our governments, our trades, our etiquettes, even our benevolent institutions and churches look? What Church in Christendom, that numbers among its members a pauper or a negro, may stand the thunder of that one word, “ Inasmuch as ye have not done it unto the least of these little ones, ye have not done it unto ME;” and yet the church of Christ, the kingdom of heaven, has not come upon earth, according to our daily prayer, unless not only every church, but every trade, every form of social intercourse, every institution political or other, can abide this test. We are not extravagant. We admit that to be human implies to be finite ; that to be finite implies obstruction, difficulty, temptation, and struggle ; but we think it is evi- dent that Jesus believed men could make it a principle to be perfect as the Father in heaven is perfect; that they could begin to love and assist each other ; that these prin- ciples could and would prevail over the Earth at last ; that he aimed in his social action at nothing partial; that he did not despair of society itself being organized in harmony with the two commandments, in which he generalized the 1841.] Chris 219 Christ's Idea of Society. usness of Pyard on a com. Here wa Ford Law and the Prophets. He surely did not believe these things from experience, or observation of the world, but from the consciousness of Pure Reason. His own eye, so clear and pure, and bent inward on a complete soul, saw the immensity of it in its relation to God. Here was his witness, the Father who taught him, the all-sufficient force to be roused in the consciousness of every other man. When he bade every man, in order to this awakening, live on the principle and plan that he lived on, of unfolding and obey- ing the divine instinct, under the conscious protection of the Being of beings, considered as a father, he saw that a kingdom of Heaven on Earth must necessarily follow; in other words, that the moral law would become supreme, and human nature, sanctified and redeemed, be unfolded in beauty and peace. Only at first, and because of the evil already organized in the world, would the manifesta- tion of the Eternal Peace be a sword, and the introduction into the world of the Life, be, to the individuals who should do it, suffering and death. We are desirous to establish this point, because it is often taken for granted, since the period of the French Revolution, that all movements towards new organization are unchristian. One would think from the tone of con- servatives, that Jesus accepted the society around him, as an adequate framework for individual development into beauty and life, instead of calling his disciples out of the world.” We maintain, on the other hand, that Christ de- sired to reorganize society, and went to a depth of princi- ple and a magnificence of plan for this end, which has never been appreciated, except here and there, by an indi- vidual, still less been carried out. Men, calling themselves Christians, are apt to say, that it is visionary to think of reorganizing society on better principles; that whatever different arrangements might be made, human nature would reduce them to the same level. But when we think of the effect that a few great and good men have had, what worlds of thought and power open on our minds! Leaving Jesus at the head, and ranging through such names as Moses, Confucius, Socrates, Paul, Luther, Fenelon, Washington, and whatever other men have worshipped the spirit and believed it would remove mountains, are we not authorized to hope infinitely? These men have trusted the soul in 220 (Oct. Christ's Idea of Society. its possible union with God, and in just such degree as they did, have they become Saviours of men. If one of them is so prominent over the rest, as to have borne away that title preëminently, it is because he alone was sublime in his faith; he alone fully realized by life, as well as thought and feeling, that the soul and its Father are one, and greatly prayed that all his disciples should be one with God also, without a doubt of the ultimate answer of this prayer. He alone went so deeply into human nature as to perceive, that what he called himself was universal. He alone, therefore, among men, is entitled to the grateful homage of all, men, for he alone has respected all men, even the lost and dead. When it came to that extreme of circumstance still he did not despair, but said, “I am the resurrection and the life.” Here indeed was the conscious- ness of immortality which is absolute. The finite may go no farther than this. And human nature has not been insensible to this great manifestation, but has worshipped Jesus as the absolutely divine. There was a truth in this worship, the noblest of all idolatries, though in its evil effects, we are made aware, that “the corruption of the best is the worst," and see the rationale of the old command- ment, that we should make no image of the unimaginable God, even out of anything in heaven. Both the Church and the mass of our society are fierce to defend the po- sition, that Jesus of Nazareth lived a divine life in the flesh. Not satisfied with the admission of the fact, they would establish the necessity of it a priori, by denying him that human element which makes evil a possibility. When Jesus said I, they would have us believe he meant to say the absolute spirit. Let us gladly admit it. When Jesus said I, he referred to a divine being. — Jesus is doubtless one transparent form of the infinite Goodness — but he is only one form, and there can be but one of a form in an Infinite Creation. Here is the common mistake. Jesus Christ is made the model of form and not reverenced as a quick- ening spirit purely. Because other men could not realize his form, they have been supposed to be essentially differ- ent natures, while another Jesus would not have been nat- ural in any event. Oneness with God does not require any particular form. Raphael and Michel Angelo might have been one with God, no less than was Jesus, but they 18.11.] 221 Christ's Idea of Society, would doubtless still have been painters and sculptors, and not preachers, nor moral reformers. The same method of life, which made Jesus what he was, would make every other soul different from him in outward action and place. We do infinite injustice to this noble being, when we fancy that he intended to cut men to a pattern; when we say that any special mode of activity makes a member of his Church. A member of the Church of Christ is the most individual of men. He works miracles at no man's and no woman's bidding. He ever says words not expected. He does deeds no man can foretell. His utterances are prophecies, which the future only can make significant. His intimacy. with the Father isolates him even among his nearest friends. Ever and anon, like the lark, he departs even from the sight of his beloved mates on earth, into a “ privacy of glorious light,” where indeed his music “ thrills not the less the bosom of the plain.” But if the world has always been right in seeing, that Jesus lived a divine life on the earth, the question is, what was that life? What was the principle and method of it? How did he live? Did he model himself on any form? Did he study tradition as something above him- self? Did he ask for any day's man between himself and God? And did he, or did he not, teach that we should live as he did ? Did he, or did he not imply, that that depth of soul to which he applied the word I, was an universal inheritance, when he said, “Inasmuch as ye have not done it unto the least of these little ones, ye have not done it unto me?" If this will not, what can teach, that the divine element to be reverenced in himself, exists also to be reverenced in all other men ? But if there is a divine principle in man, it has a right, and it is its duty to unfold itself from itself. Justice re- quires that it should have liberty to do so — of men. A so- cial organization, which does not admit of this, which does not favor, and cherish, and act with main reference to pro- moting it, is inadequate, false, devilish. To call a society Christendom, which is diametrically opposite in principle to Christ's idea, is an insult to the beautiful soul of Jesus. To crush the life he led wherever it appears in other men, is taking the name of Jesus in vain. Yet does any man say his soul is his own, and standing by Jesus' side, com- 222 [Oct. Christ's Idea of Society. mune with God first hand, calling the greatest names on earth brethren of Jesus, he is excommunicated as irrever- ent, by the very society which laughs to scorn, which would imprison as mad, if not as impious, whoever pro- poses to live himself, or to organize society on the Christian principles of coöperation. Not less fiercely than the ne- cessity, a priori, of Jesus' own perfection is contended for, is also the necessity, a priori, of a society of competition contended for, whose highest possible excellence may be the balance of material interests; while the divine life is to be for men as they rise, but a hope, a dream, a vision to be realized beyond the grave ! There are men and women, however, who have dared to say to one another; why not have our daily life organized on Christ's own idea? Why not begin to move the mountain of custom and convention ? Perhaps Jesus' method of thought and life is the Saviour, - is Christian- ity! For each man to think and live on this method is perhaps the second coming of Christ ; – to do unto the little ones as we would do unto him, would be perhaps the reign of the Saints; — the kingdom of heaven. We have hitherto heard of Christ by the hearing of the ear; now let us see him, let us be him, and see what will come of that. Let us communicate with each other, and live. Such a resolution has often been made under the light of the Christian Idea; but the light has shone amidst dark- ness, and the darkness comprehended it not. Religious communities have ever but partially entered into the Idea of Christ. They have all been Churches, ex parte soci- ety, in some degree. They have been tied up and narrowed by creeds and tests. Yet the temporary success of the Hernhutters, the Moravians, the Shakers, even the Rappites, have cleared away difficulties and solved problems of social science. * It has been made plain that the material goods of life, “ the life that now is," are not to be sacrificed (as by the anchorite) in doing fuller justice to the social prin- ciple. It has been proved, that with the same degree of * We would especially refer the reader to the history of the Rap- pites. An interesting account of them may be found in Mellish's Travels, published in 1812; and their history since proves the trium- phant superiority of community to divided labor. 1841.] 223 Christ's Idea of Society. labor, there is no way to compare with that of working in a community, banded by some sufficient Idea to animate the will of the laborers. A greater quantity of wealth is procured with fewer hours of toil, and without any degrada- tion of any laborer. All these communities have demon- strated what the practical Dr. Franklin said, that if every one worked bodily three hours daily, there would be no necessity of any one's working more than three hours. But one rock upon which communities have split is, that this very ease of procuring wealth has developed the desire of wealth, and so the hours redeemed by communi- ty of labor have been reapplied to sordid objects too much. This is especially the case with the Shakers, whose fanati- cism is made quite subservient to the passion for wealth, engendered by their triumphant success. The missionary objects of the Moravians have kept them purer. The great evil of Community, however, has been a spir- itual one. The sacredness of the family, and personal individuality have been sacrificed. Each man became the slave of the organization of the whole. In becoming a Mo- ravian, a Shaker, or whatever, men have ceased to be men in some degree. Now a man must be religious, or he is not a man. But neither is a Religieux a man. That there are other principles in human nature to be cultivated beside the religious, must be said ; though we are in danger, by saying it, of being cried out upon, as of old, “ Behold a gluttonous man and a wine-bibber, a friend of publicans and sinners.” The liberal principle always exposes a man to this outcry, no less than the religious principle, pas- sionately acted out, has ever exposed the enthusiast to the charge, “ He hath a Devil.” Inanes voces ! But although Christianity is a main cause, it is not the only cause of the movements towards Reform, which are perceived all around us. In Europe and America there are opposite impelling forces, which have brought the com- mon sense of men to the same vision, which Jesus saw in religious ecstasy or moral reason. In Europe it is the reaction of corrupt organization. Wherever in Europe the mass are not wholly overborne by political despotism, there is a struggle after some means of coöperation for social well being. The French and Eng- lish presses have teemed, during the last quarter of a cen- 224 Christ's Idea of Society. [Oct. tury, with systems of socialism. Many, perhaps the major- ity of these, have been planned on inadequate or false views of the nature of man. Some have supposed the seeds of evil were so superficial, that a change of out- ward circumstances would restore peace and innocence forthwith to the earth. Such persons little appreciate the harm that false organization has actually done to the race. They little appreciate the power of custom, of disobedience to the natural laws of body and mind. They take every- thing into consideration but the man himself. Yet the most futile of these schemers can afford some good hints, and very sharply and truly criticise society as it is, and teach all who will listen without heat or personal pique. But in England there are degrees of coöperation which do not amount to community. Neighborhoods of poor people with very small capitals, and some with no capital but the weekly produce of their own hands, have clubbed together, to make sufficient capital to buy necessaries of life at wholesale, and deal them out from a common depot at cost to one another. These clubs have been often connected with some plan for mental cultivation, and of growth in the principles of coöperation by contemplation and consideration of its moral character. We have lately seen a little paper published by one of these clubs for the mutual edification of their various members, which was Christian in its profession and spirit, and most ably support- ed in all its articles. Benevolent individuals of all sects in England are looking towards such operations for relief of the present distress. We have lately seen a plan for a self-supporting institution of 300 families of the destitute poor, which was drawn up by the author of “Hampden in the 19th Century," (who has become a Christian and spiritualist, since he wrote that book). This plan numbers among its patrons some of the most respectable ministers of the Established Church, and William Wordsworth of Rydal Mount, which proves to what a pressing necessity it answers. Reaction in Europe is a signal source of a move- ment towards reorganization. And in America, reaction, no doubt, does something, but not all. The light here has come mainly from a better source. The theory of the Constitution of the United States, which placed the Rights of man to equal social privileges, on a deeper foundation 1841.) 225 Christ's Idea of Society. It was Wery in political ending fastade, than ancient compact, was the greatest discovery in political science, the world had ever made. It was the dawn of a new day, which is tending fast to noonday light. It is true American life has never come up to the theory of the Con- stitution as it is ; — and yet is that theory but a dawning ray of the Sun. The light has touched the Image of Mem- non, and waked a music which does not cease to unfold new harmonies. The end of society is seen by many to be the perfection of the Individual spiritually, still more than a fair balance and growth of material good. This idea clothes itself in various forms. The Abolitionists, the Non-resistants, those so earnest against the imprisonment for debt and capital punishment, in short, every set of social reformers, come ever and anon to the great princi- ples, that there is an infinite worth and depth in the individ- ual soul; that it has temporal interests as well as eternal interests; that it is not only desirable that it should be saved hereafter, but that it live purely and beautifully now; that this world is not only probation, and in a large degree retribution ; but it is the kingdom of heaven also, to all who apprehend God and nature truly. There have been some plans and experiments of com- munity attempted in this country, which, like those else- where, are interesting chiefly as indicating paths in which we should not go. Some have failed because their philoso. phy of human nature was inadequate, and their establish- ments did not regard man as he is, with all the elements of devil and angel within his actual constitution. Brisbane has made a plan worthy of study in some of its features, but erring in the same manner. He does not go down into a sufficient spiritual depth, to lay foundations which may support his superstructure. Our imagination before we reflect, no less than our reason after reflection, rebels against this attempt to circumvent moral Freedom, and im- prison it in his Phalanx. Yet we would speak with no scorn of a work, which seems to have sprung from a true benevolence, and has in it much valuable thought. As a criticism on our society it is unanswerable. It is in his chapters on the education and uses of children, that we especially feel his inadequacy to his work. But he fore- stalls harsh criticism by throwing out what he says, as a feeler after something better. As such it has worth certainly. VOL. II. — NO. II. 29 226 (Oct. Christ's Idea of Society. The prospectus of a plan of a community has also been published in a religious paper, called the Practical Chris- tian, edited at Mendon, Massachusetts, by Adin Ballou, which is worthy of more attention. With a single excep- tion, the articles of this confederation please us. It is a business paper of great ability, and the relations of the private and common property are admirably adjusted. The moral exposition of this paper, which follows it, shows a deep insight into the Christian Idea, and no man can read it, without feeling strongly called upon to come out from the world.” But the objection to this plan is, that admit- tance as a member is made dependent on the taking of the temperance, abolition, nonresistance pledges, the pledge not to vote, &c. The interpretation of this in their exposition is very liberal and gentle, it is true; and as they there speak of their test rather as a pledge of faithfulness to one another, and as a means of mutual understanding, than as an impawnment of their own moral will, it is diffi- cult for one who is a temperance man, an abolitionist, a non- resistant, and who does not at any rate vote, — to find fault. But after all is said for it that can be, they must admit that this test makes their community a church only, and not the church of Christ's Idea, world-embracing. This can be founded on nothing short of faith in the universal man, as he comes out of the hands of the Creator, with no law over his liberty, but the Eternal Ideas that lie at the foundation of his Being. Are you a man? This is the only question that is to be asked of a member of human society. And the enounced laws of that society should be an elastic medium of these Ideas; providing for their ever- lasting unfolding into new forms of influence, so that the man of Time should be the growth of Eternity, consciously and manifestly. To form such a society as this is a great problem, whose perfect solution will take all the ages of time ; but let the Spirit of God move freely over the great deep of social ex- istence, and a creative light will come at His word, and after that long Evening in which we are living, the Morn- ing of the first day shall dawn on a Christian society. The final cause of human society is the unfolding of the individual man into every form of perfection, without let or hindrance, according to the inward nature of each. In 1841.] 227 Christ's Idea of Society. strict correspondence to this, the ground Idea of the little communities, which are the embryo of the kingdom to come, must be Education. When we consider that each gener- ation of men is thrown, helpless, and ignorant even of the light within itself, into the arms of a full grown generation which has a power to do it harm, all but unlimited, we acknowledge that no object it can propose to itself is to be compared with that of educating its children truly. Yet every passion has its ideal having its temple in society, while the schools and universities in all Christendom struggle for existence, how much more than the Banks, the East India companies, and other institutions for the accumulation of a doubtful external good ! how much more than even the gambling houses and other temples of acknowledged vice ! The difficulty on this subject lies very deep in the present constitution of things. As long as Education is made the object of an Institution in society, rather than is the gener- ating Idea of society itself, it must be apart from life. It is really too general an interest to suffer being a particular one. Moral and Religious Education is the indispensable condition and foundation of a true development. But an ap- paratus for this of a mechanical character, in any degree, is in the nature of things an absurdity. Morals and Religion are not something induced upon the human being, but an opening out of the inner life. What is now called moral and religious education, in the best institutions, is only a part of the intellectual exercises, as likely to act against as for the end. Those laws, which should be lived before they are intellectually apprehended, are introduced to the mind in the form of propositions, and assented to by the Reason, in direct opposition to the life which the constitu- tion of society makes irresistible. Hence is perpetually reproduced that internal disorganization of the human being, which was described of old in the fable of man's eating of the tree of Knowledge, to the blinding of his eyes to the tree of Life; the whole apparatus of education being the tempting Serpent. Moral and Religious life should be the atmosphere in which the human being un- folds, it being freely lived in the community in which the child is born. Thus only may he be permitted to freely act out what is within him; and have no temptations but necessary ones; and the intellectual apprehension follow 228 [Oct. Poems on Life. rather than precede his virtue. This is not to take cap- tive the will, but to educate it. If there were no wrong action in the world organized in institutions, children could be allowed a little more moral experimenting than is now convenient for others, or safe for themselves. As the case now is, our children receive, as an inheritance, the punish- ment and anguish due to the crimes that have gone before them, and the Paradise of youth is curtailed of its fair pro- portions cruelly and unjustly, and to the detriment of the future man. In the true society, then, Education is the ground Idea. The highest work of man is to call forth man in his fellow and child. This was the work of the Christ in Jesus, and in his Apostles ; and not only in them, but in Poets and Philosophers of olden time; in all who have had immortal aims, in all time; whether manifested in act or word, builded in temples, painted on canvass, or chiselled in stone. All action, addressed to the immortal nature of man in a self-forgetting spirit, is of the same na- ture, — the divine life. The organization which shall give freedom to this loving creative spirit, glimpses of which were severally called the 'Law in Rome, the Ideal in Greece, Freedom and Manliness in Northern Europe, and Christ by the earnest disciples of Jesus of Nazareth, is at once the true human society, and the only university of Education worthy the name. N. B. A Postscript to this Essay, giving an account of a specific attempt to realize its principles, will appear in the next number. POEMS ON LIFE. No. 1. Life is onward — use it With a forward aim; Toil is heavenly, choose it, And its warfare claim. 1841.) 229 Poems on Life. Look not to another To perform your will; Let not your own brother Keep your warm hand still. Life is onward — never Look upon the past, It would hold you ever In its clutches fast. — Now is your dominion, Weave it as you please; Bind not the soul's pinion To a bed of ease. Life is onward — try it, Ere the day is lost; It hath virtue — buy it : At whatever cost. If the world should offer Every precious gem, Look not at the scoffer, Change it not for them. Life is onward — heed it In each varied dress, Your own act can speed it On to happiness. His bright pinion o'er you Time waves not in vain, If Hope chants before you Her prophetic strain. Life is onward - prize it i , In sunshine and in storm ; Oh do not despise it In its humblest form. Hope and Joy together, Standing at the goal, Through Life's darkest weather, Beckon on the Soul. NO. 11. Every little spring flows on, Loving through the day to run; Night seals never up its fountain, Coursing still from hill and mountain, Its glad task it follows ever, Filling up the steadfast river. So each little act and thought Is with a deep meaning fraught, 230 (Oct. Windmill. In the bright and sunny morning, Marring life or else adorning, In the hour of night, a story Weaving on for shame or glory. If the tiny stream be dry, Trickling no more merrily The green fields and woodlands over, But lies hid beneath its cover, Then the river, sluggish, weary, Scarce moves on its pathway dreary. Thus, if each swift day no more Yield its tribute to life's store, If each little act be slighted, And at night its torch unlighted, Filled no more with truth and glory, Life will be an idle story. W. WINDMILL The tower-like mill, High on the hill, Tells us of many fair homesteads concealed In the valleys around; Where waving in sunlight, many a field Of bright grain may be found. The wild free wind They have sought to bind And make it labor like all other things; Nought careth he; Joyful he works, while he joyfully sings, And wanders free. A broad swift stream, With glance and gleam, Comes rolling down from the mountains afar, Exulting in life; It sweeps over rocks; it knows no bar; Too mighty for strife. Green winding lanes, Broad sunny plains, High hills echoing every sweet sound, Trees stately and tall, Glorious in beauty are seen all around. - Where is the lord of all ? 1841.) 231 Festus. Like the eagle high, That cleaves through the sky, Whose keen eye glances through burning light, Such should he be! Seest thou yonder that poor weary wight? Alas! it is he. FESTUS.* AGLAURON. Well, Laurie, I have come for you to walk ; but you look very unlike doing anything so good.. What portend that well-filled ink-horn, and that idle pen, and that quire of paper, blank, I see, as yet? And your face no less so. Pray what is the enterprise before you ? LAURIE. A hopeless one! To give some account of the impression produced by a great poem. AGLAURON. Hopeless, indeed! To “ drink up Issel, eat a crocodile,” is not hard task enough for ambition like yours. You must measure the immeasurable ; while grow- ing calculate your growth; as the sunbeam passes, you must chronicle the miracles it has yet to perform before it is spent. LAURIE. Such are the tasks proposed to man; he needs not propose them to himself. AGLAURON. Nay, I cannot blame the poor infant. To be sure his little hands can never reach the moon, nor grasp the fire, but he would be a dullard, if he did not stretch them out just so boldly. But this task of yours seems to me not only bold, but perfectly idle. A man capable of criticising a great poem has something else to do. LAURIE. And that is ? — AGLAURON. Writing another. LAURIE. That is not a just way of thinking. It is not the order of nature for every man to express the thought that agitates the general mind, or interpret the wonders that nature offers to all alike. What matter who does it, * Festus; a Poem. London. William Pickering. 1839. 232 Oct. Festus. so it is done? When a great thought has been expressed, a proportionate receptivity should be brought out. The man who hears occupies a place as legitimate in the un- folding of the race, as he who speaks. Would you have the stem insist on flowering all along from the earth to the topmost branch, 'instead of contenting itself with telling its history in a few blossoms, and those half-hid amid friend- ly leaves ? AGLAURON. Well, even if it be so, what is the use of your giving an account of the great poem? There it is; all men can read it, according to their measure. It speaks for itself; it has no need of you to speak for it; at best you only write poetry into prose. LAURIE. My reasons, O scornful Spartan, are three, and good, because founded in nature. Men are thus acquainted with the very existence of the work. The trumpet now goes before the lyre, or the crowd are not arrested by its tones. The bookseller's advertisement no more apprises them of the good that waits their call, than the announcement of the birth of a noble child draws a multitude to gaze on its early beauty. We tell our friends, when we have read a good book, that they may read it too ; and tell our reasons for liking it, as well as we can, that they may believe us. AGLAURON. That might be done in a simple form with- out any attempt at criticising what, if it be indeed a poem, is sacred, or translating its thoughts into one's own prose. LAURIE. The lower kind of criticism, which cavils, measures, and strives to limit the scope of an author, is, when honest, merely the struggle for self-recovery. A great mind has overshadowed us, taken away our breath, paralyzed our self-esteem by its easy mastery; we strive to defy it, to get out of its range, that we may see it clear- ly, and settle its relations with ourselves. We say, ' you would make me believe, that you represent the universe ; you are imperial; you conquer, you bind me; what good to me is your empire, if I am a slave at your feet? Bet- ter to me is a narrow life of my own, than passive recep- tion of your vast life. You may have all; but you must not be all to me. Let me find your limits; let me draw a line from you to the centre; you indicate it, but are not it. I must be freed from you, if I would know you.' 1841.] Festus. 233 · But as the cause of this is the weakness of individual character, it bears no fruit of permanent value ; it is only excusable as the means of progress. The only noble way is that of reproductive criticism. This is the nat- ural echo of a fine and full tone; it serves to show the poet that his music has its vibration; that he is not alone in an exhausted receiver. AGLAURON. The last I admit as a good way and a good reason. Now, which of the three is to fill that quire about “ Festus ? " Laurie. The first certainly. It is very difficult to get a copy of the work, and I wish curiosity enough might be excited to cause its republication. The last, too, is in my heart. For cavils and limitations there is no room; they follow the conscious triumph of genius. Where the Del- phian stands, proudly conscious of sending forth the un- erring dart, this reaction may follow our involuntary burst of homage. But where, as in this “ Festus,” the poet wanders, pale, possessed by the Muse, through tangled wilds of invention, awed and filled, half-unwillingly divine, the work is not triumphant artist-work; it does not dazzle us in the pride of the constructive faculty ; it is a simple growth and no more, and in no other wise likely to "alter- nate attraction and repulsion,” than the tall forest or the heaving wave. AGLAURON. In a hasty perusal of the book it did not seem to me so great. Why do you think it so great ? LAURIE. I shall answer you from its pages. " Who can mistake great thoughts? They seize upon the mind; arrest, and search, And shake it; bow the tall soul as by wind; Rush over it like rivers over reeds, Which quaver in the current; turn us cold, And pale, and voiceless; leaving in the brain A rocking and a ringing, – glorious, But momentary; madness might it last, And close the soul with Heaven as with a seal." AGLAURON. That passage has, indeed, a greatness, yet not untinctured with — bombast. Laurie. You say so because you see the thought out of its natural relations. VOL. II. — NO. II. 30 234 (Oct. Festus. AGLAURON. I should not say so, if I read a passage from Shakspeare or Milton out of its natural relations. Laurie. I admit it. This is no full and pregnant work of maturity, each line of which is a sounding line into the depths of a great life. You must know the atmosphere, the circumstances ; you must look at it as a whole to ap- preciate parts, for much of its poetry is subjective, not universal, and it is the work of a boy, but a boy-giant. AGLAURON. Why did he write, and on the only great theme too, of the soul's progress, prematurely, and there- fore unworthily? Why not, like the great bards, let his great task glitter before him like a star, till he had grown tall enough to draw it down and wear it on his brow? Such haste is no mark of greatness. It is most of all unworthy in our age, where mushroom growths exhaust and deface the soil. It is the work of genius now to re- prove haste by calm, patient, steady aspiration. Now, a man who has anything to say will be slower than ever to speak. These many-colored coats of glittering youth only get the wearer sold into the hands of the Egyptians. I must read you thereupon a passage left in my tablets by the diamond pen of one who practises on his own text. 6 Who turns his riches into decoration, To deck his glittering, motley coat withal, The wealth that he can owe must be full small; Little he knows what joy in contemplation Of treasuries the general may not know, His own peculiar profit and possession, That his own hand for his own use did fashion, Plants that beneath his hand and eye did grow; 'T is such alone can give; the others only show.” LAURIE. All your censure would be just, if in this case the act of publication had its usual significance, that is, that the poet supposes he has now built a worthy monu- ment of his life. Here nothing of the kind is implied. This book was indeed written with a pen, printed, and given to the world in the usual way ; but it is as simply and transparently the expression of an era in the life, a mood in the mind, as if, like the holy books of the Jews, it were recorded in the hour of feeling, to be kept in the ark, secure from profane eyes, and only to be read to believers on days of solemn feasts. I know no book in our time so subordinated to nature. Do not consider it as 1841.] 235 Festus. a book, as a work of art at all; but as a leaf from the book of life. His postscript gives a faithful account of what he has done. " Read this, World ? He who writes is dead to thee, But still lives in these leaves. He spake inspired; Night and day, thought came unhelped, undesired, Like blood to his heart. The course of study he Went through was of the soul-rack. The degree He took was high; it was wise wretchedness. He suffered perfectly, and gained no less A prize than, in his own torn heart, to see A few bright seeds; he sowed them — hoped them truth. The autumn of that seed is in these pages. God was with him; and bade_old Time, to the youth, Unclench his heart, and teach the Book of Ages.” AGLAURON. This does not remove my objection. Why give the “ bright seeds," as seeds ? Why not let them lie in the life and ripen in the fulness of time? It is that very fulness that the bard should utter or predict; yours gives us but a cloudy dawn, though a sun may be behind the clouds. LAURIE. I pray thee forgive him at once, and take him from his own point of view, even if it be not the highest. I can see reasons in himself and his time why he has done what, nevertheless, you are not wrong in blaming. This book is the first colossal sketch made by the youth upon the Isis veil, which hung before the mysteries of his eternal life. A corner of the veil was uplifted in reply, and strains of strange and solemn music answered to his thought. He felt commanded to impart to others what had caused the crisis in his own life. Beside, by writing down the facts and putting them from him in the shape of printed book, he made them stepping stones to the future. He put from him his fiery youth, and could look calmly at it. Then he has no way profaned himself. His book with - all its faults answers to the call of the age for a sincere book. It is as true as if it lay in his desk, a private jour- nal, and will not be more in his way. It reminds us of the notion we get of a holy book from the way in which Michel Angelo's Persican Sibyl is reading. This one is wor- thy her devout intentness, for in its imperfections and beau- ties it is equally life, fluent, natural life ; and surely the Sibyl 236 [Oct. Festus. would find there a divine spell, for such is couched in every truly living form. It answers the call for sincerity, and also that for home- liness, and for the majestic negligence of nature as opposed to artificial polish, and traditional graces. And here he has the merit, which scarce any other author possesses, of being as free from the pedantry of simplicity, as the tame- ness of convention. What Wordsworth strives to express by clothing his muse too obstinately in hoddan grey and clouted shoon; what the good Germans fancy they attain by washing the dishes before the reader they invite to din- ner, he does and is without an effort ; for, through all his young life, he has never wandered from the feet of nature, nor lost the sound of the lullaby to which she cradled his infancy. There is no faintest tinge of worldliness in his verse, neither obstinate ignoring of the great Babel man has reared upon the harmless earth. He perceives vice and wo, as he perceives the whirlpool and volcano, sure that there is a reason for their existence, since they are per- mitted by the central power which cannot err. A friend says, “I think of the author of Festus, as an uncombed youth, standing on a high promontory, his hair blowing back in the wind ; his eye ranging through all the wonders of sky and sea and land.” Look at him in this way, not as a man and an artist, but as a boy, though one of the deepest and most fervid nature, and also as a Seer, and you will appreciate the greatness of his poem, a sort of greatness which, if he had waited till a period when he might have made it more perfect, it would not have possessed. In boldness of conception, and in delicate touches of wild nature, wild passion, it is unsurpassed. It speaks from soul to soul; and claims the intervention of reflective intellect, almost as little as one of those luxuriant growths of popular genius, a Greek mythus. Again, the work reminds me of the theory of the for- mation of the firmaments from nebulæ. If you look steadily through a telescope of sufficient power, great part of the milky streak, that cleaves the blue of infinite space, is resolved into star-dust. Between, lie large tracts, which, at least to our vision, seem mere nebulæ still. But we perceive in this universe, as a whole, a law 1841.] 237 Festus. which, if it has not yet, will, in due time, evolve systems of exquisite harmony, manifold life, from the still flowing, floating, cloudlike mists. AGLAURON. Well! I will use your telescope, and lay Milton and Dante on the shelf for to-day. I know the coral-reef is, in truth, as much a sculpture as the Jupiter of Phidias. You shall lecture to me on your poem, and I will write down what you say; thus shall we easily fill the quire of paper, and the beautiful afternoon with happy intercourse as well. LAURIE. With all my heart. The blank sheets look formidable no longer, for, maugre all my faith in the pub- lic mind, I do confess, I am more easily drawn out by the private one, whose relations with mine are so established, that it can draw me up from deepest water, or bewildering quicksands, with one pull at the net of gold in which it holds so large a portion of my thoughts. I shall begin by mak- ing you copy extracts. AGLAURON. I read best so; but deal more, I beg, with star-dust than the yet unresolved mists. LAURIE. I do not know how the work was received in England ; probably, if much spoken of, with the same bat- like indignation usual at the entrance of a new sunbeam on this diurnal sphere. But, in Heraud's Monthly Maga- zine, it was warmly praised, and the author answered by publishing in that periodical an " Additional Scene to Fes- tus," from which I shall quote largely; for it speaks both of the poet and poesy better than any other could. It is a conversation between the Student introduced in Festus, and Festus himself, (redivivus.) "STUDENT. When first and last we met, we talked on studies; Poetry only I confess is mine, And is the only thing I think or read of. FESTUS. But poetry is not confined to books, For the creative spirit which thou seekest Is in thee, and about thee; yea, it hath God's every-whereness. STUDENT. Truly it was for this · I sought to know thy thoughts, and hear the course 238 Oct. Festus. Thou wouldst lay out for one who longs to win A name among the nations. FESTUS. First of all, Care not about the name, but bind thyself, Body and soul, to nature hiddenly; Lo, the great march of stars from earth to earth, Through heaven. The earth speaks inwardly alone. Let no man know thy business, save some friend, A man of mind, above the run of men; For it is with all men and all things, The bard must have a kind, courageous heart, And natural chivalry to aid the weak. He must believe the best of everything; Love all below, and worship all above. All animals are living hieroglyphs. The dashing dog, and stealthy-stepping cat, Hawk, bull, and all that breathe, mean something more To the true eye than their shapes show; for all Were made in love, and made to be beloved. Thus must he think as to earth's lower life, Who seeks to win the world to thought and love, As doth the bard, whose habit is all kindness To everything. HELEN. I love to hear of such, Could we but think with the intensity We love with, one might do great things." He goes on to describe himself as if telling the story of a friend. “I mean not To screen, but to describe this friend of mine. STUDENT. Where and when did he study? Did he mix Much with the world, or was he a recluse ? festus. He had no times of study, and no place; All places and all times to him were one. His soul was like the wind-harp, which he loved, And sounded only when the spirit blew, Sometime in feasts and follies, for he went Life-like through all things; and his thoughts then rose Like sparkles in the bright wine, brighter still, Sometimes in dreams, and then the shining words Would wake him in the dark before his face. All things talked thoughts to him. The sea went mad To show his meaning; and the awful sun 1841.) 239 Festus. Thundered his thoughts into him; and at night The stars would whisper theirs, the moon sigh hers, He spake the world's one tongue; in earth and heaven There is but one, it is the word of truth. To him the eye let out its hidden meaning; And young and old made their hearts over to him ; And thoughts were told to him as unto none, Save one who heareth, said and unsaid, all. , All things were inspiration unto him, Wood, wold, hill, field, sea, city, solitude, And crowds, and streets, and man where'er he was, And the blue eye of God which is above us ; Brook-bounded pine spinnies, where spirits flit; And haunted pits the rustic hurries by, Where cold wet ghosts sit ringing jingling bells; Old orchards' leaf-roofed aisles, and red-cheeked load; And the blood-colored tears which yew-trees weep O'er church-yard graves, like murderers remorseful, The dark green rings where fairies sit and sup, Crushing the violet dew in the acorn cup; Where by his new-made bride the bridegroom sips The white moon shimmering on their longing lips; The large, o'er-loaded, wealthy looking wains Quietly swaggering home through leafy lanes, Leaving on all low branches, as they come, Straws for the birds, ears of the harvest home; He drew his light from that he was amidst, As doth a lamp from air which hath itself Matter of light although it show not. His Was but the power to light what might be lit. He met a muse in every lonely maid; And learned a song from every lip he loved. But his heart ripened most 'neath southern eyes, Which sunned their sweets into him all day long, For fortune called him southward, towards the sun. We do not make our thoughts; they grow in us Like grain in wood; the growth is of the skies, Which are of nature, nature is of God. The world is full of glorious likenesses, The poet's power is to sort these out, And to make music from the common strings With which the world is strung; to make the dumb Earth utter heavenly harmony, and draw Life clear and sweet and harmless as spring water, Welling its way through flowers. Without faith, Illimitable faith, strong as a state's In its own might, in God, no bard can be. All things are signs of other and of nature. It is at night we see heaven moveth, and A darkness thick with suns; the thoughts we think, Subsist the same in God, as stars in heaven, 240 (Oct. Festus. And as those specks of light will prove great worlds, When we approach them sometime free from flesh, So too our thoughts will become magnified To mindlike things immortal. And as space Is but a property of God, wherein Is laid all matter, other attributes May be the infinite homes of mind and soul. Love, mirth, woe, pleasure, was in turn his theme, And the great good which beauty does the soul, And the God-made necessity of things. And, like that noble knight in olden tale, Who changed his armor's hue at each fresh charge By virtue of his lady-love's strange ring, So that none knew him save his private page, And she who cried, God save him, every time He brake spears with the brave till he quelled all — So he applied him to all themes that came; Loving the most to breast the rapid deep, Where others had been drowned, and heeding nought Where danger might not fill the place of fame. And mid the magic circle of these sounds, His lyre rayed out, spell-bound himself he stood, Like a stilled storm. It is no task for suns To shine. He knew himself a bard ordained, More than inspired, of God inspirited, Making himself like an electric rod A lure for lightning feelings; and his words Felt like the things which fall in thunder, which The mind, when in a dark, hot, cloudful state; Doth make metallic, meteoric, ball-like. He spake to spirits with a spirit-tongue, Who came compelled by wizard word of truth, And rayed them round him from the ends of heaven; For, as be all bards, he was born of beauty, And with a natural fitness, to draw down All tones and shades of beauty to his soul, Even as the rainbow-tinted shell, which lies Miles deep at bottom of the sea, hath all Colors of skies, and flowers, and gems, and plumes, And all by nature, which doth reproduce Like loveliness in seeming opposites. Our life is like the wizard's charmed ring, Death's heads, and loathsome things fill up the ground; But spirits wing about, and wait on us, While yet the hour of enchantment is, And while we keep in, we are safe, and can Force them to do our bidding. And he raised The rebel in himself, and in his mind Walked with him through the world. STUDENT. He wrote of this ? 1841.] 241 Festus. FESTUS. He wrote a poem. STUDENT. What was said of it? FESTUS. Oh, much was said — much more than understood; One said, that he was mad, another, wise; Another, wisely mad. The book is there, Judge thou among them. STUDENT. Well; but who said what? FESTUS. Some said that he blasphemed, and these men lied To all eternity, unless such men Be saved, when God shall rase that lie from life, And from His own eternal memory; But still the word is lied; though it were writ In honey-dew upon a lily-leaf, With quill of nightingale, like love letters From Oberen sent to the bright Titania, Fairest of all the fays — for that he used The name of God as spirits use it, barely, Yet surely more sublime in nakedness, Statuelike, than in a whole tongue of dress, Thou knowest, God, that to the full of worship, All things are worshipful ; and Thy great name, In all its awful brevity, hath nought Unholy breeding in it, but doth bless Rather the tongue that utters it; for me, I ask no higher office than to fling My spirit at my feet, and cry thy name God! through eternity. The man who sees Irreverence in that name, must have been used To take that name in vain, and the same man Would see obscenity in pure white statues. Call all things by their names. Hell, call thou Hell; Archangel, call Archangel; and God, God. HELEN. There were some Encouraged him with good will, surely? Festus. Many. The kind, the noble, and the able, cheered him ; The lovely likewise: others knew he nought of. VOL. II. — NO. II. 31 242 (Oct. Festus. STUDENT. Take up the book and if thou understandest Unfold it to me. FESTUS. What I can I will ; Poetry is itself a thing of God; He made his prophets poets; and the more We feel of poetry, do we become Like God in love and power. STUDENT. Under-makers. FESTUS. All great lays, equals to the minds of men, Deal more or less with the Divine, and have For end some good of mind or soul of man; The mind is this world's, but the soul is God's, The wise man joins them here all in his power. The high and holy works, amid lesser lays, Stand up like churches among village cots ; And it is joy to think that in every age, However much the world was wrong therein, The greatest works of mind or hand have been Done unto God. STUDENT. So may they ever be; It shows the strength of wish we have to be great. FESTUS. It is not enough to draw forms fair and lively, Their conduct likewise must be beautiful ; A hearty holiness must crown the work, As a gold cross the minster dome, and show, Like that instonement of divinity, That the whole building doth belong to God. And for the book before us, though it were, What it is not, supremely little, like The needled angle of a high church spire, Still its sole end is God the Father's glory, From all eternity seen, making clear His might and love in saving sinful man. One bard shows God as He deals with states and kings; Another as he dealt with the first man; Another as with heaven, and earth, and hell; Ours writes God as He orders a chance soul, Picked out of earth at hazard, like oneself, It is a statued mind and naked heart Which he strikes out. Other bards draw men dressed In manners, customs, forms, appearances, Laws, places, times, and countless accidents Of peace or polity; to him these are not ; 1841.) 243 Festus. He makes no mention, no account of them; But shows, however great his doubts, sins, trials, Whatever earth-born pleasures soil his soul, What power soever he may gain of evil, That still, till death, time is; that God's great heaven Stands open day and night to man and spirit; For all are of the race of God, and have In themselves good. The life-writ of a heart Whose firmest prop and highest meaning was The hope of serving God as poet-priest, And the belief that he would not put back Love-offerings, though brought to Him by hands Unclean and earthy, even as fallen man's Must be; and, most of all, the thankful show Of his high power and goodness in redeeming And blessing souls which love him, spite of sin And their old earthy strain, these are the aims, The doctrines, truths, and staple of the story. What theme sublimer than beingsved? 'T is the bard's aim to show the mind-made world Without, within ; how the soul stands with God, And the unseen realities about us ; It is a view of life spiritual, And earthly. STUDENT. Let us look upon it, then, In the same light it was drawn and colored in. FESTUS. Faith is a higher faculty than reason, Though of the brightest power of revelation, As the snow-peaked mountain rises o'er The lightning, and applies itself to heaven, We know in daytime there are stars about us Just as at night, and name them what and where By sight of science; so by faith we know, Although we may not see them till our night, That spirits are about us, and believe, That to a spirit's eye all heaven may be As full of angels as a beam of light Of motes. As spiritual, it shows all Classes of life, perhaps above our kind, Known to tradition, reason, or God's word. As earthly, it embodies most the life Of youth; its powers, its aims, its deeds, its failings! And, as a sketch of world-life, it begins And ends, and rightly, in heaven, and with God; While heaven is also in the midst thereof. God, or all good, the evil of the world, And man, wherein are both, are each displayed ; The mortal is the model of all men. The foibles, follies, trials, sufferings 244 Oct. Festus. Of a young, hot, un-world-schooled heart, that has Had its own way in life, and wherein all May see some likeness of their own, 't is these Attract, unite, and, sunlike, concentrate The ever-moving system of our feeling; Like life, too, as a whole, it has a moral, And, as in life, each scene too has its moral, A scene for every year of his young life, Shining upon it, like the quiet moon, Illustrating the obscure, unequal earth : And though these scenes may seem to careless eyes Irregular and rough and unconnected, Like to the stones at Stonehenge, still an use, A meaning, and a purpose may be marked Among them of a temple reared to God, It has a plan, but no plot; life has none." AGLAURON. Well; the plan is grand enough! and how far has it been fulfilled ? LAURIE. In the main, nobly. The tendency of the poem is sublime, its execution vigorous, simple, even to negligence ; but the majestic neg- ligence of heroic forms. The page beams with thoughts; I say beams, rather than sparkles, because the lights are so full and frequent. The great thought of the poem, Evil the way to good; God glorified through sin and error, is inadequately expressed, and why? Because the author, though in steadfast faith he follows its leading, sees, as yet, only glimmering or flashing lights. This is a constant source of disappointment. It is painful at last to find the mind, which seemed worthy to fathom the secretest caverns of this deep, content with superficial statement of the orthodox scheme of redemption through grace alone. We looked for deeper insight from such passages as these. “There lacks In souls like thine, unsaved, and unexalted, The light within, the life of perfectness; Such as there is in Heaven. "The soul hath sunk And perished, like a lighthouse in the sea; It is for God to raise it and rebuild. Evil is Good in another way we are not skilled in. The wildflower's tendril, proof of feebleness, Proves strength; and so we fling our feelings out, The tendrils of the heart to bear us up. 1841.] 245 Festus. The price one pays for pride is mountain-high. There is a curse beyond the rack of death, A woe wherein God hath put out His strength, A pain past all the mad wretchedness we feel, When the sacred secret hath flown out of us, And the heart broken open by deep care, The curse of a high spirit famishing, Because all earth but sickens it. It is a fire of soul in which they burn, And by which they are purified from sin- Rid of the grossness that had gathered round them, And burned again into their virgin brightness; So that often the result of Hell is Heaven.” The force of these statements of faith, and the earnest- ness with which the problem of Redemption is proposed, lead us to expect far more philosophical insight as to the how, than we find. The poet, like other fine children, is wiser than he knows, and the splinters, which his almost random blows strike from the block of truth, suggest hopes of a far nobler edifice than he has taken the trouble to build. From Goethe he has borrowed, what Goethe borrowed from the book of Job, the grand thought of a permitted temptation. Neither poet has gone deep into the thought, which so powerfully fixed their attention. Goethe has shown the benefits of deepening individual consciousness. The author of Festus dwells rather upon an all-enfolding love, which brings a peculiar flower from the slough of Despond. Neither author has given more than intimations of the truth, which both felt, rather than saw. But Goethe left his unfinished leaves loose, as they fell from his life; the more juvenile poet borrowed from the church a cover in which he bound them. I mean he has accepted too readily a vulgar statement of a grand mystery, partially true, or it would not have been so widely accepted by religious minds, partially false, because it neglects many processes, silences many requisitions of the soul. AGLAURON. What could you expect from such a boy on heights where Angels bashful look ? LAURIE. Verily, Aglauron! it must be some boy- David, some lyrist in the first flush of a youth anointed by the Divine Love, that could give me any hope on a theme, where the Goliahs of intellect will always fail, for they are, in their need of heavy armor, Philistines. 246 TOct Festus. But though our new friend fails in this respect, the po- em has given him stuff for the introduction of any thought possible to man, and his range is very wide, and often through the highest region.enough to lead us int He has not experience enough to lead us into many of the paths known to older pilgrims. He speaks of man, as when he nestles too close to the bosom of mother earth, and loves her warm, damp breath, better than the free but chill breeze of the sea which sternly calls him. He tells of beauty, often too passionately pursued to be found as truth, of feverish alternations, languid defiance, and thoughts bet- ter loved in the chase than the attainment. AGLAURON. What paths does he take ? LAURIE. Only those naturally known to his age. Wo- man's love, and speculation on the great themes. AGLAURON. Had he loved long and well ? LAURIE. No! The beautiful vision named to us as Angela, who inhabits the planet Venus, and shines into his soul like a call to prayer, so that after the wild banquet scene his first thought is, Where is thy grave, my love? I want to weep, High as thou art this earth above, My woe is deep," seems rather the ideal of a possible love, than one that had been symbolized by a tangible form, and daily breathing, receiving, pervaded the whole nature of the man with its proper life. Yet in the beautiful picture of her, which is one of the finest passages in the poem, are touches which speak not only of all love, but a love, and have a fragrance of the past, especially where he compares her to “a house- god." “I loved her for that she was beautiful, And that to me she seemed to be all nature And all varieties of things in one; Would set at night in clouds of tears; and rise All light and laughter in the morning ; fear No petty customs nor appearances; But think what others only dreamed about ; And say what others did but think ; and do What others would but say; and glory in What others dared but do; it was these which won me; And that she never schooled within her breast One thought or feeling, but gave holiday 1841.) 247 Festus. 247 To all; and that she told me all her woes And wrongs and ills; and so she made them mine In the communion of love; and we Grew like each other for we loved each other; She, mild and generous as the sun in spring; And I, like earth, all budding out with love. * * * * The beautiful are never desolate; For some one alway loves them; God or man. If man abandons, God Himself takes them, And thus it was. She whom I once loved died, The lightning loathes its cloud; the soul its clay. Can I forget that hand I took in mine, Pale as pale violets; that eye, where mind And matter met alike divine ? ah, no! May God that moment judge me when I do! Oh! she was fair; her nature once all spring And deadly beauty like a maiden sword; Startlingly beautiful. I see her now! Whatever thou art thy soul is in my mind; Thy shadow hourly lengthens o'er my brain And peoples all its pictures with thyself, Gone, not forgotten; passed, not lost; thou wilt shine In heaven like a bright spot in the sun! She said she wished to die and so she died; For, cloudlike, she poured out her love, which was Her life, to freshen this parched heart. It was thus ; I said we were to part, but she said nothing; There was no discord; it was music ceased; Life's thrilling, bursting, bounding joy. She sate Like a house-god, her hands fixed on her knee; And her dank hair lay loose and long behind her, Through which her wild bright eye Hashed like a flint, She spake not, moved not, but she looked the more ; As if her eye were action, speech, and feeling. I felt it all, and came and knelt beside her, The electric touch solved both our souls together; Then comes the feeling which unmakes, undoes; Which tears the sealike soul up by the roots And lashes it in scorn against the skies. Twice did I stamp to God, swearing, hand clenched, That not even He nor death should tear her from me. It is the saddest and the sorest night One's own love weeping. But why call on God ? But that the feeling of the boundless bounds All feeling! as the welkin doth the world. It is this which ones us with the whole and God. Then first we wept; then closed and clung together; And my heart shook this building of my breast Like a live engine booming up and down. She fell upon me like a snow-wreath thawing. Never were bliss and beauty, love and woe, Ravelled and twined together into madness, 248 (Oct. Festus. As in that one wild hour to which all else, The past, is but a picture. That alone Is real, and forever there in front, After that I left her And only saw her once again alive.” AGLAURON. I admire this as much as you can desire. I have rarely seen anything like this lavish splendor of beauty fresh from its source, combined with such exquisite touches of domestic feeling. The form and the essence are both manifest to the two-fold nature of the beholder. Usually the poet detains your attention too much on the beauty of the form, and the fondness it inspires, or else, rapt towards the Ideal, he makes the spirit shine too in- tensely through the form, so that it no more touches your human feelings, than would an alabaster mask. But Festus has many other loves. LAURIE. By this is merely indicated the easy yielding of a poetical nature to each beautiful influence in its kind. The poet, who wishes to weave his tapestry broad, and full of various figures, will not choose for his motiv a charac- ter either of the ascetic or heroical cast. Such cleave through the rest of the music with too piercing a tone, which obscures the meaning of the general harmony, and fix the attention too exclusively on their own story to let us contemplate on all sides the destiny of wider comprehen- sion, figured in the motley page. Festus, like Faust and Wilhelm Meister, is so easily taken captive by the present, as to admit of its being brought fully before us. Had he conquered it at once, the whole poem would have been in the life of Festus himself; now it is the common tale of youth. " He wrote of youth as passionate genius, Its flights and follies; both its sensual ends And common places. To behold an eagle Batting the sunny ceiling of the world With his dark wings, one well might deem his heart On heaven; but no! it is fixed on flesh and blood, And soon his talons tell it." And though of any one of his loves Festus could say, " When he hath had A letter from his lady dear, he blessed The paper that her hand had travelled over, And her eye looked on, and would think he saw Gleams of that light she lavished from her eyes. of w, like the pred he 1841.1 249 Festus. arious educated Yere Wandering amid the words of love she had traced Like glow-worms among beds of flowers. He seemed To bear with being but because she loved him, She was the sheath wherein his soul had rest, As hath a sword from war.” Yet with regard to all beauteous beings — “ He could not restrain his heart, but loved In that voluptuous purity of taste Which dwells on beauty coldly, and yet kindly, As night-dew, whensoe'er he met with beauty.” AGLAURON. I admit the wisdom of this course where, as in Wilhelm Meister, the aim is to suggest the various ways in which the whole nature may be educated through the experiences of this world. Were Festus throughout treated as "A chance soul Picked out of earth at hazard,” no farther expectation would be raised than is gratified in the Meister. But in both Faust and Festus, by leading a soul through various processes to final redemption, we are made to expect an indication of the steps through which man pass- es to spiritual purification, and here our author, notwith- standing his high devotional flight, disappoints us even more than Goethe. You smile; one must always expect to be ridiculed when addressing you Æsthetics from the moral point of view. Yet you cannot deny that the scope of his poem subjects your author to the same canon, by which we judge Milton and Dante. LAURIE. I only smiled, Aglauron, at the unwonted air of candid timidity with which you propose your objection. I admit its force. I admire my poem, not for its cohe- rence, or organic completeness, but for intimations and suggestions of the highest dignity. The character of Festus has two fine leadings, the deli- cate sense of beauty which causes these many loves, and the steadfast, fearless faith, which, if it does not always direct, never forsakes him. The golden thread of the former is shown distinctly where he speaks of Clara. “ Happy as heaven have I been with thee, love, Thine innocent heart hath passed through a pure life, Like a white dove, sun-tipped through the blue sky. A better heart God never saved in Heaven. She died as all the good die — blessing - hoping. There are some hearts, aloe-like, flower once, and die; And hers was of them.” VOL. II. —NO. II. 32 250 (Oct. Festus. In this, as in many other passages, it is shown how the sensibility to beauty, as distinguished from the desire of appropriating it, must always, even in error and excess, have a power to sweeten and hallow. It is thus that sen- timental, as distinguished from noble beings, often disarm us, just as we are despising them. The aspiration, which directs the course of Festus, with magnetic leading, through all the various obstructions, is shown, in the scene laid in Heaven, by his resolve, not to be shaken by threats from the demon or the dissuasions of angels, to look on God. The thoughts which are to en- lighten his cloudy fatalism beam through the gentle plead- ings of his mother's spirit. “FESTUS. Scene, Heaven. Eternal fountain of the Infinite, On whose life-tide the stars seem strown like bubbles, Forgive me that an atomie of being Hath sought to see its Maker face to face. I have seen all Thy works and wonders, passed From star to star and space to space, and feel That to see all which can be seen is nothing, And not to look on Thee, the invisible; The spirits that I met all seemed to say, As on they sped upon their starward course, And slackened their lightening wings one moment o'er me, I could not look on God, whatever I was, And thou didst give this spirit at my side Power to make me more than them immortal; So when we had winged through thy wide world of things, And seen stars made and saved, destroyed and judged, I said — and trembled lest thou shouldst not hear me, And make thyself right ready to forgive - I will see God, before I die, in Heaven. Forgive me, God! GOD. Rise, mortal! look on me. FESTUS. Oh! I see nothing but like dazzling darkness.” . He then, overwhelmed, is given to the care of the Ge- nius of his life. “ FESTUS. Will God forgive That I did long to see him. 1841.) 251 Festus. GENIUS. It is the strain Of all high spirits towards him. Thou couldst not behold God masked in dust, Thine eye did light on darkness; but, when dead, And the dust shaken off the shining essence, God shall glow through thee as through living glass; And every thought and atom of thy being Shall lodge His glory - be over-bright with God. Come! I will show thee Heaven and all angels. FESTUS. How all with a kindly wonder look on me; Mayhap I tell of earth to their pure sense. Some seem as if they knew me; I know none. But how claim kinship with the glorified, Unless with them, like glorified ? - yet — yes — It is - it must be that angelic spirit My heart outruns me mother! see thy son ! ANGEL. Child! how art thou here? FESTUS. God hath let me come. ANGEL. Hast thou not come unbidden and unprepared ? FESTUS. Forgive me if it be soI am come; And I have ever said there are two who will Forgive me aught I do - my God and thou ! ANGEL. I do-may He. Son of my hopes on earth and prayers in Heaven, The love of God! oh it is infinite Even as our imperfection. Promise, child, That thou wilt love him more and more for this, And for his boundless kindness thus to me. Now, my son, hear me; for the hours of Heaven Are not as those of earth, and all is all But lost that is not given to God. Oft have I seen, with joy, thy thoughts of Heaven, And holy hopes which track the soul with light Rise from dead doubts within thy troubled breast, As souls of drowned bodies from the sea, Upwards to God; and marked them so received, That, oh! my soul hath overflowed with rapture, As now thine eye with tears. But oh! my son, Beloved, fear thou ever for thy soul; 252 [Oct. Festus. It yet hath to be saved. God is all-kind; And long time hath he made thee think of Him; Think of Him yet in time! Ere I left earth, With the last breath that air would spare for me, And the last look which light would bless me with, I prayed thou might'st be happy and be wise, And half the prayer I brought myself to God; And lo! thou art unhappy and unwise. FESTUS. I am glad I suffer for my faults; I would not, if I might be bad and happy. God hath made but few better hearts than mine, However much it fail in the wise ways Of the world, as living in the dull dark streets Of forms and follies which men brick themselves in. ANGEL. The goodness of the heart is shown in deeds Of peacefulness and kindness. Hand and heart Are one thing with the good, as thou shouldst be. Do my words trouble thee? then treasure them. Pain overgot gives peace, as death does Heaven. All things that speak of Heaven speak of peace. Peace hath more might than war; high brows are calm; Great thoughts are still as stars; and truths, like suns, Stir not, but many systems tend around them. Mind's step is still as Death's; and all great things Which cannot be controlled, whose end is good.” In these passages we see the truth of what the Genius of his life says to Festus. “I am never seen In the earth's low, thick light, but here in Heaven And in the air which God breathes I am clear." And, again, are reminded of what is said in the " Addi- tional Scene.” "Thus have I shown the meaning of the book And the most truthful likeness of a mind, Which hath, as yet been limned, the mind of youth In strengths and failings, in its over-comings, And in its short-comings; the kingly ends, The universalizing heart of youth; Its love of power, heed not how had, although With surety of self-ruin at the end ; * some cried out, 'T was inconsistent; so 't was meant to be. Such is the very stamp of youth and nature; And the continual losing sight of its aims, 1841.] 253 Festus. And the desertion of its most expressed, And dearest rules and objects, this is youth." The poor Student, naturally enough replies, “ I look on life as keeping me from God, Stars, heaven, and angels' bosoms." AGLAURON. I feel in these passages the fault which I. have heard attributed to the poem, a want of melody and full-toned rhythm. LAURIE. I will once more defend the poet in his own words. 4 Write to the mind and heart, and let the ear Glean after what it can. The voice of great And graceful thoughts is sweeter far than all Word-music." Yet admitting the force of this, and that he has chosen the better part, in an age which deals too much in the pleasures of mere sound, and had rather be lulled to dreams by borrowed and meretricious melodies, than roused by a rude burst of thought, we must add, the great poet will be great in both, sense and sound. His verses flow about oftentimes as negligent and sere as autumn- leaves upon the stream. His melodies, when sweetest, want fulness; they are not modulated on the full-sounding chords of the lyre, but on the imperfect stops of Pan's pipe. Yet they have wild charms of their own, a child- like pathos derived from pure iteration of the cadences of nature, that reminds us of passages in the Old Testament, and makes the full-wrought sweeping verse look stiff and brocaded beside its simple Pythian haste. I hear in this verse the tones of waves and breezes, the rustling of leaves and the pleading softness of childhood. Single phrases are far more powerful than their meaning would indicate, for a throb is felt of the heart, too youth- ful to be conscious. It is a charm, like the outline of the half-developed form, that borrows its beauty from imper- fection, the beauty of promise, as where he calls his love “My one blue break in the sky." or “ The more thou passest me the more I love thee, As the robin our winter window-guest, The colder the weather, the warmer his breast ; " 254 [Oct. Festus. or The hawk hath dreamt him thrice of wings Wide as the skies he may not cleave; But waking, feels them clipt, and clings Mad to the perch 't were mad to leave. I have turned to thee, moon, from the glance, That in triumphing coldness was given; And rejoiced as I viewed thee all lonely advance, There was something was lonely in heaven. I have turned to thee, moon, as I lay In thy silent and saddening brightness; And rejoiced as high heaven went shining away, That the heart had its desolate lightness.” or “ The holy quiet of the skies May waken well the blush of shame, Whene'er we think that thither lies The heaven we heed not — ought not name. Oh, Heaven ! let down thy cloudy lids, And close thy thousand eyes; For each, in burning glances, bids The wicked fool be wise." AGLAURON. I recall a host of such passages. But I think their charm is not so much in the melody as in the picture they present, the personalities of look and gesture they bring before the mind. It is like the repetition of some fine phrase by a child, the unexpectedness of the tone and gesture makes it striking. LAURIE. It may be so! I admit there is nothing that will bear a critical analysis. Yet beside this pathetic beauty of tones and cadences, there are passages that in- dicate a capacity for what may be more strictly styled music, as in the song of the Gipsey Girl. I wish I could quote it. AGLAURON. The quire is almost filled already. LAURIE. Well! the extracts speak for themselves with- out much aid of mine. Yet I wish to say a few words of his powerful conception of two actors on the strange ethereal scene. The Son of God, as Redeemer, as Mediator, is more worthily conceived by this believing heart than by almost any before. Such beseeching tenderness, such celestial compassion is seen in one or two of Raphael's heads of the 1841.) 255 Festus. Christ, is prophesied by one of the angels who announces the birth of a Saviour of mankind to his Four Sibyls. Such tones are breathed by Herbert's Muse.. " ANGEL OF EARTH. To me earth is Even as the boundless universe to thee; Nay, more; for thou couldst make another. It is My world ; take it not from me, Lord! Thou Christ Mad'st it the altar, where thou offeredst up Thyself for the creation! Let it be Immortal as Thy love; Oh I have heard World question world and answer; seen them weep Each other if eclipsed for one red hour; And of all worlds most generous was mine, The tenderest and the fairest. LUCIFER. And that nover suffering for worlds is spen Knowest thou not God's Son to be the brother and the friend Of spirit everywhere? Or hath thy soul Been bound forever to thy foolish world? SON OF GOD. Think not I lived and died for thine alone, And that no other sphere hath hailed me Christ; - My life is ever suffering for love. In judging and redeeming worlds is spent Mine everlasting being." Nay, among the very fiends. “FESTUS. Look! who comes hither ? LUCIFER. It is the Son of God! What dost thou here not having sinned ? SON OF GOD. For men I bore with death — for fiends I bear with sin, And death and sin are each the pain I pay For the love which brought me down from heaven to save Both men and devils ; and if I have sinned, It is but in wishing what can never be - That all souls may be saved; for it is wrong To wish what is not; as the Father makes And orders every instant what is best. FESTUS. This is God's truth; Hell feels a moment cool. 256 [Oct. Festus. SON OF GOD. Hell is His justice - Heaven is His love - Earth His long-suffering; all the world is but A quality of God; therefore come I To temper these to give to justice, mercy; And to long-suffering, longer. Heaven is mine By birthright. Lo! I am the heir of God; He hath given all things to me. I have made The earth mine own, and all yon countless worlds, And all the souls therein; yea, soul by soul, And world by world, have I redeemed them all — One by one through eternity, or given The means of their salvation. These souls Whom I see here, and pity for their woes — But for their evil more - these need not be Inhelled forever; for although once, twice, thrice, On earth or here they may have put God from them — Disowned his prophets - mocked his angels — slain His Son in his mortality — and stormed His curses back to Him; yet God is such, That He can pity still; and I can suffer For them, and save them. Father! I fear not, But by thy might I can save Hell from Hell. Fiends! hear ye me! Why will ye burn forever? Look! I am here all water; come and drink, And bathe in me! baptize your burning souls In the pure well of life — the spring of God, I come to save all souls that will be saved. Come, ye immortal fallen! rise again! There is a resurrection for the dead, And for the second dead. A FIEND. Thou Son of God! what wilt thou here with us ? Have we not Hell enough without thy presence ? Remorse, and always strife, and hate of all, I see around me; is it not enough? Why wilt thou double it with thy mild eyes ? SON OF GOD. Spirit! I come to save thee. FIEND. How can that be? SON OF GOD. Repent! God will forgive thee then; and I Will save thee; and the Holy One shall hallow.” Surely the mystery of the Trinity never yet was uttered in so sweet and pathetic a tone. 1841.] 257 Festus. AGLAURON. Does he construe it spiritually ? LAURIE. Spiritually, if not in the spirit of profound philosophy. The other powerful conception is that of the Demon, the rebel in the heart, the Lucifer. This is in perfect harmony with his great thought, which, as I said before, he has not been successful in bringing out, of evil the way to good. AGLAURON. A thought to whose greatness how few are equal! While one party would ignore and annihilate by denial the soil from which we grow, others, again, lie too near the ground, ever trailing along its surface their lan- guid leaves, and forget that it must be penetrated with the divine rays to be transmuted into beauty and glory. How much we need a great thinker who shall reconcile these two statements ! Does the poet prophesy such an one? LAURIE. He does by his fulness of faith, that what we call evil is permitted, that nothing can exist an instant which contradicts divine law. But his intimations have the beauty of sentiment only; he has not thought deeply on the subject. He understands, but does not illustrate what was so profoundly said of the joy in heaven over him who repenteth, and worships rather than interprets the divine Love. His Lucifer, however, shows the searching tendency of his nature more than anything in the poem. The demon of the man of Uz; the facetious familiar of Luther, cracking nuts on the bed-posts, put to flight by hurling an ink-horn; the haughty Satan of Milton, whose force of will is a match for all but Omnipotence; the sor- rowful satire of Byron's tempter; the cold polished irony of Goethe's Mephistopheles; all mark with admirable pre- cision the state of the age and the mental position of the writer. Man tells his aspiration in his God; but in his de- mon he shows his depth of experience, and casts light into the cavern through which he worked his course up to the cheerful day. The demon of Festus finds its parallel in a deep thought of the Hindoo Mythology, its symbol in the fabulous dragon of a poetic age. The dragon is the symbol of loneliness. It guards the hidden treasures. It must live and do its office, else they would not be accumulated in VOL. II. —NO. II. 33 258 Festus. [Oct. the silent caverns; it must at last be slain by some knight of the pure faith, else they can never be revealed for the use of the world. The fault of this soul is, that its love and purity are not equal to its involuntary faith. Festus is not tempted through pride, but through coldness of purpose, instability of nature, an isolation of his particular being, hopes, and aims, from the great stream of life. The rebel comes to bim, too calmly grand for deceit like that of Milton's de- mon, or sarcastic impudence like that of Goethe's. 4 LUCIFER. I knew thy proud high heart To test its worth and mark I held it brave, In shape and being thus myself I came; Not in disguise of opportunity; Not as some silly toy which serves for most; Not in the mask of lucre, lust, nor power; Not in a goblin size nor cherub form; But as the soul of Hell and Evil came I With leave to give the kingdom of the world; The freedom of thyself.” How penetrating his expression of the cold isolation which arises from want of a living faith. “ It is not for me to know, nor thee, the end Of evil. I inflict and thou must bear, The arrow knoweth not its end and aim; And I keep rushing, ruining along Like a great river rich with dead men's souls; For if I knew I might rejoice; and that To me by nature is forbidden. I know Nor joy nor sorrow; but a changeless tone Of sadness like the nightwind's is the strain Of what I have of feeling. I am not As other spirits; but a solitude Even to myself; I the sole spirit sole. Mortality is mine; the green Unripened Universe. But as the fruit Matures, and, world by world drops mellowed off The wrinkling stalk of time, as thine own race Hath seen of stars now vanished; all is hid From me. My part is done. What after comes I know not more than thou.” When preaching to the multitude he shows the practi- cal working of his mood. 1841.] 259 Festus. « LUCIFER. I am a preacher come to tell ye truth. .. I tell ye too there is no time to be lost; So fold your souls up neatly, while ye may; Direct to God in Heaven; or some one else May seize them, seal them, send them you know where." * The ebb and flow in the life of the youth Festus, which gives the demon opportunity to rise upon the waters, are represented in the following passages. “ Night brings out stars as sorrow shows us truths ; Though many, yet they help not; bright, they light not. They are too late to serve us ; and sad things Are aye too true. We never see the stars Till we can see nought but them. So with truth. And yet if one would look down a deep well, Even at noon; we might see these same stars, Far fairer than the blinding blue; the truth Stars in the water like a dark bright eye, But there are other eyes men better love Than truth's, for when we have her she is so cold And proud, we know not what to do with her. 3 Sometimes the thought comes swiftening over us, Like a small bird winging the still blue air, And then again at other times it rises Slow, like a cloud which scales the skies all breathless, And just over head lets itself down on us. Sometimes we feel the wish across the mind Rush, like a rocket roaring up the sky, That we should join with God and give the world The go-bye; but the world meantime turns round, And peeps us in the face; the wanton world; We feel it gently pressing down our arm, The arm we had raised to do for truth such wonders; We feel it softly bearing on our side; We feel it touch and thrill us through the body; And we are fools and there's an end of us." These are fine glimpses, and such openings into the sky promise a look out into infinity. But our author is not yet of imagination all compact. He does not degrade his thought; but he does not sustain it. With master's hand he strikes out the outline, but cannot, with skill equal to his force, recreate in anatomical perfection the entire body. Throughout the poem, the Lucifer does not grow upon you, does not more deeply disclose its secret. The thought of making him love, and then give up his love to Festus, is so fine, that we are disappointed that nothing more is 260 [Oct. Festus. i elicited from it than splendid passages in the scenes, which are overflowed by the “golden, gorgeous loveliness" of Elissa, whose eyes of " soft wet fire” do indeed closely encounter our own. AGLAURON. Yet, as we look over the portfolio of bold crayon sketches, ragged, half-finished, half-effaced; the poem of great opportunities, thrown heedless by, is more impressive than the achievement of any one great deed. LAURIE. That is not in accordance with your usual way of thinking. AGLAURON. No! but I begin to feel the starlight nights shining, and the great waves rushing through the page of this author, and agree that he can only be judged in your way. LAURIE. A conquest this, indeed! and I, on my side, will admit that, if you are sometimes too severe from look- ing only at the performance, I am too indulgent from taking into view the whole life of the man. Yet, as you, Aglauron, are in no danger of ceasing to demand excel- lence, your concession to the side of sympathy pleases me well. My poet, negligently reclining, lost in reverie, soiled and torn by long rambles, charms my fancy, as the little fisher boys I have seen, half listlessly gazing on the great deep, seem to my eye, in their ragged garb and weather-stained features, more poetically fair, more part and parcel of na- ture's great song, than the young and noble minstrel, tun- ing his lute in the princely bower, for tale select, or dainty madrigal AGLAURON. To return to your Lucifer; let us observe how the thought has deepened in the mind of man. If we compare the Mephistopheles and Lucifer with the bus- kined devil of the mob, the goblin with cloven foot and tail, we realize the vast development of inward life. What a step from slavish fears of outward injury or retribu- tion, to representations, like these, of inward dangers, the pitfalls, and fearful dens within our nature. And he who thoughtfully sees the danger begins already to sub- due. LAURIE. The poet, my friend, the poet, ah! he is in- deed the only friend, and gives us for brief intervals an Olympic game, instead of the seemingly aimless contests 1841.] 261 Festus. that fill the years between. Yet that they are only seem- ingly aimless his fulfilment shows. We date from such periods, where we saw the crown on worthy brows. We cannot adjudge the palm to the aspirant before us, yet will not many thoughts and those of sacred import take birth from this hour? We have not criticized; we have lived with him. AGLAURON. And shall we not meet him again? · LAURIE. He forbids us to expect it. But a mind, which has poured itself forth so fully, and we must add so pre- maturely, claims seclusion to win back “ the sacred secret that has flown out of it.” Its utterance has made it real- ize its infinite wants so deeply, that ages of silence seem requisite to satisfy in any degree the need of repose and undisturbed growth. But the reactions of nature are speedy beyond promise. Who, that paces for the first time a strand from which the tide has ebbed, and sees the forlornness of the forsaken rocks, and the rejected shells and seaweed strown negligently along, could find in the low murmur of the unrepenting waves any promise of re- turn; yet to-morrow will see them return, to claim the for- gotten spoils, and clothe in joy and power every crevice of the desolate shore. So with our poet! Here or else- where we must meet again. AGLAURON. He says, «The world is all in sects, which makes one loathe it." LAURIE. It claims the more aid from the poet " wont to make, unite, believe.” He says too of Festus, in the - Additional Scene,” “Like the burning peak he fell Into himself, and was missing ever after.” But we do not believe that the internal heat has been ex- hausted by one outbreak, and must look for another, if not of higher aim, yet of more thorough fulfilment, and more perfect beauty. 262 (Oct. Walter Savage Landor. WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. We sometimes meet in a stage coach in New England an erect muscular man, with fresh complexion and a smooth hat, whose nervous speech instantly betrays the English traveller; - a man nowise cautious to conceal his name or that of his native country, or his very slight esteem for the persons and the country that surround him. When Mr. Bull rides in an American coach, he speaks quick and strong, he is very ready to confess his ignorance of every- thing about him, persons, manners, customs, politics, geography. He wonders that the Americans should build with wood, whilst all this stone is lying in the roadside, and is astonished to learn that a wooden house may last a hundred years ; nor will he remember the fact as many minutes after it has been told him ; he wonders they do not make elder-wine and cherry-bounce, since here are cherries, and every mile is crammed with elder bushes. He has never seen a good horse in America, nor a good coach, nor a good inn. Here is very good earth and water, and plenty of them, that he is free to allow, - to all other gifts of nature or man, his eyes are sealed by the inexorable demand for the precise conveniences to which he is accustomed in England. Add to this proud blind- ness the better quality of great downrightness in speaking the truth, and the love of fair play, on all occasions, and, moreover, the peculiarity which is alleged of the English- man, that his virtues do not come out until he quarrels. Transfer these traits to a very elegant and accomplished mind, and we shall have no bad picture of Walter Savage Landor, who may stand as a favorable impersonation of the genius of his countrymen at the present day. A sharp dogmatic man with a great deal of knowledge, a great deal of worth, and a great deal of pride, with a profound con- tempt for all that he does not understand, a master of all elegant learning and capable of the utmost delicacy of sentiment, and yet prone to indulge a sort of ostentation of coarse imagery and language. His partialities and dis- likes are by no means calculable, but are often whimsical and amusing; yet they are quite sincere, and, like those of Johnson and Coleridge, are easily separable from the man. 1841.] 263 Walter Savage Landor. What he says of Wordsworth, is true of himself, that he delights to throw a clod of dirt on the table, and cry, “Gen- tlemen, there is a better man than all of you." Bolivar, Mina, and General Jackson will never be greater soldiers than Napoleon and Alexander, let Mr. Landor think as he will ; nor will he persuade us to burn Plato and Xenophon, out of our admiration of Bishop Patrick, or “ Lucas on Happiness,” or “Lucas on Holiness," or even Barrow's Sermons. Yet a man may love a paradox, without losing either his wit or his honesty. A less pardonable eccen- tricity is the cold and gratuitous obtrusion of licentious images, not so much the suggestion of merriment as of bit- terness. Montaigne assigns as a reason for his license of speech, that he is tired of seeing his Essays on the work- tables of ladies, and he is determined they shall for the future put them out of sight. In Mr. Landor's coarseness there is a certain air of defiance; and the rude word seems sometimes to arise from a disgust at niceness and over-re- finement. Before a well-dressed company he plunges his fingers in a sess-pool, as if to expose the whiteness of his hands and the jewels of his ring. Afterward, he washes them in water, he washes them in wine ; but you are never secure from his freaks. A sort of Earl Peter- borough in literature, his eccentricity is too decided not to have diminished his greatness. He has capital enough to have furnished the brain of fifty stock authors, yet has written no good book. But we have spoken all our discontent. Possibly his writings are open to harsher censure ; but we love the man from sympathy, as well as for reasons to be assigned ; and have no wish, if we were able, to put an argument in the mouth of his critics. Now for twenty years we have still found the “Imaginary Conversations” a sure resource in sol- itude, and it seems to us as original in its form as in its mat- ter. Nay, when we remember his rich and ample page, where- in we are always sure to find free and sustained thought, a keen and precise understanding, an affluent and ready memory familiar with all chosen books, an industrious ob- servation in every department of life, an experience to which nothing has occurred in vain, honor for every just and generous sentiment, and a scourge like that of the Furies for every oppressor, whether public or private, we 264 [Oct. Walter Savage Landor. iresi trivial associayden and Pone, — Ben Jonatarch, feel how dignified is this perpetual Censor in his curule chair, and we wish to thank a benefactor of the reading world. Mr. Landor is one of the foremost of that small class who make good in the nineteenth century the claims of pure literature. In these busy days of avarice and ambition, when there is so little disposition to profound thought, or to any but the most superficial intellectual entertainments, a faithful scholar receiving from past ages the treasures of wit, and enlarging them by his own love, is a friend and consoler of mankind. When we pronounce the names of Homer and Æschylus, - Horace, 'Ovid, and Plutarch, — Erasmus, Scaliger, and Montaigne, — Ben Jonson and Isaak Walton, - Dryden and Pope, - we pass at once out of trivial associations, and enter into a region of the purest pleasure accessible to human nature. We have quitted all beneath the moon, and entered that crystal sphere in which everything in the world of matter re- appears, but transfigured and immortal. Literature is the effort of man to indemnify himself for the wrongs of his condition. The existence of the poorest play-wright and the humblest scrivener is a good omen. A charm attaches to the most inferior names which have in any manner got themselves enrolled in the registers of the House of Fame, even as porters and grooms in the courts, to Creech and Fenton, Theobald and Dennis, Aubrey and Spence. From the moment of entering a library and opening a desired book, we cease to be citizens, creditors, debtors, housekeep- ers, and men of care and fear. What boundless leisure ! what original jurisdiction ! the old constellations have set, new and brighter have arisen ; an elysian light tinges all objects. “ In the afternoon we came unto a land In which it seemed always afternoon." And this sweet asylum of an intellectual life must appear to have the sanction of nature, as long as so many men are born with so decided an aptitude for reading and writing. Let us thankfully allow every faculty and art which opens new scope to a life so confined as ours. There are vast spaces in a thought; a slave, to whom the religious sentiment is opened, has a freedom which makes 1841.) 265 Walter Savage Landor. his master's freedom a slavery. Let us not be so illiberal with our schemes for the renovation of society and nature, as to disesteem or deny the literary spirit. Certainly there are heights in nature which command this ; there are many more which this commands. It is vain to call it a luxury, and as saints and reformers are apt to do, decry it as a species of day-dreaming. What else are sanctities, and reforms, and all other things ? Whatever can make for itself an element, means, organs, servants, and the most profound and permanent existence in the hearts and heads of millions of men, must have a reason for its being. Its excellency is reason and vindication enough. If rhyme rejoices us, there should be rhyme, as much as if fire cheers us, we should bring wood and coals. Each kind of excellence takes place for its hour, and excludes every- thing else. Do not brag of your actions, as if they were better than Homer's verses or Raphael's pictures. Ra- phael and Homer feel that action is pitiful beside their enchantments. They could act too, if the stake was worthy of them; but now all that is good in the universe urges them to their task. Whoever writes for the love of truth and beauty, and not with ulterior ends, belongs to this sacred class, and among these, few men of the present age, have a better claim to be numbered than Mr. Landor. Wherever genius or taste has existed, wherever freedom and justice are threatened, which he values as the element in which genius may work, his interest is sure to be com- manded. His love of beauty is passionate, and betrays itself in all petulant and contemptuous expressions. But beyond his delight in genius, and his love of in- dividual and civil liberty, Mr. Landor has a perception that is much more rare, the appreciation of character. This is the more remarkable considered with his intense national- ity, to which we have already alluded. He is buttoned in English broadcloth to the chin. He hates the Austrians, the Italians, the French, the Scotch, and the Irish. He has the common prejudices of an English landholder; values his pedigree, his acres, and the syllables of his name ; loves all his advantages, is not insensible to the beauty of his watchseal, or the Turk's head on his um- brella ; yet with all this miscellaneous pride, there is a noble nature within him, which instructs him that he is so VOL. II. —NO. II. 34 266 [Oct. Walter Savage Landor. rich that he can well spare all his trappings, and, leaving to others the painting of circumstance, aspire to the office of delineating character. He draws his own portrait in the costume of a village schoolmaster, and a sailor, and serenely enjoys the victory of nature over fortune. Not only the elaborated story of Normanby, but the whimsical selection of his heads prove this taste. He draws with evident pleasure the portrait of a man, who never said anything right, and never did anything wrong. But in the character of Pericles, he has found full play for beauty and greatness of behavior, where the circumstances are in harmony with the man. These portraits, though mere sketches, must be valued as attempts in the very highest kind of narrative, which not only has very few examples to exhibit of any success, but very few competitors in the attempt. The word Character is in all mouths; it is a force which we all feel; yet who has analyzed it? What is the nature of that subtle, and majestic principle which attaches us to a few persons, not so much by personal as by the most spiritual ties? What is the quality of the persons who, without being public men, or literary men, or rich men, or active men, or (in the popular sense) reli- gious men, have a certain salutary omnipresence in all our life's history, almost giving their own quality to the atmos- phere and the landscape ? A moral force, yet wholly un- mindful of creed and catechism, intellectual, but scornful of books, it works directly and without means, and though it may be resisted at any time, yet resistance to it is a sui- cide. For the person who stands in this lofty relation to his fellow men is always the impersonation to them of their conscience. It is a sufficient proof of the extreme delicacy of this element, evanescing before any but the most sympathetic vision, that it has so seldom been em- ployed in the drama and in novels. Mr. Landor, almost alone among living English writers, has indicated his per- ception of it. These merits make Mr. Landor's position in the repub- lic of letters one of great mark and dignity. He exercises with a grandeur of spirit the office of writer, and carries it with an air of old and unquestionable nobility. We do not recollect an example of more complete independence in literary history. He has no clanship, no friendships, 1841.] 267 Walter Savage Landor. that warp him. He was one of the first to pronounce Wordsworth the great poet of the age, yet he discriminates his faults with the greater freedom. He loves Pindar, Æschylus, Euripides, Aristophanes, Demosthenes, Virgil, yet with open eyes. His position is by no means the high- est in literature; he is not a poet or a philosopher. He is a man full of thoughts, but not, like Coleridge, a man of ideas. Only from a mind conversant with the First Philos- ophy can definitions be expected. Coleridge has contrib- uted many valuable ones to modern literature. Mr. Lan- dor's definitions are only enumerations of particulars; the generic law is not seized. But as it is not from the high- est Alps or Andes, but from less elevated summits, that the most attractive landscape is commanded, so is Mr. Landor the most useful and agreeable of critics. He has commented on a wide variety of writers, with a closeness and an extent of view, which has enhanced the value of those authors to his readers. His Dialogue on the Epicurean philosophy is a theory of the genius of Epicurus. The Dialogue between Barrow and Newton is the best of all criticisms on the Essays of Bacon. His picture of De- mosthenes in three several Dialogues is new and ade- quate. He has illustrated the genius of Homer, Æschy- lus, Pindar, Euripides, Thucydides. Then he has ex- amined before he expatiated, and the minuteness of his verbal criticism gives a confidence in his fidelity, when he speaks the language of meditation or of passion. His acquaintance with the English tongue is unsurpassed. He “ hates false words, and seeks with care, difficulty, and moroseness, those that fit the thing." He knows the value of his own words. “They are not,” he says, “ written on slate." He never stoops to explanation, nor uses seven words where one will do. He is a master of condensation and suppression, and that in no vulgar way. He knows the wide difference between compression and an obscure elliptical style. The dense writer has yet ample room and choice of phrase, and even a gamesome mood often be- tween his valid words. There is no inadequacy or disa- greeable contraction in his sentence, any more than in a human face, where in a square space of a few inches is found room for every possible variety of expression. Yet it is not as an artist, that Mr. Landor commends 268 Oct. Walter Savage Landor. himself to us. He is not epic or dramatic, he has not the high, overpowering method, by which the master gives unity and integrity to a work of many parts. He is too wilful, and never abandons himself to his genius. His books are a strange mixture of politics, etymology, allegory, sentiment, and personal history, and what skill of transi- tion he may possess is superficial, not spiritual. His merit must rest at last, not on the spirit of the dialogue, or the symmetry of any of his historical portraits, but on the value of his sentences. Many of these will secure their own immortality in English literature ; and this, rightly con- sidered, is no mean merit. These are not plants and ani- mals, but the genetical atoms, of which both are composed. All our great debt to the oriental world is of this kind, not utensils and statues of the precious metal, but bullion and gold dust. Of many of Mr. Landor's sentences we are fain to remember what was said of those of Socrates, that they are cubes, which will stand firm, place them how or where you will. We will enrich our pages with a few paragraphs, which we hastily select from such of Mr. Landor's volumes as lie on our table, “ The great man is he who hath nothing to fear and noth- ing to hope from another. It is he, who, while he demon- strates the iniquity of the laws, and is able to correct them, obeys them peaceably. It is he who looks on the ambitious, both as weak and fraudulent. It is he who hath no disposi- tion or occasion for any kind of deceit, no reason for being or for appearing different from what he is. It is he who can call together the most select company when it pleases him. .... ..... Him I would call the powerful man who controls the storms of his mind, and turns to good account the worst acci- dents of his fortune. The great man, I was going on to show thee, is somewhat more. He must be able to do this, and he must have that intellect which puts into motion the intellect of others." “ All titulars else must be produced by others; a knight by a knight, a peer by a King, while a gentleman is self-existent." “Critics talk most about the visible in sublimity . . the Jupiter, the Neptune. Magnitude and power are sublime, but in the second degree, managed as they may be. Where the 1841.) 269 Walter Savage Landor. CLODY heart is not shaken, the gods thunder and stride in vain. True sublimity is the perfection of the pathetic, which has other sources than pity; generosity, for instance, and self-devotion, When the generous and self-devoted man suffers, there comes Pity; the basis of the sublime is then above the water, and the poet, with or without the gods, can elevate it above the skies. Terror is but the relic of a childish feeling; pity is not given to children. So said he; I know not whether rightly, for the wisest differ on poetry, the knowledge of which, like other most important truths, seems to be reserved for a purer state of sen- sation and existence." “O Cyrus, I have observed that the authors of good make men very bad as often as they talk much about them." " The habit of haranguing is in itself pernicious; I have known even the conscientious and pious, the humane and libe- ral dried up by it into egoism and vanity, and have watched the mind, growing black and rancid in its own smoke." GLORY. “Glory is a light which shines from us on others, not from others on us." “If thou lovest Glory, thou must trust her truth. She fol- loweth him who doth not turn and gaze after her.” RICHARD I. “Let me now tell my story .. to confession another time. I sailed along the realms of my family; on the right was Eng- land, on the left was France; little else could I discover than sterile eminences and extensive shoals. They fled behind me; so pass away generations; so shift, and sink, and die away affections. In the wide ocean I was little of a monarch ; old men guided me, boys instructed me; these taught me the names of my towns and harbors, those showed me the extent of my dominions; one cloud, that dissolved in one hour, half covered them. " I debark in Sicily. I place my hand upon the throne of Tancred, and fix it. I sail again, and within a day or two I behold, as the sun is setting, the solitary majesty of Crete, mother of a religion, it is said, that lived two thousand years. Onward, and many specks bubble up along the blue Ægean; islands, every one of which, if the songs and stories of the pilots are true, is the monument of a greater man than I am. I leave them afar off .... and for whom? O, abbot, to join creatures of less import than the sea-mews on their cliffs; men praying to be heard, and fearing to be understood, ambitious of 270 (Oct. Walter Savage Landor. another's power in the midst of penitence, avaricious of another's wealth under vows of poverty, and jealous of anoth- er's glory in the service of their God. Is this Christianity? and is Saladin to be damned if he despises it ?” DEMOSTHENES. “While I remember what I have been, I never can be less. External power can affect those only who have none intrinsi- cally. I have seen the day, Eubulides, when the most august of cities had but one voice within her walls; and when the stranger, on entering them, stopped at the silence of the gate- way, and said, “Demosthenes is speaking in the assembly of the people.'” “ There are few who form their opinions of greatness from the individual. Ovid says, 'the girl is the least part of her- self.' Of himself, certainly, the man is.” . “No men are so facetious as those whose minds are somewhat perverted. Truth enjoys good air and clear light, but no play- ground.” "I found that the principal means (of gratifying the univer- sal desire of happiness) lay in the avoidance of those very things, which had hitherto been taken up as the instruments of enjoyment and content; such as military commands, political offices, clients, adventures in commerce, and extensive landed property." “ Abstinence from low pleasures is the only means of merit. ing or of obtaining the higher.” “Praise keeps good men good.” “ The highest price we can pay for a thing is to ask for it.” “ There is a gloom in deep love as in deep water; there is a silence in it which suspends the foot; and the folded arms, and the dejected head are the images it reflects. No voice shakes its surface; the Muses themselves approach it with a tardy and a timid step, and with a low and tremulous and melancholy song.” “Anaxagoras is the true, firm, constant friend of Pericles ; the golden lamp that shines perpetually on the image I adore.” [The Letter of Pericles to Aspasia in reply to her re- quest to be permitted to visit Xeniades.] “Do what your heart tells you ; yes, Aspasia, do all it tells you. Remember how august it is. It contains the temple, 1841.) 271 Inworld. not only of Love, but of Conscience; and a whisper is heard from the extremity of one to the extremity of the other. “ Bend in pensiveness, even in sorrow, on the flowery bank of youth, whereunder runs the stream that passes irreversibly! let the garland drop into it, let the hand be refreshed by it — but - may the beautiful feet of Aspasia stand firm." INWORLD. Amid the watches of the windy night A poet sat and listened to the flow Of his own changeful thoughts, until there passcd A vision by him, murmuring, as it moved, A wild and mystic lay – to which his thoughts And pen kept time, and thus the measure ran:- All is but as it seems. The round green earth, With river and glen; The din and the mirth Of the busy busy men; The world's great fever Throbbing forever; The creed of the sage, The hope of the age, All things we cherish, All that live and all that perish, These are but inner dreams. The great world goeth on To thy dreaming ; To thee alone Hearts are making their moan, . Eyes are streaming. Thine is the white moon turning night to day, Thine is the dark wood sleeping in her ray ; Thee the winter chills; Thee the spring-time thrills; All things nod to thee - All things come to see If thou art dreaming on. If thy dream should break, And thou shouldst awake, All things would be gone. 272 (Oct. 1841. Inworld. Nothing is, if thou art not. From thee as from a root The blossoming stars upshoot, The flower cups drink the rain. Joy and grief and weary pain Spring aloft from thee, And toss their branches free. Thou art under, over all ; Thou dost hold and cover'all; Thou art Atlas — thou art Jove; - The mightiest truth Hath all its youth From thy enveloping thought — Thy thought itself lay in thy earliest love. Nature keeps time to thee With voice unbroken; Still doth she rhyme to thee, When thou hast spoken. When the sun shines to thee, 'Tis thy own joy Opening mines to thee Nought can destroy. When the blast moans to thee, Still doth the wind Echo the tones to thee Of thy own mind. Laughter but saddens thee When thou art glad, Life is not life to thee But as thou livest, Labor is strife to thee, When thou least strivest:- More did the spirit sing, and made the night Most musical with inward melodies, But vanished soon and left the listening Bard Wrapt in unearthly silence - till the morn Reared up the screen that shuts the spirit-world From loftiest poet and from wisest sage. THE DIAL. VOL. II. JANUARY, 1842. No. III. _ _ FIRST PRINCIPLES. LOVE. The stream flows between its banks, according to Love. The planets sustain and restrain themselves, in their courses, by this same principle. All nature governs itself by Love. By this I understand, that each created thing, is gifted to act, as though it knew the properties, and ends to be attained, which belong to each of the others; and that each one so guides itself, as not to interfere with, or re- strain, the workings of another; except when a clashing of properties takes place, and then, a just and equitable compromise is immediately effected. This regard to the peculiarities, and constructions of each other, appears to be an application of the principle of justice. The sentence, “ All nature governs itself by Love,” im- plies a power — the Power of Love. But this is not always perceived. LOVE AND POWER. Looking out upon nature, we find all things moving, and revolving, according to some apparently everlasting and unchanging laws, of which we have, as yet, obtained no knowledge, save that of their mere existence. Immediately we sum up all the changes of the seasons ; the summer with its overpowering heat; the winter with VOL. II. — NO. 111. 35 274 [Jan. First Principles. its intense cold; the movement of the winds and the waves ; the growth of the trees; the revolutions of the sun, and the moon, and the stars ; and then we turn our eyes inward, and perceive in our own souls, that we decide concerning the performance of any action, according as the motive for, is stronger or weaker than the motive against ; and because we have seen all this, we say: There are in nature two classes of things: things which are governed, and things which govern. The things which are governed are matter and spirit. The things which govern, are the laws of matter and the laws of spirit. Then we sum up all the laws which we know, and find that they may be included in the first thought of justice or love. But the view is changed; we now perceive the element of Activity, or Power. Power (or activity) I call will, (not free will.) As in the word Love, Power (or activity) is implied, so in the word Power, Freedom is implied. But this is not always perceived. APPLICATION. from the ete little dominio dim eternity the un There is a chain of causes and effects, which proceeds from the eternity of the past, and passes, link by Jink, through our little dominion of time, thence stretching on- ward, till it is lost in the dim eternity to come. The de- scription of this chain, is the history of the universe. When we have performed an action, it is no longer ours, it belongs to nature. As soon as an action goes forth, it gives birth to another action, which last gives birth to still another, and so on through all eternity. The litile bustle and noise, which we have made, appears small, beside the motion of the rest of the universe; but that little bustle and noise will have their precise effect, and this effect will continue to produce and reproduce itself for- ever. All that has been done before my time, has left effects, to serve me as motives. All that I do, and all that nature does in my time, will serve as motives to those who come after me. All nature has been at work from the be- ginning of time, until this day, to produce me, and my character. “ All things are full of labor; man cannot utter it; the 1842.] 275 First Principles. eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing. The thing that has been, is the thing that shall be; and the thing that has been done, is the thing that shall be done ; and there is no new thing under the sun." When we see these things, we think that it is well to know, and to love, nature; for, according to her laws, are all things done, which are done, in the world. We see that from good, good arises; and that from evil, evil arises. We see that this is a law of nature. Then we say again, with King Solomon, “God shall judge the righteous and the wicked; for there is a time for every work, and for every purpose. Though a sinner do evil a hundred times, and his days be prolonged, yet surely I know that it will be well with them which fear God; but it shall not be well with the wicked; neither shall he prolong his days, which are as a shadow ; be- cause he feareth not before God.” LOVE AND POWER AND INTELLIGENCE. Looking in upon ourselves, we find that we are not machines. We find that we are something more than mere sieves, by which nature distinguishes stronger from weaker motives. We find that, although we always act from a choice of motives, there is no power in any motive, by which it acts irresistibly upon the mind. The degrees of strength, by which motives act upon the mind, are given to those mo- tives, by the mind itself. The mind itself decides by what motives it will be ruled; and often it refuses to obey a mo- tive coming from without, because of a principle which it has formed for its own government. The mind makes laws for itself, and changes those laws when it pleases so to do. Matter obeys the strongest force, and it obeys that foree so far as it is stronger than all other opposite forces. But not so spirit. Spirit opposes extraneous forces, by forces formed by, and in itself. The struggle between the soul, and extraneous force, constitutes Spiritual Life. In every human action there is an element of Liberty, and an element of Destiny. Lib- erty modifies destiny, and destiny modifies liberty. 276 First Principles. (Jan. Man is not wholly free, neither is he wholly enslaved; for were he wholly free, or wholly enslaved, he might con- tinue to exist, but he would cease to be man. Man is a free spirit, bound in chains and fetters; but having power to throw off, one by one, the bands which fasten him to the earth. If any man strive to rise above his destiny, that man is a noble man ; if any man knowingly succumb to his circumstances, that man is an ignoble man. A man is not an ignoble man, because he does ignoble things ; but he does ignoble things, because he is an ig. noble man. A tree may be known by its fruits. CONCLUSION. The fool is driven before his destiny; but the man of understanding rideth thereon. DESTINY. There is a chain of causes and effects, which stretches from eternity to eternity. This chain is a bridge, which connects the past with that which is to come. Proceeding from that which is behind us, we step, link by link, along this bridge, and press onward toward the shadowy future. We know that this chain exists, because we see its links. We know that a particular cause will never fail to bring forth its own particular effect. As cause is to effect, in the material world, so, with certain modifications, is motive to voluntary action in the human mind. No link, in the immeasurable chain, could occupy any other place than the one which it does occupy ; for there is no such thing as chance. This chain stretches forth from the eternity, which pre- cedes our birth ; and these causes, under the name of mo- tives, will always bave their precise effect, upon every operation of our minds, and upon every action of our lives. From like causes we never fail to experience like ef- fects. Knowledge is not vague and undetermined. The human mind is a legitimate object of science. If we have given, the precise character, and motives, of a man, we can predict his conduct, under certain circum- 1842.) 277 First Principles. stances, as certainly as we can predict an eclipse of the sun, or the return of a comet, The old farmer knows more than the young beginner, because he has had more experience. The old diplomatist knows more than the young politician, because he has seen more men. If I plant corn, I am as certain that I can sell it in the market, as I am that it will come up in my fields. If I am the owner of a manufactory, I am as certain that I can ob- tain men to labor in my mill, as I am that my machinery will work. Men do not always see this destiny ; but if adversity lays her iron hand upon them, and they perceive that all avenues are closed, by which they would vent their activ- ity, they acknowledge this conjunction of causes and ef- fects, which then asserts its power. How often is it, that we would act, but cannot, because circumstances oppose us; and circumstances mark out our destiny. FREEDOM. “Nor would I have you mistake, in the point of your own liberty. These is a liberty of corrupt nature, which is affected both by men and beasts, to do what they list; and this liberty is inconsistent with authority, impatient of all restraint; by this liberty sumus omnes deteriores ; 't is the grand enemy of truth and peace, and all the ordinances of God are bent against it. But there is a civil, a moral, a federal liberty, which is the proper end and object of authority; it is a liberty for that only which is just and good ; for this liberty you are to stand with the hazard of your very lives, and whatsoever crosses it, is not authority, but a distemper thereof. This liberty is maintained in a way of subjection to authority; and the authority set over you will, in all administrations for your good, be quietly submitted unto by all, but such as have a disposition to shake off the yoke, and lose their true liberty, by their murmuring at the honor and power of authority.” Always man sees, above himself, an image of what he ought to be. This image is not himself, but it is what he ought to be. This image comprises, in itself, goodness, power, and wisdom. As man strives to realize this idea 278 [Jan. First Principles. of what he ought to be, he rises higher and higher ; but, as he rises higher and higher, this image removes from him, and also rises higher and higher, until it becomes infinite goodness, infinite power, and infinite wisdom. When this idea has become thus perfected, and man perceives it, he knows that the idea is the idea of God. Man says, it is not me, it is not mine ; but I see it, and it is the ever- lasting God. Freedom is not the power to do wrong; it is the power to do right, the power to exercise all the capacities of one's nature. There is but one being who is absolutely free ; that being is God. Man is the victim of circumstances; he is never free in himself, but he can become free by par- taking of the absolute liberty, by partaking of “ the lib- erty of the sons of God.” There is no self-determining power of the will. Always the will obeys the emotions of the sensibility, as modified by the dictates of the intelligence. In other words, the precise conduct of a man may be known, if we have given, the precise character of the man, and the motives which are to act upon that character. Man is not accountable for the motive, neither is he accountable for the action; but he is accountable for the character. Man always has the idea before him of what he ought to be, and, if he contemplate and love that idea, he will ascend toward it; and if he ascend toward it, he will partake of the ever- lasting liberty. But, if he scorn that idea, and prefer the fleeting circumstances of time, he will fall from liberty, and become a bond slave of the Devil. A man is not a murderer, because he commits murder; but he commits murder, because he is a murderer. We condemn the man, because he commits the deed; for, to us, a tree is known by its fruits only. There is One that judgeth the heart. Freedom, therefore, dwells in the intelligence ; because it is by the intelligence that we know God, when we per- ceive his manifestations. It is by the intelligence that we look inward, and discover our own limitations and weak- nesses ; and the knowledge of our own limitations and weaknesses is the first step toward a remodelling of our characters, according to the everlasting idea. When ad- verse circumstances surround us, and threaten to over- 1842.] 279 First Principles. whelm us, do we overcome them, and assert our superiori- ty, our liberty, by an effort of the will ? No. We look at these circumstances, and study them, and then, because we have obtained knowledge, we turn aside these adverse cir- cumstances, one after the other, and at last, we ride over that which at first threatened to overwhelm us. LIBERTY AND DESTINY. Were we mere spirits, and not spirits subjected to the circumstances of the body, then might this idea, of what we ought to be, be sufficient to maintain our liberty. But we are not such spirits ; we are bound down by ma- terial bodies, surrounded by temptations, the victims of circumstances; and this divine idea is hardly seen by those who are obliged to toil, daily and nightly, to secure those things which are necessary to the body. . It is possible, if this idea were all that could lead us to liberty, that among whole generations of men, there might not be a single one, who should assert his freedom, and be- come the master of his destiny. For the image wanes dim, because of the world which is seen, and the things therein. Would it not be a glorious mercy of God, if this idea, which is not man, but which comes down to man, to show him the path of liberty, the path which leads to God, should become man, and dwell among us, and die among us, to show us how to assert the superiority of our souls over that which is material - to show us, in fine, the way to escape the bondage of the body, and to attain to the liberty of the sons of God ? If this Idea, this Light, should come among us, if he should come as a man like ourselves, we should know him, because he would do wonderful things, which no man ever did — because he would begin a movement which would go on, growing and growing, from generation to genera- tion ; and, when men of the most remote ages perceived this movement, they would recognise Him that commenced it. We should know him, because he would testify of him- self, and the light which is in us would testify of him ; for he would speak the words of truth, and these words would bring out the dim and defaced image of the truth this movements know him, becas would testify 280 [Jan. First Principles. which is in us, until it should reflect the blaze of the eter- nal glory. He that believeth hath the witness in himself. The witness within and the witness without. At the mouths of two or three witnesses shall every word stand fast. CONCERNING MATTER. What are material objects ? Material objects are the causes of impressions. We do not perceive material ob- jects; we only perceive the impressions which they make upon us. Their different properties, smell, taste, weight, color, extension, &c., only appear to us as their different manners of acting, or of making impressions. We know material objects by their properties only. We know them, therefore, only as active beings, as forces. All the beings of nature, minerals, vegetables, &c., are nothing to us, but forces, or combinations of forces. These forces are not, like the soul, intelligent and free, but they are all gifted with activity. Even those which have no property but simple resistance are active, for resistance is action. It is said that there is a simple substance, differing from, and lying behind, all these properties. This simple sub- stance I have never perceived; I know no necessity for it; and I have, therefore, no reason to believe that any such simple substance really exists. CONCERNING OURSELVES. A man, and the object upon which he acts, are two sepa- rate and distinct things. A man, and the instrument by which he acts, are also two separate and distinct things. If I cut a piece of wood, or write upon a sheet of paper, the piece of wood and the sheet of paper are ob- jects upon which I act; they are, therefore, not me. The chisel with which I cut, and the pen with which I write, are instruments by which I act; they are, therefore, not me. My hand is also an instrument by which I act; my hand, therefore, is not me. My whole body is a combination of instruments by which I act; my body, therefore, is not me. el with which they are, thereforot paper are o 1842.] 281 First Principles. If I am not the object acted upon, nor the instrument by which the action is performed, what then am I? I am, evidently, that which acts. CONCERNING THE SOUL. Although there is no material body without three dimen- sions, we often make abstraction of one or two of them; for example, if we speak of the size of a field, or of the height of a church, we consider a surface only, or a line. But no such thing as a geometrical line, or as a surface, really exists. When we speak of length, or of length and breadth, we speak of things from which the perfection of their being has been abstracted ; but, when we speak of length, breadth, and depth, we speak of a general formula which includes all the material bodies with which we come in contact every day. To facilitate study, Geometry is divided into three parts; the first part treats of length; the second treats of length and breadth ; the third treats of length, breadth, and depth. The first two parts treat of that from which all true being has been abstracted; the third part treats of real existing things. Now there is no soul which does not desire, think, and act: in other words, there is no soul without sensibility, intelligence, and power. When we speak of sensibility, without intelligence, and power, or when we speak of either sensibility, intelligence, or power, alone by itself, or when we speak of any two of these, without the third, we speak of things which do not really exist, because that which forms the perfection of their being has been ab- stracted from them. But when we speak of sensibility, intelligence, and power, we speak of a general formula which includes all the souls with which we come in contact every day. In order to facilitate observation, we will en- deavor to examine sensibility by itself, intelligence by itself, and power by itself. 1. By sensibility, the soul either perceives its own ac- tivity ; or it reacts upon itself by an emotion. 2. By intelligence, the soul either recognises the causes of its own activity; or having recognised those causes, it proceeds to recognise their effects; or, it compares emo- VOL. II. — NO. III. 36 282 Jan. First Principles. - tions, received through the sensibility, with recognitions of cause and effect. By power (activity, volition), the soul either simply pro- duces effects upon the material world; or, by producing such effects, it acts upon other souls, through the instru- mentality of language; or, it reacts upon itself by the formation of an opinion, thereby producing a harmony be- tween the intelligence and the sensibility. I have endeavored, in the last three paragraphs, to de- scribe the action of the soul by sensibility alone, by intelli- gence alone, and by power alone; but I have not succeeded, and I cannot in my own mind conceive of any such sepa- rate action. The soul acts, and thinks, when it perceives ; it perceives, and acts, when it thinks; it perceives, and thinks, when it acts. An emotion involves a thought, and a volition; a thought involves an emotion, and a volition ; a volition involves an emotion, and a thought. If I attempt to examine one manner of acting by itself, the other two immediately present themselves; if I attempt to examine the three, I immediately perceive nothing but their unity; if I attempt to examine their unity, the unity immediately disappears, and a triplicity stands in its place. · I do not pretend to explain this triplicity in unity; I merely endeavor to show that it does, in fact, exist. It is said that there is a soul differing from, and mani. festing itself by, sensibility, intelligence, and power. I have never caught a glimpse of any such soul; I see no necessity for such a soul; and I have, therefore, no reason to believe that any such soul does really exist. It appears to me that if the sensibility, intelligence, and power, which belong to any man's soul, should be so separated as not to act and react upon each other, that the fact of their sepa- ration would amount to the annihilation of the man's soul. A true soul must fulfil the following conditions ; 1. It must be able to act; 2. It must be able to perceive its own activity; 3. It must be able, when it perceives its own ac- tivity, to recognise itself. These three, are reciprocally, the conditions of each other's existence; and they include the fact of consciousness. 1842.] 283 First Principles. BEAUTY, JUSTICE, AND HARMONY. There is in every man a love, an attraction, for that which is like himself, and a dislike, a repulsion, for that which is unlike himself. . The highest characteristic of man is Life, and he loves every being in which he perceives life, or the manifestations thereof; he dislikes every being in which he perceives a tendency downwards, from life, toward non-existence. There are many beings incomplete, half dead, which we do not love ; but we do not dislike them because they partake of life, but because of their tendency toward non- existence. Man loves order, but he has a horror of chaos. It is natural for us to love our friends more than' we love any other created beings; and this is because they live, and because we have seen more of their lives than we have of the lives of any other created things. Our sensibilities are much affected when we see a fine statue, or painting, because the statue, or painting, is a representative of life; and when we perceive a statue, we recognise the living artist that made it. We admire any piece of human labor; even a plain brick wall possesses a certain interest, when compared with a loose heap of stones. If the statue be so fine that we forget the artist, it is be- cause the statue is lifelike in itself, and the appearance of life in the statue, renders it unnecessary for us to think of the living artist. But no man would be so much affected by the sight of a work of art, as he would be by the sight of an equally perfect living person. If man possessed nothing but sensibility, and activity, he would be acted upon by every thing which came in contact with him; and, as each of these things would have its precise effect, his own conduct would be regulated by the exterior world, he being but a mere machine, If man possessed nothing but intelligence and activity, he would have no emotions to induce him to think, neither would he have any subject of thought, and, although he would have the power of thought, he would not think, and therefore would not truly live. The action of the intelligence upon the sensibility, con- stitutes Life, and nothing truly lives but spirit. Our life is 284 [Jan. First Principles. a struggle between two natures; if either were wanting, there would be no struggle, and life would cease. Beauty, Justice, and Harmony, always accompany Life, yet they do not constitute life ; but, if life be manifested, then will Beauty, Justice, and Harmony appear, because they are attributes of that manifestation. Wherever we find either Beauty, or Justice, or Peace, we recognise that there a Living Spirit either is, or has once been. Yet Beauty, Justice, and Peace, are not that Living Spirit, they are, if I may so speak, the language by which that Spirit manifests itself. We often find Beauty, and Justice, and Harmony, in the work of a Spirit, after that Spirit has left its work, and departed from it. The love of the Beautiful, the love of the Just, and the love of the Harmonious, dwell in the sensibility ; but the idea of Beauty, the idea of Justice, and the idea of Har- mony, dwell in the intelligence. Beauty itself, Justice itself, Peace itself, are neither in the sensibility, nor in the intelligence; they are with God, and are everlastingly the same; but we can discover, as we move on, more and more concerning them. GOOD AND EVIL. God is the only perfect Being. If we endeavor to move on toward the perfection of our being, if we strive to fol- low the idea of what we ought to be, which leads to in- finite love, infinite wisdom, and infinite power, we shall be on the right course. Whatever tends to assist us in our journey is good. If we fall from the idea of what we ought to be, and do not strive to perfect our natures, but move downward toward infinite hatred, infinite folly, and infinite weakness, we shall be on the wrong course. Whatever tends to press us downward is evil. The existence of infinite power, infinite wisdom, infinite love, supposes the existence of something which is not them. The existence of the Yes, supposes the existence of the No. 1842.] 285 First Principles. CREATION. . God thought a being partaking of will, wisdom, and sensibility. He thought a body, with which this being was to be connected, and which was to be the instrument by which it should manifest itself, and by which it should maintain communion with what is without. The nature of this body is explained below. God thought an infinite variety of properties combined with each other, in an infinitely diversified manner. The being possessed of will, wisdom, sensibility, was one thought ; the “infinite variety of properties," was another and a different thought. God thought the being to be possessed of the power of causation, so far as to be able to vary the position of that portion of the “infinite diversity and combination of prop- erties " which formed its body; and, by that means, to act on the “exterior combination of properties” and to modify them to a certain extent. God thought the " combination of properties" to have the power to act upon the body of the being, and by that means, to hold a certain relation to the being itself. The being possessed of will, wisdom, sensibility, is the soul of man. The infinite variety of properties is the world of matter. The body is that portion of the world of matter upon which the soul immediately acts. All these exist in the thought of God. Thus do I explain the Universe as the settled opinion of Almighty God; and thus do I explain the relation which exists between the mind and what is without. W. B. G. 286 [Jan. Yuca Filamentosa. YUCA FILAMENTOSA. « The Spirit builds his house, in the least flowers, A beautiful mansion. How the colours live, Intricately delicate. Every night An angel for this purpose from the heavens, With his small urn of ivory-like hue, drops A globular world of the purest element In the flower's midst, feeding its tender soul With lively inspiration. I wonder That a man wants knowledge; is there not here Spread in amazing wealth, a form too rare, A soul so inward, that with an open heart Tremulous and tender, we all must fear, Not to see near enough, of these deep thoughts ? ” — MS. Often, as I looked up to the moon, I had marvelled to see how calm she was in her loneliness. The correspond- ences between the various parts of this universe are so perfect, that the ear, once accustomed to detect them, is always on the watch for an echo. And it seemed that the earth must be peculiarly grateful to the orb whose light clothes every feature of her's with beauty. Could it be that she answers with a thousand voices to each visit from the sun, who with unsparing scrutiny reveals all her blem- ishes, yet never returns one word to the flood of gentleness poured upon her by the sovereign of the night? I was sure there must be some living hieroglyphic to indicate that class of emotions which the moon calls up. And I perceived that the all-perceiving Greeks had the same thought, for they tell us that Diana loved once and was beloved again. In the world of gems, the pearl and opal answered to the moonbeam, but where was the Diana-flower ? — Long I looked for it in vain. At last its discovery was accidental, and in the quarter where I did not expect it. For several years I had kept in my garden two plants of the Yuca Filamentosa, and bestowed upon them every care without being repaid by a single blossom. Last June, I observed with pleasure that one was preparing to flower. From that time I watched it eagerly, though provoked at the slowness with which it unfolded its buds. A few days after, happening to look at the other, which had not by any means so favorable an exposure, I perceived 1842.] 287 Yuca Filamentosa. flower-buds on that also. I was taking my walk as usual at sunset, and, as I returned, the slender crescent of the young moon greeted me, rising above a throne of clouds, clouds of pearl and opal. Soon, in comparing the growth of my two plants, I was struck by a singular circumstance. The one, which had budded first, seemed to be waiting for the other, which, though, as I said before, least favorably placed of the two, disclosed its delicate cups with surprising energy. At last came the night of the full moon, and they burst into flower together. That was indeed a night of long-sought melody The day before, looking at them just ready to bloom, I had not expected any farther pleasure from the fulfilment of their promise, except the gratification of my curiosity. The little greenish bells lay languidly against the stem; the palmetto-shaped leaves which had, as it were, burst asunder to give way to the flower-stalk, leaving their edges rough with the filaments from which the plant derives its name, looked ragged and dull in the broad day-light. But now each little bell had erected its crest to meet the full stream of moonlight, and the dull green displayed a reverse of silvery white. The filaments seemed a robe, also of silver, but soft and light as gossamer. Each feature of the plant was now lustrous and expressive in proportion to its former dimness, and the air of tender triumph, with which it raised its head towards the moon, as if by worship to thank her for its all, spoke of a love, bestowed a loveli- ness beyond all which I had heretofore known of beauty. As I looked on this flower my heart swelled with emo- tions never known but once before. Once, when I saw in woman what is most womanly, the love of a seraph shining through death. I expected to see my flower pass and melt as she did in the celestial tenderness of its smile. I longed to have some other being share a happiness which seemed to me so peculiar and so rare, and called Alcmeon from the house. The heart and mind of Alcme- on are not without vitality, but have never been made in- terpreters between nature and the soul. He is one who could travel amid the magnificent displays of the tropical climates, nor even look at a flower, nor do I believe he ever drew a thought from the palm tree more than the poplar. 288 (Jan. Inworld. But the piercing sweetness of this flower's look in its nuptial hour conquered even his obtuseness. He stood be- fore it a long time, sad, soft, and silent. I believe he real- ized the wants of his nature more than ever he had done before, in the course of what is called a life. Next day I went out to look at the plants, and all the sweet glory had vanished. Dull, awkward, sallow stood there in its loneliness the divinity of the night before. - Oh Absence !- Life was in the plant; birds sang and insects hovered around; the blue sky bent down lovingly, the sun poured down nobly over it, but the friend, to whom the key of its life had been given in the order of nature, had begun to decline from the ascendant, had retired into silence, and the faithful heart had no language for any other. At night the flowers were again as beautiful as before. Fate ! let me never murmur more. There is an hour of joy for every form of being, an hour of rapture for those that wait most patiently. - Queen of night! – Humble Flower! — how patient were ye, the one in the loneliness of bounty, - the other in the loneliness of poverty. The flower brooded on her own heart; the moon never wearied of filling her urn, for those she could not love as children. Had the eagle waited for her, she would have smiled on him as serenely as on the nightingale. Admirable are the compensations of nature. As that flower, in its own season, imparted a dearer joy than all my lilies and roses, so does the Aloes in its concentrated bliss know all that has been diffused over the hundred summers through which it kept silent. — Remember the Yuca; wait and trust; and either Sun or Moon, according to thy fidelity, will bring thee to love and to know. INWORLD. In consequence of a mistake, the first part only of this poem was inserted in the last number of the Dial. It is therefore now given entire.] Amid the watches of the windy night A poet sat and listened to the flow Of his own changeful thoughts, until there passed A vision by him, murmuring, as it moved, 1842.] 289 Inworld. A wild and mystic lay - to which his thoughts And pen kept time, and thus the measure ran:- All is but as it seems. The round green earth, With river and glen; The din and the mirth Of the busy, busy men; The world's great fever Throbbing forever; The creed of the sage, The hope of the age, All things we cherish, All that live and all that perish, These are but inner dreams. The great world goeth on To thy dreaming ; To thee alone Hearts are making their moan, . Eyes are streaming. Thine is the white moon turning night to day, Thine is the dark wood sleeping in her ray; Thee the winter chills; Thee the spring-time thrills; All things nod to thee - All things come to see If thou art dreaming on. If thy dream should break, And thou shouldst awake, All things would be gone. Nothing is, if thou art not. From thee as from a root The blossoming stars upshoot, The flower cups drink the rain. Joy and grief and weary pain Spring aloft from thee, And toss their branches free. Thou art under, over all; Thou dost hold and cover all ; Thou art Atlas — thou art Jove; - The mightiest truth Hath all its youth From thy enveloping thought- Thy thought itself lay in thy earliest love. Nature keeps time to thee With voice unbroken; Still doth she rhyme to thee, When thou hast spoken. When the sun shines to thee, 'T is thy own joy VOL. II. -- NO. III. 37 290 [Jan. Outworld. Opening mines to thee Nought can destroy. When the blast moans to thee, Still doth the wind Echo the tones to thee Of thy own inind. Laughter but saddens thee When thon art glad, Life is not life to thee But as thou livest, Labor is strife to thee, When thou least strivest:- More did the spirit sing, and made the night Most musical with inward melodies, But vanished soon and left the listening Bard Wrapt in unearthly silence - till the morn Reared up the screen that shuts the spirit-world From loftiest poet and from wisest sage. OUTWORLD. The sun was shining on the busy earth, All men and things were moving on their way - The old, old way which we call life. The soul Shrank from the giant grasp of Space and Time. Yet - for it was her dreamy hour, half yielded To the omnipotent delusion and looked out On the broad glare of things, and felt itself Dwindling before the Universe. Then came unto the Bard Another spirit with another voice, And sang:- Said he that all but seems? Said he, the world is void and lonely, A strange vast crowd of dreams Coming to thee only ? And that thy feeble soul Hath such a strong control O'er sovereign Space and sovereign Time And all their train sublime ? Said he, thou art the Eye Reflecting all that is - The Ear that hears while it creates All sounds and harmonies — The central sense that bides amid All shows, and turns them to realities? Listen, mortal, while the sound Of this life intense is flowing ! Dost thou find all things around Go as thou art going ? 1842.] 291 Outworld. Dost thou dream that thou art free, Making, destroying all that thou dost see, In the unfettered might of thy soul's liberty ? Lo, an atom troubles thee, One bodily fibre crushes thee, One nerve tortures and maddens thee, One drop of blood is death to thee. Art thou but a withering leaf, For a summer season brief Clinging to the tree, Till the winds of circumstance, Whirling in their hourly dance, Prove too much for thee? Art thou but a speck, a mote In the system universal ? Art thou but a passing note Woven in the great Rehearsal ? Canst thou roll back the tide of Thought And unmake the creed of the age, And unteach the wisdom taught By the prophet and the sage? Art thou but a shadow Chasing o'er a meadow ? The great world goes on Spite of thy dreaming. Not to thee alone Hearts are making their moan, And tear drops streaming, And the mighty voice of Nature Is thy parent, not thy creature, Is no pupil, but thy teacher; And the world would still move on, Were thy soul forever flown. For while thou dreamest on, enfolded In Nature's wide embrace, All thy life is daily moulded By her informing grace. And time and space must reign And rule o'er thee forever, And the Outworld lift its chain From off thy spirit never; But in the dream of thy half-waking fever, Thou shalt be mocked with glearn and show Of truths thou pinest for and yet canst never know. And then the Spirit fled and left the Bard Still wondering - for he felt that voices twain Had come from different spheres with different truths, That seemed at war and yet agreed in one. 292 (Jan. Primitive Christianity. PRIMITIVE CHRISTIANITY. There are some ages when all seem to look for a great man to come up at God's call, and deliver them from the evils they groan under. Then Humanity seems to lie with its forehead in the dust, calling on Heaven to send a man to save it. There are times when the powers of the race, though working with their wonted activity, appear so mis- directed, that little permanent good comes from the efforts of the gifted ; times when governments have little regard for the welfare of the subject, when popular forms of Religion have lost their hold on the minds of the thought- ful, and the consecrated augurs, while performing the ac- customed rites, dare not look one another in the face, lest they laugh in public, and disturb the reverence of the peo- ple, their own having gone long before. Times there are, when the popular Religion does not satisfy the hunger and thirst of the people themselves. Then mental energy seems of little value, save to disclose and chronicle the sadness of the times. No great works of deep and wide utility are then undertaken for existing or future genera- tions. Original works of art are not sculptured out of new thought. Men fall back on the achievements of their fathers ; imitate and reproduce them, but take no steps in any direction into the untrodden infinite. Though Wealth and Selfishness pile up their marble and mortar as never be- fore, yet the chisel, the pencil, and the pen, are prostituted to imitation. The artist does not travel beyond the actual. At such times, the rich are wealthy, only to be luxurious and dissolve the mind in the lusts of the flesh. The cul- tivated have skill and taste, only to mock, openly or in secret, at the forms of religion and its substance also; to devise new pleasures for themselves; pursue the study of some abortive science, some costly game, or dazzling art. When the people suffer for water and bread, the king digs fish-pools, that his parasites may fare on lampreys of un- natural size. Then the Poor are trodden down into the dust. The Weak bear the burden of the strong, and they, who do all the work of the world, who spin, and weave, and delve, and drudge, who build the palace, and supply the feast, are the only men that go hungry and bare, live 1842.] 293 Primitive Christianity. uncared for, and when they die, are huddled into the dirt, with none to say GOD BLESS You. Such periods have oc- curred several times in the world's history. At these times man stands in frightful contrast with nature. He is dissatisfied, ill-fed, and poorly clad ; while all nature through, there is not an animal, from the Mite to the Mam- moth, but his wants are met and his peace secured by the great Author of all. Man knows not whom to trust, while the little creature that lives its brief moment in the dew- drop, which hangs on the violet's petal, enjoys perfect tran- quillity so long as its little life runs on. Man is in doubt, distress, perpetual trouble ; afraid to go forward, lest he go wrong ; fearful of standing still, lest he fall, while the meanest worm that crawls under his feet, is all and enjoys all its nature allows, and the stars over head go smoothly as ever on their way. At such times, men call for a great man, who can put himself at the head of their race, and lead them on, free from their troubles. There is a feeling in the heart of us all, that as Sin came by man, and Death by Sin, so by man, under Providence, must come also Salvation from that Sin, and Resurrection from that Death. We feel, all of us, that for every wrong, there is a right somewhere, had we but the skill to find it. This call for a great man is some- times long and loud, before he comes, for he comes not of man's calling but of God's appointment. This was the state of mankind many centuries ago, be- fore Jesus was born at Bethlehem. Scarce ever had there been an age, when a deliverer was more needed. The world was full of riches. Wealth flowed into the cities, a Pactolian tide. Fleets swam the ocean. The fields were full of cattle and corn. The high-piled warehouse at Alexandria and Corinth groaned with the munitions of luxury, the product of skilful hands. Delicate women, the corrupted and the corrupters of the world's metropolis, scarce veiled their limbs in garments of gossamer, fine as woven wind. Metals and precious stones vied with each other to render Loveliness more lovely, and Beauty more attractive, or oftener to stimulate a jaded taste, and whip the senses to their work. Nature, with that exquisite irony men admire but cannot imitate - used the virgin lustre of the gem, to reveal, more plain, the moral ugliness of such 294 [Jan. Primitive Christianity. as wore the gaud. The very marble seemed animate to bud and blossom into Palace and Temple. But alas for man in those days. The Strong have always known one part of their duty; - how to take care of themselves; and so have laid burthens on weak men's shoulders, but the more difficult part, how to take care of the weak, their natural clients, they neither knew nor practised so well even as now. If the history of the strong is ever written, as such, it will be the record of rapine and murder, from Cain to Cush, from Nimrod to Napoleon. . In that age men cried for a great man, and wonderful to tell, the prophetic spirit of human nature, which detects events in their causes, and by its profound faith in the in- visible, sees both the cloud and the star, before they come up to the horizon, - foretold the advent of such a man. “ An ancient and settled opinion,” says a Roman writer, " had spread over all the East, that it was fated at this time, for some one to arise out of Judea, and rule the world." We find this expectation in many shapes, psalm and song, poem and prophecy. We sometimes say this pre- diction was miraculous, while it appears, rather as the natural forecast of hearts, which believe God has a remedy for each disease, and balın for every wound. The expec- tation of relief is deep and certain with such, just as the evil is imminent and dreadful. If it have lasted long and spread wide, men only look for a greater man. This fact shows how deep in the soul lies that religious element, which sees clearest in the dark, when understanding can- not see at all, which hopes most, when there is least ground, but most need of hope. But men go too far in their ex- pectations. Their Faith stimulates their Fancy, which foretells what the deliverer shall be. In this, men are al- ways mistaken. Heaven has endowed the race of men with but little invention. So in those times of trouble, they look back to the last peril, and hope for a redeemer like him they had before ; greater it may be, but always of the same kind. This same poverty of invention and habit of thinking the future must reproduce the past, ap- pears in all human calculations. If some one had told the amanuensis of Julius Cæsar, that in eighteen centuries, men would be able in a few hours to make a perfect copy of a book twenty times as great as all his master's com- pears in all making the future mpoverty of in 1842.] 295 Primitive Christianity. mentaries and history, he would pronounce it impossible ; for he could think of none but the old method of a Scribe forming each word with a pen letter by letter; never antici- pating the modern way of printing with a rolling press driven by steam. So if someone had told Joab, that two thousand years after his day, men in war would kill one another with a missile half an ounce in weight, and would send it three or four hundred yards, driving it through a shirt of mail, or a plough share of iron, he would think but of a common bow and arrows, and say it cannot be. What would Zeuxis have thought of a portrait made in thirty seconds, exact as nature, penciled by the Sun him- self? Now men make mistakes in their expectation of a deliverer. The Jews were once raised to great power by David, and again rescued from distress and restored from exile by Cyrus, a great conqueror and a just man. There- fore the next time they fell into trouble, they expected another King like David, or Cyrus, who should come, per- haps in the clouds, with a great army to do much more than either David or Cyrus had done. This was the current ex- pectation, that when the Redeemer came, he should be a great general, commander of an army, King of the Jews. He was to restore the exiles, defeat their foes, and revive the old theocracy to which other nations should be subservient. Their deliverer comes; but instead of a noisy general, a king begirt with the pomp of oriental royalty, there appears one of the lowliest of men. His Kingdom was of Truth, and therefore not of this world. He drew no sword; uttered no word of violence; did not complain when persecuted, but took it patiently; did not exact a tooth for a tooth, nor pay a blow with a blow, but loved men who hated him. This conqueror, who was to come with great pomp, perhaps in the clouds, with an army numerous as the locusts, at whose every word, kingdoms were to shake - appears ; born in a stable, of the humblest extraction; the companion of fishermen, living in a town, whose in- habitants were so wicked, men thought nothing good could come of it. The means he brought for the salvation of his race were quite as surprising as the Saviour hiinself; not armies on earth, or in heaven; not even new tables of laws; but a few plain directions, copied out from the prim- 296 [Jan. Primitive Christianity. itive and eternal Scripture God wrote in the heart of man, - the true Protevangelium, — LOVE MAN; LOVE GOD ; RESIST NOT EVIL ; ASK AND RECEIVE. These were the weapons with which to pluck the oppressor down from his throne; to destroy the conquerors of the world ; dislodge sin from high places and low places; uplift the degraded, and give weary and desperate human nature a fresh start! How disap- pointed men would have looked, could it have been made clear to them, that this was now the only deliverer Heaven was sending to their rescue. But this could not be; their recollection of past deliverance, and their prejudice of the future based on this recollection, blinded their eyes. They said, “ This is not he; when the Christ cometh no man shall know whence he is. But we know this is the Naza- rene carpenter, the Son of Joseph and Mary." Men treated this greatest of Saviours as his humble brothers had always been treated. Even his disciples were not faithful; one betrayed him with a kiss; the rest forsook him and fled ; his enemies put him to death, adding igno- miny to their torture, and little thinking this was the most effectual way to bring about the end he sought, and scatter the seed, whence the whole race was to be blessed for many a thousand years. . There is scarce anything in nature more astonishing to a reflective mind, than the influence of one man's thought and feeling over another, and on thousands of his fellows. There are few voices in the world, but many echos, and so the history of the world is chiefly the rise and progress of the thoughts and feelings of a few great men. Let a man's outward position be what it may, that of a slave or a King, or an apparent idler in a busy Metropolis, if he have more wisdom, Love, and Religion, than any of his fellow mortals, their Mind, Heart, and Soul are put in motion even against their will, and they cannot stand where they stood before, though they close their eyes never so stiffly. The general rule holds doubly strong in this particular case. This poor Galilean peasant, son of the humblest people, born in an ox's crib, who at his best estate had not where to lay his head; who passed for a fanatic with his towns- men, and even with his brothers, - children of the same parents ; — who was reckoned a lunatic — a very madman, or counted as one possessed of a devil, by grave, re- 1842.) 297 Primitive Christianity. 's mind, heart her sacerdotal ince of Phari- sincich is even done but up to spectable folk about Jerusalem, who was put to death as a Rebel and Blasphemer at the instance of Phari- sees, the High-priest, and other sacerdotal functionaries — he stirred men's mind, heart, and soul, as none before nor since has done, and produced a revolution in human affairs, which is even now greater than all other revolutions, though it has hitherto done but a little of its work. He looked trustfully up to the Father of all. Because he was faithful God inspired him, till his judgment, in relig- jous matters, seems to have become certain as instinct, in- fallible as the law of gravitation, and his will irresistible, because it was no longer partial, but God's will flowing through him. He gave voice to the new thought which streamed on him, asking no question whether Moses or Solomon, in old time, had thought as he ; nor whether Gamaliel and Herod would vouch for the doctrine now. He felt that in him was something greater than Moses or Solomon, and he did not, as many have done, dishonor the greater, to make a solemn mockery of serving the less. He spoke what he felt, fearless as Truth. He lived in blameless obedience to his sentiment and his principle. With him there was no great gulf between Thought and Action, Duty and Life. If he saw sin in the land, - and when or where could he look and not see that last of the giants ? - he gave warning to all who would listen. Before the single eye of this man, still a youth, the reverend vails fell off from antiquated falsehood; the looped and win- dowed livery of Abraham dropped from recreant limbs, and the child of the Devil stood there, naked but not unshamed. He saw that blind men, the leaders and the led, were hastening to the same ditch. Well might he weep for the slain of his people, and cry “ Oh Jerusalem, Jeru- salem”! Few heard his cries, for it seems fated, that when the Son of man comes he shall not find faith on the Earth. Pity alike for the oppressed and the oppressor, — and a boundless love, even for the unthankful and the merciless, burned in his breast, and shed their light and warmth wherever he turned his face. His thought was heavenly; his life only revealed his thought. His soul appeared in his words, on which multitudes were fed. Prejudice itself con- fessed — “never man spake like this." His feeling and his thought assumed a form more beauteous still, and a VOL. II. — NO. III. 38 298 [Jan. Primitive Christianity. 'whole divine life was wrought out on the earth, and stands there yet, the imperishable type of human achievement, the despair of the superstitious, but the way, the Truth, and the Life to holy souls. His word of doctrine was uttered gently as the invisible dew comes down on the rose of Engaddi, but it told as if a thunderbolt smote the globe. It brought fire and sword to the dwelling place of hoary Sin. Truth sweeps clean off every refuge of lies, that she may do her entire work. A few instances show how these words wrought in the world. The sons of Zebedee were so ambitious they would arrogate to themselves the first place in the new kingdom, thinking it a realm where selfishness should hold dominion — so bloody-minded, they would call down fire from Heaven to burn up such men as would not receive the Teacher. But the Spirit of gentleness subdues the selfish passion, and the son of thunder becomes the gentle John, who says only, “ Little children, love one another.” This same word passes into Simon Peter also, the crafty, subtle, hasty, selfish son of Jonas; the first to declare the Christ; the first to promise fidelity, but the first likewise to deny him, and the first to return to his fishing. It carries this disciple — though perhaps never wholly regenerated — all over the eastern world ; and he, who had shrunk from the fear of persecution, now glories therein, and counts it all joy, when he falls into trouble on account of the word. With Joseph of Arimathea “ an honorable counsellor," and Nicodemus " a ruler of the Jews," the matter took another turn. We never hear of them in the history of trial. They slunk back into the Synagogue, it may be; wore garments long as before, and phylacteries of the broadest; were called of men “Rabbi,” “ sound, honorable men, who knew what they were about,” “ men not to be taken in.” It is not of such men God makes Reformers, Apostles, Prophets. It is not for such pusillanimous characters, to plunge into the cold, hard stream of Truth, as it breaks out of the mountain and falls from the rock of ages. They wait till the stream widens to a river, the river expands its accumulated waters to a lake, quiet as a mirror. Then they confide themselves in their delicate and trim-wrought skiff to its silvery bosom, to be wafted by gentle winds into a quiet haven of repose. Such men do not take up Truth, when she has fallen by 1842.] 299 Primitive Christianity. the way-side. It might grieve their friends. It would compromise their interests; would not allow them to take their ease in their inn, for such they regard their station in the world. Besides, the thing was new. How could Joseph and Nicodemus foretell it would prevail ? It might lead to disturbance; its friends fall into trouble. The kingdom of Heaven offered no safe “investment” for ease and reputation, as now. Doubtless there were in Jerusalem great questionings of heart among Pharisees, and respectable men, Scribes and doctors of the law, when they heard of the new teacher and his doctrine so deep and plain. There must have been a severe struggle in many bosoms, between the conviction of duty and social sympathies which bound the man to what was most cherished by flesh and blood. The beautiful gospel found few adherents and little tol- eration with men learned in the law, burthened with its mi- nute intricacies, devoted to the mighty consideration of small particulars. But the true disciples of the inward life felt the word, which others only listened for, and they could not hush up the matter. It would not be still. So they took up the ark of truth, where Jesus set it down, and bore it on. They perilled their lives. They left all — comfort, friends, home, wife, the embraces of their children - the most precious confort the poor man gets out of the cold, hard world; they went naked and hungry; were stoned and spit upon; scourged in the synagogues ; sepa- rated from the company of the sons of Abraham ; called the vilest of names ; counted as the off-scouring of the world. But it did them good. This was the sifting Satan gave the disciples, and the chaff went its way, as chaff always does ; but the seed-wheat fell into good ground; now, nations are filled with bread which comes of the apostles' sowing and watering, and God giving the in- crease. To some men the spread of Christianity in two centuries appears wonderful. To others it is the most natural thing in the world. It could not help spreading. Things most needful to all are the easiest to comprehend, the world over. Thus every Savage in Otaheite knows there is a God; while only four or five men in Christendom understand his nature, essence, personality, and “know all about Him." 300 [Jan. Primitive Christianity. out furthat numberons, and perl probably Thus while the great work of a modern scholar, which ex- plains the laws of the material heavens, has never probably been mastered by three hundred persons, and perhaps there is not now on earth half that number, who can read and understand it, without further preparation, the Gospel, the word of Jesus, which sets forth the laws of the soul, can be understood by any pious girl fourteen years old, of ordinary intelligence, with no special preparation at all, and still forms the daily bread, and very life of whole millions of men. Primitive Christianity was a very simple thing, apart from the individual errors connected with it; two great speculat- ive maxims set forth its essential doctrines, “Love man," and “Love God.” It had also two great practical maxims, which grew out of the speculative, “ we that are strong ought to bear the burthens of the weak,” and “we must give good for evil.” These maxims lay at the bottom of the apostles' minds, and the top of their hearts. These explain their conduct; account for their courage; give us the reason of their faith, their strength, their success. The proclaimers of these maxims set forth the life of a man in perfect conformity therewith. If their own practice fell short of their preaching, — which sometimes happens spite of their zeal — there was the measure of a perfect man, to which they had not attained, but which lay in their future progress. Other matters which they preached, that there was one God; that the soul never dies, were known well enough before, and old heathens, in centuries gone by, had taught these doctrines quite as distinctly as the apostles, and the latter much more plainly than the Gospels. These new teachers had certain other doctrines peculiar to them- selves, which hindered the course of truth more than they helped it, and which have perished with their authors. No wonder the apostles prevailed with such doctrines, set off or recommended by a life, which — notwithstanding occa- sional errors — was single-hearted, lofty, full of self-denial and sincere manliness. “ All men are brothers," said the Apostles; “ their duty is to keep the law God wrote eter- nally on the heart, to keep this without fear." The forms and rites they made use of; their love-feasts, and Lord's-Suppers; their baptismal and funeral ceremonies, were things indifferent, of no value, save only as helps. 1842.] Primitive Christianity. 301 Like the cloak Paul left behind at Troas, and the fishing- coat of Simon Peter, they were to serve their turn, and then be laid aside. They were no more to be perpetual, than the sheep skins and goat skins, which likewise have apostolical authority in favor of their use. In an age of many forms, Christianity fell in with the times. It wore a Jewish dress at Jerusalem, and a Grecian costume at Thessalonica. It became all things to all men. Some rites of the early Church seem absurd as many of the latter ; but all had a meaning once, or they would not have been. Men of New England would scarce be willing to worship as Barnabas and Clement did ; nor could Bartholomew and Philip be satisfied with our simpler form, it is possible. Each age of the world has its own way, which the next smiles at as ridiculous. Still the four maxims, mentioned above, give the spirit of primitive Christianity, the life of the Apostles' life. It is not marvellous these men were reckoned unsafe persons. Nothing in the world is so dangerous and untract- able in a false state of society, as one who loves man and God. You cannot silence him by threat or torture; nor scare him with any fear. Set in the stocks to-day, he ha- rangues men in public to-morrow. “Herod will kill thee,” says one. “Go and tell that fox, behold I cast out devils, and deceivers to-day and to-morrow, and the third day I shall be perfected," is the reply. Burn or behead such men, and out of their blood, and out of their ashes, there spring up others, who defy you to count them, and say, “come, kill us, if you list, we shall never be silent." Love begets love, the world over, and martyrdom makes converts certain as steel sparks, when smitten against the flint. If a fire is to burn in the woods — let it be blown upon. Primitive Christianity did not owe its spread to the ad- dress of its early converts. They boast of this fact. The Apostles, who held these four maxims, were plain men; very rough Galilean fishermen; rude in speech, and not over courteous in address, if we may credit the epistles of Paul and James. They had incorrect notions in many points, which both we and they deem vital. Some of them – perhaps all - expected a resurrection of the body; others, that the Jewish law, with its burthensome rites and ostentatious ceremonies, was to be perpetual, binding on all 02 La Primitive Christianity. . (JanChristians and the human race. Some fancied – as it ap- pears — that Jesus had expiated the sins of all mankind; others that he had existed before he was born into this world. These were doctrines of Jewish and Heathen pa- rentage. All of these men — so far as the New Testa- ment enables us to judge – looked for the visible return of Jesus to the earth, with clouds and great glory, and ex- pected the destruction of the world, and that in very few years. The facts are very plain to all, who will read the epistles and gospels, in spite of the dust which interpreters cast in the eyes of common sense. Some apocryphal works, perhaps older than the canonical, certainly accept- ed as authentic in some of the early churches, relate the strangest marvels about the doings and sayings of Jesus, designing thereby to exhibit the greatness of his character, while they show how little that was understood. We all know what the canonical writings contain on this head, and from these two sources can derive much information, as to the state of opinion among the apostles and their imme- diate successors. Simon Peter, notwithstanding his visions, seems always to have been in bondage to the law of sin and death, if we may trust Paul's statement in the epistle ; James — if the letter be his — had irrational notions on some points, and even Paul, the largest-minded of them all, was not disposed to allow woman the rights, which Reason claims for the last creation of God. But what if these men were often mistaken, and sometimes on matters of great moment ? We need not deny the fact, for the sake of an artificial theory snatched out of the air. It is not expedient to lie in behalf of truth, however common it has been. We need not fear Christianity shall fall, because Christians were mistaken in any age. Were human beings ever free from errors of opinion; imperfection in action ? Has the nature of things changed, and did the earth bring forth superhuman men in the first century ? It does not appear. But underneath these mistakes, errors, follies of the primitive Christians, there beat the noble heart of relig- ious love, which sent life into their every limb. Those max- ims, they had learned from Jesus, seen exhibited in his life, found written on their heart, — these did the work, spite of the imperfection and passions of the apostles, Paul withstanding Peter to the face, and predicting events that . 1842.] Primitive Christianity. 303 never came to pass. The nobleness of the heart found its way up to the head, and neutralized errors of thought. By means of these causes the doctrines spread. The expecting people felt their deliverer had come, and wel- comed the glad tidings. Each year brought new converts to the work, and the zeal of the Christian burnt brighter with his success. Paul undertook many missions, and the word of God grew mightily and prevailed. In him we see a striking instance of the power of real Christianity to recast the character. We cannot forbear to dwell a moment on the theme. There are two classes of men, who come to Religion. Some seem to be born spiritual. They are aboriginal saints ; natives of Heaven, whom accident has stranded on the earth; men of few passions, of no tendency to violence, anger, or excess in anything. They do not hesitate, be- tween right and wrong, but go the true way as naturally as the bird takes to the air, and the fish to the water, be- cause it is their natural element, and they cannot help it. Reason and Religion seem to be coeval. Their Christianity and their consciousness are of the same date. Desire and Duty, putting in the warp and woof, weave harmoni- ously, like sisters, the many-coloured web of life. To these men life is easy; it is not that long warfare which it is to so many. It costs them nothing to be good. Their desires are dutiful; their duties desirable. They have no virtue, which implies struggle. They are goodness all over, which is the harmony of all the powers. Their action is their repose; their religion their self-indulgence ; their daily life the most perfect worship. Say what we will of the world, these men, who are angels born, are happier in their lot than such as are only angels bred, whose religion is not a matter of birth but of hard earnings. They start in their flight to Heaven from an eminence, which other souls find it arduous to attain, and roll down like the stone of Sisyphus many times in the perilous ascent. Paul was not born of this nobility of Heaven. The other class are men of will; hard, iron men, who have passions and doubts and fears, and a whole legion of appetites in their bosom, but yet come armed with a strong sense of duty, a masculine intellect, a tendency upwards towards God, a great heart of flesh, contracting and ex- 304 [Jan. Primitive Christianity. panding between self-love, and love of man. These are the men who feel the puzzle of the world, and are taken with its fever; stout-hearted, strong-headed men, who love strongly and hate with violence, and do with their might whatever they do at all. These are the men that make the heroes of the world. They break the way in Philosophy and Science; they found colonies; lead armies ; make laws; construct systems of theology ; form sects in the Church; a yoke of iron will not hold them, nor that of pub- lic opinion, more difficult to break. When these men become religious, they are beautiful as angels. The fire of God falls on them; it consumes their dross ; the uncorrupted gold remains in virgin purity. Once filled with Religion, their zeal never cools. You shall not daunt them with the hissing of the great and learned ; nor scare them with the roar of the street, or the armies of a king. To these men the axe of the headsman, yes all the tortures, malice can devise or tyrany inflict, are as nothing. The resolute soul puts down the flesh, and finds in embers a bed of roses. To this class belonged Paul, a man evidently quick to see, stern to resolve, and immovable in executing ; a man of iron will, that nothing could break down ; of strong moral sense, deep religious faith and a singular greatness of heart towards his fellow men, but yet furnished with an over- powering energy of passion, which might warp his moral sense, his faith, his philanthropy aside, and make him a bigot, the slave of superstition, a fanatic, perverse as Loyola, and desperate as Saint Dominic. In him the good and the evil of the old dispensation seemed to culminate; for he had all the piety of David, which charms us in the shepherd-Psalm ; all the diabolic hatred, which appears in the curses of that king, who was so wondrous a mixture of heaven, earth, and hell. In addition to this natural char- acter, Paul received a Jewish education, at the feet of Ga- maliel — a Pharisee of the straitest sect. His earlier life at Tarsus, brought him in contact with the Greeks, in- tensifying his bigotry for the time, but yet facilitating his escape from the shackles of a worn-out ritual. It is easy to see how the doctrines of Jesus would strike the young Pharisee, fresh from the study of the Law. Chris- tianity set aside all he valued most; struck down the Law; held the prophets of small account; put off the ritual, de- 1842.] 305 Primitive Christianity. clared the temple no better place to pray in than a fisher's boat; affirmed all men to be brothers, thus denying the merit of descent from Abraham, but declared, if any one loved God and man he should have treasure in Heaven, and inspiration while on earth. No wonder the old Phari- see whose soul was caught in the letter; no wonder the young Pharisee accustomed to swear by the old, felt prick- ed in their hearts and gnashed with their teeth. It is a hard thing, no doubt, for men, who count themselves children of Abraham, to be proved children of a very different stock, dutiful sons of the great father of lies. It is easy to fancy what Paul would think of the arrogance of the new teacher, to call himself greater than Solomon, or Jonah, and profess to see deeper down than the Law ever went; what of the presumption of the disciples, “unlearned and ignorant men,” to pretend to teach doctrines wiser than Moses, when they could not read the letter of his word. It is no wonder he breathed out fire and slaughter, and “ perse- cuted them even unto strange cities.” But it is dangerous to go too far in pursuit of heretical game. Men sometimes rouse up a lion, when they look for a linnet, and the eater is himself eaten. But Paul had a good conscience in this. He believed what came of the fathers, never apply- ing common sense to his theology, nor asking if these things be so. He thought he did God service by debasing His image, and helping to stone Stephen. At length he becomes a Christian in thought. We know not how the change took place. Perhaps he thought it miraculous, for, in common with most of his times and country, he never drew a sharp line between the common and the supernat- ural. He seems often to have dwelt in that cloudy land, where all things have a strange and marvellous aspect. A later contemporary of Paul relates some of the most re- markable events, as he deemed them, which occurred in those times. He gives occasionally minute details of the super- stition, crime, and madness of the emperors of Rome. But the most remarkable event, which occurred for some cen- turies after Tiberius, he never speaks of. Probably he knew nothing of it. Had he heard thereof, it would have seemed inconsiderable to this chronicler of imperial follies. But the journey from Jerusalem to Damascus of a young man named Saul - if we regard its cause and its conse- VOL. 11. — NO. III. 39 306 [Jan. Primitive Christianity. quences, was a more wonderful event than the world saw for the next thousand years. Men thought little of its result at the time. The gossips of the day had specious reasons, no doubt, for Paul's sudden 'conversion, and said he was disappointed of preferment in the old state of things, and hoped for an easy living in the new ; that he loved the distinction and notoriety the change would give him, and hoped also for the loaves and fishes, then so abundant in the new church. Doubtless there were some who said, “ Paul is beside himself.” But King Herod Agrippa took no notice of the matter. He was too busy with his dreams of ambition and lust to heed what befel a tent-maker from a Cilician city, in his journey from Jerusa- lem to Damascus. Yet from that time the history of the world turns on this point. If Paul had not been raised up by the Almighty, for this very work, so to say — who shall tell us how long Christianity would have lain concealed under the Jewish prejudice of its earlier disciples? These things are for no mortal to discover. But certain it is that Paul found the Christians an obscure Jewish sect, full of zeal and love, but narrow and bigotted ; in bondage to the letter of old Hebrew institutions; but he left them a power- full band in all great cities, free men by the law of the Spirit of life. It seems doubtful, that Peter, James, or John would have given Christianity its natural form of uni- versal faith. • There must have been a desperate struggle before Paul became a Christian. He must renounce all the prejudices of the Jew and the Pharisee, and the idols of the Tribe and the Den, are the last a man gives up. He must be abandoned by his friends, the wise, the learned, the vener- able. Few men know of the battle between new convic- tions and old social sympathies; but it is of the severest character; a war of extermination. He must condemn all his past conduct; lose the reputation of consistency; leave all the comforts of society, all chance of reputation among men; be counted as a thief and murderer ; perhaps be put to death. But the truth conquered. We think it easy to decide as Paul, forgetting that many things become plain after the result, which were dim and doubtful be. fore. When the young man had decided in favor of Christian- 1842.) 307 Primitive Christianity. ity, he would require some instruction in matters pertaining to the heavenly doctrine we 'should suppose, — taking the popular views of Christianity, which make it an historical thing, depending on personal authority, or eyewitness, and external events as the only possible proof of internal truths. He would go and sit down with the twelve and listen to their talk, and learn of all the miracles, how Jesus raised the young man, the maiden, called Lazarus from the tomb; how he changed the water into wine, and fed the five thousand; he would go to Martha and Mary to learn the recondite doctrine of the Saviour; to the Mother of Jesus, to inquire about his birth of the holy spirit. But the thing went different. He did not go to Peter, the chief apostle ; nor to John, the beloved disciple ; nor James, the Lord's brother. “I conferred not with flesh and blood," says the new convert, “ neither went I up to Jerusalem to them that were apostles before me, but I went into Arabia.” Three years afterwards, for the first time, he had an inter- view with Peter and James. Fourteen years later he went up to Jerusalem, to compare notes, as it were, with those “ who seemed to be somewhat.” They could tell him nothing new. At last- many years after the commencement of his active ministry – James, Peter, and John, give him the right hand of their fellowship. Paul, it seems, had heard of the great doctrines of Jesus, and out of their prin- ciples developed his scheme of Christianity, - not a very difficult task, one would fancy, for a plain man, who reckoned Christianity was love of man, and love of God. In those days the gospels were not written, nor yet the epistles. Christianity had no history, except that Jesus lived, preached, was crucified, and appeared after his cru- cifixion. Therefore the gospel Paul preached might well enough be different from those now in our hands. Cer- tainly Paul never mentions a miracle of Jesus ; says nothing of his superhuman birth. Had he known of these things, a man of his strong love of the marvellous would scarce- ly be silent. In him primitive Christianity appears to the greatest ad- vantage. It shone in his heart, like the rising sun chasing away the mist and clouds of night. His prejudices went first; his passions next. Soon he is on foot journeying the world over to proclaim the faith, which once he de- 308 (Jan. Primitive Christianity. stroyed. Where are his bigotry, prejudice, hatred, his idols of the Tribe and the Den? The flame of Religion has con- sumed them all. Forth he goes to the work; the strong passion, the unconquerable will are now directed in the same channel with his love of man. His mighty soul wars with Heathenism, declaring an idol is nothing; with Judaism, to announce that the Law has passed away; with Folly and Sin, to declare them of the Devil, and lead men to Truth and Peace. The resolute apostl