who even with their very bodies sought to obstruct the march of the Carthaginians; nor your grandfather Lucius Paulus, who by his death atoned for the temerity of his colleague in the disgraceful defeat at Cannoe; nor Marcus Marcellus, whose corpse not even the most merciless foe suffered to go without the honor of sepulture; but that our legions, as I have remarked in my Antiquities, have often gone with cheerful and undaunted mind to that place, from which they believed that they should never return. Shall, then, wellinstructed old men be afraid of that which young men, and they not only ignorant, but mere peasants, despise? On the whole, as it seems to me indeed, a satiety of all pursuits causes a satiety of life. There are pursuits peculiar to boyhood; do therefore young men regret the loss of them? There are also some of early youth; does that now settled age, which is called middle life, seek after these? There are also some of this period; neither are they looked for by old age. There are some final pursuits of old age; accordingly, as the pursuits of the earlier parts of life fall into disuse so also do those of old age; and when this has taken place, satiety of life brings on the seasonable period of death. Indeed I do not see why I should not venture to tell you what I myself think concerning death, because I fancy I see it so much the more clearly, in proportion as I am less distant from it. I am persuaded that your fathers, Publius Scipio and Caius Lælius, men of the greatest eminence and very dear friends of mine, are living; and that life too which alone deserves the name of life. For whilst we are shut up in this prison of the body we are fulfilling as it were the function and painful task of destiny, for the heaven-born soul has been degraded from its dwelling-place above, and as it were buried in the earth, a situation uncongenial to its divine and immortal nature. But I believe that the immortal gods have shed souls into human bodies, that beings might exist who might tend the earth, and by contemplating the order of the heavenly bodies, might imitate it in the manner and regularity of lives. Nor have reason and argument alone influenced me thus to believe, but likewise the high name and authority of the greatest philosophers. I used to hear that Pythagoras and the Pythagoreans, who were all but our neighbors, who were formerly called the Italian philosophers, had no doubt that we possess souls derived from the universal divine mind. Moreover, the arguments were conclusive to me, which Socrates delivered on the last day of his life concerning the immortality of the soul,-he who was pronounced by the oracle of Apollo the wisest of all men. But why say more? I have thus persuaded myself, such is my belief: that since such is the activity of our souls, so tenacious their memory of things past, and their sagacity regarding things future-so many arts, so many sciences, so many discoveries, that the nature which comprises these qualities cannot be mortal; and since the mind is ever in action and has no source of motion, because it moves itself, I believe that it never will find any end of motion, because it never will part from itself; and since the nature of the soul is uncompounded, and has not in itself any admixture heterogeneous and dissimilar te itself, I maintain that it cannot undergo dissolution; and if this be not possible, it cannot perish and it is a strong argument, that men know very many things before they are born, since when mere boys, while they are learning difficult subjects, they so quickly catch up numberless ideas, that they seem not to be learning them then for the first time, but to remember them, and to be calling them to recollection. Thus did our Plato argue. Read, ye that run, the awful truth With which I charge my page! A worm is in the bud of youth, And at the root of age. No present health can health insure For yet an hour to come; No medicine, though it oft can cure, Can always balk the tomb. And oh! that humble as my lot, And scorn'd as is my strain, These truths, though known, too much forgot, I may not teach in vain. WM. COWPER. "THE LOST AND DELICIOUS LEISURE OF THE OLDEN TIME." FROM "ADAM BEDE." mu Surely all other leisure is hurry compared with a sunny walk through the fields from afternoon church-as such walks used to be in those old leisurely times, when the boat, gliding sleepily along the canal, was the newest locomotive wonder; when Sunday books had most of them old brown leather covers, and opened with remarkable precision always in one place. Leisure is gone-gone where the spinning-wheels are gone, and the pack-horses, and the slow wagons, and the peddlers who brought bargains to the door on sunny afternoons. Ingenious philosophers tell you, perhaps, that the great work of the steam-engine is to create leisure for mankind. Do not believe them; it only creates a vacuum for eager thought to rush in. Even idleness is eager now-eager for amusement; prone to excursion-trains, art seums, periodical literature, and exciting novels; prone even to scientific theorizing, and cursory peeps through microscopes. Old Leisure was quite a different personage; he only read one newspaper, innocent of leaders, and was free from that periodicity of sensations which we call post-time. He was a contemplative, rather stout gentleman, of excellent digestion-of quiet perceptions, undiseased by hypothesis, happy in his inability to know the causes of things, preferring the things themselves. He lived chiefly in the country, among pleasant seats and homesteads, and was fond of sauntering by the fruit-tree wall, and scenting the apricots when they were warmed by the morning sunshine, or of sheltering himself under the orchard boughs at noon, when the summer pears were falling. He knew nothing of week-day services, and thought none the worse of the Sunday sermon if it allowed him to sleep from the text to the blessing-liking the afternoon service best, because the prayers were the shortest, and not ashamed to say so; for he had an easy, jolly conscience, broad-backed like himself, and able to carry a great deal of beer or port winenot being made squeamish by doubts and qualms and lofty aspirations. Life was not a task to him, but a sinecure; he fingered the guineas in his pocket, and ate his dinners, and slept the sleep of the irresponsible; for had he not kept up his charter by going to church on the Sunday afternoon? Fine old Leisure! Do not be severe upon him, and judge him by our modern standard, he never went to Exeter Hall, or heard a popular preacher, or read Tracts for the Times, or Sartor Resartus. THE DREAM. GEORGE ELIOT. No victor that in battle spent, Methought I saw the earliest shade Though dead she lay, yet could I see But all showed unconcerned to be, As if just Nature there did strive To be as pitiless as she Was to her lover when alive. And now, methought, I lost all care, In losing her; and was as free Methought Love's monarchy was gone; Yet soon, now from my Princess free, Birds that are long in cages awed, And to the ocean rivers run Soon thus for pride of liberty Bred the discretion to be bound. But as dull subjects see too late So now I mourned that she was dead, Even so the lovers of this land (Love's empire in Clorinda gone) Though they were quit from Love's command, And beauty's world was all their own. But lovers, who are Nature's best And those, when by my mandates brought And now the day to night was turned, Or sadly night's close mourning wore; All maids for one another mourned, That lovers now could love no more. All lovers quickly did perceive They had on earth no more to do Than civilly to take their leave, As worthies that to dying go. And now all quires her dirges sing, Where maids their withered garlands strew. To such extremes did sorrow rise, That it transcended speech and form, And was so lost to ears and eyes As seamen sinking in a storm. My soul, in sleep's soft fetters bound, And straight, by horror waked, I found Yet she's to me but such a light, SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT. LIFE IN AS-YOU-LIKE. As-you-like is a monarchy; a limited monarchy. At the time I dwelt there, the crown was worn by King Abdomen, almost the greatest man that ever walked. His natural accomplishments were many, he was held to make a more melodious sneeze than any man in the universe. He invented buttons, the people of As-you-like before his time tying their clothes about them with strings. He also invented quart goblets. He was the son of King Stubborn, known as the King of the Shortwools. After the king came the nobility; that is the men who had shown themselves better than other men, and those virtues were worked into their titles. Thus there was the Duke of Lovingkindness; the Marquis of Sensibility; the Earl of Tenderheart; the Baron of Hospitality, and so forth. Touching, too, was the heraldry of As-you-like. The royal arms were, charity healing a bruised lamb, with the legend, Dieu et paix. And then for the coachpanels of the aristocracy, I have stood by the hour, at holiday times, watching them; and tears have crept into my eyes, and my heart has softened under their delicious influence. There were no lions, griffins, panthers, lynxes no swords or daggers-no short verbial incitements to man-quelling. Oh, no! One nobleman would have for his bearings a large wheaten loaf, with the legend-Ask and have. Another would have a hand bearing a purse, with the question- Who lacks? Another would have a truckle-bed painted on his panels, with the words-To the tired and footsore. Another would display some comely garment, with-New clothes for rags. Oh ! I could go through a thousand of such bearings, all with the prettiest quaintness showing the soft fleshly heart of the nobleman, and inviting, with all the brief simplicity of true tenderness, the hungry, the poor, the weary, and the sick, to come, feed, and be comforted. And these men were the nobility of As-youlike; nor was there even a dog to show his democratic teeth at them. The church was held in deepest reverence. Happy was the man who, in his noon- day walk, should meet a bishop; for it was held by him as an omen of every manner of good fortune. This beautiful superstition arose, doubtless, from the love and veneration paid Nevertheless, as there were some dull and giddy folk, who, after all the labour of the House of Workers, could or would not know the laws, there were certain meek and lovingkind professors called goodmen guides, an was, for the very smallest imaginable sum, to by the people to the ministers of religion, | book; so clear, so lucid, so direct was it in who from their tenderness, their piety, their its meaning and its purpose. affection towards their flocks, were looked upon as the very porters to heaven. The love of the people placed in the hands of their bishops heaps of money; but as quickly as it was heaped, it was scattered again by the ministers of the faith, who were thus perpet-swering to our attorneys, whose delight it ually preaching goodness and charity at the hearths of the poor, and the poor were every hour lifting up their hands and blessing them. It was not enough that the bishops were thus toilsome in their out-door work of good; but in the making of new laws and amending of old ones, they showed the sweetness, and, in the truest sense, the greatness of the human spirit. During my stay in As-you-like, what we should call the House of Lords, but what in that country was called the House of Vir-rant, advising them to abstain from the fevertues, debated on what some of their lordships deemed a very pretty case to go to war upon; and, sooth to say, for a time the House of Virtues seemed to forget the active benevolence that had heretofore been its moving principle. Whereupon the bishops one by one arose, and from their lips there flowed such heavenly music, in their eyes there sparkled such apostolic tears, that all the members of the House of Virtues rose, and with one accord fell to embracing one another, and called all the world their brothers, and vowed they would talk away the misunderstanding between themselves and neighbours; they would not shed blood, they would not go to war. And this was ever after called the peace of the bishops. The second deliberative assembly was called the House of Workers. No man could be one of these, who had not made known to the world his wisdom-his justice-his worship of truth for truth's sake. No worker was returned upon the mere chance of his fitness. He must be known as an out-door worker for the good of his fellow-men, before he could be sent, an honoured member, to the House. The duty of the assembly was to make laws; and as these were to be made for all men, it was the prime endeavour and striving of the workers to write them in the plainest words, in the briefest meaning. They would debate and work for a whole day-they always assembled with clear heads and fresh spirits every morning at nine-to enshrine their wisdom in the fewest syllables. And whereas, here with us we give our children "Goody Two Shoes" and "Jack and the Bean Stalk," as the easiest and simplest lessons for their tender minds to fasten on, in As-you-like the little creatures read the Abridgement of the Statutes for their first ish turmoil of law; showing them how suspense would bake their blood and eat their hearts, and wear and weigh down man's noble spirit. And thus, these goodmen guides would, I say, with a silken string, lead men back to content and neighbourly adjustment. When men could pay for such counsel, they paid a moderate cost; when they were poor, they were advised, as by the free benevolence of the mediator. The people of As-you-like had, a thousand years or so before, waged war with other nations. There could be no doubt of it, for the cannon still remained. I saw what at one time had been an arsenal. There were several pieces of artillery; the swallows had built their nests under their very mouths. As I will not disguise anything, I own there were a few persons who, when a war was talked of, the war so happily prevented by the bishops, strutted and looked big, and with swollen cheeks gabbled about glory. But they were smiled at for their simplicity; advised, corrected by the dominant reason of the country, and, after a time, confessed themselves to be very much ashamed of their past folly. Perhaps the manner in which the As-youlikeans transacted business was strange; it may appear incredible. I was never more surprised than when I first overheard two men dealing for a horse. One was a seller of horses, the other seemed a comfortable yeoman. "That is a pretty nag of yours," said the yeoman. "Pretty enough outside," said the horse-dealer. I will give you ten lumps for it," said the farmer (the lump sig nifying our pound). No, you shall not,' answered the horse-dealer, for the nag shies, and stumbles, and is touched a little in the wind. Nevertheless, the thing is worth four lumps." "You have said it?" cried work, and taught the wickedness, the very folly of guilt. As the state, however, with paternal love, watched, I may say it, at the very cradles of the poor,-teaching the pauper, as he grew, a self-responsibility; showing to him right and wrong, not permitting to grow up, with at best, an odd, vague notion, a mere guess at black and white,there were few criminals. The state did not expose its babies-for the poor are its children-to hang them when men. horses-the beautiful cattle went at seventy thousand lumps-and laid out the money in building school-rooms and finding teachers for pauper babies. And the state, believing man to be something more than a thing of digestion, was always surrounding the people with objects of loveliness, so that a sense of the beautiful might be with them even as the colour of their blood, and thus might soften and elevate the spirit of man, and teach him true gentleness out of his very admiration of the works of his fellow. Hence, the museums and picture galleries, and abbeys and churches, were all thrown open to the people, who always seemed refined, subdued by the emanations of loveliness around them. The shops in As-you-like are very beautiful. All the goods are labelled at a certain price. You want, let us say, a pair of stockings. You enter the shop. The common salutation is "Peace under this roof," and So dear were the wants of the poor to the the shopkeeper answers, "Peace at your rulers of As-you-like, that on one occasion, home." You look at the stockings, and lay-in a year of scarcity, the monarch sold all his ing down the money, take the goods and depart. The tradesman never bends his back in thankfulness until his nose touches the counter; he is in no spasm of politeness; not he; you would think him the buyer and not the seller. I remember being particularly astonished at what I thought the ill-manners of a tradesman, to whom I told my astonishment. "What, friend," he said, "should I do? My neighbour wants a fire-shovel-I sell a fire-shovel. If I ought to fling so many thanks at him for buying the fire-shovel, should he not first thank me for being here with fire-shovels to sell? Politeness, friend, as you call it, may be very well; but I should somehow suspect the wholesale dealer in it. Where I should carry away so much politeness, I should fear I had short weight." A There were very many rich people in Asstrange people, you must own, these As-you-you-like, but I never knew them to be thought likeans. a bit the better off for their money. They were thought fortunate, no more. They were looked upon as men, who, having put into a lottery, had had the luck to draw a prize. As for the poor, they were always treated with a softness of manner that surprised me. The poor man in As-you-like seemed privileged by his property. He seemed to have a stronger claim to the sympathies of those in worldly substance over him. Had a rich man talked brutally, or domineered over, or ill-used a pauper in As-you-like, he would have been looked upon as we look upon a man who beats a woman. There was thought to be a moral cowardice in the act that made its doer despicable Hence, it was as common in As-you-like to see the rich man first touch his hat to the poor, as with us for the pauper to make preliminary homage to wealth. Then, in As-you-like, no man cared to disguise the smallness of his means. To call a man a pauper was no more than with us to say his eyes are gray or hazel. And though there were poor men, there were no famishing creature, no God's image, sitting with his bony, idle hands before him, like a maniac in a cage-brutalized, maddened, by the world's selfishness. Taxation was light, for there was no man idle in As-you-like. Indeed, there was but one tax; it was called the truth-tax, and for this reason: Every man gave in an account of his wealth and goods, and paid in proportion to his substance. There had been no other taxes, but all these were merged into this one tax, by a solemn determination of the House of Virtues. "Since Providence has given to us the greatest measure of its gifts, it has thereby made us the chancellors to poorer men. Upon this avowed principle, the one tax was made. "Would it not be the trick of roguery to do otherwise?" they said. "Should we not blush to see the ploughman sweating at his task, knowing that, squared by his means, he paid more than we? Should we not feel the robbers of the man-not the Virtues banded together to protect him?" And thus, there was but one tax. In former ages there had been many; for I was shown in the national museum of As-you-like, several mummies, dry and coloured like saddleleather, that in past centuries had been living custom-house officers and excisemen. There were prisons in As-you-like, in which the idle and the vicious were made to DOUGLAS JERROLD. |