pursuit of even great ends, to become themselves thin and impoverished in spirit and temper, thus diminishing the sum of perfection in the world at its very sources. We understand this when it is a question of mean or of intensely selfish ends, of Grandet or Javert. We think it bad morality to say the end justifies the means, and we know how false to all higher conceptions of the religious life is the type of one who is ready to do evil that good may come. We contrast with such dark, mistaken eagerness, a type like that of Saint Catherine of Siena, who made the means to her ends so attractive, that she has won for herself an undying place in the House Beautiful, not by her fairness of soul merely, but by those quite different qualities which commend themselves to the poet and the artist. Yet for most of us the conception of means and ends covers the whole of life, and is the exclusive type or figure under which we represent our lives to ourselves. Such a figure, reducing all things to machinery, though it has on its side the authority of that old Greek moralist who has fixed for succeeding generations the outline of the theory of right living, is too like a mere picture or description of men's lives as we actually find them to be the basis of the higher ethics. It covers the meanness of men's daily lives, and much of the dexterity and the vigour with which they pursue what may seem to them the good of themselves or of others; but not the intangible perfection of those whose ideal is rather in being than in doing; not those manners which are in the deepest as in the simplest sense morals, and without which one cannot so much as offer a cup of water to a poor man without offence; not the part of "antique Rachel," sitting in the company of Beatrice; and the higher morality might well endeavour rather to draw men's attention from the conception of means and ends in life altogether. won, the world would need more than ever those qualities which Wordsworth was keeping alive and nourishing.* That the end of life is not action but contemplation, being as distinct from doing, a certain disposition of the mind, is in some shape or other the principle of all the higher morality. In poetry, in art, if you enter into their true spirit at all, you touch this principle in part; these, by their very sterility, are a type of beholding for the mere joy of beholding. To treat life in the spirit of art, is to make life a thing in which means and ends are identified. This then is the true moral significance of art and poetry. Wordsworth, and other poets who have been like him in ancient or more recent times, are the masters, the experts, in this art of impassioned contemplation. Their work is, not to teach lessons, or enforce rules, or even to stimulate us to noble ends, but to withdraw the thoughts for a little while from the mere machinery of life, to fix them with appropriate emotions on the spectacle of those great facts in man's existence which no machinery affects, "on the great and universal passions of men, the most general and interesting of their occupations, and the entire world of nature," - on "the operations of the elements and the appearances of the visible universe, on storm and sunshine, on the revolutions of the seasons, on cold and heat, on loss of friends and kindred, on injuries and resentments, gratitude and hope, on fear and sorrow.' To witness this spectacle with appropriate emotions is the aim of all culture; and of these emotions poetry like Wordsworth's is a great feeder and stimulant. He sees nature full of sentiment and excitement; he sees men and women as parts of nature, passionate, excited, in strange grouping and connection with the grandeur and beauty of the natural world: images, in his own words, "of man suffering amid awful forms and powers." under those weaker elements in Wordsworth's poetry which for some minds determine its entire character; a poet somewhat bolder and more passionate than might at first sight be supposed, but not too bold for taste or poetry; an unimpassioned writer, you might sometimes fancy, yet thinking the chief Against this predominance of machinery in life Wordsworth's poetry, like all Such is the figure of the more powerful great art and poetry, is a continual pro-and original poet, hidden away in part test. Justify rather the end by the means, it seems to say; whatever may become of the fruit, make sure of the flowers and the leaves. It was justly said therefore by one who had meditated more profoundly than others on the true relation of means to ends in life, and on the distinction between what is desirable in itself and what is desirable only as machinery, that when the battle which he and his friends were waging had been Fortnightly Review, June, 1873. The Death of Mr. Mill. aim, in life and art alike, to be a cer- your virtue and all your philanthropy, if tain deep emotion; seeking most often the great elementary passions in lowly places; having at least this condition of all impassioned work, that he aims always at an absolute sincerity of feeling and diction, so that he is the true forerunner of the deepest and most passionate poetry of our own day; yet going back also, with something of a protest against the conventional fervour of much of the poetry popular in his own time, to those older English poets, whose unconscious likeness often comes out in him. From Blackwood's Magazine. PART IV. these last take any other form than the utterance of the current coin of the realm. You may ignore or resist, or be offended at, a man's moral claims to respect or goodwill, but it requires an Apemantus or an Apostle to say, "Thy money perish with thee." It is another question whether opinion is worth buying, as a rule: the wisest men probably would tell us that it is not, especially if the buyer invest in it so largely and with so mistaken a conception of its nature as to make himself a beggar and a misanthrope like old Timon. Howbeit, "let sage or cynic prattle as he will," I have known, and so I doubt not has my reader, clowns and louts keeping their footing in society, old muffs without a military idea commanding regiments with success, the most selfish and vicious of men lauded as AT length came Hardinge's last week. patriots and great ensamples, because It was now the middle of May. His suc- they had money to spend, and spent it cessor was to arrive and relieve him of freely and judiciously. Some men too I his charge in three or four days; and the have known attempting to buy opinion Wetton Club conceived a great idea. It without the means to pay for it, and these would give a picnic to which the old and have generally come to grief just as do the new recruiting officer should both be those who indulge in any other extravainvited. The picnic should be an excep- gance. Our friend Saunders, however, tionally sumptuous one even among Wet-(I venture to call him our friend in the ton picnics. The members' subscription hope that some little pity may have been to these festivities was a fixed thing which aroused for him, upstart as he was; for could not conveniently be exceeded, and the lines had fallen to Ben in rather sliptherefore when extra splendour was de- pery places his bringing-up had not signed it was notified that the committee been calculated to correct the faults of would receive donations from members his disposition, and that unlucky dream disposed to give of their substance for was a snare to him)- our friend Saunthe honour of the institution. On this ders was not rushing into extravagance; occasion Mr. Saunders came down so he could lay his hand upon a little ready handsomely both in money and in wine money, and he chose to spend it in buypresented from his cellar, that the dispo- ing up, as it were, an edition of his charsition to call him names was greatly les-acter that was in circulation, and endeavsened, and some of the more impression- ouring to publish a revised one with able members ventured in their impulsive considerable alterations. And the sucway to say that the fellow was not such a cess of his efforts was remarkable. Albad fellow after all. Ben, you observe, ready, at the time of this picnic, men, alwas applying the means which fortune though they would wink at each other by had given him to the attainment of the way of protesting against the supposition end which he was now keeping steadily of their opinion of him being altered, had in view. It is a wonderful power, the left off speaking of "that intolerable power of giving. He is a mighty donkey young cub," or "the swell builder," and who, having a little spare cash in his cof- instead thereof made jests about Saunfers, cannot manage to buy opinion. ders's entire, or the shades below, which How many of us are there that are proof last periphrasis intimated that Ben's against gifts discreetly offered? Some, house was a hell,-which was all nonwe know, spread their palms unblushingly for a half-crown or a sovereign; others who would scorn to do that may be obliged in more delicate ways. Whether you desire to win a general, or a particular, good opinion, your money cleverly spent will help you, I am afraid, more than all sense, for the play there, though tolerably frequent, was mild enough. Indeed, Ben was getting on very well towards the attainment of his object. He didn't hear, or didn't understand, or didn't care about, the nicknames which were given to himself or his house: those who invented them did so to vent their contempt of themselves for going after his entertainments, under cover of satirizing him who gave them: and he did get a good many young men who thought themselves chiefs in Wetton to consent to companionship with him. They amused themselves with his vulgarity and his solecisms, but they ate his dinners and drank his wine for all that. His mother, not having any ambition for herself, was never visible except to some old cronies of her own who would drink tea with her in the kitchen about six o'clock in the afternoon; but she looked carefully to the preparation of Benjamin's dinners, if indeed superintendence was all she contributed to the cooking. I have some idea that she had been cook in a gentleman's family, and did not now object to brightening up once more the science that had grown dull within her. But this has become rather an unwarrantable digression let us go back to the picnic. There was scarcely a vehicle private or public in Wetton or within three miles of it that was not in requisition on the morning of that acted idyl. Everybody who, according to the rigid code of Wetton ceremonial, was admissible to the festival, had been invited and took care to be there. And Devonshire, as if in pitying scorn of the Wettons and Slushtons and similar nomenclature, chose to show what sort of a spring day she could turn out when so minded (which it must be confessed that she seldom was). The drizzle and sleet and mist were as foreign to that day as if such atmospheric treats were unknown in the neighbourhood. The sky was charmingly blue, and the few great lazy clouds that floated over it had not a sign of vice in them, but served just to prevent glare, and to nourish the hopes of such gentlemen as were taking their fishing rods with them. The breeze, a veritable zephyr, floated about in the most easy, well-bred manner, making things very pleasant, without obtruding himself in the least; cooling a soft cheek without stirring a ringlet; breathing on the young foliage so gently, that its motion could be perceived only by watching the sportive shadows. The chestnut blossoms were not quite past, although their bloom was waning; but the thorns, pink, red, white, were the glory of the fields and hedges that day. And the hedges drowsy with the hum of winged things, and dispersing the "good smell" which is associated with the singing of birds and the voice of the turtle. Delicious as they are, such days are apt slightly to sadden a man who is rash enough to trust himself alone and unsupported to their influence; but with lively company, with a large party bent on making holiday, they are simply enchanting. Indeed everybody seemed to have faith in his or her power of keeping enjoyment alive, for the expedition started tolerably early in the day, and no soul thought of being at home again till dark, or perhaps a trifle after, for some of the more romantic were heard asking if there wouldn't be a moon. The reader doesn't, of course, suppose that the Club and the guests stole quietly into the country, and there by degrees grew to be a cavalcade large enough to attract notice. Certainly not; all Wetton and its environs were astir, determined to see the start if they could have nothing else to do with the select entertainment; for, after the races, and the calling out of the militia, a picnic given by the Club was perhaps the most exciting event. "Lar, neow!" said one girl to her fellow, both being appurtenances of the establishment of Mrs. Tucker, the dressmaker and milliner—“Lar, neow! if there isn't Miss Lyddy in her new shotsilk; a lovely thing it be, but her's ventursome to go so fur from home in en the fust time. I wouldn't ef 'twas mines, I knaw!" "Lar! what odds? 'Tisn't a-gwain to rain, and her isn't a fewl to go squattin' in the green grass with en on, trest she for that. Do 'ee see how sweet like the young passon look'th upon her? Her'th amade the most of herself, tew, han't her? I don't knaw the gentleman and lady what's long with 'em; whew be they?" "I think they'm Mr. and Mrs. Yeo, what's uncle and aunt to Miss Lyddy. A little ways in the country they lives. I can't abide that there Miss Lyddy." "What fur?" "Her's false. There, now; there be the tew Miss (I never can call their name). They be daughters of the great waryer that everybody's afeard uv. They dresses wasn't made to Wetton, I'll wage. Ben't 'em smart? and the bunnets and Devonshire hedges, you re-all, oh my, it's handsome!" member, some of them as tall and as thick as the ramparts of a town -were all smiling with leaves and flowers, "Betsey, Betsey, look here, chicl! here's six young men, I vow, all in one carridge. That's lawyer Phillips a-driv ing; and there's young Mr. Simmons, mun!" (This was said rather with a and Mr. Phil Tarraway, and Mr.—oh, view of chiming with Uncle Jack's severe Betsey, don't look upon en, he's the im- humour, and eliciting his favourable reperentest -(then, as the vehicle passed sponse.) by)"like your persumshum, I'm sure; what next, I wonder! Oh, Betsey, turn away!" "What's making of 'ee laugh, Fanny, and hide away your face? Imperent is he? I daresay. Think I didn't see en nod his head to 'ee? Look'th as if yew was fond of imperent fellers." "Betsey, be quiet. I didn't laugh, please sure; but turn away my head I did, for that's a bould man; he'd make any maiden colour up. There's Miss Bell and Miss Susey Woolcock a-gettin' into the pony-carridge. Miss Susey's my favrite. Dressed alike and in light summer dresses, made up by theirselfs for sartin; but they do sit well, sure 'nough. Miss Bell is a keen one for cuttin'; I knaw she of ould." "Here's a cloud o' dust. What's this, I wonder? Well, if it isn't Mr. Carryten's son! Es, and Ben Saunders. He's a pretty man if you like, Fanny, Ben is; but he's terrible proud now- - dothn't look upon a body." "Betsey, for shame. What's Saunders to yew? A proud fop is that's what he is!" My dear," answered Uncle Jack, "I've a-seed the day when yew wasn't a-drove so wild by the sight uv a little vinery. Do 'ee mind when you and me went upon a Easter Monday to zee a woman hanged vor puysenin' of her husband? I do. Us was so vain as anybody then." "Do I mind it? Shell I ever forget it? Iss, I do mind it; and I mind all the vine things yew said to me, and how yew giv'd me beer and ginger-breads. I hope yew've a-repented uv your cruel conduck: I hope yew hev." "My dear, I repented before I was a day oulder; but there, now; leave the past alone. We shall all be jedged, never fear. Look here, now; here's the Colkatton carridge. Madame Fulford do look buxom still, don't her? and not so young nither: onny dree months between she and our Jenny-Jenny Cook, that is now!" I "But look at the young Miss. Dear, dear, there's vine volks ef you like; but Ben her is a perty maiden, isn't her? and deBen, sarv'th vine things if anybody dew. Her dothn't look zo plump and fresh though, And so these damsels or maidens, arter all, now that her draw'th near. as a Wettonian would call them went do hope there's nothin' the metter. 'Twas on criticising all who passed to the fête a decline the Squire died of. Isn't her by the road which their gaze commanded. bunnet lovely? the blew trimmin' 'ud be And many another group of critics was more becomin' ef her chacks wasn't quite there scattered about the exits from Wet- so white." ton, most of them favourably disposed, and admiring the gay passengers, but not all; there were a few young ladies who inhabited a debatable ground between the haut ton and bourgeoisie of Wetton, and who thought they might have been asked: the sarcasms of these fair beings, who had been provoked if they had not been "Whew be yew a-speakin' uv, Richard invited, would have made any simple per- Harvey? A man that hath had the leadson's hair stand on end. But we will in' an orderin' of hundreds of other men, hurry past these groups, if you please, and hev a-brought mun to glory by makand the fluttering dresses and flying rib-in' of mun do their dewty. Is that one bons in the carriages, and get on to this for the likes o' yew to be makin' of your moor-stone (i.e., granite) post lying on the jokes upon? Waryers uv all soarts, ground, and not yet set in the gateway, on which Uncle Jack Varco and one or two of his friends sat viewing the depart ures. "Uncle Jack," observed a labourer whom we have not before heard, "us hevn't a-seed thy dear and tender master yet. I spose th' ould tyrant 'll be there a-droppin' about his blessin's, and sugarin' everybody as ef they was green gooseberries." sawgers and sailors tew, be apt to deal in ungodly words, the Lord forgive mun; but most of et they saith without thort, and mean'th no harm. I knaws they that seed th' oul' tyrant, as you calls en, zail into Plymouth Sound a-draggin' after'n a French ship o' war twice the zize uv hes own, what he'd a-took'd in a battle." "Lord, whe'er a did or no!" exclaimed "What a thing vanity is now!" said a middle-aged female of the party. "This is very lovely for the minnit; but can yew fancy, Uncle Jack, any raisonable beins a-wasting their lifes and their substance in sich fervolities? Vie upon the female. "My conscience!" broke in the female in rather a subdued voice, "ef here esn't our young lord that es to be! Bless the boey; and a-dreavin' of tew hosses, tew; as ef one, or a jackass for that metter, wasn't enough for the likes of he. Ben's a good-lookin' young man tho', say what they will of 'n. What bewtiful hair he've a-got!" "Ould Saunders's line is a-rennin' off the reel to a perty pace, I reckon," answered Uncle Jack. "That's fine encouragement to fathers to pinch and make money for their children. What the poor oul' man saved in a year this gay slip'll squander in a week." Ennyhow, Uncle Jack, yew took'd care when yew was stout and strong not to save money for nobody: yew enjuy'd et yourself, I reckon," put in Harvey, who had not quite got over old Plummybag's set down. "Iss fy, my dear, he den it; his bones, was part of a moor, and a sort of Pisgah hev a-bin broken, and his bled a-drawed. from whence might be seen an immense I've a-seed the cuts and dents upon the extent of beautiful country. No one had arms of 'n when he've a-turned up his ever seen the use of making a carriagesleeves in the gair'n. Yew don't know road to its summit, and so it would be what that there man is a-made of," quoth necessary to climb thither on foot. Then old Plummybag. there were plenty of trout in the stream, and the gentlemen would, of course, endeavour to bring it to pass that the ladies should catch some of them. And there was, skirting the moor, a wood full of glades, where something sentimental might possibly take place, and from which there were glorious peeps of landscape. Miss Tarraway, I have reason to believe, privately reconnoitred this wood some days before the picnic, and by means of that preliminary and prophylactic measure was not only prepared to lead her curate unerringly to the views which would delight his soul, but also to express the emotions and observations proper to each of them. This wood was the quarter which the party first made for; indeed, it was properly the goal or point of reunion of the picnic. By the time it had been cursorily examined everybody might be expected to have become hungry and thirsty, and the attendants would be prepared to administer to those necessitous conditions. Some of the party managed to put up their horses at a small village a mile off, or in farm stables; but the greater part brought their forage with them, and found some shade where the horses were much more refreshed than they would have been within stone walls. High spirits were the order of the day, but they were not quite universal. Gertrude Fulford, although she would not on any account have absented herself, had come with an aching heart. Her mother could not walk much or fast; of course Gertrude accommodated herself to this infirmity, which was also known to the crafty Admiral, who turned it to account, and managed to keep with the two ladies in the first saunter about the wood. I think it was the Misses Tautbrace whom Hardinge was squiring at that time, their parent having cleverly placed them under his convoy in order that he (Tautbrace) might attend to his own affairs. Ben Saunders also was somewhat depressed on first alighting from his carriage and encountering the company. He had learned by this time that ladies did not particularly care to be accosted in the style which he thought ought to delight them; he was doubtful about his powers of pleasing in any other style, Perhaps I did, my dear. A sinful mortal I've a-bin, the Lord know'th. The only comfort I've a-got is to think that there's other feullisher than me, bad as I be. I've heerd of men that couldn't nither save nor enjuy; steupid neddies that pearts wi' their money because they ha'n't the sense to kip et after arnin' et with the sweat o' their breow." * "Bless 'ee, Richard, you catched that," said the female. Richard Harvey, who was a sober, hard-working man in general, would get lively once in six weeks or so; and the anecdotes current of his sufferings in keel alleys and wrestlingrings did not bear witness to his extreme prudence or sharpness. The quick succession of the vehicles, however, kept producing new ideas, and left but little time for sparring. Before half-past eleven the last of them had gone by. Even the lawyers and the auctioneer, who were tied, or wished to make it appear that they were tied, to their offices by great press of business, managed to be on the road before noon. It was a drive of between two and three hours, and there were a great many things to be done to pass the afternoon. The principal thing (of course after eating and drinking) was to ascend a high hill which • Skittle. Mr. |