SEEING THE WORLD.

closet-bred individual, who has nurtured his mind with high-class Christian morality, and dwelt in visions of the heroic and the gentle, is probably at the steady taken-for-granted regularity with which the great crowd, in whose presence is saddest solitude, seem to adopt as a practical motto, the famous "Every man for himself, and God for us all."

It would seem to be invariably assumed by people in their dealings now-a-days, that all we want is, at any expense, to get as much as possible, and, in the teeth of any claims, to part with as little as may be. This assumption, undoubtedly, does gravest wrong to the generous natures which are to be found everywhere; but it is almost universal. The only jokes (without exception) that are always appreciated, always understood, safe for a laugh in almost any circle, are such as turn upon a savage greed, supposed to be the pervading fault of modern society; and the prevalence of badinage turning upon the "get as much as you can, and keep all you get" principle is, at first, by a youthful and inexperienced nature, found rather a disgusting feature in ordinary chit-chat. In time, however, one hears so much of it that the sensibility becomes hardened by repetition of the outrage, and the attention is sure to be diverted to some other unexpected and yet common characteristic of the current social understanding, on the basis of which things in general keep going, or are supposed to keep going. For instance, to the common social assumption that "interest" can do anything. What amazement, what horror await the luckless person who alights upon the discovery that in this world, although the cant is that merit makes its own way, the fact is that "interest" is the implement which every man is understood to be entitled unblushingly to use for the opening of the orbal oyster !

Recovering from his surprise at the extent to which "interest" regulates human affairs, and the shameless length to which folks carry the principles of "kissing goes by favour," and "hit him hard, he's got no friends!"-one stumbles against another discovery; to wit, that it seems also taken for granted that every one wants (not only to get as much as he can and keep it, but) to do as little as possible; that we are all to be treated as if shirking labour were a necessary and quite universal thing. This, to an active, excitable person, ready in his "hot youth" for anything right, "between pitch-and-toss and manslaughter," is really "a heavy blow and great discouragement." What next?-he may well say. Action, cheerful, energetic action, is to him one of the very joys and glories of existence, and lo, in the everyday talk of his fellows, he is doomed to find work for its own sake treated as a very rich joke indeed he is staggered by the apparently universal assumption that we are all ready to "skulk," to prefer almost any form of dawdling, frolicking, pottering, to lively industry! Truly, the world is "a curious sight."

:

479

To a

Painful revelations come thick and fast. young mind, healthily formed and not debauched by slip-slop talk or inferior reading, woman is always an object surrounded by associations of pu rity, sanctity, and dignity-an object not to be giddily spoken of, much less treated with downright irreverence and wantonness of tongue. What an amazing shock, then, is experienced when for the first time it is seen that large masses of one's nominally civilised fellow creatures consider womanso it would appear to be the most promising and fruitful of topics for coarse and foolish pleasantries. When the beautiful and gentle sex is the theme, a kindly exhilaration, a geniality, nay a wholesome playfulness, is natural enough, but guilty is the tongue which befouls the shrine she holds in the bosoms of the young and unsophisticated. Set aside prudery, which is hateful; allow handsomely for freer moments, when the most "correct" of tongues will revenge itself upon convention-and it will yet remain true that the current talk of your man of the world contains an abominable element which good taste alone should be sufficient to exclude.

The surprise and agitation with which youthful inquirers into life discover that in certain spheres, and for transient purposes, " brass" means success, is an old topic, but will not be used up till the "crack of doom." In the same breath, one might mention another feature in "society" to which he is long in getting accustomed,-which is, the prevalence of systematic, vigorous lying. If any inexperienced young man or young woman-suppose the latter a poor governess-will reckon up at the end of a year of trial and effort the number of falsehoods, pure and simple, and wholly inexcusable,

told him or her during that period, the list will be found "worth perusal "—as weak critics say of new novels.

осса

I am not speaking without book, or without reference to specific cases within my own observation, when I say that I fear not a few delicate natures, with inefficient resistive powers, are lost to society, for all noble uses, from the very shock which a first descent into " Vanity Fair" sions them. "True 'tis pity, pity 'tis true." Some recover, and grow strong by the reaction. Some are contaminated, and go with the crowd. To the young who, having hitherto only seen "life," as it is called, through the sanctities of home and friendship, enter suddenly upon an active and exposed career, it is indeed a hard matter to hold fast the "dreams of youth." Probably nothing would help them so much in that particular difficulty as freer and more frequent intercourse than the usages of modern society allow with pure-minded and culti vated women. women?

But where are the cultivated

480

HABITS AND RESOLUTIONS.

HABITS AND RESOLUTIONS.

WHEN Paley said man might almost be considered as "a bundle of habits," he only gave currency to a view of human nature, which is too often assumed as a basis for the formation of character. The truth is, that man is a bundle of instincts under the limitations of habit. Men with a keen sense of what is regular and proper, and possessed with the idea that a wise self-control is a great ingredient in happiness-men like Franklin, and Hutton of Birmingham, and we may perhaps include Paley himself-forget what is due to the individual soul, and regard education too much as a sort of drilling that all must go through, in order to be disciplined up to a moral pattern assumed for best in a pedagogic mind. The author of "Sandford and Merton," (I think it was he-but it was some one of his kidney,) found out, it is said, and found out to his mortification, that woman is not "a bundle of habits," when a girl whom he had painstakingly trained up to be his own wife, eloped with the baker, or something of that sort. The fact is, we have no right to tamper with what has been called "the individuality of the individual." It seems difficult to evade the conclusion that every human soul must have a proper sphere of action in the world to which it is sent, and, by consequence, that special varieties of character are to be carefully considered before we enforce "habits" of a special kind. It is very easy to push this to absurdity, or to exhibit it in a ludicrous light; but it may be well worth a thought, for all that. Is it, or is it not, true, that the proper object of moral training, exercised by the adult individual on himself, or on the young under his charge, is, not the formation of good habits, but the happy development of character, so that its outgrowth shall naturally be good?

them, and not be always trying to fag up to some pattern. A healthily developed character ought to make its own "habits”—and character is developed, not by maxims, but by action, and by communion with the Good, the Beautiful, and the True, wherever found. If one were to try and turn a file into a razor, he would probably spoil the file, but not produce the blade; so a man of "resolutions" and "habits" sometimes bemuddles his own moral and mental constitution, without arriving at the specific result aimed at.

B. is a young man, fast approaching thirty, and very uncomfortable in the recollection of the fact, because he feels that much of his life has been wasted by his own unwisdom. His capacities are really good, and he has been creditably self-taught and self-trained after a fashion. What that fashion is you shall hear. While I was speculating in his company about a certain want of efficiency which seemed to me to cling to all he said or did, he drew out a pocket-book, or rather a pocket memorandum-book, and emphatically asked :—

"You see that book, sir? You perceive it is nearly half empty-leaf after leaf torn out? Well, sir, I've spent a little fortune in memorandum-books like that!"

I thought it a curious, but a harmless, fancy, and suggested that buying memorandum-books ad infinitum, for the gratification of tearing out the leaves one by one, did not prove, probably, so expensive a habit as smoking would have done, and could scarcely annoy other people so much.

"No, sir; but there is something important connected with my buying and tearing up those little books, beyond the mere cost-which is trifling."

"Indeed ?" Perhaps he had devoted himself to squaring the circle, or to the perpetual motion, and torn out every leaf on which he had inscribed a fallacious theorem.

No; the fact is, B. was a resolution man, thoroughly saturated with the idea that he ought to be a "bundle of habits;" and his expenditure in memorandum books was the consequence! He used to inscribe on a page a solemn "resolution" to do this, that, or the other-adopt some habit recently recommended to him by a pedantic friend, or a still more pedantic book; and when he failed, he tore out the leaf, and wrote the same resolution in fresh terms, on another, with which he thought his chance of success greater. To impress these

It is painful to witness the pedantic trifling in which many young men, bent on "forming" their characters, and well up in maxim-books and manuals of duty, waste time and energy during the most precious period of their lives. This they do, particularly in making, and striving to keep, silly "resolutions" to do this, that, or the other. It would be useless, as well as foolish, to condemn efforts of this nature, directed to the suppression of bad tendencies, or the cultivation of good ones; but it is vexing to see an aspirant after usefulness and true glory, bugbearing himself (if one may speak so strangely) with some imaginary formal standard of moral perfection, and inscribing "re-engagements on his mind, he had resorted to nusolutions" over and over again in his pocket-book -"resolutions" only to be broken! Such a person keeps himself necessarily in a state of irritation very unfavourable, he may rely upon it, to his general culture, since he cannot escape perpetual dissatisfaction with himself. The path of duty is usually very simple, and he who has "the root of the matter in him," with regard to any particular quality, does not need to be fussy about it. I beg to suggest, therefore, to young men, that they should respect themselves as God made

merous expedients; he had written them in all styles-plain, print, German-text, and what not; in all sorts of ink-blue, black, Stephen's "blueblack," and red, to resemble blood, and induce a mystical awful appearance. He had almost uniformily failed, and the register of the last few years of his life might have run somewhat in this fashion :-Sixteen months, and a dozen memorandum-books, expended in making, breaking, writing in, and tearing out, useless resolutions, to get up early in the morning, the time varying from day

OBVIOUS THINGS UNDONE.

break to the mild compromise of six o'clock; net result, getting up at about seven, like other Christians, with the loss of effort, temper, and the cost of the memorandum books. Twelve or thirteen months, and memorandum books in proportion, devoted to savage efforts to get through the first six books of Euclid; net result, a limited acquaintace with the axioms and definitions, and the loss of energy and consumption of paper, same as above. Similar periods of time, with greater or less waste of labour and memorandum books, devoted to various objects, meant to be compassed with mechanical regularity, such as reading five pages of the "Decline and Fall," and writing twenty lines of poetry before breakfast (!); counting a hundred before speaking when angry; rising from meals, especially dinner, with an appetite. Net results on the whole, absurdly disproportionate to the pains taken, and accompanied by an abiding, worrying sense of self-dissatisfaction and disgust.

481

It is now mid-summer, the "season" for exhibitions, and junketings of all sorts. Now, the streets look like parterres of light-footed perambulating flowers. Now, every gentleman takes a lady somewhere, and goes wild when the slipping of a mantle reveals a dainty shoulder, or the bending over a catalogue brings his lips close to a kissable ringlet. Now, in truth, everybody who could afford it would be content to do nothing but take out ladies-if there were only, in this unclean London, a few places where they (and one's self) might make a toilet in peace at the intervals of rest and quiet refreshment. The discomfort of being out for a few hours in a great city, in this sweet, happy time of year, without dipping the hands, face, and forehead into fresh, cold water, is almost unbearable by a man, and when shared by those whom man was born to please," (one of Cowper's best points was his generous gallantry)—it is torture. Now, if I were a man with money, I would at least make a beginning in this matter. The thing should be done. A company might do it now-might dot London all over with real restaurants—not dry, sulky looking hotels, nor stupidlooking pastry-cooks',-but houses of refreshment and toilette, where food of a simple character might be taken, and a lady or gentleman might have, upon payment, a dip of water, a touch of odorous soap, a nice white towel, and a hair brush. With simple good taste in the appointments, what delightful oases such Toilet Refuges might be made!

One of the hopes I cherished, during the pro

Now, here was an individual, whom nature had not "written down an ass," praiseworthily seeking his own culture; but, troubled with a manifest infirmity of purpose, he was striving to attain that minute regularity of conduct which is never found -except in cases where the mental and moral natures are very nicely balanced, and well harmonised with the physique. He had signally failed in what he ought never to have attempted. The practical alternative for him was, not that he should have given the reins to his impulses, and scrambled aimlessly through life, but that he shouldgress of the new works at our beautiful Museum have sought opportunities of vigorous action, with frequent change, quite satisfied that habits" appropriate to his style of character, would grow naturally out of his relations with stubborn facts around him; unless, indeed, he were one of those perversely constructed persons who "defy augury" from the wisest of soothsayers. I believe that similar cases-similar, though less puerile in their symptoms, are not uncommon; and while I recommend to all young persons that steadiness and tenaciousness of purpose, and reasonable exactitude of conduct, which secure true success in most undertakings, I would heartily dissuade them from tampering with their characters by fussy resolution-making, and mechanical attempts at becoming" bundles of habits."

OBVIOUS THINGS UNDONE.

THE useful things, which, easy to be done, and remunerative in one kind or another, yet remain undone, constitute one of the ever-present surprises of life. By some inscrutable ordinance of the Upper Powers, it would seem that the ideas of reforms, and the keen feeling of their necessity, should mostly exist in the individuals who are, from one cause or another, unable to carry them out, or even to initiate them.

Library, was that some provision would be made for what a person who has come several miles may sometimes require before sitting down to reading which requires a clear head and a nervous system at rest. The first time I went thither, I saw, somewhere or other, down a labyrinthine shaft of galvanised iron, an apparatus cf washing-basins which gladdened my expectant eyes. Already I felt the beneficent touch of the cold water on my cheeks! But the presiding deity of the umbrellas, when I inquired for a towel, threw cold water on my hopes (oh! oh!) by stating that the apparatus was only for the "officials." Shame, shame!—I say. Am I not a man and a brother? Why should the official have his wash, and the reader not? Hath not a reader eyes, hands, organs, affections, dimensions? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If we are dusty, do we not enjoy our wash? If you ask us for our coppers, should we not give them, as we do at the Crystal Palace? For myself, I answer, proudly, I would even give a silver three-penNY PIECE for a wash before squaring myself down to read, away from my own crib.

I do not wish to expose myself to the imputation of ingratitude in this Museum matter. Indeed, as the swellmobsman says, "please your worship, I deny the charge in toto." My heart is touched with the handsomeness of the dome and room, the ease with which I can now consult books of refer

and easily made tasteful in appearance, and yet to retain one's social prestige. At present, there i no medium between broadcloth and corduroywhich last is a caste material-and shabby-gentility is the consequence, when a man cannot get broadcloth at will, and velveteen is out of the question. For my part, I think a man never looks better than in a blouse, with a belt, and with a tasselled cap on his head; but, oh, ye gods! what would become of me if I, desirous to set a good example, were to go about in such a dress? My burthen would be greater than I could bear. Have I one friend who would not "cut" me? I believe I have

ence, the general drawing-roomy appearance of the hall, and, in fine, the luxuries of convenience placed at the disposal of a reader in the new place. But some of this I could dispense with. I could take my own pens, my own ink, my own blottingpad. But it must be obvious to the meanest capacity that I cannot take my own washing-stand. I insist therefore, that the means of performing a simple toilette be forthwith furnished to every applicant at the Museum Library. This is essential; it would cost only a bagatelle; the fees might be the perquisites of the attendants-for, of course, there would be two, a male party, and a female party. If, during the summer, a chro--but it is notorious that, however people may matic fountain were to play twice an hour in the middle of the room (like that in the late lamented Panopticon) the effect would be pleasing and refreshing, and the functionaries at the central tribune would not be much splashed-or they might wear macintoshes, while the fountain was playing. There are some obvious reforms in which taking the initiative is not without risk-of ridicule, or the greater inconvenience which sometimes hangs upon ridicule

However we brave it out, we men are a little breed, and even a slight deviation from vulgar routine will too often be quite enough to get a black mark placed against a man's name. Now, it is not every one who can afford a black mark, while those who can afford it are, for the most part, of all other classes, the very slaves of convention. I saw, yesterday, a shabby-genteel man knocking at a door. The shabby-genteel man, probably with a begging letter in his pocket, and wondering how he would be received inside, had no idea what he suggested to my mind as I looked at him from the box seat of a passing omnibus. My first feeling was one of disgust; my next, of compassion. But, thought I, how utterly ridiculous that system of dress which makes shabby-gentility a thing possible! For observe what shabby-gentility is. It is not showiness; it is not slovenliness. It is what comes of the honest effort of a poor fellow to look " respectable." It is all very well for Burlington Broadcloath to say that the effort is a culpable blunder. I do not see it. The situation is simple. A cloth coat will only wear so long; the same may be predicated of a pair of pants; ditto, ditto, waistcoat; ditto, ditto, hat, gloves, necktie, boots. Suppose our poor friend has worn them "so long," and has neither money nor credit-what is he to do? He must go on wearing worn-out thingsand going on wearing worn-out things shabby gentility, Q.E.D. Mr. Broadcloth says the man should not try to ape his betters. Very good but WHAT IS HE TO WEAR, in the case I have put ? Which question, simple yet incisive, brings us to the core of the matter. Dress should be such that, though dirtiness, and slovenliness, and openfaced, unshamed poverty, may be possible, shabby gentility shall not be possible. It should be possible to dress in cheap materials, easily replaced,

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go on against "conventionality," they all insist on drawing the line somewhere," and that they usually draw it at some minor personal peculiarity.

To sum up about shabby-gentility. It might be banished by a rational system of dress. There are large numbers of people who cannot afford to set the example of dressing with cheap good taste. But again, there are others who can. What then? Why, let them do it!

THE PASSING SUMMER.

SOMEWHERE about the middle of July, a quick
sensibility to natural influences may always catch
a vague mistiness in the moonlight and a faint
touch of passing-away in the odour of the leaves,
which speak of the coming autumn. Rich and
golden-bright as is this summer, I was conscious of
the silent prophecy of decay of which I speak, seve-
ral evenings ago. It comes with the convolvuluses,
when the geraniums seem to burn redder. None of
our poets has so finely seized the influence I speak
of as William Allingham, in his "Therania,”-
verses which have always had an extraordinary
charm for me, and can do no less than please you
also :—

O, Unknown Beloved One! to the mellow season
Branches in the lake make drooping bowers;
Vase and plot burn scarlet, gold and azure,
Honeysuckles wind the tall grey turret,

And pale passion flowers.

Come thou, come thou, to my lonely thought,

O Unknown Belov'd One.

Now, at evening twilight, dusky dew down-wavers,
Soft stars crown the grove-encircled hill;
Breathe the new-wown meadows, broad and misty;
Through the heavy grass the rail is talking;
All beside is still.

How

Trace with me the wandering avenue,
O Unknown Belov'd One.

you would injure the beauty of the cadence there, if you were to substitute any stop for the full period after "still."

In the mystic realm, and in the time of visions,
I, thy lover, have no need to woo;
Then I hold thy hand in mine, thon dearest,
And thy soul in mine, and feel its throbbing,
Tender, deep and true;

Then my tears are love, and thine are love,
O Unknown Belov'd One.