Bygones Worth Remembering, Vol. 1 (of 2)

redity is environment-the moulder of mankind. My first passion was to be a prize-fighter. Nature, however, had not made me that way. I had no anim

He was a courtier of my eldest sister, and created in me a craving for fistic prowess. I fought one small battle, but found that a lame wrist, which has remained permanent

! Did you ever

clown was to ask me, w

o vogue in Parliament When a Minister did not know what to say to a popular demand, or found it inconve

be given, the public would forget what the question was." Under this diversion of the audience, no one noticed that no answer was given to the original question put to the jester. Whether

y forth things unknown," which I was told poets did, must be delightful. To "build castles in the air"-as my means did not enable me to pay ground rent-was at least an economical project. So I began w

Lilian pas

know her

hich doth

h fire of p

ho meet her

ome messag

g will never do. It is an imitation of Shenstone, or of one of the Shepherd and Shepherdess School of

uld not write a verse themselves-and yet lived to become a terror to all who could. My first effort in this direction was upon the book of a young poet whom I knew person

What is it

hrimping i

nvokes the Deity on the threshold of a great surpri

What do mine

grey mist spreads everywhere, like the new fiscal policy of the Bentinckian type (then in the air), obscuring the landmarks of long-time safety. Still there is one object visible. The poet's eye in "fine frenzy rolling" sees something. He is not sure of the personality that confronts him, and with agnostic prec

g of Luther'

What do mine

f things

on my imagination

tion and profundity here, we do

h the statue of a lady attired only in a blouse. Notwithstan

gods, of m

ked in he

reader cannot tell whether the surprise of the poet is at the lady or her drapery. There is no use in asking a great poet what he meant in writing his brilliant lines. If as candid as Browning, he would

and reputations made by this sort of writing as fully with

I had seen a number of criticisms less restrained than mine, on performances quite as slender as the sonnets I had described. With kindly consideration, lest he might be repressing a rising

es, whose only fault consisted in getting up late in the morning.

se! and gre

knocking

haste and

eparted co

esisted this temptation to imitate those popular critics, whose aim is not to discover the graces of a new p

s, and all

shadows o

s like celestial postmen "knocking at the door." Then why were they out so early themselves? Had they more calls to make than they could well accomplish in the time allowed them? Why were they "in haste"? No wonder mankind lack repose if angels are in a hurry. The Kingdom of the Blest is supposed to be the land of rest Manifestly these morning angels had to be back by a stipulated time, and like a tax-collector could make no second call. Apparently Longfellow's angels are like Mr. Stead's favourite spirit Julia. They are harassed with

proud of the opportunity of adding ever so small an

different thing and might not be well taken. In vain I suggested that a poet ought to mean something, as Byron did, whose fascination is still real, and there was pathos and beauty, trage

e glimpses of unknown lands of light which I might never see. Who has seen London under the reign of the sun, after a sullen, fitful season, knows how wondrous is the transformation. Like the sheen of the gods the glittering rays descend, dispellin

ves. Qualities undreamed-of appear. So it came to be my choice to enter the field of instruction. It seemed to me a great thing to endow any, however few, in any way, however humble, with the cheeriness and strength of ideas. True, I began to teach what I did not know-or knew but partially-yet not without personal advantage, since no one knows anything well until he has tried to teach it to another. The dullest pu

a saying of Aristotle-"Now I mean to speak conformably to the truth." That seems every man's duty-if he speaks at all. Anyhow,

who spe

hat, and when

it is not thought much of by your banker. Its securities are never saleable on the Stock Exchange. Nevertheless, the Press has its undying attraction. It is the fame-maker. Without it noble words, as well as noble deeds, would die. Day by day there descend from the Press ideas in fertilising showers,

on of importance was found to be utterly unintelligible until a

t included my name in their published list of contributors to the Leader, it cost the proprietors, I had reason to know, ￡2,000. It set the Rev. Dr. Jelf,

d be collected. I wrote the prospectus of the new journal, specifying that each article quoted should be prefixed by a few words, within brackets, setting forth what principles, party, or interest it represented-whether English or

ght, in its varied aspects and demands, and scorn to defend their faith by mere reticence, or by the artifices commonly acquiesced in." This manifesto of 1866 far surpassed in liberality any profession then known in the evangelical world. It

e royal beverage of poets, of more exquisite flavour than I had tasted before. I did not wonder that it was conducive to noble verse-where the faculty of it was present Mr. Knowles, now Sir James, founder of the Nineteenth Century and After, was of the party, and the new review-then projected-being mentioned, it came to pass that my name was put down among p

late had fleete

ores, now leavi

r old craft, s

his; where, mind

tes regather r

gues, but with

roaming moo

put forth and b

cending from

empled Faith, h

ours to rove

ilder comrades

den harbou

h and sunless g

eological mists. The line containing the words "wilder comrades" was understood to include me. Out of the "One Hundred Contributors," whose names were published in the Athen?um (February 10, 1877), there were only-six:-Professor Huxley, Professor Tyndall, Professor Clifford, George Henry Lewes, myself, and pos

or published a list of all his contributors, with the titles of the ar

ractical efficacy of the principle upon which the Nineteenth Century was fou

le, proves that it is not only right but acceptable, and warrants the hope that it may extend

ons, should be ready to face personally all the consequences of all his utterances. Anonymous letters are everywhere justly discredited in private

a mask, to attack or make replies to those who give their names-being thereby enabled to be accusative or imputative without responsibility. There is, of course anothe

expressed-vexing the public ear and depraving the taste and understanding of the reader-would never appear if the writer had to append his signature to his production? Of course, there is good writing done anonymously, bu