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meed of celebrity, and probably some more substantial earnest of the officers' and soldiers' gratitude. I am afraid, however, that the poor thing did not benefit in the way of gratuity or pension from the public purse. This may have been because her connection with the regiment was soon afterwards dissolved by the death of her husband, who fell with harness on his back, and his breast to the foe. Another fight, in which artillery took part, had ended, as I suppose, in the success of our side, because the field seems to have been accessible to our camp-followers after the action. The woman went on to the ground impelled, as she herself said, by a sad misgiving that he had perished. We know that there have been such presentiments in people of all stations.

"I was as sure that a was dead as if I'd seed un killed," the old body said, years after, to a lady from whom she would often beg snuff.

"And did you find him?"

the peripatetic stage; and then a wife or a daughter coming gently on the scene, would take the hand of the old voluptuary and lead him by easy stages, smiling and weeping, to his home.

The second class is of scolds. I call to mind women who, generally standing at their doors, would rail at the top of their voices for the greater part of a day. I do not mean that they would be having a quarrel; but that one woman, having had her temper rubbed the wrong way, would continue scolding so as to be a nuisance to a whole neighborhood. Often, when one of these shrews has been holding forth, have I asked of a bystander what ailed her, or whether any one had offended her. And I never remember to have received a more satisfactory answer than "No; nobody have a-done nothing to her. 'Tis the way of her. She have got a long tongue." The scolding did not seem to utterly preclude attention to domestic work. The shrew would boil her pot, get ready her potatoes, and observe her chil

"I made un out, my dear, amongst the dren, but use every interval in these occudead and wounded."

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off."

My dear, the head of un was a-knocked

I said a little above that the quaint old characters seemed to be dying out: I may add, that of two classes of oddities with the appearance of whom I used to be tolerably familiar, I have not for years encountered a specimen.

The first of these classes is occasional drunkards, who, when well moistened, delighted to wander about the streets, sometimes for two or three hours on end, making short remarks to them who passed by, or perhaps coming to a halt in the middle of the road and uttering grand soliloquies to heaven and earth. I do not remember to have seen two of these companions adrift at the same time, to have seen them quarrelsome, or to have thought that they intended to be spiteful or offensive, though doubtless they were coarse. A very large indulgence was accorded to them on all hands. They were rarely meddled with by the constables, although notice might at last be conveyed to their homes that their infirmity was in

pations to let the world become aware of her mind being ill at ease. These storms blew themselves out somehow, and left very little trace of the commotion. Between the outbreaks, the shrews would be affable and merry. Sometimes a lull would be of such length as to lead one to hope there had been a permanent improvement, when, some unlucky morning, while the lady herself was too far off to be plainly seen, would be heard her ominous voice proclaiming that everything in her neighborhood was to be ajar and out of joint for that day.

A scold's eloquence, though her neigh bors are deafened with it, always seemed to me to be addressed, not to them, but to herself. It was a sort of blow-pipe to her indignation, to prevent the latter from de. clining below red-heat. She casts away, in spendthrift fashion, myriads of that commodity which thoughtful people prize as the great circulating medium of mental wealth. Squandered words, what refuse they are! Words well applied, how vast, how prevailing is their influence! To the unthinking they are foolishness; to those who can wield them they are power and wisdom. These "rascal counters" which are so easily coined and voided, and which to the uninitiated pass for vulgar ware, are the forces which direct and control human emotion and human action. Used with skill, they can discover and touch the hidden springs of feeling. There is no known condition of humanity

wherein words skilfully used may not be electrical in their effects. They can be guile us of our sympathy or command our admiration.

Words, or combinations of words, become divided according to their properties; for the winning of sympathy and the awakening of admiration, though both the work of words, must be achieved by quite different adaptations of words. Those words which will suffice for the one purpose will be by no means competent for the other. I have travelled now from scolding to the intelligent employment of a vocabulary. But so thoughts wander; and having drifted on to this subject of word-power, I am inclined to examine it, though I cannot search it profoundly.

The source of interest and the source

of awe and high veneration are very distinct. Sympathy may be said to create interest; and exaltation above, or other distant removal from, that with which we can sympathize, awe and worship. We know well how in a landscape the introduction of figures unlocks our feelings, which would not have yielded to a solitude however skilfully portrayed. The same is true in poetry; the "one touch of nature" introduced in the appropriate place is a link between writer and reader and subject, greatly awakens our sympa thy, and increases the pleasure with which we follow the written thoughts. Where Milton is weighing the attractions of a life of ease and pleasure against those of a life of study and devotion to the Muses, he does not content himself with stating the voluptuous alternative in a general way, but exclaims,

Were it not better done as others use, To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair? presenting little scenes of dalliance which place him on common ground with his reader, and make the latter feel how en tirely the argument concerns himself as a fellow-man. The poet's contention is a high one-his object to draw away the mind from sensual and ignoble things to lofty contemplation; yet in doing this, he thinks it not unbecoming to stoop to earth and not to stoop only, but to exhibit that which is earthly in all its charm and distinctness, in order that he may win the sympathy of his reader first, and having so attracted him, soar with him away towards the sky. The more familiar a scene or an illustration is made to us, the more we recognize it as one in which we

ourselves might have borne a part-the more ready are we to yield our sympathy, and to be moved as the author wished us to be moved.

On the other hand, if the intention be to arouse awe or veneration, particulars are by skilful writers avoided, and we have for the most part only the common and generic names of things; the more indefinite and incomprehensible the images appear, the greater being their fitness for the purpose. Burke insists on obscurity as a source of the sublime, and points out many instances wherein Milton has resorted to this method when he would subdue the mind by grand ideas citing his descriptions of Satan and of Death, and his heaping together of vague, indeterminate images to appal the mind, as

Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and A universe of death.

shades of death,

A little reflection suffices to convince us that, where terror or reverence is to be produced, the less particularizing there is of objects the better. Particularizing ar gues a greater or less exactness, and exact. ness is incompatible with the sublime emotions. To excite in us the necessary terror or respect, objects must be made to appear to us as removed from our comprehension or control, making us feel our. selves to be little or nothing by compari son, and only fit to bow down in helpless submission or in adoration - as Job, overawed by a sense of God's power, says, "I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes." Milton refrains sometimes from using a substantive at all when a very terrible idea is intensified, as "over the vast abrupt."

Words are fairies. You may narrate a story or deliver your sentiments in various combinations of words, all in some sort rendering your meaning; but you know that of these combinations some would give a totally wrong color to your utterances and awaken a wrong emotion, some would fall very far short of your intention, and some would do your bidding quite satisfactorily. It is not easy to say why this is. Many explanations have been offered. That words, as they fall upon the ear or meet the eye, do produce emotions which synonymous expressions would not in the same place produce, there can be no doubt; and yet I cannot think that the mere sounds can of themselves give pleasure or pain. There must be association of ideas with the potent words; yet the connection is so hard to trace, it is such

a mysterious influence, that many a man gives up the quest and rests content with the belief, as I stated it, that words are fairies, without prying into the source of their magic.

made to represent ideas which are barely within the scope of human faculties, and which cannot possibly be so comprehended by us as to make us feel in any degree familiar with them. Consequently, not sympathy but veneration is aroused by them. The persons named are also beyond our comprehension; so that we cannot, except in the most imperfect degree, sympathize with them, while their glory and power claim our humblest adoration. Thus the quotation possesses some of the known properties of the sublime, and nothing but what is sublime. Though we have it as a translation only, I cannot imagine that the original to Greek ears could possibly have been more im

Monosyllables and dissyllables seem to be for the most part those which readily affect the mind. And the reason of this probably is, that common, general, widely comprehensive words, being invented in the infancy of a language, are usually short sounds; and therefore short sounds may, and for the most part do, represent very extensive ideas. Refer to the passage "Rocks, caves, lakes," etc., which I quoted above from Milton, and you will observe that in the whole of it the words are monosyllables, except the word uni-pressive than our version is to us. verse. All of them are words which would be invented very early in the life of a language.

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I cited this passage as an example of the wondrous power of simple words judiciously put together; but now that I am It often happens, I fancy, that we judge noting it, I find it hard to refrain from a composition to be very simple and un-pointing out the rhetorical perfection of studied because the words used in it are the climax which it exhibits. It begins short and familiar,* and such as are in with, in general terms, "hath highly exeverybody's mouth. But simple words alted Him; then goes on to, hath may be made to convey very grand ideas, given Him a name which is above every and may be used by those who have name;" rising higher now, it proclaims thought profoundly on the matter which that at that name every knee shall bow, they have to impart. Thus it is not aston of things in heaven, and things in earth, ishing that simple words skilfully arranged and things under the earth;" now higher make up the most powerful passages still, that "every tongue shall confess that which we encounter in letters. The Scrip- Jesus Christ is Lord;" ending with the tures abound with writings of this charac- very grandest idea which can be presented ter, which impress their meaning with to the mind- namely, "the glory of God tremendous force, although the component the Father." words are such as the homeliest persons have in daily use. What appears to me the grandest utterance that ever was put forth is to be found in the New Testament; and it must, as I think, be pronounced to be sublime to be a very battery of words even by those who do not believe the great truths which it contains. I speak of the following text from St. Paul's Epistle to the Philippians:

Wherefore God also hath highly exalted Him, and given Him a name which is above every name: that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of things in heaven, and things in earth, and things under the earth; and that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

Take this overwhelming sentence to pieces, and it will be found to consist of very common words, only one of which is of more than two syllables; but they are

The words-i.e., the sounds are familiar; yet the ideas for which they stand may be obscure, terrible, and grand.

But it is preceded in the chapter by an anti-climax which is just as perfect, begin ning with the equality of the Godhead, and stepping down to one of the greatest indignities conceivable — that is, the punishment by an ignominious death of a malefactor. The words are:

Who, being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God; but made Himself of no reputation, and took upon Hi the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men: and being found in fashion as a man, He humbled Himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross.

The descent is regular throughout the figure, and between the beginning and end it is immense. Then follows the climax,-"Wherefore God also," etc.,

- which also covers an infinite distance

of conditions, stretching from the death of the cross to the glory of God the

Father!

1 went a little out of my way to remark on the rhetorical perfection of the above

The

passage, but now return to my argument, ideas, but of so presenting them that they that its grandeur is in a high degree derived from the well-selected words in which the translators have thought proper to present it. I think, too, that an examination of any powerful passage in sacred or profane writing will elicit proof that much of the power is derived from the words employed.

fasten at once on the imagination and
memory. These two are Shakespeare's
"Hamlet" and Gray's "Elegy."
lines and phrases of these pieces have
been picked out and hoarded by the pub-
lic with such avidity that nine-tenths of
them have become household words, and
they are so familiar that they are passed
from mouth to mouth and used inconti-
nently by hundreds who know not whence
they first proceeded. The works have
attained, as I think, the highest triumph
of authorship.

The choice of words, then, since it counts for so much, should be made with much care. Of course, great words will not stand in place of great ideas; the attempt to make them do so produces bombast. But, granting that there are The mention of a triumph attracts me to thoughts worthy of being communicated, another subject. We have enjoyed the it makes a vast difference in the reception honor of a visit from a delegation of Boers of those thoughts by the reader or hearer, from the Transvaal, who have come to whether they are conveyed in the most London with the exquisite and original fitting language or not. There are many idea of dropping in sans cérémonie on compositions which are universally pro- the nation which they had first beaten and nounced to be ingenious, original, true, afterwards treated with domineering con. sound, and even grand, which, nevertheless, never become to us more than highly esteemed acquaintances; they do not, for some reason or other, take hold of our hearts and minds, and make places for themselves in our memories. This, very probably, is because the honest writer or orator, solicitous only to deliver true and worthy matter, did not take sufficient heed of the vesture — to wit, the words in which he would clothe it.

Again, there are composers who have not only choice thoughts to communicate, but who possess the art of telling them in language so affecting that they make their way into our minds when they first present themselves, and are ever after cherished and adopted as well as approved. An author who can make his countrymen delight in his expressions as well as approve his thoughts, has reached the summit of his profession. There must be a great art in this, which some are lucky enough to discover, while others remain forever ignorant of it. It is in vain that rules are from time to time invented; square and compass will not set bounds to a faculty which is, as Burke said of taste, so delicate and aerial that it will not bear the chains of a definition. The best way to study it, as I should think, would be to examine with the utmost care the productions of those who have mastered this great art, and to look there diligently for the secret - nocturna versate manu, versate diurna.

It seems to me that there are two compositions in English which have, more than any others, fulfilled these requirements of not only presenting acceptable

tempt. The lion-tamers have had no hesitation about entering the lair, so abject have the inmates become. Perhaps it is as well that lions should cease to lash their sides with their tails when they have forgotten how to use fangs and claws. Accordingly, we see the British Lion anxious for the smile of the ene mies who treated us so cavalierly, and eating humble-pie greedily to convince our visitors that he likes it. But it seems to me that the proper settlement of our score with the Transvaal is only deferred; we are not all of us so callous as the grand old man would have us to be.

Meanwhile a little farce has been acted at which many a one must have laughed consumedly. To employ British capital in mining and other enterprises in the Transvaal has been desired by certain speculators among us; and they, no doubt moved thereto by good reasons, took the liberty of inquiring of the delegates whether any property which British subjects might acquire in, or carry to, the Transvaal, and whether any ore which they might extract from the soil, would be secured to them by the laws of the land. The delegates were indignant that such a question should have been asked: of course everything would be secured by the laws of the land. I make bold to think, however, that the question was not altogether impertinent. It might be urged, in excuse for it, that the Transvaal government had not scrupled to break a solemn convention almost before the ink with which it was written had dried; also that, with reference to the same convention, they made the demarcation very in

distinct between mine and thine. About or the exact course by which they are to the value of the Boers' answer there can- come about, no man, I think, has attemptnot, I think, be two opinions. Investors possess now the guarantee of this scrupulously honorable people for the safety of property and persons!

Our conduct towards the Boers has been, no doubt, entirely out of keeping with our traditions, and, as I believe, with our real national character. The nation cannot, in a few years, have utterly changed its sentiments, its beliefs, its characteristics, and habits. I remember the excitement which occurred among us at the time of the "Trent" affair, some twenty years ago, when the nation would have taken, as one may say, the direction of affairs out of the hands of ministers, for fear that a little of the point of honor should be surrendered. Before the news of the outrage could have reached London, a meeting had been held at Liverpool, and a deputation was on its way to press upon Lord Palmerston the expediency of dealing boldly with the matter, and of leaving no room for suspicion that we would abate one iota of what we considered to be our rights. The whole nation followed in the wake of Liverpool, and the temper of the people was unmistakable.

That was, I am certain, the spontaneous action of the country, and displayed our natural feeling. The exhibitions which we make of ourselves in the way of pocketing up wrongs and condemning ourselves are abnormal and exceptional, vagaries executed during absence of mind, that is to say, while a large portion of our population are really intent upon other matters, and will not give their minds to matters not purely domestic. Foreign complications stand in the way of the home questions which so many of us desire to solve; and so we, for the time, don't mind accepting a little dishonor, so that we may clear the board for those concerns about which we are anxious.

ed to explain. I quite believe that violent changes, regardless of equity, are intended, and that they will operate cruelly on certain persons or certain classes. I do not believe that they will have the effect of making any great number of persons richer, or of disseminating wealth. I go so far as to think that the changes will literally defeat the main object which their supporters have in view. Indeed I believe that even now, while the changes are unaccomplished, the shadow of them, cast before, is already operating to the material injury of that which they are intended to bring about. The vague dread and uncertainty caused by the anticipa tion of experimental and capricious innovations, are themselves a great drag upon enterprise. No man will work his best while he is under the apprehension (just or unjust) that the reward of his toil is not secure to him; and those are the conditions under which every man in Great Britain who works at all is working now. The result must be a falling off in national wealth.

If the national wealth is falling off, how are large classes of the community to grow richer? The question is a hard one to answer if it has regard to permanent improvement. One class may tempora rily enrich itself by seizing the property of another class; but this method does not tend to general improvement. And it is certain that, as the community grows poorer, every class of it must suffer.

Already, as I believe, the conviction has come upon some of the more thoughtful of the advocates of change, that political arrangements for making people richer will disappoint those who make them. This conviction may not have become prevalent as yet, but it is growing. On the other hand, it must be plain to everybody, that threatened speculative changes in the constitution of society paralyze effort, and so bring a blight upon all.

At the bottom of the present temper of the country is the idea, entertained by Of all modern expedients for reforming nine out of ten of our working population, society-I assume that amelioration of that each person may be made rich (at some sort is the aim― the generous and any rate, raised far above a condition indiscriminate appliance of dynamite to which can be called poor) by alterations man and his works is the hardest to unof the laws and constitution. The great derstand. Sages have fathomed the sig object, therefore, is to alter the laws, and nificance of some of the violences of foreign and colonial policy takes a low nature; the thunderbolt, the volcano, and place in our regard. Everybody desires the hurricane, destructive as they are, do to have a voice in the alterations which not devastate in mere wantonness; there are to be proposed. The new laws are to produce some marvellous beneficial effects; but what these effects are to be,

is a great and beneficent end to be effected after the outburst has passed. But no sage penetrates the explosive treatment

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