56: We daily see men do for their party, for their sect, for their country, for their favourite schemes of political and social reform, what they would not do to enrich or to avenge themselves. At a temptation directly addressed to our private cupidity or to our private animosity, whatever virtue we have takes the alarm. But virtue itself may contribute to the fall of him who imagines that it is in his power, by violating some general rule of morality, to confer an important benefit on a church, on a commonwealth, on mankind. He silences the remonstrances of conscience, and hardens his heart against the most touching spectacles of misery, by repeating to himself that his intentions are pure, that his objects are noble, that he is doing a little evil for the sake of a great good. By degrees he comes altogether to forget the turpitude of the means in the excellence of the end, and at length perpetrates without one internal twinge acts which would shock a buccaneer. There is no reason to believe that Dominic would, for the best archbishopric in Christendom, have incited ferocious marauders to plunder and slaughter a peaceful and industrious population, that Everard Digby would for a dukedom have blown a large assembly of people into the air, or that Robespierre would have murdered for hire one of the thousands whom he murdered from philanthropy.

(Ibid., p. 12.)

57: The sight of the red coats approaching caused some anxiety among the population of the valley. John, the eldest son of the Chief, came, accompanied by twenty clansmen, to meet the strangers, and asked what this visit meant. Lieutenant Lindsay answered that the soldiers came as friends, and wanted nothing but quarters. They were kindly received, and were lodged under the thatched roofs of the little community. Glenlyon and several of his men were taken into the house of a tacksman who was named, from the cluster of cabins over which he exercised authority, Inverriggen. Lindsay was accommodated nearer to the abode of the old chief. Auchintriater, one of the principal men of the clan, who governed the small hamlet of Auchnaion, found room there for a party commanded by a serjeant named Barbour. Provisions were liberally supplied. There was no want of beef, which had probably fattened in distant pastures; nor was any payment demanded: for in hospitality, as in thievery, the Gaelic marauders rivalled the Bedouins. During twelve days the soldiers lived familiarly with the people of the glen. Old Mac Ian, who had before felt many misgivings as to the relation in which he stood to the government, seems to have been pleased with the visit. The officers passed much of their time with him and his family. The long evenings were cheerfully spent by the peat fire with the help of some packs of cards which had found their way to that remote corner of the world, and of some French brandy which was probably part of James's farewell gift to his Highland supporters. Glenlyon appeared to be warmly attached to his niece and her husband Alexander. Every day he came to their house to take his morning draught. Meanwhile he observed with minute attention all the avenues by which, when the signal for the slaughter should be given, the Macdonalds might attempt to escape to the hills; and he reported the result of his observations to Hamilton.

58: The night was rough. Hamilton and his troops made slow progress, and were long after their time. While they were contending with the wind and snow, Glenlyon was supping and playing at cards with those whom he meant to butcher before daybreak. He and lieutenant Lindsay had engaged themselves to dine with the old Chief on the morrow.

Late in the evening a vague suspicion that some evil was intended crossed the mind of the Chief's eldest son. The soldiers were evidently in a restless state; and some of them uttered strange cries. Two men, it is said, were overheard whispering. "I do not like this job:" one of them muttered, "I should be glad to fight the Macdonalds. But to kill men in their beds!"—"We must do as we are bid," answered another voice. "If there is anything wrong, our officers must answer for it." John Macdonald was so uneasy that, soon after midnight, he went to Glenlyon's quarters. Glenlyon and his men were all up, and seemed to be getting their arms ready for action. John, much alarmed, asked what these preparations meant. Glenlyon was profuse of friendly assurances. "Some of Glengarry's people have been harrying the country. We are getting ready to march against them. You are quite safe. Do you think that, if you were in any danger, I should not have given a hint to your brother Sandy and his wife?" John's suspicions were quieted. He returned to his house, and lay down to rest.

59: Logick-choppers.

60: Parce que les Kalmoucks mettent des prières dans une calebasse que le vent fait tourner, ce qui produit, à leur avis, une adoration perpétuelle. De même les moulins à prière du Tibet.

61: A world all rocking and plunging, like that old Roman one, when the measure of its iniquities was full; the abysses, and subterranean and supernal deluges, plainly broken loose; in the wild dim lighted chaos all stars of heaven gone out. No star of heaven visible, hardly now to any man; the pestiferous fogs and foul exhalations grown continual, have, except on the highest mountain tops, blotted out all stars; will-o'-wisps, of various course and colour, take the place of stars. Over the wild-surging cahos, in the leaden air, are only sudden glares of revolutionary lightning; then mere darkness with philanthropistic phosphorescences, empty meteoric lights; here and there an ecclesiastical luminary still hovering, hanging on to its old quaking fixtures, pretending still to be a moon or sun, though visibly it is but a chinese lantern made of paper mainly with candle-end foully dying in the heart of it. (Life of Sterling, p. 55).

62: Sartor resartus.

63: "Silence as of death," writes he; "for midnight, even in the arctic latitudes, has its character: nothing but the granite cliffs ruddy-tinged, the peaceable gurgle of that slow-heaving polar Ocean, over which in the utmost North the great sun hangs low and lazy, as if he too were slumbering. Yet is his cloud-couch wrought of crimson and cloth of gold; yet does his light stream over the mirror of waters, like a tremulous fire-pillar, shooting downwards to the abyss, and hide itself under my feet. In such moments, solitude also is invaluable; for who would speak, or be looked on, when behind him lies all Europe and Africa, fast asleep, except the watchmen; and before him the silent immensity, and palace of the Eternal, whereof our sun is but a porch-lamp?"

64: French Revolution, t. I, p. 13.

65: In the heart of the remotest mountains rises the little kirk; the dead all slumbering round it, under their white memorial-stones, "in hope of happy resurrection." Dull wert thou, o reader, if never in any hour (say of moaning midnight, when such kirk hung spectral in the sky, and being was as if swallowed up of darkness), it spoke to thee things unspeakable that went to the soul's soul. Strong was he that had a church, what we can call a church; he stood thereby, though "in the centre of immensities, in the conflux of eternities," yet manlike toward God and man; the vague shoreless universe had become for him a firm city and dwelling which he knew.

(History of the French Revolution, chap. II.)

66: Dans l'Adoration des bergers.

67: Latter day Pamphlets.

68: French Revolution, t. I, p. 137.

69: The genius of England no longer soars sunward, world defiant, like an eagle through the storms, "mewing his mighty youth," as John Milton saw her do; the genius of England, much liker a greedy ostrich intent on provender and a whole skin mainly, stands with its other extremity sunward, with its ostrich-head stuck into the readiest bush, of old church-tippets, king-cloaks, or what other "sheltering fallacy" there may be, and so awaits the issue. The issue has been slow; but it is now seen to have been inevitable. No ostrich intent on gross terrene provender, and sticking its head into fallacies, but will be awakened one day in a terrible a posteriori manner, if not otherwise.

(Cromwell's Letters, fin.)

70: Such a bemired auerochs or uras of the German woods...: the poor wood-ox so bemired in the forests.

(Life of Stirling, p. 147.)

71: "To the eye of vulgar logic," says he, "what is man? An omnivorous biped that wears breeches. To the eye of pure reason what is he? A soul, a spirit, and divine apparition. Round his mysterious Me, there lies, under all those wool-rags, a garment of flesh (or of senses), contextured in the loom of heaven; whereby he is revealed to his like, and dwells with them in Union and Division; and sees and fashions for himself a universe with azure starry spaces and long thousands of years. Deep hidden is he under that strange garment; amid sounds and colours and forms, as it were, swathed in and inextricably overshrouded: yet it is skywoven and worthy of a God."

72: Perhaps the most remarkable incident in modern history is not the diet of Worms, still less the battle of Austerlitz, Wagram, Waterloo, or any other battle, but an incident passed carelessly over by most historians, and treated with some degree of ridicule by others, namely George Fox's making to himself a suit of leather.

73: Something monastic there appears to be in their constitution; we find them bound by the two monastic vows of poverty and obedience: which vows, especially the former, it is said, they observe with great strictness; nay, as I have understood it, they are pledged, and be it by any solemn Nazarene ordination or not, irrevocably enough consecrated thereto, even before birth. That the third monastic vow, of chastity, is rigidly enforced among them, I find no ground to conjecture.

Furthermore, they appear to imitate the Dandiacal sect in their grand principle of wearing a peculiar costume.

Their raiment consists of innumerable skirts, lappets, and irregular wings, of all colours; through the labyrinthic intricacies of which their bodies are introduced by some unknown process. It is fastened together by a multiplex combination of buttons, thrums and skewers, to which frequently is added a girdle of leather, of hempen or even of straw rope, round the loins. To straw rope, indeed, they seem partial and often wear it by way of sandals.

One might fancy them worshippers of Hertha, or the Earth: for they dig and affectionately work continually in her bosom; or else, shut up in private oratories, meditate and manipulate the substances derived from her; seldom looking up towards the heavenly luminaries, and then with comparative indifference. Like the druids, on the other hand, they live in dark dwellings; often even breaking their glass-windows, where they find such, and stuffing them up with pieces of raiment or other opaque substances, till the fit obscurity is restored.

In respect of diet, they have also their observances. All poor slaves are rhizophagous (or root-eaters); a few are ichthyophagous, and use salted herrings: other animal food they abstain from, except indeed, with perhaps some strange inverted fragment of a brahminical feeling, such animals as die a natural death. Their universal sustenance is the root named potato, cooked by fire alone.... In all their religious solemnities Potheen is said to be an indispensable requisite and largely consumed.

74: A certain touch of manicheism, not indeed in the gnostic shape, is discernible enough: also (for human error walks in a cycle, and reappears at intervals) a not inconsiderable resemblance to that superstition of the Athos monks, who by fasting from all nourishment, and looking intensely for a length of time into their own navels, came to discern therein the true Apocalypse of Nature, and Heaven unveiled. To my own surmise, it appears as if the Dandiacal sect were but a new modification, adapted to the new time, of that primeval superstition, self-worship.

They affect great purity and separatism; distinguish themselves by a particular costume (whereof some notices were given in the earlier part of this volume); likewise, so far as possible, by a particular speech (apparently some broken lingua franca, or English-French); and on the whole, strive to maintain a true Nazarene deportment, and keep themselves unspotted from the world.

They have their temples, whereof the chief, as the Jewish Temple did, stands in their metropolis; and is named Almack's, a word of uncertain etymology. They worship principally by night; and have their highpriests and highpriestesses, who, however, do not continue for life. The rites, by some supposed to be of the Menadic sort, or perhaps with an Eleusinian or Cabiric character, are held strictly secret. Nor are sacred books wanting to the sect; these they call fashionable Novels: however, the Canon is not completed, and some are canonical and others not....

1^o Coats should have nothing of the triangle about them; at the same time, wrinkles behind should be carefully avoided.

2^o The collar is a very important point: it should be low behind, and slightly rolled.

3^o No licence of fashion can allow a man of delicate taste to adopt the posterial luxuriance of a Hottentot.

4^o There is safety in a swallow-tail.

5^o The good sense of a gentleman is nowhere more finely developed than in his rings.

6^o It is permitted to mankind, under certain restrictions, to wear white waistcoats.

7^o The trowsers must be exceedingly tight across the hips.

All which proposition I, for the present, content myself with modestly but peremptorily and irrevocably denying.

75: I might call them two boundless and indeed unexampled electric machines (turned by the «machinery of society») with batteries of opposite quality, Drudgism the negative, Dandyism the positive; one attracts hourly toward it and appropriates all the positive electricity of the nation (namely the money thereof); the other is equally busy with the negative (that is to say the hunger), which is equally potent. Hitherto you see only partial transient sparkles and sputters; but wait a little, till the entire nation is in an electric state; till your whole vital electricity, no longer healthfully neutral, is cut into two isolated portions of positive and negative (of money and of hunger), and stands there bottled up in two world-batteries. The stirring of a child's finger brings the two together, and then....

76: Deep hidden it lies, far down in the centre, like genial central fire, with stratum after stratum of arrangement, traditionary method, composed productiveness, all built above it, vivified and rendered fertile by it: justice, clearness, silence, perseverance unhasting, unresting diligence, hatred of disorder, hatred of injustice, which is the worst disorder, characterise this people: the inward fire we say, as all such fires would be, is hidden in the centre. Deep hidden, but awakenable, but immeasurable; let no man awaken it.

77: Berserkir.

78: Latter day Pamphlets, jesuitism, p. 28.

79: Supposing swine (I mean fourfooted swine), of sensibility and superior logical parts, had attained such culture; and could, after survey and reflection, set down for us their notion of the Universe, and of their interests and duties there, might it not well interest a discerning public, perhaps in unexpected ways, and give a stimulus to the languishing book trade? The votes of all creatures, it is understood at present, ought to be had, that you may "legislate" for them with better insight. "How can you govern a thing," say many, "without first asking its vote?" Unless, indeed, you already chance to know its vote,—and even something more, namely, what you are to think of its vote: what it wants by its vote; and, still more important, what Nature wants,—which latter, at the end of the account, is the only thing that will be got!—Pig propositions, in a rough form, are somewhat as follows:

1^o The universe, so far as sane conjecture can go, is an immeasurable swine's-trough, consisting of solid and liquid, and of other contrasts and kinds;—especially consisting of attainable and unattainable, the latter in immensely greater quantities for most pigs.

2^o Moral evil is unattainability of pig's-wash; moral good, attainability of ditto.

3^o What is paradise, or the state of innocence? Paradise, called also state of innocence, age of gold, and other names, was (according to pigs of weak judgment) unlimited attainability of pig's-wash; perfect fulfilment of one's wishes, so that the pig imagination could not outrun reality: a fable, an impossibility, as pigs of sense now see.

4^o "Define the whole duty of pigs." It is the mission of universal pighood, and the duty of all pigs, in all times, to diminish the quantity of unattainable and increase that of attainable. All knowledge and device and effort ought to be directed thither and thither only; pig science, pig enthusiasm and devotion have this one aim. It is the whole duty of pigs.

5^o Pig poetry ought to consist of universal recognition of the excellence of pig's-wash and ground barley, and the felicity of pigs whose trough is in order, and who have had enough: Hrumph!

6^o The pig knows the weather; he ought to look out what kind of weather it will be.

7^o "Who made the pig?" Unknown;—perhaps the pork-butcher?

8^o "Have you law and justice in pigdom?" Pigs of observation have discerned that there is, or was once supposed to be, a thing called justice. Undeniably at least there is a sentiment in pig-nature called indignation, revenge, etc., which, if one pig provoke another, comes out in a more or less destructive manner: hence laws are necessary, amazing quantities of laws. For quarrelling is attended with loss of blood, of life, at any rate with frightful effusion of the general stock of hog's-wash, and ruin (temporary ruin) to large sections of the universal swine's trough: wherefore let justice be observed, that so quarrelling be avoided.

9^o "What is justice?" Your own share of the general swine's-trough, not any portion of my share.

10^o "But what is my share?" Ah! there in fact lies the grand difficulty; upon which pig science, meditating this long while, can settle absolutely nothing. My share—hrumph!—my share is, on the whole, whatever I can contrive to get without being hanged or sent to the hulks.

80: Past and present.

81: "For king Lackland was there, verily he; there, we say, is the grand peculiarity, the immeasurable one; distinguishing to a really infinite degree the poorest historical fact from all fiction whatsoever. Fiction, "imagination, imaginative poetry," etc., etc., except as the vehicle for truth, or fact of some sort... what is it?... Behold therefore; this England of the year 1200 was no chimerical vacuity or dream-land peopled with mere vaporous fantasms, Rymer's Fœdera, and Doctrines of the constitution, but a green solid place, that grew corn and several other things. The sun shone on it; the vicissitude of seasons and human fortunes. Cloth was woven and worn, ditches were dug, furrow fields ploughed and houses built. Day by day all men and cattle rose to labour, and night by night returned home weary to their several lairs.... And yet these grim old walls are not a dilettantism and dubiety; they are an earnest fact. It was a most real and serious purpose they were built for. Yes, another world it was, when these black ruins, white in their new mortar and fresh chiselling, first saw the sun as walls, long ago.... Their architecture, belfries, land-carucates? Yes, and that is but a small item of the matter. Does it never give thee pause, this other strange item of it, that men then had a soul,—not by hearsay alone, and as a figure of speech,—but as a truth that they knew, and practically went upon? (Past and Present, p. 65.)

82: It is the property of the hero, in every time, in every place, in every situation, that he comes back to reality; that he stands upon things, and not shews of things. (On Heroes, p. 193.)

83: Thy daily life is girt with wonder, and based on wonder; thy very blankets and breeches are miracles....

The unspeakable divine signifiance full of splendour and wonder and terror lies in the being of every man and of every thing: the presence of God who made every man and thing.

84: Atheistic science babbles poorly of it, with scientific nomenclatures, experiments and what not, as if it were a poor dead thing, to be bottled up in Leyden jars, and sold over counters. But the natural sense of man, in all times, if he will honestly apply his sense, proclaims it to be a living thing—ah, an unspeakable, godlike thing, towards which the best attitude for us, after never so much science, is awe, devout prostration and humility of soul, worship if not in words, then in silence. (On Heroes, p. 3.)

85: Wonder.

86: Our professor's method is not, in any case, that of common school logic, where the truths all stand in a row, each holding by the skirts of the other; but at best that of practical reason, proceeding by large intuition over whole systematic groups and kingdoms; whereby, we might say, a noble complexity, almost like that of Nature, reigns in his philosophy, or spiritual picture of Nature: a mighty maze, yet, as faith whispers, not without a plan.

87: To know a thing, what we can call knowing, a man must first love the thing, sympathize with it. (On Heroes, p. 167.)

88: Fantasy is the organ of the Godlike; the understanding is indeed thy window; too clear thou canst not make it, but fantasy is thy eye, with its colour-giving retina, healthy or diseased.

89: Gœthe au premier rang.

90: M. Renan.

91: Principalement M. Stanley et M. Jowett.

92: Graphic.

93: However it may be with Metaphysics, and other abstract science originating in the head (Verstand) alone, no Life-Philosophy (Lebensphilosophie), such as this of Clothes pretends to be, which originates equally in the Character (Gemüth), and equally speaks thereto, can attain its significance till the Character itself is known and seen.

94: Sartor, p. 75, 76, 83, 259.

95: For Matter, were it never so despicable, is Spirit, the manifestation of Spirit: were it never so honourable, can it be more? The thing visible, nay the thing imagined, the thing in any way conceived as visible, what is it but a garment, a clothing of the higher, celestial invisible "unimaginable, formless, dark with excess of bright?"

All visible things are emblems; what thou seest is not there on its own account; strictly taken, is not there at all: Matter exists only spiritually, and to represent some Idea, and body it forth.

96: In the Symbol proper, what we can call a Symbol, there is ever, more or less distinctly, and directly, some embodiment and revelation of the Infinite; the Infinite is made to blend itself with the Finite, to stand visible, and as it were, attainable there. By Symbols, accordingly, is man guided and commanded, made happy, made wretched. He everywhere finds himself encompassed with Symbols, recognised as such or not recognised: the Universe is but one vast Symbol of God: nay if thou wilt have it, what is man himself but a Symbol of God? Is not all that he does symbolical; a revelation to Sense of the mystic god-given Force that is in him?

97: But deepest of all illusory Appearances, for hiding Wonder, as for many other ends, are your two grand fundamental world-enveloping Appearances, Space and Time. These, as spun and woven for us from before Birth itself, to clothe our celestial Me for dwelling here, and yet to blind it,—lie all-embracing, as the universal canvass, or warp and woof, whereby all minor Illusions, in this Phantasm Existence, weave and paint themselves.

98: Sartor, p. 313, 412.

99: O Heaven, it is mysterious, it is awful to consider that we not only carry each a future Ghost within him; but are, in very deed, Ghosts! These Limbs, whence had we them; this stormy Force; this life-blood with its burning Passion? They are dust and shadow; a shadow-system gathered round our Me; wherein, through some moments or years, the Divine Essence is to be revealed in the flesh.

And again, do we not squeak and gibber (in our discordant, screech-owlish debatings and recriminatings); and glide bodeful, and feeble, and fearful; or uproar (poltern), and revel in our mad dance of the Dead,—till the scent of the morning-air summons us to our still home; and dreamy night becomes awake and day?

100: Creation, says one, lies before us like a glorious rainbow; but the sun that made it lies behind us, hidden from us.

101: Past and Present, p. 76.—Sartor, p. 78, 304, 314.

102: The man who cannot wonder, who does not habitually wonder (and worship), were he president of innumerable Royal Societies, and carried the whole Mécanique céleste and Hegel's Philosophy, and the epitome of all laboratories and observatories with their results, in his single head,—is but a pair of spectacles behind which there is no eye. Let those who have eyes look through him, then he may be useful.

Thou wilt have no Mystery and Mysticism; wilt walk through thy world by the sunshine of what thou callst Truth, or even by the Hand-lamp of what I call Attorney-Logic: and "explain" all, "account" for all, or believe nothing of it? Nay, thou wilt attempt laughter. Who so recognises the unfathomable, all-pervading domain of Mystery, which is everywhere, under, over feet and among our hands; to whom the Universe is an oracle and temple, as well as a kitchen and cattle stall, he shall be a delirious Mystic; to him thou, with sniffing charity, wilt protusively proffer thy Hand-lamp, and shriek, as one injured, when he kicks his foot through it?

103: We speak of the volume of Nature: and truly a volume it is,—whose author and writer is God. To read it! Dost thou, does man, so much as well know the Alphabet thereof? With its words, sentences, and grand descriptive pages, poetical and philosophical, spread out through Solar systems, and thousands of years, we shall not try thee. It is a volume written in celestial hieroglyphs, in the true Sacred writing; of which even Prophets are happy that they can read here a line and there a line. As for your Institutes, and Academies of science, they strive bravely; and, from amid the thick-crowded, inextricably intertwisted hieroglyphic writing, pick out, by dexterous combination, some letters in the vulgar character, and therefrom put together this and the other economic recipe, of high avail in practice. That Nature is more than some boundless volume of such recipes, or huge, well-nigh inexhaustible domestic cookery-book, of which the whole secret will in this manner one day evolve itself.

And what is that Science, which the scientific head alone, were it screwed off, and (like the Doctor's in the Arabian tale) set in a basin, to keep it alive, could prosecute without shadow of a heart,—but one other of the mechanical and menial handicrafts, for which the Scientific Head (having a soul in it) is too noble an organ? I mean that Thought without reverence is barren, perhaps poisonous.

104: Generation after generation takes to itself the form of a Body; and forth-issuing from Cimmerian night, on Heaven's mission APPEARS. What force and Fire is in each he expends: one grinding in the mill of Industry; one hunter-like climbing the giddy Alpine heights of Science; one madly dashed in pieces on the rocks of Strife, in war with his fellow:—and then the Heaven-sent is recalled; his earthly vesture falls away, and soon even to Sense becomes a vanished Shadow. Thus, like some wild-flaming, wild-thundering train of Heaven's artillery, does this mysterious Mankind thunder and flame, in long-drawn, quick-succeeding grandeur, through the unknown Deep. Thus, like a God-created, fire-breathing Spirit-host, we emerge from the Inane; haste stormfully across the astonished Earth, then plunge again into the Inane.

But whence?—O Heaven, whither? Sense knows not; Faith knows not; only that it is through mystery to mystery, from God and to God.

105: Is there no God, then; but at best an absentee God, sitting idle, ever since the first Sabbath, at the outside of his Universe, and seeing it go? Has the word Duty no meaning? Is what we call Duty no divine messenger and guide, but a false earthly fantasm, made up of desire and fear, of emanations from the gallows and from Doctor Graham's celestial bed? Happiness of an approving conscience! Did not Paul of Tarsus, whom admiring men have since named Saint, feel that he was the "chief of sinners;" and Nero of Rome, jocund in spirit (wohlgemuth), spend much of his time in fiddling? Foolish word-monger and motive-grinder, who in thy logic-mill hast an earthly mechanism for the Godlike itself, and wouldst fain grind me out virtue from the husks of pleasure,—I tell thee, Nay!

106: Only this I know, if what thou namest Happiness be our true aim, then are we all astray. With stupidity and sound digestion man may front much. But what, in these dull unimaginative days, are the terrors of Conscience to the diseases of the liver! Not on Morality, but on cookery let us build our stronghold: there brandishing our frying-pan, as censer, let us offer sweet incense to the Devil, and live at ease on the fat things which he has provided for his Elect!

107: On Heroes, p. 244, 71.

108: The hero is who lives in the inward sphere of things, in the True, Divine, Eternal, which exists always, unseen to most, under the Temporary, Trivial; his being is in that.... His life is a piece of the everlasting heart of nature itself.

(On Heroes, p. 245.)

109: Knowest thou that "Worship of sorrow?" The Temple thereof, founded some eighteen centuries ago, now lies in ruins, overgrown with jungle, the habitation of doleful creatures. Nevertheless, venture forward: in a low crypt, arched out of falling fragments, thou findest the altar still there, and its sacred lamp perennially burning.

110: For if Government is, so to speak, the outward SKIN of the Body Politic, holding the whole together and protecting it; and if all your craft-guilds, and Associations for industry, of hand or of head, are the fleshy clothes, the muscular and osseous tissues (lying under such SKIN), whereby Society stands and Works;—then is Religion the inmost pericardial and nervous tissue which ministers life and warm circulation to the whole.

Meanwhile, in our era of the world, those church-clothes have gone sorrowfully out at elbows: nay, far worse, many of them have become mere hollow shapes, or masks, under which no living Figure or Spirit any longer dwells; but only spiders and unclean beetles, in horrid accumulation, drive their trade; and the mask still glares on you with his glass-eyes, in ghastly affectation of life,—some generation and half after Religion has quite withdrawn from it, and in unnoticed nooks is weaving for herself new vestures, wherewith to reappear, and bless us, or our sons and grandsons.

111: On Heroes, 6, 191-92; 14, 217.—Past and Present.

Canopus shining down over the desert, with its blue diamond brightness (that wild blue spirit-like brightness far brighter than we ever witness here) would pierce into the heart of the wild Ishmaelitish man, whom it was guiding through that solitary waste there. To his wild heart, with all feelings in it, with no speech for any feeling, it might seem a little eye, that Canopus, glancing out on him from the great deep Eternity, revealing the inner splendour to him. (On Heroes, p. 14.)

112: Past and Present, p. 305, 270.

113: The one end, essence and use of all religion past, present, and to come, is this only: to keep the same moral conscience or inner light of ours alive and shining.... All Religion was here to remind us better or worse of what we already know better or worse of the quite infinite difference there is between a good man and a bad; to bid us love infinitely the one, abhor and avoid infinitely the other; strive infinitely to be the one and not to be the other. "All religion issues in due practical Hero-worship."

(Past and Present, p. 305.)

114: All true work is Religion; and whatsoever Religion is not work may go and dwell among the Brahmins, Antinomians, spinning Dervishes, or where it will; with me it shall have no harbour. (Past and Present, p. 270.)

115: Heroes, p. 129, 245.—Miscellanies, passim.

116: Life of Sterling.

117: Miscellanies, p. 11, 121, 148.

118: We find no heroism of character in him, from first to last; nay, there is not, that we know of, one great thought in all his six and thirty quartos.... He sees but a little way into Nature; the mighty All in its beauty and infinite mysterious grandeur, humbling the small me into nothingness, has never even for moments been revealed to him; only this and that other atom of it, and the differences and discrepancies of these two, has he looked into and noted down. His theory of the world, his picture of man and man's life is little; for a poet and philosopher even pitiful. "The Divine Idea that which lies at the bottom of appearance" was never more invisible to any man. He reads history not with the eyes of a devout seer or even of a critic, but through a pair of mere anti-catholic spectacles. It is not a mighty drama enacted on the theater of Infinitude, with suns for lamps and Eternity as back-ground... but a poor wearisome debating-club dispute, spun through ten centuries, between the Encyclopédie and the Sorbonne.... God's Universe is a larger patrimony of Saint Peter, from where it were pleasant and well to hunt the Pope.... The still higher praise of having had a right or noble aim cannot be conceded to him without many limitations, and may plausibly enough be altogether denied.... The force necessary for him was no wise a great and noble one; but a small, in some respects a mean one, to be nimbly and seasonably put into use. The Ephesian temple which it had employed many wise heads and strong arms, for a life-time, to build, could be un-built by one madman, in a single hour.

119: Voyez ce double éloge dans Wilhelm Meister.

120: On Heroes, t. I, p. 71.

121: Universal history, the history of what man has accomplished in this world, is at bottom the history of the great men who have worked here. They were the leaders of men, these great ones; the modellers, patterns, and in a wide sense creators, of whatsoever the general mass of men contrived to do or to attain; all things that we see standing accomplished in the world are properly the outer material result, the practical realisation and embodiment of thoughts that dwelt in the great men sent into the world; the soul of the whole world's history, it may be justly considered, were the history of these. (On Heroes, p. 1.)

122: Such a man is what we call an original man; he comes to us at first hand. A messenger he, sent from the infinite unknown with tidings to us.... Direct from the inner fact of things.—He lives and has to live in daily communion with that. Hearsays cannot hide it from him; he is blind, homeless, miserable following hearsays; it glares upon him.... It is from the heart of the world that he comes. He is portion of the primal reality of things. (On Heroes, p. 71.)

123: Cromwell's Speeches and Letters, t. II, p. 668.

124: The works of a man, bury them under what guano-mountains and obscene owl-droppings you will, do not perish, cannot perish. What of heroism, what of Eternal light was in man and his life, is with very great exactness added to the Eternities, remains for ever a new divine portion of the sum of things.

(Cromwell's Letters, dernier chapitre.)

125: Loyalty, mot intraduisible, qui désigne le sentiment de subordination, quand il est noble.

126: Silent, with closed lips, as I fancy them, unconscious that they were specially brave, defying the wild Ocean with its monsters and all men and things—progenitors of our own Blakes and Nelsons.—Hrolf or Rollo, duke of Normandy, the wild sea-king, has a share in governing England at this hour.

No wild saint Dominics and Thebaid ermites, there had been no melodious Dante; rough practical endeavour, Scandinavian and other, from Odin to Walter Raleigh, from Ulfila to Cranmer, enabled Shakspeare to speak. Nay the finished poet, I remark sometimes, is a symptom that his epoch itself has reached perfection and is finished; that before long there will be a new epoch, new reformers needed. (On Heroes, p. 184.)

127: On Heroes, p. 51 et 184.

128: On Heroes, p. 323.

129: Suppose now it were some matter of vital concernment, some transcendant matter (as Divine worship is) about which your whole soul struck dumb with its excess of feeling knew not how to form itself into utterance at all, and preferred formless silence to any utterance there possible.—What should we say of a man coming forward to represent or utter it for you in the way of upholsterer-mummery? Such a man—let him depart swiftly, if he love himself!—You have lost your only son, are mute, struck down, without even tears: an importunate man importunately offers to celebrate funeral games for him in the manner of the Greeks. (On Heroes, p. 323.)

130: You may take my purse... but the self is mine and God my maker's. (On Heroes, p. 330.)

131: T. I, p. 120.

132: French Revolution, t. I, p. 295, 20 et 77.

133: For ourselves we answer that French Revolution means here the open violent rebellion and victory of disimprisoned anarchy against corrupt worn-out authority.

So thousandfold complex a Society ready to burst up from its infinite depths; and these men its rulers and healers, without life-rule for themselves—other life-rule than a Gospel according to Jean Jacques! To the wisest of them, what we must call the wisest, man is properly an accident under the sky. Man is without duty round him, except it be to make the Constitution. He is without Heaven above him, or Hell beneath him, he has no God in the world.

While hollow languor and vacuity is the lot of the upper and want and stagnation of the lower, and universal misery is very certain, what other thing is certain? That a lie cannot be believed! Philosophism knows only this: Her other relief is mainly that in spiritual suprasensual matters, no belief is possible.... What will remain? The five unsatiated senses will remain, the sixth insatiable sense (of vanity); the whole dæmoniac nature of man will remain.

Man is not what we call a happy animal; his appetite for sweet victual is too enormous.... (He cannot subsist) except by girding himself together for continual endeavour and endurance.

(French Revolution, t. I, passim.)

134: Past and Present, p. 185.

135: We have forgotten God;—in the most modern dialect and very truth of the matter, we have taken up the fact of this universe as it is not. We have quietly closed our eyes to the eternal substance of things, and opened them only to the shews and shams of things. We quietly believe this universe to be intrinsically, a great unintelligible Perhaps; extrinsically, clear enough, it is a great, most extensive cattlefold and workhouse, with most extensive kitchen-ranges, dining-tables,—whereat he is wise who can find a place! All the truth of this universe is uncertain; only the profit and loss of it, the pudding and praise of it are and remain very visible to the practical man.

There is no longer any God for us! God's laws are become a greatest-happiness principle, a parliamentary expediency: the Heavens overarch us only as an astronomical time-keeper; a butt for Herschel-telescopes to shoot science at, to shoot sentimentalities at:—in our and old Jonson's dialect, man has lost the soul out of him; and now, after the due period,—begins to find the want of it! This is verily the plague-spot; centre of the universal social gangrene, threatening all modern things with frightful death. To him that will consider it, here is the stem with his roots and taproots, with its world-wide Upas-boughs and accursed poison-exsudations, under which the world lies writhing in atrophy and agony. You touch the focal-centre of all our disease, of our frightful nosology of diseases, when you lay your hand on this. There is no religion; there is no God; man has lost his soul, and vainly seeks antiseptic salt. Vainly: in killing kings, in passing Reform bills, in French revolutions, Manchester insurrections, is found no remedy. The foul elephantine leprosy, alleviated for an hour, reappears in new force and desperateness next hour.

Past and Present.—Latter-day Pamphlets. Chartism.

136: It is his effort and desire to teach this and the other thinking British man that said finale, the advent namely of actual open Anarchy, cannot be distant now, when virtual disguised Anarchy, long-continued, and waxing daily, has got to such a height; and that the one method of staving off the fatal consummation, and steering towards the continents of the future, lies not in the direction of reforming Parliament, but of what he calls reforming Downing-street; a thing infinitely urgent to be begun, and to be strenuously carried on. To find a Parliament more and more the express image of the people, could, unless the people chanced to be wise as well as miserable, give him no satisfaction. Not this at all; but to find some sort of King, made in the image of God, who could a little achieve for the people, if not their spoken wishes, yet their dumb wants, and what they would at last find to have been their instinctive will,—which is a far different matter usually in this babbling world of ours.

A king or leader then, in all bodies of men, there must be; be their work what it may, there is one man here who by character, faculty, position, is fittest of all to do it.

He who is to be my ruler, whose will is to be higher than my will, was chosen for me in Heaven. Neither except in such obedience to the Heaven-chosen, is freedom so much as conceivable.

137: 1842. Rapport officiel.

138: Latter-day Pamphlets, t. I, Parliament.

139: Past and Present, p. 323. «L'Europe demande une aristocratie réelle, un clergé réel, ou bien elle ne peut continuer à exister.»

140: It is certain, then, that a part of our notion of a body consists of the notion of a number of sensations of our own, or of other sentient beings, habitually occurring simultaneously. My conception of the table at which I am writing is compounded of its visible form and size, which are complex sensations of sight; its tangible form and size, which are complex sensations of our organs of touch and of our muscles; its weight, which is also a sensation of touch and of the muscles; its colour, which is a sensation of sight; its hardness, which is a sensation of the muscles; its composition, which is another word for all the varieties of sensation which we receive under various circumstances from the wood of which it is made; and so forth. All or most of these various sensations frequently are, and, as we learn by experience, always might be experienced simultaneously, or in many different orders of succession, at our own choice: and hence the thought of any one of them makes us think of the others, and the whole becomes mentally amalgamated into one mixed state of consciousness, which, in the language of the school of Locke and Hartley, is termed a complex idea.

141: For, as our conception of a body is that of an unknown exciting cause of sensations, so our conception of a mind is that of an unknown recipient, or percipient, of them; and not of them alone, but of all our other feelings. As body is the mysterious something which excites the mind to feel, so mind is the mysterious which feels and thinks. It is unnecessary to give in the case of mind, as we gave in the case of matter, a particular statement of the sceptical system by which its existence as a Thing in itself, distinct from the series of what are denominated its states, is called in question. But it is necessary to remark, that on the inmost nature of the thinking principle, as well as on the inmost nature of matter, we are, and with our faculties must always remain entirely in the dark. All which we are aware of, even in our own minds, is a certain "thread of consciousness;" a series of feelings, that is, of sensations, thoughts, emotions, and volitions, more or less numerous and complicated.

142: "Feelings, states of consciousness."

143: Every attribute of a mind consists either in being itself affected in a certain way, or affecting other minds in a certain way. Considered in itself, we can predicate nothing of it but the series of its own feelings. When we say of any mind, that it is devout, or superstitious, or meditative, or cheerful, we mean that the ideas, emotions, or volitions implied in those words, form a frequently recurring part of the series of feelings, or states of consciousness, which fill up the sentient existence of that mind.

In addition, however, to those attributes of a mind which are grounded on its own states of feeling, attributes may also be ascribed to it, in the same manner as to a body, grounded on the feelings which it excites in other minds. A mind does not, indeed, like a body, excite sensations, but it may excite thoughts or emotions. The most important example of attributes ascribed on this ground, is the employment of terms expressive of approbation or blame. When, for example, we say of any character, or (in other words) of any mind, that it is admirable, we mean that the contemplation of it excites the sentiment of admiration; and indeed somewhat more, for the word implies that we not only feel admiration, but approve that sentiment in ourselves. In some cases, under the semblance of a single attribute, two are really predicated: one of them, a state of the mind itself, the other, a state with which other minds are affected by thinking of it. As when we say of any one that he is generous, the word generosity expresses a certain state of mind, but being a term of praise, it also expresses that this state of mind excites in us another mental state, called approbation. The assertion made, therefore, is twofold, and of the following purport: Certain feelings form habitually a part of this person's sentient existence; and the idea of those feelings of his excites the sentiment of approbation in ourselves or others.

144: Take the following example: A generous person is worthy of honour. Who would expect to recognize here a case of coexistence between phenomena? But so it is. The attribute which causes a person to be termed generous, is ascribed to him on the ground of states of his mind, and particulars of his conduct: both are phenomena; the former are facts of internal consciousness, the latter, so far as distinct from the former, are physical facts, or perceptions of the senses. Worthy of honour, admits a similar analysis. Honour, as here used, means a state of approving and admiring emotion, followed on occasion by corresponding outward acts. "Worthy of honour" connotes all this, together with our approval of the act of showing honour. All these are phenomena, states of internal consciousness, accompanied or followed by physical facts. When we say: A generous person is worthy of honour, we affirm coexistence between the two complicated phenomena connoted by the two terms respectively. We affirm, that wherever and whenever the inward feelings and outward facts implied in the word generosity have place, then and there the existence and manifestation of an inward feeling, honour, would be followed in our minds by another inward feeling, approval.

145: Selon les logiciens idéalistes, on démêle cet être en consultant cette notion, et l'idée décomposée met l'essence à nu. Selon les logiciens classificateurs, on atteint cet être en logeant l'objet dans son groupe, et l'on définit cette notion en nommant le genre voisin et la différence propre. Les uns et les autres s'accordent à croire que nous pouvons saisir l'essence.

146: An essential proposition, then, in one which is purely verbal; which asserts of a thing under a particular name only what is asserted of it in the fact of calling it by that name; and which therefore either gives no information, or gives it respecting the name, not the thing. Non-essential, or accidental propositions, on the contrary, may be called Real Propositions, in opposition to Verbal. They predicate of a thing some fact not involved in the signification of the name by which the proposition speaks of it; some attribute not connoted by that name.

147: The definition, they say, unfolds the nature of the thing: but no definition can unfold its whole nature and every proposition in which any quality whatever is predicated of the thing, unfolds some part of its nature. The true state of the case we take to be this. All definitions are of names, and of names only; but, in some definitions, it is clearly apparent, that nothing is intended except to explain the meaning of the word; while in others, besides explaining the meaning of the word, it is intended to be implied that there exists a thing, corresponding to the word.

148: The definition above given of a triangle, obviously comprises not one, but two propositions, perfectly distinguishable. The one is, "There may exist a figure bounded by three straight lines;" the other, "And this figure may be termed a triangle." The former of these propositions is not a definition at all; the latter is a mere nominal definition, or explanation of the use and application of a term. The first is susceptible of truth or falsehood, and may therefore be made the foundation of a train of reasoning. The latter can neither be true nor false; the only character it is susceptible of is that of conformity to the ordinary usage of language.

149: The mortality of John, Thomas and company is, after all, the whole evidence we have for the mortality of the duke of Wellington. Not one iota is added to the proof by interpolating a general proposition. Since the individual cases are all the evidence we can possess, evidence which no logical form into which we choose to throw it can make greater than it is; and since that evidence is either sufficient in itself, or, if insufficient for the one purpose, cannot be sufficient for the other; I am unable to see why we should be forbidden to take the shortest cut from these sufficient premisses to the conclusion, and constrained to travel the "high priori road", by the arbitrary fiat of logicians.

150: All inference is from particulars to particulars: General propositions are merely registers of such inferences already made, and short formulæ for making more. The major premiss of a syllogism, consequently, is a formula of this description; and the conclusion is not an inference drawn from the formula, but an inference drawn according to the formula: the real logical antecedent, or premisses, being the particular facts from which the general proposition was collected by induction. Those facts, and the individual instances which supplied them, may have been forgotten; but a record remains, not indeed descriptive of the facts themselves, but showing how those cases may be distinguished respecting which the facts, when known, were considered to warrant a given inference. According to the indications of this record we draw our conclusion, which is, to all intents and purposes, a conclusion from the forgotten facts. For this it is essential that we should read the record correctly: and the rules of the syllogism are a set of precautions to ensure our doing so.

151: If we had sufficiently capacious memories, and a sufficient power of maintaining order among a huge mass of details, the reasoning could go on without any general propositions; they are mere formulæ for inferring particulars from particulars.

152: For though, in order actually to see that two given lines never meet, it would be necessary to follow them to infinity; yet without doing so, we may know that if they ever do meet, or if, after diverging from one another, they begin again to approach, this must take place not at an infinite, but at finite distance. Supposing, therefore, such to be the case, we can transport ourselves thither in imagination, and can frame a mental image of the appearance which one or both of the lines must present at that point, which we may rely on as being precisely similar to the reality. Now, whether we fix our contemplation upon this imaginary picture, or call to aid the generalizations we have had occasion to make from former ocular observation, we learn by the evidence of experience, that a line which, after diverging from another straight line, begins to approach to it, produces the impression on our senses which we describe by the expression "a bent line", not by the expression, "a straight line".

153: Induction, then, is that operation of the mind, by which we infer that what we know to be true in a particular case or cases, will be true in all cases which resemble the former in certain assignable respects. In other words, Induction is the process by which we conclude that what is true of certain individuals of a class is true of the whole class, or that what is true at certain times will be true in similar circumstances at all times.

154: We must first observe, that there is a principle implied in the very statement of what Induction is; an assumption with regard to the course of nature and the order of universe: namely, that there are such things in nature as parallel cases; that what happens once, will, under a sufficient degree of similarity of circumstances, happen again, and not only again, but as often as the same circumstances recur. This, I say, is an assumption, involved in every case of induction. And, if we consult the actual course of nature, we find that the assumption is warranted. The universe, we find, is so constituted, that whatever is true in any one case, is true at all cases of a certain description; the only difficulty is, to find what description.

155: Why is it that, with exactly the same amount of evidence, both negative and positive, we did not reject the assertion that there are black swans while we should refuse credence to any testimony which asserted there were men wearing their heads underneath their shoulders? The first assertion was more credible than the latter. But why more credible? So long as neither phenomenon had been actually witnessed, what reason was there for finding the one harder to be believed than the other? Apparently, because there is less constancy in the colours of animals, than in the general structure of their internal anatomy. But how do we know this? Doubtless, from experience. It appears, then, that we need experience to inform us in what degree, and in what cases, or sorts of cases, experience is to be relied on. Experience must be consulted in order to learn from it under what circumstances arguments from it will be valid. We have no ulterior test to which we subject experience in general; but we make experience its own test. Experience testifies that among the uniformities which it exhibits or seems to exhibit, some are more to be relied on than others; and uniformity, therefore, may be presumed, from any given number of instances, with a greater degree of assurance, in proportion as the case belongs to a class in which the uniformities have hitherto been found more uniform.

156: T. I^er, p. 338, 340, 341, 345, 351.

157: The only notion of a cause, which the theory of induction requires, is such a notion as can be gained from experience.

The Law of Causation, the recognition of which is the main pillar of inductive science, is but the familiar truth, that invariability of succession is found by observation to obtain between every fact in nature and some other fact which has preceded it; independently of all consideration respecting the ultimate mode of production of phenomena, and of every other question regarding the nature of "Things in themselves".

158: The real cause, is the whole of these antecedents.

159: The cause, then, philosophically speaking, is the sum total of the conditions, positive and negative, taken together; the whole of the contingencies of every description, which being realized, the consequent invariably follows.

160: If there be any meaning which confessedly belongs to the term necessity, it is unconditionalness. That which is necessary, that which must be, means that which will be, whatever supposition we may make in regard to all other things.

161: 1^o Prenons cinquante creusets de matière fondue qu'on laisse refroidir, et cinquante dissolutions qu'on laisse évaporer; toutes cristallisent. Soufre, sucre, alun, chlorure de sodium, les substances, les températures, les circonstances sont aussi différentes que possible. Nous y trouvons un fait commun et un seul, le passage de l'état liquide à l'état solide; nous concluons que ce passage est l'antécédent invariable de la cristallisation. Voilà un exemple de la méthode de concordance: sa règle fondamentale est que «si deux ou plusieurs cas du phénomène en question n'ont qu'une circonstance commune, cette circonstance en est la cause ou l'effet.» (T. I, p. 396.)

162: Prenons un oiseau qui est dans l'air et respire; plongeons-le dans l'acide carbonique, il cesse de respirer. La suffocation se rencontre dans le second cas, elle ne se rencontre pas dans le premier; du reste, les deux cas, sont aussi semblables que possible, puisqu'il s'agit dans tous les deux du même oiseau et presque au même instant; ils ne diffèrent que par une circonstance, l'immersion dans l'acide carbonique substituée à l'immersion dans l'air. On en conclut que cette circonstance est un des antécédents invariables de la suffocation. Voilà un exemple de la méthode de différence; sa règle fondamentale est que «si un cas où le phénomène en question se rencontre et un cas où il ne se rencontre pas ont toutes leurs circonstances communes, sauf une, le phénomène a cette circonstance pour cause ou pour effet.»