endeavor to raise himself above this level of ignoble daily cares, and plant himself in a position where he can face the present and look forward to the future with tolerable equanimity. As we rise in the scale of society the problem becomes more difficult. Money-making is very apt to be pushed to excess and lead to gambling and dishonesty; while the worship of wealth, which is perhaps the besetting sin of the age, is distinctly the cause of much lax morality and snobbish vulgarity. But on the other hand, money is power, and a large fortune honestly acquired and well spent, gives its possessor unrivalled opportunities for doing good. He can assist charities, patronize art, and if gifted with force of character and fair abilities may become a legislator and statesman, and enrol his name in the annals of his country. It is hard to say that if a man has an opportunity of making a large fortune honestly, and feels that he has it in him to use it nobly, he should refrain from doing so because moralists cry "Sour grapes," and tell him that riches are deceitful.

But for nothing is "self-knowledge" more requisite than to enable a man to see clearly how high he can safely aim, and what sort of stake he can prudently play for. The immense majority of mankind have neither the opportunities nor the faculties for playing for very high stakes, and must be contented with the safe game for moderate and attainable ends. One such end is within the reach of almost every one:

To make a happy household clime
For weans and wife,

Is the true pathos and sublime

Of human life.

So says Burns, who has a rare faculty of hitting the right nail on the head; and the ideal he sets before us in these simple lines is at once the truest and the most universal. The man who fails in this is himself a failure; while the man who by his industry and energy supports a family in comfort and respectability according to their station, and who, at the same time, by control of temper, kindness, unselfishness, and sweet reasonableness makes his household a happy one, may feel, even though fortune may not have placed him in a position of higher responsibilities, that he has not lived in vain, that he has performed the first duties and tasted the truest pleasures of mortal existence, and that, whatever there may be behind the impenetrable veil, he can face it with head erect, as one of "Nature's gentlemen."

SELF-CONTROL.

This is, after all, the vitally important element of a happy and successful life. The compass may point truly to the pole, the chart may show the right channel amidst shoals and rocks, but the ship will hardly arrive safely in port unless the helmsman stands at his post in all weathers, ready to meet any sheer of the bow by a timely turn to starboard or to port. So self-reverence and self-knowledge may point out ever so clearly the path of duty, unless self-control is constantly present we shall surely stray from it. At every moment of our lives natural instinct tells us to do one thing, while reason and conscience us to do another. It is by an effort that we get up in and go about our daily work. It is by an effort that indulgences and forego pleasures, control our

tempers. The uncultured man is violent, selfish, childish; it is only by the inherited or acquired practice of self-control that he is transformed into the civilized man-courteous, considerate, sensible, and reliable.

The necessity of self-control in all the more important relations of moral and practical life is so obvious that it would be only repeating commonplaces to enlarge on it. But there is often danger of its being overlooked in those minor morals of conduct which make up the greater part of life, and determine the happiness or misery of oneself and others.

For instance, control over the temper. A man never shows his cousinship to the ape so much as when he is in a passion. The manifestations are so exactly similar-irrational violence, nervous agitation, total loss of head, and abdication of all presence of mind and reasoning power. To see a grown-up man reduced to the level of a spoiled child, or of a monkey who has been disappointed of a nut, is a spectacle of which it is hard to say whether it is more ridiculous or painful. Even worse than occasional violence is the habitual ill-temper which makes life miserable to those who are obliged to put up with it. We call a man who strikes a woman or child with his fist a brute; what is he if he strikes them daily and hourly, ten times more cruelly, with his tongue? A ten times greater brute. And yet there are men, calling themselves gentlemen, who do this, either from sheer brutality of nature, or oftener from inconsiderateness, coarseness of fibre, and inability to exercise self-control in minor matters.

There is one very common mistake made, that of considering relationship an excuse for rudeness. The members of a family may relax something of the stiffness of company manners among themselves, but they should never forget that it is just as much ill-breeding to say a rude thing to a wife, a sister, or a brother, as it would be to say it to any other lady or gentleman. In fact, it is worse, for the other lady can treat you with contempt and keep out of your way, while the poor woman who is tied to you feels it keenly, and has no means of escape from it. Good manners are, in practical life, a great part of good morals; and there is something to be said for religions which, like the Chinese, lay down rules of politeness, and make salvation depend very much on the observance of rites and ceremonies intended to ensure courtesy and decorum in the intercourse of all classes of the community in daily life.

Although not so bad as the indulgence of a violent or morose temper, a great deal of unhappiness is caused by a fussy and fidgety disposition, which makes mountains out of molehills, and keeps every one in hot water about trifles. This is one of the common faults of idleness, as genuine work both strengthens the fibre to resist and leaves no time to brood over petty troubles.

The excuse one commonly hears from those who give way to these petty infirmities is, "that they cannot help it, they are born with thin skins and excitable tempers.' This is the excuse of sloth and weakness. If the poet says,

what son the

d master of his fate,

ust he be who cannot master even e slightest temptation, and allows every passing breath, like a shallow

roadside puddle? If he will not try he certainly will not learn; but if he will honestly try to correct faults, he will find it easier every time, until the fancied impossibilities fade away and are forgotten. A man who is so much afraid of tumbling off that he will never mount a horse, may fancy that Nature has disqualified him for riding; but for all that, nine men out of ten, if obliged to try-say as recruits in a cavalry regiment-though they may not all turn out accomplished horsemen, will all learn to ride well enough for practical purposes.

It is peculiarly important for the young to set resolutely about correcting bad habits and forming good ones, while the faculties are fresh and the brain supple; for, in obedience to the law by which molecular motions travel by preference along beaten paths, every year cuts deeper the channels of thought and feeling, whether for good or evil. A brain trained to respond to calls of duty soon does so with ease and elasticity, just as the muscles of the blacksmith's arm or of the balletdancer's leg acquire strength and vigor by exercise; while, on the other hand, motion is a pain and self-control an effort to the soft and flabby limb or brain which has been weakened by self-indulgence.

It is scarcely necessary to say that for success in practical life, self-control is the one thing most needful, To take the simplest case, that of a young workingman beginning life with health, knowledge of a trade, or even without it with good thews and sinews, he is the most free and independent of mortals, on one condition-that he has saved £10. With this, he is a free agent in disposing of his labor, he can make his contract with an employer on equal terms, he can carry his goods to the best market, and is practically a citizen of the world, ready to start for San Francisco or Melbourne if he thinks he can better himself. Without it, he is a serf tied to the soil, he cannot move from place to place, he must take whatever wages are offered him or starve.

But how to save the £10? That is a question of daily and weekly recurrence; whether to spend an extra shilling in the pleasant way of going to a public-house and sitting with a pipe and a jug of ale by the fireside among jolly companions, or to forego the pleasure and save the shilling. A shilling a week saved will, in four years, give him the £10, and go a good way to establish habits which, if he is enterprising and goes to a colony, or clever and has any luck at home, may readily make the ten a hundred, or even a thousand pounds. So in every class of life, the man who gets on is the man who has schooled himself never to ask whether a thing is pleasant, but whether it is right and reasonable; and who always keeps a bright look-out ahead, and does his best at the task, whatever it may be, that is set before him.

Education really resolves itself very much into teaching the young to acquire this indispensable faculty of self-control. The amount of positive knowledge, useful in after life, acquired at our English public schools, is really very little beyond the three R's. A boy who could teach himself French or German in five months spends five years over Latin and Greek, and in nine cases out of ten forgets them as soon as he leaves school or college. Almost everything we know that is worth knowing we teach ourselves in after life. But the discipline of school is invaluable in teaching the lesson of self-control. Almost every hour of the day a boy at school has to do things that are disagreeable and abstain from doing things that nature prompts, under pain of getting a caning from the master or a thrashing from other boys. The

memory also is exercised, and the faculty of fixing the mind on work is developed, by useless almost as well as by useful studies. In this point of view even that ne plus ultra of technical pedantry, the Latin grammar, with its "Propria quæ maribus" and "As in presenti," may have its use in teaching a boy that no matter how absurd or repulsive a task may be, he has got to tackle to it or worse will befall him.

But it is in a moral sense that the influence of a good school is most valuable. The average boy learns that he must not tell lies, he must not be a sneak or a coward, he must take punishment bravely, and conform to the schoolmaster's standard of discipline and the school-boy's standard of honor. In this way the first lesson of life, stoicism, becomes with most English lads a sort of instinct or second nature.

For stoicism, after all, is the foundation and primary element of all useful and honorable life. Whether as Carlyle's "Everlasting No," or as George Eliot's advice to take the pains and mishaps of life without resorting to moral opium, the conclusion of all the greatest minds is that a man must have something of the Red Indian in him and be able to suffer silently, and burn his own smoke, if he is to be worth anything. And still more a woman, who has to bear with and make the best of a thousand petty annoyances without complaint. Men can bear on great occasions, but in the innumerable petty trials of life women as a rule show more self-control and moral fortitude. What would the life of a women be who could not stand being bored with a smiling face, put up with the worries of children and servants with cheerful fortitude, and turn away an angry word by a soft answer?

There is much more that might be said, but my object is not to preach or moralize, but simply to record a few of the practical rules and reflections which have impressed themselves on me in the course of a long and busy life. I do so in the hope that perchance they may awaken useful thoughts in some, especially of the younger readers, who may happen to glance over these pages. This much I may say for them, I have tried them and found them work well. I have lived for more than the Scriptural span of threescore and ten years, a life of varied fortunes and many experiences. I may say, in the words which my favorite poet, Tennyson, puts into the mouth of Ulysses:

For ever roaming with a hungry heart,
Much have I seen and known, cities of men,
And councils, climates, governments.

And the conclusion I come to is, not that of the Preacher, "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity," but rather that life, with all its drawbacks, is worth living; and that to have been born in a civilized country in the nineteenth century is a boon for which a man can never be sufficiently thankful. Some may find it otherwise from no fault of their own; more by their own fault; but the majority of men and women may lead useful, honorable, and on the whole fairly happy lives, if they will act on the maxim which I have always endeavored, however imperfectly, to follow

FEAR NOTHING; MAKE THE BEST OF EVERYTHING.

S

SUPPLEMENTAL CHAPTER.

Gladstone's "Dawn of Creation" and "Proem to Genesis."
Drummond's "Natural Law in the Spiritual World."

INCE the above work was written, two essays have appeared which require notice; one, from the celebrity of its author, the other from its extensive circulation. I refer to Mr. Gladstone's articles in the Nineteenth Century, on the "Dawn of Creation and of Worship," and on the "Proem to Genesis ;" and to Professor Drummond's "Natural Law in the Spiritual World."

The first essay attempts to prove the inspiration of the Bible from the anticipations of the conclusions of modern science alleged to be contained in the Book of Genesis. The second, that of Professor Drummond, assuming this inspiration and the Calvinistic creed of theology based upon it, professes to show that the latter is the inevitable result of the same identical natural laws as prevail throughout the domain of Science.

I

propose to deal first with Mr. Gladstone as a theologian.

66 THE DAWN OF CREATION AND OF WORSHIP."

Mr. Gladstone's article in the Nineteenth Century on the "Dawn of Creation and of Worship" is exactly what might have been expected from him-eloquent, rhetorical, diffuse; anything, in short, except logical and closely-reasoned. His mental attitude towards these questions may be described in two words, as that of a man who is ecclesiastically-minded and Homerically-minded.

In fact, about one-third of his essay is taken up by a digression, which is almost entirely irrelevant, as to the extent to which the Olympian gods, as described by Homer, do or do not bear traces of being personifications of natural powers, and do or do not possess attributes which point to derivation from sources_common to the author of the "Iliad" and the author of Genesis. It is needless to point out what a very remote bearing this speculation can have on the serious and vitally-important question, whether the account of the creation of the world and of man contained in the Bible is or is not consistent with the ascertained facts of modern science. That the Homeric gods are to a certain extent derived from solar myths is beyond doubt. Phoebus, the shining one, whose arrow-rays, darted in wrath, bring pestilence, is clearly in some senses the sun; and it admits of no question that the labors of Hercules are principally, if not wholly, taken from the signs of the Zodiac. But there are other elements mixed up with these, and if it should be proved that some of them are borrowed from ancient mythologies common to the Aryan and Semitic races, which is far from being an ascertained fact, it would go a very little way towards settling the question whether the narrative of Noah's ark is a true narrative.

The digression is chiefly interesting as illustrating the working of Mr. Gladstone's mind, which is eminently excursive, prone to elaborate details and to dwell on irrelevant issues to an extent which obscures the main argument. It is also a mind eminently sentimental and emotional, and he seems to think that questions of pure scientific fact can be decided by impassioned appeals to the feelings connected with old forms of faith. In such appeals it is needless to say that