"Lust of the eye and pride of life,

She left it all behind

And hurried, torn with inward strife,
The wilderness to find.

"Tears wash'd the trouble from her face! She changed into a child!

'Mid weeds and wrecks she stood - a place Of ruin- but she smiled!

"Oh, had I lived in that great day,

How had its glory new

Fill'd earth and heaven, and caught away
My ravished spirit too!

"No cloister-floor of humid stone

Had been too cold for me;
For me no Eastern desert lone
Had been too far to flee.

"No thoughts that to the world belong
Had stood against the wave

Of love which set so deep and strong
From Christ's then open grave.

"No lonely life had pass'd too slow
When I could hourly see

"Alone, self-poised, henceforward man
Must labour must resign

His all too human creeds, and scan
Simply the way divine."

Sad, false, and painfully superficial
teaching was hardly ever embodied in a
finer poetic form. We should shrink from
it as we read, were it not that the poet's
patronizing account of Christian faith is
so foreign to us as to read like an intellec-
tual travestie on Christian feeling. It
would have been impossible to paint more
grandly the hard pageantry of Roman
civilization, or more imaginatively the ap-
parently magic victory of the brooding
mystic over the armed conqueror.
when Mr. Arnold paints the "patient deep
disdain" of the East for physical might as
the power by which it won its miraculous
victory, he is inverting strangely the testi-
mony of history, indeed he is reading his
own lofty intellectualism back into the
past. The East has always been accused
of bowing with even too deep a prostra-

But

That wan, nail'd Form, with head droop'd tion of soul before the omnipotent fiat of

low,

Upon the bitter tree;

"Could see the Mother with the Child

Whose tender winning arts
Have to his little arms beguiled
So many wounded hearts!

"And centuries came, and ran their course,
And unspent all that time

66

Still, still went forth that Child's dear force,
And still was at its prime.

Ay, ages long endured his span

Of life, 'tis true received,

the Almighty. It was the Eastern delight in that semi-fatalism which gave Mahommed his strange spell over the Eastern imagination; nay, it was the same fascinated submission to the finger of sheer Power which is occasionally so intensely expressed even in the Hebrew prophets as to read to Christian ears as if God were above righteousness, and as if responsi bility could be merged in obedience. If there were any disdain in the Eastern feeling towards the armies of Rome, it was not disdain for the Roman power but for

That gracious Child, that thorn-crown'd Man! the Roman weakness - that inaccessibility

He lived while we believed.

"While we believed, on earth he went,

And open stood his grave;

Men call'd from chamber, church, and tent,
And Christ was by to save.

"Now he is dead! Far hence he lies

In the lorn Syrian town,

And on his grave, with shining eyes,
The Syrian stars look down.

"In vain men still, with hoping new,
Regard his death-place dumb,
And say the stone is not yet to,
And wait for words to come.

"Ah, from that silent sacred land,
Of sun, and arid stone,

And crumbling wall, and sultry sand,
Comes now one word alone!

"From David's lips this word did roll,
'Tis true and living yet;

No man can save his brother's soul,
Nor pay his brother's debt.

of the West to whispers of the soul which seemed to the Eastern mystic the oracles of a power far greater than the Roman, and of one before which the Roman would be broken in pieces. In other words, what the East disdained in Rome was its want of listening power, not its want of dreaming power, of which the Oriental world always knew too well the relaxing and enervating influence. It was too much dreaming which had brought it into subjection to Rome, and further dreaming would only make that subjection more abject. Had Christ, or rather His ideal image, "received," as Mr. Arnold here says, from the enthusiastic reverie of the East, the gift of a spiritual ascendancy which there was no real divine Christ to exercise, the peculiar strength of the East must have been precisely identical with its peculiar weakness, namely, its faculty for believing that to be due to a living Power, outside the mind, which was

in truth only the unreal image of the mind itself. The power which could break to pieces hosts of legions was not in the dreamer but in Him who awakened the dreamer and dispelled the dream. And it was not "disdain" but "humility" by which the East learned to thrill to the authority of this imperious whisper of the soul—this "foolishness" of faith.

and suicide.” We know that Mr. Arnold does not so understand it; that from the very bottom of his heart there comes an imperious warning " to bear rather than rejoice"-a warning which we believe to be the remains left in his soul of a Christian faith out of which all the life and joy are gone. But this is a warning which few of his readers will heed, if the charm of his poetry should unfortunately relax in many of them the strong nerve of their Christian trust. However, his poetry is no more the worse as poetry, for its false spir

And for us, too, it is not disdain, but humility which shall help us to recover the loss which Mr. Arnold so pathetically bewails, but which his poetry implicitly ex-itual assumptions, than Drama is the worse, presses also a deep reluctance to supply. The old paradox is as true to-day as it was when St. Paul proclaimed that the weak things of the world should confound the mighty, and the things which were not, should bring to naught the things which were. Perhaps we may paraphrase the same truth in relation to Mr. Arnold's many beautiful expressions of the impotence of the intellect to believe, by saying that he never reaches down to the sources of faith, simply because that final act of humility and trust in which faith arises, is always individual, and therefore to him an act of foolishness. Faith is not susceptible of intellectual generalization, being indeed a living act of the individual soul, which must surrender itself captive to Christ in a spiritual plane far deeper than that where the dialogue with Doubt which Mr. Arnold so leisurely dramatizes, takes place. Like his own favourite Alpine peak, like

"Jaman! delicately tall

Above his sun-warm'd firs,"

Mr. Arnold's poetry towers above the warmth of the faiths it analyzes and rejects, and gains thereby its air of mingled pride and sadness. He seems, indeed, to take a chilling pride in his assertion that Christ is not risen; that

"On his grave, with shining eyes, The Syrian stars look down;"

an assertion which sends a shudder through the heart that has discovered for itself how false and weak is the life from which the trust in Christ is absent. To tell us that the one word from the silent sacred land" is not "I am the resurrection and the life," but

as drama, for delineating men as they seem to each other to be, and not as they really are to the eye of God. And as the poet of the soul's melancholy hauteur and plaintive benignity, as the exponent of pity for the great excess of her wants beyond her gifts and graces, as the singer at once of the spirit's hunger, of the insufficiency of the food which the intellect provides for her cravings, and yet also of her fastidious rejection of more celestial nutriment, Mr. Arnold will be read and remembered by every generation in which faith continues to be daunted by reason, and reason to seek, not without pangs of inexplicable compunction, to call in question the transcendental certainties of faith; in a word he will be read and remembered, as we said in our opening sentence, as the poet who, more than any other of his day, has embodied in his verse "the sweetness, the gravity, the strength, the beauty, and the languor of death."

"IF we could only get over this one day," that was the burden of Tita's complaining the next morning. Arthur had been invited to breakfast, and had declined; but he was coming round to go with us to the Cathedral. Thereafter, everything to Tita's mind was chaos. dared hardly think of what the day might bring forth. In vain I pointed out to her

She

that this day was but as another day; and hotel, with long trumpets in their hand. that if any deeds of wrath or vengeance These they suddenly lifted, and then down were hidden away in the vague intentions the quiet street sounded a loud fanfare, of our young friend from Twickenham, there was no particular safety gained in tiding over a single Sunday.

"At all events," says my Lady, firmly, "you cannot do anything so imprudent as press him to accompany us further on our journey."

which was very much like those announcements that tell us, in an historical play, that the King approaches. Then a vehicle drove away from the door; the High Sheriff had gone to the Cathedral; while our breakfast was not even yet finished.

"He does not have the trumpets sound"Cannot the phaeton hold five?" ed every time he leaves the hotel?" said "You know it cannot, comfortably. the Lieutenant, returning from the winBut that is not the question. For my dow. "Then why when he goes to church? own part, I don't choose to have a holiday Is it exceptional for a High Sheriff to go spoilt by provoking a series of painful to church, that he calls attention to it with scenes, which I know will occur. We trumpets?" may manage to humour him to-day, and At this moment, Arthur entered the get him to leave us in an amiable mood; but it would be impossible to do it two days running. And I am not sure even about this one day."

"But what prevents his dropping down on us at any time-say at Shrewsbury or Chester- or Carlisle - just as he has done here at Worcester?”

"I will."

That was enough. Having some gard for the young man, I hoped he would submit quietly. But lovers are headstrong; and jealousy, when it is thoroughly aroused, leaves no place in the mind for

fear.

It was a bright morning. We could see, through the wire screens of the windows, the Worcester folks walking along the pavements, with the sunlight shining on their Sunday finery.

The Lieutenant, as we hurriedly despatched breakfast for we were rather late gave us his usual report.

room. He glanced at us all rather nervously. There was less complaisance, too, in his manner, than when we last saw him; the soothing influences of dinner had departed. He saluted us all in a somewhat cool way, and then addressed himself exclusively to my Lady. For Bell he had scarcely a word.

It is hard to say how Queen Tita manre-aged, as we left the hotel, to attach Bell and herself to Master Arthur; but such was the result of her dexterous manoeuvres; and in this fashion we hurriedly walked along to the Cathedral. There was a great commotion visible around the splendid building. A considerable crowd had collected to see the High Sheriff; and policemen were keeping a lane for those who wished to enter. Seeing that we were late, and that the High Sheriff was sure to draw many after him, we scarcely expected to get inside; but that, at least, was vouchsafed us, and presently we found "A very fine town," he said, address- ourselves slipping quietly over the stone ing himself chiefly to Tita, who was al- flooring. All the seats in the body of the ways much interested in his morning building being occupied, we took up a porambles, with old religious buildings, sition by one of the great pillars, and and houses with ivy, and high walls to there were confronted by a scene sufficientkeep back the river. There is a largely impressive to those of us who had been race-course, too, by the river; and on the accustomed to the ministrations of a small other side a fine suburb, built on a high parish church. bank, among trees. There are many pleasant walks by the Severn, when you get further down; but I will show you all the place when we go out of the Cathedral. This is a great day at the Cathedral, they say. a Chief Sheriff of the county, I think they call him, is living at this hotel, and he is going, and you see those people?- they are loitering about to see him drive away." Even as

Far away before us rose the tall and graceful lines of the architecture, until, in the distance, they were lost in a haze of sunlight streaming in from the south — a glow of golden mist that struck upon the northern pillars, throwing up a vague reflection that showed us something of the airy region in which the lines of the great arches met. We could catch a glimpse, too, of the white-dressed choir, beyond the he spoke, two resplendent sombre mass of the people that filled the creatures, in grey and gold, resembling nave. And when the hushed, deep tones beef-eaters toned down in colour and of the organ prelude had ceased to sound gilded, advanced to the archway of the' along the lofty aisles, there rose the dis

grass, and on the ivied walls about, lit up the flaky red surface of the old tower, and showed us the bruised effigy of King Edgar in sharp outline; while through the gloom of the archway we could see beyond the shimmering green light of a mass of elms, with their leaves moving in the sun. From thence we passed down to the river wall, where the Lieutenant read aloud the following legend inscribed near the gate:

them.

tant and plaintive chanting of the boys then the richer tones of the bass came in -and then again burst forth that clear, sweet, triumphant soprano, that seemed to be but a single voice ringing softly and distinctly through the great building. I knew what would occur then. Somehow Tita managed to slip away from us, and get into the shadow of the pillar, with her head bent down, and her hand clasped in Bell's; and the girl stood so that no one "On the 18th of November, 1770, the should see her friend's face, for there were Flood rose to the lower edge of this Brass tears running fast down it. It is a sad Plate, being ten inches higher than the story, that has been already briefly men- Flood which happened on December 23, tioned in these memoranda. Many years 1672." And then we went through the ago she lost a young brother, to whom arch, and found ourselves on the banks of she was deeply attached. He used to sing the Severn, with its bridges and boats and in the choir of the village church. Now, locks, and fair green meadows, all as bright whenever she listens to a choir singing and as cheerful as sunlight could make that she cannot see, nothing will convince her that she does not hear the voice of her brother in the clear, distant music; and more than once it has happened that the uncontrollable emotions caused by this wild superstition have thoroughly unnerved her. For days after, she has been haunted by the sound of that voice as if it had brought her a message from the other world—as if she had been nearly vouchsafed a vision that had been somehow snatched away from her, leaving behind an unexplained longing and unrest. Partly on that account, and partly by reason of the weariness produced by constant standing, we were not sorry to slip out of the Cathedral when the first portion of the service was over; and so we found ourselves once more in the sweet air and the sunlight.

There was an awkward pause. Tita rather fell behind, and endeavoured to keep herself out of sight; while the other members of the party seemed uncertain as to how they should attach themselves. Fortunately, our first movement was to go round and inspect the curious remains of the old Cathedral, which are yet visible; and as these were close at hand, we started off in a promiscuous manner, and got round and under King Edgar's tower without any open rupture.

Tita and myself, I know, would at this moment have given a good deal to get away from these young folks and their affairs. What business of ours was it that there should be a "third wheel to the cart," as the Germans say? Arthur was sadly out of place; but how could we help it? My Lady having fallen rather behind as we started on our leisurely stroll along the river, Bell, the Lieutenant, and Arthur were forced to precede us. The poor girl was almost silent between them. Von Rosen was pointing out the various objects along the stream; Arthur, in no amiable mood, throwing in an occasional sarcastic comment. Then more silence. Arthur breaks away from them, and honours us with his company. Sometimes he listens to what my Lady says to him; but more often he does not, and only scowls at the two young folks in front of us. He makes irrelevant replies. There is a fierceness in his look. I think at this moment he would have been glad to have embraced Mormonism, or avowed his belief in Strauss, or done anything else desperate and wicked.

Why, it was natural to ask, should this gentle little woman by my side be vexed by these evil humours and perversities her vexation taking the form of a proHow still and quiet lay the neighbour- found compassion, and a desire that she hood of the great church on this beautiful could secure the happiness of all of them? Sunday morning! It seemed as if all the The morning was a miracle of freshness. life of the place were gathered within that The banks of the Severn, once you leave noble building; while out here the winds Worcester, are singularly beautiful. Befrom over the meadows, and the sunlight, fore us were islands, set amid tall river and the fleecy clouds overhead, were left weeds, and covered with thick growths of to play about the strange old passages, bushes. A grey shimmering of willows and sunken arches, and massive gateways, came in as a line between the bold blue of and other relics of former centuries. The the stream and the paler blue and white bright light that lay warm on the fresh of the sky. Some tall poplars stood sharp

"I hope not, Madame," says our Uhlan, respectfully.

66

and black against the light green of the meadows behind; and far away these level and sunlit meadows stretched over to Mal- Because," she continued, with a little vern Chase and to the thin line of blue laugh," Arthur thinks we are sure to dishills along the horizon. Then the various agree, merely on account of our being boats -a group of richly-coloured cattle thrown so much into each other's compain the fields a few boys bathing under ny." the shadow of a great bank of yellow sand "I think quite the opposite will be the —all went to make up as bright and pret-result of our society," says the Lieutenant. ty a river-picture as one could wish for. "Of course I did not refer particularly And here we were almost afraid to speak, to you," said Arthur, coldly. "There are lest an incautious word should summon some men so happily constituted that it is up thunder-clouds and provoke an explo- of no consequence to them how they are regarded by their companions. Of course they are always well satisfied."

sion.

"Have you any idea when you will reach Scotland?" says Arthur, still glaring at the Lieutenant and his companion. No," replies Tita; we are in no hurry."

66

"Won't you get tired of it?"

"I don't think so at all. But if we do, we can stop."

"You will go through the Lake Country, of course?"

"Yes."

"It is sure to be wet there," said the young man.

"You don't give us much encouragement," says my Lady, gently.

"Oh," he replies, "if people break away from the ordinary methods of enjoying a holiday, of course they must take their chance. In Scotland you are sure to have bad weather. It always rains there."

Arthur was determined that we should look upon the future stages of our journey with the most agreeable anticipations. "Then," he says, "suppose your horses break down?"

"They won't," says Tita, with a smile. "They know they are going to the land of oats. They will be in excellent spirits

all the way."

Master Arthur went on to add "I have always found that the worst of driving about with people was that it threw you so completely on the society of certain persons; and you are bound to quarrel with them."

"That has not been our experience," says my Lady, with that gracious manner of hers which means much.

Of course she would not admit that her playful skirmishes with the person whom, above all others, she ought to respect, could be regarded as real quarrels. But at this point the Lieutenant lingered for a moment to ask my Lady a question; and as Bell also stopped and turned, Tita says to him, with an air of infinite amusement "We have not quarrelled yet, Count von Rosen?"

"And it is a very good thing to be well satisfied," says the Lieutenant, cheerfully enough, "and much better than to be ill satisfied and of much trouble to your friends. I think, sir, when you are as old as I, and have been over the world as much, you will think more of the men who are well satisfied.”

"I hope my experience of the world," says Arthur, with a certain determination in his tone, "will not be gained by receiving pay to be sent to invade a foreign country

"Oh, Count von Rosen," says Bell, to call his attention.

"Mademoiselle!" he says, turning instantly towards her, although he had heard every word of Arthur's speech.

"Can you tell me the German name of that tall pink flower close down by the edge of the water?"

And so they walked on once more; and we got further away from the city-with its mass of slates and spires getting faint in the haze of the sunlight and into the still greenness of the country, where the path by the river-side lay through deep meadows.

It was hard, after all. He had come from London to get speech of his sweetheart, and he found her walking through green meadows with somebody else. No mortal man and least of all a young fellow not confident of his own position, and inclined to be rather nervous and anxious

could suffer this with equanimity; but then it was a question how far it was his own fault.

"Why don't you go and talk to Bell?" says my Lady to him, in a low voice.

"Oh, I don't care to thrust my society on anyone," he says aloud, with an assumption of indifference. "There are people who do not know the difference between an old friendship and a new acquaintance I do not seek to interfere with their tastes. But of course there is a meaning