No More Learning

TO MRS. SIDDONS
G
IFTED of heaven! who hast, in days gone by,
Moved every heart, delighted every eye;
While age and youth, of high and low degree,
In sympathy were joined, beholding thee,
As in the Drama's ever-changing scene
Thou heldst thy splendid state, our tragic queen!
No barriers there thy fair domains confined,
Thy sovereign sway was o'er the human mind;
And in the triumph of that witching hour,
Thy lofty bearing well became thy power.
The impassioned changes of thy beauteous face,
Thy stately form, and high imperial grace;
Thine arms impetuous tossed, thy robe's wide flow,
And the dark tempest gathered on thy brow;
What time thy flashing eye and lip of scorn
Down to the dust thy mimic foes have borne;
Remorseful musings, sunk to deep dejection,
The fixed and yearning looks of strong affection;
The active turmoil a wrought bosom rending,
When pity, love, and honor, are contending :-
They who beheld all this, right well, I ween,
A lovely, grand, and wondrous sight have seen.
Thy varied accents, rapid, fitful, slow,
Loud rage, and fear's snatched whisper, quick and low;
The burst of stifled love, the wail of grief,
And tones of high command, full, solemn, brief;
The change of voice, and emphasis that threw
Light on obscurity, and brought to view
Distinctions nice, when grave or comic mood,
Or mingled humors, terse and new, elude
Common perception, as earth's smallest things
To size and form the vesting hoar-frost brings,
That seemed as if some secret voice, to clear
The raveled meaning, whispered in thine ear,
111-80


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I 266
JOANNA BAILLIE
And thou hadst e'en with him communion kept,
Who hath so long in Stratford's chancel slept;
Whose lines, where nature's brightest traces shine,
Alone were worthy deemed of powers like thine;
They who have heard all this, have proved full well
Of soul-exciting sound the mightiest spell.
But though time's lengthened shadows o'er thee glide,
And pomp of regal state is cast aside,
Think not the glory of thy course is spent,
There's moonlight radiance to thy evening lent,
That to the mental world can never fade,
Till all who saw thee, in the grave are laid.
Thy graceful form still moves in nightly dreams,
And what thou wast, to the lulled sleeper seems;
While feverish fancy oft doth fondly trace
Within her curtained couch thy wondrous face.
Yea; and to many a wight, bereft and lone,
In musing hours, though all to thee unknown,
Soothing his earthly course of good and ill,
With all thy potent charm, thou actest still.
And now in crowded room or rich saloon,
Thy stately presence recognized, how soon
On thee the glance of many an eye is cast,
In grateful memory of pleasures past!
Pleased to behold thee, with becoming grace,
Take, as befits thee well, an honored place;
Where blest by many a heart, long mayst thou stand,
Among the virtuous matrons of our land!
A SCOTCH SONG
THE
HE gowan glitters on the sward,
The lavrock's in the sky,
And collie on my plaid keeps ward,
And time is passing by.
Oh no! sad and slow
And lengthened on the ground,
The shadow of our trysting bush
It wears so slowly round!
1
1
My sheep-bell tinkles frae the west,
My lambs are bleating near,
But still the sound that I lo'e best,
Alack! I canna' hear.


## p. 1267 (#57) ############################################

JOANNA BAILLIE
1267
Oh no! sad and slow,
The shadow lingers still,
And like a lanely ghaist I stand
And croon upon the hill.
I hear below the water roar,
The mill wi' clacking din,
And Lucky scolding frae her door,
To ca' the bairnies in.
Oh no! sad and slow,
These are na' sounds for me,
The shadow of our trysting bush,
It creeps sa drearily!
I coft yestreen, frae Chapman Tam,
A snood of bonny blue,
And promised when our trysting cam',
To tie it round her brow.
Oh no! sad and slow,
The mark it winna' pass;
The shadow of that weary thorn
Is tethered on the grass.
Oh, now I see her on the way,
She's past the witch's knowe,
She's climbing up the Browny's brae,
My heart is in a lowe!
Oh no! 'tis no' so,
'Tis glam'rie I have seen;
The shadow of that hawthorn bush
Will move na' mair till e'en.
My book o' grace I'll try to read,
Though conn'd wi' little skill,
When collie barks I'll raise my head,
And find her on the hill.
Oh no! sad and slow,
The time will ne'er be gane,
The shadow of the trysting bush
Is fixed like ony stane.


## p. 1268 (#58) ############################################

1268
JOANNA BAILLIE
SONG, POVERTY PARTS GOOD COMPANY)
For an old Scotch Air
W
"HEN my o'erlay was white as the foam o' the lin,
And siller was chinkin my pouches within,
When my lambkins were bleatin on meadow and
brae,
As I went to my love in new cleeding sae gay,
Kind was she, and my friends were free,
But poverty parts good company.
How swift passed the minutes and hours of delight,
When piper played cheerly, and crusie burned bright,
And linked in my hand was the maiden sae dear,
As she footed the floor in her holyday gear!
Woe is me; and can it then be,
That poverty parts sic company?
We met at the fair, and we met at the kirk,
We met i’ the sunshine, we met i’ the mirk;
And the sound o' her voice, and the blinks o' her een,
The cheerin and life of my bosom hae been.
Leaves frae the tree at Martinmass flee,
And poverty parts sweet company.
At bridal and infare I braced me wi' pride,
The broose I hae won, and a kiss o' the bride;
And loud was the laughter good fellows among,
As I uttered my banter or chorused my song;
Dowie and dree are jestin and glee,
When poverty spoils good company.
Wherever I gaed, kindly lasses looked sweet,
And mithers and aunties were unco discreet;
While kebbuck and bicker were set on the board :
But now they pass by me, and never a word!
Sae let it be, for the worldly and slee
Wi' poverty keep nae company.
But the hope of my love is a cure for its smart,
And the spae-wife has tauld me to keep up my heart;
For, wi' my last saxpence, her loof I hae crost,
And the bliss that is fated can never be lost,
Though cruelly we may ilka day see
How poverty parts dear company.


## p. 1269 (#59) ############################################

JOANNA BAILLIE
1269
THE KITTEN
WAN
ANTON droll, whose harmless play
Beguiles the rustic's closing day,
When, drawn the evening fire about,
Sit aged crone and thoughtless lout,
And child upon his three-foot stool,
Waiting until his supper cool,
And maid whose cheek outblooms the rose,
As bright the blazing fagot glows,
Who, bending to the friendly light,
Plies her task with busy sleight,-
Come, show thy tricks and sportive graces,
Thus circled round with merry faces!
Backward coiled and crouching low,
With glaring eyeballs watch thy foe,
The housewife's spindle whirling round,
Or thread or straw that on the ground
Its shadow throws, by urchin sly
Held out to lure thy roving eye;
Then stealing onward, fiercely spring
Upon the tempting, faithless thing.
Now, wheeling round with bootless skill,
Thy bo-peep tail provokes thee still,
As still beyond thy curving side
Its jetty tip is seen to glide;
Till from thy centre starting far,
Thou sidelong veer'st with rump in air
Erected stiff, and gait awry,
Like madam in her tantrums high;
Though ne'er a madam of them all,
Whose silken kirtle sweeps the hall,
More varied trick and whim displays
To catch the admiring stranger's gaze.
Doth power in measured verses dwell,
All thy vagaries wild to tell ?
Ah, no! the start, the jet, the bound,
The giddy scamper round and round,
With leap and toss and high curvet,
And many a whirling somerset,
(Permitted by the modern muse
Expression technical to use) –
These mock the deftest rhymester's skill,
But poor in art, though rich in will.


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1270
JOANNA BAILLIE
The featest tumbler, stage bedight,
To thee is but a clumsy wight,
Who every limb and sinew strains
To do what costs thee little pains;
For which, I trow, the gaping crowd
Requite him oft with plaudits loud.
But, stopped the while thy wanton play,
Applauses too thy pains repay:
For then, beneath some urchin's hand
With modest pride thou takest thy stand,
While many a stroke of kindness glides
Along thy back and tabby sides.
Dilated swells thy glossy fur,
And loudly croons thy busy purr,
As, timing well the equal sound,
Thy clutching feet bepat the ground,
And all their harmless claws disclose
Like prickles of an early rose,
While softly from thy whiskered cheek
Thy half-closed eyes peer, mild and meek.
But not alone by cottage fire
Do rustics rude thy feats admire.
The learned sage, whose thoughts explore
The widest range of human lore,
Or with unfettered fancy fly
Through airy heights of poesy,
Pausing smiles with altered air
To see thee climb his elbow-chair,
Or, struggling on the mat below,
Hold warfare with his slippered toe.
The widowed dame or lonely maid,
Who, in the still but cheerless shade
Of home unsocial, spends her age,
And rarely turns a lettered page,
Upon her hearth for thee lets fall
The rounded cork or paper ball,
Nor chides thee on thy wicked watch,
The ends of raveled skein to catch,
But lets thee have thy wayward will,
Perplexing oft her better skill.
E'en he whose mind, of gloomy bent,
In lonely tower or prison pent,


## p. 1271 (#61) ############################################

JOANNA BAILLIE
I 271
Reviews the coil of former days,
And loathes the world and all its ways,
What time the lamp's unsteady gleam
Hath roused him from his moody dream,
Feels, as thou gambol'st round his seat,
His heart of pride less fiercely beat,
And smiles, a link in thee to find
That joins it still to living kind.
Whence hast thou then, thou witless puss!
The magic power to charm us thus ?
Is it that in thy glaring eye
And rapid movements we descry
Whilst we at ease, secure from ill,
The chimney corner snugly fill —
A lion darting on his prey,
A tiger at his ruthless play?
Or is it that in thee we trace,
With all thy varied wanton grace,
An emblem, viewed with kindred eye
Of tricky, restless infancy?
Ah! many a lightly sportive child,
Who hath like thee our wits beguiled,
To dull and sober manhood grown,
With strange recoil our hearts disown.
And so, poor kit! must thou endure,
When thou becom'st a cat demure,
Full many a cuff and angry word,
Chased roughly from the tempting board.
But yet, for that thou hast, I ween,
So oft our favored playmate been,
Soft be the change which thou shalt prove!
When time hath spoiled thee of our love,
Still be thou deemed by housewife fat
A comely, careful, mousing cat,
Whose dish is, for the public good,
Replenished oft with savory food,
Nor, when thy span of life is past,
Be thou to pond or dung-hill cast,
But, gently borne on goodman's spade,
Beneath the decent sod be laid;
And children show with glistening eyes
The place where poor old pussy lies.


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1 272
HENRY MARTYN BAIRD
(1832-)
舞
​HAT stirring period of the history of France which in certain
of its features has been made so familiar by Dumas
through the Three Musketeers) series and others of his
fascinating novels, is that which has been the theme of Dr. Baird in
the substantial work to which so many years of his life have been
devoted. It is to the elucidation of one portion only of the history
of this period that he has given himself; but although in this, the
story of the Huguenots, nominally only a matter of religious belief
was involved, it in fact embraced almost
the entire internal politics of the nation,
and the struggles for supremacy of its
ambitious families, as well as the effort
to achieve religious freedom.
In these separate but related works the
incidents of the whole Protestant move-
ment have been treated. The first of
these, The History of the Rise of the Hu-
guenots in France) (1879), carries the story
to the time of Henry of Valois (1574), cov-
ering the massacre of St. Bartholomew;
HENRY M. BAIRD the second, The Huguenots and Henry
of Navarre (1886), covers the Protestant
ascendancy and the Edict of Nantes, and ends with the assassination
of Henry in 1610; and the third, "The Huguenots and the Revoca-
tion of the Edict of Nantes) (1895), completes the main story, and
indeed brings the narrative down to a date much later than the title
seems to imply.
It may be said, perhaps, that Dr. Baird holds a brief for the
plaintiff in the case; but his work does not produce the impression
of being that of a violently prejudiced, although an interested, writer.
He is cool and careful, writing with precision, and avoiding even the
effects which the historian may reasonably feel himself entitled to
produce, and of which the period naturally offers so many.
Henry Martyn Baird was born in Philadelphia, January 17th,
1832, and was educated at the University of the City of New York
and the University of Athens, and at Union and Princeton Theo-
logical Seminaries. In 1855 he became a tutor at Princeton; and in
the following year he published an interesting volume on Modern



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HENRY MARTYN BAIRD
I 273
Greece, a Narrative of Residence and Travel. In 1859 he was ap-
pointed to the chair of Greek Language and Literature in the Uni-
versity of the City of New York.
In addition to the works heretofore named, he is the author of a
biography of his father, Robert Baird, D. D.
THE BATTLE OF IVRY
From "The Huguenots and Henry of Navarre)
HE battle began with a furious cannonade from the King's
,
before the enemy were ready to reply, so well directed that
great havoc was made in the opposing lines. Next, the light
horse of M. de Rosne, upon the extreme right of the Leaguers,
made a dash upon Marshal d'Aumont, but were valiantly received.
Their example was followed by the German reiters, who threw
themselves upon the defenders of the King's artillery and upon
the light horse of Aumont, who came to their relief; then, after
their customary fashion, wheeled around, expecting to pass easily
through the gaps between the friendly corps of Mayenne and
Egmont, and to reload their firearms at their leisure in the rear,
by way of preparation for a second charge.
Owing to the blunder of Tavannes, however, they met a ser-
ried line of horse where they looked for an open field; and the
Walloon cavalry found themselves compelled to set their lances
in threatening position to ward off the dangerous onset of their
retreating allies. Another charge, made by a squadron of the
Walloon lancers themselves, was bravely met by Baron Biron.
His example was imitated by the Duke of Montpensier farther
down the field. Although the one leader was twice wounded,
and the other had his horse killed under him, both ultimately
succeeded in repulsing the enemy.
It was about this time that the main body of Henry's horse
became engaged with the gallant array of cavalry in their front.
Mayenne had placed upon the left of his squadron a body of four
hundred mounted carabineers. These, advancing first, rode rap-
idly toward the King's line, took aim, and discharged their weapons
with deadly effect within twenty-five paces. Immediately after-
ward the main force of eighteen hundred lancers presented them-
selves. The King had fastened a great white plume to his helmet,
1


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1 274
HENRY MARTYN BAIRD
and had adorned his horse's head with another, equally conspic-
uous. "Comrades! ” he now exclaimed to those about him, “Com-
rades! God is for us! There are his enemies and ours! If you
lose sight of your standards, rally to my white plume; you will
find it on the road to victory and to honor. ” The Huguenots had
knelt after their fashion; again Gabriel d'Amours had offered for
them a prayer to the God of battles: but no Joyeuse dreamed of
suspecting that they were meditating surrender cr fight. The
King, with the brave Huguenot minister's prediction of victory
still ringing in his ears, plunged into the thickest of the fight,
two horses' length ahead of his companions. That moment he
forgot that he was King of France and general-in-chief, both in
one, and fought as if he were a private soldier. It was indeed
a bold venture. True, the enemy, partly because of the con-
fusion induced by the reiters, partly from the rapidity of the
King's movements, had lost in some measure the advantage they
should have derived from their lances, and were compelled to
rely mainly upon their swords, as against the firearms of their
opponents. Still, they outnumbered the knights of the King's
squadron more than as two to one. No wonder that some of
the latter Alinched and actually turned back; especially when the
standard-bearer of the King, receiving a deadly wound in the
face, lost control of his horse, and went riding aimlessly about
the field, still grasping the banner in grim desperation. But the
greater number emulated the courage of their leader. The white
plume kept them in the road to victory and to honor.
this beacon seemed at one moment to fail them. Another cav-
alier, who had ostentatiously decorated his helmet much after the
same fashion as the King, was slain in the hand-to-hand conflict,
and some, both of the Huguenots and of their enemies, for a
time supposed the great Protestant champion himself to have
fallen.
But although fiercely contested, the conflict was not long.
The troopers of Mayenne wavered, and finally fled. Henry of
Navarre emerged from the confusion, to the great relief of his
anxious followers, safe and sound, covered with dust and blood
not his own.
More than once he had been in great personal
peril. On his return from the melee, he halted, with a handful
of companions, under the pear-trees indicated beforehand as
rallying-point, when he was descried and attacked by three
bands of Walloon horse that had not yet engaged in the fight.
Yet even
a


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HENRY MARTYN BAIRD
1 275
Only his own valor and the timely arrival of some of his troops
saved the imprudent monarch from death or captivity.
The rout of Mayenne's principal corps was quickly followed
by the disintegration of his entire army. The Swiss auxiliaries
of the League, though compelled to surrender their flags, were,
as ancient allies of the crown, admitted to honorable terms of
capitulation. To the French, who fell into the King's hands, he
was equally clement. Indeed, he spared no efforts to save their
lives. But it was otherwise with the German lansquenets. Their
treachery at Arques, where they had pretended to come over to
the royal side only to turn upon those who had believed their
protestations and welcomed them to their ranks, was yet fresh
in the memory of all. They received no mercy at the King's
hands.
Gathering his available forces together, and strengthened by
the accession of old Marshal Biron, who had been compelled,
much against his will, to remain a passive spectator while others
fought, Henry pursued the remnants of the army of the League
many a mile to Mantes and the banks of the Seine. If their
defeat by a greatly inferior force had been little to the credit of
either the generals or the troops of the League, their precipitate
flight was still less decorous. The much-vaunted Flemish lancers
distinguished themselves, it was said, by not pausing until they
found safety beyond the borders of France; and Mayenne, never
renowned for courage, emulated or surpassed them in the eager-
ness he displayed, on reaching the little town from which the
battle took its name, to put as many leagues as possible between
himself and his pursuers.
The enemy thus ran away,” says the
Englishman William Lyly, who was an eye-witness of the battle;
« Mayenne to Ivry, where the Walloons and reiters followed so
fast that there standing, hasting to draw breath, and not able to
speak, he was constrained to draw his sword to strike the flyers
to make place for his own flight. ”
The battle had been a short one. Between ten and eleven
o'clock the first attack was made; in less than an hour the army
of the League was routed. It had been a glorious action for the
King and his old Huguenots, and not less for the loyal Roman
Catholics who clung to him. None seemed discontented but old
Marshal Biron, who, when he met the King coming out of the
fray with battered armor and blunted sword, could not help con-
trasting the opportunity his Majesty had enjoyed to distinguish


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1276
HENRY MARTYN BAIRD
himself with his own enforced inactivity, and exclaimed, “Sire,
this is not right! You have to-day done what Biron ought to
have done, and he has done what the King should have done. ”
But even Biron was unable to deny that the success of the royal
arms surpassed all expectation, and deserved to rank among the
wonders of history. The preponderance of the enemy in num-
bers had been great. There was no question that the impetuous
attacks of their cavalry upon the left wing of the King were for
a time almost successful. The official accounts might conven-
iently be silent upon the point, but the truth could not be dis-
guised that at the moment Henry plunged into battle a part of
his line was grievously shaken, a part was in full retreat, and
the prospect was dark enough. Some of his immediate followers,
indeed, at this time turned countenance and were disposed to
flee, whereupon he recalled them to their duty with the words,
“Look this way, in order that if you will not fight, at least you
may see me die. " But the steady and determined courage of the
King, well seconded by soldiers not less brave, turned the tide of
battle. "The enemy took flight,” says the devout Duplessis
Mornay, “terrified rather by God than by men; for it is certain
that the one side was not less shaken than the other. ” And with
the flight of the cavalry, Mayenne's infantry, constituting, as has
been seen, three-fourths of his entire army, gave up the day as
lost, without striking a blow for the cause they had come to sup-
port. How many men the army of the League lost in killed and
wounded it is difficult to say. The Prince of Parma reported to
his master the loss of two hundred and seventy of the Flemish
lancers, together with their commander, the Count of Egmont.
The historian De Thou estimates the entire number of deaths on
the side of the League, including the combatants that fell in the
battle and the fugitives drowned at the crossing of the river
Eure, by Ivry, at eight hundred. The official account, on the
other hand, agrees with Marshal Biron, in stating that of the
cavalry alone more than fifteen hundred died, and adds that four
hundred were taken prisoners; while Davila swells the total of
the slain to the incredible sum of upward of six thousand men.
Copyrighted by Charles Scribner's Sons.


## p. 1277 (#67) ############################################

1 277
SIR SAMUEL WHITE BAKER
(1821-1893)
HE Northwest Passage, the Pole itself, and the sources of the
Nile — how many have struggled through ice and snow, or
burned themselves with tropic heat, in the effort to penetrate
these secrets of the earth! And how many have left their bones to
whiten on the desert or lie hidden beneath icebergs at the end of
the search!
Of the fortunate ones who escaped after many perils, Baker was
one of the most fortunate. He explored the Blue and the White Nile,
discovered at least one of the reservoirs
from which flows the great river of Egypt,
and lived to tell the tale and to receive due
honor, being knighted by the Queen there-
for, fêted by learned societies, and sent
subsequently by the Khedive at the head
of a large force with commission to destroy
the slave trade. In this he appears to have
been successful for a time, but for a time
only.
Baker was born in London, June 8th,
1821, and died December 30th, 1893. With
his brother he established, in 1847, a settle-
SIR SAMUEL BAKER
ment in the mountains of Ceylon, where he
spent several years. His experiences in the far East appear in books
entitled “The Rifle and Hound in Ceylon and Eight Years Wander-
ing in Ceylon. In 1861, accompanied by his young wife and an
escort, he started up the Nile, and three years later, on the 14th of
March, 1864, at length reached the cliffs overlooking the Albert
Nyanza, being the first European to behold its waters. Like most
Englishmen, he was an enthusiastic sportsman, and his manner of
life afforded him a great variety of unusual experiences. He visited
Cyprus in 1879, after the execution of the convention between Eng-
land and Turkey, and subsequently he traveled to Syria, India, Japan,
and America. He kept voluminous notes of his various journeys,
which he utilized in the preparation of numerous volumes:-(The
Albert Nyanza”; “The Nile Tributaries of Abyssinia'; Ismäilia,' a
narrative of the expedition under the auspices of the Khedive; Cy-
prus as I Saw It in 1879'; together with Wild Beasts and Their
Ways,' (True Tales for My Grandsons,' and a story entitled “Cast Up



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1278
SIR SAMUEL WHITE BAKER
by the Sea,' which was for many years a great favorite with the
boys of England and America. They are all full of life and incident.
One of the most delightful memories of them which readers retain is
the figure of his lovely wife, so full of courage, loyalty, buoyancy,
and charm. He had that rarest of possibilities, spirit-stirring ad-
venture and home companionship at once.
HUNTING IN ABYSSINIA
From «The Nile Tributaries of Abyssinia)
O"
N ARRIVAL at the camp, I resolved to fire the entire country
on the following day, and to push still farther up the
course of the Settite to the foot of the mountains, and to
return to this camp in about a fortnight, by which time the ani-
mals that had been scared away by the fire would have returned.
Accordingly, on the following morning, accompanied by a few of
the aggageers, I started upon the south bank of the river, and
rode for some distance into the interior, to the ground that was
entirely covered with high withered grass. We were passing
through a mass of kittar thorn bush, almost hidden by the im-
mensely high grass, when, as I was ahead of the party, I came
suddenly upon the tracks of rhinoceros; these were so unmis-
takably recent that I felt sure we were not far from the animals
themselves. As I had wished to fire the grass, I was accom-
panied by my Tokrooris, and my horse-keeper, Mahomet No. 2.
It was difficult ground for the men, and still more unfavorable
for the horses, as large disjointed masses of stone were concealed
in the high grass.
We were just speculating as to the position of the rhinoceros,
and thinking how uncommonly unpleasant it would be should he
obtain our wind, when whiff! whiff! whiff ! We heard the sharp
whistling snort, with a tremendous rush through the high grass
and thorns close to us; and at the same moment two of these
determined brutes were upon us in full charge. I never saw
such a scrimmage; sauve qui peut! There was no time for
more than one look behind. I dug the spurs into Aggahr's
flanks, and clasping him round the neck, I ducked my head
down to his shoulder, well protected with my strong hunting
cap, and I kept the spurs going as hard as I could ply them,
blindly trusting to Providence and my good horse, over big rocks,


## p. 1279 (#69) ############################################

SIR SAMUEL WHITE BAKER
1279
fallen trees, thick kittar thorns, and grass ten feet high, with
the two infernal animals in full chase only a few feet behind me.
I heard their abominable whiffing close to me, but so did my
horse also, and the good old hunter few over obstacles that I
should have thought impossible, and he dashed straight under
the hooked thorn bushes and doubled like a hare. The aggageers
were all scattered; Mahomet No. 2 was knocked over by a rhi-
noceros; all the men were sprawling upon the rocks with their
guns, and the party was entirely discomfited. Having passed the
kittar thorn, I turned, and seeing that the beasts had gone
straight on, I brought Aggahr's head round, and tried to give
chase, but it was perfectly impossible; it was only a wonder that
the horse had escaped in ground so difficult for riding. Although
my clothes were of the strongest and coarsest Arab cotton cloth,
which seldom tore, but simply lost a thread when caught in a
thorn, I was nearly naked. My blouse was reduced to shreds;
as I wore sleeves only half way from the shoulder to the elbow,
my naked arms were streaming with blood; fortunately my hunt-
ing cap was secured with a chin strap, and still more fortunately
I had grasped the horse's neck, otherwise I must have been
dragged out of the saddle by the hooked thorns. All the men
were cut and bruised, some having fallen upon their heads
among the rocks, and others had hurt their legs in falling in
their endeavors to escape.
Mahomet No. 2, the horse-keeper,
was more frightened than hurt, as he had been knocked down by
the shoulder, and not by the horn of the rhinoceros, as the
animal had not noticed him: its attention was absorbed by the
horse.
I determined to set fire to the whole country immediately,
and descending the hill toward the river to obtain a favorable
wind, I put my men in a line, extending over about a mile
along the river's bed, and they fired the grass in different places.
With a loud roar, the flame leaped high in air and rushed for-
ward with astonishing velocity; the grass was as inflammable as
tinder, and the strong north wind drove the long line of fire
spreading in every direction through the country.
We now crossed to the other side of the river to avoid the
flames, and we returned toward the camp. On the way I made
a long shot and badly wounded a tétel, but lost it in thick
thorns; shortly after, I stalked a nellut (A. Strepsiceros), and
bagged it with the Fletcher rifle.


## p. 1280 (#70) ############################################

1280
SIR SAMUEL WHITE BAKER
We arrived early in camp, and on the following day we moved
sixteen miles farther up stream, and camped under a tamarind-
tree by the side of the river. No European had ever been
farther than our last camp, Delladilla, and that spot had only
been visited by Johann Schmidt and Florian.
In the previous
year, my aggageers had sabred some of the Basé at this very
camping-place; they accordingly requested me to keep a vigilant
watch during the night, as they would be very likely to attack
us in revenge, unless they had been scared by the rifles and by
the size of our party. They advised me not to remain long in
this spot, as it would be very dangerous for my wife to be left
almost alone during the day, when we were hunting, and that the
Basé would be certain to espy us from the mountains, and would
most probably attack and carry her off when they were assured
of our departure. She was not very nervous about this, but she
immediately called the dragoman, Mahomet, who knew the use
of a gun, and she asked him if he would stand by her in case
they were attacked in my absence; the faithful servant replied,
Mahomet fight the Basé ? No, Missus; Mahomet not fight; if
the Basé come, Missus fight; Mahomet run away; Mahomet not
come all the way from Cairo to get him killed by black fellers;
Mahomet will run — Inshallah! ” (Please God. )
This frank avowal of his military tactics was very reassuring.
There was a high hill of basalt, something resembling a pyramid,
within a quarter of a mile of us; I accordingly ordered some of
my men every day to ascend this look-out station, and I resolved
to burn the high grass at once, so as to destroy all cover for the
concealment of an enemy. That evening I very nearly burned
our camp;
I had several times ordered the men to clear away
the dry grass for about thirty yards from our resting-place; this
they had neglected to obey. We had been joined a few days
before by a party of about a dozen Hamran Arabs, who were
hippopotami hunters; thus we mustered very strong, and it would
have been the work of about half an hour to have cleared away
the grass as I had desired.
The wind was brisk, and blew directly toward our camp,
which was backed by the river. I accordingly took a fire-stick,
and I told my people to look sharp, as they would not clear
away the grass. I walked to the foot of the basalt hill, and fired
the grass in several places. In an instant the wind swept the
flame and smoke toward the camp. All was confusion; the Arabs
1


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SIR SAMUEL WHITE BAKER
1281
had piled the camel-saddles and all their corn and effects in the
high grass about twenty yards from the tent; there was no time
to remove all these things; therefore, unless they could clear
away the grass so as to stop the fire before it should reach the
spot, they would be punished for their laziness by losing their
property. The fire traveled quicker than I had expected, and,
by the time I had hastened to the tent, I found the entire party
working frantically; the Arabs were slashing down the grass with
their swords, and sweeping it away with their shields, while my
Tokrooris were beating it down with long sticks and tearing it
from its withered and fortunately tinder-rotten roots, in desperate
haste. The flames rushed on, and we already felt the heat, as
volumes of smoke enveloped us; I thought it advisable to carry
the gunpowder (about 20 lbs. ) down to the river, together with
the rifles; while my wife and Mahomet dragged the various arti-
cles of luggage to the same place of safety. The fire now
approached within about sixty yards, and dragging out the iron
pins, I let the tent fall to the ground. The Arabs had swept a
line like a high-road perfectly clean, and they were still tearing
away the grass, when they were suddenly obliged to rush back
as the flames arrived.
Almost instantaneously the smoke blew over us, but the fire
had expired upon meeting the cleared ground. I now gave them
a little lecture upon obedience to orders; and from that day,
their first act upon halting for the night was to clear away the
grass, lest I should repeat the entertainment. In countries that
are covered with dry grass, it should be an invariable rule to
clear the ground around the camp before night; hostile natives
will frequently fire the grass to windward of a party, or careless
servants may leave their pipes upon the ground, which fanned
by the wind would quickly create a blaze. That night the
mountain afforded a beautiful appearance as the flames ascended
the steep sides, and ran Aickering up the deep gullies with a
brilliant light.
We were standing outside the tent admiring the scene, which
perfectly illuminated the neighborhood, when suddenly an appari-
tion of a lion and lioness stood for an instant before us at about
fiiteen yards distance, and then disappeared over the blackened
ground before I had time to snatch a rifle from the tent. No
doubt they had been disturbed from the mountain by the fire,
and had mistaken their way in the country so recently changed
111-81


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1 282
SIR SAMUEL WHITE BAKER
from high grass to black ashes. In this locality I considered it
advisable to keep a vigilant watch during the night, and the
Arabs were told off for that purpose.
A little before sunrise I accompanied the howartis, or hippo-
potamus hunters, for a day's sport. There were numbers of
hippos in this part of the river, and we were not long before we
found a herd. The hunters failed in several attempts to harpoon
them, but they succeeded in stalking a crocodile after a most
peculiar fashion. This large beast was lying upon a sandbank
on the opposite margin of the river, close to a bed of rushes.
The howartis, having studied the wind, ascended for about a
quarter of a mile, and then swam across the river, harpoon in
hand. The two men reached the opposite bank, beneath which
they alternately waded or swam down the stream toward the
spot upon which the crocodile was lying. Thus advancing under
cover of the steep bank, or floating with the stream in deep
places, and crawling like crocodiles across the shallows, the two
hunters at length arrived at the bank or rushes, on the other
side of which the monster was basking asleep upon the sand.
They were now about waist-deep, and they kept close to the
rushes with their harpoons raised, ready to cast the moment
they should pass the rush bed and come in view of the croco-
dile. Thus steadily advancing, they had just arrived at the
corner within about eight yards of the crocodile, when the creat-
ure either saw them, or obtained their wind; in an instant it
rushed to the water; at the same moment, the two harpoons
were launched with great rapidity by the hunters. One glanced
obliquely from the scales; the other stuck fairly in the tough
hide, and the iron, detached from the bamboo, held fast, while
the ambatch float, running on the surface of the water, marked
the course of the reptile beneath.
The hunters chose a convenient place, and recrossed the
stream to our side, apparently not heeding the crocodiles more
than we should pike when bathing in England. They would
not waste their time by securing the crocodile at present, as
they wished to kill a hippopotamus; the float would mark the
position, and they would be certain to find it later.
We ac-
cordingly continued our search for hippopotami; these animals
appeared to be on the qui vive, and, as the hunters once more
failed in an attempt, I made a clean shot behind the ear of
one, and killed it dead. At length we arrived at a large pool,


## p. 1283 (#73) ############################################

SIR SAMUEL WHITE BAKER
1 283
in which were several sandbanks covered with rushes, and many
rocky islands. Among these rocks were a herd of hippopotami,
consisting of an old bull and several cows; a young hippo was
standing, like an ugly little statue, on a protruding rock, while
another infant stood upon its mother's back that listlessly floated
on the water.
This was an admirable place for the hunters. They desired
me to lie down, and they crept into the jungle out of view of
the river; I presently observed them stealthily descending the
dry bed about two hundred paces above the spot where the
hippos were basking behind the rocks. They entered the river,
and swam down the centre of the stream toward the rock. This
was highly exciting :- the hippos were quite unconscious of the
approaching danger, as, steadily and rapidly, the hunters floated
down the strong current; they neared the rock, and both heads
disappeared as they purposely sank out of view; in a few sec-
onds later they reappeared at the edge of the rock upon which
the young hippo stood. It would be difficult to say which
started first, the astonished young hippo into the water, or the
harpoons from the hands of the howartis ! It was the affair of
a moment; the hunters dived directly they had hurled their
harpoons, and, swimming for some distance under water, they
came to the surface, and hastened to the shore lest an in-
furiated hippopotamus should follow them. One harpoon had
missed; the other had fixed the bull of the herd, at which it
had been surely aimed. This was grand sport! The bull was
in the greatest fury, and rose to the surface, snorting and blow-
ing in his impotent rage; but as the ambatch float was exceed-
ingly large, and this naturally accompanied his movements, he
tried to escape from his imaginary persecutor, and dived con-
stantly, only to find his pertinacious attendant close to him
upon regaining the surface. This was not to last long; the
howartis were in earnest, and they at once called their party,
who, with two of the aggageers, Abou Do and Suleiman, were
near at hand; these men arrived with the long ropes that form
a portion of the outfit for hippo hunting.
The whole party now halted on the edge of the river, while
two men
across with one end of the long rope.
Upon
gaining the opposite bank, I observed that a second rope was
made fast to the middle of the main line; thus upon our side we
held the ends of two ropes, while on the opposite side they had
swam


## p. 1284 (#74) ############################################

1284
SIR SAMUEL WHITE BAKER
only one; accordingly, the point of junction of the two ropes in
the centre formed an acute angle. The object of this was soon
practically explained. Two men upon our side now each held a
rope, and one of these walked about ten yards before the other.
Upon both sides of the river the people now advanced, dragging
the rope on the surface of the water until they reached the
ambatch float that was swimming to and fro, according to the
movements of the hippopotamus below. By a dexterous jerk of
the main line, the float was now placed between the two ropes,
and it was immediately secured in the acute angle by bringing
together the ends of these ropes on our side.
The men on the opposite bank now dropped their line, and
our men hauled in upon the ambatch float that was held fast
between the ropes. Thus cleverly made sure, we quickly brought
a strain upon the hippo, and, although I have had some experi-
ence in handling big fish, I never knew one pull so lustily as
the amphibious animal that we now alternately coaxed and
bullied. He sprang out of the water, gnashed his huge jaws,
snorted with tremendous rage, and lashed the river into foam;
he then dived, and foolishly approached us beneath the water.
We quickly gathered in the slack line, and took a round turn
upon a large rock, within a few feet of the river.
The hippo
now rose to the surface, about ten yards from the hunters, and,
jumping half out of the water, he snapped his great jaws
together, endeavoring to catch the rope, but at the same instant
two harpoons were launched into his side. Disdaining retreat
and maddened with rage, the furious animal charged from the
depths of the river, and, gaining a footing, he reared his bulky
form from the surface, came boldly upon the sandbank, and
attacked the hunters open-mouthed.
He little knew his enemy;
they were not the men to fear a pair of gaping jaws, armed
with a deadly array of tusks, but half a dozen lances
hurled at him, some entering his mouth from a distance of five
or six paces, at the same time several men threw handfuls of
sand into his enormous eyes.
This baffled him more than the
lances; he crunched the shafts between his powerful jaws like
straws, but he was beaten by the sand, and, shaking his huge
head, he retreated to the river. During his sally upon the
shore, two of the hunters had secured the ropes of the har-
poons that had been fastened in his body just before his charge;
he was now fixed by three of these deadly instruments, but
were


## p. 1285 (#75) ############################################

SIR SAMUEL WHITE BAKER
1285
once
suddenly one rope gave way, having been bitten through by the
enraged beast, who was still beneath the water. Immediately
after this he appeared on the surface, and, without a moment's
hesitation, he more charged furiously from the water
straight at the hunters, with his huge mouth open to such an
extent that he could have accommodated two inside passengers.
Suleiman was wild with delight, and springing forward lance in
hand, he drove it against the head of the formidable animal, but
without effect. At the same time, Abou Do met the hippo
sword in hand, reminding me of Perseus slaying the sea-monster
that would devour Andromeda, but the sword made a harmless
gash, and the lance, already blunted against the rocks, refused
to penetrate the tough hide; once more handfuls of sand were
pelted upon his face, and again repulsed by this blinding attack,
he was forced to retire to his deep hole and wash it from his
eyes. Six times during the fight the valiant bull hippo quitted
his watery fortress, and charged resolutely at his pursuers; he
had broken several of their lances in his jaws, other lances had
been hurled, and, falling upon the rocks, they were blunted, and
would not penetrate. The fight had continued for three hours,
and the sun was about to set, accordingly the hunters begged
me to give him the coup de grace, as they had hauled him close
to the shore, and they feared he would sever the rope with his
teeth. I waited for a good opportunity, when he boldly raised
his head from water about three yards from the rifle, and a bul-
let from the little Fletcher between the eyes closed the last act.
THE SOURCES OF THE NILE
The
.
From «The Albert Nyanza)
he name of this village was Parkani. For several days past
our guides had told us that we were very near to the lake,
and we were now assured that we should reach it on the
morrow. I had noticed a lofty range of mountains at an immense
distance west, and I had imagined that the lake lay on the other
side of this chain; but I was now informed that those mountains
formed the western frontier of the M'wootan N’zigé, and that the
lake was actually within a march of Parkani. I could not believe
it possible that we were so near the object of our search. The
guide Rabonga now appeared, and declared that if we started


## p. 1286 (#76) ############################################

1286
SIR SAMUEL WHITE BAKER
((
((
early on the following morning we should be able to wash in the
lake by noon!
That night I hardly slept. For years I had striven to reach
the sources of the Nile. ” In my nightly dreams during that
arduous voyage I had always failed, but after so much hard work
and perseverance the cup was at my very lips, and I was to drink
at the mysterious fountain before another sun should set — at that
great reservoir of Nature that ever since creation had baffled all
discovery.
I had hoped, and prayed, and striven through all kinds of
difficulties, in sickness, starvation, and fatigue, to reach that
hidden source; and when it had appeared impossible, we had
both determined to die upon the road rather than return defeated.
Was it possible that it was so near, and that to-morrow we could
say, the work is accomplished” ?
The 14th March. The sun had not risen when I was spurring
my ox after the guide, who, having been promised a double
handful of beads on arrival at the lake, had caught the enthu-
siasm of the moment. The day broke beautifully clear, and hay-
ing crossed a deep valley between the hills, we toiled up the
opposite slope. I hurried to the summit. The glory of our prize
burst suddenly upon me! There, like a sea of quicksilver, lay
far beneath the grand expanse of water,- a boundless sea horizon
on the south and southwest, glittering in the noonday sun; and
on the west at fifty or sixty miles distance blue mountains rose
from the bosom of the lake to a height of about 7,000 feet above
its level.
It is impossible to describe the triumph of that moment;-
here was the reward for all our labor --for the years of tenacity
with which we had toiled through Africa. England had won the
sources of the Nile! Long before I reached this spot I had
arranged to give three cheers with all our men in English style
in honor of the discovery, but now that I looked down upon the
great inland sea lying nestled in the very heart of Africa, and
thought how vainly mankind had sought these sources through-
out so many ages, and reflected that I had been the humble
instrument permitted to unravel this portion of the great mystery
when so many greater than I had failed, I felt too serious to vent
my feelings in vain cheers for victory, and I sincerely thanked
God for having guided and supported us through all dangers to
the good end. I was about 1,500 feet above the lake, and I


## p. 1287 (#77) ############################################

ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR
1287
looked down from the steep granite cliff upon those welcome
waters — upon that vast reservoir which nourished Egypt and
brought fertility where all was wilderness — upon that great
source so long hidden from mankind; that source of bounty and of
blessings to millions of human beings; and as one of the greatest
objects in nature, I determined to honor it with a great name.
As an imperishable memorial of one loved and mourned by our
gracious Queen and deplored by every Englishman, I called this
great lake the Albert Nyanza. " The Victoria and the Albert
lakes are the two sources of the Nile.
ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR
(1848-)
LTHOUGH the prominence of Arthur James Balfour in English
contemporary life is in the main that of a statesman, he
has a high place as a critic of philosophy, especially in its
relation to religion. During the early part of his life his interests
were entirely those of a student. He was born in 1848, a member of
the Cecil family, and a nephew of the Prime Minister, Lord Salis-
bury. His tastes were those of a retired thinker. He cared for lit-
erature, music, and philosophy, but very little for the political world;
so little that he never read the newspapers.
This tendency was increased by his deli-
cate health. When, therefore, as a young
man in the neighborhood of thirty, he
was made Secretary for Scotland, people
laughed. His uncle's choice proved to be
a wise one, however; and he later, in 1886,
gave his nephew the very important posi-
tion of Irish Secretary, at a time when
some of the ablest and most experienced
statesmen had failed. Mr. Balfour won an
unexpected success and a wide reputation,
and from that time on he developed rap-
ARTHUR J. BALFOUR
idly into one of the most skillful statesmen
of the Conservative party. By tradition and by temperament he is an
extreme Tory; and it is in the opposition, as a skillful fencer in
debate and a sharp critic of pretentious schemes, that he has been
most admired and most feared. However, he is kept from being



## p. 1288 (#78) ############################################

1288
ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR
narrowly confined to the traditional point of view by the philosophic
interests and training of his mind, which he has turned into practi-
cal fairness. Some of his speeches are most original in suggestion,
and all show a literary quality of a high order. His writings on
other subjects are also broad, scholarly, and practical. (A Defense
of Philosophic Doubt' is thought by some philosophers to be the
ablest work of destructive criticism since Hume. (The Foundations
of Belief covers somewhat the same ground and in more popular
fashion. "Essays and Addresses) is a collection of papers on litera-
ture and sociology.
THE PLEASURES OF READING
From his Rectorial Address before the University of Glasgow
I
CONFESS to have been much perplexed in my search for a topic
on which I could say something to which you would have
patience to listen, or on which I might find it profitable to
speak. One theme however there is, not inappropriate to the
place in which I stand, nor I hope unwelcome to the audience
which I address. The youngest of you have left behind that
period of youth during which it seenis inconceivable that any
book should afford recreation except a story-book. Many of you
are just reaching the period when, at the end of your prescribed
curriculum, the whole field and compass of literature lies out-
spread before you; when, with faculties trained and disciplined,
and the edge of curiosity not dulled or worn with use, you may
enter at your leisure into the intellectual heritage of the cen-
turies.
Now the question of how to read and what to read has of
late filled much space in the daily papers, if it cannot strictly
speaking be said to have profoundly occupied the public mind.
But you need be under no alarm. I am not going to supply
you with a new list of the hundred books most worth reading,
nor am I about to take the world into my confidence in respect
of my favorite passages from the best authors. ” Nor again do
I address myself to the professed student, to the fortunate indi-
vidual with whom literature or science is the business as well as
the pleasure of life. I have not the qualifications which would
enable me to undertake such a task with the smallest hope of
success. My theme is humble, though the audience to whom I
desire to speak is large: for I speak to the ordinary reader with


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ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR
1289
ordinary capacities and ordinary leisure, to whom reading is, or
ought to be, not a business but a pleasure; and ·my theme is
the enjoyment — not, mark you, the improvement, nor the glory,
nor the profit, but the enjoyment - which may be derived by such
an one from books.
It is perhaps due to the controversial habits engendered by
my unfortunate profession, that I find no easier method of mak-
ing my own view clear than that of contrasting with it what I
regard as an erroneous view held by somebody else; and in the
present case the doctrine which I shall choose as a foil to my
own, is one which has been stated with the utmost force and
directness by that brilliant and distinguished writer, Mr. Frederic
Harrison. He has, as many of you know, recently given us, in
a series of excellent essays, his opinion on the principles which
should guide us in the choice of books. Against that part of his
treatise which is occupied with specific recommendations of cer-
tain authors I have not a word to say. He has resisted all the
temptations to eccentricity which so easily beset the modern
critic. Every book which he praises deserves his praise, and has
long been praised by the world at large. I do not, indeed, hold
that the verdict of the world is necessarily binding on the indi-
vidual conscience. I admit to the full that there is an enormous
quantity of hollow devotion, of withered orthodoxy divorced
from living faith, in the eternal chorus of praise which goes up
from every literary altar to the memory of the immortal dead.
Nevertheless every critic is bound to recognize, as Mr. Harrison
recognizes, that he must put down to individual peculiarity any
difference he may have with the general verdict of the ages; he
must feel that mankind are not likely to be in a conspiracy of
error as to the kind of literary work which conveys to them the
highest literary enjoyment, and that in such cases at least securus
judicat orbis terrarum.
But it is quite possible to hold that any work recommended
by Mr. Harrison is worth repeated reading, and yet to reject
utterly the theory of study by which these recommendations are
prefaced. For Mr. Harrison is a ruthless censor. His index
expurgatorius includes, so far as I can discover, the whole cata-
logue of the British Museum, with the exception of a small rem-
nant which might easily be contained in about thirty or forty
volumes. The vast remainder he contemplates with feelings
apparently not merely of indifference, but of active aversion. He


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1 290
ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR
1
surveys the boundless and ever-increasing waste of books with
emotions compounded of disgust and dismay. He is almost
tempted to say in his haste that the invention of printing has
been an evil one for humanity. In the habits of miscellaneous
reading, born of a too easy access to libraries, circulating and
other, he sees many soul-destroying tendencies; and his ideal
reader would appear to be a gentleman who rejects with a lofty
scorn all in history that does not pass for being first-rate in
importance, and all in literature that is not admitted to be first-
rate in quality.
Now, am far from denying that this theory is plausible. Of
all that has been written, it is certain that the professed student
can master but an infinitesimal fraction. Of that fraction the
ordinary reader can master but a very small part. What advice,
then, can be better than to select for study the few masterpieces
that have come down to us, and to treat as non-existent the huge
but undistinguished remainder? We are like travelers passing
hastily through some ancient city; filled with memorials of many
generations and more than one great civilization. Our time is
short. Of what may be seen we can only see at best but a
trifling fragment. Let us then take care that we waste none of
our precious moments upon that which is less than the most
excellent. So preaches Mr. Frederic Harrison; and when a doc-
trine which put thus may seem not only wise but obvious, is
further supported by such assertions that habits of miscellaneous
reading "close the mind to what is spiritually sustaining” by
« stuffing it with what is simply curious,” or that such methods
of study are worse than no habits of study at all because they
gorge
and enfeeble” the mind by “excess in that which cannot
nourish,” I almost feel that in venturing to dissent from it, I may
be attacking not merely the teaching of common sense but the
inspirations of a high morality.
Yet I am convinced that for most persons the views thus laid
down by Mr. Harrison are wrong; and that what he describes,
with characteristic vigor, as "an impotent voracity for desultory
information,” is in reality a most desirable and a not too com-
mon form of mental appetite. I have no sympathy whatever
with the horror he expresses at the incessant accumulation of
fresh books. " I am never tempted to regret that Gutenberg was
born into the world. I care not at all though the “cataract of
printed stuff,” as Mr. Harrison calls it, should flow and still flow
1
i


## p. 1291 (#81) ############################################

ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR
1 291
on until the catalogues of our libraries should make libraries
themselves. I am prepared, indeed, to express sympathy almost
amounting to approbation for any one who would check all writ-
ing which was not intended for the printer. I pay no tribute of
grateful admiration to those who have oppressed mankind with
the dubious blessing of the penny post. But the ground of the
distinction is plain. We are always obliged to read our letters,
and are sometimes obliged to answer them. But who obliges us
to wade through the piled-up lumber of an ancient library, or to
skim more than we like off the frothy foolishness poured forth
in ceaseless streams by our circulating libraries ? Dead dunces
do not importune us; Grub Street does not ask for a reply by
return of post.
Even their living successors need hurt no
one who possesses the very moderate degree of social courage
required to make the admission that he has not read the last
new novel or the current number of a fashionable magazine.
But this is not the view of Mr. Harrison. To him the posi-
tion of any one having free access to a large library is fraught
with issues so tremendous that, in order adequately to describe
it, he has to seek for parallels in two of the most highly-wrought
episodes in fiction: the Ancient Mariner, becalmed and thirsting
on the tropic ocean; Bunyan's Christian in the crisis of spiritual
conflict. But there is here, surely, some error and some exagger-
ation. Has miscellaneous reading all the dreadful consequences
which Mr. Harrison depicts ? Has it any of them? His declara-
tion about the intellect being "gorged and enfeebled” by the
absorption of too much information, expresses no doubt with great
vigor an analogy, for which there is high authority, between the
human mind and the human stomach; but surely it is an analogy
which may be pressed too far. I have often heard of the indi-
vidual whose excellent natural gifts have been so overloaded with
huge masses of undigested and indigestible learning that they
have had no chance of healthy development. But though I have
often heard of this personage, I have never met him, and I
believe him to be mythical. It is true, no doubt, that many
learned people are dull; but there is no indication whatever that
they are dull because they are learned. True dullness is seldom
acquired; it is a natural grace, the manifestations of which, how-
ever modified by education, remain in substance the same. Fill
a dull man to the brim with knowledge, and he will not become
less dull, as the enthusiasts for education vainly imagine; but


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ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR
neither will he become duller, as Mr. Harrison appears to sup-
pose. He will remain in essence what he always has been and
always must have been. But whereas his dullness would, if left
to itself, have been merely vacuous, it may have become, under
cureful cultivation, pretentious and pedantic.
I would further point out to you that while there is no ground
in experience for supposing that a keen interest in those facts
which Mr. Harrison describes as “merely curious” has any
stupefying effect upon the mind, or has any tendency to render
it insensible to the higher things of literature and art, there is
positive evidence that many of those who have most deeply felt
the charm of these higher things have been consumed by that
omnivorous appetite for knowledge which excites Mr. Harrison's
especial indignation. Dr. Johnson, for instance, though deaf to
some of the most delicate harmonies of verse, was without ques-
tion a very great critic. Yet in Dr. Johnson's opinion, literary
history, which is for the most part composed of facts which Mr.
Harrison would regard as insignificant, about authors whom he
would regard as pernicious, was the most delightful of studies.