No More Learning



## p. 2409 (#611) ###########################################

BRONTÉ SISTERS
2409
The light flashed on his features as I spoke. O Mr. Lock-
wood, I cannot express what a terrible start I got by the
momentary view! Those deep black eyes! That smile and
ghastly paleness! It appeared to me not Mr. Heathcliff, but a
goblin; and in my terror I let the candle bend toward the wall,
and it left me in darkness.
"Yes, close it," he replied in his familiar voice. "There, that
is pure awkwardness! Why did you hold the candle horizontally?
Be quick, and bring another. ”
I hurried out in a foolish state of dread, and said to Joseph,
"The master wishes you to take him a light and rekindle the
fire. " For I dare not go in myself again just then.
Joseph rattled some fire into the shovel and went; but he
brought it back immediately, with the supper tray in his other
hand, explaining that Mr. Heathcliff was going to bed, and he
wanted nothing to eat till morning.
We heard him mount the stairs directly. He did not pro-
ceed to his ordinary chamber, but turned into that with the
paneled bed; its window, as I mentioned before, is wide enough
for anybody to get through, and it struck me that he plotted
another midnight excursion, which he had rather we had no sus-
picion of.
"Is he a ghoul, or a vampire? " I mused. I had read of such
hideous incarnate demons. And then I set myself to reflect how
I had tended him in infancy, and watched him grow to youth,
and followed him almost through his whole course, and what
nonsense it was to yield to that sense of horror.
"But where did he come from, the little dark thing, harbored
by a good man to his bane? " muttered Superstition, as I dozed
into unconsciousness. And I began, half dreaming, to weary
myself with imagining some fit parentage for him: and repeating
my waking meditations I tracked his existence over again, with
grim variations; at last picturing his death and funeral; of
which all I can remember is being exceedingly vexed at having
the task of dictating an inscription for his monument, and con-
sulting the sexton about it; and as he had no surname, and we
could not tell his age, we were obliged to content ourselves with
the single word "Heathcliff. " That came true-we were. If
you enter the kirkyard, you'll read on his headstone only that,
and the date of his death. Dawn restored me to common-sense.
I rose, and went into the garden, as soon as I could see, to


## p. 2410 (#612) ###########################################

2410
BRONTÉ SISTERS
ascertain if there were any foot-marks under his window. There
were none.
"He has staid at home," I thought, "and he'll be all right
to-day! "
I prepared breakfast for the household, as was my usual cus-
tom, but told Hareton and Catherine to get theirs ere the master
came down, for he lay late. They preferred taking it out of
doors, under the trees, and I set a little table to accommodate
them.
On my re-entrance I found Mr. Heathcliff below. He and
Joseph were conversing about some farming business; he gave
clear, minute directions concerning the matter discussed, but he
spoke rapidly, and turned his head continually aside, and had the
same excited expression, even more exaggerated.
When Joseph quitted the room, he took his seat in the place
he generally chose, and I put a basin of coffee before him. He
drew it nearer, and then rested his arms on the table, and looked
at the opposite wall, as I supposed surveying one particular por-
tion, up and down, with glittering, restless eyes, and with such
eager interest that he stopped breathing during half a minute
together.
"Come now," I exclaimed, pushing some bread against his
hand, "eat and drink that while it is hot. It has been waiting
near an hour. "
I'd rather have seen
He didn't notice me, and yet he smiled.
him gnash his teeth than smile so.
«< Mr. Heathcliff! master! " I cried. "Don't, for God's sake,
stare as if you saw an unearthly vision. "
"Don't, for God's sake, shout so loud," he replied. “Turn
round and tell me, are we by ourselves? "
"Of course," was my answer, "of course we are! "
Still I involuntarily obeyed him, as if I were not quite sure.
With a sweep of his hand he cleared a vacant space in front
among the breakfast things, and leaned forward to gaze more at
his ease.
Now I perceived he was not looking at the wall; for when I
regarded him alone, it seemed exactly that he gazed at something
within two yards' distance. And, whatever it was, it communi-
cated apparently both pleasure and pain in exquisite extremes;
at least the anguished yet raptured expression of his countenance
suggested that idea.


## p. 2411 (#613) ###########################################

BRONTÉ SISTERS
2411
The fancied object was not fixed either; his eyes pursued it
with unwearied vigilance, and even in speaking to me, were never
weaned away.
I vainly reminded him of his protracted abstinence from food.
If he stirred to touch anything in compliance with my entreaties -
if he stretched his hand out to get a piece of bread-his fingers
clenched before they reached it, and remained on the table, for-
getful of their aim.
I sat, a model of patience, trying to attract his absorbed at-
tention from its engrossing speculation till he grew irritable and
got up, asking why I would not allow him to have his own time
in taking his meals? and saying that on the next occasion I
needn't wait—I might set the things down and go. Having
uttered these words, he left the house, slowly sauntered down the
garden path, and disappeared through the gate.
The hours crept anxiously by: another evening came. I did
not retire to rest till late, and when I did I could not sleep. He
returned after midnight, and instead of going to bed, shut him-
self into the room beneath. I listened and tossed about, and
finally dressed and descended. It was too irksome to lie up there,
harassing my brain with a hundred idle misgivings.
I distinguished Mr. Heathcliff's step, restlessly measuring the
floor; and he frequently broke the silence by a deep inspiration,
resembling a groan. He muttered detached words also; the only
one I could catch was the name of Catherine, coupled with some
wild term of endearment or suffering, and spoken as one would
speak to a person present-low and earnest, and wrung from the
depth of his soul.
I had not courage to walk straight into the apartment; but I
desired to divert him from his revery, and therefore fell foul of
the kitchen fire; stirred it and began to scrape the cinders. It
drew him forth sooner than I expected. He opened the door
immediately, and said:-
-
"Nelly, come here- is it morning? Come in with your light. ”
"It is striking four," I answered; "you want a candle to take
upstairs you might have lighted one at this fire. "
"No, I don't wish to go upstairs," he said. "Come in, and
kindle me a fire, and do anything there is to do about the
room. "
"I must blow the coals red first, before I can carry any," >> I
replied, getting a chair and the bellows.


## p. 2412 (#614) ###########################################

2412
BRONTÉ SISTERS
He roamed to and fro, meantime, in a state approaching dis-
traction, his heavy sighs succeeding each other so thick as to
leave no space for common breathing between.
"When day breaks, I'll send for Green," he said; "I wish to
make some legal inquiries of him, while I can bestow a thought
on those matters, and while I can act calmly. I have not written
my will yet, and how to leave my property I cannot determine!
I wish I could annihilate it from the face of the earth. "
"I would not talk so, Mr. Heathcliff," I interposed. "Let
your will be a while-you'll be spared to repent of your many
injustices yet! I never expected that your nerves would be dis-
ordered they are, at present, marvelously so, however; and
almost entirely through your own fault. The way you've passed
these last three days might knock up a Titan. Do take some
food and some repose. You need only look at yourself in a
glass to see how you require both. Your cheeks are hollow and
your eyes bloodshot, like a person starving with hunger and
going blind with loss of sleep. "
"It is not my fault that I cannot eat or rest," he replied.
"I assure you it is through no settled designs. I'll do both as
soon as I possibly can. But you might as well bid a man strug-
gling in the water rest within arm's-length of the shore! I must
reach it first, and then I'll rest. Well, never mind Mr. Green;
as to repenting of my injustices, I've done no injustice, and I
repent of nothing. I'm too happy, and yet I'm not happy
enough. My soul's bliss kills my body, but does not satisfy
itself. "
(
If you
«<
Happy, master? " I cried. Strange happiness!
would hear me without being angry, I might offer some advice
that would make you happier. "
"What is that? " he asked. "Give it. "
"You are aware, Mr. Heathcliff," I said, "that from the time
you were thirteen years old you have lived a selfish, unchristian
life: and probably hardly had a Bible in your hands during all
that period. You must have forgotten the contents of the book,
and you may not have space to search it now. Could it be hurt-
ful to send for some one-
it does not matter which -to explain it, and show you how
very far you have erred from its precepts, and how unfit you
will be for its heaven, unless a change takes place before you
die? "
some minister of any denomination,
-
―


## p. 2413 (#615) ###########################################

BRONTÉ SISTERS
2413
"I'm rather obliged than angry, Nelly," he said, “for you
remind me of the manner that I desire to be buried in. It is
to be carried to the churchyard in the evening. You and Hare-
ton may, if you please, accompany me—and mind, particularly,
to notice that the sexton obeys my directions concerning the two
coffins! No minister need come; nor need anything be said over
me. I tell you, I have nearly attained my heaven; and that of
others is altogether unvalued and uncoveted by me! "
"And supposing you persevered in your obstinate fast, and
died by that means, and they refused to bury you in the pre-
cincts of the kirk? " I said, shocked at his godless indifference.
"How would you like it? "
"They won't do that," he replied; "if they did, you must
have me removed secretly; and if you neglect it, you shall prove
practically that the dead are not annihilated! "
As soon as he heard the other members of the family stir-
ring, he retired to his den, and I breathed freer. But in the
afternoon, while Joseph and Hareton were at their work, he
came into the kitchen again, and with a wild look bid me come
and sit in the house-he wanted somebody with him.
I declined, telling him plainly that his strange talk and man-
ner frightened me, and I had neither the nerve nor the will to
be his companion alone.
"I believe you think me a fiend! " he said, with his dismal
laugh; "something too horrible to live under a decent roof! "
Then turning to Catherine, who was there, and who drew
behind me at his approach, he added, half sneeringly:-
"Will you come, chuck? I'll not hurt you. No! to you I've
made myself worse than the devil. Well, there is one who won't
shrink from my company! By God! she's relentless. Oh, damn
it! It's unutterably too much for flesh and blood to bear, even
mine. "
He solicited the society of no one more. At dusk he went
into his chamber. Through the whole night, and far into the
morning, we heard him groaning and murmuring to himself.
Hareton was anxious to enter, but I bid him fetch Mr. Kenneth,
and he should go in and see him.
When he came, and I requested admittance and tried to open
the door, I found it locked; and Heathcliff bid us be damned.
He was better, and would be left alone; so the doctor went
away


## p. 2414 (#616) ###########################################

BRONTE SISTERS
2414
The following evening was very wet; indeed, it poured down
till day-dawn; and as I took my morning walk round the house,
I observed the master's window swinging open, and the rain
driving straight in.
"He cannot be in bed," I thought: "those showers would
drench him through! He must be either up or out. But I'll
make no more ado; I'll go boldly, and look! "
―
Having succeeded in obtaining entrance with another key, I
ran to unclose the panels, for the chamber was vacant - quickly
pushing them aside, I peeped in. Mr. Heathcliff was there—
laid on his back. His eyes met mine, so keen and fierce that I
started; and then he seemed to smile.
I could not think him dead-but his face and throat were
washed with rain; the bed-clothes dripped, and he was perfectly
still. The lattice, flapping to and fro, had grazed one hand that
rested on the sill-no blood trickled from the broken skin, and
when I put my fingers to it I could doubt no more - he was
Idead and stark!
I hasped the window; I combed his long, black hair from his
forehead; I tried to close his eyes-to extinguish, if possible,
that frightful, lifelike exultation, before any one else beheld it.
They would not shut-they seemed to sneer at my attempts, and
his parted lips and sharp white teeth sneered too! Taken with
another fit of cowardice, I cried out for Joseph. Joseph shuffled
up and made a noise, but resolutely refused to meddle with him.
"Th' divil's harried off his soul," he cried, "and he muh hev
his carcass intuh t' bargain, for ow't aw care! Ech! what a
wicked un he looks, grinning at death! " and the old sinner
grinned in mockery.
I thought he intended to cut a caper round the bed; but sud-
denly composing himself, he fell on his knees and raised his
hands, and returned thanks that the lawful master and the
ancient stock were restored to their rights.
I felt stunned by the awful event; and my memory unavoid-
ably recurred to former times with a sort of oppressive sadness.
But poor Hareton, the most wronged, was the only one that
really suffered much. He sat by the corpse all night, weeping
in bitter earnest. He pressed its hand, and kissed the sarcastic,
savage face that every one else shrank from contemplating; and
bemoaned him with that strong grief which springs naturally
from a generous heart, though it be tough as tempered steel.


## p. 2415 (#617) ###########################################

BRONTÉ SISTERS
2415
Kenneth was perplexed to pronounce of what disorder the
master died. I concealed the fact of his having swallowed noth-
ing for four days, fearing it might lead to trouble; and then, I
am persuaded, he did not abstain on purpose: it was the conse-
quence of his strange illness, not the cause.
We buried him, to the scandal of the whole neighborhood, as
he had wished. Earnshaw and I, the sexton, and six men to
carry the coffin, comprehended the whole attendance.
The six men departed when they had let it down into the-
grave: we stayed to see it covered. Hareton, with a streaming
face, dug green sods and laid them over the brown mold himself.
At present it is as smooth and verdant as its companion mounds
-and I hope its tenant sleeps as soundly. But the country
folks, if you asked them, would swear on their Bibles that he
walks. There are those who speak to having met him near the
church, and on the moor, and even within this house. Idle tales,
you'll say, and so say I. Yet that old man by the kitchen fire
affirms he has seen "two on 'em" looking out of his chamber
window on every rainy night since his death- and an odd thing
happened to me about a month ago.
I was going to the grange one evening-a dark evening
threatening thunder—and, just at the turn of the Heights, I
encountered a little boy with a sheep and two lambs before him.
He was crying terribly, and I supposed the lambs were skittish
and would not be guided.
"What is the matter, my little man? " I asked.
"They's Heathcliff and a woman yonder, under t' nab," he
blubbered, "un' aw darnut pass 'em. "
I saw nothing, but neither the sheep nor he would go on, so
I bid him take the road lower down. He probably raised the
phantoms from thinking, as he traversed the moors alone, on the
nonsense he had heard his parents and companions repeat; yet
still I don't like being out in the dark now, and I don't like
being left by myself in this grim house. I cannot help it; I
shall be glad when they leave it and shift to the Grange!
"They are going to the Grange, then? " I said.
"Yes," answered Mrs. Dean, <<
and that will be on New Year's day. "
"And who will live here then? "
as soon as they are married;


## p. 2416 (#618) ###########################################

2416
BRONTÉ SISTERS
"Why, Joseph will take care of the house, and perhaps a lad
to keep him company. They will live in the kitchen, and the
rest will be shut up. "
"For the use of such ghosts as choose to inhabit it," I ob-
served.
"No, Mr. Lockwood," said Nelly, shaking her head. "I
believe the dead are at peace, but it is not right to speak of
them with levity. "
At that moment the garden gate swung to; the ramblers were
returning.
"They are afraid of nothing," I grumbled, watching their
approach through the window. "Together they would brave
Satan and all his legions.
"
As they stepped upon the door-stones, and halted to take a
last look at the moon, or more correctly at each other, by her
light, I felt irresistibly impelled to escape them again; and press-
ing a remembrance into the hands of Mrs. Dean, and disregard-
ing her expostulations at my rudeness, I vanished through the
kitchen, as they opened the house-door; and so should have con-
firmed Joseph in his opinion of his fellow-servant's gay indiscre-
tions, had he not fortunately recognized me for a respectable
character by the sweet ring of a sovereign at his feet.
My walk home was lengthened by a diversion in the direction
of the kirk. When beneath its walls, I perceived decay had
made
progress even in seven months- many a window showed
black gaps deprived of glass; and slates jutted off, here and there,
beyond the right line of the roof, to be gradually worked off in
coming autumn storms.
I sought, and soon discovered, the three head-stones on the
slope next the moor the middle one, gray, and half buried in
the heath Edgar Linton's only harmonized by the turf and
moss creeping up its foot-Heathcliff's still bare.
I lingered round them, under that benign sky; watched the
moths fluttering among the heath and harebells; listened to the
soft wind breathing through the grass; and wondered how any
one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that
quiet earth.
―
—
―――


## p. 2416 (#619) ###########################################



## p. 2416 (#620) ###########################################


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## p. 2416 (#621) ###########################################

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## p. 2416 (#622) ###########################################

. .


## p. 2417 (#623) ###########################################

2417
PHILLIPS BROOKS
(1835-1893)
HILLIPS BROOKS was born in Boston, Massachusetts, December
13th, 1835, and died there January 23d, 1893. He inherited
Sugan the best traditions of New England history, being on the
paternal side the direct descendant of John Cotton, and his mother's
name, Phillips, standing for high learning and distinction in the Con-
gregational church. Born at a time when the orthodox faith was
fighting its bitterest battle with Unitarianism, his parents accepted
the dogmas of the new theology, and had him baptized by a Unita-
rian clergyman. But while refusing certain dogmas of the ortho-
dox church, they were the more thrown back for spiritual support
upon the internal evidences of evangelical Christianity. "Holding
still," says the Rev. Arthur Brooks, "in a greater or less degree, and
with more or less precision, to the old statements, they counted the
great fact that these statements enshrined more precious truth than
any other. " Transition to the Episcopal church was easy; the mother
became an Episcopalian, and Phillips Brooks received all his early
training in that communion. But heredity had its influence, and in
after-life the great Bishop said that the Episcopal church could reap
the fruits of the long and bitter controversy which divided the New
England church, only as it discerned the spiritual worth of Puritanism,
and the value of its contributions to the history of religious thought
and character.
Such were the early surroundings of the man, and the subsequent
influences of his life tended to foster this liberal spirit. For such a
purpose, Boston itself was a good place to live in: it was too large
to be wholly provincial, and it was not so large that the individual
was lost; and at that time it was moreover the literary centre of
America. When Phillips Brooks entered Harvard, he came into an
atmosphere of intense intellectual activity. James Walker was the
president of the college, and Lowell, Holmes, Agassiz, and Longfel
low were among the professors. He graduated with honor in 1855,
and soon after entered the Episcopal theological seminary at Alex-
andria, Virginia.
The transition from Harvard to this college was an abrupt one.
The standards of the North and South were radically different. The
theology of the Church in Virginia, while tolerant to that of other
denominations, was uncompromisingly hostile to what it regarded as
heterodox.
VI-152


## p. 2418 (#624) ###########################################

2418
PHILLIPS BROOKS
When the War was declared he threw himself passionately into
the cause of the Union. Yet his affection for his Southern class-
mates, men from whom he so widely differed, broadened that charity
that was one of his finest characteristics, a charity that respected
conviction wherever found.
No man, in truth, ever did so much to remove prejudice against
a Church that had never been popular in New England. To the old
Puritan dislike of Episcopacy and distrust of the English Church as
that of the oppressors of the colony, was added a sense of resent-
ment toward its sacerdotal claims and its assumption of ecclesiastical
supremacy. But he nevertheless protested against the claim by his
own communion to the title of "The American Church," he preached
occasionally in other pulpits, he even had among his audiences cler-
gymen of other denominations, and he was able to reconcile men of
different creeds into concord on what is essential in all. The breadth
and depth of his teaching attracted so large a following that he
increased the strength of the Episcopal Church in America far more
than he could have done by carrying on an active propaganda in
its behalf. Under his pastorate Trinity Church, Boston, became the
centre of some of the most vigorous Christian activity in America.
His first charge was the Church of the Advent, in Philadelphia; in
two years he became rector of Holy Trinity Church in the same city.
In 1869 he was called to Trinity Church, Boston, of which he was
rector until his election as bishop of Massachusetts in 1891.
It is impossible to give an idea of Phillips Brooks without a word
about his personality, which was almost contradictory. His com-
manding figure, his wit, the charm of his conversation, and a certain
boyish gayety and naturalness, drew people to him as to a powerful
magnet. He was one of the best known men in America; people
pointed him out to strangers in his own city as they pointed out the
Common and the Bunker Hill monument. When he went to Eng-
land, where he preached before the Queen, men and women of all
classes greeted him as a friend. They thronged the churches where
he preached, not only to hear him but to see him. Many stories are
told of him; some true, some more or less apocryphal, all proving the
affectionate sympathy existing between him and his kind. It was
said of him that as soon as he entered a pulpit he was absolutely
impersonal. There was no trace of individual experience or theo-
logical conflict by which he might be labeled. He was simply a
messenger of the truth as he held it, a mouthpiece of the gospel as
he believed it had been delivered to him.
Although in his seminary days his sermons were described as
vague and unpractical, Phillips Brooks was as great a preacher when
under thirty years of age as he was at any later time. His early


## p. 2419 (#625) ###########################################

PHILLIPS BROOKS
2419
sermons, delivered to his first charge in Philadelphia, displayed the
same individuality, the same force and completeness and clearness of
construction, the same deep, strong undertone of religious thought,
as his great discourses preached in Westminster Abbey six months
before his death. His sentences are sonorous; his style was charac-
terized by a noble simplicity, impressive, but without a touch showing
that dramatic effect was strained for.
He passionately loved nature in all her aspects, and traveled widely
in search of the picturesque; but he used his experience with reserve,
and his illustrations are used to explain human life. His power of
painting a picture in a few bold strokes appears strikingly in the
great sermon on the Lesson of the Life of Saul,' where he contrasts
early promise and final failure; and in that other not less remarkable
presentation of the vision of Saint Peter. His treatment of Bible
narratives is not a translation into the modern manner, nor is it an
adaptation, but a poetical rendering, in which the flavor of the
original is not lost though the lesson is made contemporary. And
while he did not transcribe nature upon his pages, his sermons are
not lacking in decoration. He used figures of speech and drew freely
on history and art for illustrations, but not so much to elucidate his
subject as to ornament it. His essays on social and literary subjects
are written with the aim of directness of statement, pure and simple;
but the stuff of which his sermons are woven is of royal purple.
The conviction that religious sentiment should penetrate the whole
life showed itself in Phillips Brooks's relation to literature. "Truth
bathed in light and uttered in love makes the new unit of power,"
he says in his essay on literature. It was his task to mediate
between literature and theology, and restore theology to the place
it lost through the abstractions of the schoolmen. What he would
have done if he had devoted himself to literature alone, we can only
conjecture by the excellence of his style in essays and sermons.
They show his poetical temperament; and his little lyric 'O Little
Town of Bethlehem' will be sung as long as Christmas is celebrated.
His essays show more clearly even than his sermons his opinions on
society, literature, and religion. They place him where he belongs,
in that "small transfigured band the world cannot tame," - the
world of Cranmer, Jeremy Taylor, Robertson, Arnold, Maurice. His
paper on Dean Stanley discloses his theological views as openly as
do his addresses on 'Heresies and Orthodoxy. '
As might be expected of one who, in the word's best sense, was
so thoroughly a man, he had great influence with young men and
was one of the most popular of Harvard preachers. It was his cus-
tom for thirty alternate years to go abroad in the summer, and there,
as in America, he was regarded as a great pulpit orator. He took a


## p. 2420 (#626) ###########################################

2420
PHILLIPS BROOKS
large view of social questions and was in sympathy with all great
popular movements. His advancement to the episcopate was warmly
welcomed by all parties, except one branch of his own church with
which his principles were at variance, and every denomination de-
lighted in his elevation as if he were the peculiar property of each.
He published several volumes of sermons. His works include
'Lectures on Preaching' (New York, 1877), 'Sermons' (1878–81),
'Bohlen Lectures' (1879), 'Baptism and Confirmation' (1880), 'Ser-
mons Preached in English Churches' (1883), The Oldest Schools in
America' (Boston, 1885), Twenty Sermons' (New York, 1886), Toler-
ance (1887), The Light of the World, and Other Sermons' (1890),
and Essays and Addresses' (1894). His 'Letters of Travel' show
him to be an accurate observer, with a large fund of spontaneous
humor. No letters to children are so delightful as those in this
volume.
O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM
LITTLE town of Bethlehem,
O
How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee to-night.
O morning stars, together
Proclaim the holy birth!
And praises sing to God the King,
And peace to men on earth.
For Christ is born of Mary,
And gathered all above;
While mortals sleep the angels keep
Their watch of wondering love.
How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heaven.
No ear may hear his coming;
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him still,
The dear Christ enters in.


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Where children pure and happy
Pray to the blessèd Child,
Where Misery cries out to thee,
Son of the Mother mild;
Where Charity stands watching,
And Faith holds wide the door,
The dark night wakes; the glory breaks,
And Christmas comes once more.
O holy Child of Bethlehem,
Descend to us, we pray!
Cast out our sin and enter in;
Be born in us to-day.
We hear the Christmas angels
The great glad tidings tell;
O come to us, abide with us,
Our Lord Emmanuel!
Copyrighted by E. P. Dutton and Company, New York.
PERSONAL CHARACTER
From Essays and Addresses >
Α
S ONE looks around the world, and as one looks around our
own land to-day, he sees that the one thing we need in
high places the thing whose absence, among those who
hold the reins of highest power, is making us all anxious with
regard to the progress of the country-is personal character.
The trouble is not what we hold to be mistaken ideas with re-
gard to policies of government, but it is the absence of lofty and
unselfish character. It is the absence of the complete consecra-
tion of a man's self to the public good; it is the willingness of
men to bring their personal and private spites into spheres whose
elevation ought to shame such things into absolute death; the
tendencies of men, even of men whom the nation has put in
very high places indeed, to count those high places their privi-
leges, and to try to draw from them, not help for humanity
and the community over which they rule, but their own mean
personal private advantage.
If there is any power that can elevate human character: if
there is any power which, without inspiring men with a super-
natural knowledge with regard to policies of government; with-
out making men solve all at once, intuitively, the intricacies of


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PHILLIPS BROOKS
problems of legislation with which they are called upon to deal;
without making men see instantly to the very heart of every
matter; if there is any power which could permeate to the very
bottom of our community, which would make men unselfish and
true- why, the errors of men, the mistakes men might make in
their judgment, would not be an obstacle in the way of the
progress of this great nation in the work which God has given
her to do. They would make jolts, but nothing more. Or in
the course which God has appointed her to run she would go to
her true results. There is no power that man has ever seen that
can abide; there is no power of which man has ever dreamed
that can regenerate human character except religion; and till the
Christian religion, which is the religion of this land — till the
Christian religion shall have so far regenerated human character
in this land that multitudes of men shall act under its high
impulses and principles, so that the men who are not inspired
with them shall be shamed at least into an outward conformity
with them, there is no security for the great final continuance
of the nation.
-
Copyrighted by E. P. Dutton and Company, New York.
THE COURAGE OF OPINIONS
From Essays and Addresses >
W*
E HAVE spoken of physical courage, or the courage of
nerves; of moral courage, or the courage of principles.
Besides these there is intellectual courage, or the courage
of opinions. Let me say a few words upon that, for surely there
is nothing which we more need to understand.
The ways in which people form their opinions are most re-
markable. Every man, when he begins his reasonable life, finds
certain general opinions current in the world. He is shaped
by these opinions in one way or another, either directly or by
reaction. If he is soft and plastic, like the majority of people,
he takes the opinions that are about him for his own. If he is
self-asserting and defiant, he takes the opposite of these opinions
and gives to them his vehement adherence. We know the two
kinds well, and as we ordinarily see them, the fault which is
at the root of both is intellectual cowardice. One man clings
servilely to the old ready-made opinions which he finds, because


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PHILLIPS BROOKS
2423
he is afraid of being called rash and radical; another rejects the
traditions of his people from fear of being thought fearful, and
timid, and a slave. The results are very different: one is the
tame conservative and the other is the fiery iconoclast; but I
beg you to see that the cause in both cases is the same. Both
are cowards. Both are equally removed from that brave seeking
of the truth which is not set upon either winning or avoiding
any name, which will take no opinion for the sake of con-
formity and reject no opinion for the sake of originality; which
is free, therefore-free to gather its own convictions, a slave
neither to any compulsion nor to any antagonism.
Tell me,
have you never seen two teachers, one of them slavishly adopt-
ing old methods because he feared to be called "imitator," the
other crudely devising new plans because he was afraid of seem-
ing conservative, both of them really cowards, neither of them
really thinking out his work?
The great vice of our people in their relation to the politics
of the land is cowardice. It is not lack of intelligence: our
people know the meaning of political conditions with wonderful
sagacity. It is not low morality: the great mass of our people
apply high standards to the acts of public men. But it is
cowardice. It is the disposition of one part of our people to
fall in with current ways of working, to run with the mass; and
of another part to rush headlong into this or that new scheme
or policy of opposition, merely to escape the stigma of conserv-
atism.
Copyrighted by E. P. Dutton and Company, New York.
·
LITERATURE AND LIFE
From Essays and Addresses ›
L'
IFE comes before literature, as the material always comes be-
fore the work. The hills are full of marble before the
world blooms with statues. The forests are full of trees
before the sea is thick with ships. So the world abounds in life
before men begin to reason and describe and analyze and sing,
and literature is born. The fact and the action must come first. .
This is true in every kind of literature. The mind and its work-
ings are before the metaphysician. Beauty and romance antedate
the poet.
The nations rise and fall before the historian tells
their story. Nature's profusion exists before the first scientific


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PHILLIPS BROOKS
2424
book is written. Even the facts of mathematics must be true
before the first diagram is drawn for their demonstration.
To own and recognize this priority of life is the first need of
literature. Literature which does not utter a life already ex-
istent, more fundamental than itself, is shallow and unreal.
a schoolmate who at the age of twenty published a volume of
poems called 'Life-Memories. ' The book died before it was
born. There were no real memories, because there had been no
life. So every science which does not utter investigated fact,
every history which does not tell of experience, every poetry
which is not based upon the truth of things, has no real life. It
does not perish; it is never born. Therefore men and nations
must live before they can make literature. Boys and girls do not
write books. Oregon and Van Diemen's Land produce no litera-
ture: they are too busy living. The first attempts at literature of
any country, as of our own, are apt to be unreal and imitative
and transitory, because life has not yet accumulated and presented
itself in forms which recommend themselves to literature. The
wars must come, the clamorous problems must arise, the new
types of character must be evolved, the picturesque social compli-
cation must develop, a life must come, and then will be the
true time for a literature.
Literature grows feeble and con-
ceited unless it ever recognizes the priority and superiority of life,
and stands in genuine awe before the greatness of the men and
of the ages which have simply lived.
Copyrighted by E. P. Dutton and Company, New York.


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CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN
(1771-1810)
OT only was Brockden Brown the first American man-of-letters
proper, one writing for a living before we had any real
literature of our own,- but his work possessed a genuine
power and originality which gives it some claim to remembrance
for its own sake. And it is fair always to remember that a given
product from a pioneer indicates a far greater endowment than the
same from one of a group in a more developed age. The forerunner
lacks not one thing only, but many things, which help his successors.
He lacks the mental friction from, the emu-
lation of, the competition with, other writ-
ers; he lacks the stimulus and comfort of
sympathetic companionship; he lacks an
audience to spur him on, and a market to
work for; lacks labor-saving conventions,
training, and an environment that heartens
him instead of merely tolerating him. Like
Robinson Crusoe, he must make his tools
before he can use them. A meagre result
may therefore be a proof of great abilities.
CHARLES B. BROWN
The United States in 1800 was mentally
and morally a colony of Great Britain still.
A few hundred thousand white families
scattered over about as many square miles of territory, much of it
refractory wilderness with more refractory inhabitants; with no cities
of any size, and no communication save by wretched roads or by sail-
ing vessels; no rich old universities for centres of culture, and no
rich leisured society to enjoy it; the energies of the people perforce
absorbed in subduing material obstacles, or solidifying a political
experiment disbelieved in by the very men who organized it;-
neither time nor materials existed then for an independent literary
life, which is the growth of security and comfort and leisure if it
embraces a whole society, or of endowed college foundations and an
aristocracy if it is only of the few. Hence American society took
its literary meals at the common table of the English-speaking race,
with little or no effort at a separate establishment. There was
much writing, but mostly polemic or journalistic. When real litera-
ture was attempted, it consisted in general of imitations of British

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CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN
essays, or fiction, or poetry; and in the last two cases not even imi-
tations of the best models in either. The essays were modeled on
Addison; the poetry on the heavy imitators of Pope's heroics; the
fiction either on the effusive sentimentalists who followed Richard-
son, or on the pseudo-Orientalists like Walpole and Lewis, or on the
pseudo-mediævalists like Mrs. Roche and Mrs. Radcliffe. This sort
of work filled the few literary periodicals of the day, but was not
read enough to make such publications profitable even then, and is
pretty much all unreadable now.
Charles Brockden Brown stands in marked contrast to these sec-
ond-hand weaklings, not only by his work but still more by his
method and temper.