hear of a poet who did not talk about them? Don't you think a poem,
which, for the sake of being original, should leave them out, would be
like those verses where the letter 'a' or 'e' or some other is omitted?
No,--they will bloom over and over again in poems as in the summer
fields, to the end of time, always old and always new.
"Are you tired of my trivial personalities,--those splashes and streaks
of sentiment, sometimes perhaps of sentimentality, which you may see
when I show you my heart's corolla as if it were a tulip? Pray, do not
give yourself the trouble to fancy me an idiot, whose conceit it is to
treat himself as an exceptional being. It is because you are just like
me that I talk and know that you listen. We are all splashed and
streaked with sentiments,--not with precisely the same tints, or in
exactly the same patterns, but by the same hand and from the same
palette."
To say, as some do, that there is no place for sentiment in life, would
be almost equal to saying that life is devoid of joy. But who says there
are no joys in life? Take, for example a good pure natural laugh. We
hear it bubbling, gushing, pealing out, every now and then, from some
glad child of nature; and we say, there _is_ joy in life. The gloom of
ages has been lightened with laughter and song.
There is much to awaken deep and real sentiment in us as we gaze on the
tree-tops, the mountains and hillsides, the gurgling waters and sweeping
billows; on sunlight, shadow, and storm. Behind the forest-leaf we
suddenly discover a songster, the gleam of an oriole's breast in a bed
of mantling green. Nature always rejoices. She has been singing and
laughing all down the ages. She does her part grandly for the happiness
of man; and as we come into closer touch with her, sentiment arises as
naturally in our hearts, as does the water in her bubbling springs.
We may find a place for sentiment in all life's changeful affairs. Even
the stern realities of war do not entirely eradicate from the heart that
feeling for suffering humanity, which is the highest expression of
sentiment.
There were but few who were so thoughtless as not to be stirred with the
feeling which possessed the heart of Captain Phillips, and the crew of
the battleship Texas, when, as they stood on the deck, with uncovered
heads and reverent souls, on the afternoon of the engagement before
Santiago, the knightly old sailor said: "I want to make public
acknowledgment here that I believe in God. I want all you officers and
men to lift your hats, and from your hearts offer silent thanks to the
Almighty for the victory he has given us." But it was not the mere
victory over a foe that caused this general and thoughtful lifting of
heart; it was exultation at the triumph of justice and the progress of
freedom.
The presence or absence of sentiment in our lives is largely accounted
for by the fact that we usually find what we are looking for. The
geologist sees design and order in the very stones with which the
streets are paved. The botanist reads volumes in the flowers and
grasses which most men tread thoughtlessly beneath their feet. The
astronomer gazes with rapt soul into the starry heavens, while his
fellows seldom glance upward. If we seek for the beautiful and the pure,
it will be quickly revealed to us; and the sentiment of loving gratitude
will arise within us as the result.
Nature takes on our moods; she laughs with those who laugh, and weeps
with those who weep. If we rejoice and are glad, the very birds sing
more sweetly; the woods and streams murmur our song. But if we are sad
and sorrowful, a sudden gloom falls upon nature's face; the sun shines,
but not in our hearts; the birds sing, but not to us. The beauty of
nature's music is lost to us, and everything seems dull and gray. The
lack of sentiment narrows and belittles us; and, for that reason, we
cannot afford to be without it.
We must always strive to keep in mind how important sentiment is to a
happy and useful career, whatever position in life we may happen to
occupy. Noble sentiments are the richest possession we can have. They
cheer us when we are despondent, they sing to us when we are lonesome,
and they help to keep us young. They are like brilliant poets and divine
musicians; by whom the true, the good, and the beautiful are kept
constantly before our minds.
It is this trait of character which has to do greatly with worship,
reverence, and aspiration. Morality needs to be touched by sentiment or
emotion. Sentiment leads us to love sacred spots, to create
commemorative days, and to sing songs of gratitude together. It makes
life of far greater worth to us in every way. We must also glance at
what is known as public sentiment. Public sentiment is not voluntary or
self-creative. It is generally a thing of slow growth, springing from a
gradual accumulation and development of evidences, impressions, and
circumstances. It is a matter of education, impressed upon the masses by
the most intelligent or the most influential forces of a community; and
as it is often merely the adoption by the masses of the opinions of a
class, clique, or ring, it is as likely to be wrong as right, since it
frequently serves to popularize evils, the existence and the continuance
of which, minister only to the benefit of a few.
But public sentiment, is after all, quite largely a personal matter. We
all help in making it; and we should therefore be exceedingly careful as
to the sentiments we personally cherish; for these are a very real part
of the sentiments of the community as a whole.
BEETHOVEN.
Perhaps we should be safe in saying that the kingdom of music is
especially the realm of sentiment. Music raises us to a loftier plane of
thought and feeling. It has been beautifully said that "The composer's
world is the world of emotion; full of delicate elations and
depressions, which like the hum of minute insects hardly arrest the
uncultivated ear."
We select as our special illustration Ludwig van Beethoven, who was born
at Bonn, Prussia, in the year 1770. His father was a musician, and
suffered from two great foes,--a violent temper, and a habit of drink.
The family being poor, young Ludwig was made to submit to a severe
training on the violin from the time he was four years old, in order to
obtain money. By the time he reached the age of nine, he had advanced so
far in music that his father could not teach him anything more, and he
was passed over to others for further education. When he was fifteen
years old he was appointed assistant to the court organist; and, in a
description of the various musicians attached to the court, he is
described as "of good capacity, young, of good, quiet behavior, and
poor."
At the court he was an object of admiration, and his popularity was
constantly on the increase. Absorbed in meditation, he forgot ordinary
affairs. One illustration is as good as a dozen. He loved the sound of
flowing water, and frequently would let it run over his hands until,
lost in some musical suggestion from the murmur, he would allow the
water to pour over the floor of his apartment until it soaked down and
astonished the dwellers below.
He was very democratic, and desired that all men should enjoy freedom
and equal rights before the law. When asked once, in court, to produce
the proof of his nobility, he pointed to his head and heart, saying, "My
nobility is here, and here." His high-strung nervous system would
account for many of his peculiarities. By those who did not understand
him he was called "a growling old bear." On the other hand, those who
appreciated his genius called him "a cloud-compeller of the world of
music." He is in music what Milton is in poetry,--lofty, majestic,
stately.
Beethoven died on March 26, 1827, during a terrible thunderstorm. His
funeral was attended by all the musicians of Vienna. The crowd of people
was so enormous that soldiers had to be called in to make a way for the
procession; and it took an hour and a half to pass the little distance
from the house to the church.
Sentiment in music leaves one in an uplifted and wholesome state of
mind. Sentimentality in music may give a momentary pleasure, but it is
really hostile to strength of character; and this truth applies, with
equal force, to every other feature of our lives.
[Footnote: See Thayer's "Biography of Beethoven" (1879); Schindler's
"Beethoven;" and Grove's "Dictionary of Music and Musicians." Magazine
articles on Beethoven are also numerous.]
XXX.
DUTY.
MEMORY GEMS.
The path of duty is the way to glory.--Tennyson
A sense of duty pursues us ever and everywhere.--Webster
The consciousness of duty performed "gives us music at midnight."
--George Herbert
I slept and dreamed that life was Beauty.
I woke and found that life was Duty.--E. S. Hooper
Let us have faith that right makes might; and in that faith let us dare
to do our duty as we understand it.--A. Lincoln
Samuel Smiles, who has written a most excellent book upon this subject,
says, "Duty is the end and aim of the highest life; and it alone is
true." It is certain that of all the watchwords of life, duty is the
highest and best. He who sincerely adopts it lives a true life; he is
really the successful man. It pertains to all parts and relations of
life. There is no moment, place, or condition where its claims are not
imperative.
Obedience to the commands of duty, and the ruling desire to be useful,
are cardinal elements of success. It is at the trumpet call which duty
sounds, that all the nobler attributes of manhood spring into life; and
duty is something that must be done without regard to discomfort,
sacrifice, or death. It must be done in secret, as well as in public;
and according to the measure of our faithfulness in this respect, will
be the real measure of our manhood.
History and biography are fairly crowded with examples of the faithful
performance of duty, and the glorious results which have followed; such
as Nelson at Trafalgar, Luther at the Diet of Worms, General Grant in
the Civil War; and scores of other instances of note. But equally
valuable are the cases of ordinary life. The engineer on the locomotive;
the pilot at the helm of the storm-tossed vessel; the mother in her
daily routine of work; the merchant upholding laws of trade in honor;
the schoolboy plodding through studies in a manly thoroughness; the
reformer of slums letting her little candle of service shine in the
dark;--all these and similar instances are full of guidance and
inspiration.
There are two aspects of duty; namely, cheerful duty and drudging duty.
One says, "I want to do something;" the other says, "I must." Our New
England forefathers were followers of duty, but they found very little
joy in it, as we understand that word. We should endeavor to improve
upon their methods, but we shall find it difficult to improve upon
their faithfulness.
The life of Sir Walter Scott affords an interesting illustration of
strict obedience to the line of duty. His whole life seems to have been
governed by that sense of obligation which caused him, when a young man,
to enter a profession which he heartily disliked, out of affection for
his father; and, later in life, to set himself to paying off the debt
incurred by the publishing house of which he was a silent partner. His
sense of duty was expressed in his declaration that, "If he lived and
retained his health, no man should lose a penny by him."
Just what is meant by faithfulness to duty may be clearly seen in the
following incident. During the famous _dark day_ of 1780, in
Connecticut, candles were lighted in many houses, and domestic fowls
went to their roosts. The people thought the day of judgment had come.
The legislature was then in session in Hartford. The house of
representatives adjourned. In the council, which corresponds to the
modern senate, an adjournment was also proposed. Colonel Davenport
objected, saying, "The day of judgment is either approaching, or it is
not. If it is not, there is no cause for adjourning; if it is, I choose
to be found doing my duty. I wish, therefore, that candles may be
brought."
Upon the world's great battlefields, this matter of faithfulness to duty
has always been deemed of the first importance. Previous to the battle
of Lutzen, in which eighty thousand Austrians were defeated by an army
of thirty-six thousand Prussians, commanded by Frederick the Great, this
monarch ordered all his officers to attend him, and thus addressed them:
"To-morrow I intend giving the enemy battle; and, as it will decide who
are to be the future masters of Silesia, I expect every one of you, in
the strictest manner, to do his duty. If any one of you is a coward, let
him step forward before he makes others as cowardly as himself,--let him
step forward, I say, and he shall immediately receive his discharge
without ceremony or reproach. I see there is none among you who does not
possess true heroism, and will not display it in defense of his king, of
his country, and of himself. I shall be in the front and in the rear;
shall fly from wing to wing; no company will escape my notice; and
whoever I then find doing his duty, upon him will I heap honor and
favor."
Another great military commander was the Duke of Wellington. He once
said to a friend: "There is little or nothing in this life worth living
for; but we can all of us go straight forward and do our duty." Whether
serving at home in his family, or serving his country on the field, his
sense of duty was the one high and noble purpose that inspired him. He
did not ask, Will this course win fame? Will this battle add to my
earthly glory? But always, What is my duty? He did what duty commanded,
and followed where it led. It was his firm adherence to what he thought
was right, that brought down upon him the violence of a mob in the
streets of London, assaulting his person and attacking his house, even
while his wife lay dead therein. But the memory of few men is now more
greatly honored; and his example is worthy of careful study and close
imitation.
The foregoing facts show, far better than argument, both the nature and
place of duty in the work of life. We see it in practical operation,
always timely, honorable, and attractive. It cannot be discounted or
even smirched. It stands out in bold relief, supported by a clear
conscience and strong will. It demands recognition, and it always
secures it.
More than sixteen hundred years after an eruption of Vesuvius had buried
Pompeii in ashes, explorers laid bare the ruins of the ill-fated city.
There the unfortunate inhabitants were found just where they were
overtaken by death. Some were discovered in lofty attics and some
in deep cellars, whither they had fled before the approaching
desolation. Others were found in the streets, through which they were
fleeing in wild despair when the tide of volcanic gases and the storm of
falling ashes overwhelmed them. But the Roman sentinel was standing
at his post, his skeleton-hand still grasping the hilt of his sword, his
attitude that of a faithful officer. He was placed there on duty, and
death met him at his post.
No man has a right to say he can do nothing for the benefit of mankind.
We forget that men are less benefited by ambitious projects, than by the
sober fulfillment of each man's proper duties. By doing the proper duty,
in the proper time and place, a man may make the entire world his
debtor, and may accomplish far more of good than in any other way.
LORD NELSON.
Horatio Nelson was born at Norfolk, England, September 29, 1758. He
reached his manhood at a time when the nations of Europe were engaged in
deadly strife. A love of adventure and a daring spirit, which developed
during his earliest years, inclined him to follow the sea. From his
first entrance into this calling, genius and opportunity worked together
to make him the leading factor in Great Britain's prominence as a naval
power.
For several centuries, previous to the time of Nelson, Great Britain had
been rapidly advancing her commerce. In the protection of this commerce
many a naval hero won renown; but the tide of influence and of power
found in Nelson its perfect fulfillment. He was a man of extraordinary
genius. He saw clearly; acted vigorously. He felt that it was his
business and his duty to watch over England's interests upon the sea;
and both men and women felt perfectly safe while Nelson had command.
The pure flame of patriotism burned brightly in his heroic soul. He
believed, with Lord Sandon, that nothing could be nobler than a
first-rate English sailor; and he acted in strict accord with this
belief. He attained one victory after another, until the battle of the
Nile, one of his most brilliant successes, made the navy of England a
terror even to its bravest enemies. The superiority of the English fleet
was mainly due to his genius; and the dread his name inspired was one of
the principal causes, that, a few years later, kept Napoleon from
carrying out his threatened invasion of England.
His high sense of duty, and what he expected of those under his command,
is well illustrated by his signal to the English fleet, when they were
about to engage the French in the great naval battle at Trafalgar. When
all were ready for the attack, Nelson said, "I will now amuse the fleet
with a signal." Turning to the signal officer he exclaimed, "Send this
message,--'England expects every man to do his duty.'" When the signal
was comprehended by the men, cheer after cheer rang out upon the air,
and under its inspiration they won a glorious and a decisive victory.
This message was characteristic of Nelson. Upon his entering into this
engagement, which proved to be his last, he is said to have remarked, "I
thank God for this great opportunity of doing my duty." While in the
thick of the engagement, Nelson was struck down by a cannon ball, and
lived but a few hours afterward; but long enough to hear the English
shouts of triumph. He had left to the world a type of single-minded
self-devotion, that can never perish.
[Footnote: See "Life of Nelson," by Southey (1828); "Letters and
Dispatches of Lord Nelson," by N. H. Nicols (1860); "Lady Hamilton and
Lord Nelson," by J. C. Jeaffreson; and Mahan's "Life of Nelson,"
recently published.]
XXXI.
TEMPERANCE.
MEMORY GEMS.
Rum will brutalize the manliest man in Christendom.-J. B. Gough
Rum excites all that is bad, vicious, and criminal in man.-J. S. White
There may be some wit in a barrel of beer, but there is more in leaving
it alone.-C. Garrett
Sobriety is the bridle of the passions of desire, and temperance is the
bit and curb of that bridle; a restraint put into a man's mouth; a
moderate use of meat and drink.-Jeremy Taylor
Temperance is corporeal piety; it is the preservation of divine order in
the body.-Theodore Parker
Temperance may, in its narrower sense, be defined as the observance of a
rational medium with respect to the pleasures of eating and drinking.
But it has also a larger meaning. The temperate man desires to hold all
his pleasures within the limits of what is honorable, and with a proper
reference to the amount of his own pecuniary means. To pursue them more
is excess; to pursue them less is defect. There is, however, in
estimating excess and defect, a certain tacit reference to the average
dispositions of men, and the law of usage or custom of the times.
The word temperance has, we repeat, become narrowed and specialized. We
mean by it, not exactly temperance, but abstinence. The word does not
convey the full force of its older meaning. That signifies, "the right
handling of one's self,--that kind of self-control by which a man's
nature has a chance to act normally;" and this aspect of our subject
must not be overlooked, for it is of great importance.
Instead of being the secondary thing which some think it to be,
temperance is really a much higher virtue than patience or fortitude. It
is the guardian of reason, the bulwark of religion, the sister of
prudence, and the sweetener of life. Be temperate; and time will carry
you forward on its purest current till it lands you on the continent of
a yet purer eternity, as the swelling river rolls its limpid stream into
the bosom of the unfathomable deep.
But even in the more general meaning now given to the word, temperance
is worthy of our most careful study.
Consider what it is to gain the mastery over a single passion! And
think, also, what it is for the mind to be ruled by an appetite! Look at
S. T. Coleridge--a poet who might have sung for all time, a philosopher
capable of teaching and molding generations, skulking away from the eye
of friends and of servants to drink his bottle of laudanum, and then
bewailing his weakness and sin with an agony, the bare recital of which,
makes our hearts bleed with pity. Our task is not only to subdue a
serpent, to tame a lion,--there is a whole menagerie of evil passions to
be kept in subjection, and when the drink habit prevails, we shall soon
become too weak for such a task.
Temperance is an action; it is the tempering of our words and actions to
our circumstances. Sobriety is a state in which one is exempt from every
stimulus to deviate from the right course. As a man who is intoxicated
with wine, runs into excesses, and loses that power of guiding himself
which he has when he is sober or free from all intoxication, so is he
who is intoxicated with any passion, led into irregularities which a man
in his right senses will not be guilty of. Sobriety is, therefore, the
state of being in one's right or sober senses; and sobriety is, with
regard to temperance, as a cause to its effect.
The evils resulting from intemperance are so numerous and so destructive
of human happiness and life, as to command universal attention. Not only
does intemperance greatly increase pauperism and crime, but it often
leads to sad calamities which might otherwise be quite largely avoided.
An old English sea-captain relates the following fact, of which he was
an eyewitness:--"A collier brig was stranded on the Yorkshire coast, and
I had occasion to assist in the distressing service of rescuing a part
of the crew by drawing them up a vertical cliff, two or three hundred
feet in altitude, by means of a very small rope, the only material at
hand. The first two men who caught hold of the rope were hauled safely
up to the top; but the next, after being drawn to a considerable height,
slipped his hold and fell; and with the fourth and last who venturedupon
this only chance of life, the rope gave way, and he also was
plunged into the foaming breakers beneath. Immediately afterward, the
vessel broke up, and the remainder of the ill-fated crew perished before
our eyes.
"What now was the cause of this heart-rending event? Was it stress of
weather, or a contrary wind, or unavoidable accident? No such thing! It
was the entire want of moral conduct in the crew. Every sailor, to a
man, was in a state of intoxication! The helm was intrusted to a boy
ignorant of the coast. He ran the vessel upon the rocks at Whitby; and
one half of the miserable, dissipated crew were plunged into eternity
almost without a knowledge of what was taking place."
There are still a few people who openly ridicule both total abstinence
and its advocates, and some, who are wicked enough to endeavor to
misrepresent those who labor in this cause. These persons do not always
succeed, however, as the following incident will show: Horace Greeley
was once met at a railway depot by a red-faced individual, who shook him
warmly by the hand. "I don't recognize you," said Mr. Greeley. "Why,
yes, you must remember how we drank brandy and water together at a
certain place." This amused the bystanders, who knew Mr. Greeley's
strong temperance principles. "Oh, I see," replied Mr. Greeley, "you
drank the brandy, and I drank the water."