radically opposed, actually harmonise and seem even to support each
other. Religion sees in civil liberty a noble field for the exercise
of human faculties. Free and powerful in her own sphere, and satisfied
with the part reserved for her, she knows that her sovereignty is all
the more securely established when she depends only on her own strength
and is founded in the hearts of men. And liberty, on the other hand,
recognises in religion the comrade of its struggles and triumphs,
the cradle of its rights. It knows that religion is the safeguard of
morals, and that morals are the safeguard of the laws, and the judge of
the continuance of liberty itself.
_III.--Omnipotence of the Majority_
The greatest danger to liberty in America lies in the omnipotence of
the majority. A democratic power is never likely to perish for lack
of strength or of resources, but it may very well fall because of
the misdirection of its strength and the abuse of its resources. If
ever liberty is lost in America, it will be due to an oppression of
minorities which may drive them to an appeal to arms. The anarchy which
must then result will be due only to despotism.
This danger has not escaped the notice of American statesmen. Thus,
President James Madison said, "It is of great importance to republics,
not only that society should be defended from the oppression of
those who govern it, but also that one section of society should be
protected against the injustice of another section; for justice is the
end towards which all government must be directed." Again, Jefferson
said that "The tyranny of legislators is at present, and will be for
many years, our most formidable danger. The tyranny of the executive
will arise in its turn, but at a more distant period." Jefferson's
words are of great importance, for I consider him to have been the most
powerful apostle that democracy has ever had.
But there are certain factors in the United States which moderate
this tyranny of the majority. Chief among these is the absence of any
administrative centralisation; so that the majority, which has often
the tastes and instincts of a despot, lacks the instruments and the
means of tyranny. The local administrative bodies constitute so many
reefs and breakwaters to retard or divide the stream of the popular
will.
Not less important, as a counterpoise to the danger of democracy, is
the strong legal spirit which pervades the United States. Lawyers have
great influence and authority in matters of government. But lawyers
are strongly imbued with the tasks and habits of mind which are most
characteristic of aristocracy; they have an instinctive liking for
forms and for order, a native distaste for the will of the multitude,
and a secret contempt for popular government. Of course, their own
personal interest may and often does over-ride this professional
bias. But lawyers will always be, on the whole, friends of order and
of precedent, and enemies of change. And in America, where there are
neither nobles nor able political writers, and where the people are
suspicious of the wealthy, the lawyers do, in fact, form the most
powerful order in politics, and the most intellectual class of society.
They therefore stand to lose by any innovation, and their conservative
tendency is reinforced by their interests as a class.
A third safeguard against the tyranny of the majority is to be found
in the institution of a jury. Almost everyone is called at one time
or another to sit on a jury, and thus learns at least something of
the judicial spirit. The civil jury has saved English freedom in past
times, and may be expected to maintain American liberties also. It is
true that there are many cases, and those often the most important,
in which the American judge pronounces sentence without a jury. Under
those circumstances, his position is similar to that of a French judge,
but his moral power is far greater; for the memory and the influence of
juries are all about him, and he speaks with the authority of one who
habitually rests upon the jury system. In no other countries are the
judges so powerful as in those where the people are called in to share
judicial privileges and responsibilities.
_IV.--Equality of Men and Women_
Inasmuch as democracy destroys or modifies the various inequalities
which social traditions have made, it is natural to ask whether it has
had any effect on that great inequality between men and women which
is elsewhere so conspicuous. We are driven to the conclusion that the
social movement which places son and father, servant and master, and in
general, the inferior and superior, more nearly on the same level, must
raise woman more and more to an equality with man.
Let us guard, however, against misconceptions. There are people in
Europe who confuse the natural qualities of the two sexes, and desire
that men and women should be, not only equal, but also similar to one
another. That would give them both the same functions, the same duties
and the same rights, and would have them mingle in everything, in work,
in pleasures, and in business. But the attempt to secure this kind
of equality between the two sexes, only degrades them both, and must
result in unmanly men, and unwomanly women.
The Americans have not thus mistaken the kind of democratic equality
which ought to hold between man and woman. They know that progress does
not consist in forcing these dissimilar temperaments and faculties
into the same mould, but in securing that each shall fulfil his or her
task in the best possible way. They have most carefully separated the
functions of man and woman, in order that the great work of social life
may be most prosperously carried on.
In America, far more than elsewhere, the lines of action of the two
sexes have been clearly divided. You do not find American women
directing the external affairs of the family, or entering into business
or into politics; but neither do you find them obliged to undertake
the rough labours of the field, or any other work requiring physical
strength. There are no families so poor as to form an exception to this
rule.
So it is that American women often unite a masculine intelligence and
a virile energy with an appearance of great refinement and altogether
womanly manners.
One has often noticed in Europe a certain tinge of contempt even in
the flatteries which men lavish on women; and although the European
often makes himself a slave of a woman, it is easy to see that he never
really regards her as his equal. But in the United States men rarely
praise women, though they show their esteem for them every day.
Americans show, in fact, a full confidence in woman's reason, and a
profound respect for her liberty. They realise that her mind is just as
capable as that of man to discover truth, and that her heart is just as
courageous in following it; and they have never tried to shelter or to
guide her by means of prejudice, ignorance, or fear.
For my part I do not hesitate to say that the singular prosperity and
the evergrowing power of the American people is due to the superiority
of American women.
_V.--The Perfectibility of Man_
Equality suggests many ideas which would never have arisen without
it, and among others the notion that humanity can reach perfection--a
theory which has practical consequences of great interest.
In countries where the population is classed according to rank,
profession, and birth, and everyone has to follow the career to which
he happens to be born, each is conscious of limits to his power,
and does not attempt to struggle against an inevitable destiny.
Aristocratic peoples do not deny that man may be improved, but they
think of this as an amelioration of the individual, and not as a change
in social circumstances, and while they admit that humanity has made
great progress, they believe in certain limits which it cannot pass.
They do not think, for instance, that we shall arrive at sovereign good
or at absolute truth.
But in proportion as caste and class-distinction disappear, the
vision of an ideal perfection arises before the human mind. Continual
changes are ever taking place, some of them to his disadvantage, but
the majority to his advantage, and the democrat concludes that man
in general is capable of arriving at perfection. His reverses teach
him that no one has yet discovered absolute good, and his frequent
successes excite him to pursue it. Always seeking, falling, and rising
again, often deceived, but never discouraged, he hastens towards an
immense grandeur which he dimly conceives as the goal of humanity. This
theory of perfectibility exercises prodigious influence even on those
who have never thought of it. For instance, I ask an American sailor
why the ships of his country are built to last only a few years; and
he tells me without hesitation that the art of shipbuilding makes such
rapid progress every day, that the finest ship constructed to-day must
be useless after a very short time. From these words, spoken at random
by an uneducated man, I can perceive the general and systematic idea
which guides this great people in every matter.
_VI.--American Vanity_
All free people are proud of themselves, but national pride takes
different forms. The Americans, in their relations with strangers, are
impatient of the least criticism, and absolutely insatiable for praise.
The slightest congratulation pleases them, but the most extravagant
eulogium is not enough to satisfy them; they are all the time touting
for your praise, and if you are slow to give it they begin praising
themselves. It is as if they were doubtful of their own merit. Their
vanity is not only hungry, but anxious and envious. It gives nothing,
and asks insistently. It is both supplicant and pugnacious. If I tell
an American that his country is a fine one, he replies, "It is the
finest in the world." If I admire the liberty which it enjoys, he
answers, "There are few people worthy of such liberty." I remark on the
purity of manners in the United States, and he says, "Yes, a stranger
who knows the corruption of other nations must indeed be astonished at
us." At length I leave him to the contemplation of his country and of
himself, but he presently runs after me, and will not go away until
I have repeated it all over again. It is a kind of patriotism that
worries even those who honour it.
The Englishman, on the contrary, tranquilly enjoys the real or
imaginary advantages which his country affords. He cares nothing for
the blame nor for the praise of strangers. His attitude towards the
whole world is one of disdainful and ignorant reserve. His pride seeks
no nourishment; it lives on itself. It is very remarkable that the two
people who have arisen from the same stock should differ so radically
in their way of feeling and speaking.
In aristocratic countries, great families possess enormous privileges,
on which their pride rests. They consider these privileges as a natural
right inherent in their person, and their feeling of superiority
is therefore a peaceful one. They have no reason to boast of the
prerogatives which everyone concedes to them without question. So, when
public affairs are directed by an aristocracy, the national pride tends
to take this reserved, haughty, and independent form.
Under democratic conditions, on the contrary, the least advantage
which anyone gains has great importance in his eyes; for everyone is
surrounded by millions very nearly his equal. His pride therefore
becomes anxious and insatiable; he founds it on miserable trifles and
defends it obstinately. Again, most Americans have recently acquired
the advantages which they possess, and therefore have inordinate
pleasure in contemplating these advantages, and in showing them to
others; and as these advantages may escape at any moment, they are
always uneasy about them, and look at them again and again to see that
they still have them. Men who live in democracies love their country
as they love themselves, and model their national vanity upon their
private vanity. The close dependence of this anxious and insatiable
vanity of democratic peoples upon the equality and fragility of their
conditions is seen from the fact that the members of the proudest
nobility show exactly the same passionate jealousy for the most
trifling circumstances of their life when these become unstable or are
contested.
IZAAK WALTON
The Compleat Angler
Izaak Walton, English author and angler, was born at Stafford
on August 9, 1593, and until about his fiftieth year lived as a
linen-draper in London. He then retired from business and lived
at Stafford for a few years; but returned to London in 1650, and
spent his closing years at Winchester, where he died on December
15, 1683, and was buried in the cathedral there. Walton was
thrice married, his second wife being sister of the future Bishop
Ken. He had a large acquaintance with eminent clergymen, and
among his literary friends were Ben Jonson and Michael Drayton.
He was author of several charming biographies, including those
of the poet Donne, 1640, of Sir Henry Wotton, 1651, of Richard
Hooker, 1652, and of George Herbert, 1670. But by far his most
famous work is "The Compleat Angler; or, the Contemplative Man's
Recreation," published in 1653. There were earlier books on the
subject in English, such as Dame Juliana Berner's "Treatise
pertaining to Hawking, Hunting, and Fishing with an Angle," 1486;
the "Book of Fishing with Hook and Line," 1590; a poem, "The
Secrets of Angling," by John Denny, 1613; and several others.
The new thing in Walton's book, and the secret of its unfading
popularity, is the charm of temperament. Charles Lamb well said
that it "breathes the very spirit of innocence, purity, and
simplicity of heart." A sequel to the book, entitled the "Second
Part of the Compleat Angler," was written by Charles Cotton, and
published in 1676.
_The Virtues of Angling_
PISCATOR, VENATOR, AND AUCEPS
_Piscator._ You are well overtaken, gentlemen! A good morning to you
both! I have stretched my legs up Tottenham Hill to overtake you,
hoping your business may occasion you towards Ware, whither I am going
this fine fresh May morning.
_Venator._ Sir, I, for my part, shall almost answer your hopes, for my
purpose is to drink my morning's draught at the Thatched House. And,
sir, as we are all so happy to have a fine morning, I hope we shall
each be the happier in each other's company.
_Auceps._ Sir, I shall, by your favour, bear you company as far as
Theobald's, for then I turn up to a friend's house, who mews a hawk for
me. And as the Italians say, good company in a journey maketh the way
to seem the shorter, I, for my part, promise you that I shall be as
free and open-hearted as discretion will allow with strangers.
_Piscator._ I am right glad to hear your answers. I shall put on a
boldness to ask you, sir, whether business or pleasure caused you to be
up so early, for this other gentleman hath declared he is going to see
a hawk that a friend mews for him.
_Venator._ Sir, I intend to go hunting the otter.
_Piscator._ Those villainous vermin, for I hate them perfectly, because
they love fish so well, or rather destroy so much. For I, sir, am a
brother of the angle.
_Auceps._ And I profess myself a falconer, and have heard many
grave, serious men scoff at anglers and pity them, as it is a heavy,
contemptible, dull recreation.
_Piscator._ You know, gentlemen, it is an easy thing to scoff at any
art or recreation; a little wit mixed with all nature, confidence, and
malice will do it; but though they often venture boldly, yet they are
often caught, even in their own trap.
There be many men that are by others taken to be serious, and grave
men, which we contemn and pity: men that are taken to be grave because
nature hath made them of a sour complexion--money-getting men, men that
are condemned to be rich; for these poor, rich men, we anglers pity
them most perfectly. No, sir! We enjoy a contentedness above the reach
of such dispositions.
_Venator._ Sir, you have almost amazed me; for though I am no scoffer,
yet I have--I pray let me speak it without offence--always looked upon
anglers as more patient and simple men than, I fear, I shall find you
to be.
_Piscator._ Sir, I hope you will not judge my earnestness to be
impatience! As for my simplicity, if by that you mean a harmlessness
which was usually found in the primitive Christians, who were, as most
anglers are, followers of peace--then myself and men of my profession
will be glad to be so understood. But if, by simplicity, you mean to
express a general defect, I hope in time to disabuse you.
But, gentlemen, I am not so unmannerly as to engross all the discourse
to myself; I shall be most glad to hear what you can say in the
commendation of your several recreations.
_Auceps._ The element I use to trade in, the air, is an element of more
worth than weight; an element that doubtless exceeds both the earth and
water; in it my noble falcon ascends to such a height as the dull eye
of man is not able to reach to; my troop of hawks soars up on high, so
that they converse with the gods.
And more, the worth of this element of air is such that all creatures
whatsoever stand in need of it. The waters cannot preserve their fish
without air; witness the not breaking of ice and the result thereof.
_Venator._ Well, sir, I will now take my turn. The earth, that solid,
settled element, is the one on which I drive my pleasant, wholesome,
hungry trade. What pleasure doth man take in hunting the stately stag,
the cunning otter! The earth breeds and nourishes the mighty elephant,
and also the least of creatures! It puts limits to the proud and raging
seas, and so preserves both man and beast; daily we see those that are
shipwrecked and left to feed haddocks; but, Mr. Piscator, I will not be
so uncivil as not to allow you time for the commendation of angling; I
doubt we shall hear a watery discourse--and I hope not a long one.
_Piscator._ Gentlemen, my discourse is likely to prove suitable to my
recreation--calm and quiet.
Water is the eldest daughter of the creation, the element upon which
the spirit of God did first move. There be those that profess to
believe that all bodies are water, and may be reduced back into water
only.
The water is more productive than the earth. The increase of creatures
that are bred in the water is not only more miraculous, but more
advantageous to man for the preventing of sickness. It is observed that
the casting of Lent and other fish days hath doubtless been the cause
of these many putrid, shaking agues, to which this country of ours is
now more subject.
To pass by the miraculous cures of our known baths the Romans have made
fish the mistress of all their entertainments; and have had music to
usher in their sturgeons, lampreys, and mullets.
_Auceps._ Sir, it is with such sadness that I must part with you here,
for I see Theobald's house. And so I part full of good thoughts. God
keep you both.
_Venator._ Sir, you said angling was of great antiquity, and a perfect
art, not easily attained to. I am desirous to hear further concerning
those particulars.
_Piscator._ Is it not an art to deceive a trout with an artificial fly?
A trout! more sharp-sighted than any hawk! Doubt not, angling is an art
worth your learning. The question is rather, whether you be capable
of learning it? Angling is like poetry--men are to be born so. Some
say it is as ancient as Deucalion's flood, and Moses makes mention of
fish-hooks, which must imply anglers.
But as I would rather prove myself a gentleman by being learned, and
humble, valiant, and inoffensive, virtuous, and communicable, than by
any fond ostentation of riches, or, wanting those virtues, boast these
were in my ancestors, so if this antiquity of angling shall be an
honour to this art, I shall be glad I made mention of it.
I shall tell you that in ancient times a debate hath arisen, whether
the happiness of man doth consist more in contemplation or action?
Some have endeavoured to maintain their opinion of the first by saying
that the nearer we mortals approach to God by way of imitation,
the more happy we are. And they say God enjoys Himself only by a
contemplation of His own infiniteness, eternity, power, goodness and
the like.
On the contrary, there want not men of equal authority that prefer
action to be the more excellent, such as experiments in physics for the
ease and prolongation of man's life. Concerning which two opinions I
shall forbear to add a third, and tell you, my worthy friend, that both
these meet together and do most properly belong to the most honest,
quiet, and harmless art of angling.
An ingenious Spaniard says that "rivers and the inhabitants thereof
were made for wise men to contemplate, and fools to pass by without
consideration."
There be many wonders reported of rivers, as of a river in Epirus, that
puts out any lighted torch, and kindles any torch that was not lighted;
the river Selarus, that in a few hours turns a rod to stone, and
mention is made of the like in England, and many others on historical
faith.
But to tell you something of the monsters, or fish, call them what you
will, Pliny says the fish called the Balæna is so long and so broad as
to take up more length and breadth than two acres of ground; and in the
river Ganges there be eels thirty feet long.
I know we islanders are averse to the belief of these wonders, but
there are many strange creatures to be now seen. Did not the Prophet
David say, "They that occupy themselves in deep water see the wonderful
works of God"; and the apostles of our Saviour, were not they four
simple fishermen; He found that the hearts of such men, by nature,
were fitted for contemplation and quietness--men of sweet and peaceable
spirits, as indeed most anglers are.
_Venator._ Sir, you have angled me on with much pleasure to the
Thatched House, for I thought we had three miles of it. Let us drink a
civil cup to all lovers of angling, of which number I am now willing
to count myself, and if you will but meet me to-morrow at the time and
place appointed, we two will do nothing but talk of fish and fishing.
_Piscator._ 'Tis a match, sir; I will not fail you, God willing, to be
at Amwell Hill to-morrow before sun-rising.
_Master and Pupil_
_Piscator._ Sir, I am right glad to meet you. Come, honest Venator, let
us be gone; I long to be doing.
_Venator._ Well, let's to your sport of angling.
_Piscator._ With all my heart. But we are not yet come to a likely
place. Let us walk on. But let us first to an honest alehouse, where my
hostess can give us a cup of her best drink.
Seneca says that the ancients were so curious in the newness of their
fish, that they usually did keep them living in glass-bottles in their
dining-rooms, and did glory much in the entertaining of their friends,
to have the fish taken from under their tables alive that was instantly
to be fed upon. Our hostess shall dress us a trout, that we shall
presently catch, and we, with brother Peter and Goridon, will sup on
him here this same evening.
_Venator._ And now to our sport.
_Piscator._ This is not a likely place for a trout; the sun is too
high. But there lie upon the top of the water twenty Chub. Sir, here is
a trial of my skill! I'll catch only one, and he shall be the big one,
that has some bruise upon his tail.
_Venator._ I'll sit down and hope well; because you seem so confident.
_Piscator._ Look you, sir! The very one! Oh, 'tis a great logger-headed
Chub! I'll warrant he will make a good dish of meat.
Under that broad beech tree yonder, I sat down when I was last
a-fishing; and the birds in the adjoining grove seemed to have a
friendly contention with the echo that lives in a hollow near the brow
of that primrose-hill. There I sat viewing the silver stream slide
away, and the lambs sporting harmlessly. And as I sat, these sights so
possessed my soul, that I thought as the poet hath it:
"I was for that time lifted above earth;
And possess'd joys not promised at my birth."
But, let us further on; and we will try for a Trout. 'Tis now past five
of the clock.
_Venator._ I have a bite! Oh me! He has broke all; and a good hook
lost! But I have no fortune! Sure yours is a better rod and tackling.
_Piscator._ Nay, then, take mine, and I will fish with yours. Look you,
scholar, I have another. I pray, put that net under him, but touch not
my line. Well done, scholar, I thank you.