and I think that it will seem so to you also, that you must go even
further if you would be equal to the importance of the situation. If
there are any among the Dissenters whose consciences are so far
satisfied with the provisions of the recent Act that they could now
return to your communion, to such, it must not be forgotten, you stand
in a position of great delicacy. The conduct of these men you have so
far justified; you have tacitly admitted that there was some ground for
dissatisfaction with the former condition of the Church; and though you
may still judge those to have been over-scrupulous who were moved by
this imperfection to secede, instead of waiting patiently with you until
it could be remedied by peaceful means, you must not forget that it is
the strong stomach, according to St. Paul, that is to consider the weak,
and should come forward to meet these brethren with something better
than compliments upon your lips. Observe, I speak only of those who
would now see their way back to your communion with a clear conscience;
it is their conduct, and their conduct alone, that you have justified,
and therefore it is only for them that your special generosity is here
solicited. But towards them, if there are any such, your countrymen
would desire to see you behave with all consideration. I do not pretend
to lay before you any definite scheme of action; I wish only to let you
understand what thoughts are busy in the heads of some outside your
councils, so that you may take this also into consideration when you
come to decide. And this, roughly, is how it appears to these: These
good men have exposed themselves to the chance of hardship for the sake
of their scruples, whilst you being of a stronger stomach, continued to
enjoy the security of national endowments. Some of you occupy the very
livings which they resigned for conscience' sake. To others preferment
has fallen which would have fallen to them had they been still eligible.
If, then, any of them are now content to return, you are bound, if not
in justice, then in honour, to do all that you can to testify your
respect for brave conviction, and to repair to them such losses as they
may have suffered, whether for their first secession or their second.
You owe a special duty, not only to the courage that left the Church,
but to the wisdom and moderation that now returns to it. And your sense
of this duty will find a vent not only in word but in action. You will
facilitate their return not only by considerate and brotherly language
but by pecuniary aid; you will seek, by some new endowment scheme, to
preserve for them their ecclesiastical status. That they have no claim
will be their strongest claim on your consideration. Many of you, if not
all, will set apart some share out of your slender livings for their
assistance and support: you will give them what you can afford; and you
will say to them, as you do so, what I dare say to you, that what you
give is theirs--not only in honour but in justice.
For you know that the justice which should rule the dealings of
Christians, how much more of Christian ministers, is not as the justice
of courts of law or equity; and those who profess the morality of Jesus
Christ have abjured, in that profession, all that can be urged by policy
or worldly prudence. From them we can accept no half-hearted and
calculating generosity; they must make haste to be liberal; they must
catch with eagerness at all opportunities of service, and the mere
whisper of an obligation should be to them more potent than the decree
of a court to others who make profession of a less stringent code. And
remember that it lies with you to show to the world that Christianity is
something more than a verbal system. In the lapse of generations men
grow weary of unsupported precept. They may wait long, and keep long in
memory the bright doings of former days, but they will weary at the
last; they will begin to trouble you for your credentials; if you cannot
give them miracles, they will demand virtue; if you cannot heal the
sick, they will call upon you for some practice of the Christian ethics.
Thus people will knock often at a door if only it be opened to them now
and again; but if the door remains closed too long, they will judge the
house uninhabited and go elsewhere. And thus it is that a season of
persecution, constantly endured, revives the fainting confidence of the
people, and some centuries of prosperity may prepare a Church for ruin.
You have here at your hand an opportunity to do more for the credit of
your Christianity than ever you could do by visions, miracles, or
prophecies. A sacrifice such as this would be better worth, as I said
before, than many sermons; and there is a disposition in mankind that
would ennoble it beyond much that is more ostentatious; for men, whether
lay or clerical, suffer better the flame of the stake than a daily
inconvenience or a pointed sneer, and will not readily be martyred
without some external circumstance and a concourse looking on. And you
need not fear that your virtue will be thrown away; the people of
Scotland will be quick to understand, in default of visible fire and
halter, that you have done a brave action for Christianity and the
national weal; and if they are spared in the future any of the present
ignoble jealousy of sect against sect, they will not forget that to that
end you gave of your household comfort and stinted your children. Even
if you fail--ay, and even if there were not found one to profit by your
invitation--your virtue would still have its own reward. Your
predecessors gave their lives for ends not always the most Christian;
they were tempted, and slain with the sword; they wandered in deserts
and in mountains, in caves and in dens of the earth. But your action
will not be less illustrious; what you may have to suffer may be a small
thing if the world will, but it will have been suffered for the cause of
peace and brotherly love.
I have said that the people of Scotland will be quick to appreciate what
you do. You know well that they will be quick also to follow your
example. But the sign should come from you. It is more seemly that you
should lead than follow in this matter. Your predecessors gave the word
from their free pulpits which was to brace men for sectarian strife: it
would be a pleasant sequel if the word came from you that was to bid
them bury all jealousy, and forget the ugly and contentious past in a
good hope of peace to come.
What is said in these few pages may be objected to as vague; it is no
more vague than the position seemed to me to demand. Each man must judge
for himself what it behoves him to do at this juncture, and the whole
Church for herself. All that is intended in this appeal is to begin, in
a tone of dignity and disinterestedness, the consideration of the
question; for when such matters are much pulled about in public prints,
and have been often discussed from many different, and not always from
very high, points of view, there is ever a tendency that the decision of
the parties may contract some taint of meanness from the spirit of their
critics. All that is desired is to press upon you, as ministers of the
Church of Scotland, some sense of the high expectation with which your
country looks to you at this time; and how many reasons there are that
you should show an example of signal disinterestedness and zeal in the
encouragement that you give to returning brethren. For, first, it lies
with you to clear the Church from the discredit of our miserable
contentions; and surely you can never have a fairer opportunity to
improve her claim to the style of a peacemaker. Again, it lies with
you, as I have said, to take the first step, and prove your own true
ardour for an honourable union; and how else are you to prove it? It
lies with you, moreover, to justify in the eyes of the world the time
you have been enjoying your benefices, while these others have
voluntarily shut themselves out from all participation in their
convenience; and how else are you to convince the world that there was
not something of selfishness in your motives? It lies with you, lastly,
to keep your example unspotted before your congregations; and I do not
know how better you are to do that.
It is never a thankful office to offer advice; and advice is the more
unpalatable, not only from the difficulty of the service recommended,
but often from its very obviousness. We are fired with anger against
those who make themselves the spokesmen of plain obligations; for they
seem to insult us as they advise. In the present case I should have
feared to waken some such feeling, had it not been that I was addressing
myself to a body of special men on a very special occasion. I know too
much of the history of ideas to imagine that the sentiments advocated in
this appeal are peculiar to me and a few others. I am confident that
your own minds are already busy with similar reflections. But I know at
the same time how difficult it is for one man to speak to another in
such a matter; how he is withheld by all manner of personal
considerations, and dare not propose what he has nearest his heart,
because the other has a larger family or a smaller stipend, or is older,
more venerable, and more conscientious than himself; and it is in view
of this that I have determined to profit by the freedom of an anonymous
writer, and give utterance to what many of you would have uttered
already, had they been (as I am) apart from the battle. It is easy to be
virtuous when one's own convenience is not affected; and it is no shame
to any man to follow the advice of an outsider who owns that, while he
sees which is the better part, he might not have the courage to profit
himself by this opinion.
[_Note for the Laity_]
The foregoing pages have been in type since the beginning of last
September. I have been advised to give them to the public; and it is
only necessary to add that nothing of all that has taken place since
they were written has made me modify an opinion or so much as change a
word. The question is not one that can be altered by circumstances.
I need not tell the laity that with them this matter ultimately rests.
Whether we regard it as a question of mere expense or as a question of
good feeling against ill feeling, the solution must come from the Church
members. The lay purse is the long one; and if the lay opinion does not
speak from so high a place, it speaks all the week through and with
innumerable voices. Trumpets and captains are all very well in their
way; but if the trumpets were ever so clear, and the captains as bold as
lions, it is still the army that must take the fort.
The laymen of the Church have here a question before them, on the
answering of which, as I still think, many others attend. If the
Established Church could throw off its lethargy, and give the Dissenters
some speaking token of its zeal for union, I still think that union, to
some extent, would be the result. There is a motion tabled (as I suppose
all know) for the next meeting of the General Assembly; but something
more than motions must be tabled, and something more must be given than
votes. It lies practically with the laymen, by a new endowment scheme,
to put the Church right with the world in two ways, so that those who
left it more than thirty years ago, and who may now be willing to
return, shall lose neither in money nor in ecclesiastical status. At the
outside, what will they have to do? They will have to do for (say) ten
years what the laymen of the Free Church have done cheerfully ever since
1843.
_February 12th_ 1875.
THE CHARITY BAZAAR
THE LIGHT-KEEPER
ON A NEW FORM OF INTERMITTENT LIGHT FOR LIGHTHOUSES
ON THE THERMAL INFLUENCE OF FORESTS
THE CHARITY BAZAAR
AN ALLEGORICAL DIALOGUE
* * * * *
_PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE_
THE INGENUOUS PUBLIC
HIS WIFE
THE TOUT
* * * * *
_The Tout, in an allegorical costume, holding a silver trumpet in his
right hand, is discovered on the steps in front of the Bazaar. He
sounds a preliminary flourish._
_The Tout_.--Ladies and Gentlemen, I have the honour to announce a sale
of many interesting, beautiful, rare, quaint, comical, and necessary
articles. Here you will find objects of taste, such as Babies' Shoes,
Children's Petticoats, and Shetland Wool Cravats; objects of general
usefulness, such as Tea-cosies, Bangles, Brahmin Beads, and Madras
Baskets; and objects of imperious necessity, such as Pen-wipers, Indian
Figures carefully repaired with glue, and Sealed Envelopes, containing a
surprise. And all this is not to be sold by your common Shopkeepers,
intent on small and legitimate profits, but by Ladies and Gentlemen, who
would as soon think of picking your pocket of a cotton handkerchief as
of selling a single one of these many interesting, beautiful, rare,
quaint, comical, and necessary articles at less than twice its market
value. (_He sounds another flourish_.)
_The Wife._--This seems a very fair-spoken young man.
_The Ingenuous Public_ (_addressing the Tout_).--Sir, I am a man of
simple and untutored mind; but I apprehend that this sale, of which you
give us so glowing a description, is neither more nor less than a
Charity Bazaar?
_The Tout._--Sir, your penetration has not deceived you.
_The Ingenuous Public._--Into which you seek to entice unwary
passengers?
_The Tout._--Such is my office.
_The Ingenuous Public._--But is not a Charity Bazaar, Sir, a place
where, for ulterior purposes, amateur goods are sold at a price above
their market value?
_The Tout._--I perceive you are no novice. Let us sit down, all three,
upon the doorsteps, and reason this matter at length. The position is a
little conspicuous, but airy and convenient.
(_The Tout seats himself on the second step, the Ingenuous Public and
his Wife to right and left of him, one step below._)
_The Tout._--Shopping is one of the dearest pleasures of the human
heart.
_The Wife._--Indeed, Sir, and that it is.
_The Tout._--The choice of articles, apart from their usefulness, is an
appetising occupation, and to exchange bald, uniform shillings for a
fine big, figurative knick-knack, such as a windmill, a gross of green
spectacles, or a cocked hat, gives us a direct and emphatic sense of
gain. We have had many shillings before, as good as these; but this is
the first time we have possessed a windmill. Upon these principles of
human nature, Sir, is based the theory of the Charity Bazaar. People
were doubtless charitably disposed. The problem was to make the exercise
of charity entertaining in itself--you follow me, Madam?--and in the
Charity Bazaar a satisfactory solution was attained. The act of giving
away money for charitable purposes is, by this admirable invention,
transformed into an amusement, and puts on the externals of profitable
commerce. You play at shopping a while; and in order to keep up the
illusion, sham goods do actually change hands. Thus, under the
similitude of a game, I have seen children confronted with the horrors
of arithmetic, and even taught to gargle.
_The Ingenuous Public._--You expound this subject very magisterially,
Sir. But tell me, would it not be possible to carry this element of play
still further? and after I had remained a proper time in the Bazaar, and
negotiated a sufficient number of sham bargains, would it not be
possible to return me my money in the hall?
_The Tout._--I question whether that would not impair the humour of the
situation. And besides, my dear Sir, the pith of the whole device is to
take that money from you.
_The Ingenuous Public._--True. But at least the Bazaar might take back
the tea-cosies and pen-wipers.
_The Tout._--I have no doubt, if you were to ask it handsomely, that you
would be so far accommodated. Still it is out of the theory. The sham
goods, for which, believe me, I readily understand your
disaffection--the sham goods are well adapted for their purpose. Your
lady wife will lay these tea-cosies and pen-wipers aside in a safe
place, until she is asked to contribute to another Charity Bazaar. There
the tea-cosies and pen-wipers will be once more charitably sold. The new
purchasers, in their turn, will accurately imitate the dispositions of
your lady wife. In short, Sir, the whole affair is a cycle of
operations. The tea-cosies and pen-wipers are merely counters; they come
off and on again like a stage army; and year after year people pretend
to buy and pretend to sell them, with a vivacity that seems to indicate
a talent for the stage. But in the course of these illusory
manoeuvres, a great deal of money is given in charity, and that in a
picturesque, bustling, and agreeable manner. If you have to travel
somewhere on business, you would choose the prettiest route, and desire
pleasant companions by the way. And why not show the same spirit in
giving alms?
_The Ingenuous Public._--Sir, I am profoundly indebted to you for all
you have said. I am, Sir, your absolute convert.
_The Wife._--Let us lose no time, but enter the Charity Bazaar.
_The Ingenuous Public._--Yes; let us enter the Charity Bazaar.
_Both_ (_singing_).--Let us enter, let us enter, let us enter, Let us
enter the Charity Bazaar!
(_An interval is supposed to elapse. The Ingenuous Public and his Wife
are discovered issuing from the Charity Bazaar._)
_The Wife._--How fortunate you should have brought your cheque-book!
_The Ingenuous Public._--Well, fortunate in a sense. (_Addressing the
Tout._)--Sir, I shall send a van in the course of the afternoon for the
little articles I have purchased. I shall not say good-bye; because I
shall probably take a lift in the front seat, not from any solicitude,
believe me, about the little articles, but as the last opportunity I may
have for some time of enjoying the costly entertainment of a drive.
THE SCENE CLOSES
THE LIGHT-KEEPER
I
The brilliant kernel of the night,
The flaming lightroom circles me:
I sit within a blaze of light
Held high above the dusky sea.
Far off the surf doth break and roar
Along bleak miles of moonlit shore,
Where through the tides the tumbling wave
Falls in an avalanche of foam
And drives its churned waters home
Up many an undercliff and cave.
The clear bell chimes: the clockworks strain:
The turning lenses flash and pass,
Frame turning within glittering frame
With frosty gleam of moving glass:
Unseen by me, each dusky hour
The sea-waves welter up the tower
Or in the ebb subside again;
And ever and anon all night,
Drawn from afar by charm of light,
A sea-bird beats against the pane.
And lastly when dawn ends the night
And belts the semi-orb of sea,
The tall, pale pharos in the light
Looks white and spectral as may be.
The early ebb is out: the green
Straight belt of sea-weed now is seen,
That round the basement of the tower
Marks out the interspace of tide;
And watching men are heavy-eyed,
And sleepless lips are dry and sour.
The night is over like a dream:
The sea-birds cry and dip themselves;
And in the early sunlight, steam
The newly-bared and dripping shelves,
Around whose verge the glassy wave
With lisping wash is heard to lave;
While, on the white tower lifted high,
With yellow light in faded glass
The circling lenses flash and pass,
And sickly shine against the sky.
1869.
II
As the steady lenses circle
With a frosty gleam of glass;
And the clear bell chimes,
And the oil brims over the lip of the burner,
Quiet and still at his desk,
The lonely light-keeper
Holds his vigil.
Lured from afar,
The bewildered sea-gull beats
Dully against the lantern;
Yet he stirs not, lifts not his head
From the desk where he reads,
Lifts not his eyes to see
The chill blind circle of night
Watching him through the panes.
This is his country's guardian,
The outmost sentry of peace.
This is the man,
Who gives up all that is lovely in living
For the means to live.
Poetry cunningly gilds
The life of the Light-Keeper,
Held on high in the blackness
In the burning kernel of night.
The seaman sees and blesses him;
The Poet, deep in a sonnet,
Numbers his inky fingers
Fitly to praise him:
Only we behold him,
Sitting, patient and stolid,
Martyr to a salary.
1870.
ON A NEW FORM OF INTERMITTENT LIGHT FOR LIGHTHOUSES[44]
The necessity for marked characteristics in coast illumination increases
with the number of lights. The late Mr. Robert Stevenson, my
grandfather, contributed two distinctions, which he called respectively
the _intermittent_ and the _flashing_ light. It is only to the former of
these that I have to refer in the present paper. The intermittent light
was first introduced at Tarbetness in 1830, and is already in use at
eight stations on the coasts of the United Kingdom. As constructed
originally, it was an arrangement by which a fixed light was alternately
eclipsed and revealed. These recurrent occultations and revelations
produce an effect totally different from that of the revolving light,
which comes gradually into its full strength, and as gradually fades
away. The changes in the intermittent, on the other hand, are immediate;
a certain duration of darkness is followed at once and without the least
gradation by a certain period of light. The arrangement employed by my
grandfather to effect this object consisted of two opaque cylindric
shades or extinguishers, one of which descended from the roof, while the
other ascended from below to meet it, at a fixed interval. The light was
thus entirely intercepted.
At a later period, at the harbour light of Troon, Mr. Wilson, C.E.,
produced an intermittent light by the use of gas, which leaves little to
be desired, and which is still in use at Troon harbour. By a simple
mechanical contrivance, the gas jet was suddenly lowered to the point of
extinction, and, after a set period, as suddenly raised again. The chief
superiority of this form of intermittent light is economy in the
consumption of the gas. In the original design, of course, the oil
continues uselessly to illuminate the interior of the screens during the
period of occultation.
Mr. Wilson's arrangement has been lately resuscitated by Mr. Wigham of
Dublin, in connection with his new gas-burner.
Gas, however, is inapplicable to many situations; and it has occurred to
me that the desired result might be effected with strict economy with
oil lights, in the following manner:--
[Illustration: Fig. 1.]
In Fig. 1, AAA represents in plan an ordinary Fresnel's dioptric fixed
light apparatus, and BB' a hemispherical mirror (either metallic or
dioptric on my father's principle) which is made to revolve with uniform
speed about the burner. This mirror, it is obvious, intercepts the rays
of one hemisphere, and, returning them through the flame (less loss by
absorption, etc.), spreads them equally over the other. In this way 180
deg. of light pass regularly the eye of the seaman; and are followed at
once by 180 deg. of darkness. As the hemispherical mirror begins to open,
the observer receives the full light, since the whole lit hemisphere is
illuminated with strict equality; and as it closes again, he passes into
darkness.
Other characteristics can be produced by different modifications of the
above. In Fig. 2 the original hemispherical mirror is shown broken up
into three different sectors, BB', CC', and DD'; so that with the same
velocity of revolution the periods of light and darkness will be
produced in quicker succession. In this figure (Fig. 2) the three
sectors have been shown as subtending equal angles, but if one of them
were increased in size and the other two diminished (as in Fig. 3), we
should have one long steady illumination and two short flashes at each
revolution. Again, the number of sectors may be increased; and by
varying both their number and their relative size, a number of
additional characteristics are attainable.
[Illustration: Fig. 2.]
Colour may also be introduced as a means of distinction. Coloured glass
may be set in the alternate spaces; but it is necessary to remark that
these coloured sectors will be inferior in power to those which remain
white. This objection is, however, obviated to a large extent
(especially where the dioptric spherical mirror is used) by such an
arrangement as is shown in Fig. 4; where the two sectors, WW, are left
unassisted, while the two with the red screens are reinforced
respectively by the two sectors of mirror, MM.
[Illustration: Fig. 3.]
[Illustration: Fig. 4.]