compulsion of force, but a love of right as right. In this alone do we find the guarantee of a freedom, that shall be consistent at once with safety and indefinite progress. In this alone will be found the effectual check to that ultra-democracy-that supremacy of the mob-which many view as the dread goal to which political change is inevitably carrying modern society.

A healthy state of moral feeling is the guarantee of due homage to every legitimate authority. We will not refuse to "Cæsar the things that are Cæsar's," if we "render unto God the things that are God's." With the sun in the centre, the whole system moves in harmony; not only the primary planets, but the smallest satellites and asteroids are kept in their proper orbits; even the comets, in their most erratic courses, own and obey the compelling power.

XVI.-HERO-WORSHIP.

FREDERICK, styled "the great of Prussia," had hitherto coquetted with philosophy, and spun webs of philanthropic gossamer. Suddenly he resolves on the invasion and seizure of Silesia, because Maria Theresa-a young woman of 24, recently married, and expecting soon to be a mother ―had, by the death of her father, just become the occupant of the Archducal throne. Thomas Carlyle, who long since set himself to impress it on this generation that hero-worship is the only type of worship now remaining possible to us, is, as all men know, at present engaged in writing the life of Frederick. In his third volnme, he thus summons us to the undraping of the statue, representing the young philosophic King at this crucial point of his history :

"It is almost touching to reflect how unexpectedly, like a bolt out of the blue, all this (the news of the Emperor's death) had come upon Friedrich; and how it overset his fine programme for the winter at Reinsberg, and for his life generally. Not the peaceable magnanimities, but the warlike, are the thing appointed Friedrich this winter, and mainly henceforth. Those "golden or soft radiances" which we saw in him, admirable to Voltaire and to Friedrich, and to an esurient philanthrophic world-it is not those, it is "the steel-bright or stellar kind" that are to become predominant in Friedrich's existence; grim hailstorms, thunders and tornado for an existence to him, instead of the opulent genialities and halcyon weather, anticipated by himself and others! Indisputably enough, to us if not yet to Friedrich, "Reinsberg and Life to the Muses" are done. On a sudden, from the opposite side of the horizon, see, miraculous Opportunity, rushing hitherward-swift, terrible, clothed with lightning like a courser of the gods; dare you clutch him by the thunder mane, and fling yourself upon him, and make for the Empyrean by that course rather? Be immediate about it, then; the time is now, or else never!-No fair

judge can blame the young man that he laid hold of the flaming Opportunity in this manner, and obeyed the new omen. To seize such an Opportunity, and perilously mount upon it, was the part of a young magnanimous King, less sensible to the perils, and more to the other considerations, than one older would have been."

Such is the new creed in its full moral outcome and development, and we confess that our sorrow is greater than our wonder to find it such. One might become cheaply eloquent on its equal mischievousness and meanness, and it were a facile process to show that this doctrine of Opportunity might be made to excuse, if not glorify, any atrocity, whether of cupidity, lust, or crime.

It may be of more practical importance, however, to trace the full-grown tree to its early germ. It is of no sudden growth. It is a plant which has long been cherished and tended by Thomas Carlyle, and which has its roots deep down in his ethical system. Carlyle is known as the apostle of the worship of force-force of character claims his homage, however directed. This is really the religion which our great countryman has been now for thirty years promulging, and of which the foundation principle was enunciated in his famous parallel between Goethe and Shakspeare, viz., that moral and intellectual greatness or endowment, are "fundamentally one and the same." It is exceedingly instructive to mark the service rendered by this principle in the justification of Frederick. In order to compass his object, he has found it necessary, not only to rush into war with the young Archduchess, but to enlist the treacherous complicity of the Austrian General, together with the guilty collusion of other influential parties, including among them a representative of this country. Of the political morality of this dark transaction, Mr Carlyle has only this to say :

"That the dice on both sides seem to be loaded; that logic might be chopped upon it for ever; that a candid mind will settle what degree of wisdom (which is always essentially veracity), and what of folly (which is always falsity), there was in Friedrich and the others; whether, or to what degree, there was a better course open to Friedrich in the circumstances; and, in fine, it will have to be granted that you cannot work in pitch and keep hands evidently clean."

In the essay already referred to, Mr Carlyle notes as one " similarity be tween Goethe and Shakspeare (for the great is ever like itself) the majestic calmness of both;" their perfect tolerance of all men and all things; adding -"This too proceeds from perfect clearness of vision; he who comprehends an object cannot hate it, has already begun to love it." The assumption that intellectual and moral discernment and endowment are one and the same has thus its practical embodiment in the maxim that "whatever is, is right." Cleverness is virtue; power and worth are identical; and the one criterion of political morality is success.

This doctrine of the relation of insight and love is-notwithstanding the high authority from which it proceeds-only a one-sided doctrine. It drops out of view an essential element of the question. He that com

prehends an object cannot hate it ?-provided it be not hateful.

But if

it be hateful, the clearness of the comprehension will only make the hatred more intense. Carlyle's doctrine abrogates moral distinctions, for it is the mere intellectualist who is tolerant alike of all persons and all things." A keen moral discernment is not more in love with good than it is intolerant of evil (as witness in the highest Example). The love cannot rise, but the hatred must deepen. They are co-relatives. There is no capacity of love without a corresponding capacity of hatred; nor can we ever love anything but we shall be prepared and ready-with corresponding intensity-to hate its opposite, if that opposite is presented to

us.

Intellectual power is, as Carlyle says truly, the power of seeing, but moral endowment is something more than this. It is something more than the capacity of admiring, or even of loving. It involves the capacity of disapproval-the faculty of abstinence-the power of rejection. The one has relation to truth, the other to action. And, so far are the two from being identical, that the possession of the one nowise ensures the exercise or even the possession of the other. There may be great power of apprehending truth of certain kinds, without any very clear perception of right, and with still less of disposition to pursue it. These have long been familiar truths-accepted by general consent as ethical common-places. It has become needful to re-assert and insist on them, only because a powerful writer-who carries many along with him in blind unquestioning faith-grounds his boasted new Evangel on their practical rejection.

Perhaps the eyes of some, who have been fascinated by this "worship of force," may be opened to its true nature when they see it thus brought out to its naked and appropriate issue. When MIGHT is glorified and RIGHT goes to the wall, we have hero-worship in its full development. The system which begins with the assumption that mental power is virtue, culminates, quite legitimately, in the conclusion that it is only needful to discern and seize your opportunity in order to raise yourself to the level of the gods!

That Thomas Carlyle should have taken a course conducting to such an issue is, to us, matter of profound sorrow. Yet since so it is, and the error is not one of accident or of haste, it is doubtless well that the high priest of this new Evangel should himself have enthroned the idol and conducted the rites. It will (let us hope) open the eyes of many to the

beauty of the old faith of self-renunciation and humility :

"Howe'er it be, it seems to me,

'Tis only noble to be good;

Kind hearts are more than coronets,

And simple faith than Norman blood."

XVII. THE CONDITION-OF-WOMAN QUESTION.

THERE is one question which-in view of the many unwonted and unwelcome features of our social life-the thoughtful amongst us feel often prompted to ask. Amid all our advances, Science, Civilization, and power over Nature, is it becoming easier to lead an unselfish, loving, noble life? This is no mere passing or exceptional question, though it may just now press with unusual emphasis, by reason of the deep and extended suffering which has overtaken large sections of our people. It is a question inevitably raised by what has become the chronic condition of great numbers -and of the female sex in particular.

We do not ask whether our unprecedented conquests over Nature, and command of her powers, have wrought greater happiness to a greater number. That is a subordinate and dependent question. Our material power will not long bring greater happiness, if it fail to bring greater nobleness. And, therefore, the most important of all questions that can be proposed in relation to it is -Has it made the nobler life more easy? We do not say, (be it observed), that a noble life can ever be set free from difficulty, for difficulty is implied in there being nobleness. But difficulties may be greater or less; and our conquest over Nature is constantly shifting their incidence, and changing their character. How do these affect Life, in the highest sense, and in the most important relations? Is a pure, unselfish life easier to be chosen, pursued, and carried to a noble issue now, than it was in other, and what we are inclined to consider, less fortunate days? In view of many of the outstanding features of our social state-we dare not say that it is. That many do not find it easier all will acknowledge. But, a large portion of those are vicious or imprudent-sufferers by their own fault-and we dismiss the rest under the convenient generalisation, that they are, (simply, in some way or other) unfortunate. We might ask now, as we have asked before-do the fortunate find it easier? Are not facilities also temptations? And are there not among the most wretched of the miserable, many "victims of facility?" As the means of gratification are multiplied, and the facilities for realising it increased, the pursuit becomes the keener. As, apparently, gratification-various, rich, piquantcan be reached by a short cut, the numbers increase, who, (at all conceivable and inconceivable, tangents), dart off in pursuit; careless alike of who may be knocked over and trodden down in their course, or who left to pine and starve behind! Is this an imaginary picture? Is it not rather but a faint etching of a wide-spread reality.

The number who actually desert those directly dependent on them by the closest natural ties is not small; the number of the strong who consume on selfish gratification what should go to feed and clothe wife and children is much greater. These, however, are still branded by common

consent as criminal or disreputable. But what shall we say to our thousands of strong-arined, clever, hardy young men who, year by year, push away to the ends of the earth, leaving thousands of young women who ought to be their mates behind? The Abbé Domenech, in his "Seven Years Residence in the Great Deserts of North America," tells us that, when the aged Grandfather is about to be left behind, his relations and friends assemble to bid him adieu. They then place a vase full of water near him with some meat, and some wood to feed the fire by which he is laid. "My children," he says to them "I am too feeble and too old to walk; our nation is poor, and you must travel to the land where you will find food. My days are numbered, and I am a burthen to my children. I cannot follow you, and I desire to die. Be of good courage, and do not think of me for I am no longer good for anything, and I shall soon depart to the land of shadows, to join my father and wait for my children." Our women--lone and left behind—are in the position of the old Indian, with many points of contrast in their surroundings, yet with how many of correspondence in their fate? What can we do for them ?-what shall we do with them?-are the questions passed from lip to lip, and re-echoed on every hand, as shown in the last census returns, they exceed by half-amillion, the number of males in these islands. The cry of their need and their misery rings in all ears. The Press groans under the mass of schemes, appeals, and discussions which their case evokes. There is a call on the public to assist them to emigrate, but a high authority (S. G. O.) interposes the warning that many of them will be good for nothing in the Colonies. There is among our aspiring young men an increasing disinclination to marry, and our young women claim to be allowed to work alongside of those who refuse to work for them. But here too man presents to them the cold shoulder, and elbows them away.

It is hard! yet no one knows how to effect other than the faintest abatement of the evil. We can only rescue or help the units, while the thousands are left to struggle pine away and die, or become victims of the lust of those who should have welcomed them to home, and love, and all womanly duty. Such a state of things cannot have come on us without cause-cannot exist without responsibility, cannot, with our productive means and appliances, go on and become aggravated-without deep blame attaching somewhere. A first and large share of the blame is chargeable to our expensive style of living, lies at the door of all who lead or follow in the race of fashionable extravagance.

It is one question, whether you can afford it-though many do not much trouble themselves about any very accurate practical adjustment of the answer to that. But there is another question-though one that is, we fear, very seldom put-Can others afford that you should afford it? All extravagance is withdrawing from some one the means of betterment, either for body or for soul. But its mischief as a privative of good is not so great, perhaps, as that which accrues from it as a stimulant