KR ARTHUR HELPS'S NEW BOOK.*

THE "Friends in Council" possess one decided merit, they are old friends to most of us. We know what to expect of them ; the angularities of speech which characterise most of them no longer annoy us, "it is their way." And who does not know the amount of social disagreeableness that sentence may be made to cover. Not that our friends in this case are disagreeable, except when they talk philanthropy, and then we put up with them, in the vague hope that much "free play of thought" around the subject may at last find its result in decided action. One thing at least may be said, the hand which records these conversa- tions has not lost its cunning. The present series is by far the best which has appeared, though the critic must of necessity seem to stand very much in poor Mr. Mauleverer's shoes, for do what he will, he will probably appear the captious one of the party ; if he venture to take exception to a statement, there will be some one ready to exclaim, "We didn't say that," or if he praise, amid such a multiplicity of talk, it will be odd but some one thinks he has missed the meaning. Still it is our purpose to try and place before the reader a few of the principal thoughts which occupied the attention of these " Friends " in the Easter recess of the present or some former year. We heartily wish Sir Arthur Helps's machinery were a little less cumbersome ; the idea of one man writing a short essay that five or six others may discuss the subject of it is all very well for a debating society, but scarcely the amusement one expects statesmen and great lawyers to select by way of whiling away their time in a country-house. The discussions themselves are such as in such an assembly of friends would be sure to arise ; it is the formality of pre-arrangement which annoys us. Talking on stilts is difficult at all times, and pre-arranged conversation is very apt to become stilted ; but those who have and enjoy a few quiet half-hours in which to lose themselves in the thoughts of other men will pardon a few faults of style, while considering with interest the questions which engaged the attention of these men. Mr. Milverton, as usual, is strong upon all social questions. And one of the first subjects he starts is the dif- ficulties and disadvantages of the immense size of the metro- polis, and in fact the disadvantages of large cities in general. Of course a good many weak points in Mr. Milverton's essay are pointed out in the subsequent discussion, but one seems to us to have been left entirely unnoticed. Mr. Milverton observes, that in a huge city the individual has little power of protecting himself as regards some of the primary wants of life. For instance, he must take the water that is provided for his quarter of the -town, whether he is satisfied with it or not. He cannot protect himself against the adulteration of food. We should like to know in what way the villager has au advantage over the townsman in this respect. Does Mr. Milverton imagine that water in villages is purer or more easily to be obtained than in great cities ? He must have had an unusual experience, if he does. And surely, with respect to food, the man who can choose between a dozen grocers and butchers has a better chance of being well served than the individual who perforce is dependent on the village shop. The "diseased desire for uniformity" as regards building may be objec- tionable, but except as regards overcrowding, which is by no means so confined to cities as some people seem to imagine, is any one really prepared to assert that the home of a sober London artisan is worse than the home of a village labourer? Where drunkenness is the rule, the children of the villager may have the advantage. Again, Mr. "Milverton, who does not, as a rule, take a specially gloomy view of things, considers the most disheartening feature of modern thought and life to be the absence of public-spiritedness, the tendency to promote individual effort with a view to individual comfort. Now, this is, perhaps, the gravest charge that can be brought against any age or people. To say that selfishness rules, is to say decadence has begun ; but though there may be room for gloomy forebodings, we think there is another and a brighter side to the question. There was a time, says Mr. Milverton—not in these words, but this is a condensed summary of what he does say—there was a time when men built cathedrals better than

Social Pressure. By the Author of "Friends In Council." London: Daldy, lebiater, and Co.

private houses ; a time when, if they had had our sanitary know- ledge, they would have found time, money, and labour to provide the requisites of life for persons living in close community. Was there ? Then, of course, in such an age men cared about the evils they were so powerless to remedy. They built cathedrals better than their homes. '['rue. Were they troubled that their serfs were worse housed than dogs ? Were they broken-hearted that they could not stay the pestilence, or were their dreams disturbed when the poor drank water from the foulest ditches ? It may be far back as the death of Lamech's son that,—

" Glad Content by clutching Haste was torn,

And work grew eager and device was born,"

but the development of sympathy has been reserved for the nine- teenth century, and sympathy and selfishness don't govern together. Probably there was never a period, either, in the world's history when men were so alive to a sense of responsibility, which sense implies public-spiritedness in a greater or leas degree as the circle which surrounds it contracts or expands.

But Mr. Milverton was quite aware that the subjects which engaged his attention, such as the foregoing, and the necessity that legislation and administration should go hand in hand, were too weighty to be allowed to be the sole topics of what, after all, was holiday talk. He therefore proposes various essays on lighter subjects, which idea is very cheerfully adopted, and the remainder or nearly all the remainder of the book is devoted to lighter matters, concerning which the wit and wisdom of Sir John Ellesmere are more conspicuous than ever. In fact, in Sir John's society we are disposed to forget the moodiness of Mr. Mauleverer and the captiousness of Cran- mer. Good as Sir John's little essay on. " Hospitality " is, we like him beat when he is talking. The essays are all slightly, some not slightly, sententious, and his forms no exception to the

rule, but in the conversations which succeed he is delightful. Brief as his words had been on the subject of hospitality, he con- trives to be still briefer when vulgarity is the theme, and disdain- ing all attempt at writing an essay on such a point, undertakes, while the Friends are walking, to sum up the whole question in one sentence, "All vulgarity simply results from a want of self- confidence." Of course, an animated discussion ensued, but ten minutes' quiet thought will convince most people that Ellesmere

was right. Even Cranmer's thoughtful objection is over-ruled. He suggests that there is a vulgarity not included in this state- ment, namely, a vulgarity of mind which takes the vulgar view of everything presented to it. Ellesmere's reply is characteristic :— " I believe that even Cranmer's objection, which is the hardest I have had to answer, will, when looked at by the philosophic mind, resolve itself into deficiency,—deficiency of hope, of faith, of sympathy ; and so it will, in a measure, come within the scope of my original sentence, that all vulgarity results from a want of self-confidence,---of confidence either in one's ordinary self, or of the higher aspirations which belong to one's better self."

The subject of calumny is redeemed from common-placeness by Sir John's able definition of the term "denigration." His subtle

distinction between it and calumny or backbiting is extremely good. And why, he asks, is denigration so common P "Because it is so easy. To praise with judgment is the work of an artist. To condemn, to denigrate, is within every man's power. The village idiot, if you observe his sayings, generally blackens what he talks about ; it is complaint, and never praise, that forms the staple of village idiots' maunderings." The whole conversation on this subject is so good, we wish we had space to enlarge upon it, but we must let one passage suffice :— "Ellesmere: Well, then; man, an ordinary man, is a very unimagi- native creature. When he contemplates a great work of any kind, be it in politics, religion, science, literature, or art, he approaches it with a prosaic and unimaginative mind. He has no conception—how should he ?—of the labour overcome, of the multitudinous things which the writer, or the painter, or the scientific man has set aside, in the ultimate representation of what he has had to say, to announce, or to portray. All human society is full of denigration from the foregoing causes which I have named. It is easy ; it is natural ; it is unimagina- tive; moreover, it is easily understood. It is one of the most mis- chievous elements in the world ; for it appeals to two of the most preg- nant conditions in human intercourse,—namely, ignorance and want of sympathy. Sir Arthur: What a pity Sir John has given the best part of his mind to his legal studies ! Ellesmere: My legal studies, Sir Arthur, have taught me to observe these things. I never was more in earnest than in what I have said to you just now. You and Milverton and Cranmer are always propounding something or other which should be of great benefit to mankind—something legal, political, sanitary, or social—but I doubt whether anything would be of more benefit to man- kind, would give more power to the men who are seeking to do their best for mankind, than putting a check upon this habit and spirit of denigration. Every reformer, from Luther upwards and downwards, has had to contend against it, as his greatest and most prevailing enemy."

And it is not without some truth as well as humour that Sir John

is led further on to observe that the love of mankind for the number three has been a fatal thing for them. In most writing, he observes, truth is violated by the insertion of the third section ; and anticipating the reply that it is necessary for the sake of euphony. he says, "euphony, then, is the mother of many lies." We would fain linger over several other subjects, one on the dan- gers of excessive competition, and the necessity of cultivating the spirit which Stradivarius has been made to, sum up for us in the words,— "Antonio Stradivarius has an eye That winces at false work and loves the true."

Some thoughts on capital and labour, and the lessons most com- monly taught by life, all these are well worthy grave attention. On the last subject, by the way, Ellesmere's observation that in his work at the Bar, when called on in a difficult case to defend a criminal, his first thought is to glance at the jury-box and see how many elderly men are in it, is pregnant with a wisdom not too lightly learned. But we must content ourselves with one more morsel from this book of morsels, which might justly have been named "Literary Crumbs for Literary Epicures." Mr. Milverton is allowed, at last, to give his thoughts on good adminis- tration, and submits the question whether great evils do not arise from the very short tenure of power held by our greatest states- men. Into that question we, of course, cannot enter now, but one of his illustrations strikes us as singularly apt :—

" The statesman has not the same advantage as the skilful rider in the circus. This rider cal! refuse the hoop when it offered to him ; can tefuse it again and again, if his own nerves are not prepared and the pace of his horse not exactly suitable for the dexterous leap. He knows that he can go round and round the ring as often as he likes, and that he will eventually perform some feat (perhaps leap successively through three hoops) which will charm all the beholders. But the statesman knows that his career is very limited; that he has not the command of his arena ; and that he must leap through his hoop when- ever it is offered to him."

But it is not statesmen alone who fail in life because they dare not refuse the offered hoop.