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differs, of course, in different times and places. In Sparta it was patriotism; in Judea, religion; in France, at the time of the Revolution, equality. And just as the spirit of a poem controls the selection of sentiment and incident; and the spirit of a legislative measure its separate clauses; so the idea which is at the root of any society dictates its code of morality, its aspirations, sentiments, and habits of thought. In England, at the present time, as in most of the ancient European States, there are two ideas at work-the medieval Feudal, and the modern Democratic idea. The play and interaction of these two principles determine the movements of English life. Before, therefore, we can estimate aright the part played by each, we must separate, as far as possible, their respective spheres of activity. I rejoice to have lived while the old tree of Feudalism, whose roots are so swiftly decaying, but whose leaves are still fresh and green, yet survives; for it will be ere long as extinct as the fossil remains of the primeval world. It is interesting to the moralist, as a living illustration of how the spirit of man, which, in our dreams, we fondly imagine to be infinite and free, can be moulded into any shape, stamped with any impress, and made to dance to any tune. It is instructive, too, to the statesman; as furnishing, by comparison with that democratic state of society which in one nation at least has been completely realized, that second point of observation, which is as essential to the political thinker as it is to the astronomer. A century or two ago, Aristocracy was the paramount and all-pervading influence in English life. Founded on material power as its basis, with rank and birth as its flower and outcome, it set its image and superscription on every department of thought and activity-on legislation, manners, morals, and culture. But for ages there had been growing up alongside of it another influence, which, though still overshadowed by it, was waxing in strength year by year. This, too, was founded on material power, viz., industry and commerce; and, differing in interest and tradition from the aristocracy, constituted the

democratic element in modern society. It became in time greater in combination, if not in concentration, than the aristocracy itself; and, after lying latent and invisible for a while, made its appearance, after the first Reform Bill, as an active power in the State. In its conflict with the aristocracy, the rising democracy first succeeded in winning for itself personal liberty. Many ages had to come and go after the time that Gurth the swine-herd wore the brass collar as bond-slave of Cedric the Saxon, before the Habeas Corpus Act finally asserted that no Englishman could be arbitrarily detained in prison. without being brought to a fair and speedy trial. Personal liberty secure, the tide of democracy next set in the direction of political enfranchisement; and now that the counties are on an equality with the boroughs, political liberty is tolerably complete; and with it, the influence of Democracy on English life practically ends. It has secured us personal liberty, so that the haughtiest patrician must submit to be jostled in the public streets like the meanest plebian. It has secured us a large measure of political freedom, so that the poorest workingman, in all things else a cipher, without the least influence on thought or culture, has to be flattered and cajoled once, at least, at every turn of the election-wheel. But in all that constitutes the higher life of man-his morals, sentiments, culture, and aspirations-the country is still dominated by aristocratic habits of thought. This domination is, of course, not so glaring as it was formerly, for every advance in democracy must modify, to a greater or less degree, the prevailing spirit; as a stone thrown into a lake pulses, however imperceptibly, against its remotest shores. But this avails little, so long as the ideal which the nation sets before its youth remains practically the same as before. For it cannot be too often repeated, that just as the society which a man deliberately prefers is a finer and more sensitive touchstone of his moral quality than any particular action, so the ideal which a nation follows is the most significant symptom of its health or disease. It determines its

aims, its aspirations, its desires, its exertions. The Press speaks as if social prestige were a mere bauble and sentiment, compared with political power. Nothing can be more delusive. The mental and moral characteristics of the class that is at the top of society determine the mental and moral characteristics of all the other classes; and its code of morality becomes the national conscience. Though imposed at first by force, it ends usually by being accepted from conviction. Where the heart of a nation resides, there will its people, like pilgrims and lovers, be found wending their way. So powerful is sentiment! It rules our whole being; making all the sordid moneys and vulgar interests of the world its willing ministers. The aristocracy, or land-owning class, having succeeded in keeping themselves by power at the top, have accordingly become the nation's ideal, and their moral and mental lineaments the mirror in which it fashions itself. This ideal is the nation's real religion; and, like all religion, as you will observe, is held with a mystic sanctity, a sacred reserve. Though its influence is as pervasive as electricity, and as sensitive as light, it is never mentioned in conversation; dissentients, like infidels, being afraid of the secret charge of vulgarity and lowness of mind which attaches to them; the faithful, of the more odious imputation of toadyism. I speak, as I have said, of the mass of respectable people; and are not the respectable people the nation? Some persons may make an ideal of literature, science, or the arts, as others see a new era in Shakerism, spirit-rapping, or the water-cure; but the bulk of society is practically untouched by any such heresy.

CHAPTER II.

ARISTOCRACY

MORAL AND SOCIAL EFFECTS.

AFTER the somewhat extended preliminary observations of

the last chapter, I am now in a position to consider the special effects of the aristocratic régime on the spiritual and moral expansion of the individuals who live under it. Its first and most baleful effect was to imbue the people with a belief in the essential inequality of men. This was not directly inculcated as a doctrine, but arose out of the primordial relation between lord and serf, which consisted in the minute and incessant exercise of power, on the one hand, and the habit of submission, on the other. As the nation grew, this relation worked itself into the minutest fibres of social life; and the tendency in the human mind, which De Toqueville remarked, of regarding our oppressors as our superiors, became embodied among the traditional beliefs of the people. I do not intend to enter again here into the question of the equality or inequality of men, considered as an abstract proposition. I shall merely remark, in passing, that the differences in men's capacities no more destroy their mental and moral identity, than differences in their bodily development destroy their physical identity : and I should as soon expect to find new organs in their bodies as new powers and faculties in their minds. I have observed that it is generally the mediocrities, the men of one idea, and those who are superior to their neighbours in some petty ingenuity or intellectual knack, who are the greatest sticklers for inequality; for there is no talent so contemptible but that the vanity or pride of its possessor would, if he had the power, make it the ground of superiority to the rest of mankind. So,

likewise, are those who think that fineness or elevation of mind is an affair of pedigree; who know that blood 'must tell;' and who believe that new and higher capacities are to be induced in men, as in dogs and horses, by the careful selection of breeds. But the great men have most clearly perceived and most strongly emphasized the essential likeness of all men; the small, superficial differences in power and degree fading away before this grand moral and spiritual identity. It would be absurd, indeed, to deny that immense inequalities exist between man and man, in range, facility, and power. We see men apparently all run to one organ-men with overgrown memories, improvisators, musical prodigies, lightning calculators, and the like; but these mental tuberosities are as much lost in a common humanity, as the inequalities of the earth's surface are lost in its sphere. The true sons of genius, even, are characterized and distinguished by a greater fineness and power of receptivity, rather than by any new or exceptional faculty. But what I desire especially to call attention to is the fact, that while it is certain that men are as alike in their essential natures as they are different in degrees of power, there is a tendency to consider those who are superior in degree, to be different in their essential natures, and to be beings of another order. The Roman Emperors were in many instances addressed and worshipped as deities. The men whom we considered great in our youth, we imagined to be of different natures from ourselves, until by contact we found them to be the same, or by culture, rose to their point of view. And the preponderating weight and authority of the great names of the past are, no doubt partially due to our belief that somehow or other they were different to the men of our own time. These are natural tendencies, and can be corrected by experience, culture, or reflection. But when inequality is made the basis of a social structure, as it is in England, with birth and title as its crowning distinctions, this tendency hardens itself and becomes a concrete, consolidated fact. Then begin the degradation of the human mind, the

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