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with seeing, and my ears with thing to lie still upon the ground, learning. To watch the new-com- though without power to move, ers rush in, all pleased and eager, and sick beyond all thought, loath to see the eyes of the others glaze ing myself and all that I had been with weariness, wrought upon my and seen. For I had not even strained nerves. I could not the sense that I had been wronged think, I could not rest, I could to keep me up, but only a nausea not endure. Music for ever and and horror of movement, a giddiever—a whirl, a rush of music, ness and whirl of every sense. I always going on and on ; and ever lay like a log upon the ground. that maze of movement, till the When I recovered my faculties eyes were feverish and the mouth a little, it was to find myself once parched ; ever that mist of faces, more in the great vacant plain now one gleaming out of the which surrounded that accursed chaos, now another, some like home of pleasure—a great and the faces of angels, some miser- desolate waste upon which I could able, weary, strained with smil- see no track, which
heart ing, with the monotony, and the fainted to look at, which endless, aimless, never-changing longer roused any hope in me, round. I heard myself calling as if it might lead to another to them to be still—to be still! beginning, or any place in which to pause a moment. I felt myself yet at the last it might be posstumble and turn round in the sible to live. As I lay in that giddiness and horror of that move- horrible giddiness and faintness, ment without repose. And finally, I loathed life and this continuI fell under the feet of the crowd, ance which brought me through and felt the whirl go over and one misery after another, and over me, and beat upon my brain, forbade me to die. Oh that death until I was pushed and thrust out would come-death which is silent of the way lest I should stop the and still, which makes no movement measure. There I lay, sick, sati- and hears no sound ! that I might ate, for I know not how long; end and be no more! Oh that loathing everything around me, I could go back even to the stillready to give all I had (but what ness of that chamber which I had had I to give?) for one moment of not been able to endure ! Oh that silence. But always the music I could return-return ! to what? went on, and the dancers danced, to
miseries and other and the people feasted, and the pain, which looked less because songs and the voices echoed up they were past. But I knew now to the skies.
that return was impossible until How at last I stumbled forth I I had circled all the dreadful cannot tell. Desperation must round ; and already I felt again have moved me, and that im- the burning of that desire that patience which, after every hope pricked and drove me on-not and disappointment, comes back back, for that was impossible. and back, the sensation Little by little I had learned to that never fails. I dragged my- understand, each step printed upon self at last by intervals, like a my brain as with red-hot irons : not sick dog, outside the revels, still back, but on, and on. To greater hearing them, which was torture anguish, yes; but on: to fuller to me, even when at last I got despair, to experiences more terbeyond the crowd. It was some- rible : but on, and on, and on. I
arose again, for this was my fate. examined all that was being done I could not pause even for all the and understood—for I had known teachings of despair.
a little upon the earth, and my The waste stretched far as eyes old knowledge came back, and to could see. It was wild and ter- learn so much
more filled rible, with neither vegetation nor with new life. The master of all sign of life. Here and there were was one who never rested, nor heaps of ruin, which had been seemed to feel weariness, nor pain, villages and cities; but nothing nor pleasure. He had everything was in them save reptiles and in his hand. All who were there crawling poisonous life, and traps were his workmen, or his assistants, for the unwary wanderer. How or his servants. No one shared with often I stumbled and fell among him in his councils. He was more these ashes and dust - heaps of than a prince among them—he was the past—through what dread mo- as a god. And the things he ments I lay, with cold and slimy planned and made, and at which things leaving their trace upon my in armies and legions his workflesh--the horrors which seized me, men toiled and laboured, were like so that I beat my head against a living things. They were made stone,—why should I tell? These of steel and iron, but they moved were nought; they touched not like the brains and nerves of men. the soul. They were but accidents They went where he directed of the way.
them, and did what he commandAt length, when body and soul ed, and moved at a touch. And were low and worn out with misery though he talked little, when he and weariness, I came to another saw how I followed all that he place, where all was so different did, he was a little moved towards from the last, that the sight gave me, and spoke and explained to me a momentary solace. It was me the conceptions that were in full of furnaces and clanking ma- his mind, one rising out of anchinery and endless work. The other, like the leaf out of the whole air round was aglow with stem and the flower out of the the fury of the fires, and men bud. For nothing pleased him went and came like demons in the that he did, and necessity was flames, with red-hot melting met- upon him to go on and on. al, pouring it into moulds and “They are like living things," beating it on anvils. In the huge I said — “they do your bidding workshops in the background there whatever you command them. was a perpetual whir of machin- They are like another and a ery—of wheels turning and turn- stronger race of men,” ing, and pistons beating, and all “ Men !” he said," what are men? the din of labour, which for a time the most contemptible of all things renewed the anguish of my brain, that are made-creatures who will yet also soothed it; for there was undo in a moment what it has meaning in the beatings and the taken millions of years, and all the whirlings. And a hope rose within skill and all the strength of genme that with all the forces that erations to do. These are better were here, some revolution might than men. They cannot think or be possible—something that would feel. They cannot stop but at my change the features of this place bidding, or begin unless I will. and overturn the worlds. I went Had men been made so, we should from workshop to workshop, and be masters of the world,"
" Had men been made so, you He laughed, and the echoes would never have been—for what caught the sound and gave it back could genius have done or thought? as if they mocked it « There is -you would have been a machine enough to rend us all into shreds," like all the rest."
he said, “ and shake, as you say, " And better so !” he said, and both heaven and earth, and these turned away; for at that moment, plains and those hills.'' watching keenly as he spoke the “ Then why," I cried in my action of a delicate combination haste, with a dreadful hope piercof movements, all made and bal- ing through my soul—" why do anced to a hair's-breadth, there had you create and perfect, but never come to him suddenly the idea of employ? When we had armies something which made it a hun- on the earth we used them. You dredfold more strong than terrible. have more than armies. You have For they were terrible these things force beyond the thoughts of man : that lived yet did not live, which but all without use as yet.” were his slaves, and moved at his “ All," he cried, “ for no use !" will. When he had done this, he All in vain !-in vain !” looked at me, and a smile came upon "O master! I said, great, his mouth : but his eyes smiled not, and more great, in time to come. nor ever changed from the set look Why ?-why?' they wore. And the words he He took me by the arm and spoke were familiar words, not his, drew me close. but out of the old life.
6. What a
" Have you strength," he said, piece of work is a man!” he said ; “to bear it if I tell you why?” is how noble in reason, how infinite I knew what he was about to in faculty! in form and moving say. I felt it in the quivering how express and admirable! And of my veins, and my heart that yet to me what is this quintessence bounded as if it would escape of dust?" His mind had followed from my breast. But I would not another strain of thought, which quail from what he did not shrink to me was bewildering, so that I to utter. I could speak no word, did not know how to reply. I but I looked him in the face and answered like a child, upon his waited—for that which was more last word.
terrible than all. “ We are dust no more,” I cried, He held me by the arm, as if he for pride was in my heart-pride would hold me up when the shock of him and his wonderful strength, of anguish came. They are in and his thoughts which created vain," he said, “in vain—because strength, and all the marvels he God rules over all." did — "those things which hinder- His arm was strong ; but I fell ed are removed. Go on, go on, at his feet like a dead man. you want but another step. What How miserable is that image, and is to prevent that you should not how unfit to use ! Death is still shake the universe, and overturn and cool and sweet. There is this doom, and break all our bonds ? nothing in it that pierces like a There is enough here to explode sword, that burns like fire, that this grey fiction of a firmament, rends and tears like the turning and to rend those precipices and to wheels. O life, O pain, O terrible dissolve that waste—as at the time name of God, in which is all succour when the primeval seas dried up, and all torment ! What are pangs and those infernal mountains rose.” and tortures to that, which ever in
creases in its awful power, and has The waste lay wild before us, no limit, nor any alleviation, but dark with a faintly rising cloud, whenever it is spoken penetrates for darkness and cloud and the through and through the miserable gloom of death attended upon that soul? O God, whom once I called name. I thought, in his great my Father ! O Thou who gavest genius and splendour of intellect, me being, against whom I have he had gone mad, as sometimes fought, whom I fight to the end, may be. " There is nothing," I shall there never be anything but said, and scorn came into my anguish in the sound of Thy great soul; but even as I spoke 1 name?
saw I cannot tell what I sawWhen I returned to such com- a moving spot of milky whiteness mand of myself as one can have in that dark and miserable wilwho has been transfixed by that derness,—no bigger than a man's sword of fire, the master stood by hand, no bigger than a flower. me still. He had not fallen like “ There is something,” I said unme, but his face was drawn with willingly; it has no shape nor anguish and sorrow like the face form. It is a gossamer-web upon of my friend who had been with some bush, or a butterfly blown me in the lazar-house, who had on the wind." disappeared on the dark mountains. “ There are neither butterflies And as I looked at him, terror nor gossamers here." seized hold upon me, and a desire “ Look for yourself then !” I to flee and save myself, that I cried, flinging his hand from me: I might not be drawn after him by was angry with a rage which had the longing that was in his eyes.
I turned from him, The Master gave me his hand to though I loved him, with a desire help me to rise, and it trembled, to kill him in my heart; and but not like mine.
hurriedly took the other way. “Sir," I cried, “ have not we The waste was wild: but rather enough to bear? Is it for hatred, that than to see the man who is it for vengeance, that you speak might have shaken earth and hell that name !"
thus turning, turning to madness “O friend,” he said, “neither and the awful journey. For I for hatred nor revenge.
It is like knew what in his heart he thought, a fire in my veins: if one could find and I knew that it was so. It Him again!
was something from that other "You, who are as a god—who sphere—can į tell you what? a can make and destroy—you, who child perhaps-oh, thought that could shake His throne ?"
wrings the heart !
for do you He put up his hand. “I who know what manner of thing a am His creature, even here—and child is? There are none in the still His child, though I am so land of darkness.
I turned my far, so far- ” He caught my back upon the place where that hand in his, and pointed with the whiteness was. On, on, across the other trembling. "Look ! your eyes waste ! On to the cities of the are more clear than mine, for they night! On, far away from madare not anxious like mine, Can dening thought, from hope that is you see anything upon the way?" torment, and from the awful Name !
MR HAYWARD AND HIS LETTERS.1
WHEN Mr Hayward died nearly to have supposed this would have three years ago, he had been for a been a mistake. Though unaided long time a remarkable figure in by fortune or fame, he exercised in the social life of London. What many respects an influence due it was that made him notable did only to a commanding intellect in not at first sight appear. He had a commanding position. In Lonbeen bred to the Bar, and had at- don and in country-houses he tained to the dignity of Queen's moved in a very elevated stratum Counsel, but he had for long aban- of society-in most gatherings of doned the practice of his profession. the most fashionable people he was He wrote reviews in an exceed- pretty sure to be found. Great ingly good and popular style, but ladies talked of him as “Hay. they were mostly on subjects of a ward." Eminent persons dining at light class, and they were purely his club gravitated to the table and simply reviews, containing where, like Cato, he gave his little nothing which was not founded on Senate laws. Foreign statesmen, the acts or thoughts of others. His known throughout Europe, were conversation, likewise, afforded no his correspondents, and when they evidence of originality; it was not visited London, would seek interin the least brilliant, and displayed views with him. But his influchiefly a remarkable memory and ence appeared most distinctly in a power of quotation, great accuracy political crisis, when great leaders in dates and facts, strong opinions would send for him, discuss the strongly expressed, and an impa- situation, and employ him in negotience of contradiction, or even of tiating with statesmen of the class dissent, amounting to intolerance, from which ministries are formed. and not unfrequently leading to This remarkable difference between unpleasant collisions of temper. the position which his apparent He was evidently not a rich man merits might naturally have gained -he might even be called a poor for him and that which he actually one—inhabiting a small set of enjoyed, formed a curious problem. rooms on the second floor of a It is to be accounted for not so house in St James's Street, and much by his intellectual as by his sallying thence to dine at his moral characteristics. He was an club, the Athenæum. To the exceedingly social man, and pushed great majority of those who might his way with a hardihood which chance to notice his small bent seemed to defy denial. His fondfigure traversing Pall Mall with a ness for the company of persons of rapid step, he was absolutely un- worldly consideration, backed by known by name. It might be his strong self-confidence, procured supposed from all this that there for him a great number of imporwas nothing greatly to distinguish tant acquaintances, and these, it him from a number of others who must be said, he never sought to write essays and reviews anony- propitiate by flattery; in all commously in excellent English. But panies he was still Hayward,
TA Selection from the Correspondence of Abraham Hayward, Q.C., from 1834 to 1884, with an Account of his Early Life. Edited by Henry E. Carlisle. London: John Murray. 1886.