had lived for years close to one another in Dublin, and, though they were old friends, had never met. When somebody said to Whately that ultra-Protestants followed their consciences, he answered, "Yes, as a man in a gig follows his horse, by driving it before him." Mr. Jowett says that Pusey influenced by force of character; he was not at all critical or intellectually deep. When Newman, after he was Cardinal, went to see him at Oxford, he was so deaf that he could hear nothing, and, consequently, was obliged to talk all the time. The Master thinks sermons only less ephemeral than novels. Those of some time back, as Chalmers', are intolerable now from their rhetoric and bad taste. Mrs. Julius Hare told her husband that he must write Sterling's life, or Carlyle would do it, and in such an unchristian spirit. It was really Hare's life that partly, at least, made Carlyle write his own.' Here, too, is the Professor at the breakfast table.

At breakfast Tennyson was discussed, Mr. Jowett denying that what had been said of Wordsworth, that "within the great man there was a little man," was true also of him, though he had little things in him. The want of humour, original or appreciative, was talked of. Mr. Jowett says Gladstone can make a few jokes of his own, but cannot see other people's. Goulburn, he says, is an instance of a man who has humour of a kind, but fails to see the humour of situations. In preaching once at Rugby chapel he said, speaking of evil existing everywhere, that "even in the ark there was a Ham," then, seeing that the boys had caught the joke, he added" that, of course, he meant the patriarch." Talking of Dr. Arnold, he said that he was too powerful, too strong a man for his position-he stamped upon the boys and crushed them. He was the reverse of sympathetic. If you were in great trouble he would, perhaps, help you more than anyone else; but if, as someone suggested, you were a little happy, he would have no sympathy to spare. Arnold had said himself that he could never see a group of boys round the fire without seeing the devil among them. . . . Speaking about good talkers, the Master said a really good talker must talk from a character. He told a story of a man who, on hearing that he had a mortal complaint, only exclaimed, "I was always lucky. I insured my life last week."'

It would have been difficult to find a subject upon which he was not more or less at home. It is probable, for instance, that the works of Monro, the author of the Allegories which delighted and terrorised the children of an earlier generation with their

picturesque charm and atmosphere of religious melodrama, are among the books which only survive as schoolroom relics. Yet, forgotten as they are, and at best belonging to a type of literature most unlikely to commend itself to the taste of the Master of Balliol, we find him discussing the subject in no unsympathetic spirit. He told us a good deal about Monro, whom he knew. He says he had a touch of genius, felt very intensely, but was not strong. He looked like an enthusiast. .. Talking of the Irvingite Church, he said he had never seen a congregation like the one which belonged to it. It was so undecided. The people, by their faces and otherwise, gave the impression not so much of earnest worship as of waiting for someone-waiting for the Lord.... He thinks that democracy, by giving political equality makes social inequalities more marked. The difficulty of mixing classes is only unfelt by someone who gives up his whole life, his means, and himself. In that case, if he does not find a home everywhere, and in all cases, he does not care if he does not.'

To the Master's own views in politics, together with his characteristic caution in expressing them, a note introducing a candidate for a seat in Parliament bears witness.

'I never know exactly,' he writes, on which side you are in politics. I rather think that you have the political opinions of all sensible people. So has Mr.

He was fond of the discussion of practical morality. Upon the much-vexed question of the permissibility of lying in certain given cases, his opinion was once given with characteristic clearness. A man might be justified in lying, but he might not justify the falsehood afterwards. In the notes to which reference has been made, the discussion of a kindred subject, fair payments versus bargains, and commercial honesty is recorded.

It

'Someone had come to him with a question of the kind. was impossible, he told him, to put the proper amount of work into the execution of orders and yet to make his business pay. Owing to the general prevalence of cheating, it was a choice between ruin and dishonesty. The Master advised a middle course, to do as much as he could, not to ruin himself, nor to act perfectly well. At the same time, he did not deny that that course involved a little lying.'

And so the talk went on, anecdote, discussion, descriptive touches, altogether making up a whole of which the memory will remain, a thing by itself, in the homes of his friends.

Old age, as it came upon himself, or upon those he loved, had no terrors. 'I never condole with anyone for growing old,' he once wrote, at a time when he, as well as his correspondent, had had personal experience of the process, for I do not think that it is a thing, upon the whole, to be regretted. Have we not more peace and quiet in age? and we walk more safely, and are free from many troubles.'

'We can

Not even death was allowed to sever the old ties. not talk with them,' he writes to the living of the dead; 'but we can think of them and love them still.'

And so, when the end came, he quitted life with his hands, as it were, still full of her gifts; for, to quote what has been said of another theologian of a very different type, his was one of those rare natures with whom, as years go by, 'friendship is added to friendship, love to love, and the man keeps growing richer in affection after his head is white and his back weary, and he prepares to go down into the dust of death.'

I. A. TAYLOR.

FINLAND,

A Finland Paradise.

NLAND, or Fen-land: the land of fens, the country of a thousand lakes'; in Finnish Suomen-maa: the swampy region.' The root suom, if not related to our own swamp-which is a matter upon which the present writer can give no opinion worth having at all events appears to have the same meaning, and is quite near enough to please the ear of plain people with a neat, amateur appreciation for roots. It is indeed a country of a thousand lakes-ten thousand. Glance at the map; it almost makes a man's eyes water to look at it! As represented there, the entire country appears to be more water than dry land; the inhabitants must surely be obliged to get about the place in boats or goloshes, you will think-and, oh! what a place for the fishermen! Not the people in smacks and trawlers, I mean; but for men with rods, and lines, and reels, and flies, and phantoms, and landing nets, and so on: think of it-all these fresh-water lakes-a network of ideal corners for the Salmonida, communicating one with another and with Ladoga and the Gulfs of Finland and Bothnia by means of glorious fishing rivers! A place for fishermen indeed.

Look at the map, my dear reader, and consider the province from the point of view of the fish and their habits; it is the fishes' heaven, and being so, it is certainly the paradise of anglers. A glance at the map will show that between Uleaborg in the north and Wiborg in the south there must be many spots which, to the keen fishing man, would in all probability present such piscatorial attractions as would entitle them to be called, as I have called one particular spot about to be described, 'A Finland Paradise.' I believe that the salmon fishing on the Ulea at Uleaborg, for instance, is so excellent that those who have deserted Norway or Scotland in favour of this remote Finnish spot are inclined to go no more a-roving, but to cry Eureka,' and spend the rest of their days by Bothnia's placid waters. But of this I can only speak

from hearsay and from the printed reports of others, and will only add that I have been informed that fishing rights are easily obtainable at Uleaborg; that such rights are absurdly inexpensive; and that there is someone in that distant city who can speak English, and who can put the traveller in the way of getting an introduction into the best salmon society.

But my Finland Paradise is not in far Uleaborg, nor yet in any of the thousand or ten thousand other places which on the testimony of the map of Finland must be equally worthy of the title. I must warn my readers that there is no admission to my paradise, excepting by favour of those happy ones who possess the right to inhabit it. In other words it is not, like Uleaborg and hundreds of other places, accessible to the ordinary travelling man and the itinerant sportsman. Its doors are closed to the public; the fishing is preserved, rightly and jealously preserved.

There is a railway, the Finnish Railway, as it is called, which runs from St. Petersburg to Hango, at the mouth of the Gulf of Finland. On this railway, at a distance of four hours from St. Petersburg, is Wiborg, the very ancient capital and castle of the Karelian Finns, who were conquered by Torkel C'nutson in 1293. From Wiborg there is a branch line to Imatra, built for the accommodation of tourists anxious to visit the wonderful rapids or falls at the last-named place. Imatra is on a river known variously as the Vuoksen, or the Voksa, which connects the great Saima Lake with the still greater Ladoga; which, again, is connected with the open sea, as all the world knows, by the Neva. The Voksa is, I should think, one of the most beautiful rivers in the world. Wide and clear as crystal, we have nothing like it in England; it has no tide to yellow it, no navigation to stir and distress its calm depths; the fish-grayling and trout love it, and so does every human creature who has ever set eyes upon it, and who knows how to appreciate a big, free, clean, noble river when he sees it.

Lake Saima is a long sheet of water measuring from end to end one hundred and fifty miles or more, being quite as long as Ladoga itself, though much narrower and studded all over with islands. Saima is full of fish-great lake trout and others of the Salmonida, together with numberless other finny creatures of less exalted birth and parentage. Now all these fish occasionally pine, if not for actual sea travel, at least for such change of air and diet as a little wandering in running water can afford them. This they can only obtain by visiting the sole existing outlet