From The Contemporary Review. BY W. R. GREG. I AM only too conscious that I can offer little fitted to occupy the time, or to command the interest of an audience* accustomed to be fed on the cream of experimental science, and the inexhaustible wonders of the organic world, equally conscious that I have nothing. original or remarkable to say, even on the subject I propose to treat; - still it may afford something of the refreshment of variety at least to look for a while upon a few of the more peculiar features of the life we are ourselves leading in this age of stir and change; upon some of the probable issues of that hurried and highpressure existence, and upon the question, not less momentous than individually interesting, how far its actuality corresponds, or could be made to correspond, with the ideal we, many of us, in our higher moments are prone to picture. It is well in all careers to get occasionally outside of ourselves, to take stock of our acquisitions and their inherent value; to pause in the race, not only to measure our progress, but carefully to scrutinize our direction; and the more breathless the race, the more essential, as assuredly the more difficult and perhaps the more unwelcome, does this scrutiny become. worth doing? No doubt, we can do more; but is "doing" everything, and "being" nothing? The first point to notice is, that we have got into a habit of valuing speed as speed, with little reference to the objects sought by rapid locomotion, or the use to which we put the time so gained. We are growing feverishly impatient in temperament. There is nothing to wonder at in this, however much there may be to regret, when we reflect that all the imProvement in the rate of travelling achieved by the human race in its orthodox six thousand years of existence has been achieved in our own lifetime — that is, in the last fifty years. Nimrod and Noah travelled just in the same way, and just at the same rate, as Thomas Assheton Smith and Mr. Coke, of Norfolk. The chariots of the Olympic games went just as fast as the chariots that conveyed our nobles to the Derby When our In our hot youth, when George the Third was King. When Abraham wished to send a message to Lot, he despatched a man on horseback, who galloped twelve miles an hour. fathers wanted to send a message to their nephews, they could do no better, and go no quicker. When we were young, if we wished to travel from London to Edinburgh, we thought ourselves lucky if we could average eight miles an hour, just as Robert Bruce might have done. Now, in our old age, we feel ourselves aggrieved if we do not average thirty miles. Everything that has been done in this line since the world began, -everything perhaps that the capacities of matter and the conditions of the human frame will ever allow to be done - has been done since we were boys. The same at sea. Probably, when the wind was favourable, Ulysses, who was a bold and skilful navigator, sailed as fast as a Dutch merchantman of the year 1800, nearly as fast at times as an American yacht or clipper of our father's day. Now we steam fifteen miles an hour with wonderful regularity, in spite of wind and tide ;-nor is it likely that we shall ever be able to go much I. Beyond doubt, the most salient characteristic of life in this latter portion of the 19th century is its SPEED, what we may call its hurry, the rate at which we move, the high-pressure at which we work; and the question to be considered is, first, whether this rapid rate is in itself a good; and, next, whether it is a price worth the price we pay for itrarely reckoned up, and not very easy thoroughly to ascertain. Unquestionably, life seems fuller and longer for this speed -is it truly richer and more effective? But the progress in the means of No doubt we can do more in our seventy communication is the most remarkable of all. years for the pace at which we travel; In this respect, Mr. Pitt was no better off but are the extra things we do always than Pericles or Agamemnon. If Ruth had wished to write to Naomi, or David to send a word of love to Jonathan when he was a hundred miles away, they could not possibly The substance of this paper was delivered, as a lecture, at the Royal Institution, February 12th. faster. have done it under twelve hours. Nor could | Atlantic in the space of ten months, and we to our friends fifty years ago. In 1875, almost invariably the sky has been as leaden the humblest citizen of Great Britain can send such a message, not a hundred miles, but a thousand, in twelve minutes.* Our love of and our pride in rapidity of movement, therefore, are under the circumstances natural enough, but they are not rational sentiments; nor are they healthy symptoms, for they grow daily with what they feed on; and national competition, especially transatlantic competition, stimulates them year by year. Mr. Arnold writes: Your middle-class man thinks it the highest pitch of development and civilization when his letters are carried twelve times a day from Islington to Camberwell and from Camberwell to Islington, and if railway trains run to and fro between them every quarter of an hour. He thinks it nothing that the trains only carry him from a dismal illiberal life at Islington to a dismal illiberal life at Camberwell; and that the letters only tell him that such is the life there. It is impossible to state more tersely (or more tartly) our indictment against the spirit of the age. But I should like to give one striking illustration of my meaning; it is Baron Hubner's account of his voyage across the Atlantic, where, in order to arrive forty-eight hours sooner, the steamers encounter dangers fitted to appal the stoutest heart: We saw a beautiful aurora borealis, and this morning, what was still more striking, a huge iceberg. It was sailing along about a mile ahead of us. Brilliantly white, with greenish rents here and there, and ending in two sharp peaks, this great mass of ice rolled heavily in the swell, while the waves beat furiously against its steep, shining sides. A sort of dull rumbling sound, like low thunder, is heard, in spite of all the noise of the engines. . . . By a lucky chance, the weather is quite clear. But if we had come in for a fog, which is the rule at this season, and had then struck against this floating mass of ice, which took so little trouble to get out of our way, what then? "Oh," answers the captain, "in two minutes we should have gone down”. and that is the unpleasant side of these voyages. This is the third time that I have crossed the 39. one as the fog was thick. In consequence, it is impossible to take the meridian; for there is neither sun nor horizon. . . . If, instead of going so far north, by way of shortening the voyage, they were to follow a southerly course, they would meet with far less ice and no fogs, and the danger would be ever so much lessened; there would be no risk of striking against icebergs, nor of disappearing altogether, nor of sinking the fishermen's boats, which are so numerous on those banks. In vain the alarm-whistle, that useful but aggravating little instrument, blows its hoarse cannot prevent every accident; and they are and lugubrious sound minute after minute; it far more numerous than people imagine. If they succeed in saving a man belonging to the ship, or in finding out the number of the unhappy boat which has sunk, the captain sends nity. But if the accident should happen in in his report, and the company pays an indemthe dead of night, and every soul on board has gone down with the boat, it is impossible to verify the name of the owners: the great leviathan has simply passed over it, and all is said and done. Companies are bad philanthropists: besides, they have to race another in speed. Each departure from Queenstown or New York is registered in the newspapers with the utmost exactness; and the same with the arrivals. Hence this frantic race to arrive first. In England, public opinion has more than once exclaimed against this system, and the Times has not disdained to give publicity to these complaints with all the weight of its authority. If they would follow a more southerly course (to the south of the 42nd degree), the passage would certainly be slower by two or three days, but the security would be doubled. The loss of time would be more than compensated by the comparative absence of danger. To effect such a change, however, all the companies must agree (which, unfortunately, they have not yet done) to give up the northern route. . . . Last year, during the month of July, I was on board the "Scotia," one of Cunard's finest ships. Although we were in the height of summer, we had only seen the sun once, and that for a few seconds, from Cape Clear to Sandy Hook. An impenetrable fog shrouded the banks of Newfoundland. In the middle of the day it was almost as dark as night. Even standing on the middle of the deck it was almost impossible to distinguish the four watchmen on ... * "Realizable Ideals." — Enigmas of Life, pp. 38, the lookout. Every moment, as the air seemed - den increase of cold in the temperature of the sea. Evidently there were icebergs ahead. But where? That was the question. What surprised me was, that the speed was not slackened. Eut they told me that the ship would obey the helm only in proportion to her speed. To avoid the iceberg, it is not enough to see it, but to see it in time to tack about, which supposes a certain docility in the ship, depending on her speed. . . . One of the officers gave me a helping hand. "Look," he exclaimed, "at that yellow curtain before us. If there's an iceberg behind, and those lynx-eyed fellows find it out at half a mile off - that is, two minutes before we should run against it - we shall just have time to tack, and THEN all will be right."* As a marvellous contrast, and almost a refresh ment, after these delineations of reckless rush and haste, I should like to quote the answer of the MussulLaan governor of a Mesopotamian city to Mr. Layard, who had applied to him for some statistical information relative to the province in which he had long dwelt as a man in authority. The Turk replies with the following dignified and affectionate rebuke:"My illustrious friend, and joy of my liver! "The thing you ask of me is both difficult and useless. Although I have passed all my days in this place, I have neither counted the houses nor have I inquired into the number of the inhabitants; and as to what one person loads on his mules, and another stows away in the bottom of his ship, that is no business of mine. But above all, as to the previous history of this city, God only knows the amount of dirt and confusion that the infidels may have eaten before the coming of the sword of Islam. It were unprofitable for us to inquire into it. "Oh, my soul! oh, my lamb! seek not after the things which concern thee not. Thou camest unto us, and we welcomed thee: go in peace. "Of a truth, thou hast spoken many words; and there is no harm done, for the speaker is one, and the listener is another. After the fashion of thy people, thou hast wandered from one place to another, until thou art happy and content in none. We (praise be to God!) were born here, and never desire to quit it. Is it possible, then, that the idea of a general intercourse between mankind should make any impression on our understanding? God forbid! "Listen, oh my son! There is no wisdom equal unto the belief in God. He created the world; and shall we liken ourselves to Him in seeking to penetrate the mysteries of His creation? Shall we say, behold this star spinneth round that star, and this other star with a tail cometh and goeth in so many years? Let it go! He from whose hand it came will direct and guide it. "But thou wilt say unto me, stand aside, oh man! for I am more learned than thou art, and have seen more things. If thou thinkest that thou art in this respect better than I am, thou art welcome. I praise God that I seek not that which I require not. Thou art learned in the things I care not for; and as for that which thou hast seen, I defile it. Will much knowledge create thee a double stomach, or wilt thou seek Paradise with thine eyes? - Now, the physical consequences of this needless haste and hurry- this doublequick time on all the pathways of our daily life — are, I believe, serious enough; but the moral consequences are probably graver still, though both sets of effects are as yet only in their infancy, and will take a generation or two fully to develop; and when they are thus developed so as to be recognized by the mind of the nation, the mischief may be past remedy. To us they are only "rocks ahead: " but they are rocks on which our grandchildren may make shipwreck of much that is most valuable in the cargo of existence, may spoil the voyage even if they do not shorten it. The rapidity of railway travelling, I believe observant physicians tell us, produces a kind of chronic disturbance in the nervous system of those who use it much-a disturbance often obviously mischievous in the more sensitive organizations, distinctly perceptible even in hardier frames. The anxiety to be in time, the hurrying pace often the running to catch trains (which are punctual in starting, whatever they may be in arriving)- cause a daily wear and tear, as well as accelerated action of the heart, of which, in a few months or years, most of us become unpleasantly conscious, and which, as we all know, sometimes have a fatal and sudden termination (I know three such instances in my own small acquaintance). And the proportion of the population who habitually travel by rail is already large, and is increasing year by year. In a word, thousands are injured and scores are killed; and neither of the scores nor of the thousands certainly, was the speed essential to more than a very few. Nor is the effect upon the present generation the only matter for consideration - the constitution which we thus enfeeble and impair we transmit so damaged to our children, who, in their turn, add to and pass on the sad inheritance of weakness and susceptibility. Heart-disease, too "Oh, my friend! If thou wilt be happy, say, There is no God but God! Do no evil, and thus wilt thou fear neither man nor death; for surely thine hour will come! The meek in spirit (El Fakir), "IMAUM ALI TADE." common already, may be expected to be ceptibility of brain, distinctly morbid, and more common still. The moral effects of this hurried pace cannot well be separated from those arising from the high-pressure style of life generally, but in combination with this are undeniable, if not easy to be specified. A life without leisure and without pause a life of haste - above all a life of excitement, such as haste inevitably involves a life filled so full, even if it be full of interest and toil, that we have notions. But in our days this excitability time to reflect where we have been and whither we intend to go; what we have done and what we plan to do, still less what is the value, and the purpose, and the price of what we have seen, and done, and visited can scarcely be deemed an adequate or worthy life; and assuredly will not approve itself to us as such in those hours of enforced quiet and inaction which age or sickness brings sooner or later to us all-when, with a light which is often sudden and startling enough, the truth and reality of things Flash upon that inward eye sometimes, but more commonly its sur- We are, perhaps, most of us, conscious at some moments of our course of the need to be quiet, to be in repose, to be alone; but I believe few of us have ever estimated adequately the degree in which an atmosphere of excitement, especially when we enter it young and continue in it habitually, is fatal to the higher and deeper life: the subtle poison which it disseminates through the whole character; how it saps solidity and strength of mind; how it daily becomes more necessary and in increasing measure; with what "inexorable logic" it at once enfeebles and renders abnormally sensitive the subtle organization of the brain; and how far, by slow and sure gradations, it carries us on towards a mental and moral condition which may justly be pronounced unsound. The scenes witnessed in a neighbouring country during the distressing years of 1870-71 brought out very forcibly these considerations. I may venture to quote a few paragraphs in illustration, written at the time.* Among civilized European peoples, the French excitability of to-day seems peculiar in kind as well as excessive in degree. It would appear to indicate a constitutional sus Suum cuique.-Fraser's Magazine, July, 1871, pp. 124-126. exceptionally beyond the control of the reason The explanation, I believe, must be sought would be, looking at the past, if something of in physiological considerations. The wonder the kind had not resulted. For three generations Frenchmen have been "born in bitterness, and nurtured in convulsion," and such influences, acting on temperaments constitutionally emotional, and transmitted with inevitably accelerating increments from father to son, have produced the furies, murderers, and incendiaries of the Commune. First, the unprecedented catastrophe of 1789, the overall old landmarks, the bursting asunder of the throw of all existing society, the removing of social crust of the earth, and the upheaving and overflow of the long-compressed volcanic elements beneath, the emancipation of millions from centuries of serfdom, the collapse or destruction of what for centuries had seemed most powerful and most stable, altogether constituted such a cataclysm of terror and of promise as the modern world had not seen. All Europe felt the shock. It had swept sudelsewhere than in France; but in France, as denly into a new epoch. Heads were turned was natural, the disturbance, mental as well as material, was far the greatest. The grandest and wildest dreams of universal felicity and regeneration seemed for a time almost on the point of realization. The greediest desires for possession and revenge had for a moment their gratification. The most illimitable hopes in some quarters, the most paralyzing terror in others, combined to keep the whole nation in a vortex of excitement such as now we can scarcely picture to ourselves, but such as our fathers recalled to us and described with something between a shudder and a sighsigh for the vanished visions, a shudder over |