vain, he knew that art as well as life must answer to the call 'forwards,' and that it is wise to believe in the healthiness and value of the present. 'The moment must be pregnant and sufficient to itself, if it is to become a worthy segment of time and eternity.'* And the conflict between art and the age is a necessary condition of progress; the conflict out of which emerges what is permanent, separated from what is temporary. He accepted this more willingly in the case of the theatre, which deals broadly with the common stock of human experience, and cannot afford to depend upon subtleties: Shakspeare holds our hearts by his wisdom and tenderness, but he holds the stage by representing action and passion vividly, and by setting forth situations effectively. Goethe, we may perhaps surmise, had enjoyed in his youth and manhood the applause of the contemporary public; and when in consequence of great historical events it appeared that he had outlived his epoch, he showed some magnanimity in abstaining from snarling, and much dignity in awaiting immortality, whilst experiencing some decay of influence. Not that the sale of his works or the number of his admirers diminished; but he felt year by year that the growth of fame rested upon his earlier works, that to the world as to Napoleon he was the author of 'Werther,' and that the rising generation did not greatly care to listen to "Wahlverwandtschaften,' the second Faust,' and above all the 6 Theory of Colours.' It is the fate of poets to be set aside for the time by more rising genius. The old age of Wordsworth was obscured for the moment by Tennyson, that of Tennyson, perhaps, by Swinburne; it does not follow that the elder poets have outlived their day-rather it is the later age which pronounces the true award of fame after these voices.' The We have never been able to see the hero in Goethe. hero must fight with the dragon, not calmly tread him under foot: it is St. George, not St. Michael; it is Hercules, the much travelled man, not Apollo, the lord of light; it is the giver of sympathy as well as example, whom men worship as a hero. Heroism implies sacrifice, as well as high endeavour and lofty ideals. Goethe did not eat his bread with the tears of repentance. We may expect to find perfection in him, for he achieved the purpose of his life; but we must not look for a Christian, militant, suffering perfection. As De Quincey says, in the essay we have quoted above: "We cannot disguise from ourselves that the moral temperament of Goethe was one which demanded prosperity. .. Sunny pro *Zelter, p. 367. sperity sperity was essential to his nature; his virtues were adapted to that condition. And happily that was his fate. He had no personal misfortunes; his path was joyous in this life; and even the reflex sorrow from the calamities of his friends did not press too heavily on his sympathies: none of these were in excess, either as to degree or duration.' Throughout his life and of deliberate purpose Goethe avoided what gave him pain. He believed that suffering interfered with the right development of his mental and moral endowment, and he resolved not to suffer. When his mistresses began to have irksome claims upon him, he deserted them; when his friends refused or neglected to worship him, he turned his back upon them; when they died he grieved, but in a stately style; illness afflicted his body, but did not disturb his soul; for his vigour of constitution and strength of will, the natural firmness and serenity of the whole man, enabled him to control it. He would not look down into the ugly strugglings of the vulgar mob; to rescue a few, or raise all a hair's breadth, would have seemed to him not worth the labour. To welcome pain and share the burden of humanity never came into his scheme of duty. And when we find him writing about duty as one who reverenced his conscience, we look about for a definition. What was the meaning of duty to a man who to all appearances recognized neither his duty towards God, nor his duty towards his neighbour? Wordsworth believed in the first, Shelley (though in an irregular way) in the second. Goethe taught the world, by precept and example, a third duty, too much neglected in the current rules, the duty towards self: a duty not incompatible with the other two, and best practised by those who know them best; but one that easily declines into selfish arrogance or selfish seclusion. Goethe, living in 'godlike isolation,' never felt the need for that most excellent self-culture which is self-sacrifice. He never sat down in Merlin's chair to lose himself and save himself. He never left his Palace of Art for the cottage in the vale:' and so his conception of duty towards self, though neither ignoble nor unfruitful, was tainted with the vice of selfishness. It would be presumptuous to say more than this, and read the ghost of Goethe a lecture on the duties of poets to their contemporaries. Our business is to contemplate, not to criticize and the more we contemplate the accomplishment of Goethe's life, the more we are inclined to believe that his nature, in spite of great faults, was harmoniously expressed in it. ART. ART. IV.—1. Thrift. By Samuel Smiles, LL.D. New edition. London, 1888. 2. The Records of Bankruptcy, from 1869 to 1888. ELIGION, mostly Christian, is professed by all the powers in Europe, and the ethics of beneficence and brotherhood are taught by churches in connection with each state, as well as by a constantly increasing number of unauthorized expounders. Yet, with all this vocal Christianity, the whole of Continental Europe is at present in a state of unexampled, almost inconceivable, preparation for tremendous war. Those chiefly interested in the conduct of affairs, and so supposed to be particularly well informed, give the most cogent evidence of their belief that war must be accepted as a possibility; with the reserve, which fortifies their evidence, 'that during the present year at least, the peace of Europe will not be disturbed.' Twelve million men can in a fortnight be set grimly in array; and to secure this promptitude two hundred millions sterling are expended annually in providing pay, and armaments, and commissariat for the twelve millions. Thus the minds of men, at least on Continental Europe, are habituated to the sense of imminent encounter and catastrophe. Do we in England see these things as more than visible phenomena; or do we only see them as affairs of politics, with which the Government alone has anything to do? Are Englishmen sufficiently aware of what is meant by a great Continental war? Moreover, are they so assured of the abundant wisdom, not to say the love for England, governing the states of Europe, that, although these states may be prepared for a determined onslaught on each other, war will never come on us; or that no two or three of them will, under any circumstances, come to terms involving a combined attack upon the British Empire? Scarcely a state in Europe is without some dormant claim against us. Territories that we hold have been a part of their dominions, or on some account or other are the object of their national cupidity. Only eighty years ago the governments of Europe, many of them friendly we are told, were all in arms against us. Should this state of things occur again, are we resolved to be the worthy present representatives of those who, when the Continent succumbed, maintained our isolated fight against accumulated Europe and the Corsican adventurer? The Government of England seem to be awake to the condition of affairs, and are endeavouring to prepare the country for the possibility of war. But are the people similarly provident and prudent? They have been accustomed to rely with thank fulness fulness upon their special providence, the permanent protection of the sea. Yet, as a great terrene convulsion throughout Europe might affect the sea itself, and raise a desolating wave that would submerge and ruin half the coasts of England, so it may be found in the next European war, when the inventiveness of all the Christian world is turned to this peculiar subject, that our ancient friend and natural protector may entirely fail us; and, by some naval accident, or sudden and unfortunate development of science, it may become the great highway for our invasion, rather than a wide, impassable, and fortifying moat against the enemy. It has been said, by one of high authority, that war is not at all times, in the end, successful by the meie effect of a superiority in numbers, or in military science, or in material equipment, or in all these combined. In a protracted war, with time for preparation, the strong character and resolution of the population, on one side or the other, is the weight that turns the scale. Stout-hearted men with healthy nervous energy, abundant sympathetic patriotism, and self-abnegation, if they abandon social toys when war approaches, never can be overcome. The more persevering, self-denying, and instructed people must, in a war of nations, ultimately win. But people of this stamp are providently wise. While trusting to the Government for all that Government can do, they undertake and carry into full effect their own peculiar social duty; thus, at once encouraging the national administration and disheartening the enemy. They see that in time of war society must modify itself; the efflorescences of wealth and luxury must be abandoned, and the strictest regulation of utilitarian expenditure must be adopted. Wastefulness is constantly increasing in the halcyon days of peace; and wastefulness is one effect and means of intellectual, political, and moral degradation. Times of trouble, even periods of war, have been accounted blessings, somewhat in disguise, when they have been the means of mitigating or arresting the absurd and prodigal expenditure of general society. Were we involved in a great war, the cost would be at least two hundred millions annually; and Englishmen should make, at frequent intervals, a strict enquiry into the amount and disposition of their social income and expenditure; so that, by deliberate economy, instead of hasty sacrifice, this annual two hundred millions sterling may be saved to pay the cost of a defensive war. In every well-conducted private business, and in national finance, there must be periodically a clear estimate and statement of expenditure and income. But in an intermediate position Vol. 168.-No. 336. between 2 B between individuals and the State, is the great aggregate of men and women called society, in which there is an almost total carelessness about habitual expenditure. Society has no arresting balances to make; it is perennial and constant in its inconsiderate outlay. No one checks the orders or sums up the bill; and, as a consequence, the prodigality goes on increasingly, unquestioned. At the present time, when Government is framing estimates for warlike preparations, it will become the leaders of society to supplement these calculations by a similar discovery of the means by which the millions needed for a war may be obtained with the least injury to the trade and interests of the nation. For the security of England, social finance is as important as efficient armament, or as a due supply of men; and it behoves the nation to decide, with resolution, that superfluous outlay and expense shall be abandoned. To this end a very strict review of social customs of expenditure and waste becomes essential; and as such review should be as wide as possible, affecting every class and rank, and every habitude, and character, and inclination, certain curious forms of homely and eccentric, wasteful outlay will be met with. With the general advance in civilizing arts there is, unhappily, no corresponding progress towards collective wisdom. Custom, the director of nine-tenths of our expenditure, is founded partly on convenience or necessity, but much more largely on mere vanity and want of common sense; and the result of this unreasoning custom is abundant wastefulness. Time, health, enjoyment, high intelligence, creative skill, the hopes and valuable efforts, as distinct from the absurd desires and mean frivolities of life, are sacrificed; and all this loss has been accepted by the world as something predetermined and inevitable. Yet how many social customs are entirely irrational; the commonest and most accepted being, as it seems, the most absurd. And, to begin with the great measurement of life; the chief and permanent expenditure of men is their expenditure of time, which is persistently, and almost always, made in an unnatural way. The sun, the great originator and support of life, should, it appears, be regularly followed in its daily course. But good society repudiates the day-time that is made for healthful exercise, and chooses night-time for its recreation. Working days begin from four to six hours later than the average daylight, and extend as many corresponding hours into night. The folly is entirely wanton; no resemblance of a reason can be given for it, and the tax on the community is enormous. Nothing is gained by the ridiculous perversity of living wide awake at night, and sleeping in the day. The |