ward our Prince, that most angelic imp"? A very terrible instance of degradation is the word "silly," which has very nearly completed the circle of significance. In Anglo-Saxon times it meant simply "blessed." Thence it came to be associated with the idea of harmlesssness, then of weakness, then of simplicity, then of foolishness. The proverbial expression "silly Suffolk" does not imply any reflection on the sanity of East Anglia.

The misadventures of "silly" are no more pathetic than those of certain ill-fated words, which, in the whirligig of time, have come round to bear precisely the opposite of their original meaning. We do not associate the word "beldam" with beauty, and yet does it not come from the French "belle dame"-fair lady? Did not Milton, without the least idea of depreciation, speak of "beldam Nature"? "Egregious" is another case in point. Etymologically meaning a person apart-a sheep out of the flock-it is now used exclusively as a term of contumely. The Elizabethans could speak of an "egregious soul," as in Marston's play "Sophonisba":

Erichtho

'Bove thunder sits; to thee, egregious soule,

Let all flesh bend.

Probably Thackeray, when he wrote of drawing "some one splendid and egregious," was the last to use the word in its proper sense. Similiarly, had the word "unspeakable" been applied to the Turk or the Scot three hundred years ago, it would have been very high praise indeed. It would then have meant that their virtues could not be uttered. St. Peter speaks of "joy unspeakable." In both these cases it is easy to see how the two meanings are associated, just as one can still speak of both pleasure and pain as "exquisite," but the significant thing is

that the original and better meaning of "egregious" and "unspeakable" has been entirely lost. It is this steady downward propensity of the language which is so puzzling. It is not easy to find instances of words which, beginning with sordid associations, have become exclusively attached to worthier objects. Do words have a society of their own from which it is easy to be ostracized, and into which it is hard to gain admittance? Black satin went out of fashion because a murderess elected to be hanged in it; can one imagine that words which have permitted themselves to be used in an unworthy connection are henceforth cut off from the society of their immaculate fellows? Or is it simply the law of the world at large-facilis descensus Averni

that there are a hundred ways of going wrong and only one of going right? There would certainly seem to be some sort of law that governs erring words. Like Falstaff, they "will down, though the bottom be as deep as"-Avernus. Mr. Chesterton shows cognizance of the fact when, in his "Browning," he remarks that "if any one wishes to see how grossly language can degenerate, he need only compare the old optimistic use of the word nervous, which we employ in speaking of a nervous grip, with the new pessimistic use of the word, which we employ in speaking of a nervous manner."

Just

Some few words remain in a curious state of suspended significance. as there are cases of blossom and fruit being found on the same tree, so we have the anomaly in the dictionary of "demeanor" bearing the original meaning, and "demean" bearing the later and acquired meaning. "Demeanor," of course, simply means behavior in a perfectly neutral sense; it may be applied to the king on the throne or the criminal in the dock. Yet the verb, starting from the same beginning, is now specialized in the bad sense be

yond hope of recall. To "demean oneself" means to behave oneself badly, the "badly" being an idea which the waves of Time have left, like an incrustation, on a word which connoted originally no moral qualities whatever. It makes one wonder with a certain trepidation whether any word is safe. Will our great-grandchildren be unable to use the word "ink-stand" for fear it should be considered an undesirable sort of ink-stand? It is a dispiriting reflection that the whole trend of the language seems to be downwards, that it is continually rushing over a steep place, like the Gadarene swine. What is to be the end of it? It clearly means that in the not very distant future there will be a much greater vaThe Academy.

riety of words to apply to the lower side of life than to the higher. The novelist of the future may have to be a realist simply because of the greater specialization of the language. As it is, any sub-editor can tell you that there is a far larger choice of adjectives to be applied to the abnormal and the terrible than to the ordinary and the beneficent. There are five words to describe a murder to one that can be applied to a rescue or a heroism. So, in the ages to come, we shall have a language rich in its lower strata, splendidly equipped for the exploitation of the ugly, the sordid, the wicked, but only passably supplied with material for epic or philosophy.

Victrix causa Deis placuit. It is obvious indeed that the gods are on the side of the biggest battalions. Otherwise the whole purpose of history, whatever that may be, would be a monstrous jest, in which, however, it would be difficult to discern any satisfactory sense of humor. Yet that history must be understood to signify a final, or ultimate, triumph, and not necessarily the result of any intermediate battle, however remarkable and signal. It is, of course, impracticable for us to stand on some Pisgah and survey the goal of human progress as through a telescope. At most we can make out things but a little way ahead, and often not even that. The impenetrable mists of fate envelop the horison, as they have swallowed up also the unrecorded past.

The impossibility of determining the eventual goa of human evolution

should make us chary of prophecy, even over small periods of time, but it should not paralyze intellectual investigations into the future. After all, we have the records and experience of some thousands of years, in a more or less completed form, and we may certainly argue from redoubt to redoubt, as it were. At great cost-human blood and human tears-we have advanced our forces against the forces of the night, and these hardly-won points of vantage are not to be lightly abandoned. The common ground of logic is irrefragable, founded as it is on the simplest laws of nature; and we may well engage in feeling our way by its means still farther ahead. What lies in the mist matters not; that which is our concern is the visible battlefield. A survey of the historical period of human evolution discloses a series of abrupt changes to the philosophical ob

server. These are fairly familiar to all. The civilizations of the Orient perished in succession; on them followed the Aryan civilizations of Greece and Rome. Later the course of history was changed by the swamping of Europe by the fair Northern races, and it was not until the Renaissance that Europe reached the point at which civilization had been dropped at least twelve hundred years before. During all those centuries, although Aryan Europe had been heterogeneous, and although her political conditions varied, the sundry nations and races had remained at the same level, because subject to the same influences. Indeed, the feudal system practically achieved a kind of homogeneity, in Western Europe at any rate. The same ideals moved the Frenchman, the Englishman, and the German. Their forms of government might be different, they might practise varying religions; but they were involved in the same stage of evolution and kept pace roughly with each other. The formulas of feudalism are well known. involved a system of caste which, while not very rigid, mapped out the nation with exemplary thoroughness. The caste system, as in force among Eastern nations, never had counterpart in the West. Elasticity, greater or less, has always characterized the social divisions of Europe, because those social conditions are social, and not religious. Even hierarchies in the West have never effected an Oriental system of caste, and the nearest approach to one was probably reached in the segregating conditions just prior to the French Revolution, which were the product of class arrogance.

It

its

Class then has never passed into caste in this western part of the world. But feudalism established the boundaries of class pretty firmly. Society was organized on a military basis, and kings looked for service from nobles,

took place first in England, where the rules and distinctions had been less severe than on the Continent, partly owing to the character of the people, and partly owing to the public spirit of the barons. The revolution was not accomplished without disorder, and was assisted by the bloody conflicts of the Roses which broke up the power of the nobles; but on the whole it may be regarded as a silent revolution, and it was not completed for many centuries.

With the rise of trade began a new era in modern civilization, an era to which I shall refer presently. In the meantime it is necessary to remark shortly the general effect of the feudal system on human character and human conduct. It is manifest that a system which in the ultimate appeal rested on militarism and the strong arm must have differed greatly from that which obtains to-day. Wealth was not a consideration, since authority had its seat in the prestige of fighting qualities. A great noble was respected and feared and courted, because he could put into the field so many menat-arms with esquires and captains. This was not a question of money, but of territorial lordship. Wealth might possibly buy over this baron or that baron to one interest or another, but the chances were rather in favor of their being influenced by ambition only. In any case the machinery of feudalism moved independently of

money. Hotspur and the Percies quarrelled with Henry the Fourth and raised the standard of insurrection, because they considered the King had slighted their House. And Hotspur marched on his fate with 15,000

men.

The mental properties evolved by this atmosphere were clearly strenuous and manly, whatever was the walk of life. All classes were called upon to bear arms, which should develop their physique and render them of a healthy robustness; and to this feudal age must be attributed such qualities as are common to perpetual warfare, for example bravery, obedience, quickness of decision, endurance, stoutness of frame, and certain generous instincts that seem to thrive in martial air. On the other hand, they had the defects due to the same conditions.

Trade did not make good its claims to the attention and respect of the world until the nineteenth century. It might have done so earlier, at least in England, had it not been for the interruption of the eighteenth century. Progress, so far as we know it, consists of ebb and flow, and the eighteenth century was a period of ebb, during which the demarcation of the classes was more distinct than had ever been the case. Sir Walter Besant has pointed out that, whereas up to the close of the seventeenth century it was a common practice to send younger sons of gentlemen into trade, during the next century this habit dropped altogether. The city and the gentry were two separate communities, which did not mix, and which were actuated by mutual antagonism. was not until the destruction of the Napoleonic system gave Europe breathing space and leave to look about and reckon up the results of those twenty years of warfare that trade finally challenged consideration. That was precisely one of the changes which Eu

It

After Water

rope had to reckon up. loo, trade advanced in influence and prestige. In England it made particular strides, and the reign of Victoria may be said with little exaggeration to be the reign of trade. Trade undoubtedly has had its victories. It has lacked those trappings of gilt and glory, and those romantic traditions, which belong to militarism; but in despite of these defects it has achieved much and advanced greatly in social consideration. Trade indeed has taken to itself wings, and from its pinnacle is engaged in looking down upon the decaying military systems of Europe. There has even crept into the pursuit of it a kind of romance which emulates the older romantic glory. With the invention of that phrase and that fact, "merchant princes," the aspect of trade was formidably changed. It took a new standing, put on fresh habiliments, and began to swagger among its ancient superiors in the guise of an equal. One can imagine (if they ever saw it with clear prophetic eyes) how our fathers stared in dismay and chagrin at this ugly invasion. The ranks of the aristocracy were broken, a press of newcomers poured in and would take no denial. The whole face of society changed. Nay, more than that; for if the case be examined rightly it is clear that the whole of modern civilization felt the shock. The real revolution, which was only adumbrated in the French Revolution, had begun.

In Great Britain, at any rate, the enfranchisement of trade consequent upon the Napoleonic wars and England's undisputed command of the sea was followed with vast national prosperity. English people have been so long accustomed to congratulate themselves on the blessings of the Victorian Age that it has become a commonplace. Napoleon called us a "nation of shopkeepers," and we are now proud of the

title. It was by our trade, we boast, that we saved Europe from the tyrant. Trade in the wake of the adventurer has scattered the British flag into all quarters of the globe, has founded an Oriental empire, and established strong young nations overseas. If these feats were indeed the work of trade, there would be reason enough to be thankful.

But it is not wholly clear that the expansion of trade is altogether responsible for these conditions. It synchronized with them, but it did not produce them. Indeed, it is more true that the conditions produced the expansion of trade, although it cannot be disputed that trade interacted on the extension of the British Empire. My point is, however, that trade did not make the British Empire. There is no more fallacious idea current in this country than the belief that the Victorian Era was the sovereign epoch in the history of the British nation. It was the centuries preceding, the centuries which came to their grand climacteric at Waterloo, the centuries which decided the international struggle in Europe-it is they that deserve the epithet and the credit. The nineteenth century merely inherited what had been earned by its predecessors. What in Great Britain Pitt and Chatham rendered possible, Melbourne and Palmerston enjoyed in comfort. There is no more misleading phrase than that of "the glorious Victorian Era," for in the Victorian Era the English people turned smug and complacent and selfsatisfied, having entered into the inheritance won by their hard-fighting fathers. Wealth and orthodoxy became the standard, and heterodox ideas, which, after all, have been the basis of all progress and of every fresh discovery, were discarded.

It would seem, then, that the victories of trade are not, in this direction, all that its advocates claim. Here it

will be advantageous, as in the case of militarism, to make inquiry into the influences of a régime of trade on human character and conduct. For good or ill the old order is passing; has, indeed, quite passed in the United States of America and in the British Colonies, and it is well to "take stock" of the new. The main distinction between aristocracy and trade had been founded on money. The landowning classes inherited their money and did not make it. The commercial classes earned it by traffic. The recognition

The ag

of trade at once weakened this distinction, and has practically destroyed it by now. But with this breaking-down of the barriers and this growing accessibility of the upper classes dawned the age of the snob. Snobbery was the product of the nineteenth century, the fungus, that is, on the enfranchisement of trade. So far, it is not clear that. we have made a good exchange in stepping into the new era. But what other results are obvious? glomeration of masses of humanity into large cities has been the direct result of the commercial epoch, and this had kept pace with a physical degeneration, noticeable in spite of improved sanitary science. This is a definite disadvantage which seems likely to continue under the commercial régime. It has been often stated that modern life, in its freedom from the dangers and tyrannies of medieval conditions, in its increased respect for humanity and in its law-abiding character, is an object for philosophic admiration. It would be idle to deny the immense importance of some of the changes which have taken place in history, but this claim is unduly magniloquent. Cruelty, for example, stalks in modern commercial life as darkly as it was frank in medieval. One must judge the new régime by its most perfected example, and that is the United States of America. Let us according