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THE VICTORIAN ERA

"No coward soul is mine,

No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere:
I see Heaven's glories shine,

And Faith shines equal, arming me from fear.

Vain are the thousand creeds

That move men's hearts: unutterably vain,
Worthless as withered weeds

Or idlest froth amid the boundless main,

To waken doubt in one

Holding so fast by Thine Infinity:
So surely anchored on

The steadfast rock of immortality.

Though earth and man were gone,
And suns and universes ceased to be,
And Thou wert left alone,

Every existence would exist in Thee.

EMILY BRONTË.

"Listen, O isles, unto me; and hearken, ye people, from far; . . . Thou art my servant Israel in whom I will be glorified. . . . The children which thou shalt have, after thou hast lost the other, shall say again in thine ears, The place is too strait for me: give place to me that I may dwell.” (Isaiah 49.)

"My righteousness is near; my salvation is gone forth, and mine arms shall judge the people; the isles shall wait upon me, and on mine arm shall they trust." (Isaiah 51.)

"As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you; and ye shall be comforted in Jerusalem." (Isaiah 66.)

CHAPTER XXV

THE AGE AND THE WOMAN

T has become the custom of late years to disparage

I

the Victorian Era, the greatest era of the British

Empire, and indeed of the English-speaking peoples the world over. Both its fashions and furniture, its ideals and its architecture, its sentiment and its society have been held up to merciless ridicule at the hands of modern critics, and this, as we think, unduly and unfairly. In the first place it was an age of deep sincerity, introspection and attention to detail, and if its art at one time appeared to be somewhat colourless and formal, we must not forget that it blazed out eventually in the brilliant hues of the pre-Raphaelite School, a spiritual renaissance in painting which has not as yet been surpassed.

The connoisseur can surely feel as much pleasure in observing a Victorian barometer, with accurately adjusted needles and delicate engraving on its solemn, old face, as he may experience when examining the graceful frivolities of a Louis XVIth fan. One expresses scientific beauty to the mind; the other, sensuous beauty to the eye.

There is something about the enduring serviceableness of Victorian chairs and tables which evokes a sense of trust and honour; just as the rich and lasting tints of the carpets and curtains, their crimsons, turkey reds, subdued yet glowing ambers and old gold, forever bespeak the welcome of home. If the age painted its tea-trays with garlands of eglantine, its vases with sprays of maidenhair and lilies of the valley, such effort only displayed its whole-hearted and loyal devotion to nature.

When we come to think of the men and women of those times, however, nearly every great name the world loves and honours crowds the screen of memory,-Dickens, George Eliot, the Brownings, Disraeli, Shaftesbury, Newton, Wilberforce, Abraham Lincoln, Emerson, Lowell, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Longfellow, Kingsley, Florence Nightingale, Jenny Lind, Gordon, Livingstone, the list would be endless! It was an age of exploration, piety, research, philanthropy, heroism. Soldiers and sailors were not ashamed to be seen reading their Bibles and kneeling down at night to say their prayers. It was the age in which people scrutinized their faults and strove to improve their virtues. Coldness and satire were not looked upon as a fitting mask for society. Life was too fraught with purpose, too full of moral endeavour, for it to tolerate an intellectual wittiness devoid of fruit. Thomas Carlyle, himself a great Victorian, was but voicing the spirit of the times when he wrote: "Yes, hollow Formalism, gross Benthamism, and other unheroic, atheistic insincerity, is visibly and even rapidly declining. . . . I prophesy that the world will once more become sincere; a believing world: with many heroes in it."

But the crowning glory of the era was womanhood! This may seem a startling assertion to make in the face of modern judgment on the early Victorian woman, an estimate which connects her with toy parasols, prim manners, smelling salts, tight waists, elastic-sided boots, and the fear of mice! But let us consider her with an unprejudiced mind: consider her from the standard of the real qualities of womanhood, from the standpoint of purity, dignity, grace, and hospitality. Here she will not fail the most exacting idealist. She has modesty and poise, emotion and reserve. She seeks no artificial

embellishments. Character and good breeding have ennobled her features, and given force to expression. How insistently they shine out in every line of her face, in her every gesture, in her quiet and courteous movement and in her quick intuitive glance! Wordsworth was describing Victorian womanhood when he wrote:

"I saw her upon nearer view,

A Spirit, yet a woman too!

Her household motions light and free,
And steps of Virgin-liberty;

A countenance in which did meet,
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A Creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene

The very pulse of the machine;
A Being breathing thoughtful breath,
A Traveller between life and death;

The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect woman, nobly planned
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright

With something of angelic light."

As a wife her love is rivalled by her high sense of duty, and both combine in an ardour of devotion, unparallelled in any age, because never before so finely tempered with free will.

The story of Mrs. Gladstone is no exaggeration of this characteristic. Briefly it is this. She was entertaining a certain Bishop, and at the breakfast table they were discussing the perturbed state of Europe. The Premier (her husband) had not yet come downstairs. After com

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