NORTH.

Now, James, the same express scepticism or disbelief, which is thus engendered in the highly taught, is in the lower; and more surely, and worse. For high intellect may see so much as to suspect itself; but intellect, lowly taught, (and how many such are there now?) never does. Moreover, my man, it is infinitely helpless; for it falls upon the difficulties obvious and gross to sight, boggles at them, and recoils into disbelief. Then, James, only think on the conceit of knowledge in half-taught people! Is it not often desperate and invincible?

I could knock them doon.

SHEPHERD.

NORTH.

An imperfect, ill-founded moral and religious belief, is often still beneficial to the conduct and feelings; but a low, gross, self-conceited unbelief is more hardening and debasing than one that is more subtle.

SHEPHERD.

Look at Tickler sleepin'; as for me, I'm only beginnin' to yawn.

The ground-error, but which it needs courage to combat, is the proposition, that as Truth must be beneficial, so error and illusion must be injurious. Granted, that perfect truth is the best thing in the world; but while truth and error are excessively mixed, it is impossible to say, a priori, that the removal of a particular illusion, in a given case, shall be beneficial. That is, it is not true to say absolutely, that there is not a single illusion in one mind, of which the extirpation must not, in all possible circumstances, be better than the continuance. Perhaps the peace, perhaps the virtue, of the mind, is stayed upon it. We must not knowingly teach error, that is clear; but it is not equally clear that we are bound to destroy every error, much less to communicate to every body every truth. There are truths without number that are no concern of theirs. Thus a belief in ghostsSHEPHERD (starting from sleep.)

Ghosts! Mercy on us! What was you sayin' o' ghosts?

NORTH (frowning.)

Bad manners-James-bad manners-to fall asleep during

SHEPHERD.

Sermon or lecture, either in Kirk or Snuggery-but you see I devoored rather a heavy denner the day, at Watson's; and then there's something sae sedative in the silver tones o' your vice, sir, that by degrees it lulls a listener into a dreamy dwawm, sic as fa's on a body stretched a' his length on a burn-brae, no far frae a waterfa', till his een see nae mair the bit flittin' and doukin white-breasted water-pyets, and his sowle sinks awa, wi' the wimplin murmur in its ears, into Fairy-Land.

NORTH.

I pardon you, my dear shepherd, for your most poetical apology.

SHEPHERD.

And I promise to do a' I can to keep mysel' frae fa'in' into the "pleasant land o' drowzyhead." Spoot awa.

NORTH.

We may suppose, James, that a constant progress is making towards truth, and this is for happiness. But any one who looks at the world, and its history, may satisfy himself that, for some reason or another, this truth is not intended to come all at once.

Oh! dear!

SHEPHERD (stretching himself.)

NORTH.

Either in the human understanding, or the state of the human will, there is some ground wherefore this should not be. It is not possible, then, nor meant to push mankind forward at once into the possession of this inheritance. There are degrees and stages, a progress. Seeing this, a

wise man is patient, temperate. He desires to do every thing for his kind; but according to the possibilities and the plans of nature. Seeing this, he does not fall into the error, into which men are misled by an uncalculating impatience, to bring on at once the reign of truth. Thinking that end possible which is impossible, too many now-a-days think means will be effectual which are most ineffectual; and they imagine that small portions of truth communicated, which are in their power to communicate, are the reign of truth begun on earth. The truth which is in their power, is that which regards definite relations, as mathematics, and the science of matter. Their hasty imagination seizes on parcels of this truth, and upon plans for communicating them, and foresees, to judge from their manner of speaking, consequences of a magnitude and excellence, conceivable only if all truth had dominion of the human heart. Let us aid the progress, if possible, as ways open to us; but not imagine that the turn of our hand will transform the universe.

SHEPHERD (brightening up.)

I'm no the least sleepy noo, for that fa' owre the edge o' a precipice has waukened up my seven senses. But this is shamefu' behaviour in Tickler. (Hollows in Tickler's ear) Fire! Fire! Fire!

Who are you?

TICKLER (staring.)

SHEPHERD.

The Archbishop of Canterbury.

TICKLER.

What-Howley? How are you, my old buck? And how is Blomfield?

SHEPHERD.

We are both well, sir, but a good deal troubled about these tithes. That auld deevil, Lord King

TICKLER (recognising the Shepherd.)

Why that is language barely decorous in your grace-but ha! North, my old boy, what have you and James been prating about during my visit to the land of Nod? Come-a caulker-and I'm your man.

SHEPHERD.

I have been instructing Mr North in some of my philosophical views on the soobjeck of national education.

TICKLER.

National education! James, there are two periods of human societythe first, of nature ruling in man, and the second of man ruling nature.

SHEPHERD.

Bright as sunrise! sleep catches nae haud on him-but he flings it aff like a garment.

TICKLER.

During the first period, man is wisely governed by errors. During the second, he tends wisely to govern himself by truth. The transition from one period to the other is a time of crisis, and may be of convulsions. Much responsibility rests, North, on those who lead the change; for, though the laws of nature will work out the change, individuals may hasten it.

NORTH.

I remember saying something like that to you, years ago, Tickler; and an acute writer, in some papers in the Examiner, entitled the Spirit of the Age, expatiates well on this topic, though I know no reason why he should have said that I live, any more than himself, in the strife of party politics. The Sanctum in Buchanan Lodge-and the Snuggery here-are philosophical retirements not unvisited by the Muses, who are lovers of contemplation and peace.

TICKLER.

We should judge aright the period which is gone by, and that period which is coming on-so rightly may we act during the present. In judging the past, we are not to condemn errors simply because they were errors. They were-many of them-the necessary guidance of man. Neither ought we to judge the total effect of the error by the effect of the excess of the

error.

SHEPHERD.

I wuss you wad repeat that apogthegm.

TICKLER.

For example, James, we are not to judge the total effect of monastic orders by the worst pictures of sloth and vice which monasteries have afforded— not the total effect of Aristotle's Dialectics, if erroneous, or erroneously used, by the most frivolous and vain of the scholastic subtleties-not the total effect of the Roman Catholic religion at a Spanish or English Autoda-fè.

SHEPHERD.

You're a true liberal, Mr Tickler. Sae are you, Mr North; and sae am I; and sae are the Noctes. Nae snorin' noo.

TICKLER.

To judge thus, gentlemen, is to introduce into our minds an asperity of feeling which will infallibly disturb our judgment, will prevent our understanding the world as it is, and our proceeding with the calmness and temper necessary for doing well what we have got to do. Our business is not

to hunt error out of the world, but to invite and induce truth.

SHEPHERD.

A mild and majestic sentiment, sir. I can scarcely believe my een and my lugs when they inform me that the speaker is Southside-Tickler the

We see the line of human progress, Kit; and the opposite character of the two extremities; but know not whereabouts we stand in it. We see errors gone and going; we see truths come and coming;-but we are not to conclude that every error which is left has outstaid its time, and is now no longer any thing but pernicious-nor that every truth that will ever be wanted is now wanted-and, least of all, that any little morsel of truth which we happen to hold, is of such wondrous efficacy that a prodigious effort is to be made to impart it.

SHEPHERD.

You've overheard Mr North in your sleep, Mr Tickler, sae congenial are your thoughts wi' his ain-twun-bruthers.

Eh, North?

TICKLER.

NORTH.

Oh! for a full and perfect union in man of Will and Intellect! In the first period to which you alluded, Will is provided, Tickler; in it you see indeed all the energetic Wills;-the Homeric Greeks, the Spartans, the earlier Romans, the Arabs, the Germans, the Vykingr, the American Indians— you see it everywhere, from north to south; then all the youth of the world was on fire. But, in the second period, man has naturally to provide Will, for in it he comes to be deficient; and what there is, is comparatively cold. In the first period Will, and in the second Intellect, is over-preponderate.

SHEPHERD.

In the third, let us howp that the twa will be sae nicely balanced, that a grain o' sense or a drap o' feelin' will either way turn the beam.

NORTH.

James, my dear boy, you are well qualified, both by nature and education to judge on this question.

What question, sir?

SHEPHERD.

NORTH.

In early society mark how the Will is made strong by the passionate and

hard-contending condition of ordinary physical life. Also then, James, the different ranks of society being by the simplicity of life more nearly united, common feelings pervade all. A deep, broad sympathy imbues sentiments and opinions. Superstitions, tenets, faiths of all sorts, hold unquestioned dominion. Men believe by sympathy; for what none has disputed, that is faith. What half dispute, perhaps none cordially believe.

SHEPHERD.

I ken that, by experience o' what is noo gaun on amang the shepherds o' the Forest, wi' their debating clubs, and what not-few noo believe even in the Brownie o' Bodsbeck.

NORTH.

Now, my dear friends, pardon the anxiety of an old man for the children growing up round his feet.

SHEPHERD.

The rising generation, about to shoot up into saints or sinners!

Wheesht, James!

Wheesht yoursel'!

TICKLER.

SHEPHERD.

NORTH.

Education must now form the two-Will and Intellect-one with and by the other-or Education is lame, with one hand only, and, I fear, that the left.

Whulk?

SHEPHERD.

TICKLER.

Wheesht!

NORTH.

Intellect does every thing, or nearly, for Will, and Will every thing for Intellect. But which is the ultimate object? Will, certainly. The Will is

NORTH.

Our idea of education is too frequently one of schools and colleges, drawn thence, and formed upon them; but how small a part!

The roots of the Will are in the body-and the roots of Intellect in the Will.

Yes, James, in the body. See how the state of the affections-which are Will-nourish even imagination, and how imagination acts into the purely intellectual faculties-and what vivacity mere health and joy will give to the memory, who, you know, in the olden time was called the mother of the Muses.

What, I ask you, James, can a listless child learn, an unwilling child understand?

Will not a boy, whose heart is full of poetry, learn Greek in Homer, by the force of poetry, though he has a bad talent for languages?

SHEPHERD.

Nae doot-nae doot. I sune learnt Erse in Ossian.

NORTH.

Will not thought and feeling make him a good speaker and writer at last, though he could never understand his grammar?

Confoon' grammar!

SHEPHERD.

NORTH.

The first thing is that the understanding grow in the Will, and the Will up through the heart of the understanding, and an Intellect of ten or twelve years old, may, so far, have been powerfully educated without a single lesson.

SHEPHERD.

Mine was yedicated sae-whether poorfully or no, it's no for me to be tellin'.

[Timepiece strikes Twelve-and enter AMBROSE, bending under his load, with his Tail and Supper.

NORTH.

Timothy-James-run to the support of mine host-or he faints and

falls.

[The ARCADIAN and SOUTHSIDE reach AMBROSE just in time to prevent his sinking to the floor.

AMBROSE.

Thank ye, gentlemen; this burden is beyond my strength.

The great prize Glasgow gander! Rash man! even for one moment to have dream't of bearing him in single-handed.

SHEPHERD.

Mair strength! mair strength! Tappy, King Pips, Sir Dawvit!

Coming, sir.

Let me give a lift.

THE PECH.

NORTH.

[By the united exertions of the Knights, and of the Household, the great Glasgow Gander is at last deposited, with some loss of gravy, on the table.

The timbers are all sound, gentlemen, and now that they have stood the first shock of the pressure

Is'e uphaud them for a croon.

SHEPHERD.

TICKLER.

It is not the legs of the table I tremble for, but the joists of the floor.

Wha's aneath?

SHEPHERD.

AMBROSE.

The coffee-room, sir.

NORTH.

Why, Mr Ambrose, in case of any accident, it might be a serious business; for, to say nothing of the deaths of so many unoffending, yet I fear, unprepared individuals, actions of damages, at the instance of the relatives of the deceased, might be brought against us, the survivors—

SHEPHERD.

Na, na-only again the relatives o' the gander, and wha ever heard o' legal proceedings again a flock o' geese?