Meliora. ART. I.-1. The Cyclopædia of English Literature. Edinburgh: W. and R. Chambers. 2. The Pleasures of Literature. By the Rev. R. A. Wilmott. London: Routledge and Co. IN former times literature was confined to a very narrow circle. 6 Few could write, or purchase books, or read. In manuscript ages the difficulties of acquiring knowledge were many. Books were rare, and could only be multiplied by the pen. They were expensive, and could only be purchased by the rich. Plato,' says Mr. Wilmott, devoted 3007. to the purchase of three books of a distinguished Pythagorean; and Aristotle invested twice that sum in the library of a deceased philosopher. Jerome nearly ruined himself to procure the works of Origen; and Leo bartered 500 pieces of gold for five books of Tacitus.' It was a wonder of the world, before the Christian era, for a library to contain 30,000 manuscripts; and even in A.D. 1364, the royal library of France did not contain twenty volumes. The library of Oxford, at the beginning of the fourteenth century, consisted only of a few tracts kept in chests.' For thirteen centuries of the Christian era, literature belonged to the clergy and a few legal functionaries. The church was its only ark during a deluge of a thousand years.' And then, as is now found among many priests of Eastern churches, numbers of the clergy could do no more than read, or say the lessons of the liturgy. In a council in 902, scarcely a priest in Rome itself knew letters; and in the early canons, signatures of bishops were often made by marks. In Spain, not one in a thousand could write a letter to a friend. In England, in the time of Alfred, not a priest south of the Thames understood the common prayer, or could translate Latin into the common tongue. When the Normans first came over, the greater number of the English clergy could hardly read the church service.' Any grammarian among them was a prodigy. That so many manuscripts of these times remain, is due to the industry of some monks and schoolmen who occupied themselves in copying the works of philosophers, poets, and divines. In such a period the humbler classes had no means of cultivating their minds. Untaught to read, seldom Vol. 2.-No. 5. hearing B 6 hearing a sermon, poor and oppressed, their aspirations rarely rose above the soil they tilled, except in blind obedience to their masters, and in as blind reverence to God. They toiled, they fought, they obeyed; but they scarcely inquired or thought. The working man, in feudal times, was the serf of his lord. He was his absolute property, could be bought or sold with the soil where he had his nativity, and on which he always resided. The Pictorial History of England' informs us that serfs, in the Anglo-Saxon period, were so completely destitute of what we understand by freedom, that they had not the power of removing from the estate on which they were born, and were transferred with it on every change of proprietors-they and their services together, exactly in the same manner as any other portions of the stock-alive or dead, human or bestial, which happened to be accumulated on its surface. They were bound to the soil, and could no more uproot themselves and withdraw elsewhere, than could the trees that were planted in it.' What, then, must have been the mental condition of the working man during this period of degradation and bondage? Denied liberty, he could not enjoy learning. Though we do read of some being made clergymen, while remaining serfs as before, the majority were brutish in mind and body. They were deprived of all cultivation, forbidden to ask questions, commanded to believe whatever was ordained. The collier's creed is a fitting illustration of their knowledge. When asked, 'What do you believe?' he replied, I believe what the church believes.' What does the church believe?' The church believes what I believe.' 'But what do the church and you believe? We both believe the same thing.' They could only refer to authority without a reason. 6 Serfdom can never consist with knowledge. In Russia, where it now exists, the peasants are all untaught. In America, where slavery exists, it is in many cases criminal to instruct negroes. In India, where a more galling tyranny than this prevails, in the system of caste, the pariah, or lowest class, can never rise into the higher. He must remain in that state always, and continue at the same trade as his father. The humiliation of birth is an infamy for life, and brands generations yet unborn with the same indignity. In Europe, the liberation of serfs-the overthrow of the feudal system-contributed much to improve the condition of the labouring classes. They could then call themselves their own. They could breathe the air of freedom. They could possess time and money-invaluable acquisitions for the improvement of the man. They could think and aspire. And from that period to this, many have arisen from the ranks, to the same platform in society as those who were once called their masters. But Pleasures of Literature. 3 But the freedom of mind was not enough to make the working man literary. The freedom of letters was as urgently needed. Encased in parchment rolls, and in the learned tongues with which the people were unacquainted, they afforded no food to the hungry inquirer among the humble. He could not read, he was no linguist, he had little wealth. But the art of printing gave freedom to literature; translations made it catholic. Schools gave the humblest the talisman, put the mystic power into the hand of the thoughtful, and opened the gates of knowledge to the people. For a considerable time, it is true, printing was expensive, and the library of the labourer was small; but soon the poorest in our land could possess, without a great sacrifice, the best of all books, in the purest and most intelligible Saxon-the language of the masses of the people. Since that memorable period, the progress of cheapening and circulating literature has been prodigious. It is now within the reach of all. Works of excellence in all departments of learning-theology, philosophy, science, history, art, and poetry-can now be got for small outlay, to fill the shelves and cultivate the minds of the most illremunerated labourer. The periodical, the magazine, the newspaper, and the tract, enter the home of every one, and court the perusal of all. In reference to the last of these it has been beautifully said: 'Philosophy of old Her ponderous tomes displayed, And summon'd minds of mighty mould 'Her mysteries to explore In vain the unletter'd tried, The rich, the noble, learn'd her lore, 'But mercy's light-winged page- Comes to the home of lowly age, To guide his thoughts above. 'The wayside beggar hears Its ministry divine; And little children dry their tears, To read its radiant line.' - Education is now within the reach of all who choose to avail themselves of its invaluable blessings. "There is freedom to him that will read, And freedom to him that will write.' There are schools in every village, and libraries containing intellectual food for nourishing learning and intelligence. The day in which the working man was necessitated to be ignorant is gone. Its knell is rung among us at least. No man need now be unintelligent, for there is no excuse. Most have time to spare. Some, indeed, toil from morn till eve, and can scarcely call an hour their own; but this is the exception. The majority have 'nooks and corners of time, which,' as the Hon. Robert Boyle remarks, are wont to be lost by most men, for want of a value for them, and even by good men, for want of skill to preserve them. And since goldsmiths and refiners are wont, all the year long, to save the very sweepings of their shops, because they may contain in them some filings or dust of those richer metals, gold and silver, I see not why a Christian may not be as careful not to lose the fragments and lesser intervals of a thing incomparably more precious than any metal-time.' metal-time.' A few minutes saved each day may aid much in the acquisition of knowledge. An hour a day is six hours a week-a month in the year, at the rate of ten working hours per day, and equal to half a year's constant mental cultivation every six years. Were these intervals of time well employed, the amount of knowledge gathered in a few years would astonish and gladden the possessor. Where there is the love of reading there is much to gratify it. But it greatly depends on the first book really perused to give the taste. Robinson Crusoe' and the 'Pilgrim's Progress' have given the stimulus to many a reader. The pleasure of the first exercise invites a second. Frequent trial gives the habit. Of course we do not measure a mind by the books read, any more than by viands devoured. There are literary gourmands who read voraciously, but who derive no more from it than the man who drinks hard. The appetite is increased, but the health is injured. Mr. Wilmott thus warns us:-Lamb prided himself on being able to read anything which he felt in his heart to be a book. He had no antipathies. Shaftesbury was not too genteel, nor Fielding too familiar. Pope confessed his own miscellaneous amusemeuts in letters, knocking at any door, as the storm drove. Montaigne and Locke were alike to him. The example is dangerous. A discursive student is almost certain to fall into bad company. Houses of entertainment, scientific and romantic, are always open to a man who is trying to escape from his thoughts. But a shelter from the tempest is dearly bought in the house of the plague. Ten minutes with a French novel, or a German rationalist, have sent a reader away with a fever for life.' The pleasures and advantages of proper reading are incalculable. And they are open to every man of labour. They introduce you to events, to persons, to philosophy, and science; to music, and to poetry. By reading, you can roam with Adam, first of men, in Paradise lost, and sail with Noah over a deluged world. You can take your pilgrim staff with Abraham, and join the caravan with Moses. You can worship with the shepherds at Bethlehem, or sail with JESUS over Galilee. You can hunt with Nimrod, or conquer with Alexander. You can Attempts at Authorship. 5 listen to the wisdom of Solomon, and the eloquence of Demosthenes. You can sit at the feet of Socrates, and enjoy a chat with Xenophon. You can gaze on the stars with Galileo, and walk in the garden with Newton-and from the one learn the earth's motion round the sun, and from the other the great law of gravitation. You can join your protest with Luther, or sign the covenant with Henderson. You can hear blind Homer's Iliad,' and be charmed with Milton's epic. You can lament with Campbell over 'The Downfall of Poland,' or sing with Burns of Scots wha hae.' You can be familiar with prophets, apostles, divines, and hear anew the thunder of their warnings, and the sweet music of their gospel. Literature, rightly used, makes you an inhabitant of all time, a citizen of every country, the acquaintance of every genius, the brother of every man. It removes you from your own individuality, by taking you into an extended society; and enhances your individuality, by making so varied a society minister to you. It shows how much you have to learn and how much you might do. It gives you facts for storing, themes for thought, sentiments for delight. It gives pleasure to yourself, and means for pleasing others of increasing your worth and usefulness. To sit at your own fireside, and, by the light of brilliant gas, or sickly taper, or a coal flame, or, as has more than once been done, by the blown-up blaze of a turf, make such acquaintances, is an object worthy of all the labour or expense. 'Reading makes a full man, conversation a ready man, and writing an exact man,' said Lord Bacon; and the aphorism is as true as it is terse. To express thought in writing is an exercise too seldom attempted by working men; but it is by no means beyond their power. The Literature of Labour is no mean library, as we shall immediately show. The working men who have contributed to letters are no small array, as we shall briefly enumerate. The disadvantages against which they had to contend were greater than those most of the same class would now have to meet. There is nothing in the condition of the working man to hinder the expression of his thoughts on paper, or, if he will, in print. Ability to write is now possessed by most who have had the common opportunities of learning at any of our schools. Necessity to write is imposed on every one by removals of friends, emigration, and other causes. Writing is rapidly becoming a vehicle of thought to the most humble; yet it is to be feared that the majority of working men find it a toil. But where there is a fondness for reading there often is an attempt at writing. When the mind and heart are interested, an effort is made to express thoughts and feelings with the pen. The serious letter, or the amorous verses that mark early efforts, are cases in point. Writing what we think on any subject is a beneficent exercise. It deepens the |