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ODD-FELLOWSHIP: ITS PRINCIPLES AND PRACTICE.

V.-FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, AND TRUTH.

HAVING, in our plain guide, endeavoured to explain all ordinary matters, to which members, after initiation, have their attention necessarily directed; it remains to answer your question, “Why the motto of our Order,- Friendship, Love, and Truth,' -was adopted." It is not known who was the originator or founder of the Unity, neither is it known who selected this motto; but it may be well to consider if a better could have been chosen. Friendship with all the world, Love to all men, and Truth for universal guidance, were noble things to aim at. But it has been suggested that there may be some doubt as to the sense in which the words were to be commonly used. The absurdity, as some say, of clapping our hands, and repeating the motto, simply stamps it as a bit of clap-trap. We cannot, however, admit there is any good ground for the doubt, or reason for so lightly talking of the great good that must be effected by the continued utterance of three of the best words ever used to express grand ideas or virtues.

We all know that the victorious shout, the war whoop, the rallying cry, and the commending cheer, are natural modes of expression with man; vary. ing under different circumstances, and with the caprice of a tribe or nation. Before our motto was used, there were such curious things in the world as i the "Kentish Fire," "Hurrah," "He's a jolly good fellow," and others, commonly understood; and was it at all strange that something should be invented to become peculiarly our own? It was good for members of each Lodge; it was applicable if large gatherings took place in districts; it was to be a standing password in the Unity; and, above all, it was to be universally used throughout the world. Have you ever heard how the Irish emigrant in Canada, the plodding Scotchman in New Zealand, and the busy Englishman in Australia, have each been stirred with emotion he could hardly describe, when he has heard, for the first time after landing, the dear old motto ringing in his ears. I have been told it has reminded him of the happy Lodge hours "at home," has awakened the youthful energy and pleasure he felt when he first "passed through the offices;" and he has come to the stern, manly resolve, to make the Unity as useful abroad, as it has been to the thousands here. I know, too, that, even amidst the horrors of war in the trenches before Sebastopol-our members have held "a Lodge," as they called it, in the weary hours of night-duty; and lately, the same valiant Artillerymen of Woolwich told me they should do the same in China. Is there then no meaning in the motto, "Friendship, Love, and Truth" no magic or advantage attached to it? Is it to be put down as "a bit of nonsense we should get rid of?" Let us narrow its application in such a way as to suppose it only used in one Lodge, and what does it teach Everything that is really good for mankind. One might fill a large volume to treat the subject properly, and many to recount what authors have written upon the words. But we will not encroach upon the domain of modern essayists; we prefer rather to take up one of the old Grand Masters of our mother tongue; and we extract from what Francis, Lord Bacon says on Friendship:

"It had been hard for him that spake it, to have put more truth and untruth together, in a few words, than in that speech, Whosoever is delighted in solitude, is either a wild beast, or a god.' For it is most true, that a natural and secret hatred and aversion towards society, in any man, hath

somewhat of the savage beast; but it is most untrue, that it should have any character at all of the Divine Nature; except it proceed, not out of a pleasure in solitude, but out of a love and desire to sequester a man's self for a higher conversation; such as is found to have been falsely and feignedly in some of the heathen, and really and truly in some of the ancient hermits and holy fathers of the Church. It is a mere and miserable solitude to want true friends, without which the world is but a wilderness; and, even in this sense also of solitude, whosoever, in the frame of his nature and affections, is unfit for Friendship, he taketh it of the beast, and not from humanity. A principal fruit of Friendship, is the ease and discharge of the fulness and swellings of the heart, which passions of all kinds do cause and induce. No receipt openeth the heart but a true friend, to whom you may impart griefs, joys, fears, hopes, suspicions, counsels, and whatsoever lieth upon the heart to oppress it, in a kind of civil shrift or confession. Those that want friends to open themselves unto, are cannibals of their own hearts. This communicating of a man's self to his friend works two contrary effects, for it redoubleth joys, and cutteth griefs in halves. There is no man that imparteth his joys to his friend, but he joyeth the more; and no man that imparteth his griefs to his friend, but he grieveth the less. Friendship, indeed, maketh a fair day in the affections, from storms and tempests; but it maketh daylight in the understanding, out of darkness and confusion of thoughts. Neither is this to be understood only of faithful counsel, which a man receiveth from his friend; but, before you come to that, certain it is, that whosoever hath his mind fraught with many thoughts, his wits and understanding do clarify and break up in the communicating and discoursing with another: he tosseth his thoughts more easily; he marshalleth them more orderly; he seeth how they look when turned into words; finally, he waxeth wiser than himself; and that more by an hour's discourse, than by a day's meditation. Neither is this fruit of friendship, in opening the understanding, restrained only to such friends as are able to give a man counsel; (they indeed are best) but even without that, a man learneth of himself, and bringing his own thoughts to light, and whetteth his wits as against a stone which itself cuts not. In a word, a man were better to relate himself to a statue or picture, than to suffer his thoughts to pass in smother. The light that a man receiveth by counsel from another is drier and purer than that which cometh from his own understanding and judgment, which is ever infused and drenched in his affections and customs. So as, there is as much difference between the counsel that a friend giveth and that a man giveth himself, as there is between the counsel of a friend and of a flatterer; for there is no such flatterer as is a man's self, and there is no such remedy against flattery of a man's self as the liberty of a friend. Counsel is of two sorts: the one concerning manners, the other concerning business. For the first, the best preservative to keep the mind in health, is the faithful admonition of a friend. The calling of a man's self to a strict account is a medicine, sometimes too piercing and corrosive. Reading good books of morality is a little flat and dead. Observing our faults in others, is sometimes improper for our case; but the best receipt (best, I say, to work, and best to take) is the admonition of a friend. It is a strange thing to behold what gross errors and extreme absurdities many (especially of the greater sort) do commit for want of a friend to tell them of them, to the great damage both of their fame and fortune. If any man think that he will take counsel, but it shall be by pieces: asking counsel in one business of one man, and in another business of another man; it is well (that is to say, better perhaps than if he asked none at all), but he runneth two dangers: one, that he shall not be faithfully counselled-for it is a rare thing, except it be from a perfect and entire friend, to have counsel given, but such as shall be bowed and

crooked to some ends, which he hath that giveth it; the other, that he shall have counsel given, hurtful and unsafe (though with good meaning), and mixt, partly of mischief, and partly of remedy-even as if you would call a physician that is thought good for the cure of the disease you complain of, but is unacquainted with your body; and, therefore, may put you in a way for a perfect cure, but overthroweth your health in some other kind, and so cure the disease, and kill the patient. But a friend that is wholly acquainted with a man's estate, will beware, by furthering any present business, how he dasheth upon other inconvenience. And, therefore, rest not upon scattered counsels; they will rather distract and mislead, than settle and direct. The best way to represent to life the manifold use of friendship is, to cast and see how many things there are which a man cannot do himself; and then it will appear, that it was a sparing speech of the ancients to say, 'That a friend is another himself;' for that a friend is far more than himself. Men have their time, and die many times in desire of some things which they principally take to heart-the bestowing of a child, the finishing of a work, or the like. If a man have a true friend, he may rest almost secure, that the care of these things will continue after him. So that a man hath, as it were, two lives in his desires. A man hath a body, and that body is confined to a place; but where friendship is, all offices of life are, as it were, granted to him and his deputy-for he may exercise them by his friend. How many things are there which a man cannot, with any face or comeliness, say or do himself? A man can scarce allege his own merits with modesty, much less extol them; a man cannot sometimes brook to supplicate or beg; and a number of the like. But all these things are graceful in a friend's mouth, which are blushing in a man's own. So, again, a man's person hath many proper relations, which he cannot put off. A man cannot speak to his son, but as a father; to his wife, but as a husband; to his enemy, but upon terms: whereas, a friend may speak as the case requires; and not as it sorteth with the person. But to enumerate these things were endless; I have given the rule where a man cannot fitly play his own part; if he have not a friend, he may quit the stage." Quite true; and true also, you will say, that this seems to have been written yesterday. Does it not prove that a remark made by Sir William Jones upon the British Constitution, will apply to us as Odd-fellows? He said, "Englishmen have an honest prejudice in favour of their established system, without having in general very distinct ideas of it. That constitution consists of form and spirit of body (if I may so express myself) and of soul; but, in a course of years, the form is apt to deviate so widely from the spirit, that it becomes expedient, almost every century, to restore its genuine spirit and loveliness." We have therefore restored for general reading Bacon's practical exposition of Friendship; and now let us see what he says as to our next word, "Love."

"The stage is more beholding to love, than the life of man. For, as to the stage, love is ever matter of comedies, and now and then of tragedies; but in life it doth much mischief-sometimes like a syren, sometimes like a fury. There is in a man's nature a secret inclination and motion towards love of others, which, if it be not spent upon some one, or a few, doth naturally spread itself towards many; and maketh men become humane and charitable, as it is seen sometime in friars. Nuptial love maketh mankind; friendly love perfecteth it; but wanton love corrupteth and imbaseth it." With nuptial love and wanton love we have nothing to do: but this friendly love requires some further remark. In Blackwood's Magazine there is a story of Archbishop Usher, that he went about and visited his clergy unexpectedly, and saw how they were employed, and how their flocks fared. It is said that ʻon one occasion he went in disguise, and begged alms at a curate's house.

The curate was out upon his duty, but the prudent wife soundly lectured the old man, though she gave him relief. For shame, old man, at these years to go begging! these are not the usual fruits of an honest, industrious, and godly life. Tell me, old man, how many commandments are there?' The old man, with seeming confusion, stammered out, 'Eleven!' I thought so,' said she, go thy ways, old man; and here, take this book with thee, and learn thy catechism; and the next time you are asked, say ten.' The archbishop took his departure, and had it formally announced that he should preach the next day in the parish church. The morning came: little thought the good woman that the archbishop was the old alms beggar, till he gave his text and comment,—' A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another.' 'It should seem,' begins the sermon, 'by this text, that there are eleven commandments.' The old man was recognised, and the curate's wife acknowledged, with some shame to herself, that there was another and a new commandment. Now, how shall I apply this, but by recommending the bishops, instead of sending round printed circulars of inquiry, to go themselves, and preach from the same text; and thus, instead of encouraging dissent, teach both pastors and their flocks to love one another."

"Ah," say our members, "it is all very well to get us to infer we must practise this universal love, but do our betters do so? Even this you have given is an instance that the educated classes are often found wanting." True again; but still every one added to the list of those who put such precepts into practice, makes the world so much better. And we must not forget that publications are read in the higher circles which teach them in a similar manner; and we may also suppose that some, at least, profit by what they read. Let us quote now, in illustration, from some "Essays on the Principles of Charitable Institutions."

"If you wish to become acquainted with the character and circumstances of a neighbour in your rank of life, you do not expect to learn them by sending a messenger to his house, or by paying a single formal call. No; you go yourself; you cultivate his acquaintance; you share in his hospitality; and, if you are of a benevolent disposition, a thousand nameless opportunities will occur in the sequel of your intercourse for contributing to his enjoyment, or promoting his welfare and prosperity. Live amongst the poor. Dare to surmount the barriers which an artificial reserve has erected: enter their cottages in your daily walk,-not as a dictator, not as a mere giver of alms, not as a spy upon their household arrangements;-go as their equal. Carry with you no sense of superiority, but that which a more elevated tone of piety, and a more enlightened intellect, may claim; and, if you possess courtesy to charm, and knowledge to instruct, and eloquence to captivate the polished circle, disdain not to employ all these accomplishments to win the confidence, and purify the affections of the humblest of your fellow-beings. Then shall you learn what no well-digested rules can teach,-how money can be given, and yet be felt as the least of the benefits conferred; how the stream of munificence may largely flow, and leave no pollution in its course; how the generous harvest of humility and love may spring up in the place of servile dependence, or of sordid, grasping selfishness. Only try the experiment; and, instead of complaining any longer of the ingratitude of the poor, you will discover that, wherever your lot may be cast, you have it in your power to make a heart's home; and, should sickness or misfortune overtake you, they will be soothed by the affectionate sympathy, and cheered by the fervent prayers of those whose attachment you have purchased-not by costly donations-but by that simple language of brotherly love, which finds its way to the heart alike of the cottager and the noble; and which softens, purifies, and expands every soul within reach of its influence."

"It is, in truth, only by means of a more frequent and friendly interchange

of feeling than has hitherto prevailed among the different orders of the community, that the bond of social union can be permanently strengthened. Thus alone may the more advanced civilisation of the educated ranks be brought to bear upon the tone of morals and manners which pervade the nation at large; and thus alone can the higher classes acquire that intimate knowledge of the wants and habits of their inferiors, which will qualify them wisely to adapt their various plans of beneficence to the real necessities of those whom they desire to serve. Few among the rich are aware how easily they might thus surround themselves with an impregnable barrier of attachment-a barrier which no political convulsions would be able to destroy."

And Archdeacon Hale insists that, "the more we embody ourselves and our happiness with the interest of others-the interests of the whole-the more in reality we consult our own happiness. In the pursuit of any merely solitary schemes, we shall reap only disappointments, if we attempt to detach ourselves from the general mass, to individualise ourselves from the community of our species, we shall be imprisoned and pent in. When the barriers of selfishness are broken down, and the current of benevolence is suffered to flow generously abroad, and circulate far and near around, then we are in a capacity of the greatest and best enjoyments." These are touching sentences; they are surely enough to make us feel what love should be in our "Order;" and to practise such love is easy, if we once will it shall be done.

We will return to Lord Bacon, for some passages on "Truth."

"What is truth?' said jesting Pilate; and would not stay for an answer. Certainly there be that delight in giddiness, and count it a bondage to fix a belief; affecting free will in thinking, as well as in acting. And though the sects of philosophers of that kind be gone, yet there remain certain discoursing wits which are of the same veins, though there be not so much blood in them as in those of the ancients. But it is not only the difficulty and labour which men take in finding out of truth-nor again, that when it is found, it imposeth upon men's thoughts-that doth bring lies into favour; but a natural, though corrupt, love of the lie itself. One of the later schools of the Grecians examineth the matter, and is at a stand to think what should be in it that men should love lies, where neither they make for pleasure-as with poets; nor for advantage-as with the merchant; but for the lie's sake. But I cannot tell this same Truth is a naked and open daylight, that doth not show the masques, and mummeries, and triumphs of the world, half so stately and dantily as candle-lights. Truth may, perhaps, come to the price of a pearl, that showeth best by day; but it will not rise to the price of a diamond or carbuncle, that showeth best in varied lights. A mixture of a lie doth ever add pleasure. Doth any man doubt, that if there were taken out of men's minds, vain opinions, flattering hopes, false valuations, imaginations as one would, and the like, but it would leave the minds of a number of men, poor shrunken things-full of melancholy and indisposition; and unpleasing to themselves. There is no vice that doth so cover a man with shame, as to be found false and perfidious. It is not the lie that passeth through the mind, but the lie that sinketh in, and settleth in it, that doth the hurt. But howsoever these things are thus in men's depraved judgments and affections, yet truth, which only doth judge itself, teacheth that the inquiry of truth, which is the love-making or wooing of it; the knowledge of truth, which is the presence of it; and the belief of truth, which is the enjoying of it; is the sovereign good of human nature. The poet saith, yet excellently well: It is a pleasure to stand upon the shore, and to see ships tost upon the sea; a pleasure to stand in the window of a castle, and to see a battle, and the adventures thereof, below: but no pleasure is comparable to the standing upon the vantage ground of

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