CHAPTER XVII.
REWARDS OF MERIT.
The personal distinctions in the gift of the Government of this country consist of the following five orders of knighthood:—
NAME. NO. OF MEMBERS. GRAND KNIGHT COMP. CROSS. COM. The Garter 25 The Thistle 16 St. Patrick 16 The Bath Military 50 102 525 The Bath Civil 25 50 200 St. George and St. Michael 15 20 25 --------------------- 147 172 750
Of these, the first three are restricted, with few and rare exceptions, to persons of a certain rank—including earls, and those above them. The number of these, with the addition of three sons for each duke, and of the eldest sons of marquesses, amounts to about four hundred and fifty. Amongst this favoured class fifty-seven ribbons may be conferred; so that about one-eighth of the class enjoy the decoration.
These ribbons, although much sought after by the class amongst which they are distributed, are more correctly appreciated by the public at large.
With some illustrious and honourable exceptions, they are usually given by those in power to their party supporters. They have also occasionally been employed by the minister of the day, as inducements to persuade his friends to postpone inconvenient questions, to the agitation of which they had been publicly pledged.
An amusing and characteristic anecdote respecting one of these Orders, the Garter, is related of a late Premier. At a time when several of these “baubles” had fallen vacant, and been judiciously given away by the discreet minister, a friend asked him, why he had not retained a Garter for himself? to which he wittily replied, “Why, the fact is, I don’t see the use of a man’s bribing himself.”
The order of St. Michael and St. George was instituted for the Ionian Islands, and is usually given, after a certain time of service, to the Lord High Commissioner, to the Commanders-in-Chief of the Mediterranean fleet, and to other persons connected with the public service in those quarters.
Thus England has, practically, only one order of merit; and, singularly enough, with the exception of a few civil crosses of the first-class almost invariably given for diplomatic service, until lately, that order was not accessible to any other than military merit.
§ In countries, however, which we fondly flattered ourselves were less advanced in civilization than our own, the vulgar notion of paying homage to brute force has long been superseded by a more just appreciation of the elements of military glory. Nations even the most ambitious of this species of renown, have admitted that physical prowess, that recklessness of personal danger, form but the smallest amongst those qualities which contribute to military success.
It is now felt and admitted, that it is the civil capacity of the great commander which prepares the way for his military triumphs; that his knowledge of human nature enables him to select the fittest agents, and to place them in the situations best adapted to their powers; that his intimate acquaintance with all the accessaries which contribute to the health and comfort of his troops, enables him to sustain their moral and physical energy. It has been seen that he must have studied and properly estimated the character of his foes as well as of his allies, and have made himself acquainted with the personal character of the chiefs of both; and still further, that he must have scrutinized the secret motives which regulated their respective governments.
When directly engaged in the operations of contending armies occupying a wide extent of country, he must be able, with rapid glance, to ascertain the force it is possible to concentrate upon each of many points in any given time, and the greater or less chance of failing in the attempt. He must also be able to foresee, with something more than conjecture, what amount of the enemy’s force can be brought to the same spot in the same and in different times. With these elements he must undertake one of the most difficult of mental tasks, that of classifying and grouping the innumerable combinations to which either party may have recourse for purposes of attack or defence. Out of the multitude of such combinations, which might baffle by their simple enumeration the strongest memory, throwing aside the less important, he must be able to discover, to fix his attention, and to act upon the most favourable. Finally, when the course thus selected having been pursued, and perhaps partially carried out, is found to be entirely deranged by one of those many chances inseparable from such operations, then, in the midst of action, he must be able suddenly to organise a different system of operations, new to all other minds, yet possibly although unconsciously, anticipated by his own.
The genius that can meet and overcome such difficulties _must_ be intellectual, and would, under different circumstances, have been distinguished in many a different career.
Nor even would it be very surprising that such a commander, estimating justly the extent of his own powers, and conscious of having planned the best combinations of which his mind is capable, should, having issued his orders, calmly lie down on the eve of the approaching conflict, and find in sleep that bodily restoration so indispensable to the full exercise of his faculties in the mighty struggle about to ensue.
§ It is not uninteresting to observe in society the opinions of its different classes respecting honours conferred on science. Military and naval men, especially the most eminent, feel that genius is limited by no profession, and themselves sympathizing with it, would gladly hail as brothers in the same distinction, the philosopher and the poet. With lawyers the case is reversed; genius dwells not in their courts: industry and acuteness, monopolised by one absorbing professional subject, exclude larger views; and ribbons not being amongst the honoraria of their own profession, they reprobate their application to science. To this there are, however, some noble exceptions. Amongst the brightest ornaments of their own profession, men are to be found of larger experience and more extended views than it often produces, who are themselves qualified to have become discoverers in other sciences. It is much to be regretted when such powers are applied to the mere administration, instead of to the reformation, of the laws of their country.
It is difficult to pronounce on the opinion of the ministers of our Church as a body: one portion of them, by far the least informed, protests against anything which can advance the honour and the interests of science, because, in their limited and mistaken view, science is adverse to religion. This is not the place to argue that great question. It is sufficient to remark, that the best-informed and most enlightened men of all creeds and pursuits, agree that truth can never damage truth, and that every truth is allied indissolubly by chains more or less circuitous with all other truths; whilst error, at every step we make in its diffusion, becomes not only wider apart and more discordant from all truths, but has also the additional chance of destruction from all rival errors.
All established religions are, and must be in practice, political engines—they have all a strong tendency to self-aggrandisement. Our own is by no means exempt from this very natural infirmity.
The Church has been reproached with endeavouring to appropriate to itself all those professorships in our Universities which are connected with science: it is however certain that the larger portion of these ill-remunerated offices have been filled by clergymen.
But a much graver charge attaches itself, if not to our clergy, certainly to those who have the distribution of ecclesiastical patronage. The richest Church in the world maintains that its funds are quite insufficient for the purposes of religion, and that our working clergy are ill-paid, and church accommodation insufficient. It calls therefore upon the nation to endow it with larger funds, and yet, while reluctant to sacrifice its own superfluities, it approves of its rich sinecures being given to reward,—not the professional service of its indefatigable parochial clergy, but those of its members who, having devoted the greater part of their time to scientific researches, have political or private interest enough to obtain such advancement.
But this mode of rewarding merit is neither creditable to the Church nor advantageous to science. It tempts into the Church talents which some of its distinguished members maintain to be naturally of a disqualifying, if not of an antagonistic nature to the pursuits of religion; whilst, on the other hand, it makes a most unjust and arbitrary distinction amongst men of science themselves. It precludes those who cannot conscientiously subscribe to Articles, at once conflicting and incomprehensible, from the acquisition of that preferment and that position in society, which thus in many cases, must be conferred on less scrupulous, and certainly less distinguished inquirers into the works of nature.
As the honorary distinctions of orders of knighthood are not usually bestowed on the clerical profession, its members generally profess to entertain a great contempt for them, and pronounce them unfit for the recognition of scientific merit.
The want of an order for the reward of civil service, having been publicly commented upon, the question was at last forced upon the attention of the government. A plan was drawn up for the reformation of the Order of the Bath, and amongst the qualifications for its civil grades the word science was for the first time introduced. The draft, however, remained in the office, and the intention, if such it were, of the Tories was not followed out.
On the advent of the Whigs to office, they seized upon so plausible an opportunity for gaining popularity, whilst in reality they were serving their own purposes. They proceeded to reconstruct the Order of the Bath, making two divisions, the Military and the Civil, each of which consisted of three classes.
On the 25th May, 1847, there appeared in the Gazette letters patent under the great seal reconstituting the Order of the Bath. It was announced that it should consist of two divisions, the Military and the Civil; each division comprising three classes. This memorable document was accompanied by certain regulations as to the number of each class of the knights, followed by a new set of thirty-seven statutes, which it declares “_shall henceforth be inviolably observed and kept within_ _the said Order_.” But throughout these “_inviolable_” statutes, _scientific_ merit is not even mentioned as a qualification.
In the Civil branch of the Order the qualification for the first class is prescribed by the eighth statute, and the tenth and twelfth statutes distinctly refer to the same. The only qualification to be found in the statutes applicable to either of the three civil classes, is when, referring to the first class of the order, it is stated that—
“No persons shall be nominated thereto, or to either of the other two civil divisions of this Order, who shall not _by their personal services to our crown_, or _by the performance of public duties_, have merited our royal favour.”
The first of these two qualifications includes the services in the household of the Sovereign. Now although it may be agreeable, and may even be thought desirable, that the head of the State should have means of occasionally conferring distinction upon those of its subjects in personal attendance upon it, who have undertaken and accomplished duties beyond the immediate sphere of those for which they are paid in money and by position, yet such claims are personal, not national claims. The lord-in-waiting who has been the agreeable cicerone of some foreign prince, may well be contented with the diamond ring, the costly _tabatière_, or the flattering miniature, eclipsed only by the brilliants surrounding it, which recall to his memory those hours of idleness. If the prince be also a sovereign, he may add to these gratifications, that of conferring a ribbon as a further return for the _empressement_ with which the polished official has fulfilled the duties of his office. Under such circumstances he will easily acquire permission to wear that distinction in his own country: a permission which would be refused by government to the author of the most splendid scientific discovery which might shed a lustre over the age in which he lives.
If such decorations are desirable for such services, let them be confined to one or to all of the four other orders: but let one national order at least be consecrated to real merit.
The only other class who are qualified by the Statutes for the honours of the Bath, are “those who by the performance of public duties have merited our favour.” This may indeed include every person who holds office, but it is clear that the intention was to exclude everybody not already receiving pay from the public.
It has been suggested that a different conclusion may be inferred from the tenth paragraph of the prefatory matter to these statutes, in which the following words occur:—
“To the due distribution of rewards amongst such of our faithful subjects as are now or shall hereafter become eminently distinguished by their loyalty and merit in the military or civil service of us, our heirs, and successors, or _shall otherwise have merited our favour_.”
These latter words are certainly placed with some skill, to furnish a loophole for escape, if public opinion should scout the limited range to which the gratitude of the country would thus be confined by a party, who differ only from the Tories in affecting an admiration for knowledge which they do not feel. It must, however, be observed that this is a mere statement, and that no such words occur in any _statute_. Besides, those who maintain that the party in power when these statutes were issued, intended that science or any other kind of unpaid civil merit, should be susceptible of reward by the Order of the Bath, except it also received pay from the country, must at the same time admit that during the four years in which that party has distributed those honours, England has not furnished one single instance of any other than a paid official having been thought sufficiently distinguished to deserve the honour.
The public recollect with sufficient disgust the professions of both parties respecting science and literature, when the “pension list” was revised in 1838. The claims of science and of literature were then with affected generosity put forward by party, while the true object was to save for their own advantage as large a pension list as they could. That object once attained, a different view of those claims was taken, as we see by its results, of which a searching analysis must at no distant day be made.
The statements uttered in both Houses even during the last session, by members of the present administration, have been so _extraordinary_, that the public are compelled to look beyond the plain English meaning of words, and to withhold their confidence until they have examined them with the scrutiny of a casuist. It is not therefore surprising that those who interpret statutes issued by such parties, should suspect the existence of latent meanings.
Dismissing this point, however, the obvious interpretation of the _statutes_ of the Bath is that no one is qualified to become a member who has not been actually in the _service_ of the country, that is, who has not already been paid for his labours.
The real intention of the concoctors of this scheme is too evident to be concealed. They hoped, by bestowing the Order in few and rare cases on some public servants who had made exertions beyond those of their class, or sacrifices beyond necessity, to get credit for a generosity to which they are strangers, whilst the real object was to secure for their own party and supporters the largest possible share of the patronage.
The advantages they promised themselves from the present arrangement were these:—
1st. By confining the Order of the Bath to officials, they limited the number of competitors.
2d. They thus limited it to a class which contained already a large proportion of their own friends and of the friends of their opponents.
3d. This plan enabled them, by putting into office their own connexions, persons perhaps of very ordinary abilities, ultimately to push them into the upper departments, and then on pretence of extraordinary service to give them these honours.
4th. It enabled them also to make way for such connexions, by tempting those above them, whether friends or opponents, to retire on the receipt of one or other of the decorations of the Bath.
It is not to be denied that such rewards, fairly and judiciously given for _great_ and _extraordinary_ services, might furnish fit motives for extraordinary exertions. But if honours are to be given to every chief of an office or head of a department, after more or less service in proportion to the extent of his political interest, or to every minister we send abroad, without regard to the success of his mission; and if promotion in the Order is to depend on the time during which they have been members of it, then the Bath will no longer be the reward of great exertions or of brilliant talent, but of seniority and routine. Its crimson ribbon will thus cease to distinguish civil merit, and become the appropriate reward of _red-tape_ mediocrity.
It has been suggested that a new order of knighthood should be created, for the purpose of rewarding scientific and literary merit. This plan is entirely inadmissible: there are already five Orders of English Knights, and the new Order would, as the most recent creation, be inferior in rank to those now existing. It would, therefore, necessarily fix science at a low point in the social scale.
If it were adopted, the numerous members of the Order of the Bath would then look down upon and disparage the new Order; whilst, on the other hand, if great discoveries in science were admitted as claims to its honours, every member of the Order of the Bath would be interested in defending his scientific brethren.
§ Much discussion has lately arisen respecting the payment of persons in the employment of government. The economists have lately had a committee of the House of Commons, in which they have in some instances damaged a good cause by want of information. Their enemies will doubtless take advantage of their ignorance, and seem not unwilling to have allowed them to fall into these mistakes.
Those who contend that persons in office are under-paid, generally maintain the doctrine that the holder of every office ought to receive enough to support him, without any assistance from private fortune, in that position of society which others in the same or similar offices occupy.
This may be true for some of the higher stations, where great talents and industry are essential; but these offices are the exceptions. To maintain this doctrine is to assert, that the government must pay such a salary to every employé as to be able to choose out of the whole number of persons existing in the country, those most capable of filling that office. Now in every country where capital has at all accumulated, there will always be a sufficient number of persons, having some amount of private fortune, who will be able and willing to fill all the ordinary offices requiring no very special talent, for a much smaller sum than their average expenditure would require. This more limited class is yet sufficiently large for the government to select from. The competition of capital with labour leads to this result.
The inducements to office under government are many, in addition to that of its salary.
1st. The salary itself generally increases with the time of service.
2d. There is usually a retiring pension after a certain time of service, or in case of accidental incapacity.
3d. There is the chance of promotion by political interest, or perchance from skill and industry displayed in office.
4th. Some incapable head of a department may want a clever fellow to do the work for which he is himself either too idle or too ignorant.
5th. There is the chance of being promoted, in order to make a vacancy for some one below who has more influence.
6th. Then there are the great prizes,—few indeed, but very great when occurring to those without the accidents of birth or interest. It is possible that a clerk commencing at a salary of 80_l._ may ultimately attain a seat in the cabinet, and then the peerage is open to him.
Admitting that there are several cases in which offices are considerably underpaid, no answer has yet been given to the great argument arising from supply and demand. It is an admitted fact, that for every office under government, and for every grade in the army and navy, the number of fitting candidates on each vacancy is very large, and the political and family interest set at work to acquire it, is very great. This can arise only from those offices being overpaid, not by the actual money payment, but by combining that form of remuneration with position in society, and other advantages to which they lead. If this be the case, it is quite unnecessary to add any new inducement—such as the decoration of the Bath—to those so circumstanced, unless it be indeed for very extraordinary services.
Another indication of over-payment is to be found in the fact, that in several professions such offices are matter of sale and purchase. They are so avowedly both in the Church and in the Army.
The Whigs, afraid of intellect when combined with independence, have, during their temporary and tolerated possession of office, confined the new honours the country has to bestow, to those persons only who can be influenced by the hope of promotion,—namely, to those already occupying office. If a distinction is to be made amongst scientific men, let us inquire whether those who fill the few public situations reserved for science and paid by the country, ought to be eligible rather than those whose equally successful contributions to science have been given without any such advantage.
To enable any individual in the present day to enlarge the bounds of science by original discovery, he must be content to sacrifice his whole time and energies to that object. It is true that a considerable or even a great knowledge of certain sciences, and possibly the power of making some additions to them, may co-exist in a few instances with the qualifications necessary for other employments. Such attainments are highly creditable to those officials who so employ their leisure without neglecting their official duties. But the more successful their scientific discoveries, the greater must be the regret that the whole power of such intelligence cannot be directed to one subject.
The various sciences have, it is true, such relations to each other, that few can be cultivated to any great advantage without some acquaintance with those sciences intimately connected with the favourite pursuit. But if it is admitted that all inquiries into Nature and her laws, are directly beneficial to the arts and commerce of the country, it is, in a national point of view, eminently impolitic not to secure for science that division of labour which so remarkably contributes to the progress of all other subjects.
In addition to the unbounded occupation of time and thought, necessary for the most effective employment of mind in the path of original discovery, there are far other requisites. In some sciences, many laborious transcriptions, in others still more laborious arithmetical computations, are required; in others, abstruse and complicated although known and regulated algebraical processes, must be gone through; in others, drawings of the most complicated description must be executed with almost overwhelming labour; in others, extensive experiments must be made. Again, in some, where mechanical means must be contrived for new and intellectual processes, it may be necessary even to invent and make new tools for the purpose of bringing mechanical art itself up to that degree of perfection which science demands. Although the contriving and directing mind engaged in researches that require such aids, ought undoubtedly to be united with a physical structure capable itself of accomplishing each and all that such pursuits require, yet it is often impossible that one human frame, however hardy, can sustain that labour: time itself would be wanting, limited as it ever must be by the duration of one human life.
Yet if the powers of that mind and that frame have been rightly cultivated, and if the want of pecuniary means do not prevent their exercise, it is quite possible, by proper aid, to concentrate in one life the accumulated labour of many. Assistants of various degrees of manual and mental skill may be employed, the economical organization of their labour may be arranged. The most perfect effect of such an establishment can only be attained when the presiding head is never employed except on work for which money could procure no substitute, and when each assistant is devoted to work of the highest kind which he can successfully execute.
He who directs a scientific establishment for the Government, has all these means provided for him, and is himself paid, though not always liberally, for his own labours. _He_ is to be deemed _qualified_ for the order of the Bath.
_He_ who sacrifices profession and that position to which its most successful members usually attain, who spends a fortune in purchasing that assistance which alone can render his power effective, and has spent his life in cultivating highly that power for the advancement of science, is deemed by his country, however great his success, _disqualified_ for the Order of the Bath.
But it is not the sound and wholesome part of the country—it is not the people of England who have arrived at this conclusion;—it is the insolence of power,—it is the meanness of party,—it is the selfishness of a clique.
The spirit which dictated a limitation equally opposed to every generous feeling and to every statesman-like view, is consistent only with such influences. When the ministry founded that new source of patronage, it sought to acquire for itself a kind of popularity amongst its adherents. Had it admitted intellectual merit, it would have obtained popularity for the Crown from an enlightened nation. But the interests of party are transitory,—those of the sovereign permanent: it is the interest of party to be ever jealous of the personal popularity of the Crown.
In thus excluding from its honours one class of the intelligence of the country, did it never occur to the short-sighted minister who planned this arrangement, that some portion of the talents thus insulted, might be driven to other inquiries which it would neither be easy to answer nor even expedient to discuss?
A party which first refuses to science the means of acquiring competence,—then excludes it from personal honours because it has already been denied official position,—and which refuses it hereditary rank, because it has not devoted itself to the acquisition of wealth, will naturally cause questions to be raised as to the expediency of different forms of government.
Of what class, it will naturally be asked, are the persons who have made such laws?
Is the possession of hereditary rank at all necessary for the government of the country?
At a distant period, and under a less complicated form of society, the obvious disadvantages of appointing a legislator for life from the accident of his birth, instead of the fitness of his talents, might have been tolerated under the influence of force. It has since been consecrated by established usage, and some of its evils mitigated by the continual infusion of fresh blood into decaying stocks. But at the present day, and amidst the multiplied relations of highly civilized life, the question whether an upper chamber ought to be hereditary, or appointed only for life, is one upon which nations as well as philosophers, avowedly disagree.
In a very few years this great question will come to be more thoroughly investigated, and those who now advocate the continuance of existing institutions, will then have enough on their hands, without rashly forcing, by injustice and insult, both talent and interest into the ranks of their opponents.
At present it is sufficient to call attention to a statement often made, that a chamber of Peers for life is incompatible with the existence of a limited monarchy. This, like many other party dogmas, is a mere gratuitous assertion, put forward to alarm the timid who have experienced the advantages and are anxious for the continuance of that form of government.
Various opinions have been advanced, and are current in society, concerning the proper reward for those _whose science adds to the boundaries of human knowledge_, and certain principles are held by the occupiers of high political office, to which it may be well to advert.
Some of these persons have themselves acquired a smattering of one science, political economy, and thus they reason:—They are informed that it is a highly agreeable occupation to make discoveries, and although it is known that it costs years of labour and study to acquire that power, yet it is found that many persons are willing to indulge in this luxury, and are generally disposed to publish the results of their discoveries. Since, therefore, the public can get the benefit of the knowledge for nothing, it would be very extravagant in the stewards of the public to pay anything for it.
But it seems not to have been observed by these reasoners, that although all discoveries are of value to the country, yet the time at which they become practically useful occurs at very different, and often at distant periods. It might also be suggested to them, that the discoverers of the great principles of nature are very rarely the persons most capable of applying them to practice. It is also clear that the acquisition of money was not one of their objects in devoting themselves to such unprofitable pursuits.
Under such circumstances, if the Government neither encourage science by pecuniary nor by honorary reward, it is most probable that the discoveries which are made, will occur in its more recondite recesses; and as the only recompense obtained is the intellectual pleasure felt in the pursuit, the greater part of the discoveries made will be of the most abstract kind.
This tendency is still further increased by the fact that the far larger number of those who cultivate science, are precluded from competition by the expense necessary for the pursuit of many of its more practical branches. The most highly intellectual and exciting,—all the departments of the pure mathematics, for example, attract by the comparative economy of the expenditure they demand.
And yet it may happen that immense sums might have been saved to the nation, if the efforts of competent men had been applied to reform the domestic economy or rather the domestic extravagance of many of our public establishments, instead of expending them more agreeably though less profitably, on the interpretation of an almost impossible cypher, or the still more interesting discovery of relations amongst new orders of imaginary quantities.
How often has the question been asked by persons seeking a profitable investment of their capital, Will such a canal or railroad pay? This is really an indefinite question, and admits of no one answer applicable to all cases. It may, for example, in some particular instance, be tolerably certain that at the end of the first four years, if the shares are sold, and the account closed, there will be an entire loss of half the principal, and all interest during that time. If the shares are not sold until the end of eight years, they will produce a return of the original capital, together with a profit of five per cent. If, however, those shares were retained until the end of twelve years, they might, when sold, produce a return of the original capital, together with a profit of ten per cent. during the whole time.
Now, it is obvious that the answer to the question, “Will that canal or railway pay?” must depend on the capital possessed by the purchaser and on the period of time during which he can afford to abstain from its use. The purchaser who could not abstain from the use of the interest of his money for four years might be ruined, whilst he who could abstain for twelve, might be greatly enriched. But a wealthy country is generally better able to abstain than any commercial firm, and the investment in discoveries becoming productive at a distant time, will be of far more advantage to a nation than to individuals.
A certain number of persons maintain the opinion, that if men of science became rich they would become idle, and that it is expedient to starve them into discovery. Such persons may perhaps have been misled by arguing from a supposed analogy with some other profession. But the pleasure of science arises from the exertion, not from the inactivity of the mind.
Others, and a very large number, hold that science is of so sublime a nature, that it ought to be above all sublunary rewards;—they maintain that it is beneath its dignity to wish for the wealth or the honours awarded to success in other pursuits;—that ribbons and titles are quite unworthy of the ambition of those who are searching into the truths of nature.
When men state a principle, the best test of their sincerity is to be found in their application of it. We may ourselves utterly repudiate a principle, and yet be unable to show that it is not sincerely believed by those who assert its authority. Man cannot dive into the mind of his fellow-man, and witness the internal conviction he asserts; but he can always examine the _fairness_ with which he applies that principle.
Now, if the lofty dignity of science is such that it is, from its very nature, incompatible with wealth—if decorations and titles are entirely unworthy of its legitimate ambition,—then, as a necessary consequence, all pursuits of a higher order are still more absolutely excluded from such vanities.
Is it consistent, therefore, with these opinions, to maintain that the Ministers of a Christian Church, who interpret to us the _word_ of God, should receive payment for their labour, rank for their exertions, and, in some instances, even the very ribbons[27] so contemned: whilst those who make us intimately acquainted with the _works_ of the Almighty, who discover to us the laws which he has impressed on matter, and thus add to the physical comfort, the intellectual pleasure, and the religious feeling of mankind, should be compelled to exercise those rare endowments, only by the sacrifice of fortune and the renunciation of all those enjoyments, rewards, and honours, which the ministers even of the purest creed receive without reproach?
But these are the opinions of the shallow and the thoughtless. The pursuits of mind may modify, they can never obliterate the instincts, the feelings, or the passions of man.
The consciousness of power, and the conviction of its successful exertion, exist undiminished by the neglect or the ingratitude of the country he inhabits. The certainty that a future age will repair the injustice of the present, and the knowledge that the more distant the day of reparation, the more he has outstripped the efforts of his cotemporaries, may well sustain him against the sneers of the ignorant, or the jealousy of rivals.
It is possible that in some rare instance such a man may feel personally little ambition to attain what all others covet; still, however, he may be bound by other ties which link him inseparably to the present.
He may look with fond and affectionate gratitude on her whose maternal care watched over the dangers of his childhood; who trained his infant mind, and with her own mild power, checking the rash vigour of his youthful days, remained ever the faithful and respected counsellor of his riper age. To gladden the declining years of her who with more than prophetic inspiration, foresaw as woman only can, the distant fame of her beloved offspring, he may well be forgiven the desire for some outward mark of his country’s approbation.
If such a relative were wanting, there might yet survive another parent whose less enthusiastic temperament had ever repressed those fond anticipations of maternal affection, but who now in the ripeness of his honoured age, might be compelled, with faltering accents, to admit that the voice of the country confirmed the predictions of the mother.
Perhaps another and yet dearer friend might exist, the partner of his daily cares, the witness of his unceasing toil; whose youthful mind, cultivated by his skill, rewards with enduring affection those efforts which called into existence her own latent and unsuspected powers. When driven by exhausted means and injured health almost to despair of the achievement of his life’s great object—when the brain itself reels beneath the weight its own ambition has imposed, and the world’s neglect aggravates the throbbings of an overtasked frame, an angel spirit sits beside his couch ministering with gentlest skill to every wish, watching with anxious thought till renovated nature shall admit of bolder counsels, then points the way to hope, herself the guardian of his deathless fame.
The fool may sneer, the worldly-wise may smile, the heartless laugh,—the saint may moralize, the bigot preach: there dwells not within the deep recesses of the human heart one sentiment more powerful, more exalted, or more pure than these.
That man is not a statesman, who is unaware of the strength of these powerful excitements to human action. Cold and incapable of such sentiments himself,—no grasp of intellect enables him to infer their existence, and thus to supply the deficiencies of his own, by an insight into the hearts of others.
That man is a fool, not a statesman, who knowing their strength, hesitates to avail himself of it for the benefit of his country and of mankind.
But if there should arise a man conscious of their power, who yet should dare to use it for the purposes of party, that man will combine in his character the not incongruous mixture of statesman and of knave. A statesman he may be, if he can penetrate into the character of men, and can divine the action of human motives upon the masses, as well as on the individuals of his race. With such knowledge, and with the talent that its possession implies, he cannot be a fool; except indeed, in as far as he is entitled to credit for that limited amount of folly which is inseparably attached to him in his other character of knave. It is _possible_ that he may be successful in his day; it is _certain_ that he will ultimately be found out and disgraced in the eyes of posterity. His name may remain a beacon for a time, until some greater or more recent knave supersedes his example, and thus consigns him to oblivion.
It is not then the gaudy ribbon, the brilliant star, the titled name, that have intrinsic charms for him who dedicates his genius to the search for truth. How large a portion of his real greatness, even of his most splendid discoveries, would he not willingly sacrifice to confer on those he loves that exquisite happiness, which arises only when hidden but long-cherished convictions, entertained diffidently from the consciousness of partial affection, receive at length their final confirmation by that decision which national acknowledgment can alone command!
[27] The following dignitaries of the Church wear decorations of Orders of Knighthood.
Archbishop of Armagh. Bishop of Oxford. Archbishop of Dublin. Dean of Westminster. Dean of St. Patrick.
The vestments of the Bishop of Oxford throw into the shade those even of Roman Catholic prelates.
“The said prelate shall have and wear for his habit, a mantle of crimson velvet, lined with white taffeta, richly guarded with the Sovereign’s badges and cognizances, and upon his right shoulder an escutcheon of the arms of the Order, within a garter, and the lace of his mantle shall be of blue silk, interwoven with gold.”—_History of British Orders of Knighthood, by Sir Harris Nicolas_, p. 430.
Appendix.
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THE ELEVENTH CHAPTER OF THE HISTORY OF THE ROYAL SOCIETY.
BY C. R. WELD, ESQ. ASSISTANT SECRETARY OF THE ROYAL SOCIETY.
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REPRINTED WITH THE PERMISSION OF THE PROPRIETOR.
EXTRACT FROM WELD’S HISTORY OF THE ROYAL SOCIETY.
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