Chapter 40

THE lectures at the Royal Institution were of some help tome. I attended courses by Owen, Tyndall, Huxley, and Bain.

　　Of these, Huxley was FACILE PRINCEPS, though both Owen andTyndall were second to no other. Bain was disappointing. Iwas a careful student of his books, and always admired thelogical lucidity of his writing. But to the mixed audiencehe had to lecture to - fashionable young ladies in theirteens, and drowsy matrons in charge of them, he discreetlykept clear of transcendentals. In illustration perhaps ofsome theory of the relation of the senses to the intellect,he would tell an amusing anecdote of a dog that had had aninjured leg dressed at a certain house, after which therecovered dog brought a canine friend to the same house tohave his leg - or tail - repaired. Out would come all thetablets and pretty pencil cases, and every young lady wouldbe busy for the rest of the lecture in recording themarvellous history. If the dog's name had been 'Spot' or'Bob,' the important psychological fact would have beenfaithfully registered. As to the theme of the discourse,that had nothing to do with - millinery. And Mr. Baindoubtless did not overlook the fact.

　　Owen was an accomplished lecturer; but one's attention to himdepended on two things - a primary interest in the subject,and some elementary acquaintance with it. If, for example,his subject were the comparative anatomy of the cycloid andganoid fishes, the difference in their scales was scarcely ofvital importance to one's general culture. But if he werelecturing on fish, he would stick to fish; it would beessentially a JOUR MAIGRE.

　　With Huxley, the suggestion was worth more than the thingsaid. One thought of it afterwards, and wondered whether hiswords implied all they seemed to imply. One knew that thescientist was also a philosopher; and one longed to get athim, at the man himself, and listen to the lessons which hiswork had taught him. At one of these lectures I had thehonour of being introduced to him by a great friend of mine,John Marshall, then President of the College of Surgeons. Inlater years I used to meet him constantly at the Athenaeum.

　　Looking back to the days of one's plasticity, two men arepre-eminent among my Dii Majores. To John Stuart Mill and toThomas Huxley I owe more, educationally, than to any otherteachers. Mill's logic was simply a revelation to me. Forwhat Kant calls 'discipline,' I still know no book, unless itbe the 'Critique' itself, equal to it. But perhaps it is themen themselves, their earnestness, their splendid courage,their noble simplicity, that most inspired one withreverence. It was Huxley's aim to enlighten the many, and heenlightened them. It was Mill's lot to help thinkers, and hehelped them. SAPERE AUDE was the motto of both. How fewthere are who dare to adopt it! To love truth is valiantlyprofessed by all; but to pursue it at all costs, to 'dare tobe wise' needs daring of the highest order.

　　Mill had the enormous advantage, to start with, of aneducation unbiassed by any theological creed; and he broughtexceptional powers of abstract reasoning to bear upon mattersof permanent and supreme importance to all men. Yet, inspite of his ruthless impartiality, I should not hesitate tocall him a religious man. This very tendency which noimaginative mind, no man or woman with any strain of poeticalfeeling, can be without, invests Mill's character with aclash of humanity which entitles him to a place in ouraffections. It is in this respect that he so widely differsfrom Mr. Herbert Spencer. Courageous Mr. Spencer was, buthis courage seems to have been due almost as much to absenceof sympathy or kinship with his fellow-creatures, and to hiscontempt of their opinions, as from his dispassionate love oftruth, or his sometimes passionate defence of his own tenets.

　　My friend Napier told me an amusing little story about JohnMill when he was in the East India Company's administration.

　　Mr. Macvey Napier, my friend's elder brother, was the seniorclerk. On John Mill's retirement, his co-officialssubscribed to present him with a silver standish. Such wasthe general sense of Mill's modest estimate of his owndeserts, and of his aversion to all acknowledgment of them,that Mr. Napier, though it fell to his lot, begged others tojoin in the ceremony of presentation. All declined; theinkstand was left upon Mill's table when he himself was outof the room.

　　Years after the time of which I am writing, when Mill stoodfor Westminster, I had the good fortune to be on the platformat St. James's Hall, next but one to him, when he made hisfirst speech to the electors. He was completely unknown tothe public, and, though I worshipped the man, I had neverseen him, nor had an idea what he looked like. To satisfy mycuriosity I tried to get a portrait of him at thephotographic shop in Regent Street.

　　'I want a photograph of Mr. Mill.'

　　'Mill? Mill?' repeated the shopman, 'Oh yes, sir, I know - agreat sporting gent,' and he produced the portrait of asportsman in top boots and a hunting cap.

　　Very different from this was the figure I then saw. The halland the platform were crowded. Where was the principalpersonage? Presently, quite alone, up the side steps, andunobserved, came a thin but tallish man in black, with a tailcoat, and, almost unrecognised, took the vacant front seat.

　　He might have been, so far as dress went, a clerk in acounting-house, or an undertaker. But the face was noordinary one. The wide brow, the sharp nose of the Burketype, the compressed lips and strong chin, were suggestive ofintellect and of suppressed emotion. There was no applause,for nothing was known to the crowd, even of his opinions,beyond the fact that he was the Liberal candidate forWestminster. He spoke with perfect ease to himself, neverfaltering for the right word, which seemed to be always athis command. If interrupted by questions, as he constantlywas, his answers could not have been amended had he writtenthem. His voice was not strong, and there were frequentcalls from the far end to 'speak up, speak up; we can't hearyou.' He did not raise his pitch a note. They might as wellhave tried to bully an automaton. He was doing his best, andhe could do no more. Then, when, instead of the usualadulations, instead of declamatory appeals to the passions ofa large and a mixed assembly, he gave them to understand, invery plain language, that even socialists are not infallible,- that extreme and violent opinions, begotten of ignorance,do not constitute the highest political wisdom; then therewere murmurs of dissent and disapproval. But if the ignorantand the violent could have stoned him, his calm manner wouldstill have said, 'Strike, but hear me.'

　　Mr. Robert Grosvenor - the present Lord Ebury - then theother Liberal member for Westminster, wrote to ask me to takethe chair at Mill's first introduction to the Pimlicoelectors. Such, however, was my admiration of Mill, I didnot feel sure that I might not say too much in his favour;and mindful of the standish incident, I knew, that if I didso, it would embarrass and annoy him.

　　Under these circumstances I declined the honour.

　　When Owen was delivering a course of lectures at Norwich, mybrother invited him to Holkham. I was there, and we tookseveral long walks together. Nothing seemed to escape hisobservation. My brother had just completed the recovery ofmany hundred acres of tidal marsh by embankments. Owen, whowas greatly interested, explained what would be the effectupon the sandiest portion of this, in years to come; what thechemical action of the rain would be, how the sand wouldeventually become soil, how vegetation would cover it, andhow manure render it cultivable. The splendid crops nowgrown there bear testimony to his foresight. He had alwayssomething instructive to impart, stopping to contemplatetrifles which only a Zadig would have noticed.

　　'I observe,' said he one day, 'that your prevailing wind hereis north-west.'

　　'How do you know?' I asked.

　　'Look at the roots of all these trees; the large roots areinvariably on the north-west side. This means that thestrain comes on this side. The roots which have to bear itloosen the soil, and the loosened soil favours the extensionand the growth of the roots. Nature is beautifullyscientific.'

　　Some years after this, I published a book called 'Creeds ofthe Day.' My purpose was to show, in a popular form, thebearings of science and speculative thought upon thereligious creeds of the time. I sent Owen a copy of thework. He wrote me one of the most interesting letters I everreceived. He had bought the book, and had read it. But theimportant content of the letter was the confession of his ownfaith. I have purposely excluded all correspondence fromthese Memoirs, but had it not been that a forgotten collectorof autographs had captured it, I should have been tempted tomake an exception in its favour. The tone was agnostic; buttimidly agnostic. He had never freed himself from theshackles of early prepossessions. He had not the necessarydaring to clear up his doubts. Sometimes I fancy that it wasthis difference in the two men that lay at the bottom of theunfortunate antagonism between Owen and Huxley. There is inOwen's writing, where he is not purely scientific, a touch ofthe apologist. He cannot quite make up his mind to followevolution to its logical conclusions. Where he is forced todo so, it is to him like signing the death warrant of hisdearest friend. It must not be forgotten that Owen was bornmore than twenty years before Huxley; and great as was theoffence of free-thinking in Huxley's youth, it was nothingshort of anathema in Owen's. When I met him at Holkham, the'Origin of Species' had not been published; and Napier and Idid all we could to get Owen to express some opinion onLamarck's theory, for he and I used to talk confidentially onthis fearful heresy even then. But Owen was ever on hisguard. He evaded our questions and changed the subject.

　　Whenever I pass near the South Kensington Museum I step asideto look at the noble statues of the two illustrious men. Amere glance at them, and we appreciate at once theirrespective characters. In the one we see passive wisdom, inthe other militant force.