The Sketcher.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 242, 8 July 1876, Page 5

The Sketcher.

GETTING OVER IT. (From the Queen) “ You will get over it.” Of all the styptics applied to a bleeding heart, a wounded soul, this sonnds the most cruel, but is, in fact, the most wholesome. The reparative power of nature —that vis medicatrix of which schoolmen talked such marvellous nonsense in the days when ideas stood where facts stand now—is as true of the human mind as it is of the body ; and shattered joy repairs itself, happiness is restored after mutilation, wounded affection is healed, and scars take the place of sores, all the same in the life of man as in the life of the world—in souls as in plants. It is wonderful, when we think of it, what we do get over; some of us, certainly, with more \ trouble, and taking a longer time about it than others ; but we all, with few exceptions, get over everything in time, and after the due amount of despair has been undergone, the due number of tears have been shed It is easy to understand the passionate desperation of inexperienced youth when things go wrong, and disappointment comes to shatter the fairy shrine that hope and fancy had busied themselves in building up out of mist wreaths and rainbows. The boy’s fever-fit of despair when cruel parents interpose with their vile prosaic calculations of how much for house rent, and how much for the butcher and baker, with the maddening deficit against the artist’s income that is to provide food and a home for the beloved, and consequent denial of the daughter’s hand, and interruption of all intercourse for the good of both—well, he thinks that he shall never get over it ! It has broken his heart, destroyed his life, ruined his happiness for ever, and there is nothing worth living for now, since Araminta is impossible. On her side, Araminta holds that it would be very nice to die and have done with the trouble of dressing for balls when Bertie is not there to see her—where, if he is there, he is not to dance with her, make sweet love in the conservatory, on the stairs, over the ices, the champagne. She thinks that, Bertie denied, her womanhood will have no more sweetness, bring her no more hope ; she will never get over it—never, she says weeping to her confidant ; but next year she is the radiant wife of a well-to-do stockbroker, and Bertie’s artistry and love-making are no more substantial than her childish dreams of dolls hnd dolls’ houses. Bertie too laughs at his former self, when he is a prosperous 11. A., painting for guineas where formerly he was not paid in pence, and meets with Araminta at the private view—she a British matron with her quiver full and her brown hair grey ; he also the father of a family, who has done with dreams even in his art, and who paints what will sell 'rather than what he thinks to be the best. Ah ! the Berties and Aramintas of life get over their romances with humiliat-

ing celerity : and that vis medicatrix is sometimes quicker and more thorough in its operation than is quite satisfactory to the self-love of either. Submission to the inevitable is all very well in its way ; but likes that submission to be too entire when it involves the loss of himself. The man’s deeper disappointment the woman’s life-long sori’ow —even these are got over in a way, if the scars never heal quite so kindly as with Bertie and Araminta. r Lhe older one grows the deeper the wounds and the more pain they cause ; though also all of us, if wise, know that these wounds will be got over in time, that this pain will cease to ache. Nevertheless, for the time being it is bad to bear, and the healing process is slower. Loss of fortune, of friends, of the dearest twin of your life —that second self without whom it seems to you now that you cannot exist at all the child from the mother’s breast, the boy from the father’s side, the prop of your old age, the companion of your soul and the joy of your eyes —all these go from you and fling you into the abyss of despair ; but you get over it. A few years of troubled health may be, of tears starting readily to your eyes on small occasions, of the constant presence of gloom, and the daily thought of death —and then by degrees the clouds lift gradually, bit by bit, step by step, till you drift under the serene blue sky again, where, if all things are not as they were before the storm came which broke your flowers and beat down your temple, they are at the least beautiful to look at and good to live with. We grant it—great sorrows leave traces that are ineffaceable, and life is never entirely the same after them as it Avas before ; but for all that we get over even the deepest of these sorrows, and go on in the old grooves, with here and there sad places as reminders, but substantially everything the same as heretofore. We get over eA r en that loss of health and strength which leaves the citadel sound if the outworks are sapped and taken. The strong man and mighty hunter learns to live as a cripple —as a living death, paralysed and bound to his chair for the remainder of his time. When it Avas first told him that he was maimed and ruined, he felt that he could not get over it—that he should die of the anguish which only strong men knevj. But the blessed vis medicatrix, Avhich couicf do nothing for his body, does all for his mind, and he wears down into his sorrowful place, and gets over it in the best Avay he can. He finds consolation —“ compensation,” as Emerson says—and, like a vine pruned to the quick, puts forth fresh tendrils, new leaves, and even bears good fruit to the end. It is a daily amazement to his friends, AvhokneAV himin the days of his poAverful manhood and lusty strength, to see hoAv well he has got over it ; but the poAver Avhich is good for one tiling is for the most part good for another, and the resignation of a strong man to the inevitable is as brave as used to. be his courage in the presence of danger, as vital as Avas his energy against obstacles and difficulties. Men get over, too, eA'en the discovery of hidden passages in their lives which they believed when first disclosed would ruin them for ever —that slip some twenty years ago, when the books of the private little society of which he was the treasurer and secretary were found to have been tampered Avith, and moneys that had been paid in were never able to be drawn out by those to Avhom they belonged. Well ! when that small lapse from the gentleman’s code of honor and the vulgar rules of common honesty was made knoAvn, the delinquent thought for sure he should never get over it ; —but he did. He lived it doAvn ; success, based on fraud, grew as the old legends say Naples greAv on the foundation of the magic egg laid there by “ Yirgilius.” Let the egg break, and the goodly city would sink into the sea ; let the fraud come full to the fio-ht, and the whole superstructure of opulence and respectability would fall to the ground. But it does not ; and for the Avhispered revelations made in past time—he gets over them. So of the woman. She stands on the pinnacle of feminine honor. . Her hair is grey, and her cheek has lost its roundness. She thought she should never have got over it, Avhen years ago her letters Avere shoAvn in the club, and her poor little secret was bloAvn by gossip and scandal to all four corners of the earth. But she did in time, and now Avalks as smoothly as if no such misfortune had happened to her youth—as if she had never known Avhat it was to be looked at askance, and spoken of Avith bated breath and small respect. She got over it ; and now who Avould suspect that she has ever had to ford so deep a river, to skirt by so terrible a precipice ? THE SHAKERS. (From the Charing Cross Magazine.) The societies are divided into different orders commonly called families. The .first, or novitiate class, are those who receive faith, and come into a degree of relation to the society, but Avho choose to live in their own families and manage their oAvn temporal concerns. Any may live in that manner and be owned as brethren and sisters in the Gospel, so long as they live up to its requirements, as understood by the Shakers. The second, or junior class, is composed of persons who, not having the charge of families, and being under no embarrassments to hinder them from uniting in community order, choose to enjoy the benefits of that situation. These enter into a contract to devote their services freely to support the interest of the family of which they are members, so long as they continue in that order, at the same time agreeing to claim no pecuniary compensation for their services. Members of this class may also retain lawful oAvnership of their property so long as they deem proper, and may, whenever they choose, consecrate a part or a Avhole to the support of the ordei\ The third or senior class comprises such persons as have had sufficient opportunity practically to prove the faith and manner of life of the society, and are prepared to enter freely and fully into a united and consecrated interest. These covenant and agree to devote themselves and services, Avith all they possess,

to the service of the Shaker religion for ever, px-omising never to bring debt, damage, oxclaim against the society or any member. This class constitutes the Church order. Their property is held in common, and each member of the family labors fox- the benefit of all. They are, perhaps, the first peojde in the history of the Avoi-ld that have demonstrated, by the experience of a century, the possibility of holding and oavuing pi-operty in common. Here are found no laAvyex-s, xxo doctors, no professional life of any kind; no houses of coi-rection or pi-isons are needed, for they live harmoniously together; there are no idlers in this community, each and every one conti-ibutes his or her share of labor. Evei-y society is composed of one or more families, each of Avhich is self-supporting, and possesses, Avithin itself, a pei-fect organisation in both temporal and spii-itual affairs. Their farms are highly cultivated, and their dxvellings scrupulously neat and clean. They not only produce enough to support themselves, but their goods are knoAvn far and wide. Shaker garden-seeds, brooms, canned fruit, &c. enjoy a high reputation. Of late years the canned frxxit trade has greatly increased in America, and this noAv forms the principal product of the Shakers. Their busiixess relations ai-e fast extending over the whole United States, the society at times having greater calls than they can supply. Their dress is plain, both for men and women, and the fashion is never changed, except Avhen they think their health and comfort will be promoted by so doing. Swine’s flesh is discarded, and alcoholic preparations not used except under medical advisement. The Avord of the Shakers is considered as good as their bond, and they are trusted and respected by all avlio knoAV them. Occasionally an imposter gains admittance into the order, but he is no sooner found out than dischax-ged. Their conversation has the “yea,” “nay,” “thee,” and “thou.” The apartments of the brethren and sisters are usxxally at the opposite sides or ends of the hoxxse, which is divided by spacious halls. Fi-om two to six persons live in a room, and all eat at the same' time at different tables in a large dining-i-oom. BOGIES. (From the Liberal Revieio.) Though the tendency of modex-n times is to cause people to think lightly of the supernatural in their appreciation of the mundane, the popular mind is largely permeated by superstition. Notwithstanding that this is an age of iron, money, and exploded miracles—an age in which men may be found who decline to believe in anything Avhich they cannot see, or the existence of which cannot be pi-oved beyond the possibility of doubt —scoi-es of simple-minded people continue to cherish a faith in occult influences and mysterious sig s. Nor is it mostly those whose continually rise above this Avojld avlio do this. On the contrary, in many instances persons who neglect their church, make short work of their prayers, and are not remarkable for their love of the moral code, are often the most inveterate of the disciples of superstition. Thus you will find men who ai-e distinguished by their levity betraying in many Avays hoAv they are inflxxenced by trivial things to Avhich, judging from their blatant utterances, they might be expected to be sxxperior. For instance, you may detect them in the act of looking out for omens Avith a persistency Avhich is almost childish, and you may find that you are cherishing a sort of fatalistic creed Avhich is uttex-ly at variance with the strength of Avhat they say in the presence of their fellows. That they do these things secretly, and that they will not OAvn to being supex-stitious, is proof enough that they are even more taunted than may appear at a first glance. They may be unable to defend the peculiar forms of superstition which they affect. Probably such is the case. More probably still, hoxvever, they have no wish to support by logical processes of reasoning Avhat seems to be more a sort of instinct, which is held in defiance of one’s better judgment, than anything else. Now, superstition, of course, takes many forms. The sailor who Avill not go to sea on Friday because it is unlucky to do so, and the timid person avlio Avill decline to walk beneath a raised ladder for the same reason, are but types of a large class. So are those persons who believe that Avhen a dog howls a person is about to die, and that Avhen a person dreams a certain thing something portentous is to follow 1 Of the degrading belief in Avitchcraft, which has been proved to be still rife in England, we say nothing, and of the marvels of the modern science called “ Spiritualism, the manifestations of which are a combination of the extraordinary and the ridiculous, we are also silent. Indeed, superstition is altogether a matter Avhich it is best for the scientist and the priest to deal with. Still, one of its phases comes immediately within our scope. This phase is its ridiculous aspect. Now, Avhile people are at liberty to believe in all the demons, and witches, and mysteries, which have ever aAved a weak mind and clogged men’s energies and cramped men’s thoughts, in doing so they should display some consideration for the feelings of those Avith whom they associate. Especially should they be kind enough to do this Avhen they are so ashamed of their beliefs that they are continually disavowing them in a timorous, fainthearted way Avhich, strange to say, amounts to a practical confession of faith. But superstitious people are, of all persons in the Avorld, the last who slioav much regal’d for the susceptibilities of their neighbors. For instance, the manner in Avhich they act when _ that superstition anent thirteen people sitting doAvn at table is brought forward is certainly not calculated to place people at their ease. It is true that they Avill condescend to talk grandiloquently about the “ exploded superstition,” but, nevertheless, they give you to understand that they do not half like forming one of the thirteen, and the probability is that if they are forced into doing so they add to the festivity of the board by retailing a number of stories which tend to show that

there is, after all, something in the “ exploded superstition,” and they may go so far as to express a hope that nothing may happen in their case, doing so in such a manner that one may be pai-doned if he comes to the conclusion that they could, if they Avould, prophesy in a manner utterly at A-ai'iance xvith their expressed hopes. lloxv cheerful people may become when thirteen of them are dining or supping together, and Avhen the company is graced by one or txvo killjoys Avho are literally saturated Avith superstition and yet are ashamed to make a ti-xxe confession of their feelings, and so contradict themselves evex-y other moment, only those who have had personal experience can tell. But the tortui-es Avhich are to be endured at such a time are small, indeed, compared Avith those Avhich it is in the poAver of superstitious beings to inflict upon their victims when circumstances are more pi-opitious. There is no need to travel far to illustrate this. Say that you form one of a household, a much-loved member of Avhich is sick it may be unto death. While the invalid thus lies there flock around you a number of sympathising friends Avho give you to understand that they have had plenty of experience and know how to act at cx-itical moments. Well, it happens, that Avhile they are by some dog, suffei-ing it may be fi-om. toothache or pining for the society of its mastei-, relieves its feelings by indxilging in a sti-ayhoAvl or two. Hereupon, the superstitious ci-oakei-s commence. You hear hoAv a wretched animal hoAvled all night when their father or grandfather lay a-dying, and you are indirectly Avarned to prepare for the Avorst. Yet the croakei-s lead you to understand that they do not wish to alarm you unduly ; indeed, they probably go so far as to state that it is their desire to put yoxx in good spirits. Of coxxrse, it is possible, indeed it is more than possible, that, circxxmstances being Avhat they are, you are placed in a position of extreme discomfort and anxiety from which the timely recovery of the sick one almost fails to relieve you. It may hajxpen that the superstitious croakers, not content with retailing to you the signs Avhich betokened the father’s or grandfathei-’s death, go to the trouble of dreaming dreams of the most horrible character, upon Avhich they put the most awful significance, and which, along with their melancholy intei-pi-etations, they vei-y considerately give you the benefit of. Pei-haps it should, in justice to them, be said that they do not merely dream when sickness is at hand, but that they are evei-lastingly dreaming themselves and putting a fearful interpretation upon the dreams of their neighbors. When everything is, apparently, bright and cheerful, and when they ought, as reasonable beings, to be bi’ight and cheerful also, they Avill cast a pall over the prevailing sunniness by sepulchrally declaring that they are assured that something dreadful is about to happen, and they will support their impx-ession by recounting Avhat they have seen in the land of visions. It may be that, in a general Avay, their prophecies prove inaccurate, but they have the satisfaction of knoAving that they make many people very miserable, inasmuch as the anticipation of trouble is often worse than trouble itself. MR. HENRY IRVING ON AMUSEMENTS. (From the Daily Telegraph, April 1.) The last of the series of conferences in connection with the Church of England Temperance Society took place yesterday, when Mr. Henry Irving read a paper entitled “ Amusements,” which evoked frequent applause. He said: In rising to speak of public amusements —an actor —amongst clergymen and laymen of strongly religious sympathies, I am sensible of the novelty, and even the delicacy, of my position. There have been times when my art Avas Avarmly recognised as a refining influence —or, at any rate, as an innocent and classic recreation —by members of the clerical profession. They attended the theatre, and they Avrote plays. They had friends amongst our greatest actors, and they enjoyed hours of ease in private intercourse with them; but were these times of great activity in the Church of England ? I believe not. Is it not true that the clergy of the Church in the last century, or even at the beginning of this, if not satisfied Avith a perfunctory performance of their duties, were to a large extent devoid of that spiritual zeal which has since possessed all schools of the Church ? —a zeal for the salvation of men in evei-y sense of that significant and comprehensive word, of which I desire to speak (I should do violence to my feeling if I did not) with the utmost reverence. No one can be more conscious than a thoughtful member of my profession of the value of profound religious emotion, and I believe it is a thing almost unknown, except in cases Avhere somewhat ribald authors have misled us, for actors to speak otherwise than with respect of those extreme types of religion which ax-e most hostile to our art. Still, Ave must not shut our eyes to the fact that the blessings of a more active and personal religion have been attended by a certain alienation of the ministry of the Church from general culture, and therefore from the stage.' I do not Avish to overstate the case, or put" it unfavorably. The truth seems this. Insisting more intently on conscious religiousness, the clergy look with less indulgence on secular distractions and dissipations. They found the theatre suri-ounded and infested with many abominations. Those things, it is often alleged, Mr. Macready tried in vain to repress. He certainly struggled hard to do so, but whether he failed or not, it is certain that they have been noxv absolutely swept away, and that the audience portion of any theatre is as completely free from immoral or even indecorous associations as Exeter Hall during the performance of the “ Messiah.” But this is not knoAvn even now to thousands of religious people. It is a curious circumstance, for instance —and I speak frankly in my endeavor to bring out the truth—that many good people who would think it dangerous to go to a theatre rush to see plays represented at the Crystal Palace, or attend with the greatest ease of mind a prome-

nade concert, the audience .at which really is thickly contaminated with the evil which has entirely disappeared from our theatres, that evil being rendered all the more harmful because the whole assembly is constantly perambulating the floor of the operahouse. If such mistakes are made even now, it is not wonderful that at least two or three generations of devoted clergymen have grown up amidst righteous prejudices against all theatrical amusements. lam glad to suppose, however, that these prejudices are wearing down. The era of Christian earnestness has not passed away. On the contrary, it is at its height in loving beneficence, and at the same time in uncompromising hostility to moral evil. Because it is so, and as a sign of its being so, we are met here to-day ; but it is also a sign of the times that you have invited an actor to read a paper before you. Already the stage is doing much. I know I may speak plainly to you, and I ask you to reflect how little the masses of our great towns are under the active influence of religion —to what a poor extent they are educated, how limited is their reading, and, comparatively, how much they Sequent the galleries and pits of the minor theatres. At the first thought of this is your professional instinct —nay, a Christian impulse bids you —to shudder, but a little reflection, however, should produce a different feeling. Much in these theatres is vulgar, and there may even be things that are deleterious. Nor would I deny that even good teachings come disfigured on the minor stage —aye, and on tlm major also—as they often do in pulpits and books. None the less, however, is it true that the main stream of dramatic sentiment in all veins is pure, kindly, righteous, and in a sense religious. What forms the basis of almost every standard play but some useful moral lesson forcibly impressed by the aid of fable ? In this day, when literature is making such gigantic strides, when the cultivation of the higher arts has become a necessity, the co-operation of men of influence and refinement with those who control and direct dramatic amusements would give the theatre the high position it was meant to hold—that of the most powerful mundane influence for the exaltation of virtue and depression of vice. The stage must not be homiletic or didactic. It must exhibit in its mirror the rough with the smooth, the dark with the light, the villany and falseness into which humanity may be betrayed, as well as the truth and goodness which are naturally beloved and desired. If there be any who are veiling from human sight all the developments of evil, they, indeed, must turn from the theatre door, and must desire to see the footlights go out. But they must also close Shakspere, avoid Bidding, Dickens, Thackeray, George Eliot —pronounce Kingsley, immoral, and, so far as I can understand, read only, indeed, but parts of their Bible. It is not by hiding evil, but by showing it to us alongside of good, that human character is trained and perfected. There is no step of man or woman, whether halting and feeble, or firm and strong, that the divine government guarantees against stumbling-blocks and slips. But amidst all the moral dangers of life there are to be found in every refining influence known to mankind—and on the stage as much as in the noblest poetry and teaching—bright lights for guidance, sweet words of encouragement, comprehended even by the most ignorant, glowing pictures ©f virtue and devotion which bring the world of high thoughts and bright lives into communion and fellowship with the sphere of simple and perhaps coarse day-to-day existence. Only too regretfully do I admit that there is much to be seen on the stage that may seem ludicrously at variance with the ideal I have tried to hold up before you. But it may comfort those of you who are interested in the poorest districts to be assured that the worst virus is there comparatively harmless. Whether the east and south of London is ever likely to enjoy the half-dirty inanities which have but lately softened the brains of playgoers at the Westend, no one can tell, but at present they require stronger and worthier fare. ... What we want is an entertainment which the middle classes and the lower classes can enjoy together; and, happily, the dramas most in credit amongst us precisely answer that description. They gratify every taste, and afford scope for every kind of managerial enterprise—spectacular or otherwise. I have thought it best, as well as I could, to dwell on the proved attractiveness and the demonstrable good influence of dramatic amusements, rather than on the evils of those vicious indulgences which it is the object of a religious temperance movement to overcome, because I know more of the former aspect of the subject than of the latter, and because I am anxious to offer as my cordial contribution to your good work a suggestion that the clergy, and all who co-operate with them, should use their influence for the purification rather than the suppression or tabooing of the stage. The worst performances presented in our theatres cannot be so evil as the spending of a corresponding period of time in a gin-palace or a pothouse. Drinking by the hour, as practised in the evenings by too many of our working men, is not, be it remembered, mere silent drinking; it is not mere physical indulgence or degradation. It takes place in good fellowship. It is accompanied by conversation and by merriment. Such conversation ! Such merriment ! Where drink is, and the excitement that comes of it, with no restraining opinion or usage to curb the tongue, there the talk will be obscene, the whole atmosphere degrading Gentlemen, change your attitude towards the stage, and believe me the stage will cooperate with your work of faith and labor of love. It will help you in disarming and decimating the forces of moral evil, and in implanting and fostering the seeds and energies of moral good. I thank you for your patience, and, in feeling the novelty and delicacy of my position, none the less have I appreciated the peculiarity and honesty of yours. At the conclusion of the paper, Mr. Irving was loudly cheered.