作者：(美)爱默生（Emerson,R. W.）
出版社：清华大学出版社
格式: AZW3, DOCX, EPUB, MOBI, PDF, TXT
英国人的特质(中文导读英文版)试读：
前言
拉尔夫·沃尔多·爱默生（Ralph Waldo Emerson，1803—1882），19世纪美国著名的思想家、文学家、诗人。
1803年5月6日，爱默生出生于美国马萨诸塞州波土顿附近康科德镇，他的父亲是一位知名的牧师。在爱默生八岁的时候，父亲去世，他由母亲和姑母抚养成人。1817年10月，爱默生进入哈佛大学学习。在校期间，他阅读了大量英国浪漫主义作家的作品，这极大地丰富了他的思想、开阔了视野。1821年，爱默生从哈佛大学毕业后开始从事教学工作。两年后，他进入哈佛大学神学院学习。1829年，他被任命为波士顿第二教堂牧师，并开始在社会上崭露头角。自1832年开始，爱默生先后到英国、法国、意大利等欧洲国家和中东游历，先后结识了浪漫主义先驱人物道尔、华兹华斯和柯尔律治等，他们的思想对爱默生思想体系的形成具有很大影响。
从国外游历归来后，爱默生迁居康科德镇，并在此潜心读书、研究和写作。在康科德镇，他发起并成立了“超验主义俱乐部”，包括亨利·戴维·梭罗、纳撒尼尔·霍桑、玛格丽特·富勒、乔纳斯·维利等在内的一大批思想家、诗人、艺术家，不定期地聚集在康科德爱默生的家中，和爱默生一起探讨神学与哲学问题，思考着美国的未来，探索人与自然的关系，诠释学术和精神上的独立等。
1836年，爱默生出版了《论自然》，该书几乎包含了他所有重要的思想雏形。1837年8月31日，爱默生在美国大学生联谊会上以《论美国学者》为题发表演讲，抨击美国社会中的拜金主义，批评劳动分工使人异化为物的现象，强调人的价值；提出学者的任务是自由而勇敢地揭示事物的真实，以鼓舞人、提高人、引导人；他号召发扬民族自尊心，反对一味追随外国的学说。这一演讲轰动一时，对美国民族文化的兴起产生了重大的影响，被霍尔姆斯誉为“我们的思想上的独立宣言”。1838年7月15日，爱默生在剑桥的神学院发表题为《神学院致辞》的著名演讲，该演讲受到神学界的批判，但在美国社会中却产生了很大的反响。爱默生的哲学思想中保持了唯一神教派强调人的价值的积极成分，又吸收了欧洲唯心主义先验论的思想，发展成为超验主义观点。其基本出发点是反对权威，崇尚直觉；其核心是主张人能超越感觉和理性而直接认识真理。这一观点有助于打破当时神学和外国的教条束缚，建立民族文化，集中体现了时代精神，为美国政治上的民主主义和经济上资本主义的发展提供了理论根据。
爱默生是确立美国文化精神的代表人物，他的自立主张、民权观念等对美国人民影响深远，美国总统林肯称他为“美国的孔子”、“美国文明之父”。他一生著述丰富，大多为散文。重要作品包括：《论文集》第一集、《论文集》第二集、《代表人物》和《英国人的特质》等，此外还出版了两册诗集。其中，《论文集》第一集和《论文集》第二集是他思想的结晶，著名的《论自助》、《论超灵》、《论补偿》、《论爱》、《论友谊》等论文被收入其中，这两部著作为爱默生赢得了巨大的声誉，他本人因此被冠以“美国的文艺复兴领袖”之美誉。
在中国，爱默生的作品同样受到了广大读者的喜爱。基于这个原因，我们决定编译他的代表作品《爱默生随笔》和《英国人的特质》，并采用中文导读英文版的形式出版。在中文导读中，我们尽力使其贴近原作的精髓，也尽可能保留原作的叙述主线。我们希望能够编出为当代中国读者所喜爱的经典读本。读者在阅读英文文本之前，可以先阅读中文导读内容，这样有利于了解故事背景，从而加快阅读速度。我们相信，该经典著作的引进对加强当代中国读者，特别是青少年读者的科学素养和人文修养是非常有帮助的。
本书主要内容由王勋、纪飞编译。参加本书故事素材搜集整理及编译工作的还有郑佳、刘乃亚、赵雪、熊金玉、李丽秀、熊红华、王婷婷、孟宪行、胡国平、李晓红、贡东兴、陈楠、邵舒丽、冯洁、王业伟、徐鑫、王晓旭、周丽萍、熊建国、徐平国、肖洁、王小红等。限于我们的科学、人文素养和英语水平，书中难免会有不当之处，衷心希望读者朋友批评指正。第一章 初访英国/Chapter 1 First Visit to England导读
我第一次造访英国是在1833年。与英伦三岛的第一次接触令我喜不自禁，至今仍记忆犹新。与大多数年轻人一样，那时的我对英国的一些名家仰慕已久，迫不及待地想要一睹他们的风采。当时，我正在家休养，之所以决定外出旅行，并选择了欧洲，正是为这些人的魅力所吸引。这一次访英，我有幸拜访了柯勒律治、华兹华斯、兰多、德·昆西、卡莱尔等学者。毫不客气地讲，除了以上几位，还有在一次特殊场合偶然遇到的惠灵顿公爵以外，其他当代英国作家我是不屑一顾的。年轻学者梦想着与那些洞察世事的学者比世而立，并以为幸运之至，殊不知他们其实已经成为自己思想的囚徒，且冥顽不灵。文学与自由结伴而行，所以人们才愿意跋山涉水去追寻那些久负盛名的作家，而不愿与身边那些目光短浅、斤斤计较的俗人为伍。智者必然胸襟豁达、知足常乐、平易近人，并且其本人更优于其作品。这是我的一贯主张。
在佛罗伦萨艺术界，我结识了一位有着梅朵拉那样英俊面容、阿喀琉斯巨人般孔武体魄的美籍雕塑家霍雷肖·格里诺，他博学多才、品格高尚、热情洋溢且能言善辩。他是古希腊文化的忠实拥趸者，赞同古希腊学派的钻研方式，认为只有摒除了孤僻和戒备的互相协作，才能使艺术繁荣昌盛。他还发表过一篇关于建筑艺术的文章，其中极力宣扬罗斯金先生的建筑道德观，他的思想熠熠生辉，还向我阐述了他的“建筑功能论”。
正是在他的引荐下，我有幸拿到了兰多先生的请柬。5月15日，我与兰多先生共进午餐。他的高贵典雅和彬彬有礼令我印象深刻，完全不似外界传闻所说的桀骜不驯、粗犷不羁。当然他的确固执己见，并常常一语惊人，以一种英国式的冲动畅谈过去，比如他总感慨“自古英雄身后皆寂寞”。他醉心于古希腊艺术，钟情维纳斯雕像，喜爱波罗尼亚的约翰、拉斐尔及那些早期的大师，并喜欢收藏经典画卷，他有一间专门收集名家真迹的房子。文学历史方面，他认为唯有希腊的史书才堪称经典，而对近代这些学者毫不赏识。在佛罗伦萨，我结识了一位雕塑家
英国人耽于幻想、标榜自由，而兰多先生似乎把这些特点发挥到了极致。周五早晨又一次会面时，他为我们朗诵了一首凯撒大帝的六音部诗以示款待，这首诗是现存唯一一首凯撒大帝之作。他本人精力旺盛，崇尚英雄，头脑中有永不枯竭的创新思维和前进动力，遗憾的是，他的价值在英国被埋没了。
8月5日，我从伦敦来到海格特拜访柯勒律治先生。他身材矮小结实，长着一双明亮的蓝眼睛，面容和蔼，气色不错。我们海阔天空地畅谈，从现代艺术大师奥斯顿先生到钱宁博士，后来又谈到了深为柯勒律治先生所鄙夷的“一神论”——但令人尴尬的是，我本身就是个一神论者——柯勒律治先生仿佛并未受到干扰，仍滔滔不绝地阐释他的观点。他觉得“三位一体论”或者“四位一体论”都是愚蠢不堪的；遗憾的是钱宁博士居然也秉持一神论，这令他十分失望。人们只看到了基督教的善，却很少有人勇于追逐基督教的真，而在他看来，真比善更加伟大。柯勒律治先生问我曾游历过哪些地方，我如实回答西西里和马耳他。他便把这两个岛屿进行了一番比较。在他看来，西西里远不如马耳他尊崇法律和意志的力量，政府的法律和政策往往形同虚设。所谓的快乐花园，是建构在疥癣、梅毒和饥荒之上的。而马耳他却正在从一个阿拉伯人口聚集的不毛之地变成一个物富人丰的人间乐土。
我与柯勒律治先生的谈话近一个小时，但因谈话大多在不经意间陷入老生常谈的俗套，所以许多细节我都记不起来了。先生年事已高，在许多观点上我们并不一致，他也听不进去我的意见。那次谈话倒不如说是开了一次眼界，却没有满足我的好奇心。
之后，我又游历了苏格兰高地、格拉斯哥等地，在克雷根普托克——位于尼斯河谷的一个农庄，竟有幸拜访到那位博学广闻的学者托马斯·卡莱尔先生。他高而瘦，操一口北方口音。他能言善辩，言谈之中总不乏生动逸闻，而且口若悬河，妙语连珠，一语中的。这样健谈的人隐居山林，难免寂寥。果然不幸被我猜到，他自己也承认，方圆十六英里内，唯有牧师一人可以交谈。
卡莱尔身上集中体现了两个字——叛逆。他提及某些事物时，使用他自己为它们取得名字。例如《弗雷泽月刊》是“泥巴杂志”，当人们对某位天才人物的溢美之词把他激怒了，他便大声宣称，他也十分赞美这只猪身上所展示的才华。他尊敬每一位手执真理之人，并且一度关心美国问题。
谈到书籍，卡莱尔从不读柏拉图，并且蔑视苏格拉底，但他奉米拉波为英雄。他读的书可谓五花八门、无奇不有，但他却对当今的文学日渐衰颓之势感到绝望。他批判那些尸位素餐的公职人员——他们令农民变得贫困，到处流浪，但他以一种学者的眼光客观地审视着伦敦这个世界中心。他喜欢大机器运作所形成的流水线，这让生活变得高效、便捷，其本身就体现着一种卓越。
8月28日，我去莱德尔山拜访了华兹华斯先生。他是一位相貌平平、年近古稀的白发老人，并不引人注目。但一说到美国他就精神十足，他对社会、教育和道德问题非常关注。他以审慎而客观的态度看待美国，一方面他认为美国人举止粗俗，拜金胜过关注政治，而且缺少一个悠闲的绅士阶层来为社会增添一丝正直风气；另一方面美国的自由精神令他佩服，比如美国的报纸就非常厉害——敢于揭国会议员们的短。
我们转而将话题引向文学，我们略微探讨了卢克莱修、歌德、卡莱尔和柯勒律治等人。华兹华斯对他们真是褒贬不一，例如他认为卡莱尔那种公然藐视一切的态度、狂妄的语言和晦涩的作品实在愚蠢之极。之后，华兹华斯先生带我参观了他那条花园小径——那条令他灵感迸发的小路，在那里他曾赋诗千句。我此次造访，勾起了他的吟诵欲望，他为我朗诵了最近作的三首十四行诗，其中我最中意后二首。给我背诵诗歌是我始料未及的，起初我感到忍俊不禁，后来我满心欢喜地洗耳恭听起来。华兹华斯先生从不急于发表新作，因为他完稿之后往往要进行大量修改，对于付梓是很慎重的。在他所有的诗作中，他更喜欢那些感人肺腑的诗歌，因为说教的文字终究会被遗忘，能够流芳百世的，都是将真理与感情相结合起来的文字。因此他最喜欢《一个高尚的西班牙人的情感世界》和《两个声音》。
华兹华斯先生身体硬朗、精力旺盛，他还带我参观了一个年轻人的围场，我们在那里边走边聊，直到最后不得不道别。
华兹华斯先生以对真理的无限忠诚而著称，但此番接触我亦发现了他思想上的严重局限性，那是一种狭隘的英国式思维。 have been twice in England.In 1833，on my return from a short tour in Sicily，Italy，and France，I crossed from Boulogne，and landed Iin London at the Tower stairs.It was a dark Sunday morning；there were few people in the streets；and I remember the pleasure of that first walk on English ground，with my companion，an American artist，from the Tower up through Cheapside and the Strand，to a house in Russell Square，whither we had been recommended to good chambers.For the first time for many months we were forced to check the saucy habit of travellers'criticism，as we could no longer speak aloud in the streets without being understood.The shop-signs spoke our language；our country names were on the door-plates；and the public and private buildings wore a more native and wonted front.
Like most young men at that time，I was much indebted to the men of Edinburgh，and of the Edinburgh Review，—to Jeffrey，Mackintosh，Hallam，and to Scott，Playfair，and De Quincey；and my narrow and desultory reading had inspired the wish to see the faces of three or four writers，—Coleridge，Wordsworth，Landor，De Quincey，and the latest and strongest contributor to the critical journals，Carlyle；and I suppose if I had sifted the reasons that led me to Europe，when I was ill and was advised to travel，it was mainly the attraction of these persons.If Goethe had been still living，I might have wandered into Germany also.Besides those I have named，（for Scott was dead，）there was not in Britain the man living whom I cared to behold，unless it were the Duke of Wellington，whom I afterwards saw at Westminster Abbey，at the funeral of Wilberforce.The young scholar fancies it happiness enough to live with people who can give an inside to the world；without reflecting that they are prisoners，too，of their own thought，and cannot apply themselves to yours.The conditions of literary success are almost destructive of the best social power，as they do not leave that frolic liberty which only can encounter a companion on the best terms.It is probable you left some obscure comrade at a tavern，or in the farms，with right mother-wit，and equality to life，when you crossed sea and land to play bo-peep with celebrated scribes.I have，however，found writers superior to their books，and I cling to my first belief，that a strong head will dispose fast enough of these impediments，and give one thesatisfaction of reality，the sense of having been met，and a larger horizon.
On looking over the diary of my journey in 1833，I find nothing to publish in my memoranda of visits to places.But I have copied the few notes I made of visits to persons，as they respect parties quite too good and too transparent to the whole world to make it needful to affect any prudery of suppression about a few hints of those bright personalities.
At Florence，chief among artists I found Horatio Greenough，the American sculptor.His face was so handsome，and his person so well formed，that he might be pardoned，if，as was alleged，the face of his Medora，and the figure of a colossal Achilles in clay，were idealizations of his own.Greenough was a superior man，ardent and eloquent，and all his opinions had elevation and magnanimity.He believed that the Greeks had wrought in schools or fraternities，—the genius of the master imparting his design to his friends，and inflaming them with it，and when his strength was spent，a new hand，with equal heat，continued the work；and so by relays，until it was finished in every part with equal fire.This was necessary in so refractory a material as stone；and he thought art would never prosper until we left our shy jealous ways，and worked in society as they.All his thoughts breathed the same generosity.He was an accurate and a deep man.He was a votary of the Greeks，and impatient of Gothic art.His paper on Architecture，published in 1843，announced in advance the leading thoughts of Mr.Ruskin on the morality in architecture，notwithstanding the antagonism in their views of the history of art.I have a private letter from him，—later，but respecting the same period，—in which he roughly sketches his own theory.“Here is my theory of structure：A scientific arrangement of spaces and forms to functions and to site；an emphasis of features proportioned to their gradated importance in function；color and ornament to be decided and arranged and varied by strictly organic laws，having a distinct reason for each decision；the entire and immediate banishment of all make-shift and make-believe.”
Greenough brought me，through a common friend，an invitation from Mr.Landor，who lived at San Domenica di Fiesole.On the 15th May I dined with Mr.Landor.I found him noble and courteous，living in a cloud of pictures at his Villa Gherardesca，a fine house commanding a beautiful landscape.I hadinferred from his books，or magnified from some anecdotes，an impression of Achillean wrath，—an untamable petulance.I do not know whether the imputation were just or not，but certainly on this May day his courtesy veiled that haughty mind，and he was the most patient and gentle of hosts.He praised the beautiful cyclamen which grows all about Florence；he admired Washington；talked of Wordsworth，Byron，Massinger，Beaumont and Fletcher.To be sure，he is decided in his opinions，likes to surprise，and is well content to impress，if possible，his English whim upon the immutable past.No great man ever had a great son，if Philip and Alexander be not an exception；and Philip he calls the greater man.In art，he loves the Greeks，and in sculpture，them only.He prefers the Venus to every thing else，and，after that，the head of Alexander，in the gallery here.He prefers John of Bologna to Michael Angelo；in painting，Raffaelle；and shares the growing taste for Perugino and the early masters.The Greek histories he thought the only good；and after them，Voltaire's.I could not make him praise Mackintosh，nor my more recent friends；Montaigne very cordially，—and Charron also，which seemed undiscriminating.He thought Degerando indebted to“Lucas on Happiness”and“Lucas on Holiness”！He pestered me with Southey；but who is Southey？
He invited me to breakfast on Friday.On Friday I did not fail to go，and this time with Greenough.He entertained us at once with reciting half a dozen hexameter lines of Julius Caesar's！—from Donatus，he said.He glorified Lord Chesterfield more than was necessary，and undervalued Burke，and undervalued Socrates；designated as three of the greatest of men，Washington，Phocion，and Timoleon；much as our pomologists，in their lists，select the three or the six best pears“for a small orchard；”and did not even omit to remark the similar termination of their names.“A great man，”he said，“should make great sacrifices，and kill his hundred oxen，without knowing whether they would be consumed by gods and heroes，or whether the flies would eat them.”I had visited Professor Amici，who had shown me his microscopes，magnifying（it was said）two thousand diameters；and I spoke of the uses to which they were applied.Landor despised entomology，yet，in the same breath，said，“the sublime was in a grain of dust.”I suppose I teased him about recent writers，but he professed never to have heard of Herschel，not even by name.One room wasfull of pictures，which he likes to show，especially one piece，standing before which，he said“he would give fifty guineas to the man that would swear it was a Domenichino.”I was more curious to see his library，but Mr.H——，one of the guests，told me that Mr.Landor gives away his books，and has never more than a dozen at a time in his house.
Mr.Landor carries to its height the love of freak which the English delight to indulge，as if to signalize their commanding freedom.He has a wonderful brain，despotic，violent，and inexhaustible，meant for a soldier，by what chance converted to letters，in which there is not a style nor a tint not known to him，yet with an English appetite for action and heroes.The thing done avails，and not what is said about it.An original sentence，a step forward，is worth more than all the censures.Landor is strangely undervalued in England；usually ignored；and sometimes savagely attacked in the Reviews.The criticism may be right，or wrong，and is quickly forgotten；but year after year the scholar must still go back to Landor for a multitude of elegant sentences—for wisdom，wit，and indignation that are unforgetable.
From London，on the 5th August，I went to Highgate，and wrote a note to Mr.Coleridge，requesting leave to pay my respects to him.It was near noon.Mr.Coleridge sent a verbal message，that he was in bed，but if I would call after one o'clock，he would see me.I returned at one，and he appeared，a short，thick old man，with bright blue eyes and fine clear complexion，leaning on his cane.He took snuff freely，which presently soiled his cravat and neat black suit.He asked whether I knew Allston，and spoke warmly of his merits and doings when he knew him in Rome；what a master of the Titianesque he was，＆c.，＆c.He spoke of Dr.Channing.It was an unspeakable misfortune that he should have turned out a Unitarian after all.On this，he burst into a declamation on the folly and ignorance of Unitarianism，—its high unreasonableness；and taking up Bishop Waterland's book，which lay on the table，he read with vehemence two or three pages written by himself in the fly-leaves，—passages，too，which，I believe，are printed in the“Aids to Reflection.”When he stopped to take breath，I interposed，that，“whilst I highly valued all his explanations，I was bound to tell him that I was born and bred a Unitarian.”“Yes，”he said，“I supposed so；”and continued as before.‘It was a wonder，that after so manyages of unquestioning acquiescence in the doctrine of St.Paul，—the doctrine of the Trinity，which was also，according to Philo Judaeus，the doctrine of the Jews before Christ，—this handful of Priestleians should take on themselves to deny it，＆c.，＆c.He was very sorry that Dr.Channing，—a man to whom he looked up，—no，to say that he looked up to him would be to speak falsely；but a man whom he looked at with so much interest，—should embrace such views.When he saw Dr.Channing，he had hinted to him that he was afraid he loved Christianity for what was lovely and excellent，—he loved the good in it，and not the true；and I tell you，sir，that I have known ten persons who loved the good，for one person who loved the true；but it is a far greater virtue to lovethe true for itself alone，than to love the good for itself alone.He（Coleridge）knew all about Unitarianism perfectly well，because he had once been a Unitarian，and knew what quackery it was.He had been called“the rising star of Unitarianism.”'He went on defining，or rather refining：‘The Trinitarian doctrine was realism；the idea of God was not essential，but superessential；'talked of trinism and tetrakism，and much more，of which I only caught this，‘that the will was that by which a person is a person；because，if one should push me in the street，and so I should force the man next me into the kennel，I should at once exclaim，“I did not do it，sir，”meaning it was not my will.'And this also，‘that if you should insist on your faith here in England，and I on mine，mine would be the hotter side of the fagot.’
I took advantage of a pause to say，that he had many readers of all religious opinions in America，and I proceeded to inquire if the“extract”from the Independent's pamphlet，in the third volume of the Friend，were a veritable quotation.He replied，that it was really taken from a pamphlet in his possession，entitled“A Protest of one of the Independents，”or something to that effect.I told him how excellent I thought it，and how much I wished to see the entire work.“Yes，”he said，“the man was a chaos of truths，but lacked the knowledge that God was a God of order.Yet the passage would no doubt strike you more in the quotation than in the original，for I have filtered it.”
When I rose to go，he said，“I do not know whether you care about poetry，but I will repeat some verses I lately made on my baptismal anniversary，”and he recited with strong emphasis，standing，ten or twelve lines，beginning，
“Born unto God in Christ—”
He inquired where I had been travelling；and on learning that I had been in Malta and Sicily，he compared one island with the other，‘repeating what he had said to the Bishop of London when he returned from that country，that Sicily was an excellent school of political economy；for，in any town there，it only needed to ask what the government enacted，and reverse that to know what ought to be done；it was the most felicitously opposite legislation to any thing good and wise.There were only three things which the government had brought into that garden of delights，namely，itch，pox，and famine.Whereas，in Malta，the force of law and mind was seen，in making that barren rock of semi-Saracen inhabitants the seat of population and plenty.'Going out，he showed me in the next apartment a picture of Allston's，and told me‘that Montague，a picture-dealer，once came to see him，and，glancing towards this，said，“Well，you have got a picture！”thinking it the work of an old master；afterwards，Montague，still talking with his back to the canvas，put up his hand and touched it，and exclaimed，“By Heaven！this picture is not ten years old.”—so delicate and skilful was that man's touch.'
I was in his company for about an hour，but find it impossible to recall the largest part of his discourse，which was often like so many printed paragraphs in his book，—perhaps the same，—so readily did he fall into certain commonplaces.As I might have foreseen，the visit was rather a spectacle than a conversation，of no use beyond the satisfaction of my curiosity.He was old and preoccupied，and could not bend to a new companion and think with him.
From Edinburgh I went to the Highlands.On my return，I came from Glasgow to Dumfries，and being intent on delivering a letter which I had brought from Rome，inquired for Craigenputtock.It was a farm in Nithsdale，in the parish of Dunscore，sixteen miles distant.No public coach passed near it，so I took a private carriage from the inn.I found the house amid desolate heathery hills，where the lonely scholar nourished his mighty heart.Carlyle was a man from his youth，an author who did not need to hide from his readers，and as absolute a man of the world，unknown and exiled on that hill-farm，as if holding on his own terms what is best in London.He was tall and gaunt，with a cliff-like brow，self-possessed，and holding his extraordinary powers ofconversation in easy command；clinging to his northern accent with evident relish；full of lively anecdote，and with a streaming humor，which floated every thing he looked upon.His talk playfully exalting the familiar objects，put the companion at once into an acquaintance with his Lars and Lemurs，and it was very pleasant to learn what was predestined to be a pretty mythology.Few were the objects and lonely the man，“not a person to speak to within sixteen miles except the minister of Dunscore；”so that books inevitably made his topics.
He had names of his own for all the matters familiar to his discourse.“Blackwood's”was the“sand magazine；”“Fraser's”nearer approach to possibility of life was the“mud magazine；”a piece of road near by that marked some failed enterprise was the“grave of the last sixpence.”When too much praise of any genius annoyed him，he professed hugely to admire the talent shown by his pig.He had spent much time and contrivance in confining the poor beast to one enclosure in his pen，but pig，by great strokes of judgment，had found out how to let a board down，and had foiled him.For all that，he still thought man the most plastic little fellow in the planet，and he liked Nero's death，“Qualis artifex pereo！”better than most history.He worships a man that will manifest any truth to him.At one time he had inquired and read a good deal about America.Landor's principle was mere rebellion，and that he feared was the American principle.The best thing he knew of that country was，that in it a man can have meat for his labor.He had read in Stewart's book，that when he inquired in a New York hotel for the Boots，he had been shown across the street and had found Mungo in his own house dining on roast turkey.
We talked of books.Plato he does not read，and he disparaged Socrates；and，when pressed，persisted in making Mirabeau a hero.Gibbon he called the splendid bridge from the old world to the new.His own reading had been multifarious.Tristram Shandy was one of his first books after Robinson Crusoe，and Robertson's America an early favorite.Rousseau's Confessions had discovered to him that he was not a dunce；and it was now ten years since he had learned German，by the advice of a man who told him he would find in that language what he wanted.
He took despairing or satirical views of literature at this moment；recounted the incredible sums paid in one year by the great booksellers forpuffing.Hence it comes that no newspaper is trusted now，no books are bought，and the booksellers are on the eve of bankruptcy.
He still returned to English pauperism，the crowded country，the selfish abdication by public men of all that public persons should perform.‘Government should direct poor men what to do.Poor Irish folk come wandering over these moors.My dame makes it a rule to give to every son of Adam bread to eat，and supplies his wants to the next house.But here are thousands of acres which might give them all meat，and nobody to bid these poor Irish go to the moor and till it.They burned the stacks，and so found a way to force the rich people to attend to them.'
We went out to walk over long hills，and looked at Criffel then without his cap，and down into Wordsworth's country.There we sat down，and talked of the immortality of the soul.It was not Carlyle's fault that we talked on that topic，for he had the natural disinclination of every nimble spirit to bruise itself against walls，and did not like to place himself where no step can be taken.But he was honest and true，and cognizant of the subtile links that bind ages together，and saw how every event affects all the future.‘Christ died on the tree：that built Dunscore kirk yonder：that brought you and me together.Time has only a relative existence.'
He was already turning his eyes towards London with a scholar's appreciation.London is the heart of the world，he said，wonderful only from the mass of human beings.He liked the huge machine.Each keeps its own round.The baker's boy brings muffins to the window at a fixed hour every day，and that is all the Londoner knows or wishes to know on the subject.But it turned out good men.He named certain individuals，especially one man of letters，his friend，the best mind he knew，whom London had well served.
On the 28th August，I went to Rydal Mount，to pay my respects to Mr.Wordsworth.His daughters called in their father，a plain，elderly，white-haired man，not prepossessing，and disfigured by green goggles.He sat down，and talked with great simplicity.He had just returned from a journey.His health was good，but he had broken a tooth by a fall，when walking with two lawyers，and had said，that he was glad it did not happen forty years ago；whereupon they had praised his philosophy.
He had much to say of America，the more that it gave occasion for his favorite topic，—that society is being enlightened by a superficial tuition，out of all proportion to its being restrained by moral culture.Schools do no good.Tuition is not education.He thinks more of the education of circumstances than of tuition.'Tis not question whether there are offences of which the law takes cognizance，but whether there are offences of which the law does not take cognizance.Sin is what he fears，and how society is to escape without gravest mischiefs from this source—？He has even said，what seemed a paradox，that they needed a civil war in America，to teach the necessity of knitting the social ties stronger.‘There may be，'he said，‘in America some vulgarity in manner，but that's not important.That comes of the pioneer state of things.But I fear they are too much given to the making of money；and secondly，to politics；that they make political distinction the end，and not the means.And I fear they lack a class of men of leisure，—in short，of gentlemen，—to give a tone of honor to the community.I am told that things are boasted of in the second class of society there，which，in England，—God knows，are done in England every day，—but would never be spoken of.In America I wish to know not how many churches or schools，but what newspapers？My friend，Colonel Hamilton，at the foot of the hill，who was a year in America，assures me that the newspapers are atrocious，and accuse members of Congress of stealing spoons！'He was against taking off the tax on newspapers in England，which the reformers represent as a tax upon knowledge，for this reason，that they would be inundated with base prints.He said，he talked on political aspects，for he wished to impress on me and all good Americans to cultivate the moral，the conservative，＆c.，＆c.，and never to call into action the physical strength of the people，as had just now been done in England in the Reform Bill，—a thing prophesied by Delolme.He alluded once or twice to his conversation with Dr.Channing，who had recently visited him，（laying his hand on a particular chair in which the Doctor had sat.）
The conversation turned on books.Lucretius he esteems a far higher poet than Virgil：not in his system，which is nothing，but in his power of illustration.Faith is necessary to explain any thing，and to reconcile the foreknowledge of God with human evil.Of Cousin，（whose lectures we had all been reading inBoston，）he knew only the name.
I inquired if he had read Carlyle's critical articles and translations.He said，he thought him sometimes insane.He proceeded to abuse Goethe's Wilhelm Meister heartily.It was full of all manner of fornication.It was like the crossing of flies in the air.He had never gone farther than the first part；so disgusted was he that he threw the book across the room.I deprecated this wrath，and said what I could for the better parts of the book；and he courteously promised to look at it again.Carlyle，he said，wrote most obscurely.He was clever and deep，but he defied the sympathies of every body.Even Mr.Coleridge wrote more clearly，though he had always wished Coleridge would write more to be understood.He led me out into his garden，and showed me the gravel walk in which thousands of his lines were composed.His eyes are much inflamed.This is no loss，except for reading，because he never writes prose，and of poetry he carries even hundreds of lines in his head before writing them.He had just returned from a visit to Staffa，and within three days had made three sonnets on Fingal's Cave，and was composing a fourth，when he was called in to see me.He said，“If you are interested in my verses，perhaps you will like to hear these lines.”I gladly assented；and he recollected himself for a few moments，and then stood forth and repeated，one after the other，the three entire sonnets with great animation.I fancied the second and third more beautiful than his poems are wont to be.The third is addressed to the flowers，which，he said，especially the oxeye daisy，are very abundant on the top of the rock.The second alludes to the name of the cave，which is“Cave of Music；”the first to the circumstance of its being visited by the promiscuous company of the steamboat.
This recitation was so unlooked for and surprising，—he，the old Wordsworth，standing apart，and reciting to me in a garden-walk，like a schoolboy declaiming，—that I at first was near to laugh；but recollecting myself，that I had come thus far to see a poet，and he was chanting poems to me，I saw that he was right and I was wrong，and gladly gave myself up to hear.I told him how much the few printed extracts had quickened the desire to possess his unpublished poems.He replied，he never was in haste to publish；partly，because he corrected a good deal，and every alteration is ungraciously received after printing；but what he had written would be printed，whether he lived ordied.I said，“Tintern Abbey”appeared to be the favorite poem with the public，but more contemplative readers preferred the first books of the“Excursion，”and the Sonnets.He said，“Yes，they are better.”He preferred such of his poems as touched the affections，to any others；for whatever is didactic，—what theories of society，and so on，—might perish quickly；but whatever combined a truth with an affection was，good to-day and good forever.He cited the sonnet“On the feelings of a high-minded Spaniard，”which he preferred to any other，（I so understood him，）and the“Two Voices；”and quoted，with evident pleasure，the verses addressed“To the Skylark.”In this connection，he said of the Newtonian theory，that it might yet be superseded and forgotten；and Dalton's atomic theory.
When I prepared to depart，he said he wished to show me what a common person in England could do，and he led me into the enclosure of his clerk，a young man，to whom he had given this slip of ground，which was laid out，or its natural capabilities shown，with much taste.He then said he would show me a better way towards the inn；and he walked a good part of a mile，talking，and ever and anon stopping short to impress the word or the verse，and finally parted from me with great kindness，and returned across the fields.
Wordsworth honored himself by his simple adherence to truth，and was very willing not to shine；but he surprised by the hard limits of his thought.To judge from a single conversation，he made the impression of a narrow and very English mind；of one who paid for his rare elevation by general tameness and conformity.Off his own beat，his opinions were of no value.It is not very rare to find persons loving sympathy and ease，who expiate their departure from the common，in one direction，by their conformity in every other.第二章 赴英航行/Chapter 2 Voyage to England导读
受英国一些工业城市的技工学院之邀，我开始了我的第二次访英之旅。我于1847年10月5日从波士顿起程，踏上了“华盛顿·欧文”号邮轮。整个航程有2850海里，预计航程有十五六天，但头4天航行速度缓慢，才走了一百多海里，我们不免担心是否能够按期到达。等船终于驶过了浅水区，便开始鼓起风帆，飞驰前进了。按着船上人的说法，这艘船就好像有灵性一般，把其他船只远远甩在了后面。
但是海上生活是枯燥、沉闷的，刺鼻的气息、令人作呕的颠簸和百无聊赖的单调生活都搞得人心神不宁，透不过气来。这是一种类似囚徒般的生活，需要时间去习惯和适应。直到最后，我们终于习以为常了，但对大海的敬畏却久久挥之不去。大海到处制造陷阱和圈套，那贪婪的海水，一口便能够吞掉一个舰队；风暴、冰山……种种可怕的东西把那些陆地上人的傲气击个粉碎。海上生活充满危险，水手的一生就是冒险的一生，而一位好水手必将具备伟大的思想和博大的胸怀。
因此，可以用阅读来打发这段昏昏沉沉的旅途时光，在家阅读总是令人困倦，而在异乡的小酒馆或是一艘商船上阅读却别有一番风味，总能令自己的头脑有所收获。我记得，许多年前过得最愉快、最有价值的时光就是在船上看书的日子，唯一的美中不足就是船舱里昏暗的光线。
邮轮快要靠岸，英国人的气息则扑面而来：他们的伤感、爱与恐惧，英国的历史和社会形态，重新出现在每个人脑海中。我们的船经过延伸着的爱尔兰绿色海岸，我们能看到这里的城镇、塔楼、教堂和庄稼，却看不见她在八百年历史中所蒙受的灾难。赴英航行he occasion of my second visit to England was an invitation from some Mechanics'Institutes in Lancashire and Yorkshire，which Tseparately are organized much in the same way as our New England Lyceums，but，in 1847，had been linked into a“Union，”which embraced twenty or thirty towns and cities，and presently extended into the middle counties，and northward into Scotland.I was invited，on liberal terms，to read a series of lectures in them all.The request was urged with every kind suggestion，and every assurance of aid and comfort，by friendliest parties in Manchester，who，in the sequel，amply redeemed their word.The remuneration was equivalent to the fees at that time paid in this country for the like services.At all events，it was sufficient to cover any travelling expenses，and the proposal offered an excellent opportunity of seeing the interior of England and Scotland，by means of a home，and a committee of intelligent friends，awaiting me in every town.
I did not go very willingly.I am not a good traveller，nor have I found that long journeys yield a fair share of reasonable hours.But the invitation was repeated and pressed at a moment of more leisure，and when I was a little spent by some unusual studies.I wanted a change and a tonic，and England was proposed to me.Besides，there were，at least，the dread attraction and salutary influences of the sea.So I took my berth in the packet-ship Washington Irving，and sailed from Boston on Tuesday，5th October，1847.
On Friday at noon，we had only made one hundred and thirty-four miles.A nimble Indian would have swum as far；but the captain affirmed that the ship would show us in time all her paces，and we crept along through the floating drift of boards，logs，and chips，which the rivers of Maine and New Brunswick pour into the sea after a freshet.
At last，on Sunday night，after doing one day's work in four，the storm came，the winds blew，and we flew before a north-wester，which strained every rope and sail.The good ship darts through the water all day，all night，like a fish，quivering with speed，gliding through liquid leagues，sliding from horizon to horizon.She has passed Cape Sable；she has reached the Banks；theland-birds are left；gulls，haglets，ducks，petrels，swim，dive，and hover around；no fishermen；she has passed the Banks；left five sail behind her，far on the edge of the west at sundown，which were far east of us at morn，—though they say at sea a stern chase is a long race，—and still we fly for our lives.The shortest sea-line from Boston to Liverpool is 2850 miles.This a steamer keeps，and saves 150 miles.A sailing ship can never go in a shorter line than 3000，and usually it is much longer.Our good master keeps his kites up to the last moment，studding-sails alow and aloft，and，by incessant straight steering，never loses a rod of way.Watchfulness is the law of the ship，—watch on watch，for advantage and for life.Since the ship was built，it seems，the master never slept but in his day-clothes whilst on board.“There are many advantages，”says Saadi，“in sea-voyaging，but security is not one of them.”Yet in hurrying over these abysses，whatever dangers we are running into，we are certainly running out of the risks of hundreds of miles every day，which have their own chances of squall，collision，sea-stroke，piracy，cold，and thunder.Hour for hour，the risk on a steamboat is greater；but the speed is safety，or，twelve days of danger，instead of twenty-four.
Our ship was registered 750 tons，and weighed perhaps，with all her freight，1500 tons.The mainmast，from the deck to the top-button，measured 115 feet；the length of the deck，from stem to stern，155.It is impossible not to personify a ship；every body does，in every thing they say：—she behaves well；she minds her rudder；she swims like a duck；she runs her nose into the water；she looks into a port.Then that wonderful esprit du corps，by which we adopt into our self-love every thing we touch，makes us all champions of her sailing qualities.
The conscious ship hears all the praise.In one week she has made 1467 miles，and now，at night，seems to hear the steamer behind her，which left Boston to-day at two，has mended her speed，and is flying before the gray south wind eleven and a half knots the hour.The sea-fire shines in her wake，and far around wherever a wave breaks.I read the hour，9h.45'，on my watch by this light.Near the equator，you can read small print by it；and the mate describes the phosphoric insects，when taken up in a pail，as shaped like a Carolina potato.
I find the sea-life an acquired taste，like that for tomatoes and olives.The confinement，cold，motion，noise，and odor are not to be dispensed with.The floor of your room is sloped at an angle of twenty or thirty degrees，and I waked every morning with the belief that some one was tipping up my berth.Nobody likes to be treated ignominiously，upset，shoved against the side of the house，rolled over，suffocated with bilge，mephitis，and stewing oil.We get used to these annoyances at last，but the dread of the sea remains longer.The sea is masculine，the type of active strength.Look，what egg-shells are drifting all over it，each one，like ours，filled with men in ecstasies of terror，alternating with cockney conceit，as the sea is rough or smooth.Is this sad-colored circle an eternal cemetery？In our graveyards we scoop a pit，but this aggressive water opens mile-wide pits and chasms，and makes a mouthful of a fleet.To the geologist，the sea is the only firmament；the land is in perpetual flux and change，now blown up like a tumor，now sunk in a chasm，and the registered observations of a few hundred years find it in a perpetual tilt，rising and falling.The sea keeps its old level；and‘tis no wonder that the history of our race is so recent，if the roar of the ocean is silencing our traditions.A rising of the sea，such as has been observed，say an inch in a century，from east to west on the land，will bury all the towns，monuments，bones，and knowledge of mankind，steadily and insensibly.If it is capable of these great and secular mischiefs，it is quite as ready at private and local damage；and of this no landsman seems so fearful as the seaman.Such discomfort and such danger as the narratives of the captain and mate disclose are bad enough as the costly fee we pay for entrance to Europe；but the wonder is always new that any sane man can be a sailor.And here，on the second day of our voyage，stepped out a little boy in his shirt-sleeves，who had hid himself，whilst the ship was in port，in the bread-closet，having no money，and wishing to go to England.The sailors have dressed him in Guernsey frock，with a knife in his belt，and he is climbing nimbly about after them，“likes the work first-rate，and，if the captain will take him，means now to come back again in the ship.”The mate avers that this is the history of all sailors；nine out of ten are runaway boys；and adds，that all of them are sick of the sea，but stay in it out of pride.Jack has a life of risks，incessant abuse，and the worst pay.It is a little better with the mate，and notvery much better with the captain.A hundred dollars a month is reckoned high pay.If sailors were contented，if they had not resolved again and again not to go to sea any more，I should respect them.
Of course，the inconveniences and terrors of the sea are not of any account to those whose minds are preoccupied.The water-laws，arctic frost，the mountain，the mine，only shatter cockneyism；every noble activity makes room for itself.A great mind is a good sailor，as a great heart is.And the sea is not slow in disclosing inestimable secrets to a good naturalist.
’Tis a good rule in every journey to provide some piece of liberal study to rescue the hours which bad weather，bad company，and taverns steal from the best economist.Classics which at home are drowsily read have a strange charm in a country inn，or in the transom of a merchant brig.I remember that some of the happiest and most valuable hours I have owed to books，passed，many years ago，on shipboard.The worst impediment I have found at sea is the want of light in the cabin.
We found on board the usual cabin library；Basil Hall，Dumas，Dickens，Bulwer，Balzac，and Sand were our sea-gods.Among the passengers，there was some variety of talent and profession；we exchanged our experiences，and all learned something.The busiest talk with leisure and convenience at sea，and sometimes a memorable fact turns up，which you have long had a vacant niche for，and seize with the joy of a collector.But，under the best conditions，a voyage is one of the severest tests to try a man.A college examination is nothing to it.Sea-days are long，—these lack-lustre，joyless days which whistled over us；but they were few，—only fifteen，as the captain counted，sixteen according to me.Reckoned from the time when we left soundings，our speed was such that the captain drew the line of his course in red ink on his chart，for the encouragement or envy of future navigators.
It has been said that the King of England would consult his dignity by giving audience to foreign ambassadors in the cabin of a man-of-war.And I think the white path of an Atlantic ship the right avenue to the palace front of this sea-faring people，who for hundreds of years claimed the strict sovereignty of the sea，and exacted toll and the striking sail from the ships of all other peoples.When their privilege was disputed by the Dutch and other juniormarines，on the plea that you could never anchor on the same wave，or hold property in what was always flowing，the English did not stick to claim the channel，or bottom of all the main.“As if，”said they，“we contended for the drops of the sea，and not for its situation，or the bed of those waters.The sea is bounded by his majesty's empire.”
As we neared the land，its genius was felt.This was inevitably the British side.In every man's thought arises now a new system，English sentiments，English loves and fears，English history and social modes.Yesterday，every passenger had measured the speed of the ship by watching the bubbles over the ship's bulwarks.To-day，instead of bubbles，we measure by Kinsale，Cork，Waterford，and Ardmore.There lay the green shore of Ireland，like some coast of plenty.We could see towns，towers，churches，harvests；but the curse of eight hundred years we could not discern.第三章 国土/Chapter 3 Land导读
英格兰是人类的乐土。
灰色的苍穹下，精耕细作的田地错落有致，好似艺术家笔下的精美画屏，宛若一个花园。这里的人民凭借智慧征服了自然，把一块荒凉的不毛之地改造成舒适富庶的人间天堂。这里交通便利、物质丰富、资讯发达，不仅引发我的深思：为何这个小小的弹丸之地会变成今天这个领先世界的大英帝国？
在当今世界的文化取向里，人们顶礼膜拜的是英国人的思想和意志，千年以来，英国就非等闲之辈，英格兰向每个民族灌输着她的文明、才智和情趣，无论是现代社会的通行意识如劳动、法律、舆论、宗教，还是文学、艺术或者历史，在人类的知识和行为的历史中留下了辉煌的篇章，并对世界产生深远的影响。那些反抗它的人，实际上却又深深为它折服，唯其马首是瞻。为抵制英伦文化的霸权与专横，理智的民族开始从东方或希腊的远古文化寻求援助，而这正是英国文化的价值——唤醒人们独立思想中的焦灼意识。
智慧的旅行者自然会选择走访当今最强盛的国家，而如果要游览英国，当前是最佳时机。能感受到的是，它目前的势力正如日中天，已达巅峰，甚至已经有开始衰退的迹象。踏上英伦岛你会产生一种错觉，这片弹丸之地上生长的是人类至高的文明，英格兰的每个角落和缝隙，都塞满了市镇、塔楼、教堂、别墅、庄园、宫殿、城堡、医院和慈善堂，一个个实力雄厚的贸易协会、威武雄壮的军队、成千上万的富人和名流——所有这一切吸引着你，让你目不暇接。如果非要我说一说哪些景致是不能错过的，可以引用一句英国谚语——想要饱览英格兰的风景名胜恐怕要一百年。不过伦敦的约翰·索恩爵士博物馆堪称英国文明的精华，值得一览。英格兰是人类的乐土
同时，这里气候宜人，四季温暖，资源充沛，物产丰富，几乎拥有一个工业国家所需的所有资源，为她的农业、工业提供了有力保障。
但这里阴暗的天空恐怕是其唯一缺陷，伦敦的大雾使天空污浊不堪。煤烟、黑尘铺天盖地，使这个国家几乎日夜不辨，堪称“黑色国度”。
伦敦改变了气候，也改变了它的地位。人们曾多次争论世界中心的位置在哪里，伦敦、威尼斯、耶路撒冷、费城等地的拥护者们各抒己见，纷纷提出了利于自己的论据。但事实上，不论在美洲、欧洲和亚洲，英国都拥有这世界上最优越的商业位置。其殖民地遍布全世界，拥有广阔的商品销售市场，这一切令她成为了一个日不落帝国。
于是，人类有时候不得不对上帝的偏心产生嫉妒，英国就像欧洲的缩影，这里具有所有欧洲的地表形态，因而也具有旖旎的湖光山色和丰富物产，海洋又将这个国家与欧洲大陆远远隔离，使其磨炼得无比凶狠、斗志昂扬，造就了今天这个伟大的国度。
lfieri thought Italy and England the only countries worth living in；
the former，because there nature vindicates her rights，and A
triumphs over the evils inflicted by the governments；the latter，because art conquers nature，and transforms a rude，ungenial land into a paradise of comfort and plenty.England is a garden.Under an ash-colored sky，the fields have been combed and rolled till they appear to have been finished with a pencil instead of a plough.The solidity of the structures that compose the towns speaks the industry of ages.Nothing is left as it was made.Rivers，hills，valleys，the sea itself feel the hand of a master.The long habitation of a powerful and ingenious race has turned every rood of land to its best use，has found all the capabilities，the arable soil，the quarriable rock，the highways，the byways，the fords，the navigable waters；and the new arts of intercourse meet you every where；so that England is a huge phalanstery，where all that man wants is provided within the precinct.Cushioned and comforted in every manner，the traveller rides as on a cannon-ball，high and low，over rivers and towns，through mountains，in tunnels of three or four miles，at near twice the speed of our trains；and reads quietly the Times newspaper，which，by its immense correspondence and reporting，seems to have machinized the rest of the world for his occasion.
The problem of the traveller landing at Liverpool is，Why England is England？What are the elements of that power which the English hold over other nations？If there be one test of national genius universally accepted，it is success；and if there be one successful country in the universe for the last millennium，that country is England.
A wise traveller will naturally choose to visit the best of actual nations；and an American has more reasons than another to draw him to Britain.In all that is done or begun by the Americans towards right thinking or practice，we are met by a civilization already settled and overpowering.The culture of the day，the thoughts and aims of men，are English thoughts and aims.A nation considerable for a thousand years since Egbert，it has，in the last centuries，obtained the ascendant，and stamped the knowledge，activity，and power of mankind with its impress.Those who resist it do not feel it or obey it less.The Russian in his snows is aiming to be English.The Turk and Chinese also are making awkward efforts to be English.The practical common-sense of modern society，the utilitarian direction which labor，laws，opinion，religion take，is the natural genius of the British mind.The influence of France is a constituent of modern civility，but not enough opposed to the English for the most wholesome effect.The American is only the continuation of the English genius into new conditions，more or less propitious.
See what books fill our libraries.Every book we read，every biography，play，romance，in whatever form，is still English history and manners.So that a sensible Englishman once said to me，“As long as you do not grant us copyright，we shall have the teaching of you.”
But we have the same difficulty in making a social or moral estimate of England，as the sheriff finds in drawing a jury to try some cause which has agitated the whole community，and on which every body finds himself an interested party.Officers，jurors，judges have all taken sides.England has inoculated all nations with her civilization，intelligence，and tastes；and，to resist the tyranny and prepossession of the British element，a serious man must aid himself，by comparing with it the civilizations of the farthest east and west，the old Greek，the Oriental，and，much more，the ideal standard，if only by means of the very impatience which English forms are sure to awaken in independent minds.
Besides，if we will visit London，the present time is the best time，as some signs portend that it has reached its highest point.It is observed that the English interest us a little less within a few years；and hence the impression that the British power has culminated，is in solstice，or already declining.
As soon as you enter England，which，with Wales，is no larger than the State of Georgia，this little land stretches by an illusion to the dimensions of an empire.The innumerable details，the crowded succession of towns，cities，cathedrals，castles，and great and decorated estates，the number and power of the trades and guilds，the military strength and splendor，the multitudes of rich and of remarkable people，the servants and equipages，—all these catching the eye，and never allowing it to pause，hide all boundaries，by the impression of magnificence and endless wealth.
Add South Carolina，and you have more than an equivalent for the area of Scotland.
I reply to all the urgencies that refer me to this and that object indispensably to be seen，—Yes，to see England well needs a hundred years；for，what they told me was the merit of Sir John Soane's Museum，in London，—that it was well packed and well saved，—is the merit of England；—it is stuffed full，in all corners and crevices，with towns，towers，churches，villas，palaces，hospitals，and charity-houses.In the history of art，it is a long way from a cromlech to York minster；yet all the intermediate steps may still be traced in this all-preserving island.
The territory has a singular perfection.The climate is warmer by many degrees than it is entitled to by latitude.Neither hot nor cold，there is no hour in the whole year when one cannot work.Here is no winter，but such days as we have in Massachusetts in November，a temperature which makes no exhausting demand on human strength，but allows the attainment of the largest stature.Charles the Second said，“it invited men abroad more days in the year and more hours in the day than another country.”Then England has all the materials of a working country except wood.The constant rain，—a rain with every tide，insome parts of the island，—keeps its multitude of rivers full，and brings agricultural production up to the highest point.It has plenty of water，of stone，of potter's clay，of coal，of salt，and of iron.The land naturally abounds with game，immense heaths and downs are paved with quails，grouse，and woodcock，and the shores are animated by water birds.The rivers and the surrounding sea spawn with fish；there are salmon for the rich，and sprats and herrings for the poor.In the northern lochs，the herring are in innumerable shoals；at one season，the country people say，the lakes contain one part water and two parts fish.
The only drawback on this industrial conveniency，is the darkness of its sky.The night and day are too nearly of a color.It strains the eyes to read and to write.Add the coal smoke.In the manufacturing towns，the fine soot or blacks darken the day，give white sheep the color of black sheep，discolor the human saliva，contaminate the air，poison many plants，and corrode the monuments and buildings.
The London fog aggravates the distempers of the sky，and sometimes justifies the epigram on the climate by an English wit，“in a fine day，looking up a chimney；in a foul day，looking down one.”A gentleman in Liverpool told me that he found he could do without a fire in his parlor about one day in the year.It is however pretended，that the enormous consumption of coal in the island is also felt in modifying the general climate.
Factitious climate，factitious position.England resembles a ship in its shape，and，if it were one，its best admiral could not have worked it，or anchored it in a more judicious or effective position.Sir John Herschel said，“London was the centre of the terrene globe.”The shopkeeping nation，to use a shop word，has a good stand.The old Venetians pleased themselves with the flattery，that Venice was in 45 degrees，midway between the poles and the line；as if that were an imperial centrality.Long of old，the Greeks fancied Delphi the navel of the earth，in their favorite mode of fabling the earth to be an animal.The Jews believed Jerusalem to be the centre.I have seen a kratometric chart designed to show that the city of Philadelphia was in the same thermic belt，and，by inference，in the same belt of empire，as the cities of Athens，Rome，and London.It was drawn by a patriotic Philadelphian，and was examined with pleasure，under his showing，by the inhabitants of Chestnut Street.But，whencarried to Charleston，to New Orleans，and to Boston，it somehow failed to convince the ingenious scholars of all those capitals.
But England is anchored at the side of Europe，and right in the heart of the modern world.The sea，which，according to Virgil's famous line，divided the poor Britons utterly from the world，proved to be the ring of marriage with all nations.It is not down in the books，—it is written only in the geologic strata，—that fortunate day when a wave of the German Ocean burst the old isthmus which joined Kent and Cornwall to France，and gave to this fragment of Europe its impregnable sea wall，cutting off an island of eight hundred miles in length，with an irregular breadth reaching to three hundred miles；a territory large enough for independence enriched with every seed of national power，so near，that it can see the harvests of the continent；and so far，that who would cross the strait must be an expert mariner，ready for tempests.As America，Europe，and Asia lie，these Britons have precisely the best commercial position in the whole planet，and are sure of a market for all the goods they can manufacture.And to make these advantages avail，the River Thames must dig its spacious outlet to the sea from the heart of the kingdom，giving road and landing to innumerable ships，and all the conveniency to trade，that a people so skilful and sufficient in economizing water-front by docks，warehouses，and lighters required.When James the First declared his purpose of punishing London by removing his Court，the Lord Mayor replied，“that，in removing his royal presence from his lieges，they hoped he would leave them the Thames.”
In the variety of surface，Britain is a miniature of Europe，having plain，forest，marsh，river，sea-shore；mines in Cornwall；caves in Matlock and Derbyshire；delicious landscape in Dovedale，delicious sea-view at Tor Bay，Highlands in Scotland，Snowdon in Wales；and，in Westmoreland and Cumberland，a pocket Switzerland，in which the lakes and mountains are on a sufficient scale to fill the eye and touch the imagination.It is a nation conveniently small.Fontenelle thought，that nature had sometimes a little affectation；and there is such an artificial completeness in this nation of artificers，as if there were a design from the beginning to elaborate a bigger Birmingham.Nature held counsel with herself，and said，‘My Romans are gone.To build my new empire，I will choose a rude race，all masculine，with brutishstrength.I will not grudge a competition of the roughest males.Let buffalo gore buffalo，and the pasture to the strongest！For I have work that requires the best will and sinew.Sharp and temperate northern breezes shall blow，to keep that will alive and alert.The sea shall disjoin the people from others，and knit them to a fierce nationality.It shall give them markets on every side.Long time I will keep them on their feet，by poverty，border-wars，seafaring，sea-risks，and the stimulus of gain.An island，—but not so large，the people not so many as to glut the great markets and depress one another，but proportioned to the size of Europe and the continents.'
With its fruits，and wares，and money，must its civil influence radiate.It is a singular coincidence to this geographic centrality，the spiritual centrality，which Emanuel Swedenborg ascribes to the people.“For the English nation，the best of them are in the centre of all Christians，because they have interior intellectual light.This appears conspicuously in the spiritual world.This light they derive from the liberty of speaking and writing，and thereby of thinking.”第四章 种族/Chapter 4 Race导读
一位天才的解剖学家曾写过一部专著，论证种族不朽，然而种族是一种脆弱的政治体系，易受变更和破坏，并且难以厘定它们之间的界限，因此对于地球上到底有多少个人类种族历来说法不一。1848年大英帝国统治下的人口总数超过两亿，然而英格兰本土居民仅两千七百五十万人，不论你是否承认，他们确实是靠个体的非凡能力和品质引领了世界的潮流。那么，我们是否能把这种力量归功于他们的种族、血统或者之类的原因呢？每个人都想证明，他们的优秀并不是来源于空气、土壤、大海或是矿山，也不来源于他们的法律、传统、教育或者是运气，而是源于他们的智慧。
从种族学的角度说，我们试图找到某些生理学法则，也就是期望在我们子孙的身上能够看到祖先们所拥有的心理取向和道德品质。像阿尔弗雷德王、牛顿、莎士比亚、培根等，这些人是怎么造就的？我们对其血统进行考察，观察他们吃什么东西，受什么抚养，进行什么训练，判断是什么造就了他们天生聪颖、智慧过人。数百万印度人被置于这个遥远的欧洲小岛的统治之下，难道这不是种族力量的体现吗？
每个种族都力图使自己长盛不衰，但同时也遭受着外族力量的抵制。文明犹如一种化学试剂，把一个种族的一切远古的特性消融殆尽，今天的不列颠人与远古的卡西贝卢斯人或奥西亚人已截然不同。各行各业的人们，从他们的外貌和着装上一看便知。
英国人生活的某些细节也同样惹人注目，如充分的个人自由、充足的食物、上等的啤酒和羊肉、开放的市场或高额的劳动收入，宜人的海岛生活令无数怀才不遇的人大显身手。英国人精力旺盛，体格健壮
英国人的多重性格显露了其复杂的血统，很明显，这个民族不是源于一个纯种族系。然而他们却远远超出任何一个与之有渊源的种族。要对一个民族追根溯源实非易事，有谁能准确地说出英国现在还有哪些种族呢？对于英国种族的历史性问题，很难得出一个称心的答案，但站在我们面前的却是货真价实的英国人，他们有着十分显著的特征，独一无二。一类人肤色红润、体格健壮，操着浓重的海岛口音；一类是诺曼底人，带着这类人特有的心安理得；一类撒克逊人，肤色和体形均似美国人，说话没有特色，思维迟钝；还有一种是具有三四种混合血统的罗马人。
由于英国人的血统源于多个民族的融合，因此他们需要广阔的空间来展示他们的才能和个性。因此他们在美国培养自由主义者，在伦敦扶植保守主义者，而他们的斯堪的纳维亚血统则令他们聆听着海洋母亲的娓娓絮语，不改初衷地、默默厮守着他们祖祖辈辈的家园。
这些都只是管中窥豹，简单聊聊狭小区域内的英格兰人，威尔士、苏格兰和爱尔兰还没有谈呢。他们又形成了另外一种风景。
关于英国人祖先的起源有三种说法：第一，他们是世界上最古老的民族凯尔特人的后裔；第二，他们源自日耳曼人；第三，他们是北欧人逐渐强大后南下的民族后代。当年，查理曼大帝忧心忡忡地看着这些深谙海事的北欧人骚扰他们的陆地时，不无悲恸地预言，他们将会祸害大陆人的子孙。《挪威王列传》是一部类似《伊利亚特》或《奥德赛》的英国史诗，描述了一个恰似斯巴达的共和国，国王与民众更加平等，而传说中的英雄其实就是那些实实在在的农夫，他们在艰苦的岁月中奋起保卫自己的财产，捍卫辛勤耕耘的土地。这些北欧人都属于优秀的民族，他们意志坚定，行为果敢，却嗜杀成性。早期的《挪威王列传》就是一部充满血腥的海盗传奇，他们生存的目标就是杀人或被杀。
历史车轮滚滚向前，从法国来的诺曼人一度占领了英格兰，他们个个如狼似虎，烧杀淫掠，无恶不作，而当他们的罪行披上合法的外衣时，后世却为他们歌功颂德。10～11世纪，英国曾一度屈服于丹麦人和北欧人，成为所有亡命之徒集结的场所。经过数代人的努力，第一批乘风破浪而来的北欧海盗已经成为效忠英王陛下的高官显贵和名士勇夫。
然而，人们的循规蹈矩并未完全消除奥丁时代的特征，粗狂歹毒、野兽般的秉性被高加索人继承了下来。未开化的英国人曾是个野蛮的民族，残酷的笞刑仍然流行，下流社会的暴行、街头斗殴、处决刑犯等事件令所有阶层的人津津乐道。可贵的是他们还尊崇公正的、正大光明的决斗。
总之，这块土地的地理环境表明：不论哪个民族踏上这片土地，都会马上变成水手和全球统治者。
如今的英国人精力旺盛，体格健壮。与他们相比，其他民族就显得瘦弱矮小，比如美国人就不如他们壮硕。记得我第一次在利物浦登陆时，就被他们健壮的体魄所吸引：脚夫、车夫、马车夫、卫兵，一个个都体格结实，品行端正，面目和善，举止文雅。但不得不说短小粗壮却是英国人体型的缺陷，英国人很少纤细高挑，全都又矮又胖，女人们也是如此。
帝国的诞生标志着一个崭新而美好的时代，我们会发现旧时的野蛮力量将最终臣服于人性的力量，这不是一个固步自封的保守种族，而是一个充满希望和美好未来的民族。与其说英国人好斗，不如说他们勇武。战争结束时，摘掉面具，他们又变成谦谦绅士或多情女子，慈爱而温柔。这种多重品格结合的故事在他们的民族传奇中屡见不鲜，《美女与野兽》和《两性人》就是其中的代表。海洋女王不列颠尼娅就被称为“柔中带刚”，江洋大盗罗宾汉被称为“最柔情的盗贼”。
英国人体魄强健，健步如飞，风风火火，一旦学会用枪，打猎就成为每个有地位的英国人的爱好。中老年人仍壮硕如初。他们从不会在饮食上亏欠自己，即使最穷困潦倒的工人，也不会甘于喝凉水度日，而要犒慰自己一些啤酒。我猜想，如果说每一个能力非凡的人首先是一只高级动物的话，那么英国人就是最好的品种，是一种生机勃勃、胸怀宽广、体态肥胖、沉浸在啤酒和欢乐中的世间牲灵。
英国人以狗与马为伴，血气方刚的年轻人宁愿与马做伴也不愿与教授为伍。撒克逊人奉亨斯特和霍萨（最早率领撒克逊武士定居英格兰的两位传奇英雄，善骑术）为他们种族的创始人，因而名正言顺地成了骑手的后代。英国的统治者宠爱动物胜过了对人的感情，严酷的狩猎法导致英国产生一句谚语：杀死一个人比打死一只野兔更安全。国王宠爱他的坐骑，有钱人便上行下效，把他们的马装扮得美轮美奂，延续到今日，每逢“大赛马日”时，连下议院也要休会。
n ingenious anatomist has written a book to prove that races
areAimperishable，but nations are pliant political constructions，A
easily changed or destroyed.But this writer did not found his assumed races on any necessary law，disclosing their ideal or metaphysical necessity；nor did he，on the other hand，count with precision the existing races，and settle the true bounds；a point of nicety，and the popular test of the theory.The individuals at the extremes of divergence in one race of men are as unlike as the wolf to the lapdog.Yet each variety shades down imperceptibly into the next，and you cannot draw the line where a race begins or ends.Hence every writer makes a different count.Blumenbach reckons five races；Humboldt three；and Mr.Pickering，who lately，in our Exploring Expedition，thinks he saw all the kinds of men that can be on the planet，makes eleven.
The British Empire is reckoned to contain 222，000，000 souls，—perhaps a fifth of the population of the globe；and to comprise a territory of 5，000，000 square miles.So far have British people predominated.Perhaps forty of these millions are of British stock.Add the United States of America，which reckon，exclusive of slaves，20，000，000 of people，on a territory of 3，000，000 square miles，and in which the foreign element，however considerable，is rapidly assimilated，and you have a population of English descent and language，of 60，000，000，and governing a population of 245，000，000 souls.
The British census proper reckons twenty-seven and a half millions in the home countries.What makes this census important is the quality of the units that compose it.They are free forcible men，in a country where life is safe，and has reached the greatest value.They give the bias to the current age；and that，not by chance or by mass，but by their character，and by the number of individuals among them of personal ability.It has been denied that the English have genius.Be it as it may，men of vast intellect have been born on their soil，and they have made or applied the principal inventions.They have sound bodies，and supreme endurance in war and in labor.The spawning force of the race has sufficed to the colonization of great parts of the world；yet it remains to be seen whether they can make good the exodus of millions from Great Britain，amounting，in 1852，to more than a thousand a day.They have assimilating force，since they are imitated by their foreign subjects；and theyare still aggressive and propagandist，enlarging the dominion of their arts and liberty.Their laws are hospitable，and slavery does not exist under them.What oppression exists is incidental and temporary；their success is not sudden or fortunate，but they have maintained constancy and self-equality for many ages.
Is this power due to their race，or to some other cause？Men hear gladly of the power of blood or race.Every body likes to know that his advantages cannot be attributed to air，soil，sea，or to local wealth，as mines and quarries，nor to laws and traditions，nor to fortune，but to superior brain，as it makes the praise more personal to him.
We anticipate in the doctrine of race something like that law of physiology，that，whatever bone，muscle，or essential organ is found in one healthy individual，the same part or organ may be found in or near the same place in its congener；and we look to find in the son every mental and moral property that existed in the ancestor.In race，it is not the broad shoulders，or litheness，or stature that give advantage，but a symmetry that reaches as far as to the wit.Then the miracle and renown begin.Then first we care to examine the pedigree，and copy heedfully the training，—what food they ate，what nursing，school，and exercises they had，which resulted in this mother-wit，delicacy of thought，and robust wisdom.How came such men as King Alfred，and Roger Bacon，William of Wykeham，Walter Raleigh，Philip Sidney，Isaac Newton，William Shakspeare，George Chapman，Francis Bacon，George Herbert，Henry Vane，to exist here？What made these delicate natures？was it the air？was it the sea？was it the parentage？For it is certain that these men are samples of their contemporaries.The hearing ear is always found close to the speaking tongue；and no genius can long or often utter any thing which is not invited and gladly entertained by men around him.
It is race，is it not？that puts the hundred millions of India under the dominion of a remote island in the north of Europe.Race avails much，if that be true，which is alleged，that all Celts are Catholics，and all Saxons are Protestants；that Celts love unity of power，and Saxons the representative principle.Race is a controlling influence in the Jew，who，for two millenniums，under every climate，has preserved the same character and employments.Race in the negro is of appalling importance.The French in Canada，cut off from allintercourse with the parent people，have held their national traits.I chanced to read Tacitus“on the Manners of the Germans，”not long since，in Missouri，and the heart of Illinois，and I found abundant points of resemblance between the Germans of the Hercynian forest，and our Hoosiers，Suckers，and Badgers of the American woods.
But whilst race works immortally to keep its own，it is resisted by other forces.Civilization is a re-agent，and eats away the old traits.The Arabs of to-day are the Arabs of Pharaoh；but the Briton of to-day is a very different person from Cassibelaunus or Ossian.Each religious sect has its physiognomy.The Methodists have acquired a face；the Quakers，a face；the nuns，a face.An Englishman will pick out a dissenter by his manners.Trades and professions carve their own lines on face and form.Certain circumstances of English life are not less effective；as，personal liberty；plenty of food；good ale and mutton；open market，or good wages for every kind of labor；high bribes to talent and skill；the island life，or the million opportunities and outlets for expanding and misplaced talent；readiness of combination among themselves for politics or for business；strikes；and sense of superiority founded on habit of victory in labor and in war；and the appetite for superiority grows by feeding.
It is easy to add to the counteracting forces to race.Credence is a main element.‘Tis said，that the views of nature held by any people determine all their institutions.Whatever influences add to mental or moral faculty，take men out of nationality，as out of other conditions，and make the national life a culpable compromise.
These limitations of the formidable doctrine of race suggest others which threaten to undermine it，as not sufficiently based.The fixity or inconvertibleness of races as we see them，is a weak argument for the eternity of these frail boundaries，since all our historical period is a point to the duration in which nature has wrought.Any the least and solitariest fact in our natural history，such as the melioration of fruits and of animal stocks，has the worth of a power in the opportunity of geologic periods.Moreover，though we flatter the self-love of men and nations by the legend of pure races，all our experience is of the gradation and resolution of races，and strange resemblances meet us every where.It need not puzzle us that Malay and Papuan，Celt and Roman，Saxon and Tartar should mix，when we see the rudiments of tiger and baboon in our human form，and know that the barriers of races are not so firm，but that some spray sprinkles us from the antediluvian seas.
The low organizations are simplest；a mere mouth，a jelly，or a straight worm.As the scale mounts，the organizations become complex.We are piqued with pure descent，but nature loves inoculation.A child blends in his face the faces of both parents，and some feature from every ancestor whose face hangs on the wall.The best nations are those most widely related；and navigation，as effecting a world-wide mixture，is the most potent advancer of nations.
The English composite character betrays a mixed origin.Every thing English is a fusion of distant and antagonistic elements.The language is mixed；the names of men are of different nations，—three languages，three or four nations；—the currents of thought are counter：contemplation and practical skill；active intellect and dead conservatism；world-wide enterprise，and devoted use and wont；aggressive freedom and hospitable law，with bitter class-legislation；a people scattered by their wars and affairs over the face of the whole earth，and homesick to a man；a country of extremes，—dukes and chartists，Bishops of Durham and naked heathen colliers；—nothing can be praised in it without damning exceptions，and nothing denounced without salvos of cordial praise.
Neither do this people appear to be of one stem；but collectively a better race than any from which they are derived.Nor is it easy to trace it home to its original seats.Who can call by right names what races are in Britain？Who can trace them historically？Who can discriminate them anatomically，or metaphysically？
In the impossibility of arriving at satisfaction on the historical question of race，and，—come of whatever disputable ancestry，—the indisputable Englishman before me，himself very well marked，and nowhere else to be found，—I fancied I could leave quite aside the choice of a tribe as his lineal progenitors.Defoe said in his wrath，“the Englishman was the mud of all races.”I incline to the belief，that，as water，lime，and sand make mortar，so certain temperaments marry well，and，by well-managed contrarieties，develop as drastic a character as the English.On the whole，it is not so much a historyof one or of certain tribes of Saxons，Jutes，or Frisians，coming from one place，and genetically identical，as it is an anthology of temperaments out of them all.Certain temperaments suit the sky and soil of England，say eight or ten or twenty varieties，as，out of a hundred pear-trees，eight or ten suit the soil of an orchard，and thrive，whilst all the unadapted temperaments die out.
The English derive their pedigree from such a range of nationalities，that there needs sea-room and land-room to unfold the varieties of talent and character.Perhaps the ocean serves as a galvanic battery to distribute acids at one pole，and alkalies at the other.So England tends to accumulate her liberals in America，and her conservatives at London.The Scandinavians in her race still hear in every age the murmurs of their mother，the ocean；the Briton in the blood hugs the homestead still.
Again，as if to intensate the influences that are not of race，what we think of when we talk of English traits really narrows itself to a small district.It excludes Ireland，and Scotland，and Wales，and reduces itself at last to London，that is，to those who come and go thither.The portraits that hang on the walls in the Academy Exhibition at London，the figures in Punch's drawings of the public men，or of the club-houses，the prints in the shop-windows，are distinctive English，and not American，no，nor Scotch，nor Irish：but‘tis a very restricted nationality.As you go north into the manufacturing and agricultural districts，and to the population that never travels，as you go into Yorkshire，as you enter Scotland，the world's Englishman is no longer found.In Scotland，there is a rapid loss of all grandeur of mien and manners；a provincial eagerness and acuteness appear；the poverty of the country makes itself remarked，and a coarseness of manners；and，among the intellectual，is the insanity of dialectics.In Ireland，are the same climate and soil as in England，but less food，no right relation to the land，political dependence，small tenantry，and an inferior or misplaced race.
These queries concerning ancestry and blood may be well allowed，for there is no prosperity that seems more to depend on the kind of man than British prosperity.Only a hardy and wise people could have made this small territory great.We say，in a regatta or yacht-race，that if the boats are anywhere nearly matched，it is the man that wins.Put the best sailing master into eitherboat，and he will win.
Yet it is fine for us to speculate in face of unbroken traditions，though vague，and losing themselves in fable.The traditions have got footing，and refuse to be disturbed.The kitchen-clock is more convenient than sidereal time.We must use the popular category，as we do by the Linnaean classification，for convenience，and not as exact and final.Otherwise，we are presently confounded，when the best settled traits of one race are claimed by some new ethnologist as precisely characteristic of the rival tribe.
I found plenty of well-marked English types，the ruddy complexion fair and plump，robust men，with faces cut like a die，and a strong island speech and accent；a Norman type，with the complacency that belongs to that constitution.Others，who might be Americans，for any thing that appeared in their complexion or form：and their speech was much less marked，and their thought much less bound.We will call them Saxons.Then the Roman has implanted his dark complexion in the trinity or quaternity of bloods.
1.The sources from which tradition derives their stock are mainly three.And，first，they are of the oldest blood of the world，—the Celtic.Some peoples are deciduous or transitory.Where are the Greeks？where the Etrurians？where the Romans？But the Celts or Sidonides are an old family，of whose beginning there is no memory，and their end is likely to be still more remote in the future；for they have endurance and productiveness.They planted Britain，and gave to the seas and mountains names which are poems，and imitate the pure voices of nature.They are favorably remembered in the oldest records of Europe.They had no violent feudal tenure，but the husbandman owned the land.They had an alphabet，astronomy，priestly culture，and a sublime creed.They have a hidden and precarious genius.They made the best popular literature of the middle ages in the songs of Merlin，and the tender and delicious mythology of Arthur.
2.The English come mainly from the Germans，whom the Romans found hard to conquer in two hundred and ten years，—say，impossible to conquer，—when one remembers the long sequel；a people about whom，in the old empire，the rumor ran，there was never any that meddled with them that repented it not.
3.Charlemagne，halting one day in a town of Narbonnese Gaul，looked out of a window，and saw a fleet of Northmen cruising in the Mediterranean.They even entered the port of the town where he was，causing no small alarm and sudden manning and arming of his galleys.As they put out to sea again，the emperor gazed long after them，his eyes bathed in tears.“I am tormented with sorrow，”he said，“when I foresee the evils they will bring on my posterity.”There was reason for these Xerxes'tears.The men who have built a ship and invented the rig，—cordage，sail，compass，and pump，—the working in and out of port，have acquired much more than a ship.Now arm them，and every shore is at their mercy.For，if they have not numerical superiority where they anchor，they have only to sail a mile or two to find it.Bonaparte's art of war，namely of concentrating force on the point of attack，must always be theirs who have the choice of the battle-ground.Of course they come into the fight from a higher ground of power than the land-nations；and can engage them on shore with a victorious advantage in the retreat.As soon as the shores are sufficiently peopled to make piracy a losing business，the same skill and courage are ready for the service of trade.
The Heimskringla，or Sagas of the Kings of Norway，collected by Snorro Sturleson，is the Iliad and Odyssey of English history.Its portraits，like Homer's，are strongly individualized.The Sagas describe a monarchical republic like Sparta.The government disappears before the importance of citizens.In Norway，no Persian masses fight and perish to aggrandize a king，but the actors are bonders or landholders，every one of whom is named and personally and patronymically described，as the king's friend and companion.A sparse population gives this high worth to every man.Individuals are often noticed as very handsome persons，which trait only brings the story nearer to the English race.Then the solid material interest predominates，so dear to English understanding，wherein the association is logical，between merit and land.The heroes of the Sagas are not the knights of South Europe.No vaporing of France and Spain has corrupted them.They are substantial farmers，whom the rough times have forced to defend their properties.They have weapons which they use in a determined manner，by no means for chivalry，but for their acres.They are people considerably advanced in rural arts，living amphibiouslyon a rough coast，and drawing half their food from the sea，and half from the land.They have herds of cows，and malt，wheat，bacon，butter，and cheese.They fish in the fiord，and hunt the deer.A king among these farmers has a varying power，sometimes not exceeding the authority of a sheriff.A king was maintained much as，in some of our country districts，a winter-schoolmaster is quartered，a week here，a week there，and a fortnight on the next farm，—on all the farmers in rotation.This the king calls going into guest-quarters；and it was the only way in which，in a poor country，a poor king，with many retainers，could be kept alive，when he leaves his own farm to collect his dues through the kingdom.
These Norsemen are excellent persons in the main，with good sense，steadiness，wise speech，and prompt action.But they have a singular turn for homicide；their chief end of man is to murder，or to be murdered；oars，scythes，harpoons，crowbars，peatknives，and hayforks，are tools valued by them all the more for their charming aptitude for assassinations.A pair of kings，after dinner，will divert themselves by thrusting each his sword through the other's body，as did Yngve and Alf.Another pair ride out on a morning for a frolic，and，finding no weapon near，will take the bits out of their horses'mouths，and crush each other's heads with them，as did Alric and Eric.The sight of a tent-cord or a cloak-string puts them on hanging somebody，a wife，or a husband，or，best of all，a king.If a farmer has so much as a hayfork，he sticks it into a King Dag.King Ingiald finds it vastly amusing to burn up half a dozen kings in a hall，after getting them drunk.Never was poor gentleman so surfeited with life，so furious to be rid of it，as the Northman.If he cannot pick any other quarrel，he will get himself comfortably gored by a bull's horns，like Egil，or slain by a land-slide，like the agricultural King Onund.Odin died in his bed，in Sweden；but it was a proverb of ill condition，to die the death of old age.King Hake of Sweden cuts and slashes in battle，as long as he can stand，then orders his war-ship，loaded with his dead men and their weapons，to be taken out to sea，the tiller shipped，and the sails spread；being left alone，he sets fire to some tar-wood，and lies down contented on deck.The wind blew off the land，the ship flew burning in clear flame，out between the islets into the ocean，and there was the right end of King Hake.
The early Sagas are sanguinary and piratical；the later are of a noble strain.History rarely yields us better passages than the conversation between King Sigurd the Crusader，and King Eystein，his brother，on their respective merits，—one，the soldier，and the other，a lover of the arts of peace.
But the reader of the Norman history must steel himself by holding fast the remote compensations which result from animal vigor.As the old fossil world shows that the first steps of reducing the chaos were confided to saurians and other huge and horrible animals，so the foundations of the new civility were to be laid by the most savage men.
The Normans came out of France into England worse men than they went into it，one hundred and sixty years before.They had lost their own language，and learned the Romance or barbarous Latin of the Gauls；and had acquired，with the language，all the vices it had names for.The conquest has obtained in the chronicles，the name of the“memory of sorrow.”Twenty thousand thieves landed at Hastings.These founders of the House of Lords were greedy and ferocious dragoons，sons of greedy and ferocious pirates.They were all alike，they took every thing they could carry，they burned，harried，violated，tortured，and killed，until every thing English was brought to the verge of ruin.Such，however，is the illusion of antiquity and wealth，that decent and dignified men now existing boast their descent from these filthy thieves，who showed a far juster conviction of their own merits，by assuming for their types the swine，goat，jackal，leopard，wolf，and snake，which they severally resembled.
England yielded to the Danes and Northmen in the tenth and eleventh centuries，and was the receptacle into which all the mettle of that strenuous population was poured.The continued draught of the best men in Norway，Sweden，and Denmark，to these piratical expeditions，exhausted those countries，like a tree which bears much fruit when young，and these have been second-rate powers ever since.The power of the race migrated，and left Norway void.King Olaf said，“When King Harold，my father，went westward to England，the chosen men in Norway followed him：but Norway was so emptied then，that such men have not since been to find in the country，nor especially such a leader as King Harold was for wisdom and bravery.”
It was a tardy recoil of these invasions，when，in 1801，the Britishgovernment sent Nelson to bombard the Danish forts in the Sound；and，in 1807，Lord Cathcart，at Copenhagen，took the entire Danish fleet，as it lay in the basins，and all the equipments from the Arsenal，and carried them to England.Konghelle，the town where the kings of Norway，Sweden，and Denmark were wont to meet，is now rented to a private English gentleman for a hunting ground.
It took many generations to trim，and comb，and perfume the first boat-load of Norse pirates into royal highnesses and most noble Knights of the Garter：but every sparkle of ornament dates back to the Norse boat.There will be time enough to mellow this strength into civility and religion.It is a medical fact，that the children of the blind see；the children of felons have a healthy conscience.Many a mean，dastardly boy is，at the age of puberty，transformed into a serious and generous youth.
The mildness of the following ages has not quite effaced these traits of Odin；as the rudiment of a structure matured in the tiger is said to be still found unabsorbed in the Caucasian man.The nation has a tough，acrid，animal nature，which centuries of churching and civilizing have not been able to sweeten.Alfieri said，“the crimes of Italy were the proof of the superiority of the stock；”and one may say of England，that this watch moves on a splinter of adamant.The English uncultured are a brutal nation.The crimes recorded in their calendars leave nothing to be desired in the way of cold malignity.Dear to the English heart is a fair stand-up fight.The brutality of the manners in the lower class appears in the boxing，bear-baiting，cock-fighting，love of executions，and in the readiness for a set-to in the streets，delightful to the English of all classes.The costermongers of London streets hold cowardice in loathing：—“we must work our fists well；
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