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Autobiography of Andrew Dickson White Volume II by Andrew Dickson White

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man I deeply revere; but the longer I live the more I am
convinced that the professional revivalist and the sensation
preacher are necessarily and normally foes both to religion and
to civilization.



In 1885, having resigned the presidency at Cornell, after twenty
years of service, I went to Europe; my main purpose being to
leave my successor untrammeled as to any changes which he might
see fit to make. He was an old friend and student of mine whom,
when the trustees had asked me to nominate a man to follow me I
had named as the best man I knew for the work to be done; but,
warm as were the relations between us, I made up my mind that it
was best to leave him an entirely free hand for at least a year.

Crossing the ocean, I had the close companionship of Thomas
Hughes ("Tom Brown"), and he was at his best. Among the stories
he told was one of Browning. The poet one morning, hearing a
noise in the street before his house, went to his window and saw
a great crowd gazing at some Chinamen in gorgeous costumes who
were just leaving their carriages to mount his steps. Presently
they were announced as the Chinese minister at the Court of St.
James and his suite. A solemn presentation having taken place,
Browning said to the interpreter, "May I ask to what I am
indebted for the honor of his Excellency's visit?" The
interpreter replied, "His Excellency is a poet in his own
country." Thereupon the two poets shook hands heartily. Browning
then said, "May I ask to what branch of poetry his Excellency
devotes himself?" to which the interpreter answered, "His
Excellency devotes himself to poetical enigmas." At this
Browning, recognizing fully the comic element in the situation,
extended his hand most cordially, saying, "His Excellency is
thrice welcome, he is a brother, indeed."

The month of October was passed in the southwest of England, and
there dwell in my mind recollections of Chatsworth, Haddon Hall,
and Bristol; but, above all, of a stay with the historian Freeman
at Wells. The whole life of that charming cathedral town and its
neighborhood was delightful. Freeman's kindness opened all doors
to us. The bishop, Lord Arthur Hervey, showed us kindly
hospitality at his grand old castle, which we had entered by a
drawbridge over the moat. Of especial interest to me was a
portrait of one of his predecessors--dear old Bishop Ken, whose
morning and evening hymns are among the most beautiful ties
between England and the United States. In the evening, dining
with the magistrates and lawyers, I heard good stories, among
them some characterizing various eminent members of the
profession, and of these I especially remember one at the expense
of the late Lord Chancellors Westbury and Cranworth. Lord
Cranworth, after the amalgamation of law and equity, was for some
time in the habit of going to sit with the new judges in order to
familiarize himself with the reformed practice, whereupon some
one asked Lord Westbury, "Why does 'Cranny' go to sit with the
judges?" to which Westbury answered, "Doubtless from a childish
fear of being alone in the dark."

Next day I was invited to sit with the squires in the Court of
Quarter Sessions, and was greatly interested in their mode of
administering justice. There was a firmness, but at the same time
a straightforward common sense about it all which greatly pleased
me. A visit to Wells Cathedral with Freeman was in its way ideal;
for never in all my studies of mediaeval buildings have I had so
good a guide. But perhaps the most curious experience of our stay
was an attendance upon a political meeting at Glastonbury, in the
Gladstonian interest. The first speech was made by the candidate,
Sir Hugh Davey; and in his anxiety to propitiate his hearers he
began by addressing them as men whose ancestors had for centuries
shown their devotion to free principles, and had especially given
proof of this by hanging the last Abbot of Glastonbury at the old
tower above the town. But, shortly afterward, when Freeman began
his speech, it was evident that his love of historical truth and
his devotion to church principles would not permit him to pass
this part of Davey's harangue unnoticed. Referring then
respectfully to his candidate for Parliament, Freeman went on to
say in substance that his distinguished friend was in error; that
the last Abbot of Glastonbury was not a traitor, but a martyr--a
martyr to liberty, and a victim of that arch-enemy of liberty,
Henry VIII. Any one who had heard Freeman in America as a
lecturer would have been amazed at his ability as a political
speaker. As a lecturer, trying to be eloquent while reading a
manuscript, he was generally ineffective and sometimes
comical,--worse even than the general run of lecturers in the
German universities, and that is saying much; but as a public
speaker he was excellent--so much so that, congratulating him
afterward, and bearing in mind the fact that he had been formerly
defeated for Parliament, I assured him that if he would come to
America and make speeches like that, we would most certainly put
him in Congress and keep him there.

Toward the end of October we went on to Exeter, and there, at
Heavitree Church, heard Bishop Bickersteth preach admirably,
meeting him afterward at our luncheon with the vicar, and taking
supper with him at the episcopal palace. He was perhaps best
known in America as the author of the poem, "Yesterday, To-day,
and Forever"; and of this he gave me a copy, remarking that every
year he received from the American publisher a check for fifty
pounds, though there was no copyright requiring any payment
whatever. In his study he showed me a copy of "The Book Annexed,"
which presented the enrichments and emendations which a number of
devout scholars and thinkers were endeavoring to make in the
Prayer-book of the Protestant Episcopal Church in the United
States, and he spoke with enthusiasm of these additions, which,
alas! have never yet been adopted.

Next came a visit to Torquay, where Kent's Cavern, with its
prehistoric relics, interested me vastly. Looking at them, there
could be no particle of doubt regarding the enormous antiquity of
the human race. There were to be seen the evidences of man's
existence scattered among the remains of animals long ago
extinct--animals which must have lived before geological changes
which took place ages on ages ago. Mixed with remains of fire and
human implements and human bones were to be seen not only bones
of the hairy mammoth and cave-bear, woolly rhinoceros and
reindeer, which could have been deposited there only in a time of
arctic cold, but bones of the hyena, hippopotamus, saber-toothed
tiger, and the like, which could have been deposited only when
the climate was torrid. The conjunction of these remains clearly
showed that man had lived in England early enough and long enough
to pass through times of arctic cold, and times of torrid heat;
times when great glaciers stretched far down into England and,
indeed, into the Continent, and times when England had a land
connection with the European continent, and the European
continent with Africa, allowing tropical animals to migrate
freely from Africa to the middle regions of England.

The change wrought by such discoveries as these, not only in
England, but in Belgium, France, and elsewhere, as regards our
knowledge of the antiquity of the human race and the character of
the creation process, is one of the great things of our

[11] I have discussed this more fully in my "History of the
Warfare of Science with Theology," Vol. I, chap. vi.

Thence we visited various cathedral towns, being shown delightful
hospitality everywhere. There remains vividly in my memory a
visit to Worcester, where the dean, Lord Alwyn Compton, now
Bishop of Ely, went over the cathedral with us, and showed us
much kindness afterward at the deanery--a mediaeval structure,
from the great window of which we looked over the Severn and the
famous Cromwellian battle-field.

Salisbury we found beautiful as of old; then to Brighton and to
"The Bungalow" of Halliwell-Phillips the Shaksperian scholar, and
never have I seen a more quaint habitation. On the height above
the town Phillips had brought together a number of portable
wooden houses, and connected them with corridors and passages
until all together formed a sort of labyrinth; the only clue
being in the names of the corridors, all being chosen from
Shakspere, and each being enriched with Shaksperian quotations
appropriate and pithy. At his table during our stay we met
various interesting guests, one of whom suggested the idea
regarding the secret of Carlyle's cynicism and pessimism to which
reference is made in my "Warfare of Science." Next came visits to
various country houses, all delightful, and then a stay at
Oxford, to which I was reinitiated by James Bryce; and for two
weeks it was a round of interesting visits, breakfasts,
luncheons, and dinners with the men best worth knowing at the
various colleges. Interesting was a visit to All Souls College,
which, having been founded as a place where sundry "clerks"
should pray for the souls of those killed at the battle of Crecy,
had, as Sir William Anson, its present head, showed me, begun at
last doing good work after four hundred years of uselessness. In
the chapel was shown me the restored reredos, which was of great
size, extending from floor to ceiling, taking the place of the
chancel window usual in churches, and made up of niches filled
with statues of saints. As the heads of all the earlier statues
had been knocked off during the fanatical period, there had been
substituted, during the recent restoration, new statues of saints
bearing the heads of noted scholars and others connected with the
college, among which Max Muller once pointed out to me his own,
and a very good likeness it was. Interesting to me were Bryce's
rooms at Oriel, for they were those in which John Henry Newman
had lived: at that hearth was warmed into life the Oxford
Movement. At one of the Oriel dinners, Bryce spoke of the changes
at Oxford within his memory as enormous, saying that perhaps the
greatest of these was the preference given to laymen over
clergymen as heads of colleges. An example of this was the
president of Magdalen. I had met him not many years before in
Switzerland, as a young man, and now he had become the head of
this great college, one of the foremost in the university. This
impressed me all the more because my memory suggested a
comparison between him and the president at my first visit,
thirty years before: Warren, the present president, being an
active-minded layman hardly over thirty, and his predecessor,
Routh, a doctor of divinity, who was then in his hundredth year.
It was curious to see that, while this change had been made to
lay control, various relics of clerical dominance were still in
evidence, and, among these, the surplice worn by Bryce, a member
of Parliament, when he read the lessons from the lectern in Oriel
chapel. At another dinner I was struck by a remark of his, that
our problems in America seemed to him simple and easy compared
with those of England; but as I revise these recollections,
twenty years later, and think of the questions presented by our
acquisitions in the West Indies and in the Philippine and
Hawaiian islands, as well as the negro problem in the South and
Bryanism in the North, to say nothing of the development of the
Monroe Doctrine and the growth of socialistic theories, the query
comes into my mind as to what he would think to-day.

November 9, 1885.

Dining at All Souls with Professor Dicey, I met Professor
Gardiner, the historian, whom I greatly liked; his lecture on
"Ideas in English History," which I had heard in the afternoon,
was suggestive, thorough, and interesting: he is evidently one of
the historians whose work will last. In the hall I noted Lord
Salisbury's portrait in the place of honor.

Tuesday, November 10.

Breakfasting at Oriel with Bryce, I met Broderick, warden of
Merton, and there was an interesting political discussion. Bryce
thought Chamberlain had alarmed the well-to-do classes, but
trusted to Gladstone to bring matters around right, and, apropos
of some recent occurrences, remarked upon the amazing depth of
spite revealed in the blackballing at clubs. Took lunch at
Balliol, where the discussion upon general and American history
was interesting. Dined with Bryce at Oriel, and, the discussion
falling upon English and American politics, sundry remarks of
Fowler, president of Corpus Christi College, were pungent. He
evidently thinks bitterly of political corruption in America, and
I find this feeling everywhere here; politely concealed, of
course, but none the less painful. I could only say that the
contents of the caldron should not be judged from the scum thrown
to the surface. In the evening to Professor Freeman's and met Mr.
Hunt, known as a writer and an examiner in history. He complained
bitterly of the cramming system, as so many do; thought that
Jowett had done great harm by promoting it, and that the main
work now done is for position in the honor list,--cram by tutors
being everything and lectures nothing.

Wednesday, November 11.

Took luncheon with Fowler, president of Corpus Christi, a most
delightful and open-minded man. I have enjoyed no one here more,
few so much. We discussed the teaching of ethics, he lamenting
the coming in of Hegelianism, which seems mainly used by sophists
in upholding outworn dogmas. Afterward we took a long stroll
together, discussing as we walked his admirable little book on
"Progress in Morals"; I suggesting some additions from my own
experience in America. In the afternoon came Professor Freeman's
lecture on Constantine. It was a worthy presentation of a great
subject, but there were fewer than ten members of the university
present, and only two of these remained until the close. In the
evening I dined at Balliol, and, the conversation falling upon
the eminent master of the college, Jowett, and his friendship
with Stubbs, Bishop of Oxford, and Freeman, a budding cynic
recalled the verses:

"I go first; my name is Jowett;
I am the Master of Balliol College;
Whatever's worth knowing, be sure that I know it;
Whatever I don't know is not knowledge."[12]

[12] This is given differently in Tuckwell's reminiscences.

Whereupon some one cited a line from an Oxford satire: "Stubbs
butters Freeman, and Freeman butters Stubbs"; at which I could
only say that Jowett, Stubbs, and Freeman had seemed to me, in my
intercourse with them, anything but dogmatic, pragmatic, or

November 13.

In the morning breakfasted with Bryce and a dozen or more
graduates and undergraduates in the common room at Oriel, and was
delighted with the relations between instructors and instructed
then shown. Nothing could be better. The discussion turning upon
Froude, who had evidently fascinated many of the younger men by
his style, Bryce was particularly severe against him for his
carelessness as to truth. This reminded me of a remark made to me
by Moncure Conway, I think, that Froude had begun with the career
of a novelist, for which he had decided gifts; that Carlyle had
then made him think this sort of work unworthy, urging him to
write history; and that Froude had carried into historical
writing the characteristics of a romance-writer. In the afternoon
to a beautiful concert in the great hall of Christ Church. A
curious sort of accommodation in quasi-boxes was provided by
pushing the dining-tables to the sides of the room and placing
the audience in chairs upon them and in front of them; it seemed
to me more serviceable than cleanly. In the evening dined at
Lincoln College with the rector, Dr. Merry, who was very
agreeable and entertaining, giving interesting accounts of his
predecessor, Mark Pattison, and of Wilberforce when Bishop of
Oxford. One of the guests, a fellow of New College, told me that
some fifty years ago an American, being entertained there showed
the college dons how to make mint-julep, or something of the
sort, and then sent them a large silver cup with the condition
that it should be filled with this American drink every year on
the anniversary of the donor's visit, and that this is regularly
done. This pious donor must have been, I think, "Nat" Willis.

Sunday, November 15.

Lunched with Johnson, fellow of Merton, and met my old friend
Mlle. Blaze du Bury. Her comments, from the point of view of a
brilliant young Frenchwoman, on all she saw about her at Oxford
were pungent and suggestive. In the evening heard the Archbishop
of York Thompson, preach at St. Mary's. He urged the students to
consecrate themselves by their example to the maintenance of a
better standard of morality; but, despite his strength and force,
the sermon seemed heavy and perfunctory.

November 16.

To Windsor with a party of friends, and as we had a special
permit to see a large number of rooms and curious objects not
usually shown, the visit was very interesting. Sadly suggestive
was Gordon's Bible, every page having its margins covered with
annotations in his own hand: it was brought from Khartoum after
his murder, presented by his sister to the Queen, and is now
preserved in an exquisitely wrought silver casket.

Tuesday, November 18.

Visited Somerville Hall for women, which shows a vast advance
over Oxford as I formerly knew it. To think that its creation
honors the memory of a woman who attained her high scientific
knowledge in spite of every discouragement, and who, when she had
attained it, was denounced outrageously from the pulpit of York
Minster for it! Dined at Merton College with the warden, Hon.
George Broderick, in the hall, which has been most beautifully
restored by Sir Gilbert Scott. When will the founders of our
American colleges and universities understand the vast
educational value of surroundings like these, and especially of a
"hall" in which students meet every day, beneath storied windows
and the busts and portraits of the most eminent men in the
history of science, literature, and public service?

In answer to the question whether in American universities there
was anything like the association between instructors and
students in England, I spoke of the evolution of our fraternity
houses as likely to bring about something of the sort. The
fraternal relation between teachers and taught is certainly the
best thing in the English universities, and covers a multitude of
sins. If I were a great millionaire I would establish in our
greater universities a score or so of self-governing colleges,
each with comfortable lodging-rooms and studies and with its own
library and dining-hall. In the common room, after dinner, I sat
next Professor Wallace, whose book on Kant I had read. He thinks
the system of ethics really predominant in England is modified

November 19.

To Mortimer, near Reading, on a visit to Sir Paul Hunter, who
once visited me at Cornell. Extracts from my diary of this visit
are as follows:

November 20.

To Bearwood, the seat of John Walter, M.P., proprietor of the
"Times," and for the first time in my life saw a fox hunt, with
the meet, the huntsmen in red coats, and all the rest of it.

November 21.

Visited the old Abbey Church at Reading with Sir Paul, and in the
evening met various interesting people at dinner, among them Sir
John Mowbray, M.P. for Oxford and Mr. Walter.

Sunday, November 22.

After morning service in the beautiful parish church which, with
its schools, was the gift of Mr. Benyon, several of us took a
walk to Silchester, with its ruins of an old Roman bath, on the
Duke of Wellington's estate. In the evening Mr. Walter, who
usually appears so reticent and quiet, opened himself to me quite
freely, speaking very earnestly regarding the unfortunate turn
which the question between Catholics and Protestants has taken in
England under pressure from the Vatican, especially as regards
marriages, and illustrating his view by some most suggestive
newspaper cuttings. He also gave me what he claimed was the true
story of Earl Russell's conduct in letting out the Confederate
cruisers against us during the Civil War, attributing it to the
fact that an underling charged with preventing it went suddenly
mad, so that the matter did not receive early attention. But this
did not modify my opinion of Earl Russell. Thank Heaven, he lived
until he saw Great Britain made to pay heavily for his obstinacy.
Pity that he did not live to see the present restoration of good
feeling between the two countries; esto perpetua (1905).

Monday, November 23.

In the afternoon drove to "Bramshill," the magnificent seat of
Sir William Cope; after all, there has never been any domestic
architecture so noble as the Elizabethan and Jacobean. In the
evening to a Tory meeting, Sir John Mowbray presiding; his
opening speech astounded me. Presenting the claims of his party,
he said that the Tories were not only the authors of extended
suffrage under Lord Beaconsfield, but that they ought also to
have the credit of free trade in grain, since Sir Robert Peel had
supported the bill for the repeal of the corn laws. Remembering
the treatment which Sir Robert Peel received from Disraeli and
the Tory party for this very act, it seemed to me that Sir John's
speech was the coolest thing I had ever heard in my life. It was
taken in good part, however. In America I am quite sure that such
a speech would have been considered an insult to the audience.

November 24.

To Cambridge, where I met a number of old friends, including Dr.
Waldstein, director of the Fitzwilliam Museum, and Sedley Taylor,
fellow of Trinity; and in the evening dined at King's College
with the former and a number of interesting men, including
Westcott, the eminent New Testament scholar (since Bishop of

November 26.

Dined at Trinity College with Sedley Taylor and others, and
thence to the Politico-Economic Association to hear a discussion
upon cooperation in production; those taking the principal part
in the meeting being sundry leading men among the professors and
fellows devoted to political economy. During the day I called on
Robertson Smith, the eminent biblical critic, who, having been
thrown out of the Free Church of Scotland for revealing sundry
truths in biblical criticism a dozen years too soon, has been
received into a far better place at Cambridge.

November 27.

Had a delightful hour during the morning in King's College chapel
with Bradshaw, the librarian of the university--a most
accomplished man. He has a passion for church architecture, and
his discussions of the wonderful stained windows of the chapel
were very interesting. The evening service at King's College was
most beautiful: nothing could be more perfect than the antiphonal
rendering of the Psalms by the two choirs and the great organ.
More and more I am impressed by the EDUCATIONAL value of such

November 28.

During the greater part of the day in the library of Trinity
College with Sedley Taylor. Years before, I had explored its
treasures with Aldis Wright, but there were new things to
fascinate me. Dining at King's College with Waldstein, met
Professor Seeley, author of the "Life of Stein," a book which,
ever since its appearance, has been an object of my admiration.

November 29.

In the morning, at King's College chapel, I was greatly struck by
the acoustic properties of this immense building; for, having
seated myself near the door at the west end, I distinctly heard
every word of the prayer for the church militant as it was
recited before the altar at the other end. Afterward, at Oscar
Browning's rooms, looked over a multitude of interesting
documents, including British official reports from New York
during our War of the Revolution; and in the evening, at
Waldstein's rooms, met Sir Henry Maine and discussed with him his
book on "Popular Government." He interested me greatly, and I
pointed out to him some things which, in my opinion, he might
well dwell more strongly upon in future editions, and among these
the popularity of the veto power in the United States, as shown
in its extension by recent legislation of various States to items
of supply bills.

At noon to luncheon at Christ's College with Professor Robertson
Smith, the Scotch heretic. This was the Cambridge home of Milton
and Darwin, interesting memorials of whom were shown me. Among
the guests was Dr. Creighton, professor of ecclesiastical
history. The early part of Creighton's book on the "History of
the Papacy During the Reformation Period" had especially
interested me, and I now enjoyed greatly his knowledge of Italian
matters. He discussed Tomasini's book on Machiavelli, and sundry
new Italian books on the relations of the Popes and Fra Paolo

November 30.

Took tea at St. Mary's Hall with Sir Henry Maine, and continued
our discussion on his "Popular Government," which, while opposed
to democracy, pays a great tribute to the Constitution of the
United States. Dined with Professor Creighton; met various
interesting people, and discussed with him and Mrs. Creighton
sundry points in English history, especially the career of
Archbishop Laud; my opinion of Macaulay's injustice being
confirmed thereby.

December 11.

Went in the morning with Sedley Taylor and Professor Stuart,
M.P., an old friend of former visits, and inspected the
mechanical laboratory and workshops. There were about seventy
university men, more or less, engaged in these, and it was
interesting to see English Cambridge adopting the same line which
we have already taken at Cornell against so much opposition, and
surprising to find the Cambridge equipment far inferior to that
of Cornell. Afterward visited the polling booths for an election
which was going on, and noted the extraordinary precautions
against any interference with the secrecy of the ballot. Also to
the Cavendish physical laboratory, which, like the mechanical
laboratory, was far inferior in equipment to ours at Cornell. In
the evening to the Greek play,--the "Eumenides" of
Aeschylus,--which was wonderfully well done. The Athena, Miss
Case of Girton College, was superb; the Apollo imposing; the
Orestes a good actor; and the music very effective. I found
myself seated next Andrew Lang, so well known for his literary
activity in various fields; and on speaking to him of the evident
delights of life at Cambridge and Oxford, I found that he had
outlived his enthusiasm on that subject.

December 2.

In the morning took a charming walk through St. Peter's, Queen's,
and other colleges, enjoying their quiet interior courts, their
halls and cloisters, the bridges across the Cam, and the walks
beyond. Then to a lecture by Professor Seeley on "Forces of
Government in History." It was admirably clear, though, in parts,
perhaps too subtle. As to England he summed all up by saying that
its present system was simply revolution at any moment. Walking
home with him afterward, I asked why, if his statement were
correct, it did not realize the old ideal in France--namely, that
of "La revolution en permanence." At luncheon with Waldstein at
King's College we found Lord Lytton, recently governor-general of
India, known to literature as "Owen Meredith," with Lady Lytton;
also Sir William Anson, provost of All Souls; as well as the
Athena of last evening, Miss Case; the Orestes, the Apollo, Sir
Henry Maine, and others. I was amused at the difference between
Lord Lytton's way of greeting me and his treatment of Sir William
Anson. When I was introduced, he at once took me by the hand, and
began talking very cordially and openly; but when his eminent
countryman was introduced, each eyed the other as if in
suspicion, did not shake hands, bowed very coldly, and said
nothing beyond muttering some one of the usual formulas. It was a
curious example of the shyness of Englishmen in meeting each
other, and of their want of shyness in meeting men from other
countries. At table Lord Lytton spoke regarding the annexation of
Burmah, likely to be accomplished by the dethronement of the
king, Theebaw; said that it ought to have been accomplished long
ago, and that the delay of action in the premises was due to
English timidity. Both he and Lady Lytton were very agreeable. He
gave an interesting account of a native drama performed before
him in India at the command of one of the great princes, though
speaking of it as "deadly dull." Speaking of difficulties in
learning idioms, he told the story of a German professor who,
priding himself on his thorough knowledge of English idioms,
said, "We must, as you English say, take ze cow by ze corns." At
this some one rejoined with the story of the learned baboo in
India who spoke of something as "magnificent, soul-inspiring, and
tip-top." As another example of baboo English was mentioned the
inscription upon one of the show-cases in an exhibition in India:
"All the goods in this case are for sale, but they cannot be
removed until after the day of judgment."

In the evening met the Historical Club at Oscar Browning's rooms,
and heard an admirable paper by Professor Seeley on "Bourbon
Family Compacts." He said that the fact of their existence was
not fully established until Ranke mentioned them, and that he,
Seeley, then examined the English Foreign Office records and
found them. He spoke of them as refuting the arguments of
Macaulay and others as to the folly of supposing that different
branches of the same family on different thrones are likely to
coalesce. Oscar Browning then read a paper on the flight of Louis
XVI to Varennes. It was elaborate, and based on close study and
personal observation. Browning had even taken measurements of the
distance over which King Louis passed on that fatal night, with
the result that he proved Carlyle's account to be entirely
inaccurate, and his indictment against Louis XVI based upon it to
be absurd. So far from the King having lumbered along slowly
through the night in Mme. Korf's coach because he had not the
force of character to make his driver go rapidly, Browning found
that the journey was made in remarkably quick time.

December 3.

Breakfasting with Sedley Taylor, I met Professor Stuart, M.P.,
who thinks a great liberal, peaceful revolution in the English
constitution will be accomplished within the next fifty years.
Thence walked with Taylor to Newnham College, where we were very
kindly received by Miss Gladstone, daughter of the prime
minister, and shown all about the place. We were also cordially
received by Miss Clough, and made the acquaintance of two
American girls, one from New Jersey and the other from
California. Much progress had been made since my former visit
under the guidance of Professor and Mrs. Fawcett. Thence to Jesus
College chapel and saw William Morris's stained glass, which is
the most beautiful modern work of the kind known to me.

December 4.

Visited St. John's, St. Peter's, and other colleges; in the
afternoon saw the eight-oared boats come down the river in fine
style; and in the evening went to the annual "audit dinner" at
Trinity College, the number of visitors in the magnificent hall
being very large. I found myself between the vice-master,
Trotter, and Professor Humphrey, the distinguished surgeon. The
latter thought Vienna had shot ahead of Berlin in surgery, though
he considered Billroth too venturesome, and praised recent
American works on surgery, but thought England was still keeping
the lead. At the close of the dinner came a curious custom. Two
servants approached the vice-master at the head of the first
table, laid down upon it a narrow roll of linen, and then the
guests rolled this along by pushing it from either side until,
when it had reached the other end, a strip of smooth linen was
left along the middle of the whole table. Then a great silver
dish, with ladles on either side, and containing some sort of
fragrant fluid, was set in front of the vice-master, upon the
narrow strip of linen which had formed the roll, and the same
thing was repeated at each of the other tables. The vice-master
having then filled a large glass at his side from the dish, and
I, at his suggestion, having done the same, the great dish was
pushed down the table to guest after guest, each following our
example. Waiting to see what was to follow, I presently observed
a gentleman near me dipping his napkin into his glass and
vigorously scrubbing his face and neck with it, evidently to cool
himself off after dinner; this was repeated with more or less
thoroughness by others present; and then came a musical grace
after meat--the non nobis, Domine--wonderfully given by the
choir. In the combination room, afterward, I met most agreeably
Mr. Trevelyan, M.P., a nephew of Macaulay, who has written an
admirable biography of his uncle.

December 6.

Dined at Trinity College as the guest of Aldis Wright, and met a
number of interesting men, among them Mahaffy, the eminent
professor of Greek at Trinity College, Dublin. Both he and Wright
told excellent stories. Among those of the latter was one of a
Scotchwoman who, on being informed of the change made by the
revisers in the Lord's Prayer,--namely, "and deliver us from the
evil one,"--said, "I doot he'll be sair uplifted." Mahaffy gave
droll accounts of Whately, Archbishop of Dublin. One of these had
as its hero a country clergyman who came to ask Whately for a
living which had just become vacant. The archbishop, thinking to
have a little fun with his guest, said, "Of course, first of all,
I must know what your church politics are: are you an
attitudinarian, a latitudinarian, or a platitudinarian?" To which
the parson replied, "Thank God, your Grace, I am not an Arian at
all at all, if that's what ye mane." The point of this lay in the
fact that among the charges constantly made by the High-church
party against Whately was that of secret Unitarianism. But the
reply so amused Whately that he bestowed the living on the old
parson at once. Mahaffy also said that when Archbishop Trench,
who was a man exceedingly mindful of the proprieties of life,
arrived in Dublin he assured Mahaffy that he intended to follow
in all things the example of his eminent predecessor, whereupon
Mahaffy answered, "Should your Grace do so, you will in summer
frequently sit in your shirt sleeves on the chains in front of
your palace, swinging to and fro, and smoking a long pipe."

Some one capped this with a story that, on a visitor once telling
Whately how a friend of his in a remote part of Ireland had such
confidence in the people about him that he never locked his
doors, the archbishop quietly replied, "Some fine morning, when
your friend wakes, he will find that he is the only spoon left in
the house."

December 7.

For several days visiting attractive places in London. Of most
interest to me were talks with Lecky, the historian. He
especially lamented Goldwin Smith's expatriation, and referred to
his admirable style, though regretting his lack of continuity in
historical work. Though an Irishman devoted most heartily to
Ireland, Lecky thought Gladstone's home rule policy suicidal. On
my telling him of Oscar Browning's study of Louis XVI's flight to
Varennes, he stood up for Carlyle's general accuracy. He liked
Sir Henry Maine's book, but was surprised at so much praise for
"The Federalist," since he thought Story's "Commentaries" much
better. He thought Draper's "History of the Intellectual
Development of Europe" showed too much fondness for very large
generalizations. He liked Hildreth's "History of the United
States" better than Bancroft's, and I argued against this view.
He praised Buckle's style, and when I asked him regarding his own
"Eighteenth Century," he said it was to be longer than he had
expected. As to his "European Morals," he said that it must be
recast before it could be continued. Returning to the subject of
home rule in Ireland, he said it was sure to lead to religious
persecution and confiscation. He speaks in a very low, gentle
voice, is tall and awkward, but has a very kind face, and pleases
me greatly. During my stay in London I did some work in the
British Museum on subjects which interested me, and at a visit to
Maskelyne and Cooke's great temple of jugglery in Piccadilly saw
a display which set me thinking. Few miracle-mongers have ever
performed any feats so wonderful as those there accomplished; the
men and women who take such pleasure in attributing spiritual and
supernatural origin to the cheap jugglery of "mediums" should see
this performance.



New Year's day of 1886 found my wife and myself again in Paris;
and, during our stay of nearly a fortnight there, we met various
interesting persons--among them Mr. McLane, the American minister
at that post, whom I had last seen, over thirty years before,
when we crossed the ocean together--he then going as minister to
China, and I as attache to St. Petersburg. His discussions both
of American and French politics were interesting; but a far more
suggestive talker was Mme. Blaze de Bury. Though a Frenchwoman,
she was said to be a daughter of Lord Brougham; his portrait hung
above her chair in the salon, and she certainly showed a
versatility worthy of the famous philosopher and statesman, of
whom it was said, when he was appointed chancellor, that if he
only knew a little law he would know a little of everything. She
apparently knew not only everything, but everybody, and abounded
in revelations and prophecies.

On the way from Paris to the Riviera we encountered at Lyons very
cold weather, and, giving my wraps to my wife, I hurried out into
the station in the evening, bought of a news-vender a mass of old
newspapers, and, having swathed myself in these, went through the
night comfortably, although our coupe was exposed to a most
piercing wind.

Arriving at Cannes, we found James Bryce of the English
Parliament, Baron George von Bunsen of the German Parliament, and
Lord Acton (since professor of history at the University of
Cambridge), all interesting men, but the latter peculiarly so:
the nearest approach to omniscience I have ever seen, with the
possible exception of Theodore Parker. Another person who
especially attracted me was Sir Charles Murray, formerly British
minister at Lisbon and Dresden. His first wife was an
American,--Miss Wadsworth of Geneseo,--and he had traveled much
in America--once through the Adirondacks with Governor Seymour of
New York, of whom he spoke most kindly. Discussing the Eastern
Question, he said that any nation, except Russia, might have
Constantinople; he gave reminiscences of old King John of Saxony,
who was very scholarly, but the last man in the world to be a
king. Most charming of all were his reminiscences of Talleyrand.
The best things during my stay were my walks and talks with Lord
Acton, who was full of information at first hand regarding
Gladstone and other leaders both in England and on the Continent.
Although a Roman Catholic, he spoke highly of Fraser, late
Anglican Bishop of Manchester. As to Americans, he had known
Charles Sumner in America, but had not formed a high opinion of
him, evidently thinking that the senator orated too much; he had
with him a large collection of books, selected, doubtless, from
his two large libraries, in London and in the Tyrol, and with
this he astonished one as does a juggler who, from a single small
bottle, pours out any kind of wine demanded. For example, one
day, Bunsen, Bryce, and myself being with him, the first-named
said something regarding a curious philological tract by Bernays,
put forth when Bunsen was a student at Gottingen, but now
entirely out of print. At this Lord Acton went to one of his
shelves, took down this rare tract, and handed it to us. So, too,
during one of our walks, the talk happening to fall upon one of
my heroes, Fra Paolo Sarpi, I asked how it was that, while in the
old church on the Lagoon at Venice I had at three different
visits sought Sarpi's grave in vain, I had at the last visit
found it just where I had looked for it before. At this he gave
me a most interesting account of the opposition of Pope Gregory
XVI--who, before his elevation to the papacy, had been abbot of
the monastery--to Sarpi's burial within its sacred precincts,
and of the compromise under which his burial was allowed. This
compromise was that his bones, which had so long been kept in the
ducal library to protect them from clerical hatred, might be
buried in the church on the island, provided Sarpi were, during
the ceremonies, honored simply as the discoverer of the
circulation of the blood,--which he probably was not,--and not
honored as the greatest statesman of Venice--which he certainly
was. This, as I then supposed, closed the subject; but in the
afternoon a servant came over, bringing me from Lord Acton a most
interesting collection of original manuscripts relating to
Sarpi,--a large part of them being the correspondence between the
papal authorities and the Venetians who had wished to give
Sarpi's bones decent burial, over half a century before. I now
found that the reason why I had not discovered the grave was that
the monks, as long as they were allowed control, had persisted in
breaking up the tablet bearing the inscription; that they could
not disturb the bones for the reason that Sarpi's admirers had
inclosed them in a large and strong iron box, anchoring it so
that it was very difficult to remove; but that since the death of
the late patriarch and the abolition of monkish power the
inscription over the grave had been allowed to remain

During another of our morning walks the discussion having fallen
on witchcraft persecution, Lord Acton called in the afternoon and
brought me an interesting addition to my collection of curious
books on that subject--a volume by Christian Thomasius.

On another of our excursions I asked him regarding the
Congregation of the Index at Rome, and its procedure. To this he
answered that individuals or commissions are appointed to examine
special works and reports thereupon to the Congregation, which
then allows or condemns them, as may seem best; and I marveled
much when, in the afternoon of that day, he sent me specimens of
such original reports on various books.

He agreed with me that the papal condemnation of Victor Hugo's
"Les Miserables" was a mistake as a matter of policy--as great a
mistake, indeed, as hundreds and thousands of other condemnations
had been. Of Pope Leo XIII he spoke with respect, giving me an
account of the very liberal concessions made by him at the
Vatican library, so that it is now freely opened to Protestants,
whereas it was formerly kept closely shut. At a later period this
was confirmed to me by Dr. Philip Schaff, the eminent Protestant
church historian, who told me that formerly at the Vatican
library he was only allowed, as a special favor, to look at the
famous Codex, with an attendant watching him every moment;
whereas after Pope Leo XIII came into control he was permitted to
study the Codex and take notes from it at his ease.

In another of his walks Lord Acton discussed Gladstone, whom he
greatly admired, but pointed out some curious peculiarities in
the great statesman and churchman,--among these, that he
worshiped the memory of Archbishop Laud and detested the memory
of William III.

Very interesting were sundry little dinners on Saturday evenings
at the Cercle Nautique, at which I found not only Lord Acton, but
Sir Henry Keating, a retired English judge; General Palfrey, who
had distinguished himself in our Civil War; and a few other good
talkers. At one of these dinners Sir Henry started the question:
"Who was the greatest man that ever lived?" Lord Acton gave very
interesting arguments in favor of Napoleon, while I did my best
in favor of Caesar; my argument being that the system which
Caesar founded maintained the Roman Empire during nearly fifteen
hundred years after his death; that its fundamental ideas and
features have remained effective in various great nations until
the present day; and that they have in our own century shown
themselves more vigorous than ever. Lord Acton insisted that we
have no means of knowing the processes of Caesar's mind; that we
know the mode of thinking of only two ancients, Socrates and
Cicero; that possibly, if we knew more of Shakspere's mental
processes, the preeminence might be claimed for him, but that we
know nothing of them save from his writings; while we know
Napoleon's thoroughly from the vast collections of memoirs, state
papers, orders, conversations, etc., as well as in his amazing
dealings with the problems of his time; that the scope and power
of Napoleon's mental processes seem almost preternatural and of
this he gave various remarkable proofs. He argued that
considerations of moral character and aims, as elements in
greatness, must be left out of such a discussion; that the
intellectual processes and their results were all that we could
really estimate in comparing men. Sir Henry Keating observed that
his father, an officer in the British army, was vastly impressed
by the sight of Napoleon at St. Helena; whereupon Lord Acton
remarked that Thiers acknowledged to Guizot, who told Lord Acton,
that Napoleon was "un scelerat." That seemed to me a rather
strong word to be used by a man who had done so much to revive
the Napoleonic legend Lord Acton also quoted a well-authenticated
story--vouched for by two persons whom he named, one of them
being the Count de Flahaut, who was present and heard the
remark--that when the imperial guards broke at Waterloo, Napoleon
said, "It has always been so since Crecy."

Toward the end of February we went on to Florence, and there met,
frequently, Villari, the historian; Mantegazzi; and other leading
Florentines. Mention being made of the Jesuit Father Curci, who
had rebelled against what he considered the fatal influence of
Jesuitism on the papacy, Villari thought him too scholastic to
have any real influence. Of Settembrini he spoke highly as a
noble character and valuable critic, though with no permanent
place in Italian literature. He excused the tardiness of Italians
in putting up statues to Giordano Bruno and Fra Paolo Sarpi,
since they had so many other recent statues to put up. As I look
back upon this conversation, it is a pleasure to remember that I
have lived to see both these statues--that of Bruno, on the place
in Rome where he was burned alive, and that of Sarpi, on the
place in Venice where the assassins sent by Pope Paul V left him
for dead.

Early in March we arrived in Naples, going piously through the
old sights we had seen several times before. Revisiting Amalfi, I
saw the archbishop pontificating at the cathedral: he was the
finest-looking prelate I ever saw, reminding me amazingly of my
old professor, Silliman of Yale. Then, during the stay of some
weeks in Sorrento, I took as an Italian teacher a charming old
padre, who read his mass every morning in one of the churches and
devoted the rest of the day to literature. He was at heart
liberal, and it was from him that I received a copy of the famous
"Politico-Philosophical Catechism," adopted by Archbishop Apuzzo
of Sorrento, than which, probably, nothing more defiant of moral
principles was ever written. The archbishop had been made by
"King Bomba" tutor to his son, and no wonder that the young man
was finally kicked ignominiously off his throne, and his country
annexed to the Italian kingdom. This catechism, written years
before by the elder Leopardi, but adopted and promoted by the
archbishop, was devoted to maintaining the righteousness of all
that system of extreme despotism, oath-breaking, defiance of
national sentiment, and violations of ordinary decency, which had
made the kingdom of Naples a byword during so many generations.
Therein patriotism was proved to be a delusion; popular education
an absurdity; observance of the monarch's sworn word opposition
to divine law; a constitution a mere plaything in the monarch's
hands; the Bible is steadily quoted in behalf of "the right
divine of kings to govern wrong"; and all this with a mixture of
cynicism and unctuousness which makes this catechism one of the
most remarkable political works of modern times.

At this time I made an interesting acquaintance with Francis
Galton, the eminent English authority on heredity. Discussing
dreams, he told me a story of a lady who said that she knew that
dreams came true; for she dreamed once that the number 3 drew a
prize in the lottery, and again that the number 8 drew it; and
so, she said, "I multiplied them together, 3 X 8 = 27, bought a
ticket bearing the latter number, and won the prize."

Very interesting were my meetings with Marion Crawford, the
author. Nothing could be more delightful than his villa and
surroundings, and his accounts of Italian life were fascinating,
as one would expect after reading his novels. Another new
acquaintance was Mr. Mayall, an English microscopist; he gave me
accounts of his visit to the Louvre with Herbert Spencer, who,
after looking steadily at the "Immaculate Conception" of Murillo,
said "I cannot like a painted figure that has no visible means of

On my return northward I visited the most famous of Christian
monasteries,--the cradle of the Benedictine order,--Monte
Cassino, and there met a young English novice, who introduced me
to various Benedictine fathers, especially sundry Germans who
were decorating with Byzantine figures the lower story, near the
altar of St. Benedict. At dinner the young man agreed with me
that it might be well to have a Benedictine college at Oxford,
but thought that any college established there must be controlled
by the Jesuit order. He professed respect for the Jesuits, but
evidently with some mistrust of their methods. On my asking if he
thought he could bear the severe rule of his order, especially
that of rising about four o'clock in the morning and retiring
early in the evening, he answered that formerly he feared that he
could not, but that now he believed he could. On my tentative
suggestion that he come and establish a Benedictine convent on
Cayuga Lake, he told me that he should probably be sent to

The renowned old monastery seems to be mindful of its best
traditions, for it has established within its walls an admirably
equipped printing-house, in which I was able to secure for
Cornell University copies of various books by learned
Benedictines--some of them, by the beauty of their workmanship,
well worthy to be placed beside the illuminated manuscripts which
formerly came from the Scriptoria.

At Rome I was taken about by Lanciani, the eminent archaeologist
in control of the excavations, who showed me beautiful things
newly discovered and now kept in temporary rooms near the
Capitol. To my surprise, he told me that there is absolutely no
authentic bust of Cicero dating from his time; but this was
afterward denied by Story, the American sculptor, who pointed out
to me a cast of one in his studio. Story spoke gloomily of the
condition of Italy, saying that formerly there were no taxes, but
that now the taxes are crushing. He added that the greatest
mistake made by the present Pope was that, during the cholera at
Naples, he remained in Rome, while King Humbert went immediately
to that city, visited the hospitals, cheered the
cholera-stricken, comforted them, and supplied their wants.

On Easter Sunday I saw Cardinal Howard celebrate high mass in St.
Peter's. He had been an English guardsman, was magnificently
dressed, and was the very ideal of a proud prelate. The audience
in the immediate neighborhood of the altar were none too
reverential, and in other parts of the church were walking about
and talking as if in a market; all of this irreverence reminding
me of the high mass which I had seen celebrated by Pope Pius IX
at the same altar on Easter day of 1856.

Calling on the former prime minister, Minghetti, who had been an
associate of Cavour, I found him very interesting, as was also
Sambuy, senator of the kingdom and syndic of Turin, who was with
him. Minghetti said that the Italian school system was not yet
satisfactory, though young men are doing well in advanced
scientific, mathematical, historical, and economic studies. On my
speaking of a statistical map in my possession which revealed the
enormous percentage of persons who can neither read nor write in
those parts of Italy most directly under the influence of the
church, he said that matters were slowly improving under the new
regime. He spoke with respect of Leo XIII, saying that he was not
so bitter in his utterances against Italy as Pius IX had been.
Discussing Bismarck and Cavour, he said that both were eminently
practical, but that Cavour adhered to certain principles, such as
free trade, freedom of the church, and the like, whereas Bismarck
was wont to take up any principle which would serve his temporary
purpose. Minghetti hoped much, eventually, from Cavour's idea of
toleration, and spoke with praise of the checks put by the
American Constitution on unbridled democracy, whereupon I quoted
to him the remark of Governor Seymour in New York, the most
eminent of recent Democratic candidates for the Presidency, to
the effect that the merit of our Constitution is not that it
promotes democracy, but that it checks it. Minghetti spoke of Sir
Henry Maine's book on "Free Government" with much praise; in
spite of its anti-democratic tendencies, it had evidently raised
his opinion of the American Constitution. He also praised
American scientific progress. Sambuy said that the present growth
of the city of Rome is especially detested by the clergy, since
it is making the city too large for them to control; that their
bitterness is not to be wondered at, since they clearly see that,
no matter what may happen,--even if the kingdom of Italy were to
be destroyed to-morrow,--it would be absolutely impossible for
the old regime of Pope, cardinals, and priests ever again to
govern the city; that with this increase of the population, and
its long exercise of political power, the resumption of temporal
power by the Pope is an utter impossibility; that even if
revolution or anarchy came, the people would never again take
refuge under the papacy.

Very interesting were sundry gatherings at the rooms of Story,
the sculptor. Meeting there the Brazilian minister at the papal
court, I was amazed by his statements regarding the rules
restricting intercourse between diplomatists accredited to the
Vatican and those accredited to the Quirinal; he said that
although the minister from his country to the Quirinal was one of
his best friends, he was not allowed to accept an invitation from

The American minister, Judge Stallo of Cincinnati, seemed to me
an admirable man, in spite of the stories circulated by various
hostile cliques. At the house of the British ambassador Stallo
spoke in a very interesting way of Cardinal Hohenlohe as far
above his fellows and capable of making a great pope. The
political difficulties in Italy, he said, were very great, and,
greatest of all, in Naples and Sicily. Dining with him, I met my
old friend Hoffmann, rector of the University of Berlin, and a
number of eminent Italian men of science, senators, and others.

At the house of Dr. Nevin, rector of the American Episcopal
church, I met the Dutch minister, who corroborated my opinion
that the British parliamentary system generally works badly in
the Continental countries, since it causes constantly recurring
changes in ministers, and prevents any proper continuity of state
action, and he naturally alluded to the condition of things in
France as an example.

Among other interesting people, I met the abbot of St. Paul
Outside the Walls, to whom Lord Acton, in response to my question
as to whether there was such a thing as a "learned Benedictine"
extant, had given me a letter of introduction. The good abbot
turned out to be an Irishman with some of the more interesting
peculiarities of his race; but his conversation was more vivid
than illuminating. He had reviewed various books for the
Congregation of the Index, one of these, a book which I had just
bought, being on "The Architecture of St. John Lateran." He held
a position in the Propaganda, and I was greatly struck by his
minute knowledge of affairs in the United States. The question
being then undecided as to whether a new bishopric for central
New York was to be established at Utica or Syracuse, he discussed
both places with much minute knowledge of their claims and of the
people residing in them. I put in the best word I could for
Syracuse, feeling that if a bishopric was to be established, that
was the proper place for it; and afterward I had the satisfaction
of learning that the bishop had been placed there. The abbot had
known Secretary Seward and liked him.

Leaving Rome in May, we made visits of deep interest to Assisi,
Perugia, Orvieto, and other historic towns and, arriving at
Florence again, saw something of society in that city. Count de
Gubernatis, the eminent scholar, who had just returned from
India, was eloquent in praise of the Taj Mahal, which, of all
buildings in the world, is the one I most desire to see. He
thinks that the stories regarding juggling in India have been
marvelously developed by transmission from East to West; that
growing the mango, of which so much is said, is a very poor
trick, as is also the crushing, killing, and restoration to life
of a boy under a basket; that these marvels are not at all what
the stories report them to be; that it is simply another case of
the rapid growth of legends by transmission. He said that hatred
for England remains deep in India, and that caste spirit is very
little altered, his own servant, even when very thirsty, not
daring to drink from a bottle which his master had touched.

Dining with Count Ressi at his noble villa on the slope toward
Fiesole, I noted various delicious Italian wines upon the table,
but the champagne was what is known as "Pleasant Valley Catawba,"
from Lake Keuka in western New York, which the count, during his
journey to Niagara, had found so good that he had shipped a
quantity of it to Florence.

A very interesting man I found in the Marquis Alfieri Sostegno,
vice-president of the Senate,--a man noted for his high character
and his writings. He is the founder of the new "School for
Political and Social Studies," and gave me much information
regarding it. His family is of mediaeval origin, but he is a
liberal of the Cavour sort. Preferring constitutional monarchy,
but thinking democracy inevitable, he asks, "Shall it be a
democracy like that of France, excluding all really leading men
from power, or a democracy influenced directly by its best men?"
In his school he has attempted to train young men in the
practical knowledge needed in public affairs, and hopes thus to
prepare them for the inevitable future. This college has
encountered much opposition from the local universities, but is
making its way.

Another man of the grand old Italian sort was Peruzzi, syndic of
Florence, a former associate of Cavour, and one of the leading
men of Italy. Calling for me with two other senators, he took me
to his country villa, which has been in the possession of the
family for over four hundred years, and there I dined with a very
distinguished company. Everything was large and patriarchal, but
simple. The discussions, both at table and afterward, as we sat
upon the terrace with its wonderful outlook over one of the
richest parts of Tuscany, mainly related to Italian matters. All
seemed hopeful of a reasonable solution of the clerical
difficulty. Most interesting was his wife, Donna Emilia, well
known for her brilliant powers of discussion and her beautiful
qualities as a hostess both at the Peruzzi palace in Florence and
in this villa, where one meets men of light and leading from
every part of the world.

From Florence we went on to the Italian lakes, staying especially
at Baveno, Lugano, and Cadenabbia. Especially interesting to me
were the scenes depicted in the first part of Manzoni's "Promessi
Sposi." An eminent Italian told me at this time that Manzoni
never forgave himself for his humorous delineations of the priest
Don Abbondio, who figures in these scenes after a somewhat
undignified fashion. Interesting also was a visit to the tomb of
Rosmini, with its portrait-statue by Vela, in the monastery
looking over the most beautiful part of the Lago Maggiore. Thence
by the St. Gotthard to Zurich, where we visited my old colleague,
Colonel Roth, the Swiss minister at Berlin. Very simple and
charming was his family life at Teufen. In the library I noticed
a curious shield, and upon it several swords, each with an
inscription; and, on my asking regarding them, I was told that
they were the official swords of Colonel Roth's
great-grandfather, grandfather, father, and himself, each of whom
had been Landamman of the canton. He told me that as Landamman he
presided from time to time over a popular assembly of several
thousand people; that it was a republic such as Rousseau
advocated,--all the people coming together and voting, by "yes"
and "no" and showing of hands, on the proposals of the Landamman
and his council. Driving through the canton, I found that, while
none of the people were rich, few were very poor, and that the
Catholic was much behind the Protestant part in thrift and

My love for historical studies interested me greatly in a visit
to the Abbey of St. Gall. The mediaeval buildings are virtually
gone, and a mass of rococo constructions have taken their place.
Gone, too, in the main, is the famous library of the middle ages;
but the eminent historian and archivist, Henne Am Rhyn, showed me
the ancient catalogue dating from the days of Charlemagne, and
one or two of the old manuscripts referred to in it, which have
done duty for more than a thousand years. Then followed my second
visit to the Engadine, reached by two days' driving in the
mountains from Coire; and during my stay at St. Moritz I made the
acquaintance of many interesting people,--among them Admiral
Irvine of the British navy. Speaking of the then recent sinking
of the Cunarder Oregon, he expressed the opinion that a squadron
of seven-hundred-ton vessels with beaks could best defend a
harbor from ironclads; and in support of this contention he cited
an experience of his own as showing the efficiency of the beak in
naval warfare. A few years before he had anchored in the Piraeus,
his ship, an ironclad, having a beak projecting from the bow, of
course under water. Noticing a Greek brig nearing him, he made
signals to her to keep well off; but the captain of the brig,
resenting this interference, and keeping straight on, endeavored
to pass, at a distance which, no doubt, seemed to him perfectly
safe, in front of the bows of the ironclad. The admiral said that
not the slightest shock was felt on board his own vessel; but the
brig sank almost immediately. She had barely grazed the end of
the beak. At another time the admiral spoke of the advance of the
British fleet, in which he held a command, upon Constantinople in
1878. The British Government supposed that the Turks had
virtually gone over to the Russians, and the first order was to
take the Turkish fortresses at Constantinople immediately; but
this order was afterward withdrawn, and the matter at issue was
settled in the ensuing European conference.

It was a pleasure to find at this Alpine resort my old friend
Story the sculptor. He gave us a comical account of the
presentation at the Vatican of Mr. George Peabody by Mr. Winthrop
of Boston. Referring to Mr. Peabody's munificence to various
institutions for aiding the needy, and especially orphans, Mr.
Winthrop, in a pleasant vein, presented his friend to Pope Pius
IX as a gentleman who, though unmarried, had hundreds of
children; whereupon the Pope, taking him literally, held up his
hands and answered, "Fi donc! fi donc!"

Our stay at St. Moritz was ended by a severe snowstorm early in
August. That was too much. I had left America mainly to escape
snow; my traveling all this distance was certainly not for the
purpose of finding it again; and so, having hugged the stove for
a day or two, I decided to return to a milder climate. Passing by
Vevey, we visited our friends the Brunnows at their beautiful
villa on the shore of Lake Leman, where my old president at the
University of Michigan, Dr. Tappan, had died, and it was with a
melancholy satisfaction that I visited his grave in the cemetery
hard by.

Stopping at Geneva over Sunday, I observed at the Cathedral of
St. Peter, Calvin's old church, that the sermon and service
carefully steered clear of the slightest Trinitarian formula, as
did the churches in Switzerland generally. Considering that
Calvin had burned Servetus in that very city for his disbelief in
the doctrine of the Trinity, this omission would seem enough to
make that stern reformer turn in his grave. Returning to Paris, I
again met Lecky, who was making a short visit to the French
capital; and, as we were breakfasting together Mme. Blaze de Bury
being present, our conversation fell on Parisian mobs. She
insisted that the studied inaction of the papal nuncio during the
Commune caused the murder of Darboy, Archbishop of Paris, who was
hated by the extreme clerical party on account of his coolness
toward infallibility and sundry other dogmas advocated by the
Jesuits. Lecky thought Lord Acton's old article in the "North
British Review" the best statement yet made on the St.
Bartholomew massacre The discussion having veered toward the
Jewish question, which was even then rising, Lecky said that
Shakspere probably never saw a Jew--that Jews were not allowed in
England in his time, the only exceptions being Queen Elizabeth's
physician and, perhaps, a few others.

During the latter part of September I started on an architectural
tour through the east of France, and was more than ever
fascinated by the beauty of all I found at Soissons, Laon,
Chalons, Troyes, and Rheims, the cathedral at the latter place
seeming even more grand than when I last saw it. I have never
been able to decide finally which is the more noble--Amiens or
Rheims; my temporary decision being generally in favor of that
one of the two which I have seen last. But I found iniquity
triumphant: the "restorers" had been at work, and had apparently
done their worst. A great scaffolding covered the superb
rose-window of the west front, perhaps the finest of its kind in
Christendom, and, in a little book published by one of the
canons, I soon learned the reason. It appears that the architect
superintending the "restoration" had dug a deep well at one
corner of one of the massive towers for the purpose of inspecting
the foundations; that he had forgotten to fill this well; and
that, during the winter, the water from the roofs, having come
down into it and frozen, had upheaved the tower at one corner,
with the result of crumbling and cracking this immense window

At Troyes it was hardly better. It is a city which probably never
had sixty thousand inhabitants, and yet here are four of the most
magnificent architectural monuments in Europe. But the work
wrought upon them under the pretext of "restoration" was no less
atrocious than that upon the cathedral at Rheims, and of this I
have given an example elsewhere.[13]

[13] See Chapter XXI.

Continuing my way homeward, I stopped a few days in London. From
my diary I select an account of the sermon preached in one of the
principal churches of the city by Dr. Temple,--then bishop of
London, but later archbishop of Canterbury,--before the lord
mayor, lady mayoress, and other notable people. The sermon was a
striking exhibition of plain common sense, without one particle
of what is generally known as spirituality. The text was, "Freely
ye have received, freely give," and the argument simply was that
the congregation worshiping in that old church had received all
its privileges from contributions made centuries before, and that
it was now their duty, in their turn, to contribute money for new
congregations constantly arising in the new population of London.
Of spiritual gifts to be acknowledged nothing was said. In the
afternoon took tea with Lecky, and on my referring to Earl
Russell, he spoke of him as wonderful in getting at the center of
an argument. Of Carlyle he said that he knew him in his last days
intimately, often walking with him; but that his mind failed him
sadly; that the last thing Lecky read him was a selection from
Burns's letters; and that Carlyle, when left to himself, often
toned down his harsh judgments of men. At his funeral, in
Scotland, Lecky was present, and, judging from his account, it
was one of the most dismal things ever known. Speaking of
America, Lecky said that Carlyle was really deeply attached to
Emerson; and he added that Dean Stanley, on his return from
America, told him that the best things he found there were the
private libraries, and the worst the newspapers. Lecky thought
Americans more prone to give themselves up to a purely literary
life than are the English, and cited Prescott, Irving, and
others. He spoke of "The Club," of which he is a member. It is
that to which Sir Joshua Reynolds, Dr. Johnson, Burke, and
Goldsmith belonged; its members dine together every fortnight;
one black ball excludes. Speaking of Gladstone, he thought that
he had greatly declined as a speaker of late years, and that no
one had had such power in clouding truth and obscuring a fact.

Returning to America, I again settled in my old quarters at
Cornell University, hoping to devote myself quietly to the work I
had in hand. My old home on the campus had an especial charm for
me, and I had begun to take up the occupations to which I
purposed to devote the rest of my life, when there came upon me
the greatest of all calamities--the loss of her who had been for
thirty years my main inspiration and support in all difficulties,
cares, and trials. For the time all was lost. In all calamities
hitherto I had taken refuge in work; but now there seemed no
motive for work, and at last, for a complete change of scene, I
returned to Europe, determined to give myself to the preparation
of my "History of the Warfare of Science with Theology."



While under the influence of the greatest sorrow that has ever
darkened my life, there came to me a calamity of a less painful
sort, yet one of the most trying that I have ever known. A long
course of mistaken university policy, which I had done my best to
change, and the consequences of which I had especially exerted
myself to avert, at last bore its evil fruit. On the 13th of
June, 1888, I was present at the session of the Court of Appeals
at Saratoga, and there heard the argument in the suit brought to
prevent the institution from taking nearly two millions of
dollars bequeathed by Mrs. Willard Fiske. I had looked forward to
the development of the great library for which it provided as the
culminating event in my administration, and, indeed, as the
beginning of a better era in American scholarship. Never in the
history of the United States had so splendid a bequest been made
for such a purpose. But as I heard the argument I was satisfied
that our cause was lost,--and simply from the want of effective
champions; that this great opportunity for the institution which
I loved better than my life had passed from us during my
lifetime, at least; and then it was that I determined to break
from my surroundings for a time, and to seek new scenes which
might do something to change the current of my thoughts.

At the end of June, taking with me my nephew, a bright and active
college youth, I sailed for Glasgow, and, revisiting the scenes
made beautiful to me by Walter Scott, I was at last able to think
of something beside the sorrow and disappointment which had beset
me. Memorable to me still is a sermon heard at the old Church of
St. Giles, in Edinburgh. The text was, "He wist not that his face
shone," and the argument, while broad and liberal, was deeply
religious. One thought struck me forcibly. The preacher likened
theological controversies to storms on the coast which result
only in heaps of sand, while he compared religious influences to
the dew and gentle rains which beautify the earth and fructify

Healing in their influences upon me were visits to the cathedral
towns between Edinburgh and London. The atmosphere of Durham,
York, Lincoln, Ely, Peterborough, aided to lift me out of my
depression. In each I stayed long enough to attend the cathedral
service and to enjoy the architecture, the music, and my
recollections of previous visits. At Lichfield Cathedral I heard
Bach's "Easter Hymn" given beautifully,--and it was needed to
make up for the sermon of a colonial bishop who, having returned
to England after a long stay in his remote diocese, was fearfully
depressed by the liberal tendencies of English theology. His
discourse was one long diatribe against the tendency in England
toward broad-churchmanship. One passage had rather a comical
effect. He told, pathetically, the story of a servant-girl
waiting on the table of the late Archbishop of Canterbury, who,
after hearing the clergymen present dealing somewhat freely with
the doctrine of the Trinity, rushed out into the passage and
recited loudly the Nicene Creed to strengthen her faith. I, too,
felt the need of doing something to strengthen mine after this
tirade, and fortunately strolled across the meadows to the little
Church of St. Chad, and there took part in a lovely "Flower
Service," ended by a very sweet, kindly sermon to the children
from the fatherly old rector of the parish. Nothing could be
better in its way, and it took the taste of the morning sermon
out of my mouth.

Of various experiences in London, the one of most interest to me
was a visit to the House of Commons, where the Irish Home Rulers
were attempting to bait Mr. Balfour, the government leader. One
after another they arose and attacked him bitterly in all the
moods and tenses, with alleged facts, insinuations, and
denunciations. Nothing could be better than his way of taking it
all. He sat quietly, looking at his enemies with a placid smile,
and then, when they were fully done, rose, and before he had
spoken five minutes his reply had the effect of a musket-shot
upon a bubble. It was evident that these patriots were hardly
taken seriously even by their own side, and, in fact, did not
take themselves seriously. I then realized as never before the
real reasons why the oratorical and other demonstrations of Irish
leaders have accomplished so little for their country.

A Liberal political meeting in Holborn also interested me. The
main speaker was the son of the Marquis of Northampton, Earl
Compton, who was standing for Parliament. His speech was all
good, but its best point was his answer to a man in the crowd who
asked him if he was prepared to vote for the abolition of the
House of Lords. That would seem a trying question to the heir of
a marquisate; but he answered instantly and calmly: "As to the
House of Lords, better try first to mend it, and, if we cannot
mend it, end it."

He was followed by a Home Ruler, Father McFadden, whose speech,
being simply anti-British rant from end to end, must have cost
many votes; and I was not surprised when, a day or two afterward,
his bishop recalled him to Ireland.

Very pleasing to me were sundry excursions. At Rugby I was
intensely interested in the scenes of Arnold's activity. He had
exercised a great influence over my own life, and a new
inspiration came amid the scenes so familiar to him, and
especially in the chapel where he preached.

Visiting some old friends in Hampshire, I drove with them to
Selborne, stood by the grave of Gilbert White, and sat in his
charming old house in that beautiful place of pilgrimage.

Most soothing in its effect upon me was a visit to Stoke Pogis
churchyard and the grave of Thomas Gray. The "Elegy" has never
since my boyhood lost its hold upon me, and my feelings of love
for its author were deepened as I read the inscription placed by
him upon his mother's monument:

"The tender mother of many children, only one of whom had the
misfortune to survive her."

A Sunday afternoon in Kensal Green cemetery, with a visit to the
graves of Thackeray, Thomas Hood, and Leigh Hunt, roused thoughts
on many things.

Somewhat later, revisiting Mr. Halliwell-Phillips's "Bungalow" at
Brighton, I met at his table the most bitter and yet one of the
most just of all critics of Carlyle whom I have ever known. He
spoke especially of Carlyle's treatment of his main historical
authorities,--many of them admirable and excellent men,--and
dwelt on the fact that Carlyle, having used the results of the
life-work of these scholars, then enjoyed pouring contempt and
ridicule over them; he also referred to Carlyle's address to the
Scotch students, in which he told them to study the patents of
nobility for the deeds which made the nobility of England great,
but did not reveal to them the fact that the expressions in these
patents were stereotyped, and the same, during many years, for
men of the most different qualities and services.

Running up to Cambridge for a day or two, and dining with Oscar
Browning at King's College, I afterward saw at his rooms a
collection of intensely interesting papers, and, among others,
reports of British spies during the Revolutionary War in America.
Very curious, among these, was a letter from the British minister
at Berlin in those days, who detailed a burglary which he had
caused in that capital in order to obtain the papers of the
American envoy and copies of American despatches. The
correspondence also showed that Frederick the Great was much
vexed at the whole matter; that the British ministry at home
thought their envoy too enterprising; that he came near
resigning; but that the whole matter finally blew over. This was
brought back to me somewhat later at a dinner of the Royal
Historical Society, where the president, Lord Aberdare, recalled
a story bearing on this matter. It was that Frederick the Great
and the British minister at his court greatly disliked each
other, and that on their meeting one day the old King asked, "Who
is this Hyder Ali who is making you British so much trouble in
India?" to which the bold Briton answered: "Sire, he is only an
old tyrant who, after robbing his neighbors, is now falling into
his dotage" ("Sire, ce n'est qu'un vieux tyran qui, apres avoir
pille ses voisins, commence a radoter").

Having made with my nephew a rapid excursion on the Continent, up
the Rhine, and as far as Munich, I returned to see him off on his
return journey to America, and then settled down for several
weeks in London. It was in the early autumn, Parliament had
adjourned, most people of note had left town, and I was left to
myself as completely as if I had been in the depths of a forest.
Looking out over Trafalgar Square from my pleasant rooms at
Morley's Hotel, with all the hurry and bustle of a great city
going on beneath my window, I was simply a hermit, and now found
myself able to resume the work which for so many years had
occupied my leisure. At the British Museum I enjoyed the
wonderful opportunities there given for investigation; and there,
too, I found an admirable helper in certain lines of work--my
friend Professor Hudson, since of Stanford University,

The only place where I was at all in touch with the outside world
was at the Athenaeum Club; but the main attraction there was the

Now came a sudden change in all my plans. My health having
weakened somewhat under the influence of this rather sedentary
life in the London fog, I consulted two eminent physicians, Sir
Andrew Clarke and Sir Morell Mackenzie, and each advised and even
urged me to pass the winter in Egypt. Shortly came a letter from
my friend Professor Willard Fiske, at Florence saying that he
would be glad to go with me. This was indeed a piece of good
fortune, for he had visited Egypt again and again, and was not
only the best of guides, but the most charming of companions. My
decision was instantly taken, and, having finished one or two
chapters of my book, I left London and, by the way of the St
Gotthard, soon reached Florence. Thence to Rome, Naples, and,
after a charming drive, to Castellammare, Sorrento, Amalfi, and
Salerno, whence we went by rail to Brindisi, and thence to
Alexandria, where we arrived on the 1st of January, 1889.

Now came a new chapter in my life. This journey in the East,
especially in Egypt and Greece, marked a new epoch in my
thinking. I became more and more impressed with the continuity of
historical causes, and realized more and more how easily and
naturally have grown the myths and legends which have delayed the
unbiased observation of human events and the scientific
investigation of natural laws. On a Nile boat for many weeks,
with scholars of high character, and with an excellent library
about me, I found not only a refuge from trouble and sorrow, but
a portal to new and most fascinating studies.

Nor was it only the life of old Egypt which interested me: the
scenes in modern Eastern life also gave a needed change in my
environment. At Cairo, in the bazaar in contact with the daily
life, which seemed like a chapter out of the "Arabian Nights,"
and also in the modern part of the city, in contact with the
newer life of Egypt among English and Egyptian functionaries,
there was constant stimulus to fruitful trains of thought.

For our journey of five weeks upon the Nile we had what was
called a "special steamer," the Sethi; and for our companions,
some fourteen Americans and English--all on friendly terms. Every
day came new subjects of thought, and nearly every waking moment
came some new stimulus to observation and reflection.

Deeply impressed on my mind is the account given me by Brugsch
Bey, assistant director of the Egyptian Museum, of the amazing
find of antiquities two or three years before--perhaps the most
startling discovery ever made in archaeology. It was on this
wise. The museum authorities had for some time noted that
tourists coming down the river were bringing remarkably beautiful
specimens of ancient workmanship; and this led to a suspicion
that the Arabs about the first cataract had discovered a new
tomb. For a long time nothing definite could be found; but, at
last, vigorous measures having been taken,--measures which
Brugsch Bey did not explain, but which I could easily understand
to be the time-honored method of tying up the principal
functionaries of the region to their palm-trees and whipping them
until they confessed,--the discovery was revealed, and Brugsch
Bey, having gone up the Nile to the place indicated, was taken to
what appeared to be a well; and, having been let down into it by
ropes, found himself in a sort of artificial cavern, not
beautified and adorned like the royal tombs of that region, but
roughly hewn in the rock. It was filled with sarcophagi, and at
first sight of them he was almost paralyzed. For they bore the
names of several among the most eminent early sovereigns and
members of sovereign families of the greatest days of Egypt. The
first idea which took hold of Brugsch's mind while stunned by
this revelation was that he was dreaming; but, having soon
convinced himself that he was awake, he then thought that he must
be in some state of hallucination after death--that he had
suddenly lost his life, and that his soul was wandering amid
shadows. But this, too, he soon found unlikely. Then came over
him a sense of the reality and importance of the discovery too
oppressive to be borne. He could stay in the cavern no longer;
and, having gone to the entrance of the well and signaled to the
men above, he was drawn up, and, arriving at the surface, gasped
out a command to them all to leave him. He then sat down in the
desert to secure the calm required for further thought; and,
finally, having become more composed, returned to the work, and
the mummies of Rameses the Great and of the other royal
personages were taken from their temporary home, carried down the
river, and placed in the museum at Cairo.

Another experience was of a very different sort. I had passed a
day with the Egyptian minister of public instruction, Artin
Pasha, at the great technical school of Cairo, which, under the
charge of an eminent French engineer, is training admirably a
considerable number of Egyptians in various arts applied to
industry; and at luncheon, I had noticed on the wall a portrait
of the Khedive, Tewfik Pasha, representing him as most commanding
in manner--over six feet in height, and in a gorgeous uniform. On
the evening of that day I went to dine with the Khedive, and,
entering the reception-rooms, found a large assemblage, and was
welcomed by a kindly little man with a pleasant face, and in the
plainest of uniforms, who, as I supposed, was the prime minister,
Riaz Pasha. His greeting was cordial, and we were soon in close
conversation, I giving him especially the impressions made upon
me by the school, asking questions and making suggestions. He
entered very heartily into it all, and detained me long, I
wondering constantly where the Khedive might be. Presently, the
great doors having been flung open and dinner announced, each
gentleman hastened to the lady assigned him, and all marched out
together, my thought being, "This is the Oriental way of
entertaining strangers; we shall, no doubt, find the sovereign on
his throne at the table." But, to my amazement, the first place
at the table was taken by the unassuming little man with whom I
had been talking so freely. At first I was somewhat abashed,
though the mistake was a very natural one. The fact was that I
had been completely under the impression made upon me by the
idealized portrait of the Khedive at the technical school, and
the thought had never entered my mind that the real Khedive might
be physically far inferior to the ideal. But no harm was done;
for, after dinner, he came to me again and renewed the
conversation with especial cordiality. I also had a long talk
with the real Riaz, and found him intelligent and broad-minded.
One thing he said amused me. It was that he especially liked to
welcome Americans, because they were not seeking to exploit the

In Cairo and Alexandria I enjoyed meeting the American and
English missionaries,--among them my old Yale friend Dr. Henry
Jessup, who has for so many years rendered admirable services at
Beyrout; but the most noteworthy thing was a lecture which I
heard from Dr. Grant, an eminent Presbyterian physician connected
with the mission. It was on the subject of the Egyptian
Trinities. The doctor explained them, as well as the Trimurtis of
India, by expressing his belief that when the Almighty came down
in the cool of the day to refresh himself by walking and talking
with Adam in the garden of Eden, he revealed to the man he had
made some of the great mysteries of the divine existence, and
that these had "leaked out" to men who took them into other
countries, and there taught them!

I also found at Cairo another especially interesting man of a
very different sort, an Armenian, Mr. Nimr; and, on visiting him,
was amazed to find in his library a large collection of English
and French books, scientific and literary--among them the "New
York Scientific Monthly" containing my own articles, which he had
done me the honor to read. I found that he had been, at an
earlier period, a professor at the college established by the
American Protestant missionaries at Beyrout; but that he and
several others who had come to adopt the Darwinian hypothesis
were on that account turned out of their situations, and that he
had taken refuge in Cairo where he was publishing, in Arabic, a
daily newspaper a weekly literary magazine, and a monthly
scientific journal. I was much struck by one remark of his--which
was, that he was doing his best to promote the interests of
Freemasonry in the East, as the only means of bringing Christians
and Mohammedans together under the same roof for mutual help,
with the feeling that they were children of the same God. He told
me that the worst opposition he had met came from a very
excellent Protestant missionary, who had publicly insisted that
the God worshiped by the Mohammedans was not the God worshiped by
Christians. This reminded me of a sermon which one of my friends
heard in Strasburg Cathedral in which a priest, reproving his
Catholic hearers for entering into any relations with
Protestants, especially opposed the idea that they worshiped the
same God, and insisted that the God of the Catholics and the God
of the Protestants are two different beings.

Among the things which gave me a real enjoyment at this period,
and aided to revive my interest in the world about me, was the
Saracenic architecture of Cairo and its neighborhood. Nothing
could be, in its way, more beautiful. I had never before realized
how much beauty is obtainable under the limitations of
Mohammedanism; the exquisite tracery and fretwork of the
Saracenic period were a constant joy to me, and happily, as there
had been no "restorers," everything remained as it had left the
hands of the men of genius who created it.

In this older architecture a thousand things interested me; but
the greatest effect was produced by the tombs at Beni Hassan, as
showing the historical linking together of human ideas both in
art and science--the development of one period out of another. Up
to the time of my seeing them I had supposed that the Doric
architecture of Greece, and especially the Doric column, was of
Greek creation; now I saw the proof that it was evolved out of an
earlier form upon the lower Nile, which had itself, doubtless,
been developed out of forms yet earlier.

At one thing I was especially surprised. I found that, excellent
as are our missionaries in those regions, their work has not at
all been what those who send them have supposed. No Mohammedan
converts are made. Indeed, should the good missionaries at Cairo
wake up some fine morning in the spacious quarters for which they
are so largely indebted to the late Khedive Ismail, and find that
they had converted a Mohammedan, they would be filled with
consternation. They would possibly be driven from the country.
The real Mohammedan cannot be converted. There were, indeed, a
few persons, here and there, claiming to be converted Jews or
Mohammedans; but we were always warned against them, even by
Christians, as far less trustworthy than those who were true to
their original faith. Whatever good is done by the missionaries
is done through their schools, to which come many children of the
Copts, with perhaps a certain number of Mohammedans desirous of
learning English; and the greatest of American missionary
successes is doubtless Robert College at Constantinople, which
has certainly done a very noble work among the more gifted young
men of the Christian populations in the Turkish Empire.

Several times I attended service in the United Presbyterian
church at Cairo, and found it hard, unattractive, and little
likely to influence any considerable number of persons, whether
Mohammedan or Christian. It was evident that the preachers, as a
rule, were entirely out of the current of modern theological and
religious thought, and that even the best and noblest of them
represented ideas no longer held by their leading coreligionists
in the countries from which they came.

After a stay of three months in Egypt, we left Alexandria for
Athens, where I enjoyed, during a considerable stay, the
advantages of the library at the American School of Archaeology,
and the companionship of my friend Professor Waldstein, now of
Cambridge University. Very delightful also were excursions with
my old Yale companion, Walker Fearne, our minister in Greece, and
his charming family, to the Acropolis, the Theater of Dionysus,
the Bay of Salamis, Megara, and other places of interest. An
especial advantage we had in the companionship of Professor
Mahaffy of Trinity College, Dublin, whose comments on all these
places were most suggestive.

Very interesting to me was an interview with Tricoupis, the prime
minister of the kingdom. His talk on the condition of things in
Greece was that of a broad-minded statesman. Speaking of the
relations of the Greek Church to the state, he said that the
church had kept the language and the nationality of the people
alive during the Turkish occupation, but that, in spite of its
services, it had never been allowed to domineer over the country
politically; he dwelt on the importance of pushing railway
communications into Europe, and lamented the obstacles thrown in
their way by Turkey. His reminiscences of Mr. Buchanan and Mr.
Dallas, whom he had formerly known at the Court of St. James
during his stay as minister in London, were especially

The most important "function" I saw was the solemn "Te Deum" at
the cathedral on the anniversary of Greek independence, the King,
Queen, and court being present, but I was less impressed by their
devotion than by the irreverence of a considerable part of the
audience, who, at the close of the service, walked about in the
church with their hats on their heads. As to the priests who
swarmed about us in their Byzantine costumes and long hair, I was
reminded of a sententious Moslem remark regarding them: "Much
hair, little brains."

On Good Friday I visited Mars Hill and mused for an hour over
what has come from the sermon once preached there.

Toward the end of April we left the Piraeus, and, after passing
through the aegean on a most beautiful day, arrived in
Constantinople, where I made the acquaintance of Mr. Straus, our
minister at that capital. Thus began a friendship which I have
ever since greatly prized. Mr. Straus introduced me to two of the
most interesting men I have ever met; the first of these being
Hamdi Bey, director of the Imperial Museum at Constantinople.
Meeting him at Mr. Straus's table and in his own house, I heard
him discuss sundry questions relating to modern art--better, in
some respects, than any other person I have ever known. Never
have I heard more admirably discriminating judgments upon various
modern schools of painting than those which he then gave me.

The other person to whom Mr. Straus introduced me was the British
ambassador, Sir William White, who was very hospitable, and
revealed to me much in life and literature. One thing especially
surprised me--namely, that though a Roman Catholic, he had a
great admiration for Renan's writings, of which he was a constant
reader. Here, too, I renewed my acquaintance with various members
of the diplomatic corps whom I had met elsewhere. Curious was an
evening visit to the Russian Embassy, Mrs. Straus being carried
in a sedan-chair, her husband walking beside her in evening dress
at one door, I at the other, and a kavass, with drawn sword,
marching at the head of the procession.

While the Mohammedan history revealed in Constantinople gave me
frequent subjects of thought, I was more constantly carried back
to the Byzantine period. For there was the Church of St. Sophia!
No edifice has ever impressed me more; indeed, in many respects,
none has ever impressed me so much. Bearing in mind its origin,
its history, and its architecture, it is doubtless the most
interesting church in the world. Though smaller than St. Peter's
at Rome, it is vastly more impressive. Taking into account the
view as one enters, embracing the lofty vaults retreating on all
sides, the arches springing above our heads, and, crowning all,
the dome, which opens fully upon the sight immediately upon
passing the door way, it is certainly the most overpowering of
Christian churches. Gibbon's pictures thronged upon me, and very
vividly, as I visited the ground where formerly stood the Great
Circus, and noted the remains of monuments where the "Blues" and
"Greens" convulsed the city with their bloody faction fights, and
where squabbling Christian sects prepared the way for that
Turkish dominion which has now burdened this weary earth for more
than five hundred years.

From Constantinople, by Buda-Pesth, Vienna, Munich, Ulm, and
Frankfort-on-the-Main, to Paris, stopping in each of these
cities, mainly for book-hunting. At Munich I spent considerable
time in the Royal Library, where various rare works relating to
the bearing of theology on civilization were placed at my
disposal; and at Frankfort added largely to my
library--especially monographs on Egypt and illuminated
manuscripts of the middle ages.

At Paris the Exposition of 1889 was in full blast. As to the
American exhibit, there were some things to be lamented. Our
"commission of experts" was in part remarkably well chosen; among
them being a number of the best men in their departments that
America has produced; but, on the other hand, there were some who
had evidently been foisted upon the President by politicians in
remote States--so-called "experts," yet as unfit as it is
possible to conceive any human beings to be. One of these, who
was responsible for one of the most important American
departments, was utterly helpless. Day in and day out, he sat in
a kind of daze at the American headquarters, doing
nothing--indeed, evidently incapable of doing anything. One or
two of his associates, as well as sundry Frenchmen, asked me to
aid in getting his department into some order; and this, though
greatly pressed for time, I did,--devoting to the task several
days which I could ill afford.

Very happy was I over one improvement which the United States had
made since the former exposition, at which I had myself been a
commissioner. Then all lamented and apologized for the condition
of the American Art Gallery; now there was no need either of
lamentation or apology, for there, in all their beauty, were
portraits by Sargent, and Gari Melchers's picture of "A Communion
Day in Holland"--the latter touching the deep places of the human
heart. As I was sitting before it one day, an English gentleman
came with his wife and sat beside me. Presently I heard him say:
"Of all the pictures in the entire exposition, this takes the
strongest hold upon me." Many other American pictures were also
objects of pride to us. I found our minister, Mr. Whitelaw Reid,
very hospitable, and at his house became acquainted with various
interesting Americans. At President Carnot's reception at the
palace of the Elysee I also met several personages worth knowing,
and among them, to my great satisfaction, Senator John Sherman.

During this stay in Paris I took part in two commemorations.
First came the Fourth of July, when, in obedience to the old
custom which I had known so well in my student days, the American
colony visited the cemetery of the Rue Picpus and laid wreaths
upon the tomb of Lafayette,--the American band performing a
dirge, and our marines on duty firing a farewell volley. It was
in every way a warm and hearty tribute. A week later was the
unveiling of the statue of Camille Desmoulins in the garden of
the Palais Royal,--this being the one-hundredth anniversary of
the day on which, in that garden,--and, indeed, on that spot,
before the Cafe Foy,--he had roused the mob which destroyed the
Bastille and begun the whirlwind which finally swept away so much
and so many, including himself and his beloved Lucille. Poor
Camille, orating, gesticulating, and looking for a new heaven and
a new earth, was one of the little great men so important at the
beginning of revolutions and so insignificant afterward. It was
evident that, in spite of the old legends regarding him, the
French had ceased to care for him; I was surprised at the small
number present, and at the languid interest even of these.

Among my most delightful reminiscences of this period are my
walks and talks with my old Yale and Paris student friend of
nearly forty years before, Randall Gibson, who, having been a
general in the Confederate service, was now a United States
senator from Louisiana. Revisiting our old haunts, especially the
Sorbonne, the Pantheon, St. Sulpice, and other monuments of the
Latin Quarter, we spoke much of days gone by, he giving me most
interesting reminiscences of our Civil War period as seen from
the Southern side. One or two of the things he told me are
especially fastened in my mind. The first was that as he sat with
other officers over the camp-fire night after night, discussing
the war and their hopes regarding the future, all agreed that
when the Confederacy obtained its independence there should be no
"right of secession" in it. But what interested me most was the
fact that he, a Democratic senator of the United States,
absolutely detested Thomas Jefferson, and, above all things, for
the reason that he considered Jefferson the real source of the
extreme doctrine of State sovereignty. Gibson was a typical
Kentucky Whig who, in the Civil War, went with the South from the
force of family connections, friendships, social relations, and
the like, but who remained, in his heart of hearts, from first to
last, deeply attached to the Union.

Leaving Paris, we went together to Homburg, and there met Mr.
Henry S. Sanford, our minister at Belgium during the Civil War,
one of Secretary Seward's foremost agents on the European
continent at that period. His accounts of matters at that time,
especially of the doings of sundry emissaries of the United
States, were all of them interesting, and some of them
exceedingly amusing. At Homburg, too, I found my successor in the
legation at Berlin, Mr. Pendleton, who, though his mind remained
clear, was slowly dying of paralysis.

Thence with Gibson and Sanford down the Rhine to Mr. Sanford's
country-seat in Belgium. It was a most beautiful place, a lordly
chateau, superbly built, fitted, and furnished, ample for the
accommodation of a score of guests, and yet the rent he paid for
it was but six hundred dollars a year. It had been built by a
prince at such cost that he himself could not afford to live in
it, and was obliged to rent it for what he could get. Thence we
made our way to London and New York.



Arriving at New York in the autumn of 1889, I was soon settled at
my accustomed work in the university,--devoting myself to new
chapters of my book and to sundry courses of lectures. Early in
the following year I began a course before the University of
Pennsylvania; and my stay in Philadelphia was rendered very
agreeable by various new acquaintances. Interesting to me was the
Roman Catholic archbishop, Dr. Ryan. Dining in his company, I
referred admiringly to his cathedral, which I had recently
visited, but spoke of what seemed to me the defective mode of
placing the dome upon the building; whereupon he made one of the
most tolerable Latin puns I have ever heard, saying that during
the construction of both the nave and the dome his predecessors
were hampered by lack of money,--that, in fact, they were greatly
troubled by the res angustae domi. Interesting also was
attendance upon the conference at Lake Mohonk, which brought
together a large body of leading men from all parts of the
country to discuss the best methods of dealing with questions
relating to the freedmen and Indians. The president of the
conference, Mr. Hayes, formerly President of the United States, I
had known well in former days, when I served under him as
minister to Germany, and the high opinion I had then formed of
him was increased as I heard him discuss the main questions
before the conference. It was the fashion at one time among
blackguards and cynics of both parties to sneer at him, and this,
doubtless, produced some effect on the popular mind; but nothing
could be more unjust: rarely have I met a man in our own or any
other country who has impressed me more by the qualities which a
true American should most desire in a President of the United
States; he had what our country needs most in our public
men--sobriety of judgment united to the power of calm, strong

The two following years, 1890-1891, were passed mainly at
Cornell, though with excursions to various other institutions
where I had been asked to give addresses or lectures; but in
February of 1892, having been invited to lecture at Stanford
University in California, I accepted an invitation from Mr.
Andrew Carnegie to become one of the guests going in his car to
the Pacific coast by way of Mexico. Our party of eight, provided
with cook, servants, and every comfort, traveled altogether more
than twelve thousand miles--first through the Central and
Southern States of the Union, thence to the city of Mexico and
beyond, then by a series of zigzag excursions from lower
California to the northern limits of Oregon and Washington, and
finally through the Rocky Mountains and the canons of Colorado to
Salt Lake City and Denver. Thence my companions went East and I
returned alone to Stanford to give my lectures. During this long
excursion I met many men who greatly interested me, and
especially old students of mine whom I found everywhere doing
manfully the work for which Cornell had aided to fit them. Never
have I felt more fully repaid for any labor and care I have ever
given to the founding and development of the university. Arriving
in the city of Mexico, I said to myself, "Here certainly I shall
not meet any more of my old Cornellians"; but hardly was I
settled in my room when a card came up from one of them, and I
soon learned that he was doing honor to the Sibley College of the
university by superintending the erection of the largest
printing-press which had ever been brought into Mexico. The
Mexican capital interested me greatly. The cathedral, which, up
to that time, I had supposed to be in a debased rococo style, I
found to be of a simple, noble Renaissance character, and of real
dignity. Being presented to the President, Porfirio Diaz, I was
greatly impressed by his quiet strength and self-possession, and
then understood for the first time what had wrought so beneficent
a change in his country. His ministers also impressed me
favorably, though they were evidently overshadowed by so great a
personality. One detail struck me as curious: the room in which
the President received us at the palace was hung round with satin
draperies stamped with the crown and cipher of his
predecessor--the ill-fated Emperor Maximilian.

California was a great revelation to me. We arrived just at the
full outburst of spring, and seemed to have alighted upon a new
planet. Strong and good men I found there, building up every sort
of worthy enterprise, and especially their two noble
universities, one of which was almost entirely officered by
Cornell graduates. To this institution I was attached by a
special tie. At various times the founders, Governor and Mrs.
Stanford, had consulted me on problems arising in its
development; they had twice visited me at Cornell for the purpose
of more full discussion, and at the latter of the two visits had
urged me to accept its presidency. This I had felt obliged to
decline. I said to them that the best years of my life had been
devoted to building up two universities,--Michigan and
Cornell,--and that not all the treasures of the Pacific coast
would tempt me to begin with another; that this feeling was not
due to a wish to evade any duty, but to a conviction that my work
of that sort was done, and that there were others who could
continue it far better than I. It was after this conversation
that, on their asking whether there was any one suitable within
my acquaintance, I answered, "Go to the University of Indiana;
there you will find the president, an old student of mine, David
Starr Jordan, one of the leading scientific men of the country,
possessed of a most charming power of literary expression, with a
remarkable ability in organization, and blessed with good, sound
sense. Call him." They took my advice, called Dr. Jordan, and I
found him at the university. My three weeks' stay interested me
more and more. Evening after evening I walked through the
cloisters of the great quadrangle, admiring the solidity, beauty,
and admirable arrangement of the buildings, and enjoying their
lovely surroundings and the whole charm of that California

The buildings, in simplicity, beauty, and fitness, far surpassed
any others which had at that time been erected for university
purposes in the United States; and I feel sure that when the
entire plan is carried out, not even Oxford or Cambridge will
have anything more beautiful. President Jordan had more than
fulfilled my prophecies, and it was an inspiration to see at
their daily work the faculty he had called together. The students
also greatly interested me. When it was first noised abroad that
Senator Stanford was to found a new university in California,
sundry Eastern men took a sneering tone and said, "What will it
find to do? The young men on the Pacific coast who are as yet fit
to receive the advantages of a university are very few; the State
University of California at Berkeley is already languishing for
want of students." The weakness of these views is seen in the
fact that, at this hour, each of these universities has nearly
three thousand undergraduates. The erection of Stanford has given
an impetus to the State University, and both are doing noble
work, not only for the Pacific coast, but for the whole country.
One of the most noteworthy things in the history of American
university education thus far is the fact that the university
buildings erected by boards of trustees in all parts of the
country have, almost without exception, proved to be mere jumbles
of mean materials in incongruous styles; but to this rule there
have been, mainly, two noble exceptions: one in the buildings of
the University of Virginia, planned and executed under the eye of
Thomas Jefferson, and the other in these buildings at Palo Alto,
planned and executed under the direction of Governor and Mrs.
Stanford. These two groups, one in Virginia and one in
California, with, perhaps, the new university buildings at
Philadelphia and Chicago, are almost the only homes of learning

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