“Addiction was to courses vain,
     His companies unlettered, rude, and shallow,
     His hours filled up with riots, banquets, sports,
     And never noted in him any study,
     Any retirement, any sequestration
     From open haunts and popularity.”

We see these men setting forth or assembling to defend their king or church, and we see it without surprise; a rich daring loves danger, a deep excitability likes excitement.  If we look around us, we may see what is analogous:  some say that the battle of the Alma was won by the “uneducated gentry”; the “uneducated gentry” would be Cavaliers now.  The political sentiment is part of the character; the essence of Toryism is enjoyment.  Talk of the ways of spreading a wholesome conservatism throughout this country!  Give painful lectures, distribute weary tracts (and perhaps this is as well,—­you may be able to give an argumentative answer to a few objections, you may diffuse a distinct notion of the dignified dullness of politics); but as far as communicating and establishing your creed are concerned, try a little pleasure.  The way to keep up old customs is to enjoy old customs; the way to be satisfied with the present state of things is to enjoy that state of things.  Over the “Cavalier” mind this world passes with a thrill of delight; there is an exaltation in a daily event, zest in the “regular thing,” joy at an old feast.

MORALITY AND FEAR

From ‘Bishop Butler’

The moral principle (whatever may be said to the contrary by complacent thinkers) is really and to most men a principle of fear.  The delights of a good conscience may be reserved for better things, but few men who know themselves will say that they have often felt them by vivid and actual experience; a sensation of shame, of reproach, of remorse, of sin (to use the word we instinctively shrink from because it expresses the meaning), is what the moral principle really and practically thrusts on most men.  Conscience is the condemnation of ourselves; we expect a penalty.  As the Greek proverb teaches, “where there is shame there is fear”; where there is the deep and intimate anxiety of guilt,—­the feeling which has driven murderers and other than murderers forth to wastes and rocks and stones and tempests,—­we see, as it were, in a single complex and indivisible sensation, the pain and sense of guilt and the painful anticipation of its punishment.  How to be free from this, is the question; how to get loose from this; how to be rid of the secret tie which binds the strong man and cramps his pride, and makes him angry at the beauty of the universe,—­which will not let him go forth like a great animal, like the king of the forest, in the glory of his might, but restrains him with an inner fear and a secret foreboding that if he do but exalt himself he shall be abased, if he do but set forth his own dignity he will offend