From a College Window | Page 5

the grace of antiquity that mellows our
crumbling courts, the old tradition of multifarious humanity that has
century by century entwined itself with the very fabric of the place. I
love the youthful spirit that flashes and brightens in every corner of the
old courts, as the wallflower that rises spring by spring with its rich
orange-tawny hue, its wild scent, on the tops of our mouldering walls.
It is a gracious and beautiful life for all who love peace and reflection,
strength and youth. It is not a life for fiery and dominant natures, eager
to conquer, keen to impress; but it is a life for any one who believes
that the best rewards are not the brightest, who is willing humbly to
lend a cheerful hand, to listen as well as to speak. It is a life for any one
who has found that there is a world of tender, wistful, delicate emotions,
subdued and soft impressions, in which it is peace to live; for one who
has learned, however dimly, that wise and faithful love, quiet and
patient hope, are the bread by which the spirit is nourished-- that
religion is not an intellectual or even an ecclesiastical thing, but a
far-off and remote vision of the soul.
I know well the thoughts and hopes that I should desire to speak; but
they are evasive, subtle things, and too often, like shy birds, will hardly
let you approach them. But I would add that life has not been for me a
dreamy thing, lived in soft fantastic reveries; indeed, it has been far the
reverse. I have practised activity, I have mixed much with my fellows; I
have taught, worked, organized, directed. I have watched men and boys;
I have found infinite food for mirth, for interest, and even for grief. But
I have grown to feel that the ambitions which we preach and the
successes for which we prepare are very often nothing but a missing of
the simple road, a troubled wandering among thorny by-paths and dark
mountains. I have grown to believe that the one thing worth aiming at
is simplicity of heart and life; that one's relations with others should be
direct and not diplomatic; that power leaves a bitter taste in the mouth;
that meanness, and hardness, and coldness are the unforgivable sins;
that conventionality is the mother of dreariness; that pleasure exists not
in virtue of material conditions, but in the joyful heart; that the world is

a very interesting and beautiful place; that congenial labour is the secret
of happiness; and many other things which seem, as I write them down,
to be dull and trite commonplaces, but are for me the bright jewels
which I have found beside the way.
It is, then, from College Windows that I look forth. But even so, though
on the one hand I look upon the green and sheltered garden, with its air
of secluded recollection and repose, a place of quiet pacing to and fro,
of sober and joyful musing; yet on another side I see the court, with all
its fresh and shifting life, its swift interchange of study and activity;
and on yet another side I can observe the street where the infinite
pageant of humanity goes to and fro, a tide full of sound and foam, of
business and laughter, and of sorrow too, and sickness, and the funeral
pomp of death.
This, then, is my point of view. I can truthfully say that it is not gloomy,
and equally that it is not uproarious. I can boast of no deep philosophy,
for I feel, like Dr. Johnson's simple friend Edwards, that "I have tried,
too, in my time, to be a philosopher, but--I don't know
how--cheerfulness was always breaking in." Neither is it the point of
view of a profound and erudite student, with a deep belief in the
efficacy of useless knowledge. Neither am I a humorist, for I have
loved beauty better than laughter; nor a sentimentalist, for I have
abhorred a weak dalliance with personal emotions. It is hard, then, to
say what I am; but it is my hope that this may emerge. My desire is but
to converse with my readers, to speak as in a comfortable tete-a-tete, of
experience, and hope, and patience. I have no wish to disguise the hard
and ugly things of life; they are there, whether one disguises them or
not; but I think that unless one is a professed psychologist or statistician,
one gets little good by dwelling upon them. I have always believed that
it is better to stimulate than to correct, to fortify rather than to punish,
to help rather than to blame. If there is one attitude that I fear and hate
more than another