foolish, and chains are galling even if made of gold. No amount of wealth can satisfy the covetous man. All the treasures in the world would not make a miser happy.

"I cannot," said Bacon, "call riches better than the baggage of virtue; the Roman word is better, 'impedimenta'; for, as the baggage is to an army, so is riches to virtue; it cannot be spared nor left behind, but it hindereth the march; yea, and the care of it sometimes loseth or disturbeth the victory; of great riches there is no real use, except it be in the distribution: the rest is but conceit." *

When Agis was told that certain poor people envied him his wealth, "Why then," he said, "they have a double grief; they sorrow first for their own poverty, and then at my prosperity."

We sometimes hear that a man is made of money; but no amount of money can make a man. Themistocles, being consulted whether a man should marry his daughter to a worthy poor man, or to a rich man of less approved character, said, “I certainly would rather she married a man without money, than money without

a man."

* Bacon's Essays.

On Peace and Happiness.

I 2

CHAPTER XI.

THE DREAD OF NATURE.

MANY of us regard Nature with love, gratitude, and admiration; others, unfortunately for themselves, with indifference; but it is difficult now to realise the dread of Nature which was felt in former times, and even now darkens the lives of many backward races. It was not only exceptional phenomena, such as comets and eclipses, which were regarded as mysterious warnings of coming misfortune, but even less unusual occurrences were dreaded as indications of heavenly displeasure. Thunder was the angry voice of Jupiter, storms at sea the displeasure of Neptune, winds were the ministers of other deities. But even more awful was the feeling of uncertainty.

Uncivilised man accounts for all movement by life. Hence the worship of stones and mountains, fire and water. He thought these tremendous forces cherished

a grudge against certain mortals for unintended slight or neglect. Thus Sproat mentions a mountain in Vancouver's Island which the natives were afraid to name, because if they did so they would be wrecked at sea. Many similar cases might be given.

The savage, again, and indeed even the civilised man, if uneducated, very generally believes in witchcraft. Confusing together subjective and objective phenomena, he is a prey to constant fears. Throughout Australia, among some of the Brazilian tribes, in parts of Africa, and in various other countries, natural death is regarded as an impossibility. In the New Hebrides, "when a man fell ill he knew that some sorcerer was burning his rubbish; and shell-trumpets, which could be heard for miles, were blown to signal to the sorcerers to stop, and wait for the presents which would be sent next morning. Night after night, Mr. Turner used to hear the melancholy too-tooing of the shells, entreating the wizards to stop plaguing their victims.” *

As regards pictures, the most curious fancies exist among savage races. They have a very general dislike to be represented, thinking that the artist thereby

* Prehistoric Times; Tylor, loc. cit.; Turner's Polynesia, etc.

acquires some mysterious power over them.

Kane on

one occasion freed himself from some importunate Indians by threatening to draw them if they did not go away. I have already mentioned (Origin of Civilisation) the danger in which Catlin found himself from sketching a chief in profile, and thereby, as it was supposed, depriving him of half his face. So, again, a mysterious connection was imagined to exist between a cut lock of hair and the person to whom it belonged. In various parts of the world the sorcerer gets clippings of the hair of his enemy, parings of his nails, or leavings of his food, convinced that whatever evil is done to these will react on their former owner. Even a piece of clothing or the ground on which a person has trodden will answer the purpose, and among some tribes the mere knowledge of a person's name is supposed to give a mysterious power.

The Indians of British Columbia have a great horror of telling their names. Among the Algonquins a person's real name is communicated only to his nearest relations and dearest friends; the outer world address him by a kind of nickname. Thus the true name of La Belle Sauvage was not Pocahontas, but Matokes,

which they were afraid to communicate to the English. In some tribes these name-fancies take a different form. According to Ward, it is an unpardonable sin in some parts of India for a woman to mention the name of her husband. The Kaffirs have a similar custom, and so have some East African tribes. In many parts of the world the names of the dead are avoided with superstitious horror. This is the case in great parts of North and South America, in Siberia, among the Papuans and Australians, and even in Shetland, where it is said that widows are very reluctant to mention their departed husbands. * Savages never know but that by some apparently unimportant action they may not be placing themselves in the power of some terrible enemy; and it is not too much to say that the horrible dread of the unknown hangs like a dark cloud over savage life, and embitters every pleasure. The mental sufferings which they thus undergo, the horrible tortures which they sometimes inflict on themselves, and the crimes which they are led to commit, are melancholy in the extreme. But this dread of Nature was not confined to savage or barbarous tribes. "The Romans were always con

* Prehistoric Times,