My master, Mr. Milverton, has a great dislike to taking a walk. He can be energetic enough if there is anything to be seen, or done; but walking for walking’s sake is odious to him. When the others were going for a walk, he would accompany them across the little bit of flat garden, and even to the entrance of a paddock: but there he would take leave of them, unless there were some remarkable clouds to be seen which could be observed better in the open space of the paddock. Beyond the confines of the paddock I hardly ever knew him favour anybody with his company.

I mention this trifling circumstance because it occasionally prevented me from reporting conversations which I should like to have reported.

Mr. Milverton always viewed with pity anybody who went for a long walk. He would say, “Ellesmere has gone for a long walk upon the Downs to-day, poor fellow!” And I really believe he did pity Sir John upon such an occasion, though Sir John himself immensely enjoyed getting rid of some of his superfluous energy by a walk of ten or twelve miles.

Upon the present occasion they had all gone for a long walk, except Mr. and Mrs. Milverton and myself. We stayed at home and worked at “Realmah.”

On their return, they all came rushing into our study, boasting of the immense walk they had taken, with a kind of insolence, as if they had done something wonderful; and calling us “muffs” for having stayed at home all day.

I will now report the conversation which followed:--

_Ellesmere._ Ah! Master Leonard, we have had such brilliant talk during our excursion. I would have given anything for you to have been with us. After discussing almost all human affairs with a degree of wisdom which is only known to stalwart walkers, we came to a question which would have delighted you. It was, Given a benevolent fairy (I have never myself held a brief for any such party, but Sir Arthur is sure that there are such parties), and given that the said fairy offered to each of us the absolute fulfilment of any wish we might please to make, what should we wish for? Now you know you would have been in your element in such a conversation. You must not suppose for a moment that this was the ordinary benevolent-fairy business. I limited their wishes in this way--that they must wish for something, not for themselves, but for the good of the world, and that the something in question must not be foolishly wide and conclusive, such as “I wish that everybody may be happy and good;” in short, they were to wish for means, not ends. Moreover--and this was the best part of my limitation, as it knocked off all such things as invisible coats, and ten-leagued boots, and swords of all-powerful sharpness that would make their way even to the brains of bores in Parliament--that the thing wished for must be an increase of something which is in existence.

I need hardly tell you what they all wished for. Mr. Cranmer, of course, wished that the benevolent fairy would endow him with an insight into the depths of political economy, and especially favour him with its views about the Bank Charter Act, in order that he might make the world happy by his next speech upon that subject in the ensuing session of Parliament.

Sir Arthur, of course, wished that the benevolent fairy would impress upon mankind his notions of the beautiful. He thought that an increased perception of beauty in nature and in art would add immensely to human happiness.

Mr. Mauleverer wished that the _benevolent_ fairy would have the goodness to inform mankind thoroughly and completely what a miserable set of wretches they are. They would not then follow after all manner of foolish schemes of happiness, which only lead to disappointment.

Lady Ellesmere expressed a wish that the benevolent fairy would instruct mankind as to the wonderful qualities and merits of her son Johnny. His future success in the world would be the best means she knew of for insuring happiness to mankind.

_Cranmer._ There are very few grains of truth, we need hardly tell you, Milverton, in all he has said.

_Ellesmere._ I disregard their vain assertions. You know as well as I do, Milverton, that these were their secret thoughts, even if they pretended to wish for others.

Now, what do you say?

_Milverton._ Well, if I must make a choice, I should say this: Please, benevolent fairy, grant that there should be more love in the world.

_Ellesmere._ This is vague. These philosophers are always vague. What do you mean by love?

_Milverton._ You know very well what I mean--that charity, as described by St. Paul, should prevail to the extent which that great Apostle himself desired.

_Ellesmere._ Well, Master Sandy, and what do you say?

_Johnson._ Well, I say, Let intellect prevail: let the great thinkers among mankind be able to impress their views upon the rest.

_Ellesmere._ This, now, is also somewhat vague. Like master, like man! The thinkers differ amongst themselves. My dear Sandy, you must be more precise. You know very well what you mean--namely, that what Milverton dictates and you write should govern the whole of the habitable globe.

_Johnson._ I do, Sir John.

_Ellesmere._ That is an honest boy. Have you nothing especial to say about Scotland?

_Johnson._ No; I will be quite content with the wish I have expressed.

_Ellesmere._ Now, Mrs. Milverton, it is your turn to have a wish. Shall we wish that Milverton shall be made Lord Milverton? Shall we wish that little Leonard shall cut all his teeth without suffering, and shall become one of the wisest of mankind?

_Mrs. Milverton._ I will not have words thrust into my mouth. I am not going to say anything that Sir John Ellesmere chooses that I should say. My wish is of a totally different kind. I wish that all mankind should see the beauty of what Goethe calls Renunciation.

_Milverton._ Bravo, my dear! I believe that you have mentioned _the_ thing which would tend most to raise mankind into a higher atmosphere of being.

_Mrs. Milverton._ This is not my own idea; but what, in his most serious mood, I have heard Leonard dilate upon.

_Ellesmere._ You see, Lady Ellesmere, what it is to follow out your husband’s views. If you had only said that your wish was that there should be an affluence of good and good-natured criticism--in fact, that there should be a _Saturday Review_ for every day in the week--what _kudos_ you would have gained from this worshipful company!

Now then, Sir Arthur, and Mr. Cranmer, and Mr. Mauleverer, and Lady Ellesmere, if I have not represented you all truly, say your say.

_Mauleverer._ I say, Let the earth produce more corn, and with less trouble.

_Sir Arthur._ I say, Let the distinction of nations, or rather of races, cease to have such effect as they have had in latter days.

_Ellesmere._ You forget, Sir Arthur: you must ask for something more, not something less.

_Sir Arthur._ Well, then, let there be more cosmopolitan good feeling.

_Lady Ellesmere._ What I wish is this: That the feeling for pain (physical pain, if you please to put it so) should be so predominant throughout mankind, that no one should knowingly do anything which should increase the physical pain of man, woman, animal, fish, or insect.

Here the ladies rose and left us.

_Ellesmere._ I declare the women have been very clever to-day. It was very sharp of Mrs. Milverton “going in,” as the slang phrase is, for “Renunciation;” and for my wife trying to do away with all pain that is caused by our recklessness of physical sufferings. Of course, she does not see the full extent of her views, and that all war would be put an end to, if her benevolent fairy granted her the wish that she seeks for. But now, Cranmer, you protested against my representation of your opinions. What do you wish the fairy to grant you?

_Cranmer._ That representative government should be brought to perfection, and should prevail everywhere.

_Ellesmere._ I declare you are all very unkind to me: you have never seriously asked what I wish for.

_Sir Arthur._ Pray tell us. We are sure that it will be something quite out of the common way.

_Ellesmere._ No; I believe what I should ask would be the greatest boon that could be demanded for mankind. I only ask this simple, trifling thing--that good reasoning should have its exact weight with mankind.

Now all of you think that this is a small, poor, inadequate wish; but you may depend upon it, it beats all of yours out of the field.

Give me one thousand millions of mankind (that is the present number on the earth, is it not, Cranmer?) reasoning accurately upon the arguments brought before them, and I, for my part, do not wish any more.

I hate to “talk shop,” as it is called; but if you will give me the present Lord Chancellor, that good, just, and honest man, Lord----, to decide upon all questions for the world, I shall be perfectly satisfied. And if my wish were granted, every man would be as good an appreciator of arguments as Lord----.

_Sir Arthur._ So, you would remit all earthly and heavenly questions to the Court of Chancery.

_Ellesmere._ I would; and you will never have a tribunal so competent to decide upon them. We don’t look at popular opinion, or at aristocratic opinion, or at philosophic opinion, or at unphilosophic opinion; we decide upon the exact matters brought before us; and I do say, however much it might horrify you, that if you would only have the humility to submit any great question to the judicial authorities of this kingdom, it would be well decided.

_Milverton._ What, the highest abstract questions?

_Ellesmere._ Yes. We--I am speaking for the great lights of the Bench--are equal to decide any earthly question brought before us. We have ascertained what justice means. We are really impartial. I believe that in England there is more of the judicial faculty developed than in any other nation. Newspapers, what you are pleased to call public opinion, political considerations of all kinds, personal considerations of all kinds, weigh not with us. We shall simply (I am speaking for our great judges) give its due weight exactly to what is brought before us to decide upon.

I must admit that Sandy and I seem to have somewhat of the same idea. There is, however, this distinction.--He says, Let great intellect prevail; I say, Let good reasoning prevail. According to his system there would be endless contention; whereas, according to mine, there would be clear judicial decision and precise action consequent thereupon.

The company then rose.

_Mauleverer._ Stay. I must say something more. You have all taken this matter more seriously than I expected, and I desire to recall my former wish. I should ask for more knowledge.

It has become the fashion in this house of late, to express one’s ideas after the mode of the Sheviri, by fables or apologues. Now I wish you to listen very patiently to a little story of mine.

Once upon a time there was an island (I observe most of your stories relate to islands), the unfortunate inhabitants of which were molested in this way:--An invisible fiend, supposed to rise from the ground, would lay hold of one of these inhabitants and give him a sound beating, making every bone to ache. The fiend would repeat this chastisement at regular intervals, say every two, three, or four days, at the same hour of the day. At last any poor man who was so persecuted would tremble and shiver all over when the time for his punishment came. But if this poor man had but known (see the advantage of knowledge) one or two simple things, he could have defied his enemy.

The first was a salve which, when applied to the eyes, rendered the foul fiend perfectly visible. Now this fiend was a slow, dull, heavy fiend.----

_Ellesmere_. Slow, dull, heavy, and punctual, therefore a good fiend of business, as we say a good man of business, Cranmer.

_Mauleverer_.----and never could mount higher than thirty feet.[30] Consequently if the man went up a ladder thirty feet high, he could laugh at the dull fiend, and defy him.

Footnote 30:

See an excellent paper on this subject in a recent number of _All the Year Round_.

But more than this, there was a good natured wood-sprite, a dryad, who would walk hand-in-hand with any of the poor men of the island, and would carry him safely through any of the fastnesses of the foul fiend. Unfortunately, however, for thousands of years, neither the eye-salve, nor the habitation of the wood-sprite, who by the way lived some six thousand miles off, though he would come at a minute’s notice, were known to the inhabitants of the island.

_Cranmer_. I have not the least idea what you mean. I wish all of you would talk more plainly. You despise blue books, but really they are much more intelligible than you are with your pink and blue “sleep,” and with your Spoolans, and foul fiends and wood-sprites.

_Mauleverer_. To come down then to a blue book, the foul fiend is the ague. The eye-salve is the microscope, which has shown us exactly the limits of the ague spore. The wood-sprite is Jesuit’s bark or quinine.

Now I beg to ask you, Milverton, whether your “love,” or Mrs. Milverton’s “renunciation;” or, Mr. Johnson, your “thinking;” or, Ellesmere, your “reasoning,” would ever have found out a remedy for the ague? No: you must all admit that I should ask the fairy for the right thing, merely, more knowledge.

I hope too, you all observe, that the instance I have given shows the exceeding misery of man, and how much too small he is for his place, that he should go on suffering all this misery for thousands of years when a little knowledge would have raised him above it.

Depend upon it the present generation is suffering in an exactly similar way from many such evils, moral, intellectual, and physical, which a little more knowledge would dispel.

No one made any reply, and the company then separated.