LITERARY COLUMN.

Press, Volume LX, Issue 11503, 9 February 1903, Page 5

LITERARY COLUMN.

♦ i — IN THE OPEN AIB.

(By Rer. R, WaddelL MJL, D.D.) "Tbw* was » maa one*—* pott. H« **oi wandering through the street* of th« oity, and be met a discipfc. Com* out with me,' said Uμ po«t, 'to » walk in Uμ sud-dso**.' And they went. Bui «re ti»y h*d prognued msay tta«M said the diseipX TW>'» aoUiin* bwe bat wnd.' To what did I iayit. you? , said tie po«t. To » walk ia the Then do not oomplrin, , replied U»_po*i. TT»t even so your words are uatreo. Am m Hntui fcbovo. Do you acA mit Das fault i« not He»v«n's oor th* suutdu&Sß. , * — Matrten MeerUn'e, In °God'« Fooi." For tho purposes of this article I shall take tibe open air to <nnaote trwo things t The Atmosphere and Nature. One of the most significant features of pnseat-day" civilisation, is the dwsrre io emigrate into the open air. The k>re of Nature and of travel has become a paeeioa iritih multitudes. But it is not perhaps recognised that tire Jβ a purely modern thing. The ancients knew nothing of it«. If we examine that most wonderful library of booik*s is the world—'the Bible—Uiere is no evidence of it uere. None of the writers describe Nature for its own sake, St. Paul, who must iiave passed through some ot tihe grandest scenery in tie world, never alludes u> it. Socrates soaroely ever vest away from, the city. ' "x am a lover of knowledge, he says in the Pboadrue, "and in the city I can learn from men, bat the fields nnd the trees teach me nothing."

Let anyone now look into modern literature and lift , ,. In nothing is the change more -marked titan in this new delight in Nature sod the open air. Nor is it & mere ariktic or estnetio, or animal delight. Science ocxnc* to reinforce it, oa moral, and utilitarian' grounds. Medical man prescribe aod inculcate the open air care. They do Uue even far that disease, wihkih formerly .was thought least of aH amenable to such treatment—consumption. So, too, the growing specialisation of industry and ""*m»fo*tures makes frequent retreat to tihe open air a necessity, if ire are to preserve oar strength of character. Life loees ite unity and its force when it is compelled to dnl with small and insignificant things. A tailor used to be called the nintih port of a man. Jtsut half a century ago a tailor could at. least make a suit of clothe*. But what is be to be called who can only make a bit of a suit, or feed a machine tlhat doe* I it? That is to what specialisation reduce* the modern- workman. It is dwarfing hi* manhood aud turning him into the alive -of his own inventions. It was no doubt &k aspect of things that led Walt Whitman to write many years ago: "I have wanted before my departure to bear special testimony to a very old lesson end reqojeitt

. . . Democracy in its myriad $eraasali« ties, in factories, workshops, store*, offion —through, tie dense streets nod houeea ol oifcies, and all thedr manifold cophiaticatad life, muet either be fibred, vitalised, by regular contact with outdoor light and air and growths, farm eoemea, anlmalty fields, trees,. bixdi, min-warmib, aad fjwe cldae, or it will morbidly dwindle and , pale. Wβ cannot have grand races of mechanice, workpeople, and commonality on cay lac terms." . ' . •; - . .-■-.■... '■ . ■'-■..■'!..■.; 'Quite so. Character of any oooeequence is impoanble witboat a moape ox lees oonstant . contact mtii the wind and the rain and the eun and the eeft. It v tiua whicl oreatce phyeioil ooiiragfe;' An outdoox life—the life of a city man 01 woman, wiio rairdy troches Netaie direoUj and at first hand, teods to beoonw tinaid and neurotic. Look at the schoolboy anti the sttident, w\ho live little ia. th»*opea air. What poor, timid, gairky iidngl they arc! —The Frenchman ffrfaftw' the ifing , lish crazy "becaiuse of the eeriouepeee ,'witi which the latter enters upon hi ißparti liug is probably the odgm oi th* jproTwi

that wo take ottr pleasures wdly.' But ihe courage end ecdnrance that iibtrill us

on the heights of Dargai, or the burning sande of the Sahara, have been won on the cricket fields of England, end the hffl* side huts of the Uriah and Soottieh peu-~ antry. "The* frank nndernt«nding of tenpest and water, and lightning end cold and heart*, such as one hub haslet another man with whom he has wrestled, an intelligence totally different from' any-' thing that can he kerned m lectare-roome and laboratories, that ire must keep or we are condemned *o tottering feeUanat." But this open air life tnmMitn to ohar« acter in «tUI deeper «adbei and mow mbtie ways. Of these not tie least is it* power - to excite wonder. Wonder J* oneoi tbo'' greatest of human faculties. Thexeis ■>' saying attributed to our Lord to th* atfaei J~"Hβ that wonders shall reign." Hβ may" never hare uttered it, hot it if «autra» m t if Bβ did. Vow, the wondering fconliy '. is / tbireatened with destiraction in th* «ofe>' jitee. Hardly anything sutpntsw on youth. * Our ohildreo—many of them—thwatm ta„ jmrtdfy toe theoaophic doctrine of f-baeia* ." nation. They are little old men* Thej early assume the lTjomm* fclaae tone in | their act and oonrenation. Thk ai calamitous. There is no future for a. x»o» that ' loses its sense of wonder. If w* ace to . retain it and culture it, we oonat ba osnb in the open air. Go out into the country tbete mer • daye, and tot Aβ atmosphere enfold you. How wonderful end mjsteri*' ous is tuis all encompaeßing air in wthicb you live and move end nave yoor.belngt You Bβ down on the w&nnjog tc«om * the Wti, throbbing with tbe hope of matnrity, and drink it in. You let it win-

der over you and About. Yon feel Uβ wotb and delicate breath upon your cheek, fingec-' ing your hair, caressing your whole body. How light, and lightsome it is I Oan it be possible that it is exerting a pnmoxt on m» equal to a weight of eixtem tooiT Hut comet Jung whioh ecieooe has aamed gmvi--tation grasps it and tokb it down to the earth. The beat of tbe son penehnvtCi it, J

expands it. draws it off in en ophite direction, and these two force* balance e«A other. How tender, and noioeta*, ■Qβ beautiful v this sunligiht in the oiri ,Yet what a power is in it I Add to tbe jfonx of the air expressed in Uβ motioot from tin tornado to the zephyr, that of elecfcriator, , of water*, or rivers, seas and glacier* | add to tfaeee again tho enargial bidden m the ' vegetable and the animal world in to, to steam, in dynamite, etc., sum then ell vp» and they would only represent ebootj , ** two thousand three hundred nmhoneth ot« the force which the eun i* every moment pouring through the air into apace. Again, how hospitable is the. air! It Tf i fuses nothing. It take* even the malwi* / and the pokKraous ga«». «»<* tnewominao'e smells, cleanses them, sw*et*M them, purines th«a, and returns them to M tawsformed into meani of health and strength. It holde thexauew of birde, and the soente of flowers. They travel abroad upon it, and find a home within it. And every dw" and every seaaon t& it« own pecqßar. breath and movement. jSowhere »"*«« air dike. Travel aJW hundred wd* and you are in an entirely new aUnoepnere. Listen in the early summer daysaad you wilt hear a ««»£ r^"*"* , *.*■"£, & is what Thomas Hardy <*"»«» **%*<* firtiKsation." It *jk snnlight «*&#,. down into nature and drawing *"* J»< j ludden vitality. Nothing «* Jβ mg* - wonderful and awe-mspmng,**», to j the dead matter; ehangmg.»toMe-th»n ( to listen to tb» «pT IU drifting wings of iunubta •MMtOUttt

that great nature lorer, Eichard Jefferics, says:—"The sound of summer ia everywhere ; in the passing breeze, in the hedge, iv the broad branching trees, in the grass as it swings; all the myriad particle* that together make the summer, ore in motion. The sap moves in the trees, the pollen »a pushed out from grass and flower; and yet again those ocrce and acres of leaves and square miles of grass blades are drawing tljeir strength from the atmosphere. Exceedingly minnte as these vibrations must be their numbers give them a volume teaching in the aggregate to the powers of the ear. Besides the quivering leaf, the swinging grass, the fluttering birds' wing, and the thousand oval membranes -which innumerable insects whirl about, a faint resonance seems .to come from the very air itself. Tho fervour of the eunbiams descending in a tidal flood rings on the strung harp of earth." Thia sound is heard only ir. the summer air. In autumn and winter it is silent—the air itself, 1 mean. It is pervaded by a stillness which makes it loneeonve, and sets us yearning for human companionship. But in these summer day*? solitude i.s welcome. I suppose it is because we feei we are not alone, but that a great teeming life w flowing round ue like ocean round a diving-bell. Then, again, how fine an illustration is the air of the groat Jaw of the transformation of enerjry. Who would think that the mountain chains aie made up of gases and wind? But so it is. And these solid masses aro constantly resolving themselves back into their original. The air is a twt of menstruum which melts even tlw rocka and everlasting hills. An Hnieison *omewhero reminds us: Air is nr.iy matter subdutd by beat. AH thiiiys are flowing, even the most immovable. Th<> ndamant is passing into smoke. The plants drink in in« air, and live by it. Then ere long it. becomes a. Saturn, and devours iw own <:hildren. It feeds them for a. while, and then turns to flame and burns them up. But how can nny ono write en air without rememberini; P. u.sk m. It is impertinent for a common p:rson to speak when tins . master of who ltnow is in evidence. In Jji« "Qu.en of .the.Air" ho hns said tlip hut triumphant words on the subject. My renders will tbnnk mo for quoting Miroo of them. "The air gives it« own strength to th 2 se.i; forms' and fills cvtry cell of foam; f.uKtaint! the precipices and- designs the valley of its waves; gives the gleam to their moving luider the night, and the white fire to their plaLun under sunviso; lifts their voice along* the rocks, bean above them the spray of birds, pencils uirougb them the dimpling of unfooted #.ands. It gathers out of them a portion in the hollow of ita hand; dyes with that the hiils into dark blue, , and their glaciers with dying rose;', inlays with that, for sapphire, the dome in which it lian to »et the cloud: shapeii out of that the heavenly flucka; divides • them, numbers, cherishes, tears them on its iiosom, calls them to their journeys, waits for their rest; feeds them from the brooks that ceaee not, and etrews them with the dews thnt cease. . . . It enters into the surface of the earth, subdues it, and falls together with it into fruitful duet, from which can be moulded flesh; it joine itself in dew to the eubstanoe >of adamant, and becomes the green leaf out of the dry ground; it enters into the separated flhapes of the earth it has tempered, Commands tho c-bb and flow of the current of their life, fills their limbs with its swn lightness, measures their existence by ;t« indwelling pulse, moulds upon their lips •bo words of which one soul - can be .known :<> cinotner; is to them the hearing of the Kir, and the beating of the 'heart, and, passing away, leaves them to the pence that hears andmovee no more. ,. When an ordinary writer reads a description such as this,-he feels inclined to'forswear the pen. The quotation is perhaps a little long, but if the editor does not object I am Euro tobody eke will. But wonderful aa all this is, it is far from exhausting the subject. Within the air itself is a eubtler eort of air to which ncienco gives the name of ether. What it i«—ite nature and character—we do not know. But we are told it fills all epaoe. It paesee through atones, brick walls, tho very earth iteelf, as easily ac our body movee through air. It travels at the rate

of 186,400 milea in a second. It is the 'medium that transmit/? the messages of wirelees telegraphy; and it is also supposed to be the medium of whioh mental telepathy is carried-on. For there seems-no reason .to doubt now the reality of thought transference between persons thousands of milea apart.

But when we have marvelled at all this, we are 'really'only, at-the beginning of marvels. When we ask what ie the air, ■what is thie subtle, impalpable thing in ■which we live, and move,' and Have our being, we are brought tip sharp against mystery. The Jews suggestively interpreted it as spirit. The name word, which meant breath, air, wind, In their language, was need to express spirit ateo. And in their literature one may trace the evolution of the thought from ite physical basis to ite metaphysical, from thie air or wind, ■which may be called material, to its culmination in God, in the Third Person of the Trinity. Jost, in hie "History of the Jews 'since the time of the Maccabees," eaye-that Saul suffered from Jaypochou- : dria, and that the Jew* gave thie the name of bad air, which the Bible translates "evil spirit;" for they held, he aaye, thai "the devil inhabited the air." It ie,'perhaps, an eeflio of .this that eounds in St. Paul's .words regarding "hosts of spiritualwiokednees in high places''—i.e., I presume", in the loftier regions of the atmosphere. Of couree we smile at all thie in our superior ivay. The idea of bad air, having to do >ith bod thoughts and gloomy dispositions, k, we think," ridiculous. And etiU more co ie the fancy that it ie the.vehicle of spiritual movements. The scientific temper of our time considers all that eort of thing ludicrous. Yet it may not, aftei 1 all, be co ludicrous as it seems. Even science itself, in many quarters, is not so confident as ift used to be. It is ceasing io talk co unhesitatingly about '*he promise and potency of matter." It is 'beginning to whisper to us that we nroet cease to express nature in terms of matter. We must express it in terms of force, which nuist ultimately conduct us to intelligence, Will, spirit, life. Ite front ranks are in retreat from the conception of nature as mere mechanism. They find in it everywhere force. They have hunted down the.atoms to points as small as the ten millioneth of the twenty-fifth part' of da inch. But even then mystery does not etop; for these atoms are centres of force.

A salt crystal js as mysterious as a soul. Professor Flint says " that an atom of iron is probably a more complicated system than the planete and their satellites." When ■Wβ ask what force is there is no answer. Nobody kriowK. Science hande over the question to the philosopher. The philosopher says tbnt the only real originating force he can find is will. And so it would appear as if air and atom conducted us «t laet into the very presence of an eternal and Omnipresent Will. We are not dealing nt any point with dead matter— rrith solid—imp»%sive things. Wβ axe in veritable touch with an all-pervasive life, which fills and informs the universe,

bm oar eoul filk and informs our body. If thie foe co thru it is further evidence of the assertion with which we set out. It it an additional proof of how the poet anti-dates the scientists. Thie has long been the poetic conception of Nature. The

Hebrew singers in the dawn of history make

it the burden of their song. Our own highest and beat poets set it <to music. It has never had e> more suggestive utterance ti>an in Wordewortij's poetry. Thie is the inner bordan of it. Its finest setting is perhaps in hia noble poem, " Tint-crn Abbey'": And I have ielt A Presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thoughts; a sense subUzae Of eomething far more deeply interfused, ■\Yhcee dwelling is the light of setting euns, And the ronnd 1 ocean and the living air, Asd the blue sky, and hi the mind of man A motion and a spirit that impels All thanking things, all objects of all thought, And nolle 4ferough ajl things- Therefore am I efaQl A> 3oT««j Abe meadoiffv aad the wood?, -

And mountains; and of aX that ire behold From this green earth. • . .

. . . Weil pleased to recognise In Nature and the language of the sense, The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, Tho guide, ths guardian of my heart, and soul, Of all my moral b*ing. Assuredly the open air will have a strange irrvstjo charm for ue, if we are able to feel in it a contact between our life and the great Soul of tho Universe. Science has dona a noblo work, :but its analytic methods and its too <mecbanic»l presuppositions have tended to materialise nun's conceptions of iha Universe.

Our ecienci) groped from star to ft v, Eut than itself found irothing greater. What wonder! In a Leyden jar, It bottkd tiho Creator." We may not perhaps bs ab> to find in Nature all that Wordsworth wys he did in the line? just quoted. But it "will He trus none tho Jess that they who keep up a full and frank acqnaintarAie with Iwr will I acquire a strength and sanity which the world cannot give. Neither* can it t.ake away. As a recent writer has pointed out. he that tvoos pleasure in the open ,a;r, in the green meadows, or the grassy hillflides. is slawept to diweover an>- failing off in th«. beneficent sweeteess of his mistress. Not so is it any where else. Tho ruling paesion that bagaii by yielding delight often ends in a tyrant. The devotee of wealth or fame frequently gains neither; or. if ha does, too often *h« Ikeart ie withered in the f*arch, and the dlear circle of those who might have enjoyed it irliJi us has narrowed to nn end. But not till the eyes o'.o*a for ever will they fail to be charmed by the spring sunshine or tho summer not till the ear w filled with diift, will iit ce.-iw to respocd to the Blwv consented fangs of autumn, or the sad sweet melodies crooned above winter graves.