seems necessary to note something that it just as certainly was not. This, because the thing, though in itself obvious enough to any one who will approach it closely, is, when seen afar, through media of later moral developments and possibly some film of the observer's eyes, susceptible of much misapprehension. For example, Professor F. B. Gummere, who in his book Germanic Origins has written instructively and entertainingly of things Teutonic, tells us that "The sense of Duty, the sense of standing and enduring for a principle, has always been the mainspring of Germanic success." I should like to know just when that "always" entered the course of Germanic civilization: its arrival did not, very evidently, come till later than the period of the Companionship. For although the practice of this truly represents, in spirit and performance, the payment of a duty is, in fact, the highest possible exemplification of dutifulness yet in neither spirit nor performance does this practice correspond to "standing and enduring for a principle." Any one, it seems to me, whose moral atmosphere was not still haunted by the ghosts of Kantian categorical imperatives could easily see that. Indeed, the noticeable thing about this business of Duty in those days is that in the first place it did not at all get done for Duty's sake from 66 for moral law," and that in the second place the greater part of what did get done, which our moral commentators have called Duty, was not,

reverence

accurately speaking, such at all, nor in its essence worthy of high praise. And as none of this, O tired reader, is of merely antiquarian interest, but of present-day importance, and such, truly, as might profit many of us well to know, I am emboldened, despite danger of desertions, to dwell awhile on the idea of Duty as illuminated by the practice of these times.

Definitions of Duty have been the hobby of past generations of philosophers; but unfortunately the philosophical definers were not, as Nietzsche recommends, also philologists, and in their making of definitions seem never to have thought of looking at the innate meaning of the word they would define. This, however, their successors have thought of doing, and are able to assure us that the word Duty, which of course means merely "something due "— a veritable debt, applied originally, whether in its French, its German, or its English form, to service rendered for value received, usually by retainer to overlord. Exactly, let us note, the idea of Duty that the practice of Companionship exemplified; and an idea no less applicable to that highest payment, of grateful in return for generous love, which the moralists of that day did indeed regard as Duty. as Duty. Let us note, too, as of present import, that such Duty carried its own impulse to performance, not in "reverence for moral law," but in the debtor's longing to requite service with service, love with love. Let us lastly note that this dutifulness was its own suffi

cient reward: that it was in itself right joyful all the more so since it did not aim at the enjoyment; and hence never had to be commanded with apologies, and but rarely with threats, to help push it into performance. It was, in short, the loftiest idea of Duty, literally defined and actually done, the richest in its own reward, that ever operated among men. And is the ablest, by the way, to be called back into like operation.

But beside the custom of Companionship there were operative other types of morality or customariness, which had been developed by this tribal society to suit its numerous other needs. These concerned, of course, the various activities and relations of village, field, home, family, and fight, and were consequently of several sorts, commands to courage, honesty, sincerity, chastity, and the like; but it is possible to find in all of them a certain sameness one characteristic note. They are with no marked exception prohibitions of some natural instinct; commands not to do the natural dictate of the circumstances, not to flee from dangerous odds no need of urging courage for the gain of plunder; not to take another's goods or wife or life; and so forth through the entire social sphere. They were generally needful prohibitions, but not exactly joyful; and of themselves could never have checked the fears and greeds and raging lusts of men: they most decidedly had to have some sort of outside strengthening.

That strengthening was the power of Popular Opinion, operating as police force, and backed upon occasion by spiked clubs or even heavier and sharper verbal penalties. Hence those hortatory snatches in the old English battle songs, warning the disheartened of worse things awaiting flight, "the twitting of the thanes in one's own native town." Who does not know how nearly all the social virtues all, perhaps, except that of pure gratitude, which seems a sort of gravitational property of the soul,- were originally products of this Popular Opinion, caring for the social welfare, of the race's preservation of itself? Whoever does not had best hasten to the congregated charms of any among the mighty number of treatises on Sociology and find out the fascinating evidence. Meanwhile he Meanwhile he may take my word.

This, then, is that Germanic morality which from Tacitean admiration to Kantian formulation has enjoyed a chorus of rapt praise, and of which Nietzschean derogation is doubtless to many a Germanically moulded mind no less than desecration—the unpardonable sin. At any rate the practice of this species of morality is what Professor Gummere describes as "standing and enduring for a principle." Was it? Not unless the "principle" was the general law that clubs are harder than heads, and barbed words able to pierce toughest feelings. These various vetoes were no doubt needful and valuable enough, but they brought with them no meed of joy, and got

but grudged obedience. They were in fact, as I promised to make clear, not "duties" in the literal sense at all, and nearly never done for their own sufficient sake. I am speaking, reader, of the far past, but I cannot help it if you apply my comments to the present-day character and reputation of principles.

For principles as a modern symptom are of course lineally descended from these ancient prohibitions,— the public conscience having through long effort finally got itself fixed as our private conscience and appropriately formulated by the philosophers; and I fear, now that I come to think of it, still keep for most of us their former unattractiveness. We obey their orders, either from good-nature or because of social or religious hopes or fears; but unless we are specimens of the rare Emersonian species, not with any actual joy. Of all this more later on.

These, then, are the kinds of "Duty" of which old English life affords us plentiful exemplification, and this chapter ample opportunity for comparison. That kind which was exemplified in the practice of Companionship we saw to have been genuine a veritable debt of service or of love; to have been joyful; and to have been workable of its own strength, without auxiliary bribes or pains and penalties. All the other "duties " that were not such debts we also saw to have been several chiefly negative things: not genuine, not joyful, and not workable except with outside