WHY do distant objects please? It is a question which has exercised many minds. William Hazlitt once had the inspiration to write an essay on the subject, saying, among other things, that the reason for our pleasure is that we clothe distant objects with the indistinct and airy colours of fancy. There is truth in this argument when applied to landscape, and still more so in regard to history and antiquities. We look on the distant past as we do on a beautiful sunset, conscious only of warm, glowing reflections. Forgetfulness and ignorance play a great part in our estimate of bygone days and things. The invasion of Britain by Julius Cassar and the later Romans has been the joy of the archaeologist--descendants of those who suffered at the time; and if we wander through Hastings Castle it is the personality of William the Conqueror which inspires us rather than remembrance of the troubles endured by the vanquished. We believe that tribulation, especially that of other people in a previous generation, had compensations. In the same way we take pleasure in imagining pictures of the peaceful past, rich in colour and pleasant in tone. Those days in which our fore-fathers used _y_ instead of _i_ and almost invariably ended their words with an _e_, seem so picturesque and delightful. How many paintings have been shown at the Royal Academy under the title of “Merrie England” or its equivalent? Only Mr. Algernon Graves knows. The poets have been not less backward than the artists in proclaiming the romance of life in those distant days, and novelists have led us astray with equal regularity. For, almost certainly, we have been led astray. It is inconceivable that the days and nights in the olden times were filled with masques and continual merriment. Joviality there was, of course, and an absence of those assets of civilization which sometimes trouble us now: but life was a very serious thing, and even when there was no war at home or abroad, there were political and social movements which at times must have made the lives of the people intolerable. So history teaches us. To destroy illusions, however, is not the way to earn popularity, so few but pessimists and the most severe historians look back with a keen eye for defects in our national romances. Most of us may take a generous view of the lives of our remote ancestors. Let them be supposed to have had the advantage of us in their environment, occupations, pastimes, and sentiments. It is futile to institute comparisons, and those who made England are entitled to the benefit of the doubt. That they did possess certain privileges is beyond question, and as other blessings have been substituted for the benefit of later generations, we can afford to look back with a certain amount of envy on the time when traditions were being made and events followed one another with less disturbing frequency than they are doing in the twentieth century.