quoted by outsiders in proof of the evil effect of
belonging to a secret society. All this rests with
yourself. Even what we call the inner mysteries
of our order—mysteries which it takes so much
time and application to master and comprehend—
do not pretend to alter character. A selfish man
will be a selfish mason, a churlish man a churlish
mason, a conscientious man a conscientious
mason, to the end of time. It is wiser to disclaim
all legerdemain, and freely confess that no
purifying or awakening talisman is given to the
masonic neophyte. The knowledge imparted is
moderate in extent, and the man obtaining it
finds that he has but learnt the rudiments of an
elaborate system, the true bearing of which is
veiled in allegory and illustrated by symbols.
Those who sneer at masonic symbols, who ask
with conventional irony why masons cannot
accomplish the good they profess to seek without
donning aprons and bedecking themselves with
glittering baubles, should, to be consistent,
denounce symbolism altogether. Take the
House of Commons, and note the precise
formality with which old rites and customs are
observed there, and say whether the solemn
Speaker would look as wise and dignified in a
shooting-jacket or a dressing-gown, and whether
the quaintly wigged and gowned figures below
him are not more appropriately attired than if
they wore the paletot and wide-awake of country
life. Regard the throne with its surroundings
of velvet and ermine and jewels and gold; the
pulpit with its conventional black and white;
the bench with its time-honoured robes; the
bar with its wigs and gowns; or, turning to
private life, remark how the symbolism of dress
and ornament attends us from the cradle to the
grave. The white draperies of the christening
ceremony, the orange-flowers and favours of the
wedding, the ghastly mockery of the nodding
black feathers on the hearse, are surely as
open to criticism as our masonic blue and
white aprons, or the gay ornaments. Freemasons,
let it be remembered, rarely obtrude
their finery on the outer world. There are
other excellent societies, the members of which
periodically break out in buff boots and green
tunics, or march with linked fingers through the
town, to the clashing of wind instruments, and
behind banners bearing copy-book axioms of
approved morality. But with Freemasons it is
a point of honour not to wear the costume of
their craft, or any adornment pertaining to it,
save in their own lodges. To do otherwise—to
flaunt collar, apron, or jewel in other places—
is a serious masonic offence, and one censured
with severity by the authorities. The sole
exception to this rule is some important public
occasion, when a dispensation is granted by the
grand master of the order, and the first stone of
some great building is laid, or the remains of some
distinguished brother is committed to the earth.
The exceptional character of these occurrences
entitles us to the boast that our symbols are
only worn for the benefit of those who
understand them, and to whose technical
knowledge they appeal. In some cases, they mark
the rank of the wearer, like the soldier’s
uniform; in others, the practical good he has
effected, like—shall we say, the bishop’s mitre?

Each division of the order, called a lodge, is
ruled over by certain officers, who are appointed
by its master. To be eligible for this high post,
you must have served in one of two subordinate
offices for twelve months, and must be sufficiently
skilled in what is called the “working,” to conduct
the elaborate rites creditably. The first condition
is imperative; the second is sometimes
evaded, though neither the master accepting
office, nor the lodge electing him, acts up to
the bounden obligation when this is the case.
The cost of freemasonry depends almost entirely
upon the lodge you join, and is governed by the
habits of the brethren composing it, and the
by-laws they have themselves agreed on. The
broad rules controlling all lodges, and all Masons
owing allegiance to the Grand Lodge of England,
are things apart from these by-laws, though
the latter have to be formally sanctioned as
containing nothing opposed to the book of
constitutions or the leading principles of the craft.

Each lodge meets several times a year, and
in London the members usually dine or sup
together at the conclusion of their “work.” The
master, the past-masters, and the two wardens,
are all members of the masonic parliament;
in this way every Freemason has directly or
indirectly a voice in the government of the order.
Each past-master has been master of a lodge for
twelve months, and both master and wardens
are elected by their fellows. The masonic
parliament meets four times a year, and is called
Grand Lodge. Its debates are held in the really
magnificent temple in Great Queen-street,
London, which has just been rebuilt under the
auspices of the grand superintendent of works,
Brother Frederick Cockerell, and is the property
of the craft. It is presided over by a grand
master, who is nominally elected every year, but
who is eligible for re-election, and who is, as some
Masons think unwisely, virtually appointed for
life. Once in every year, some one is proposed and
seconded as a fit and proper person to fill the
position of grand master, and the votes of those
assembled in Grand Lodge are taken. The
present grand master of English Freemasons, the
Earl of Zetland, who succeeded the late Duke
of Sussex, is so widely and deservedly popular,
that he has held this position for more than
twenty years. The propriety of limiting the
grand master’s eligibility for office, and electing
him for four or six years and no longer, is a point
upon which there is considerable difference of
opinion, and one which it is unnecessary to do
more than allude to here. The grand master is
aided by a council, and supported by grand officers,
who may be termed the upper house of the
masonic parliament. These dignitaries are
appointed by the grand master, hold office for a
year, have past rank, and wear distinguishing
insignia for life. All questions of masonic law
—and problems affecting these are of constant
occurrence—all difficulties of administration, all
disputes and dissensions—and, despite their